Chapter Text
He is a man of wealth.
A man who pledges a promise.
A cookie who had brought a wish to bring home a place for many to be at peace.
And thus, from unwavering efforts spanning for centuries at a time, and as truth be told; Pure Vanilla, upon being given status, a purpose, was granted immortality.
Forever fresh, pristine. For anyone else outside of his circle it's a constant mistake for cookies to presumptively assume their king felt how he looked from the front view.
Stable, happy, composed whenever faced with conflict.
it felt impossible to live a life trying to bare it.
Immortality doesn’t cover hygiene or touch the lists of basic needs of someone less caged. It simply retained the appearance of his youth and allowed him to surpass the averaging life span with ease.
He can choose to stop eating entirely and not die from starvation, but the symptoms would still surface as it would with anyone else.
To which he didn't mean to actually become an example of that.
Pure Vanilla hasn't eaten since the start of last week, which made him fall weak. His long term (and still standing) appetite back at his former village had also been a contribution to that.
He has been rotting in bed since. To a point where muscle twitching felt disruptive.
He would sleep hours at a time during the day and became unwillingly nocturnal when dusk lounges around.
And the flowers in the lily garden were long overdue for preening.
Nobody had booked him for the entirety that week. Not one cookie wanted to show him spread sheets or statistics regarding food security and finances, so he had nowhere else to be.
For once in his life since forever ago back at the village, his room had fallen dead silent.
And unpleasantly, Pure Vanilla’s thoughts had tuned out the noise with cruelty.
Having been purposefully devoid of any blade of light in the room. In deprivation, it's by far easier to watch taunts fabricate.
Inquiry for self worth was a top priority.
Questioning whether his ethics were still aligned truthfully to his wishful narrative came in second.
And with lazed hesitance of deciding on doing something irrational was his third.
In darkness it's easier to take in the touch around him. From the soft bedding to the grip on his silken white robe.
To take note of his body against the bed, lying wide awake anticipating another nap he in fact did not need, forced to wait hours on end, he’s gone boneless completely.
A knock interrupts his wait. His throat too still to verbalize.
Not that he needs to because light had weaved its way through regardless.
It almost agitates him, to have to talk to someone personally within his chambers.
Nothing at first. Maybe the echo of the door clicking, but he does not care to look immediately.
The bedroom had disappeared again.
And a hand encircled his.
Strong and kneaded with care. The warm metal around a single finger. He already had an idea of who it was.
Petting his sun kissed knuckles with soft lips. Oh, so undeniably.
“My dove, I haven’t seen you in days. What happened?”
Pure Vanilla slowly blinked. Silent.
They don't pry, thankfully.
“Mind if I steal you for a while?”
He’s always been playfully teased by the other ancients for the puppy look in his eyes. Because there are moments in the past where that's all he uses to answer.
trotting between dictating availability and the desire to be considered by someone. They would know from his recluded phase.
He squeezed their hand. Searching for any contradictions hidden behind their gaze. Any show of obligations to allow himself to be excused.
He couldn't find any.
Nothing comes at first. It was slow progress.
He crawled out of hiding, haphazardly wiggling from underneath the covers.
The weight of his own body weakly shook inside his robe.
Their hand still in his, slipped further to anchor onto their forearms when his feet met with cold flooring.
Pure Vanilla would heave, stumbling at the white burn inside his head, tucking his forehead just to the side of their neck to ease the symptoms.
head pounding. Everything felt absolutely livid.
He’s expecting to be ridiculed. For hiding, for his uselessness made intently—wrongfully—admirable.
And yet despite all his twitching. The wetness growing in his eyes, the distancing lack of contact and all the sweat from him wetting onto their clothes.
His flaws, despite it all, the hands of the Virtue still pulled him closer.
Cradled. Secured.
Calm and collected. It kept him grounded.
“Has any of your assistance been checking up on you?”
His head shook.
“Would you like a bath at the springs?”
