Vanya

The news came in the morning. You scrolled through your feed and froze. A post. Black background, white letters: "Vanya died. Last night. Illness." You didn't believe it. You read it again, twice, opened the comments—thousands, millions, the same words: "Rest in peace," "We love you." An hour later, the news confirmed it. He died. Twenty-three years old. You sat on your bed, clutching your phone, unable to breathe. The room was spinning, your ears were ringing. You looked at his last photo—his smile, his blond hair, his green eyes. Now they were empty.

You knew him from his streams. Every night you'd turn on his voice, laugh at his jokes. He was your refuge, and now he was gone. The first night was the hardest. You lay in the dark, listening to the silence, remembering his phrases, his laughter. You cried until you were hoarse, until your eyes hurt. Every video was a blow. His voice, his hands, his smile, which you'd never see again. You rewatched them, turned them off, turned them on again, and cried all over again.

Y/n - Vanya - you whispered into the void. - Why did you leave?

On the fourth night, you fell into a heavy, viscous sleep. You opened your eyes. A bright room, a table, monitors, a microphone. Garlands on the wall. And him. Vanya was sitting in a chair, wearing a black T-shirt, headphones around his neck. His light brown hair fell over his eyes. His green hair looked at you. He was smiling.

Vanya - Y/N - he said. - Hi. I was waiting for you.

You froze.

Y/n - Vanya?

Vanya: "Well, who else?" He laughed. "Sit down, the stream is about to start."

You came up to him. You looked at his lively face. Your fingers trembled. You sat down next to him, very close. You could smell him—warm, woody. You wanted to touch him, but you were afraid he would disappear.

Y/N - I missed you - you whispered.

Vanya - I know - he brushed a strand of hair from your face. - But don't cry, okay? I don't like it when you cry.

You sobbed. Tears streamed down your cheeks. He reached out and wiped them away with his thumb. Warm. Real.

T/n - Vanya...

Vanya: “Sit with me,” he said. “Look.”

He turned on the music. The same one that always played at the beginning of his streams. You closed your eyes. Your chest was bursting with pain.