Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Truthless Recluse wasn’t sulking. He was…brooding.

No, not even that. He was his perfectly usual self, with normal levels of storminess and grumpiness and whatnot for his person.

The Sage’s absence had nothing to do with his sour mood. Entirely unrelated.

The Recluse’s flower staff shifted one of its lazy eyes towards him and rolled it dubiously.

“Shut up,” the Recluse hissed at it, shaking it around. The staff closed its eyes in annoyance. “No one asked for your opinion, anyway,” the Recluse added.

The staff obviously did not reply.

The Recluse pinched his nose, exhaling sharply. The Sage had told him last week that he’d be busy, since his friend, the Muse of Passion, Sweetest Sugar Cookie, was visiting him. He’d explained that he wouldn’t be able to visit the Spire of Deceit, since he’d be occupied with her.

The Recluse told him he didn’t care, that his being not annoying him would be like a nice vacation of rest.

The Sage had just given him that smile he always made around the Recluse, full of amusement and fondness and other emotions the Recluse didn’t feel like unpacking at any time, really.

Absent-mindedly, the Recluse ran a hand over his soul jam, which he now kept in his pocket. He didn’t care for wearing it ever since its colors of truth had faded into deceit. It had long been cold, even before his corruption, but ever since he met the Sage, it had suddenly come back to life again.

Right now, the soul jam thrummed with heat, begging to be reunited with its other half.

“Maybe a walk will clear my mind,” the Recluse said to no one in particular. He used his staff to help him stand up, his old bones creaking and complaining under the weight of his body.

“Will it, though?” A soft voice carried through the air.

The Recluse tensed up immediately. “Who goes there?” He demanded, holding his staff out, poised for the attack.

“Just a friend,” the voice giggled.

The Recluse scanned the room. He was sure he was alone, yet where was the voice coming from?

“I don’t have any friends,” hissed the Recluse.

“Oh?” The Recluse zoned in, finally realizing where the voice was coming from. A small little cookie, resembling a…child? He was sitting on the sill of the window the Recluse could’ve sworn was locked, swinging his feet to and fro. He was clad in a toga tied with a red ribbon and held a bow with strawberry arrows stocked in his quiver.

The cookie smiled at the Recluse. “If you have no friends, as you claim, then what would you call the Sage of Truth?”

A shiver ran down the Recluse’s spine. He gritted his teeth. “Who are you? And how do you know the Sage?”

Silently, the Recluse kicked himself for the second question. In his own asking, he had revealed an answer.

“I am Pavlova Cookie,” said the cookie as his wings of meringue quivered.

“And what is your business here?” The Recluse did not falter as the cookie who introduced himself as Pavlova hopped off the window sill and flew closer to the Recluse, that smile ever so wide.

“My business is the same as it always is!”

“That is a non-answer,” the Recluse said automatically, only realizing belatedly that he had just indirectly quoted the Sage. He scowled, cursing his mind. What was wrong with him today? “Respond directly to me, or you will live to regret it.”

Clearly unfazed by the heavily implied death threat, Pavlova Cookie elaborated, or at least tried to. “I see all the heart’s desires!” He claimed. He pointed at the Recluse. “And you, my friend, your heart isn’t as cold as you might think.”

The Recluse snorted, though his jam grew warmer. “My heart has long been jaded.” He gave the cookie a sideways glance. “Did someone slip you some berry juice, kid?”

“Haha!” Pavlova Cookie twisted his mouth. “Why does everyone always say stuff like that?”

“I wonder why,” the Recluse deadpanned.

“Truly, a curious question,” Pavlova Cookie agreed as he fidgeted with the bands on his wrists, his eyebrows pinched together delicately.

The Recluse rolled his eyes. “Listen, kid. You’re clearly on something, so I feel sort of bad if I kick you out right now. I’m giving you a chance to haul your high ass out of here yourself, before I do.”

Pavlova laughed. “Ah, my mistress told me you might react this way.”

“Mistress?” the Recluse asked, growing only more concerned, but Pavlova ignored him.

“You’re clearly in a state of denial about your feelings,” Pavlova continued. The Recluse stammered, much too baffled for words. “So I’ve come to assist you, to help you see your love’s truest desires!”

“Do you want to know what I desire the most right now?”

Pavlova’s wings trembled with excitement. “A thrilling romance?”

“For you to get your ass out of here.”

“Hey!” Pavlova Cookie puffed out his cheeks, his face turning red with anger. “You’re starting to peeve me off with your disrespectfulness!”

