Chapter Text
Pure Vanilla held his head in his hands. Part of him knew he had to get out of there. Go back out to their room. Part of him needed…
Just another minute.
His hands were shaky as he squeezed his eyes shut and forced healing magic through his dough. It stung, as it always did, but it was a necessary pain.
A grounding pain.
He opened his eyes just enough to make sure the magic had done its job. Golden swirls of light closed the thin, shallow, open wounds on his arms, evaporating the jam that had beaded on the surface.
He never cut deep enough to scar.
Only enough to hurt — no, not hurt, he’d never hurt himself. That was such a ridiculous notion. Hurting himself.
No, he only cut enough to…
To feel.
Yes!
That’s right.
To feel.
He couldn’t even remember what had caused him to spiral out of his mind. He only remembered coming out of his haze in the bathroom with the razor already being flushed down the toilet.
That’s how he hid it so well. From The Fount, from his friends, from anyone. Pure Vanilla would find a razor, twist and bend it until the blades finally snapped free (and if he broke some skin doing it, well, that was the goal, was it not?), find some alone time, force magic to heal him, and flush the blade down the toilet like it had never even existed.
It hadn’t always been like this.
Sure, Pure Vanilla had scars, but those were from his days as a hero. Fighting, training, learning, he never used his spells for himself. He saved all of it for his friends, they always needed it more anyways.
But these?
This little…habit…hadn’t started until after he accepted The Light of Truth.
Half of the Light of Knowledge, The Light of Truth had gifted Pure Vanilla with many things.
An elongated life.
He did not need to meet basic needs as often.
He could withstand more moisture than the average cookie.
He could determine the truth in anything if he focused on it just right.
His vision had worsened, but his other senses had been heightened, so he didn’t really need it. He’d learned to live without his vision before, when it first started to go in his youth, so the change hadn’t bothered him.
And, he had learned the truth.
The horrible truth.
Ever since he’d learned the truth he’d suspected its role in the original downfall of The Virtues.
But that wasn’t all…
Because of the changes to his physiology, he sometimes did not feel…like himself.
Sometimes it felt as if someone else was at the wheel and Pure Vanilla was just along for the ride.
Thus, his little habit had formed.
Pure Vanilla inhaled sharply and brushed his hair out of his face. He put on a smile and exited the bathroom.
The Fount was still lounged in bed, stretched out like a content cat in a sun beam. He was on his stomach with his arms buried under his pillow, the blanket must’ve gotten thrown off him when Pure Vanilla had gotten up because it was down around his waist.
Pure Vanilla’s forced smile melted into something real and he brought the blanket up around The Fount’s shoulders. He walked around to his side of the bed and crawled back under the covers.
The Fount, as if sensing (probably actually sensing) his return, turned and pulled Pure Vanilla into his arms. Pure Vanilla inhaled deeply and snuggled back up to him.
It was still early enough he could afford to go back to sleep for a little while. And thankfully, his sleep was restful.
Later, he woke up to The Fount peppering kisses to his face. He wrinkled his face up and smiled. “G’m’rnin’.” He mumbled between kisses.
“Good morning, my little cookie.” The Fount looked at him, a cross between pleased and mischievous, “or should I say, good afternoon?”
Pure Vanilla’s eyes shot open and he sat up, “Afternoon?” Sure enough, the light he could feel from the window had shifted from its morning angle and was now in its afternoon position.
The Fount stretched as he sat up, “You just looked so adorable laying there,” He nuzzled Pure Vanilla, who stayed frozen upright, “That I told Sapphire to tell the village we’d be out later.”
Pure Vanilla sighed. He couldn’t be mad at The Fount, especially not when he was, evidently, in a cuddly mood. “You could have woken me,” He nuzzled The Fount back.
The Fount pulled Pure Vanilla back down, petting him and peppering him with kisses. Pure Vanilla giggled, his dough feeling warm and tingly. The Fount brought one of Pure Vanilla’s hands up to his lips and kissed his knuckles.
Another giggle escaped Pure Vanilla, “My my, how chivalrous, My Fount.” He kissed him softly and hummed tiredly, “But now that I am awake, we should get to work.”
“I think I’d rather stay and have a chat about why you’ve been flushing razors down the toilet.” The Fount’s words settled like frost on his dough.
