why me? [n & rylan] (Patreon)

synopsis: N contemplates why Rylan wants to hang out with them.

"We don't hang out much, do we?"

N looks up from their phone, watching their guest shuffle through the pantry in hopes of finding cookies. N told Rylan ages ago that they don't have any, but the half-vampire insisted that "no decent person would not have cookies in their house." Hence, their situation. N on the couch, Rylan in the kitchen.

"Ow." Rylan bumps their head on the countertop as they emerge, rubbing it absently with a hand.

N's lips tug into a smirk. "I told you there weren't any."

"Which is blasphemy," Rylan responds. "We're going to get you some immediately. I'll even allow oatmeal raisin as an option; you just need some sort of cookie in the house. What do you even snack on?" They close the cupboard. "Did you hear my question?"

N blinks, taking in the information slowly. They now know why [A] and Rylan get along so well—they both talk so fast. It's a wonder they can understand anything.

"About what I snack on?" N asks.

"No. I said: 'we don't hang out much, do we?'"

N lowers their phone as Rylan jumps on the couch, settling beside them with a grin. A familiar sight that N's seen dozens of times before, but never one-on-one. Rylan's right—they don’t spend much time with each other. It's not like they avoid each other, necessarily. No, more like N has never thought of themself as someone Rylan would choose to hang out with.

[A] and K are obvious choices. Once [A] got over their hesitation in being friends with Rylan, the two have been inseparable. And K, of course, has been Rylan's friend long before the group formed. There's history there that cannot be erased.

Blane… Well. Rylan likes annoying them. N has heard a few stories of Rylan knocking on Blane's door to "say hi to the plants" or "drag them out to get some sunshine; you can't stay couped up all day." They're quite similar to what Rylan sometimes does with N, except the excuses tend to be more centred around their dog, Radar.

As for the Hunter, well. N isn't quite sure what their relationship is, but at the very least, Rylan talks about [them] a lot. More than they do N, they're sure.

Maybe N and Rylan don't hang out much, but it doesn't really bother N.

So then why do they—

"Did you want to?"

Rylan blinks. Their eyes are brown, but whereas N's are the colour of rich chocolate, Rylan's are more like cacao beans.

"What makes you think I wouldn't?" Rylan asks.

Now it's N's turn to blink. "I don't know. Just… You never text me."

"Same goes for you." Rylan cocks their head. "Communication goes both ways, Alvey. Do you know why I show up at your door front so often? I mean sure, Radar is cute, but I like you. It was one of the first things I said to you, remember? You remind me of a dozen different people I already know, but somehow, also not."

"Gee thanks."

Rylan waves a hand. "What I mean is: you're interesting. Fun to be with, fun to spend time with. I know you think you bore me, but it's far from it. [A]'s too similar to me, Blane is too grumpy, K is even grumpier—sometimes I think hanging out with you is the best of the three."

N stares at their companion. When Rylan came barging in earlier, N thought they'd be upset that Radar was napping, but the half-vampire never asked. N brushed it off, assuming they'd lose all of Rylan's attention the moment Radar got up anyway. Now, they're not so sure.

"You do?" N hears themself ask.

Rylan flicks them on the arm. "Why do you say that like you don't believe me? I nicknamed you Alvey, didn't I? That's better than the ones I gave everyone else."

N bites their tongue. They've self-sabotaged dozens of relationships before and almost all of them began with conversations like these. People hang out with them, but a small part of them always wonders if the other person is only there because they want something.

Blane's number. Tricks on the field. A playmate for their own dog. The recipe for the brownies N baked the other day. Their opinion on a new gadget. Another—

No.

N has spent ages vying for attention in their household. Each time they got a fraction, it slipped away through their fingers. It has damaged them beyond belief. And here Rylan is, giving them the affirmation they want—and N is ruining it for themself.

They force a smile. "Does this mean I need to give you a nickname?"

"Nah. That's my thing." Rylan gets up, pulling N to their feet with them. "I mean, if you really want to sure, but I can't say I'll approve. I am the master of naming, after all." They tug N towards the door. "God, you have a lot of shoes. Do you think we're the same size?"

N frowns. "Wait, where are we going?"

"To get cookies, of course!" Rylan nudges a pair of sneakers towards them before bending down to lace up their own. "I did tell you that it was blasphemy that you don't have any in your apartment, didn't I?"

This time, the tug of their lips comes naturally. Maybe N hasn't ruined things after all.

"I guess you did."