“Oh no, that sounds terrible,” said the Recluse without an ounce of emotion in his voice.

“That’s it!” Pavlova grabbed an arrow and took aim. “I have had enough!”

The Recluse was going to make another sarcastic comment, but then Pavlova Cookie released the arrow, letting it fly straight into the Recluse’s heart.

༺♡༻

Some of the Sage’s most profound and contemplating thoughts happened when he was in a bathtub, and yes, that was depressing.

The Sage was covered in soapy bubbles up to his chin and he was staring into the murky water, wondering if the fact that he liked drinking milk made him a cannibal when a knock on the door interrupted his train of thought.

“Who is it?” the Sage asked, still distracted.

“It’s me, Blueberry Milk.” Sweetest Sugar’s silky voice was muffled by the wooden door between them. “There’s…someone here for you.”

“If it’s a student, ask them to leave.” The Sage closed his eyes and sank deeper into the warm water of the tub. “I don’t understand why the fact that I am absent for a reason doesn’t seem to wrap around their minds.”

The Sage might be a little sour about his students visiting/harassing him when he wasn’t teaching or outside of school hours.

“It’s not a student.” Sweetest Sugar let out a little nervous laugh. “It’s the Recluse.”

The Sage’s eyes instantly snapped open. “The Recluse is here?” He tried not to sound too excited.

Sweetest Sugar laughed again, this time more teasing. “Yes, he is.”

“Why?” asked the Sage as he was already getting out of the bath and slipping into his fluffy bathrobe. He frowned to himself as he tied off the belt with a flourish.

“Does it matter?” Sweetest Sugar said, a little too quickly. She added, “Besides, weren’t you complaining about him not visiting you?”

“I was drunk on the berry juice you brought,” the Sage said dryly as he attempted and failed to coax his hair into a braid.

Sweetest Sugar hummed to herself. “Some say that people are most truthful when they are inhibited. You of all people should know, Sage of Truth.”

The Sage chose to remain silent, pushing open the door. “Where is he?” he asked as he followed Sweetest Sugar down the hall.

“You’ll see,” she said primly, readjusting the diadem on which her soul jam rested, just above her brow.

The Sage knew immediately that something was wrong when he saw the Recluse. He was standing in the doorway, mismatched eyes of blue and yellow downcast as Pavlova Cookie, Sweetest Sugar’s companion and helper, chattered in his ear, his little cream wings flapping.

The Recluse detested the company of others, which the Sage knew quite well. He would’ve expected the Recluse to push away Pavlova by now, or worse. So why didn’t he?

“Recluse?” the Sage asked tentatively, daring to take a step closer.

The Recluse lifted his head, meeting the Sage’s gaze, and the air suddenly shifted.

The Recluse’s eyes bore into the Sage’s, burning with such intensity that no one had used before when looking at the Sage. The Sage felt everything else fade away, and he swallowed hard, feeling bile rise up to his throat.

Dimly, the Sage recognized this look.

He’d seen it before once in the Faerie Kingdom, and in the Garden of Sweet Delights as well.

Without breaking eye contact, the Sage whispered. “Sugar, what have you done?” He didn’t even try to hide his horror.

“I didn’t do anything,” said Sweetest Sugar immediately, defensively. “All I told Pavlova was to pay your friend a visit.”

The Sage finally broke away, scowling. He could still feel the heat of the Recluse’s gaze as it trailed after his movements. “And was putting him under a love spell part of this designated visit?”

“I swear, I didn’t tell Pavlova to do that.” Sweetest Sugar placed a hand over her heart, and the Sage recognized the truth of her words glimmering in her eyes.

“Yeah, I did it out of my own violation!” Pavlova flew closer to the Sage, crossing his tiny arms. “And I’d do it again, he deserves it!”

“Deserves it?” whispered the Sage, clenching his fists at his sides until his knuckles turned white.

Pavlova was oblivious. “He does! He insulted love and romance at its core.”

A flash of anger blurred the Sage’s vision. It was Sweetest Sugar’s high pitched shriek that snapped him out of his stupor as he blinked.

One of his hands pinned the small cookie against the wall and the other was reeled back, ready to land a blow.

The Sage immediately released Pavlova and turned around. “Release him,” he said, studying the ground.

The floor looked ever so interesting, suddenly.

A hand touched the Sage’s shoulder, gently. “My bluebird.”

The Sage allowed his eyes to flutter close. The Recluse’s voice felt…softer.

