tropes. [k de vries] (Patreon)

trope: a character realizes how much they care for someone after a near-death experience.

There's a panicked look in K's eyes when you emerge from the dust. You're covered in soot, face smeared with black substance and your clothes tattered. Your jacket is hanging on by a thread, your shirt managing to cover the necessities despite the three giant holes gaping in the fabric.

K sprints towards you. Later they'll be told they were limping, but at the moment, all they care about is you. They don't feel anything, can't hear anything but you.

Name. Name, name, name.

Your name is a chant in their head. It loops itself over and over, playing with the syllables and letters so sweet it sounds like a lullaby.

K never thought a name could sound so beautiful. Words are just words. The English language is merely something to communicate with. K adores writing, adores reading literature even more, but while they can appreciate the aesthetics of words, never have they heard it sound like this.

Name. Name, name, name.

"Are you— What's—"

K cuts themself off, words failing them for the first time in their life. Their eyes sweep over your face, your own [coloured] eyes bright despite the state you're in. You smile at them, the expression shaky but genuine, a soft curve of your lips against a harsh background.

It's beautiful. You're so beautiful.

"You're okay," K breathes. Their own voice sounds like a stranger. Cracked, hoarse—a result of having screamed nonsense and curse words for the past hour.

"I'm okay," you agree. Your voice isn't much better, croaky from the ash and dust, but hearing it heals K almost instantly.

Without warning, K's hands come up to cup your face. Blood is smeared on their wrist from an earlier injury. If they were thinking straight, they would've considered how unsanitary that was. How the dirt from your face would've made its way into their cut; how their blood would have smudged your face and marred you further.

But that's the problem—they're not thinking straight.

Thumbs stroke your cheeks, K's eyes darting around again to double-check for injuries they missed the first time. You might have been spared from life-threatening injuries, but the small cuts on your face would need attending to. Other than the slice through your brow that might leave a scar, you'll walk out of this unmaimed.

You're warm.

K holds your face like they have the universe in their hands. They're aware that someone is speaking, but right now, it's just you and them. Them and you.

You're looking at K like they're the one who was injured.

K releases one of their hands to brush the dirt out of your hair. It sticks to their palms, darkening them further from the soot they took from your cheeks, but they don't care. You're not any cleaner than you were before, but the gesture makes K feel better, somehow.

Your breathing is shallow.

K moves their hand back to your cheek, holding you before them as they examine you one last time. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, they press you against their chest, holding you close to them. Their grip is tight, though far from suffocating. Never suffocating. You could push them away if you wanted to, but you don't.

Your knees buckle.

K catches you.

You collapse.

K falls to the ground with you.

"You're okay," K tells you. They're the one reassuring you now. They feel you crumble in their hands, not only physically but mentally, the events of the night finally taking their toll on you. "You're okay. I got you, darling. You're okay."

"K, I—"

"I got you, I got you."

K crushes you closer to their chest as you break into a ragged sob. They would tear the world apart for you, they find themselves thinking. They would hunt down whoever hurt you and make them suffer a thousand times more in order to get revenge.

And that scares them.

Never before have they felt so strongly about someone before. Never have they felt so angry on someone else's behalf. But while you're in their arms, shuddering but alive, they find that if it had to be anyone, it would make sense that it's you.

Always you.