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The spire felt suffocating.
Shadow Milk Cookie had spent the past several hours wrestling with himself—his thoughts, his body, his emotions. The panic attack had left him drained, yet despite the exhaustion that clung to him, he felt restless. His limbs itched for movement, his mind a chaotic storm of feelings he refused to acknowledge.
So when Pure Vanilla suggested a walk, he said yes.
The air outside was cool, the remnants of the earlier rain lingering in the scent of damp earth and fresh foliage. The spire’s grounds stretched out before them, a quiet sanctuary in the midst of all the chaos Shadow Milk had known. He had walked these paths before—alone, always alone. But this time was different.
This time, Pure Vanilla was beside him.
The healer walked at an easy pace, hands loosely clasped behind his back, his gaze sweeping over the trees and flowers that had begun to bloom with the turn of the season. Shadow Milk Cookie kept his own hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders tense, pretending he wasn’t hyper-aware of every step Pure Vanilla took beside him.
“…You don’t have to stay here forever, you know,” Pure Vanilla spoke after a moment, his voice gentle. “You have a choice, Shadow Milk.”
Shadow Milk scoffed. “A choice?” He kicked at a loose pebble on the path, watching as it skidded off into the grass. “Not all of us get to live in a perfect fantasy, Vanilla.”
Pure Vanilla only smiled, as if he knew something Shadow Milk didn’t. “Perfection has never been my reality.”
Shadow Milk didn’t reply. He didn’t want to reply. He focused instead on the rhythm of their footsteps, the distant sound of birds, the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. It was easier than thinking about this—whatever this was.
Then, Pure Vanilla slowed to a stop. Shadow Milk glanced at him, about to question what he was doing, when he noticed the healer bending down toward a patch of wildflowers growing along the edge of the path.
A single bloom stood out among them—a striking shade of blue, deep and vibrant, its petals slightly curled at the edges as if reaching for something unseen.
Shadow Milk watched in wary silence as Pure Vanilla plucked the flower with delicate fingers. He turned toward him, holding it out without hesitation.
“For you,” Pure Vanilla said simply, his duo toned eyes warm.
Shadow Milk stared at the flower. Then at Pure Vanilla. Then back at the flower.
“…Why?” His voice came out rougher than intended, raw and uncertain.
Pure Vanilla tilted his head slightly, as if the question was strange. “Because it reminded me of you.”
Something inside Shadow Milk twisted violently.
It was just a flower. Just a meaningless gesture. And yet, as he hesitantly reached out and took it, the warmth of Pure Vanilla’s fingers brushing against his own, his stomach coiled with an unbearable tightness.
Desire. Need. A yearning so deep it made his breath hitch, made his fingers tighten around the fragile stem of the flower as if anchoring himself. He shouldn’t want this. He shouldn’t crave this.
But he did.
His gaze flickered to Pure Vanilla, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. Shadow Milk swallowed, forcing himself to look away, forcing himself to scoff as if this entire moment was nothing but foolishness.
“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, stuffing the flower into his coat as if he could pretend it didn’t matter.
Pure Vanilla merely smiled. “And yet, you haven’t let go of it.”
Shadow Milk cursed under his breath, marching ahead before Pure Vanilla could see the flush creeping up his neck.
Because he was right.
And that terrified him more than anything.
The silence that followed was thick with an unspoken tension, stretching between them like a thread waiting to snap. Pure Vanilla’s presence was warm, steady, an unbearable contrast to the chaos in Shadow Milk’s mind. He tried to focus on the scenery, on the cool breeze, on anything that wasn’t the memory of Pure Vanilla’s fingers against his own.
But it wasn’t enough.
His pulse thrummed beneath his skin, an unfamiliar kind of heat pooling in his stomach. It wasn’t just yearning—it was hunger. A need that clawed at him, foreign yet undeniable. He clenched his jaw, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, gripping the flower like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Pure Vanilla, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil unraveling beside him, hummed softly as they continued walking. His fingers trailed absentmindedly over the petals of nearby flowers, his expression peaceful. It was infuriating—how easily he carried himself, how effortlessly he exuded warmth.
Shadow Milk envied it. Hated it. Wanted to drown in it.
After a long moment, Pure Vanilla glanced at him again, his voice quiet but teasing. “You know, you never actually said thank you.”
Shadow Milk exhaled sharply through his nose. “For what?”
“The flower.”
He scowled, gripping it tighter. “It’s just a flower.”
Pure Vanilla chuckled, the sound light and maddening. “And yet, you’re still holding onto it.”
Shadow Milk shot him a glare, heat prickling at his neck. “You gave it to me, idiot.”
Pure Vanilla smiled knowingly. “That I did.”
Shadow Milk turned away, walking faster, but before he could fully escape, something within him hesitated. His fingers twitched, heart hammering as he wrestled with himself for a brief moment.
Then, almost begrudgingly, he reached out. His hand brushed against Pure Vanilla’s—hesitant, uncertain—before finally latching onto it with a firm grip.
Pure Vanilla Smiled softly down at their hands, His cheeks a light pink.
They walked in silence, fingers entwined, neither speaking of it.
And despite himself, despite everything—he didn’t let go of the flower, nor the hand that held his.
Because deep down, he didn’t want to.