It wasn’t real.

“Release him,” he told Pavlova again.

The Recluse’s grip tightened. “My bluebird,” he said again, more desperate.

The Sage’s will crumbled. He turned, tears burning the corners of his eyes. “Recluse,” he gasped, holding the other’s hands. “Not like this.”

“Not…like this?” The Sage couldn’t look at the Recluse’s creased brows and besotted expression any longer.

He ran off as soon as he heard the whoosh of Pavlova’s arrow.

The Sage buried himself in his room, dissolving into sobs into his pillow.

After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open and Sweetest Sugar crept in.

“Blue?”

“What is it?” the Sage sniffled.

“The Recluse is back to normal, now. Do you want me to let him in?”

“No.” The Sage wiped his wet face with the back of his sleeve. “I want…to be alone.”

If Sweetest Sugar found his dramatics annoying, she didn’t say anything. “...Okay.” As she moved to close the door, she said, softly.

“I’m sorry, Sage.”

“Not your fault,” murmured the Sage, but the door had already been slammed shut.

The Sage looked around the empty room, now full of darkness.

He walked over to the window and threw open the curtains, allowing light to flood in.

Just below the balcony, he could see the Recluse making his way back to his Spire. He turned, as if sensing the Sage.

He made a half smile, half grimace at the Sage, something from before twinkling in his eyes as he waved.

The Sage’s soul jam grew warm as he tentatively waved back.

Maybe, the Sage hadn’t truly lost his alley rose.

Maybe, this wasn’t the end of one chapter, but the start of another.

The thought both filled the Sage with terror and excitement.

“Goodbye for now, my alley rose,” he whispered, watching as the Recluse’s triangular hat bobbed with his movement of progression down the path. The Sage couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.

༺♡༻

Even though the Recluse was extremely frustrated with Pavlova Cookie, he couldn’t deny that the experience was…well, an experience.

He had learned something about himself that day, a softness he thought long gone, alongside his past self, cast into the depths of nothingness.

Many revelations had come to light, most of which the Recluse didn’t feel like understanding just yet.

For now, he retreated back into his Spire, waiting for his bluebird to show up once more, filling his ears with its lovely song.

Chapter Text

In his youth, back when he was still known as Pure Vanilla Cookie, the Truthless Recluse would often become flustered easily. Behind his back, his best friends used to laugh, and nickname him the Bolter. It had become an inside joke between them.

Now, his life held no room for no more friends, no more jokes, no more smiles, but that shyness had stubbornly persisted.

It had been a week or so, since the Recluse’s incident with Pavlova’s arrows and the Sage of Truth. Just thinking of the situation brought on a warm blush to his face, something he tried and failed to ignore as he idly went through his daily routines.

The experience wasn’t entirely unpleasant though, he had to admit.

There were, the Recluse noted, side effects lingering. Whenever he even thought about the Sage, a flutter of emotions would stir in his soul, awakening some buried aspect of himself he believed long gone.

He chalked it all up to mere side effects of the arrow, nothing more.

On this particular Sunday, these ramifications seemed stronger than before, pushing against his skull and whining, and the Recluse decided to pay the Sage a visit, to see how his acquaintance was faring.

The Sage hadn’t visited in a while, although that wasn’t quite out of character for him, especially since exam season was descending upon the students. Regardless, the Recluse felt uncomfortable by his increasingly long absence, so he chose to do something about it.

Standing awkwardly at the door to the Sage’s spire, the Recluse couldn’t help but falter. What if the air around them was still off? What if the Sage wasn’t actually busy, but avoiding him? Would the Recluse be able to handle such rejection? Was it even rejection, if there wasn’t really anything between them in the first place?

He hated Pavlova Cookie so much for pushing him over the ledge. The wretched self proclaimed cookie of love had opened a can of worms that had been sitting in between the Sage and the Recluse, a can they were both perfectly fine ignoring, subsequently destroying whatever fragile relationship the two had precariously built.

The Recluse left without even an attempt at any connection or contact.

A few weeks later, he returned.

The Recluse found himself in the same exact position from before, hesitating. His staff gave him a sideways glance, clearly annoyed. During the period of time spanning from last time to today, the Recluse kept on finding excuses to end up in Blueberry Village, claiming that “jelly berries were in season, and they couldn’t miss that!” or that “there was a book to be picked up at the library,” even though the Recluse didn’t even own a library card at this current point in time.

