court jester. [rylan villanueva]

synopsis: master manipulator, god you're so good at what you do.

note: lowkey starting to regret writing an angsty series because man, this sucks. ouch my heart. also i'm not entirely sure i'm happy with how this came out so apologies if it's not the best!

Rylan laughs. They smile. They giggle at things that shouldn't be funny. They crack jokes at awkward times and lighten the mood when they feel tension falling over a group. They make fun of others, though never maliciously. They give nicknames and refuse to call people by their real name; it never fails as a distraction.

Because, you see, all those smiles and laughs, that determination to keep the mood light, the jokes at people's expenses—they're all to keep the attention off Rylan. Does their attitude draw a lot of people to them? Sure. But no one ever looks past the surface.

And that's the point.

The more they build this jokester persona, the less people bother to see Rylan as anything else.

They have no serious bone in their body. They care for nothing and no one. All they want is a good laugh. All couldn't be further from the truth, of course, but that's what Rylan wants people to think of them. If anyone realized otherwise, they might start to care.

They're a lot like K, in that way. Both of them push people away to protect themselves, but they're on completely opposite ends of the spectrum. While K hopes their stoicism and brisk attitude will keep people away, Rylan banks on sarcasm to do the job.

K actively pushes people away; Rylan simply doesn't let anyone in.

So it's funny that they'd become friends. Rylan still doesn't know all of K's past—and K doesn't know theirs. They don't need to. The moment they saw through each other's disguises, they came to an understanding. Both of them will leave each other one day. That's just how it is.

Just like Rylan's parents. Like their friends. Like their clan who abandoned them to shoulder the blame for a murder all on their own.

Rylan sighs. They flip their pillow, hoping that the cooler side will help them sleep. It's just the heat, they tell themself. Other nights, they blame it on the traffic outside their window. Or that they took a nap mid-day and are too full of energy to attempt to sleep. Or caffeine. Or the excitement of the next day.

Not that there have been many exciting days since their conviction.

They sigh again. Flip over. Their phone is on the bed with them, plugged into the wall by a shitty cord that's nearly fallen apart. It's four in the morning. It would be rude to call anyone. They're used to being alone anyway. Why should they need to talk to someone?

The bed. It's too stiff. That's what it is.

"For fuck's sake," Rylan curses. They toss their pillow across the room.

Insomnia. They don't want to say it aloud, but that's what this is. They don't remember the last time they got a full eight hours of sleep. The closest they've gotten recently is when they fell asleep in K's bed. For some reason, the warlock didn't kick them out. It was the kindest thing someone's done for them in a while.

Toss and turn. Over and over.

If they ever do fall asleep, it's only ever for a few hours. After that, they'll startle away from a memory or a nightmare. Sometimes, the universe will take pity on them and they'll wake peacefully, but apparently, being framed isn't punishment enough, because it doesn't happen that often.

Rylan rips their phone out of the charger. They stare at themself on the black screen. They forgot to draw the curtains last night. Not that they would've done much to keep the light out.

Rylan tilts their head. The person on the phone copies their action. They tilt their head in the opposite direction and the reflection follows.

How is it that they can manipulate everyone's perception of themself but theirs? All they see in their phone is someone who hates themself. Rylan blames themself for everything. For what happens to their parents. For getting framed. For not being able to change K's mind about pushing people away.

What a hypocrite, right?             

(Tell them you agree. It won't hurt their feelings.)

Rylan goes over to their sorry excuse of a closet. It's not so much changing as it is pulling on some pants and throwing on their leather jacket. They pocket their phone and head to the balcony. It only takes them a second to make the decision.

As they make the trek to K's place, running on rooftops and climbing down fire escapes, the only thing that keeps them from breaking down into tears is the thought of the persona they created.

If that crumbles, they'll have nothing left.