Chapter Text
Milkcrown had managed to finish all the documents in one day, even though he was suffering from a soul jam; he was feeling the fatigue.
He started to open a portal to send the papers, but by the third document, his magic had faded. He, who was always lecturing Pale Vanilla, was just the same, actually...
Speaking of Pale Vanilla, where was he? He had disappeared yesterday and hadn't returned. Well, Milkcrown had stayed in his office for a very long time.
He tried to organize his papers a bit but collapsed from exhaustion, right in the middle of it.
His head fell, and all his efforts to tidy up were gone.
The papers were scattered everywhere, on the floor, on the desk, near the shelves.
Milkcrown's breathing was steady; he inhaled and exhaled, slowly... and surely...
___
Pale Vanilla realized he might have overreacted, but oh well... Milkcrown had annoyed him; it was his own fault. The only problem was figuring out where the blue cookie had gone and where it had stayed. Pale Vanilla hadn't seen Milkcrown at all after trying to find him.
He came out of his hiding place and looked for Milkcrown.
In his room? No.
In the library? Nope.
Then his office? Of course he was; he'd seen several people working there since he'd moved.
He approached and removed the leaf that was on the sleeping cookie's head.
Even though Pale Vanilla had poor eyesight, it had its stick. It looked like a large sunflower, with other small plants clinging to it like parasites. A large eye and other small eyes on the petals, Milkcrown observed.
He was sweating.
Pale Vanilla reached his hand toward the cookie in question. His hand slowly narrowed the space between his hand and the other man's forehead.
He was burning hot.
Pale Vanilla suspected, with all his papers, that he must have been working all day, but... when had it started? When had he fallen asleep?
Pale Vanilla carried Milkcrown to his room, the closest one. He gently laid him on his bed. Milkcrown was boiling like a kettle.
Pale Vanilla went to some maids to ask for some help, explaining in a few words why he needed it, since they wouldn't give him any.
The maids looked at him suspiciously, but gave them towels and other things anyway.
Pale Vanilla took one, began to dampen the towel, and placed it on the sick man's forehead.
Pale Vanilla took his hand for some unknown reason; he had cuts on his fingers, probably from leaves. He began to gently heal with his magic. And let go of the other's hands.
___
Milkcrown woke with difficulty, feeling a cold towel on his forehead. He remained lying down, his limbs aching and heavy.
Then the door opened and Pale Vanilla entered.
"Ah! You're awake..." He moved closer to the bed.
"I... What is it—" he tried to get up.
"Stop. You're sick." He gently pushed him away.
"..."
"Do you need anything?"
"I'm thirsty."
"Okay, I'll get some water."
"Thank you."
Pale Vanilla went out and returned with a glass of water.
"Here." Pale Vanilla pointed the glass at the sick cookie.
Milkcrown drank it in one gulp. "Where have you been?"
"Somewhere."
"Be specific."
"It's a secret."
Milkcrown played with his hands. "Where are my injuries?"
"I healed them."
"How?"
"With magic."
"Seriously?" Milkcrown turned his head toward Pale Vanilla, his eyes slowly opening.
"Why?"
"Healing magic disappeared after the beasts were corrupted. I didn't think you used it."
"Of course, I'm its founder."
"What? Incredible! Will you be able to teach it to me someday?"
"I don't know..."
"It's not a no. Awesome! I can't wait!"
"It's not a yes either..."
"But not a no, I still have a chance!"
"Have you eaten recently?"
"Huh? I... I don't really remember..."
"How long?"
"Since yesterday..."
"Seriously?!"
"But..."
"No buts, I'm going to make some soup and you can rest."
"Wait!"
But Pale Vanilla was gone again, and his soul jam vibrated with displeasure.
Milkcrown waited some more, seconds seemed to drag on, minutes, maybe even hours? He'd already stopped counting after his thousand years, and he wondered, "How old is Pale Vanilla? Maybe twice... Three times?"
He didn't know, but it didn't matter. What might Pale Vanilla's life have been like when he was... less dreary...
Pale Vanilla finally arrived.
Milkcrown exclaimed, "Finally! I didn't know the soup took so long!"
"The cooks were afraid I'd poison you..."
"Huh? I told them to welcome you like a guest!"
Pale Vanilla approached Milkcrown and sat down in an armchair next to the bed. "Can you sit up?"
"I'll see..."
Milkcrown managed to sit up and leaned against the wall. He took the bowl from Pale Vanilla's hands and began to drink. It wasn't the best soup, but it was alright; he'd tasted worse.
"Is it good? Tell me the truth," Pale Vanilla asked, looking at him intently.
"Not the best, that's for sure..."
"I figured, I've never been good at cooking..."
"Really?"
"Anyway, I don't like to eat..."
"What do you mean you don't like to eat? Not even a little cake or something—"
"Your soul jam seems to be doing better..."
"Huh?"
"It's really shiny and vibrating."
"Ah! That... Yes..."
"What is it?"
"Nothing!"
"Really?" He narrowed his eyes.
"Of course!" Milkcrown gave an embarrassed smile.
"If you say so... Keep eating."
"Hmmm..."
Milkcrown put another spoonful in his mouth while Pale Vanilla read a book, glancing around occasionally.
After finishing his meal, Milkcrown fell asleep in Pale Vanilla's bed.
Pale Vanilla placed his hand on Milkcrown's forehead.
"He's better..." Pale Vanilla murmured.
"Are you better?" asked ★★★★ ★★★★★★★
"Yes... Much better!" said the cookie.
Pale Vanilla quickly removed his hand from the sick man's forehead. His ancestors were haunting him, and he hated it...