first... [k de vries] (Patreon)

synopsis: first time reaching out.

It's normal to find you at K's place nowadays. If they're not at their own apartment, they're at K's penthouse, curled up in the dark as the two of you watch a movie, or watching K with silent adoration as they cook dinner.

At first, K wasn't sure what to think about the change. Rylan forces their way into the door practically every day, but there was something about having you over that was different. It's strange how quickly it became natural. Once a week became twice a week which became every weekend which became—

K likes your apartment. They like the condensed space, the homey feel to the furniture you picked out. They wonder how you had gotten everything up, whether the movers did it for you or if you struggled to haul the couch up the stairs to your complex. They never asked though. Never really let their thoughts stray too far, lest you look at them strangely for such a question.

Of course, you wouldn't do that, but some insecurities linger.

They warned you it had been a while since they'd been in a relationship. You responded by saying that K could take all the time they wanted.

So considerate. K knows you're more patient than anyone else would be in your position. And while you've stated multiple times that you don't mind waiting, K can't help but feel guilty. Each time they initiate a kiss, they feel a stab of pain at how happy you look. Each time they think it might be a good idea to hold your hand, they nearly drown in shame at the fact that they had to tell themself to reach out.

They've confided in you about these worries constantly. Once while laying in the dark, your backs against the hardwood. Once while you were tasting cookies that K made.

A year ago, they wouldn't have told you about their concerns at all. Would've buried them alive underneath a mountain of more pressing thoughts, or so they told themself. The only way it would've come out is if forced, something Rylan had to do more than once to get rid of the "emotional constipated look" K had on their face.

K glances over at you, sitting beside them on their couch as you text someone. Judging by your wrinkled nose, you're not having a pleasant conversation. Always taking work home with you. K loves and hates that about you.

"Bad news?" they ask.

"No," you answer. "Just— No."

"[Name]…"

You sigh. "It's nothing, K. I promise. Some intern just messed up some of my paperwork so I'll have to redo some of it. It's just mine too; [A]'s is absolutely fine. You think this is some sort of karma?"

"Karma for what, love?"

Your expression softens at the nickname. "I don't know. I'm mainly joking but it really seems like everything bad happens to me. Unless you count the one time one of the newer hunters ran into Blane and spilled hot coffee all over them."

"Unfortunate that I was not there to see it myself," K muses.

"The look on their face was pretty funny." You crack a small smile. "They had to go to the infirmary after to tend for their burn but honestly, I think they were more annoyed at having their shirt ruined than the actual injury. N was rolling their eyes the whole time."

K hums. "I can imagine. It goes to say, though, that bad things happen to people all the time. An intern screwing up your paperwork isn't karma for anything you've done, [Name]. You're a good person. Much better than I've been for most of my life."

"Don't say that."

"It's true. I've changed a lot since I met Rylan. Even more since I've met you."

"It's crazy that I once thought you couldn't be sweet." You squeeze their hand tighter. "This is really nice."

"What—"

K blinks, staring down at your interlaced hands. Their thumb is caressing your skin with slow methodical strokes that seem almost lazy. They hadn't even realized they'd reached out for you, let alone started rubbing the back of your hand.

You smile as the realization hits them. On anyone else, it might have seemed smug. On you, K only feels encouraged. Because for all their lamenting about how they always have to remind themself to initiate contact and intimacy, they did it without any prompting this time. It was reflexive, even.

Still, they need to know.

"Is it?" K asks. They force themself to continue caressing you even when their uncertainty threatens to swallow them whole.

In response, you tighten your grip. "Of course. It's coming from you."

And if K practically melts at that sentence and leans into you for a cuddle, no one but you has to know. After all, there's no one but the two of you.