Late Night Walks ⇢ K de la Renta (Patreon)

It’s a situation K has never been in before. There’s confusion, mostly in denial, and they both cloud their judgement. A feeling that K can’t possibly admit to themselves.

Their hands are firmly stuffed in their jacket pockets — one thing K is sure of, they hate the cold; but a late night walk should be enough to clear their head. That was the plan… all until the rhythmic sound of a human heartbeat hits their ears.

K then second guesses themselves.

“Surely not,” they mumble, swerving around a corner, and without even squinting they make out the silhouette. It’s clear to them, these are the details they have no problem noticing, and with another step forward, their eyes meet your own.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you say coolly, your own jacket wrapped around you, a small smile on your lips that’s visible under the half-moon.

“I know,” K murmurs, taking a step towards you as you move to stand in front of each other. “Didn’t get enough after seeing me at university?” This is what K’s good at. The teasing. The flirting. A lopsided smirk. But it’s a smirk that will somewhat falter when they feel a twisted knot in their stomach.

You snort. “Here you are flattering yourself.”

“Worth a try,” K chuckles. Their features suddenly turn soft as they bounce from foot to foot. “You heading somewhere?”

“Just on a walk,” you murmur. Your eyes suddenly tear away from K, a small smile dances over your lips as you take a step to the side. “You can join me, if you want to, that is.”

They watch you begin to walk away. Saying no would mean K could do as they planned, enjoy the night alone. Clear their head. Take advantage of the Lehsa’s stillness because, apparently, this big city does sleep. With all that in mind, K still decides against it, lets their heart and mind battle against one another before they’re taking long strides towards you.

“A walk where, exactly?”

You shrug your shoulders as K comes up to your side. “No destination, really. You?”

“The same,” K says back. The two of you have barely said any words yet the vampire finds this comforting, to be in your presence and suddenly feel whole — that is until you start asking questions.

“How come you’re out here?”

“Just um…” K begins, trailing off a bit as they look down to their shoes. “Thinking about things.”

You nod, look side to side before the two of you cross the street, a subconscious action as there aren’t any cars on the road.

“A penny for them?” you ask.

The sides of K’s mouth curl upwards. “They cost much more than a penny,” they drawl, suddenly feeling warm as the sound of your chuckle reaches their ears.

They’re good at deflecting their own feelings. Brushing them aside, playing them off when they get strong enough, and that’s what they’re doing right now.

“Plus, you’re the human,” they mutter, “you need the sleep way more than I do.”

You stay silent at that, and after a moment, K’s glancing to the side to look at you — their eyes suddenly softening. “What’s wrong?”

“The detective,” you choke out, “watching him…”

It’s guilt that washes over K, simply because Detective Wyatt’s death was more than just a tragic accident. You witnessed more than most did, had it wiped away before it suddenly returned.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” K murmurs, their eyes still on you. Their gaze is so strong that you turn to them, give them a weak smile to mask the pain, but they see right through it. “Hey.” They swiftly move to stand in front of you now, bringing you both to a halt as they remove their hands from their pockets.

It’s a bad move on their part, it’s another piece of confirmation. Confirms that these emotions they’re feeling are connected to you. The way their eyes dart over your face, take in your features, try to decide which one of them is their favourite — but settle on the fact that they love them all equally because they’re what makes you you.

“I am,” K mutters, “really sorry for it all. The death, the compulsion thing, all the—”

You move forward, your fingers loop through theirs and the feeling of sparks is such a cliché term to use, but it’s the only way K can describe your touch. It’s enough to stop them mid-sentence, your touch is soft yet exhilarating. It takes every ounce from K to not tighten their hold around you.

“I know you are,” you mumble back, “you mentioned so many times.” You glance down, suddenly taking note of your intertwined fingers before your eyes lock with K’s again.

Honestly, if K could hug you right now, they’d do it. Kiss you, even. They’d come up with an excuse, a lie, afterwards as to why they were so desperate to do it. It’s when they find themselves pulling out of your grasp that they regret not holding onto you a little longer.

“I just didn’t want you to have to go through all that supernatural shit.”

The corners of your mouth turn upwards. “You care about me.”

K arches a brow as they snort. “Is that what you think?”

“Are you going to deny it?” you ask back wittily, the smirk on your lips widens. K tilts their head at you, as though they’re taking in your words and debating how to answer.

“There aren’t many people I care about, rich kid.”

But, you… yeah, maybe I care a little, is what they think to themselves.