Pure Vanilla tensed up, his mind completely blank.
“Every other week. Which you started up eight months after you arrived here.” The Fount added when he didn’t respond.
Heat burned his dough, “You weren’t supposed to find out.” Pure Vanilla’s voice came out as a broken whisper. “How did you —?”
“The Spire is an extension of me,” The Fount didn’t sound mad, he didn’t even sound upset, “I suspected it the first time.”
He sounded…flat.
Neutral.
Almost indifferent.
“Then…surely there is nothing to talk about —,” Pure Vanilla began to push the covers off of him so he could get up, but The Fount wrapped his arms tightly around Pure Vanilla’s midriff and squeezed him.
“Little cookie,” The Fount stared at him, “You will explain yourself to me, or I will tie you to this bed and never let you leave.”
Not exactly a threat.
As if realizing his threat hadn’t landed, The Fount cleared his throat and said instead, “I will tie you to a bed and never let you leave.”
Ah.
Now that was different.
Pure Vanilla frowned, “Well that’s not fair…I’d be alone?”
“Pure Vanilla.” The Fount sounded exhausted, “Why are you cutting yourself?”
Ah, so no beating around the bush…
Pure Vanilla stared at The Fount’s chest, finger gently rubbing the bruised edge of one of the chain scars. “I don’t know.” He breathed out.
“For someone holding my Light of Truth,” The Fount forced Pure Vanilla to look up at him, “You seem to lie to me an awful lot.” Now he was starting to sound angry. It was only simmering right now, but Pure Vanilla needed to do something to calm him down before it got worse.
Pure Vanilla opened and closed his mouth hopelessly, “I - I don’t —,”
The Fount’s claws dug into his back, “Must I cut off your own hands to ensure you cannot hurt yourself? Shall I turn you into a doll so you cannot move without me holding you?” Now he sounded scared.
Pure Vanilla wasn’t sure which was worse.
“Is it this place?” The Fount’s eyes shimmered, “Is it me? Our home? Our people?”
Pure Vanilla began to shake his head, “N-no, my Fount! No, nothing of the sort!”
“Then, what, little cookie?!” The Fount pleaded. “Are you ill? Why do you hurt yourself?”
Pure Vanilla took a shaky breath, his vision blurred until he only saw the color of The Fount in front of him. Hot tears clung to his eyelashes, threatening to fall. He was worried if he told The Fount the truth, he’d still find some way to blame himself.
After all, it was his Light of Truth he carried.
Had he remained a mortal king, he might not have ever felt the need to harm himself — feel something…not harm, feel.
Important distinction.
But it was not The Fount’s fault. If anything, it was Pure Vanilla’s fault. He was the one who’d accepted it, he knew the risks and he accepted it anyways.
“I,” Pure Vanilla blinked and curled into himself, “I can’t tell you…”
“You…” The Fount blinked in disbelief, “You can’t…tell me..?”
Pure Vanilla nodded.
For a moment, it looked like The Fount was going to cry. Then he blinked a few times, and sat up.
“M-My Fount?” Pure Vanilla sat up.
The Fount got out of bed and brushed his hair out with his hands. As he did, his robes shimmered over his dough, clothing him for the day.
“Are we going to work?” Pure Vanilla asked, turning to get out of bed as well.
“I am going elsewhere first.” The Fount said, his voice once again flat. He hovered to the door.
“Wait! I can get ready!” Pure Vanilla quickly got to his feet and crossed over to the dresser.
The Fount sighed behind him, “Pure Vanilla?”
Pure Vanilla turned in the direction of his voice, the tears that had stubbornly clung to his lashes finally broke free.
The Fount looked at him, trying to mask his face of sadness, “I think it is time for a lesson.”
Pure Vanilla let go of the dresser handles, “Sir?”
“Until you are honest with me…I will stay elsewhere in the Spire.”
It would have been better if he’d just stabbed Pure Vanilla.
He dropped the robe he’d picked up and ran across the room, “M-My Fount? Wh-what do you mean?” He grabbed The Fount’s arm.
The Fount quickly, easily, and painlessly detangled his hands from his robe, “I mean, I will not stay in this bedroom —," He closed his mouth, then started again, "I will not stay with you so long as you are purposefully deceiving me.”