Disenchanting Valentine’s: M Wraith (Patreon)

Some people would think that cooking dinner for one on Valentine’s Day is depressing and lonely. Those people have clearly never experienced having a phantasmal mental roommate that loves to pop out and commentate simple tasks.

“I think I liked pasta,” Wraith says, watching you heat the water to a boil, “Not with cheese, though. Tomatoes sound better.”

“You didn’t like mac and cheese?” You shoot him a disbelieving side eye, “Everyone likes mac and cheese.”

A small smile flickers on his lips, “I feel like I heard that a lot from someone.”

“Well, someone was right,” You say, dumping the noodles in the pot unceremoniously and stirring, “Clearly you’ve never had the right mac and cheese.”

He wrinkles his nose, glancing down at the Kraft package and the bright orange noodles printed on it. He raises an eyebrow, looking almost judgemental.

“This isn’t that, okay?” You defend, “This is the mac and cheese you have after a long day and you’re too tired to make anything else. Half the time you stand in the kitchen, eating it straight out of the pot.”

“That might just be you,” He jokes, “I definitely don’t recall ever doing that.”

You shoot back, “You can’t even recall your own name.”

He stares at you blankly for a moment and you fear you may have crossed a line. Then he laughs, and you realize you forgot how breathtaking he is when he’s happy. The way his nose crinkles, the way his dimples show when he smiles, and the sound of his laugh. God, his laugh. It just about makes you weak in the knees.

You hear a hiss as the water boils over and snap back around to stir the pasta. You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping he hadn’t noticed why you were so distracted. When you sneak a glance at him, a small smile curls his lips up when you meet his eyes.

“Better pay attention,” He chides playfully.

Damn it all, he definitely knows.

You finish dinner with him chatting in the background about everything and nothing. You pour half the pasta in a bowl for yourself and cover the rest for Theo after evening classes let out. Plopping down on the couch, Wraith perches next to you and stares out the window for some time as you eat.

The first thing he says after a long pause is, “What is Valentine’s Day, anyways? Some kids in your classes won’t shut up about it.”

You blink, glancing over at him. He has his lips pursed in confusion, and there’s a little furrow between his brows. It’s the look he gets when he’s frustrated he can’t remember something. You refrain from saying you think it’s cute simply because you might die or embarrassment.

“A holiday for couples,” You explain, “Mostly for big corporations to make money off of couples, but you get the idea.”

“Oh,” He shifts, staring down at his semi-incorporeal hands, “I don’t think I ever celebrated that.”

“You aren’t missing much,” You start to brush off the importance of the holiday when you see the look on his face.

Not frustration, not confusion, but loneliness.

“I don’t think…” He hesitates, glancing up at you as if he’s suddenly self conscious, “I don’t think I had many people in my life.”

The words are wrenched from him, like he’s ashamed to admit it. He usually balances carefully on the border of cheeky and kind, but this reminds you more of when you first met. When he was all alone in your head, in your dreams, drifting in the darkness of the afterlife until he finally anchored to you.

“Not just in a romantic sense.” His mouth twists to the side, “I don’t think anyone really cared about me in general.”

You open your mouth to say something, anything, when you see the silvery wisps form in the corners of his eyes. Tears.

“It’s nothing to worry about, anyways.” He shrugs, jaw clenching as he turns away, “Not like I can change it now.”

Ah, evasion of emotions, your old friend. It was one of your favorite methods to get through the day back in boarding school. Unfortunately, it never really helped you feel better. Bottling it all up and ignoring it until you had a breakdown was no way for you to live.

Studying the tightness of Wraith’s expression and the tension in his form, you decide it’s no way for him to live either. Even if he isn’t exactly living in the traditional sense.

“I wish I had known you,” You whisper.

He jerks slightly in surprise, turning wide eyes back in your direction, “Why?”

“I would’ve protected you, or at least been there by your side when I failed.” You say, swallowing past the knot that threatens to form in your throat, “Because you deserved someone to be with you until the end. You still do.”

The misty tears spill over, running down his cheeks and vanishing in midair. You reach a hand out, placing it over his cold one as you inch closer to him. Your shoulders brush, and you ignore the chill that runs down your spine.

“I wish I had known you, too.” He stares at your hands, twisting his around so he can entwine your fingers, “Sometimes I feel sad, and other times just overwhelmingly angry. I think it’s because that’s how I felt when I was living. You make me happy, though; you make me feel like I can be something more than sadness and anger.”

“You are more,” You insist, “No matter what happened before this, before us, you will always be more than that to me.”

“Us,” He turns the word over in his mouth, dark eyes filled with longing, “Is there an us?”

“Would you want there to be?” You ask, squeezing his hand.

“Do you?” He counters, “I think, by now, you should realize that you’re all I want. If I could be given back my life, with the sadness and the anger and the loneliness, I’d say no. I’d stay here, with you, where I can be happy.”

You’re all he can touch, and he makes good use of the ability. He leans in closer, moving his hand to rest on your shoulder.

“So…Do you?” He asks, his face inches from yours.

You can only nod. His lips crash into yours, and you relish the ice cold feeling that washes over you. He settles in your lap, unsure of where to put himself as you collide with each other, and the weight of him is somehow reassuring.

“So, does this mean you’re my Valentine?” You ask with a breathy laugh as he pulls back.

His eyes grow wide, “That’s actually today?”

“Yeah,” You nod, unable to hide your amusement, “You have great timing. Some would think you planned it.”

“I didn’t,” He smiles mischievously, “And since I’m unprepared and without a gift…”

He kisses you again, and you think this works just fine for you. Then his hand reaches your waist, trailing lower, and you suck in a sharp breath as he runs a finger along your waistband.

“Too much?” His brows furrow, jerking his hand back, “We can stop, or just kiss, or whatever you want. I just…just want you to keep touching me. If that’s alright?”

The look on his face is pleading and you wonder how your touch feels to him. Are you warm where he’s cold? Solid where he’s shifting?

“It’s okay,” You say gently, guiding his hand back to where it was, “The cold was just…surprising.”

He carefully slips his hands down your pajama pants, his fingers curious and exploring. He learns your body quickly, though, and uses your gasps and eventual moans as a guide. You hold onto him tightly as the pressure in your abdomen rises, ready to pull you under at any moment, and you hear him let out a shaking whine as his fingers struggle to stay steady.

“Are you okay?” You ask, panting as you cup his cheek in your hand.

“I can feel it all,” He chokes out, whimpering as he leans into your touch, “Whatever you feel, I feel the echo. I can feel my own touch, like I’m in your body.”

“Well, you are.” You smirk slightly, running a hand over your own chest and tweaking a nipple between your fingers.

A bolt of pleasure races down to your core, and your gasp is synchronized with Wraith’s. He really can feel it all. As his hand works faster, his movements eager, you drive the both of you closer to the edge by rocking into his touch and teasing every sensitive part of your own body. The only place you can’t really reach is your neck.

You can reach his, though.

Falling forward, you drape your upper body over him as you press heated kisses along his jaw. Eventually you find where his pulse would be if he had one and suck lightly before kissing him there, too.

You both tip over the edge at the same time, shattering in each other’s arms. Wraith flickers momentarily, like he might just disappear into thin air. He clutches at you though, holding on desperately to his anchor, and you grip him back just as firmly. He remains with you, finally relaxing in your arms.

The night is quiet except for his quiet little praises, the sweet nothings he whispers as he kisses each of your fingers with reverence.

“My anchor, my…everything.”