“Shut up,” whispered the Recluse to his staff. He was going to knock. He was going to meet with the Sage. For the first time in weeks, since the incident. His stomach churned. Maybe…

The door suddenly swung open, two cookies exiting as they bickered. The Recluse, momentarily surprised, quickly stepped out of their way, clutching his flower staff close to his chest.

“Hey!” One of the cookies, the shorter one with apples tied in her hair, pointed at the Recluse with her index finger. “Sapph, isn’t that the professor’s partner?”

A flush rose to the Recluse’s neck. “I’m not-”

Recognition flickered in the other cookie’s eyes as he flicked purple bangs out of his face to study the Recluse better. “It is!” He extended his hand towards the Recluse, who had curled up against the wall. “I’m Black Sapphire Cookie, the Sage’s student. This is my sister, Candy Apple Cookie.”

When the Recluse didn’t react, Black Sapphire returned his arm to his side, propping it onto his jutted out hip. “I brought you guys tea once, remember?”

The Recluse recalled, hazily. “Ah yes. The Sage had dumped so much sugar in his cup. I’m surprised he’s not a diabetic.”

Black Sapphire laughed well naturally. “He sure likes his sweets.”

Candy Apple tugged on her brother’s sleeve. “Sapph, we should go tell the professor that his friend is here!”

The Recluse bit his lower lip. “Oh! That won’t be necessary.”

“Don’t worry!” Black Sapphire grinned, revealing sharp teeth. “I’ll escort you to him, he’s in his archive.”

Candy Apple couldn’t help but pout. “He’s been in there for weeks,” she whined, kicking out her feet as she walked ahead, leaving the Recluse no choice but to follow her and her brother forward. “Weeks, I tell you!”

The Recluse couldn’t help but wonder if this had something to do with him. He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. It probably didn’t, he wasn’t that important in the Sage’s life, but was it possible that the Sage was…upset?

“You have to be quiet though, Candy Apple,” Black Sapphire was saying. “Remember last time?”

“The archivist appeared out of nowhere!” the child protested. “Besides, I only burnt off his eyebrows a little bit.”

The Rec;use couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at the siblings’ squabbles, covering his mouth with his palm when they glanced back at him.

Finally, after navigating through winding hallways, they reached said archive. Despite Black Sapphire’s earlier scoldings, Candy Apple threw open the doors with a whoop, then ran off behind some bookshelves.

Muttering under his breath, Black Sapphire pointed to the Recluse where he’d find the Sage and was off to find his troublesome sister.

The Recluse watched the cookie leave, muscles untensing once he was alone again, sighing as he turned to where Black Sapphire had directed him.

“I suppose there’s no more reason to put it off, eh?” he asked his staff. The staff, incapable of speech, remained silent. Drawing in another sigh, the Recluse forced on foot in front of the other as he made his way toward the Sage’s presumed location.

Turns out, Black Sapphire was right about where to find the Sage.

The Sage was snoring at a desk, face squished against papers set out, a thin line of drool connecting from his mouth to the wet surface. The Recluse watched the rise and fall of the Sage’s chest, observing as the other slept.

As if in a trance, the Recluse reached out and shook the Sage’s shoulder. The Sage woke with a start, gasping for air as he bolted upright, knocking off his hat and nearly hitting the Recluse.

“I’m not done grading the papers yet!” he exclaimed, then blinked, his eyes readjusting to the light in the room. “Urgh, is it morning already?”

“It has been for quite some time,” said the Recluse, not even trying to mask his amusement at this time.

The Sage’s eyes widened. “Recluse! Whe-how did you get here?”

“Your minions let me in,” explained the Recluse flatly.

The Sage bristled at the choice of wording. “They’re my students, not my minions.”

“Same shit,” the Recluse dismissed.

Narrowing his eyes, the Sage asked, “Think I’m wrong, Recluse? Very well, state your case. I’m always up for a debate, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

The Recluse knew what he was getting into, but he had to admit, he had missed the Sage, even the annoying aspects of the other’s personality, so just this once…

He sat down at a nearby chair, reclining back. “Lay it on me.”

The Sage leaned forward, eyes twinkling like a predator cornering prey. “The word ‘minion’ carries a condescending tone. It is generally considered a negative word, while ‘student’ has more of a neutral connotation.”

“Objection.” The Recluse lazily lifted a hand. “The connotation of the word ‘student’ depends on its context.”

Furrowing his brow, the Sage said, “Please, do elaborate.”

