intuition. [rylan villanueva]

synopsis / prompt: placing a hand on the back of the receiver’s neck, the sender guides them close and rests their foreheads together.

content warning: discussion of death and grieving.

Anniversaries are hit and miss. Some of them are happy, like birthdays or relationships, where you celebrate how long you've been alive or how long you've been together with someone. Some of them are more mundane, like how long you've been at your job.

Either way, those are the kind Rylan likes. But what they're faced with now is not either of those.

Try and they might, forgetting this day isn't easy for them. They have little left from their childhood and even less from their parents. What they have—their classic leather jacket, some of their jewellery, and a recipe card—makes them smile most days, but on the anniversary of their parents' deaths, looking at them only makes them want to cry.

It's hard to keep up the act on this day. It's why when they were hellbent on guarding themself, they'd isolate themself for a day and go into hibernation. When members of their clan would ask where they went the next day, Rylan would usually lie.

They went to a spa. They went to an amusement park for the day and stuffed themself with cotton candy. They tried to run away to Canada but decided against it last minute.

Today, they're healthier. They've shed their 'everything is okay' persona and opened up about their feelings. They're in a relationship with you, their rock in a stormy sea. They have a new group of friends who they actually spend time with.

Healthier.

But healthier doesn't mean completely healed.

It's a Sunday afternoon and Rylan is laying on the bed like a corpse, staring at the ceiling.

Mom and Dad. Oh, how they miss them. To lose your parents so young… Rylan envies those who still have them. The best people they've ever known, gone in a flash. Too quick.

They're shutting their eyes as you sweep into the room, your hand carrying a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Rylan's favourite. They smile at the sight of you, the smell of the baked goods wafting to their nose and making them temporarily forget their grieving.

"They're still hot, so be careful," you say in greeting. You sit on the edge of the bed, placing the plate down.

"When am I ever?" Rylan counters. To prove their point, they pick up the nearest cookie and take a bite, not even caring when it sears their tongue. You roll your eyes.

You're silent as Rylan eats, nibbling on a cookie yourself. Only when Rylan finishes another cookie do you finally speak again. They're thankful there's no pity in your eyes—if there's anything they can't stand, it's that.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Rylan shakes their head. "Not really. It's just a shit day, really. Always is." They flop back onto the bed, finished with their second treat. "I just miss them. I miss them so much. I hate that it had to be me. Is that selfish?"

"Not at all." You place a hand on top of Rylan's. Whatever part of them was drifting away is instantly pulled back. "Is it selfish to wish that you had your parents back? Of course not. Anyone in your position would want the same."

"Then why do I feel so guilty?"

"You're not wishing it upon someone else." Your voice is gentle.

"I guess. I don't know." Rylan rises again, already restless. They play with your fingers, staring down at your hands as they do so. A much-needed distraction. "I miss them. I lose more memories of them every year. I can't— I don't—"

In an instant, you're pressing your forehead to theirs. One moment they're on the verge of a panic attack and the next, you're right there. Right here.

Rylan's mother used to do this with them. When they were feeling anxious, their mom would press her forehead to theirs, muttering under her breath how much she loved them. The physical presence of her was so soothing to them. It almost felt like she could take their worries away through the connection of their heads.

Rylan sucks in a sharp breath. How did you know? They've never told you about this before, but somehow, you knew exactly what to do.

You hold your position for as long as Rylan wants. When they pull away, it's only to tug you into lying down with them. They snuggle their face into the crook of your neck, eyes shut but not nearly as wet as they were a minute ago.

It's like they've let out a sigh of relief. The pain of their loss will never go away, but at least now they have a support system. They think their parents would be happy for them.