to keep you company. [k & rylan]

synopsis: Rylan crashes at K's place for a night.

note: this is set about a month and a half after K and Rylan meet. it's also about eight to nine months before they meet the hunter.

"You adore me."

"I do not."

"Oh, come on. How much alcohol do we need to drink before you admit it?"

"It won't happen. You have too much faith in yourself."

"Because I know you actually enjoy my company!"

$K sends Rylan a sideways glance, a cup of wine in their left hand. Rylan, sitting on the floor with a glass of champagne, sticks out their tongue in response. They don't need words to understand that look. They've been on the receiving end of it much too often. Embarrassingly often.

Sometimes they wonder why they bother at all.

Rylan huffs. "Fine. If you weren't hanging out with me, who would you hang out with?"

K's eyes narrow. "No one."

"No one?"

"No one," K repeats. They keep their eyes trained on the red liquid in their glass, swirling it absently. "Spending Sunday night alone is not unusual."

"But it sure as hell is boring," Rylan answers. They sigh, crossing their legs underneath them. "For someone who doesn't work a normal nine to five, you sure as hell act like it. It isn't the 1900s anymore, you know?"

"I'm quite aware."

Rylan rolls their eyes.

"I'm glad it isn't," K adds. They ignore Rylan's surprise at the additional comment, taking a sip of their wine as they contemplate their next words. "It wasn't my favourite century, both for the world and myself."

They purse their lips. "Not that it matters. Time is simply a human concept—what year it is doesn't matter. It's only a way to keep count for those who care. Pointless when you have all of eternity to suffer through."

Rylan doesn't answer that. Instead, they reach for the nearest bottle of tequila and pour themself a shot. It goes down their throat with ease.

K watches them. "Too much for you, Villanueva?"

"You won't scare me off that easily," Rylan answers instead.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Rylan hums. Their eyes move lazily throughout the room. It's nothing they haven't seen before—an antique clock in the corner, an open large window with billowing white curtains, a plush loveseat with wooden legs—but somehow, it always looks different.

Maybe it's because they've only been here three times.

Three times they've forced themself (invited, is what they argue) into K's space. Three times they've sat on the floor with K, both drinking until they pass out; Rylan spilling nothing but incoherent sentences, K composed even when their thoughts are muddled. Three times Rylan has felt the cold air of K's personality in their own home, more frigid than it is at the bar, but basked in it all the same.

Even in a place like Antarctica, the sun's beams can provide some warmth.

Rylan doesn't know what draws them to the warlock. They could easily go find someone else to annoy, someone who'd tolerate their presence more than K ever would, but they come here every time.

They tell themself that they don't care that K seems more bothered by Rylan's presence than pleased, but it does. Not because they're hurt by it, but because it confuses them. If K truly didn't want Rylan around, they'd have no problem telling them so. But every time Rylan shows up at their door, K lets them in without fail. With reluctance and an eye roll, sure, but they've never been denied.

If Rylan's right about K, the two have a lot more in common than they think. In Rylan's experience, lonely people drift towards each other—they're no exception.

"You get all philosophical when you drink," Rylan comments. They stretch their legs. "Most people spill all their secrets when they drink. Alcohol is supposed to loosen you up."

"What are you getting at, Villanueva?"

"A lot of things. Which one do you want to hear?"

K studies them, hazel eyes narrowed. As usual, they're as clear as day, the alcohol doing nothing to the warlock unlike Rylan, who can feel their limbs both sinking beneath them and their energy levels begging to be released in the form of running laps around the room.

Eventually, K sighs, grabbing their bottle of wine and taking a swig straight from the bottle. Their glass is still half empty, though Rylan doesn't point that out.

"You can have the couch tonight. Spare blankets and pillows are in the closet." K stands up, not so much as swaying as they hold the bottle loosely in their hand. "If your unusually large appetite needs fulfilling, you can eat anything but my curry."

And with that, K takes their leave, leaving Rylan sitting on the floor, staring at the mess they created. It's the first time they've been left alone in K's penthouse. The first time K has silently given them their trust.

Rylan smiles at that. They reach for the nearby nightstand, pulling out a book at random that K has stored on the bottom shelf. If Rylan hadn't crashed K's penthouse tonight, they have no doubt this is what the warlock would have been doing. It's only fair for them to honour it.

They flip to the first page absently, eyes skimming the opening lines.

Rylan doesn't remember drifting off, but when they wake, they're still there, book opened to the quarter mark, a blanket thrown over their legs and a pillow underneath their head.