Trevor was agitated, as he usually was. He was coming down from a bad trip, and it was frustrating him. He cursed as he kicked the trashcan over, in a rather destructive mood. He cursed and scowled and spat under his breath — and when he saw them, his mood only worsened.

“Oh fuck you, fuck off, I’m not dealing with you,” he snapped, agitated. Rather surprising, seeing as he hadn’t been seen by them for nine years after their death. Of course, in his mind, they weren’t really there; they were a hallucination. Same one that had been haunting him for years now. He bristled when they didn’t disappear and jerked forward. “I said fuck-!”

He grabbed their shirt collar, jerking them forward. And… paused. He grabbed their shirt. He… he could grab their shirt. His eyes flickered down. Either this crack was really fuckin good, or… his eyes twitched as he stared. He slowly lifted his gaze, touching their face. They looked… older. And there was no bullet wound, as there usually was in his hallucination. His hand paused on their face.

“…Mikey?” he whispered. He felt his face pale, and he felt a bit dizzy. Then he let out an annoyed breath, and roughly shoved them. “What the fuck is happening? What the fuck- you’re alive? You-… yo-you, you — I fuckin’ grieved you, asshole!”