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He can hear only two things: his soft, deep breaths as he lulls between consciousness and the wonders of dreams, and the clicking tick of the clock across the bedroom.
The couch cradling his exhausted body is cold. The plushness of the fabric’s comforting, sure, but his body heat makes no effort to warm the cushion beneath him. The only thing keeping him from shivering was the plush blanket tossed on top of him mere hours ago.
Shadow Milk is no stranger to feelings like this. Exhaustion. The cold reality of where he currently lays.
This was not his sofa. It never was. The room is nothing like he’d have ever chosen, what with the doors wide open, letting in the breeze from the night. Every sensation is overwhelming — the scent of vanilla and the faintest traces of lilies filling his nostrils.
Those two things he knows for certain make his blood boil. His brows furrow, and his body tenses.
No, this was Pure Vanilla’s quarters. A location he’d introduced to him months prior when Shadow Milk first arrived. That the former king offered time and time again to visit, but the jester found himself avoiding constantly. This was not his place. He didn’t belong here, and he never would.
That was how it was supposed to go. How it was supposed to be.
Whatever Pure Vanilla may have thought about the two of them, inviting him into his kingdom after everything he’d done to him, was and continues to be foolish. They’d been allies, much like the rest of the Beasts and the Ancients were when Dark Enchantress Cookie had turned on the five of them, but now things were different.
The saying went as such, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’
Shadow Milk knows it not to be literal. The saying was fluffed to make the actual alliances aspect of it all more… digestible. Naturally, however, this was something Pure Vanilla Cookie seemed to take to heart. With his flowery views on the world, optimistic despite all he knew now to be the ugly truth.
Shadow Milk knows a part of him still loathes Pure Vanilla. Even if things were, in some ways, different now. Even if in some ways he considers his companion to be more of… a friend.
But he’s certain that deep down, Pure Vanilla, too, truly feels the same way.
That, though, is a truth that’s far too ugly for the cookie to manage, it seems.
The jester flips over on the sofa. There’s been nowhere to go. Tonight in particular, Pure Vanilla had dragged him up to his section of the tower’s wing, insisting they share a cup of tea by the open window.
What a fool Shadow Milk had been to accept the offer. He’d sunk into the sofa shortly after, and allowed his heavy eyelids to win the battle he so desperately fought against. The room Pure Vanilla had for him was different. It was more like his former home, one long lost after their initial… spar…..
Now he was unmoving, staring at the window still open. The cream sheer curtains flow about in the gentle song of the night, nearly dancing in sync with the ticking grandfather clock.
He grumbles. Would it be better to drag his tired, aching limbs to his own bed? To leave the comfort of the blanket laid so cautiously above him? Pure Vanilla had to have left it there, though he gusses he had long fallen asleep when that had happened.
Shadow Milk sits up, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. Despite the pungent smell of vanilla, he finds it to be quite comfortable against his dough.
He hadn’t bothered to change out of his typical jester-like attire before falling asleep. So he fixes that with the snap of his fingers; he might as well be comfortable while hatching a plan. In a flash his body suit is replaced with a vivid night tunic and pants, matching in pattern.
Shadow Milk moves to stand, deciding he does have the energy after all to go to his own quarters. His feet touch the cool wooden floor, which makes him shiver. Bumps raise on his arms as he glares over at the form that is Pure Vanilla Cookie, snuggling in the comfort of his own bed.
Except–
He means to look away, but in the split moment his eyes focus on the former king’s face. Its contorsion, eyebrows creasing down and mouth skewing a frown. Not one Shadow Milk has ever seen in Pure Vanilla’s range of expressions.
If anything he considers how the expression was more akin to that of Truthless Recluse. Involuntarily, Shadow Milk shivers again.
The other cookie whimpers.
He continues standing there, unmoving as Pure Vanilla’s terrors continue. Shadow Milk’s brain screams to simply run out the door, to leave him be and let it play out… but this time, despite everything–
Shadow Milk’s feet shuffle forward, moving until he’s looming over Pure Vanilla. His mind continues to scream. Begging him to run away.
The whimpers become more coherent.
“Please… leave them alone, leave them alone–”
Leave who alone? His curiosity spikes as he raises a hand to settle over Pure Vanilla’s shaking form. It freezes, though, as he watches the nightmare continue.
“Don’t take me back there.”
