Chapter Text
Perhaps they were never meant to be. But isn’t it more exciting to believe it could end happily?
The thought lingered like dust in the air—unsettled, unseen, but always there if you looked close enough.
The spire was quiet.
Too quiet.
It wasn’t the comforting silence of a peaceful place, nor the solemn quiet of a sacred hall. It was hollow. Empty in a way that seemed to swallow sound whole, as if even echoes feared to linger too long. The walls stretched impossibly high, dark and smooth, reflecting faint glimmers of magic that danced like distant stars. And at the center of it all—
Him.
“Shadow Milk, let me be your… friend.”
The words felt fragile the moment they left Pure Vanilla’s lips, like glass that might shatter if handled too roughly.
“Friend…?”
Shadow Milk’s voice came softer than expected. It lacked its usual sharpness, that teasing, taunting edge he wore like armor. He hovered above, suspended in the air as if gravity itself had long since stopped applying to him. Slowly—so slowly—it was almost hesitant, he descended.
“You want me to be your… friend?”
Pure Vanilla didn’t move at first. He let the moment breathe, let the weight of the question settle between them. Then, gently, he stepped forward.
The faint tap of his staff against the floor echoed far too loudly in the vast emptiness.
“Yes, please.”
He extended his hand.
It was a simple gesture. One anyone could make. But here—now—it felt like something far greater. A bridge offered across an impossible distance.
Shadow Milk didn’t take it.
His fists clenched at his sides instead.
There was tension in him—visible, undeniable. Like something inside him was pulling in two directions at once. One side urging him forward. The other dragging him back into the safety of what he knew.
Pure Vanilla noticed.
Of course he did.
So he stepped closer.
Not enough to overwhelm. Just enough to show he wasn’t retreating.
“It’s your choice completely,” he said, lowering his hand slightly, though he didn’t let it fall entirely. “But I don’t want you to be lonely. I truly wish to be your friend.”
His voice didn’t waver.
Not even a little.
Shadow Milk’s eyes narrowed, sharp and searching. Suspicious. Defensive. It was a look that had turned away countless others, a silent warning wrapped in a stare.
But Pure Vanilla didn’t flinch.
Which, perhaps, was the problem.
“Me?” Shadow Milk scoffed, the familiar smirk creeping back onto his face like a mask snapping into place. “You want to be ‘friends’ with me?”
There it was.
The bite.
The edge.
The safety.
Pure Vanilla opened his mouth to respond—but before a single word could escape, a ripple of magic surged through the air.
Silence.
It wrapped around him instantly, cutting off his voice as though it had never existed at all.
Shadow Milk tilted his head, amused.
“Listen, Nills,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery, “I don’t know if you happened to notice, buuutttt I’m not exactly… a friend.”
The magic holding Pure Vanilla in silence wasn’t strong.
Not really.
It wasn’t meant to be.
It was more like a hand placed over his mouth—not to restrain him completely, but to control when he was allowed to speak.
Shadow Milk drifted upward again, suddenly, sharply, as if remembering who he was supposed to be. He flipped onto his back mid-air, limbs loose, careless. Then—CRACK—
He snapped his head toward Pure Vanilla with a sound far too loud for comfort.
A cackle followed.
It tore through the empty spire, echoing endlessly, bouncing off walls that had long since grown used to hearing it.
“Ooooh, you always manage to make me laugh,” he said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. He rolled over in the air, now hovering on his stomach, chin resting in his hands as though he were lounging on invisible ground.
“I’m really flattered you think that could even work,” he continued, his grin widening, “but last I checked, I’m the Beast of Deceit, not a ‘friend’.”
The silence spell loosened.
Not enough to break completely—but enough.
Enough for Pure Vanilla to push against it.
A faint glow shimmered around him, soft but firm, and with a quiet effort—
It shattered.
The magic dispersed like mist, leaving his voice his own once more.
“And what about your other beast friends?”
The question landed.
And for just a second—just a flicker—
Shadow Milk faltered.
It was small. So small most wouldn’t have noticed. A twitch at the edge of his smile. A pause just slightly too long.
But Pure Vanilla saw it.
He always did.
“They’re beasts as well, dummy,” Shadow Milk replied, brushing it off quickly, though his tone lacked some of its earlier ease. “And besides, we were never friends, anyway.”
“You’re certain?”
That did it.
Annoyance crept in, clear and sharp.
“Wow, you really don’t quit, do ya?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Persistent, are we?”
“Why are you afraid to—”
“Now let me tell you this, Nilly,” Shadow Milk cut in, his voice suddenly sharper. More controlled. More dangerous.
The air shifted.
“If I were to—hypothetically—accept your plea of friendship,” he continued, slowly circling above, eyes never leaving Pure Vanilla, “what would you do if your oh-so-dear friends found out? Hm?”
The question wasn’t just a question.
It was a trap.
Pure Vanilla knew it.
If he hesitated too long, Shadow Milk would twist that silence into doubt. Into weakness. Into proof that this—whatever this was—could never work.
If he lied…
Thats a worse outcome.
So he answered.
Carefully. Honestly.
“I will talk to them,” he said. “And if they refuse to understand, that’s on them.”
There was no hesitation.
No uncertainty.
Just truth.
“Oh, my silly, silly vanilly,” Shadow Milk cooed, drifting closer, his voice dipping into something almost soft—almost—but not quite. “There’s a very likely chance things go wrong.”
He tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement.
“What if you harm your friendships? You’d do that for me?”
His lashes fluttered in exaggerated innocence.
Pure Vanilla tightened his grip on his staff.
“‘What if’s are answered when they come,” he said, steady as ever. “Every excuse you make will come with an answer.”
He opened his eyes fully now.
That made him look all the more serious. Like someone who had already made up his mind long before this conversation even began.
Shadow Milk didn’t like that.
His eyes narrowed into slits.
“Fine!” he snapped suddenly, the playful tone cracking under something sharper. “When do you falter?”
The moment the words left his mouth—
Everything shifted.
The spire twisted.
Space folded in on itself like a collapsing dream.
And in an instant—
Pure Vanilla was gone.
—
Cold air rushed past him as he stumbled back into reality—into the outside world, far from the suffocating emptiness of the spire.
The ground beneath his feet was solid.
Real.
The faint hum of nature returned—the whisper of wind, the distant rustle of leaves.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Did nothing.
Just stood there.
Then—
A voice.
Soft. Faint. Lingering at the edge of his hearing, like a thought that wasn’t quite his own.
“I’ll think about it.”