logical. [k de vries] (Patreon)

synopsis: to be immortal is to be haunted.

K used to wake up screaming. They used to startle awake, eyes wide, scanning the room for possible threats when in fact, their worst fear was in their head. They used to have to unclench their fingers from their bed sheets, ignoring how there were splotches of sweat on the fabric, some of the beads still stuck to their skin. They used to force themself out of their bed and into the bathroom, deliberately looking down at the sink as they washed their face, terrified of what they'd see in the mirror.

Used to, they say, as if this is all in the past. As if this was some temporary illness they have since gotten over. Perhaps, in another life, this would be true. Months of daily torment would have turned into nightmares once a week, then once a month, then never again. It was all they asked for. Every shooting star, every candle on birthday cakes, they wished for the torture to end.

And it would, but it was only ever for a short while. After a period of time, they'd come back in full force.

K de Vries is not a weak person. They are the strongest warlock in New York City and one of the strongest in America. They are a prodigy, having picked up magic at the tender age of five. They are well sought after, someone who parts the crowd when they walk through a room.

So why can't they conquer their own fears? Why is it that a mere nightmare, visuals that their own brain conjures, something that someone as powerful as them should be able to control, can bring them to their knees?

It's been a while since they'd had a dream this bad.

K picks up the pieces of their shattered self and goes through the motions again. Scan the room. Unclench their fingers. Head to the bathroom and wash their face.

Their hands are shaking. Their knees tremble. They brace themself against the sink for support, despising themself for it. They want to tell themself they'll be fine, they want to hear from someone else that everything will be okay, but their pride doesn't allow it.

After all, relying on others will only make this problem worse.

When they think they can stand on their own, K heads over to their bed. They ignore the crumpled sheets and grab their phone, bringing it with them to the kitchen. For work purposes, they tell themself. It's four in the morning, too early for any clients to contact them, but not too early that they can start getting prepared.

They have two missed calls. One from someone they don't recognize—spam, most likely—and a second from Rylan. Their finger hovers over the notification for a second longer than it should. It wouldn't be uncommon for the half-vampire to be awake at this hour, but the idea of contacting them because K is afraid to be alone is ridiculous.

They've had these nightmares long before they met Rylan. They've been dealing with them for decades now, nearly a century, even. Just because Rylan shoved their way into K's life doesn't mean they suddenly need them now.

Relying on others will only make it worse. But—

They swallow the lump in their throat and turn on the kettle.

They try to tell themself that Rylan isn't any different from the other people K has met in their life. Immortality has consequences. They know this all too well: to befriend or fall in love with a mortal is to bear a pain unlike no other. They've tried to shake Rylan for this very reason, but they're like a barb that K can't pull out.

That doesn't mean Rylan won't leave.

The kettle finishes. K pours a cup of tea.

And then there's you. You're worse than a barb. Worse than anything K has ever encountered. Because without even trying to worm your way into K's head, you've succeeded. You could insult them and they'd be thinking about it for the rest of the day. Or, consequently, you could ignore them and they'd want to find out how to grab your attention again.

It's frustrating. It's an error in their calculations.

They're not naïve to not know what this means. It's happened before, precisely twice, in fact. They know the signs. But to have it happen with you, out of all people, is infuriating. You're nothing special. (You are). You're just a hunter. (But not just that).

No matter. At the end of the day, you're not going to solve their problem. They’ll still wake up screaming. They'll still have to go through their routine of getting themself back into a functioning state after convincing themself their fears are only in their head.

K downs their tea fast enough to burn their throat. Developing anything further with you will only cause them pain.