October Almost-Drabbles 10/11: Haunted
Pairing(s): Cherik (one-sided), Charles/Moira (implied)
Word Count: 686
Additional tags: modern AU, ghost!erik, cockblock!erik, jealous!erik, pining, angst, and they were roommates
Side note: finally something other than straight fluff, lmao. I swear I originally intended this to be slightly more comedic than angsty. But Erik said “No, I must pine,” and who am I to deny him? Also, the Cherik might not be completely one-sided, but Charles is a bit too angry and frustrated to deal with any other feelings, in this little fic at least.
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“You didn’t have to do that.”
Charles, soaked through to the bone, glared at the apparition sitting at his table. The being didn’t look at him. Rather, they kept their focus on the kitchen sink currently gushing water out into the apartment floor. Gradually, the flow stopped.
“She wasn’t right for you,” Erik said. His ghostly voice was aloof, as if he couldn’t care less about Moira’s ruined outfit, or the money Charles would likely have to spend on repairs. He still wouldn’t meet Charles’ gaze, however.
“And you feel as if you have a say in the matter because…?”
The spirit didn’t answer. Charles wasn’t surprised. Just this once, he thought that bringing a date home might have gone alright. That they could have a nice meal, a fun evening, maybe even a nice second romp in the morning, before parting ways.
He should have known better.
“Look, Erik,” Charles let out a sigh, sitting down across from the figure that had once been a living man. He did his best to ignore the wet squelch of his pants and boxers as he sat. His next stop should definitely be his bedroom though, preferably before he started to chafe. “I already promised that I wouldn’t have you exorcised, or force you out. I said it, I meant it, and I don’t go back on my word. But-” the other man finally looked at him, and Charles again found himself wondering what color his eyes had been, when he was alive. “-but we’re roommates, essentially. Nothing more. I’ve got a life that needs living.” At Erik’s scowl, he added a quick, “no offense intended, of course.”
“She wasn’t right for you,” Erik repeated, a bit softer this time. Charles rolled his eyes. He’d begun shivering slightly, the cold Autumn air bleeding through the thin walls of his (their) apartment. He made a mental note to text Moira and make sure that she, similarly soaked as he, was safe and warm at home. For now, though, he rose up.
“I’m going to bed,” he said, voice flat. “Just as soon as I grab a few towels to…” he trailed off, watching the water recede, pool together, and evaporate in record time. Even the broken sink seemed to repair itself before his eyes. In any other circumstance, this would have been a shocking thing to witness. But after a year of living with a being such as Erik, almost nothing surprised him these days.
“Your clothes,” the ghost said, more apologetic than Charles expected.
“Never mind them. I’ll throw them in the wash.” He waved his hand dismissively, considering their conversation finished. “Good night, Erik.” An ironic sentiment, considering his evening after coming home had been anything but. He retreated to his bedroom, wet socks leaving a trail of footprints behind him, before closing the door, hard, behind him. A full stop on the end of an unspoken sentence. After a moment, the footprints evaporated too.
“Good night, Charles,” Erik said to the empty apartment kitchen. Now, alone again, it was his turn to sigh. To tuck his head into ghostly hands and wish, not for the first time nor the last, that the space in his chest where a heart may have resided didn’t clench so painfully any time he thought of himself without Charles. It wasn’t fair. He knew that. But at the same time…
He stood, in as much as an incorporeal being can, and made his way over to the closed door. Charles was showering. He could always tell where Charles was in this place, though he made sure never to peep or spy. And even now, while he could easily phase right through the wooden door, he only pressed a hand against it. Feeling the warm spirit radiating from the other man inside.
“Good night, Charles,” he said again, whispering as if he thought the other man might have heard him through the bedroom door and the en-suite. Other words burned in his stomach, but he knew there was really nothing more to say. Nothing that Charles would want to hear, at least.
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