contacts. [k de vries] (Patreon)

synopsis: you didn't think late-night phone calls were only reserved for A, did you?

Loneliness isn’t supposed to be personified, but over the years, that’s what K found themself doing. It was a spirit that roamed the earth alongside K, curled up beside them as they drifted to sleep, stood by their side in their darkest times. When K had no one, loneliness was there to pick up their pieces.

It’s paradoxical, but it’s the only way they can describe it.

With the introduction of Rylan and their misfit group of hunters, however, K has found that it visits them less. Loneliness comes and goes, but when it threatens to stay, Rylan is the one who chases it away. Well, Rylan and you.

K is loathed to admit it. They don’t like relying on others.

They can settle for needing Rylan to keep them company sometimes—though they’d never admit it; Rylan’s ego is as big as it is—but throwing you in the mix… not good. Because it’s not merely your company that K craves, but your presence. The very essence of you, from the simple notes of your voice to the scent that is slowly become as familiar to K as their own fragrance.

How nauseating.

K glances over as their phone starts ringing. It’s nearly the dead of the night but of course, someone has to be bothering them. They sigh and lean over to read the caller ID, ready to press the declinebutton when they hesitate.

They’ve never known what to save you under. You were once named as ‘Rylan’s Friend’ in their phone, which was promptly changed to ‘The Hunter.’ A and Blane were saved under ‘Quarrelling Lover #1’ and ‘Quarrelling Lover #2’, while N was saved under ‘Non-Annoying Hunter,’ so it was easy to distinguish who you were.

As everyone else’s name stayed relatively the same, however, your name eventually changed. Again and again and again. After ‘The Hunter’ it was your first initial. That confused K whenever you popped up on their screen, so they changed it to your name. But then that felt too personal.

Seeing your name on the caller ID sent a weird wave of emotions through K every time they saw it, so they changed it to ‘Do Not Answer.’

Do not answer, because if they did, K would fall deeper into the hole they were digging for themself. Do not answer, because if they did, K would break their promise of not getting attached to anyone. Do not answer, because if they did, they might figure out what that weird wave of emotions actually was—and they know themself well enough to know they wouldn’t like it.

You’re still saved under ‘Do Not Answer,’ but the words don't do much other than making K feel guilty for picking up. It’s what they’ve conditioned themself to feel, but it’s an addiction. You’re a drug that they cannot rid themself of. K has done drugs in the past, but they know that you’ll do more irreparable damage than any substance they’ve ever tried.

Rarely does this knowledge stop them.

“Why are you up?” K says in greeting.

You pause, slightly shocked that K even answered, they suppose. In your defence, the last couple of times you called, K stared at the caller ID for so long that you ended up giving up.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you reply. “Why are you up?”

“Which answer do you want to hear?”

“Any.”

K thinks about it for a moment. Of course, they can’t tell you the truth, so they’ll have to settle for something else. Not a lie, but a diversion. “I was thinking about tomorrow. I have to run an errand that I’ve been avoiding.”

“I didn’t think you were the kind to procrastinate.” K can practically see your arched eyebrow.

“I’m not, but I try not to go there unless I have to. It’s… complicated.”

There’s a pause. “Do you want me to come? I can go after work.”

“I don’t think they’d like the idea of me bringing a hunter,” K responds dryly. Some part of them acknowledges how kind it is for you to offer tagging along even after a long day of work, but if they’re going to spend time with you, it won’t be during one of their deals.

That’s a separate part of their life.

“Probably not,” you agree. K hears shuffling on the other line—probably you sinking into your pillows and blankets. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. It’s on the other side of the city.”

“Oh.”

Another stretch of silence. K should just hang up here, save you the pain of the awkward conversation and them the chance of ending up talking to you all night. Just when they’re about to suggest it, however, you sigh.

“Can you tell me something? Just so I can drift off?”

“That bad?”

“Yeah.”

K hesitates. There’s still an out here. They could suggest you listen to some music, turn on a playlist composed solely of the soft sounds of rain—but instead, their mind is trying to decide what they should tell you.

“I lived in Paris for a time,” K starts. Again, that wave of guilt hits them, but they ignore it as they settle into their bed. “I was younger, more impressionable, and more naïve. The supernaturals are more entwined with human life there, which I saw a challenge.”

They hear your breathing as they continue on, rambling about their life and the experiences. You never say anything, but K likes that better. It makes them feel safer to admit things. That should scare them, but it’s easier when they don’t have to see your face.

They know you’re asleep when your breathing turns steady and you don’t respond to their soft calls. K stares at their phone and the runtime of your call. They stare at the contact they’ve saved for you at the top of their screen and sigh, hanging up and swiping it away.

They need a new name for you.