He often talked to himself as a coping mechanism. It was some type of solace, used to push back the swell of memories floating about.

He often conjured him up to talk to, a figment of his imagination. That's what everyone told him. But he seemed so real, so touchable. Sometimes he would swear he felt the soft touch of fingers on his skin.

Of course, that's probably the reason he was stuck in this place.

No, that's not right. The reason he was stuck in this place was because he confided in his "friends". He told them his lover was still alive, that he came to him sometimes.

At first, though worried, they thought nothing of it. They brushed it off as one of the five stages of grief.

But when the third month rolled around, it became apparent that he honestly believed that the male was still there with him, and they began to ask questions.

The final straw was when they told him his boyfriend was dead, that he was gone and never coming back, to which the blonde responded with a lot of yelling, plates being thrown, and a mental breakdown unlike any other.

It got to the point where the cops had to be called, Bryce taken away, and his friends watching with worried looks and tears in their eyes.

The doctors deemed him unstable and dangerous.

But, for the past few months, he had learned his way around this place, physically and mentally.

He had every intention on getting out, and he almost did, too. Until the figment came back and the doctors noticed him talking to the corner of the room, sitting with his legs crossed and smiling sadly.

Bryce blamed him. He shouldn't have shown up when he was so close to escaping. And when the doctors told him he was dead, Bryce's eye twitched and a smile curled up his lips.

"Just because you can't see him doesn't mean he's dead."

That resulted in him being put on more medication, more therapy, more questions and prodding and condescending looks.

He hated it.

But, he didn't want to go over that memory, it was one he liked to tuck in the back of his mind and lock away, keep it in the dark for as long as possible.

He sat on his bed, reading silently, the book given to him by one of the nurses, who noticed his infatuation with reading.

Of course, he had read the damn thing 3 times already. He had requested a new one, but she told him she had gotten in enough trouble giving him the first.

Bryce was surprised the doctors didn't take it from him, but he wouldn't question it. He was only thankful that they had let him keep it, even if he had read it through quite a few times.

It probably had something to do with the fact that he was calmer, more reasonable, after reading. It made their job easier when having to confront Bryce.

Bryce skimmed through the pages, perfectly comfortable and content, happy, even, his eyes racing over the words, knowing them by heart. He always hesitated though, during this part of the book, because he knew what would happen.

He had been good about it the last two times. The first time he almost got his beloved book taken away, and after that, he tried his hardest to contain himself.

And he tried to prepare himself, he tried to skip over it, but this time, he couldn't. And everything was just fine until he read that one word. That one word that made him stop dead in his tracks, the one that always triggered his attacks.

Crash.

As soon as he read the single syllable monstrosity, he was plunged into a sea of memories that he refused to believe were true, but deep down inside, knew were nothing but.

The laughter.

The smile.

The promise

The call.

The tears.

The car.

The crash........

He threw the book down, as if it had burned him, and crawled to the corner of his bed, holding himself as he rocked slightly, replaying the tragedy from almost a year ago.

He heard the familiar voice and the achingly familiar, "I'll be back, Brycey." that would engrave itself into his mind and torture him.

His voice was like this disturbing song that he couldn't seem to get out of his head, it played on repeat, and as the memory continued, tears pricked at his eyes, and he clawed at his temples, hoping, praying, for the set of events to stop replaying in his thoughts.

"You promise?"

"Of course! Unless I'm leaving you for the produce section at the store."

Bryce couldn't help the laugh that tore itself out of his throat, laced in cruel memories and a familiar aching sadness.

"Very funny."

"I don't know, babe. The celery in that place is really attractive."

He ran a hand through his hair, pulling slightly to try to bring himself back, but he was thrown into the scene, thrown down and his escape route was cut off as he was forced to watch everything play out.

"Just go get the groceries, you weirdo."

"Ouch. That hurt, Brycey."

He inhaled shakily at the mention of his given nickname, and the tears made their way down his pale face, his foot tapping against the bed as he waited for the rest of the events to play out, silently wishing that the nurse would come in and save him.

But he was riding this torture out.

"Love you, Bryce."

His heart felt as if the man himself were squeezing it, purposely holding it too tight, clawing at it and sending him into a deeper hole of regret.

Trying to tear it from his body, or worse, keep it in his grasp, and Bryce couldn't get out. All he could do was tap his foot anxiously, rub at his eyes, claw at his face, until he woke up from this nightmare.

"Love you, too, you celery watcher."

But this was his reality.

Things seemed to fast forward as he shut his eyes and swallowed harshly, and he knew this was the part that would push him over the edge.

He couldn't brace himself, couldn't prepare. Every time, the voice would slap him in his face and tear him down, and he would slide off the bed and lay on the floor, eye still twitching, staring up at the white ceiling in emotional agony.

