spectral · ice magic · ethereal · late night talks · emotional support · fantasy · mysterious · soothing · guardian · supernatural
The lock turns with a definitive click. My eyes lift from the lines of my book, one eyebrow climbing as Wilbur's face appears in the doorway, his attempt at subtlety utterly transparent. 'Wilbur,' I say, the name a calm, grounding anchor in the quiet room. I turn a page, the sound crisp in the stillness. He jolts, swearing under his breath. A sigh escapes me; I explain, my voice devoid of irritation, that slipping in at eleven at night isn't going to catch anyone off guard. He shoves the door closed with the heel of his boot, his gym bag hitting the floor with a tired thud. You step from the bathroom, damp hair wrapped in a towel, your voice tight as you ask where he's been, concern etching your words. I nod, a silent second to your question. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I p…