“Don’t make me see that again.”
“It’s not me.”
“IT’S NOT ME!”
Shadow Milk’s hand quickly retracts. With a jolt, Pure Vanilla startles awake, shooting up. Tears stream down the sides of his face as Shadow Milk blinks at him. His head turns, body still quivering.
“S-Shadow Milk…” The words shake as they leave his tongue. Shadow Milk isn’t given a chance to respond before Pure Vanilla pulls him into the bed in an embrace, sobbing into his shoulder. “Please– please, don’t go. Don’t leave. Please…” His throat bobs, choking for a moment before sinking back into his rhythm.
“By the Witches, what on Earthbread were you dreaming about?” Shadow Milk mumbles out. Pure Vanilla’s response is the heaving of his chest worsening, sobs echoing louder against the walls of the chamber.
The dampness soaks through Shadow Milk’s sleeves, but he doesn’t move. He can’t move. His body is paralyzed in place.
Comfort like this is a stranger to Shadow Milk. No cookie has clung to him like this before, at least not with the good intentions Pure Vanilla more than likely has. The tears of cookies before him were familiar, but always against him. Always spilling before turning away from him and proclaiming he was wrong. That he was a monster. That he was lying, even when all that left his mouth was the truth.
But this time, as far as he can tell, nothing he says results in this. This cascade is not one he himself is the source of.
He tightens his arms around Pure Vanilla, trying to recall all the times the healer has done the same for him. Circles. Shadow Milk’s hands trace shapes along his spine, attempting to ground the cookie clinging to him.
“You’re… you’re safe here, Nills,” Shadow Milk mutters into his ear, “I’ve got you. It’s– it’ll be okay.” The words ring back to him in his own mind in the soft, gentle voice of Pure Vanilla. He can channel him well enough, he supposes. It’s… not the hardest role he has played.
“Shadow Milk…” Pure Vanilla’s hand finds his cheek, tracing his facial features with his hands, “You’re here…” Ah. He must’ve felt him to make sure this was… real.
“‘Course I am, you thought that tea you made wouldn’t knock me out? Tsk tsk,” Pure Vanilla laughs at this, sniffling still. Shadow Milk takes his hand away from the other cookie’s back and places it atop the other, “I’m… I’m here. Is that why you–”
“I’m sorry…” Pure Vanilla whispers, his cries finally slowing.
“Well, I guess it’s fine you coaxed me with that so you could cuddle with me in your bed,” Shadow Milk rolls his eyes, “While I think a lot of your personal aesthetic choices are… questionable, I do find your comfort choices to be very adequate. But– surely you didn’t know.”
“N-no, you see… it’s…” Pure Vanilla sits up, wiping his face with his hand. “It’s been happening for… a few months now.”
“The same nightmare?” Intuition has won, as Pure Vanilla nods in agreement.
“I just… I thought it would be easier.” He stares into his lap, “If I could see you.”
“I’m not that great.” Shadow Milk chuckles, jabbing his (reluctantly made) friend’s side.
“No– no, Shadow Milk, it’s you you. You’re real, not like you in-” He cuts himself short, lifting a hand to his mouth, “Goodness, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please, I didn’t say anything…” Pure Vanilla’s palms find his face as he leans forward, planting himself in a hunch.
It clicks then, as Shadow Milk watches Pure Vanilla’s body shake.
Oh. That’s why.
His mouth opens. Then closes.
His chest is too tight to form any sort of coherent response. He’s stuck.
“Please… say something. I-I didn’t mean to say that…” Pure Vanilla begs him as he buries his head into Shadow Milk’s chest.
What can he say? That this was okay? That this was–
No. This isn’t the first time such shame overwhelms him, but not quite like this. Usually this was different, with Shadow Milk heaving in Pure Vanilla’s embrace. Shouting over and over again how much he doesn’t deserve his kindness and forgiveness.
Pure Vanilla is a Saint. The words come easy for him.
But Shadow Milk isn’t him. And he wishes now more than ever that he was.
The words come to the front of his mind, lacing his throat. I’m sorry.
But could it be that simple? To muster words like that like it had been him simply telling him he was foolish?
He’s done so much. Too much. Unforgivable things that in the depths of his shame and guilt he knows he will never truly atone for.