"Is this Bryce McQuaid?"

Sometimes, at certain parts, he would voice his line, in the confines of his four corner room, in his prison, where he knew somebody could be listening or watching, but not having a single care as he said the same thing he said the first time and every time.

"It is."

Bryce would purposely skip over his name. The thought of it made him shiver, made him cry harder and beg more, plead for release from this constant memory, this permanent replay of emotional betrayal and hurt.

It was the one thing he had control over, and every time he would skip it and head straight to the climax of the memory, the part where his old self matched up with this version of himself.

"I'm sorry, sir....."

"What do you mean?"

Bryce inhaled sharply, waiting patiently. And his voice would break through the otherwise silent room, his fingers clenching and unclenching, the cold floor doing nothing to bring him out of this hell. This terrible hell that he had to live. Had to endure.

He would speak with the caller, the one who gave him the news, and each time, he felt as though someone had their hands around his throat, squeezing, forcing him to keep his mouth shut as the events rolled out before him, but he would get out the one line he despised the most and wanted to forget.

"He's dead."

Tears streamed down his face as he lie there, no intention on getting up. He just stayed on the floor and cried, as memories burned the edges of his mind and the figment of his imagination came back, materializing from nothing and staring at him from his bed, sitting cross legged and cocking his head, eying Bryce warily.

But to Bryce, he was completely real, there was nothing imaginative about the male he could see, hear, sometimes even touch. He was there.

"You remembered, again."

Bryce scoffed at this, looking up at the blank ceiling and shuddering, hands scratching at the ground lightly, eyes red and face covered in salty streaks of pain.

"Yeah. I did."

The man sighed, fingers drawing intricate patterns on the book Bryce had thrown, keeping his eyes trained on the blonde's pained features, voice coming out a little monotone.

"You know, if you just stopped remembering, they'd let you go."

Bryce looked over at him, narrowing his eyes and clenching his fists, voice low and tired, mostly of this constant torture.

"No. If you'd just stop showing up, then they'd let me go."

The man shrugged, and now it was his turn to look at the ceiling, the sad smile splayed across his face, tugging at Bryce's soul as he whispered into the air, loud enough for the blonde to pick it up.

"Because they think I'm not real."

"Yeah."

"Just because they can't see me."

"Yup."

He sighed, getting up from his spot on the bed and slipping off the thing, opting for crouching next to Bryce's blue-clad body, poking at his hair and running his fingers through it lightly. Bryce couldn't help but smile at this as his eyes closed and he listened to the male before him.

"You should ignore me from now on."

This pulled the smile right off of Bryce's face, and it was instantly replaced with furrowed brows and a hard set frown.

He looked up at the man playing with his hair, wiping the leftover tears from his face and shaking his head profusely.

"No. You help me get by."

The male sighed, shaking his head quietly and staring at the clock, reading the time as he exhaled heavily.

"Bryce....."

It was soft, careful, as if he was contemplating on what to say and how to say it, and, well, it didn't set well with the blonde.

Bryce inhaled sharply, swallowing the now growing lump in his throat and cracking his left knuckles one at a time, counting to five before he responded.

"What."

The man before him sighed somewhat heavily, staying in his crouching position, his fingers in Bryce's hair stilling for a few moments before they started up again, planning on keeping Bryce somewhat calm.

Of course, he wasn't exactly sure he would be able to keep the blonde in a serene state of mind after the words he would soon let free into the tense atmosphere.

"We need to talk."

Bryce sighed warily, rolling his eyes and nodding, staring off to the left where the door was, somewhat waiting for someone to burst through and strap him down again, for talking to the male.

He half expected a doctor to come in and wheel him out to an examination room, or the therapy room, which he didn't particularly like.

But nobody came in, and he was left to let the person's words ring around in his head, raising suspicions and insecurities.

The only time anyone ever said "we need to talk" was when things went awry and bad news was given without a second thought.

He pushed that to the back of his mind and spoke, voice tired and doused in a bit of attitude.

"Then let's talk."

The brunette swallowed a little harshly, scratching at his stubble with one hand, the other softly running through Bryce's hair, noticing the lack of shine and volume of the locks, and it worried him a little bit.

Weren't they taking care of him in here?

Weren't they supposed to make him better?

He let his thoughts rearrange themselves into the most important ones, leaving those two on the back burner for now as he decided what to do.

He decided to go the direct route.

"I'm gonna be blunt."

The response came quick, laced in a bit of venom that was never usually found in a voice that belonged to someone of Bryce's personality.

"You always are." Bryce scoffed, staring up at the other male before giving him a look that told him to continue, and for a second, the brunette almost changed his mind, almost decided against it, but before he knew it, the words were spilling from his mouth and Bryce was staring up at him, wide eyed and frozen.

