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Pure Vanilla never forgot just how beautiful the sun was.
It was the magic star that all cultures worshipped since the beginning of time. Without it, plants would not grow, daylight would not exist, and all the world would live in an eternal dark night.
At times, its generous rays were overbearing and oppressive—too bright, too much for even him.
But in Pure Vanilla’s garden, the sunlight always seemed a little gentler. It filtered through leaves and settled in soft gold patches across the grass. It was as if the sun saved its kindness for the delicate blooms of his garden.
Pure Vanilla sat cross-legged among the blossoms, a small pile of freshly picked forget-me-nots already in his lap. Shadow Milk lounged mid-air nearby, doing a poor job of pretending he wasn’t watching him with quiet fascination.
The Ancient handled the stems with tenderness, bending and wrapping each of them with slow and methodical hands. Every wrap had to be perfect—precise. He was crafting with a purpose, after all.
Once he had finished the first half of the crown—the same width as a tiara—his eyes wandered the garden as he took a short break. His gaze drifted, inevitably, Shadow Milk, still staring, yet the Beast tried to avert his eyes as soon as they exchanged glances.
“You’re staring,” Pure Vanilla acknowledged, voice light as his hands still held firmly onto the crown, but rested in his lap. He straightened his back, rectifying his previous slouched posture.
Shadow Milk huffed, clutching his arms tight to his chest. “I’m... observing.”
“Observing,” Pure Vanilla echoed, smiling as a playful tint colored his words. “And what have you learned from your very serious observations?”
“That you’re terrible at hiding when you’re proud of something. That stupid smile hasn’t left your face since you started that crown,” Shadow Milk muttered, kicking one leg over another and placing his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes, turning his head the other way.
Pure Vanilla held up the half-finished flower crown. “I’m proud because it’s for you.”
That made the Beast open one of his eyes. He spared it a glance—one that lasted several seconds—and crossed his arms again. He looked back at the Ancient. “You didn’t have to make me one,” he said quietly, trying to feign annoyance—but only sounding oddly sentimental.
“I wanted to.” Pure Vanilla picked up another forget-me-not, resuming his work. “You deserve beautiful things,” he added, wrapping another stem taut.
Shadow Milk didn’t respond. Instead, he went back to staring at Pure Vanilla now that the Ancient finally had his eyes off him.
The sun seemed to breathe as its light on the garden grew soft, almost harsh, and then soft again with the passage of the clouds in the sky. It highlighted the other flowers in the garden, directing its gaze to the daisies, the pansies, and finally, when Pure Vanilla’s eyes flickered away from his crown, the pink lilies.
His hands stilled for just a moment, a pause that could’ve indicated either a simple halt in his work or something more meaningful.
Pure Vanilla glanced up at Shadow Milk, then back down at the flowers. “There’s something calming about creating something so intricate with your own hands,” he said softly, wrapping another stem. “I have some pink lilies quite close to me if you’d like to join. They’d be wonderful for a crown.”
“Are you expecting free labor out of me? I’m not quite your type.” Shadow Milk bit back, his usual demeanor making an appearance; surprisingly, it was the first time it came with such brutality the entire time they’d been out here.
“Nothing of the sort,” Pure Vanilla responded, letting the almost finished crown sit on his flat hands to test its stability. “I just want to share the serenity. It’s a lovely morning, and I wouldn’t want to keep this all to myself.”
“Not the selfish type? Shame.”
“Mm.” The Ancient picked up another forget-me-not. “I simply thought it would be nice to make something together. But if you’d rather just sit with me, that’s enough too.”
A beat of silence was quickly followed by a scoff. “I guess. Since you’re oh-so adamant.” Shadow Milk began his short trip to the Ancient, flipping over from his back to dangling his limbs as he traveled through the air. He didn’t bother to sit upright when he reached him, opting to lay on his belly in the grass.
He looked up at Pure Vanilla with expectance, tilting his head. “What flower did you say it was?”
“Pink lilies.” Pure Vanilla’s hand left the stem for barely a moment to point at the gathering of blooms. “Their stems are quite long, and the actual span of their petals is quite big, so you won’t need nearly as many as I did.”
“Hmm,” Shadow Milk hummed, pinching the base of the stems with his nails before plucking a few of them out of the ground. Out of the decently large handful he had gathered, he crossed two stems and tied them into a knot.
As the Beast picked up another stem to wrap around his newly forming crown, Pure Vanilla couldn’t help but watch his technique. It was almost identical to his—knot, and wrap, wrap, wrap. His hold on their stems was so strongly reminiscent of his own he couldn’t help but feel a bit flattered.
“You’re good at that,” he breathed, his eyes glued to Shadow Milk’s work.
The Beast half-shrugged. “This isn’t that difficult. Hard to not be good at it.”
Pure Vanilla kept silent as he finished his crown. After wrapping up a few more stems, he held it up. Normally, he’d fit it to his own head, but that wasn’t his exact intention today. After taking a few glances from the circumference of the crown and Shadow Milk’s head, he decided that he made a pretty accurate guess. He plucked a blade of grass from the ground and tied it around the ends.
In the meantime, he patiently waited for Shadow Milk to finish his crown.
The Beast eventually finished his crown with a final, decisive tie of a grass blade. He held it close to his eyes, inspecting it with a critical squint, then abruptly pulled it away as if the act of caring too much might betray him.
The Ancient noticed the moment he stilled. “Are you finished?” he asked softly.
Shadow Milk grunted in affirmation and sat up just enough to extend the crown towards him—not ceremoniously, not shyly, just... offering. His gaze stayed fixed on the grass.
“Take it,” he said, the words clipped, as if they might burn if he held onto them too long.
Pure Vanilla accepted it with his free hand, his smile warm and sincere. “Thank you,” he mused, and the earnestness in his voice made Shadow Milk’s hands twitch.
Before the Beast could retreat back into the safety of sarcasm, Pure Vanilla took the crown he had made into both of his hands. He shifted closer, his movements slow enough to give Shadow Milk every chance to pull away.
He didn’t. Just a tiny tremble of his fists.
Pure Vanilla lifted his crown and gently settled it atop Shadow Milk’s head, adjusting it with careful fingers, so it sat just right. The Beast froze—not uncomfortably tense, just still.
“There,” Pure Vanilla mumbled, his voice threaded with admiration. “Perfect.”
Shadow Milk swallowed, turning his head away. “You’re dramatic,” he muttered, but the words lacked their usual bite.
Pure Vanilla only smiled and hummed pleasantly as he placed the crown from Shadow Milk onto his own head, as naturally as breathing.
The garden fell into a peaceful hush, sunlight warming the crowns they wore as the two of them sat together in quiet contentment.