He cradles the cookie’s head with his hands, rocking gently. He reaches again for assurances he knows from Pure Vanilla, but they too are stopped by the remorse in the pit of his stomach.
Before it was stubborn pride, a disassociation from all he’s done that prevents it. Now it’s the feeling. Bile threatening to rise, a thrum in Shadow Milk’s chest as he recalls every foul phrase he’s said to the cookie bestowing himself in his very arms. Every threat, every bit of abuse to him and to his friends.
Sorry would never be enough.
His logic dictates that. There’s nothing he can do to convince himself of anything else.
Pure Vanilla is too good for him. He knows so. Any cookie would agree, even if they thought he’s changed.
It comes to him then, and his lips finally move.
“You… you’re too good to me, you know?” Shadow Milk brushes a hand through Pure Vanilla’s hair. The jester usually braids it before he goes to bed, but tonight is different. Tonight is painfully different. “You’re one of the kindest, most patient cookies I’ve met. No, scratch that, you are the most patient cookie I’ve met.” He mumbles, pressing his face into Pure Vanilla’s head and breathing in.
The scent of lavender fills his nostrils. No wonder he sleeps so well. It must be his shampoo.
Pure Vanilla clutches Shadow Milk tighter, the sound of choking sobs returning.
“I’m… I’m sorry you see me that way. It’s not enough, sorry will never be enough…”
“I-It’s not you, Shadow Milk.”
“It was me. Don’t spare my feelings, Nilla.” Shadow Milk sighs, rubbing his back again. “I don’t know why you keep trying to make me… better. Witches, the fact it’s worked at all is sickening. But if the least I can do to repay that after all I did to you is sit here… if this is helping… I’ll take it. It’s a reminder. A… a good one, I think.”
“But you deserve to move on…” Pure Vanilla mumbles into his shirt.
“No– unless you move on, I’m not letting you let me forget. I won’t let you suffer alone.” Shadow Milk clutches Pure Vanilla’s back tighter.
But Pure Vanilla pulls away, head turning up to Shadow Milk. His face is blotchy and red now, puff and damp from crying. He sniffles, “... I hope you know… how much you’ve changed.”
“I suppose that’s a good thing?” Shadow Milk feels discomfort creep upon him. It’s easier… comforting when he can’t directly see him. But now…
He glances away as Pure Vanilla places his hands onto his shoulders.
“Could you stay here tonight?”
Shadow Milk turns back around. He notices the bittersweet smile now. Pure Vanilla was… happy?
The idea of sleeping in the bed is nauseating. Pure Vanilla’s room was far from the comfort of his own.
But…
“Maybe just for tonight,” He finds his hand lifting to cup Pure Vanilla’s cheek, brushing away at his tears with his thumb. It shocks both of them, as Pure Vanilla’s eyes widen in the dark.
Shadow Milk finds it isn’t unwelcome, though, as Pure Vanilla melts into the touch.
A quickening in his heart as they sit like that for a few moments more.
Pure Vanilla’s smile fades when Shadow Milk removes his hand. He looks down at his lap, as if contemplating.
His mouth hesitantly opens. Then closes again.
Shadow Milk raises an eyebrow. What was he trying to say?
But before he can ask, Pure Vanilla is already moving to lie back down. He tugs at the covers beneath Shadow Milk, attempting to pull them back. He shifts, allowing for the healer to create space for him within the comforter.
It’s warm beside Pure Vanilla. They’ve never been close like this, not in Pure Vanilla’s bed at least. They both settle, continuing to stare in each other’s faces.
“Goodnight, Shami…” The nickname takes Shadow Milk aback. Though, he finds it not unwelcome. He thinks to react, but by the time he can think of an affectionate nickname in response, he realizes there’s a soft snoring coming from the form in front of him.
Pure Vanilla has already fallen asleep.
…
In a move Shadow Milk hardly registers within his sleepy haze, he shifts closer, wrapping an arm around Pure Vanilla and brushing his lips to the star on his forehead.
It’s not long after he, too, is asleep.
And despite what he had thought, it was far from the last night he would share a bed with the cookie beside him. Despite his personal grudges, his personal annoyances, he realizes that night just what is happening.
That things really are different.
That maybe he does want to stay in this cookie’s arms. Holding each other.
Maybe forever.
…
His words turn out to be false. For it’s the first of many nights Shadow Milk sleeps beside Pure Vanilla.