A wrinkle formed between his brows. Head dipping and shoulders tightening.
He would be forced to come across some cookies on the way there. He would have to talk to his people.
His lack of answer gave his lover another thought to reconsider. “Or would you rather bathe here?”
“Here,” he swallowed, quickly. “Please.”
Lips quivering.
He’ll faint after another word.
——————————
Water bled through the bath’s spout. Loud and groveling enough to dissolve the inner monologs.
When the fountain stopped flowing, Pure Vanilla found himself mourning it.
They assisted him in shedding clothes, paying no judgement to the scaringly obvious hip bones that protruded past his undergarments.
keeping him steady when he settled in the cradle of warmth.
A little more than warm but not never enough to burn.
His lover had leveled to their knees outside to properly massage him. Whatever had been decorating their arms had either been discarded or merely ringed around their biceps.
Dampness smoothed out the volume in his hair, the shampoo soaking up the dirt and oil. The second round of cleansing with conditioner had calmed him greatly.
They scrubbed his chest, the belly and the ridges of his rib cage.
the solid parts of his nape down from his spine to lower back, and splinters of old aged cuts along his thighs were treaded tenderly.
his partner had been thorough. Studying for discomfort reverently, any sign of hesitancy and they would simply move the bar of soap else where.
“My heart, you know you could have came to me if you ever needed.”
“You were busy..” He whimpers, knees deep into aversion. “You had places to be, it felt rude of me to interfere with your duties..”
“Then I’ll make time for you.” The virtue spoke. “Easy.”
“That's not—..” Again, he swallows. Head cheaply shaking as he trails. His lips stayed parted, wanting to snag another word of reason. “..I can't—"
“—Can’t what? What made you reconsider asking for me?”
He doesn't answer. Just shifting his body when they motioned his back. A better view of the wall for him.
Serves him right.
Nails scrubbing vertical and circular strokes with soap, his face hardens when the kinks inside his loins were pressed.
“During my stroll among the village folks, I kept hearing from them of how you’ve gone silent.”
“Not once made an appearance to greet them. At the taverns, the inns or the local bakery hiding at main. Hmm, it was like all traces of you had vanished.”
“It's so unlike you. I was worried.”
“I am sorry.” he blurts.
“M’sorry for letting you see me like this.” he repeats again, quieter. “I am sorry, I didn’t know what went wrong with me.”
Felt like pulling his own hair for becoming so increasingly helpless.
“I feel so tired, I can’t bring myself to do anything right.. I feel incapable. H-hopeless that I’m reaching for something so far out.”
Silence.
He regrets it immediately. Poor him.
"I'm sorry." he spoke meekly.
“I find all those words quite rancid coming from you.” Blatant. Disgusted. Right in his ear.
Shame collects him instead.
His stomach sucks itself again that night. Shrunken, probably shriveled. Still alive and demanding to be filled.
Pure Vanilla could wince. He could react. However he felt more weak under motion sickness more than any of the pain frequently surging.
All he could do with himself was breathe as they continued their administrations.
“So selfless. All the time, strategic under pressure yet so equally self sacrificial."
His head turns, but his wet bangs don't allow him a proper view of their face. Curious blending with the fearful of judgment.
Then again, he already felt the guilt when they arrived wanting to see him.
“To not be able to see my point of view. Finding the need to repent for indulgence— as if seeking self validation itself is regularly seen as something worth being burned for.”
Self validation. They huffed at that. What a phrase.
“I did not choose to court you without reason, I’ve seen what you could do. Rarely do many carry dedication around their belt, much like yours.”
"The ambitions?" Their hands stopped at his outer thigh. "I found it admirable."
“But maybe that was my first mistake, being delirious enough thinking you could do well on your own,”
Their hair tickled his shoulder. “I should have been there.”
and in the same place, a warm heart had been pressed against it.
Domestic. Loving with words strung sweetly below a whisper.
“Because what am I to do with myself if our thoughts on each other do not intertwine?”