“Depending on the adjective used before the word, ‘student,’ the connotation may be altered,” the Recluse explained.

“Ha!” The Sage wore a triumphant expression on his face as he crossed his arms. “In this case, though, there were no adjectives present, implying that the word itself possesses a neutral connotation! I win!”

The Recluse was willing to debate this matter further, his stubbornness strong enough to keep fighting to the grave even when it was clearly a losing battle. But one look at the Sage’s face, that look of pure jubilant joy, stopped him in his tracks.

“You did,” admitted the Recluse begrudgingly, watching the Sage’s eyes sparkle with delight. He glanced at the papers on the table, their ink smudged by the Sage’s drool from earlier. “What are these?” he asked, changing the subject subtly.

If the Sage noticed, he didn’t show it. He waved the Recluse over closer and began talking. “Well, as I’ve mentioned, it’s nearly exam season.”

The Recluse nodded. He remembered the Sage telling him about this over tea nearly a month ago.

“In preparation for the exams, I’ve been having the students write an essay a day.”

“That’s a lot of essays,” the Recluse commented. “Are you planning on grading them all?”

“I am.” The Sage nodded to a separate pile. “Those are the ones I’ve finished.”

Curiosity piqued his interest, and so the Recluse reached out for one, scanning it and reading the Sage’s comments written in the margins. He wrinkled his nose. “Why’d you give them a ninety nine?”

The Sage curled his lip. “It wasn’t perfect.”

The Recluse resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Isn’t this simply practice? Curve it up to a hundred. Young cookies need confidence, or they’ll chicken out on the actual test and botch it.”

Humming, the Sage tilted his head to the side. “Do you know much about young cookies, Clusey?”

Clearing his throat, the Recluse moved onto another paper, this one reading seventy six. “Just grade it on completion.”

The Sage looked horrified by this preposition. “No! How will they ever learn what they did wrong?”

“When they take the exam and get a bad grade,” snorted the Recluse.

“And risk getting a failure on their permanent record?” The Sage paled. “In addition, it won’t fare well for me, as their teacher, to not properly guide them to success.”

“Is that what this is? Paranoia on how others will perceive you?”

“No,” hesitated the Sage, fidgeting with his sleeves. “I-I just want to be helpful, as best as I can possibly be.” He smiled warmly, poking at the Recluse face.

Swatting his hand away, the Recluse scowled. “Of course you do.”

Tilting his head to the side, the Sage asked, “Is that a bad thing?”

The Recluse met his gaze. Mismatched eyes, nearly twins to his own, only the Sage’s sparkled and shone while the Recluse’s were darkened by shadows and despair.

“I don’t know,” croaked out the Recluse.

The Sage shrugged his shoulders, giggling to himself. “I can always find an answer. Even if it means no answer.”

Considering this, the Recluse inquired, “But doesn’t that mean I’ll have to hang around, then?”

For the first time in a while, the Sage was caught off guard. “What.”

The Recluse shifted, fighting to keep his demeanor nonchalant, perhaps even a little bit bored. “Well, how else are you going to answer my question, hmm? If I’m not here, that is.”

“Recluse.” Sage’s eyes lit up with the intensity of a thousand fireflies. “Are you proposing you stay at my Spire of Knowledge?”

“Yes.” The Recluse lifted his head. “My spire has gotten disorderly, and yours has a bunch of empty space…” his voice trailed off.

With a squeak, the Sage jumped up out of his chair and practically pounced onto the Recluse, trapping him in an extremely tight hug.

“My ribs!” gasped the Recluse, wringling.

“Apologies!” squealed the Sage, loosening his deathly grip, shifting his arms around the Recluse’s waist to something much more comfortable.

And so, the Recluse had moved in with the Sage. The Sage had given him a room across the hall from his own sleeping quarters, clearly anxious about ensuring it was to the Recluse’s liking. Annoyed, the Recluse simply waved his staff, transforming the room into a near exact copy of his own back at the Spire of Deceit, eliciting the Sage’s constant prodding of questions about how the spell worked.

The rest of the day was spent with the Recluse teaching the Sage, the professor surprisingly a good student, asking all the right sorts of questions that prompted both of them to think really hard.

After the Sage bid the Recluse good night and the Recluse was tucked into his bed, he stared at the ceiling, his vision blurry and unfocused.

Today was…a good day.

The Truthless Recluse supposed he owed Pavlova Cookie, for how the situation had turned out.

Not that he’d ever admit that aloud to anyone, or even to himself, of course.