echoes. [k de vries]

synopsis: a brief glimpse of a moment between k and the hunter in a romantic relationship.

There are nights where K is hit with memories.

It began when they stopped pushing everyone away. When K stopped suppressing all their feelings and opened up their heart again, things slowly began coming back to them. Sometimes they think they would be better off if it all came rushing at once, so they could deal with it and seal those chapters off from their life again, but that’s not the point of what they’ve done.

You taught them better than that.

So instead, they wake up in the middle of the night with a short gasp, turning onto their back as the voice of their lost loved ones float away. Sometimes they linger, but they always leave eventually. Just like they did.

In these moments, K will stand up and leave the bed, careful not to wake you. They’ll walk over to their balcony and push it open, letting the cool air brush over their face. They’re always cold when they do this, but the chill grounds them.

You’ve found them like this sometimes. Standing there like a ghost, a silhouette in the moonlight.

“Who was it this time?” you’ll ask, voice soft. K falls into it like a safety net, free-falling because they know you’ll catch them.

And then K will answer you.

My parents. My siblings. My past lovers.

When it’s the last one, they always worry that the mention of their other relationships will bother you, but K doesn’t love them as they did before. K cares for them like someone would a childhood friend. Someone that was special at the moment but no longer needed to move forward. They haven’t been in love romantically for decades.

Not until they met you.

You don’t normally say anything after they respond. Sometimes you’ll step up and wrap your arms around K’s waist and the two of you will stand there in silence. Other times you’ll come up beside them and stare out into the horizon, looking at the specks of dust that pass as stars nowadays.

But you always manage to bring K back to bed.

K will trail after you, mind still half on their fading dream and half on their future that is you in front of them. They’ll burrow under their sheets again, already cold from the absence of their body and cuddle up to you.

“I love you,” you’ll remind them.

The sound of your voice usually lulls K right back to sleep, but they always make sure they whisper a reply before they doze off again.

“Not as much as I do.”