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The first time it happened, it was two days after Lain’s funeral, and Budny was struggling to fall asleep. Typical of him these days, at least. Staring at his ceiling never made him feel better. Nothing did. Tonight was especially bad. Nausea kept him unable to leave his bathroom, sitting by the toilet, as if the nausea would actually result in any vomiting. It never did. He usually ended up dozing off whilst leaning against his toilet, or the wall in front of it.
That was the scene tonight. He’d been dozing off and waking up nauseous for the better part of two hours, but the sickness was starting to lessen. He figured he could get an hour of sleep tonight, maybe two, as he leaned against the wall, sleep coming a little bit easier than it had an hour prior.
“Yeesh, man, you look terrible. New medicine?” A voice shook him awake. He blinked, trying to reorient himself. He knew he’d been alone when he fell asleep, and it could only have been about half an hour since then. Who the hell was in his apartment? The voice was so familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. He squinted against the light of the bathroom, eyes trying to adjust, before they finally focused on… oh.
“...Lain?” He asked, but he knew it wasn’t. Or, well. It wasn’t the real Lain. He saw Lain’s dead body with his own two eyes. Still, he let out a shaky sigh. “Why are you…”
Lain shrugged, sitting on the edge of his bathtub, a small smile gracing his face. God, Budny missed that face. He missed that smile. Lain fiddled with the soap bottle next to him.
“I dunno. You tell me.” His smile widened slightly, and Budny felt a rush of affection for the man in front of him, real or not.
“I… God, I miss you,” Budny whispered urgently, laying his head on his arm to get a better view of his friend. Lain paused, watching him silently for a moment, before snickering and sitting on the ground next to him.
“Yeah? You miss me?” He hummed, eyes focused intently on Budny’s face. Budny nodded slowly, picking at the skin around his nails. He’d started doing that when Lain was first diagnosed.
“Yeah. Yeah, I… I miss you so much sometimes, I can hardly stand it.” He hadn’t noticed himself starting to whisper, as if this were some sort of secret. As if he didn’t wear these feelings on his sleeve, as if there wasn’t a big red flashing light that said ‘I miss Azari!’ above him at all times. Lain’s expression shifted.
“Oh c’mon, Chris,” He muttered lowly, leaning into Budny’s space, eyes still intense. “You know you don’t miss me.” Budny gave him a bewildered look.
“What? Of course I do, how can you…” He trailed off when Lain shook his head.
“We were hardly even friends before I got diagnosed. You didn’t actually care about me, you pitied me,” Lain explained, nodding toward Budny. “And you don’t miss me now.”
Budny scrunched his eyes shut, shaking his head.
“That’s… that’s not…” He could hardly get the words out, nausea flooding his mouth with spit and words still unspoken. He swallowed all of it, gaze on the floor, on the ugly rug he still hadn’t replaced, unable to look Lain in the eyes. “That’s… not true. I cared. I— I miss you.”
“Cut the shit,” Lain said, sounding amused more than anything. “You can’t hide anything from me, Chris, I’m you.” Budny shook his head again, more insistently.
“Stop,” He croaked out, feeling more defeated than he ever had. He didn’t even notice the tears rolling down his cheeks until the Lain of his head reached up to wipe one off.
“Poor, poor Chris. You fall in love with every guy you kill? Or was he,” Lain leaned in, whispering. “Special?”
“Shut up! I’m not… I didn’t— there was nothing I could’ve…” He cut himself off, his breathing growing more ragged. It was getting hard to speak. It was getting hard to think. Lain scoffed, leaning back.
“You’re speaking more to me now than you ever did to him in the first six years we knew each other.” He watched Budny for some moments as he tried to get his breathing back under control. It was a near impossible task. Lain sighed. “Look at the state of you…”
“I’m…” Budny swallowed back a sob. “I’m sor—”
“Do you think that will change anything?” Lain asked quietly, cutting him off. “Do you think you deserve to mourn?” Budny shook his head, tears falling harder.
“I… I know I don’t.” He got out. Lain nodded.
“Six years. You had six whole years to get close to him, but you only decided he mattered once he was dying.” Lain frowned— or, Budny thought that was a frown. He couldn’t tell through his blurry vision. “Not only that, but you let him die. Why wasn’t someone watching his room? Why weren’t you there?”
“I don’t…”
“All your friends are either gone or hate you, Chris. Do you know why?” Lain tilted his head. Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “Because you’re a selfish man. Even his… my death has to be all about you.”
“I know all that!” Budny snapped, wiping his tears on his sleeve, to no avail. “I already know all of this, why are you— are you only here to torture me?” Lain looked at him for a second, taking in his shaking form. He sighed, patting Budny on the shoulder. Budny could almost convince himself that it was real.
“Go to bed, you sentimental idiot. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“L– Liar,” Chris replied through his sobs, but Lain was already gone. Left alone in his bathroom, he promptly vomited into the toilet.
He fell asleep curled into a ball on the bathroom floor, mouth still tasting of vomit, dried tears still on his face, and dreamt of a world where things were okay. He woke up feeling worse than before. Feel better in the morning, his ass.