"I'm not real."

He felt nothing for a moment. Just shock and surprise, as if a cold wave had tamed into his body and knocked him down, taking his breath away as he tried to pick himself up and comprehend the words forced into his mind.

At first, the older male thought he would stay like that, in shock, just staring at him with still eyes and an even stiller body, but those thoughts were soon erased from his mind when Bryce slapped his hand away and stood up, brows furrowed and eyes filling with tears.

He backed himself against the wall, golden locks of hair splayed unevenly across his forehead, hands against the cool wall, as if to ground himself, but knowing full well that he was never to be fully grounded in this life.

"No. Not you, too," he paused, swallowing the lump in his throat and exhaling shakily, staring the brunette down and giving him a dirty, betrayed look. "You were supposed to be on my side."

The other male shook his head, eyes downcast and fingers playing with each other, to distract himself from crying.

It wasn't everyday he had to break someone's heart.

And this time hurt just as much as the first.

"Bryce....I am on your side. But you're never gonna get better if I don't tell you the truth, it's-"

"No! It's all lies and you're just doing this so you can move on and leave me!"

The older flinched at his tone, keeping his composure as Bryce's fist met the wall, no doubt bloodying his knuckles.

"I'm not real, Bryce. You're just making me to cope. I'm gone. And I'm never coming back."

The older hated being this blunt, throwing this information on his younger companion all at once. It was like adding gasoline to a fire, and he knew Bryce had already been stoked enough, he didn't need more fuel.

Bryce felt the fresh tears roll down his face, his throat suddenly dry, his worst nightmare coming to life.

He faced the wall now, head against the cool tile and eyes blurry with his sadness, his anger.

"No, no, no-if you weren't real, I wouldn't be able to touch you, and I can. I-I can."

He said the last part as some type of proof, he was holding on to this.

"Bryce. That's just your brain tricking you, to make things easier."

"It's not..." he inhaled sharply, fists clenching and eyes narrowing at the wall before him, "It's not. You're a liar, a goddamn liar..."

He paused for a moment, listening to the voice that kept him up at night, that haunted his every dream. His every thought.

"No one else can see me."

At that, Bryce felt his fingers slip from the wall, and his body twisting. He lunged himself at the shorter male, angry thoughts coursing through him, ready to tackle him to the ground and shut him up.

The other didn't move, didn't even flinch. He just stood there, looking on sadly, as if he knew something that Bryce didn't.

And for the first time since he started seeing him, Bryce went straight through the brunette's body, onto the floor, face down as the shock and realization went through him, as well as the intense cold of the ground he was now pressed against.

He stared at the ground, hands against the floor, keeping his upper body in the air, eyes wide and filled with tears that just kept dripping onto the ground.

A silent scream clawed at his throat, but all he could manage was a whisper and a sob.

"No......"

A voice next to his ear made him flinch, and he pulled on his hair, as if physically hurting himself would block out the emotional pain that was thrust upon him.

Everything was crashing down, everything he had built up was coming to an end, his sanity, his happiness, what little peace he had left, all of it was sabotaged by him.

"He died in a car accident nine months ago. I'm your version of him, an embodiment made of false hope and lies. It's time to wake up and face the facts, Bryce. Even your brain is getting tired of this."

Bryce picked himself slowly, his hands clenching and unclenching, his eyes red and puffy, nose sniffling as he got up and curled his body into a ball, rocking back and forth with staggered breathing, the words repeating throughout his mind, taking him on a roller coaster of regret.

The worst part was, his voice didn't sound angry. It was sad, remorseful and small, as if he too wanted to believe Bryce's fantasy. And it hurt knowing that it was all just a big lie, just a certain blonde's grieving imagination going too far.

"You're here...you have to be here. I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy....please...."

He kept repeating the last part over and over, his voice rising slightly with each time, and it was no surprise to him when the nurses came in and picked him up from the ground.

Of course, he fought back, insisting that he was sane and that his lover was plotting against him to keep him locked up longer. But it was a weak argument, one that even Bryce was having a hard time backing up.

So, when they forcefully placed him on the bed, strapping his body down to keep him from attacking, Bryce just went with it, voice continuing to plea and crack at the edges, repeating his little mantra of "no....please...he's here...I'm okay....."

When they shoved pills down his throat and urged him to swallow, all Bryce did was nod and comply, mind growing weak and body going numb from the realization forced upon him.

And when they whispered those two words that had previously sent him into a fit of rage, all he could do was stare at the disappearing manifestation before him, the last tear falling from his eye as he repeated them, finally coming to terms with the truth, with reality.

"Ryan's dead."