Archive of Our Own

He had not been Pure Vanilla for a long, long time. 

He had not been Pure in… far longer. 

Perhaps he had never been so at all. Perhaps, even as an ignorant child, he had been tainted. Shadow Milk had been there from the very beginning, after all. He had seen everything, watched as his other half spewed his sticky sweet lies like they were shining rivulets of pure, decadent hope dripping from his lips. He had filled their heads with clouds, promising them a honeyed world that would breathe life into their fragile beings, care for them, nurture them as they nurtured it. He sold them a will, promised them truth. 

He had lied, for that is all there is. 

The world was built on nothing but twisting, glittering lies, and in his misguided quest to bring them truth, he only dragged them down with him. 

Down, down, as the world showed its cruel face to those stupid enough to look it in the eyes, down until they could no longer bring themselves to dare hope. Down, until that bright spark of compassion was beaten out of them, down until they realized that he had lied to them. 

That unforgivable lie. 

His cruelest promise.

He could barely stand to think about the countless innocent souls he had tarnished. Just the briefest flicker of their faces in his memories made his breath catch in his lungs. His heart squeezed in his chest, thumping dull and off-beat as it threatened to finally give out. His hand gripped a lifeline into his robe, his body pressed itself into the wall while he wheezed. 

The guilt was too much. The regret, the grief— it aimed to kill. 

He would let it, if it were up to him.

But his brain understood that same inevitability, so the overwhelming tide of emotions crushing his ribs could only cripple him for so long before they were forced back into numbed obscurity. 

The memories remained. His sins, unchanged. But the heartbreak that promised him a coward’s escape eluded him. 

Instead, he would sit in the rising water in his mind, motionless as the ambient misery swirled around his knees. 

He would plunge his head under the surface if he could, drown himself in their tears and pretend it would grant him absolution. It wouldn’t. He was beyond saving. He was a blight on everything he touched. His soul was a cesspit of lies, warped and distorted beyond recognition. 

He knew that.

His mind knew that, even as its pitiful survival instincts selfishly kept him alive.

Shadow Milk knew that.

And yet…

”Pure Vanilla Cookiiieee!” Came the singsong voice floating down the corridor. 

That name.

The Recluse sighed, his breath momentarily warming the cold sugarstone pressed against his cheek. The bricks were rough, and their pebbled surface bit into his skin as he sagged into the wall. He would probably leave it with a scrape on his face, but that was fine. He had been forced by the tidal wave of emotions to stumble into it for support, but he didn’t mind. He faltered often, he was used to it now. 

“Oh, Pure Vanillaaa!” Shadow Milk called him again, the lazy grin practically audible.

He cringed slightly. Why did he insist on calling him that? 

The Lord of Shadows was rapidly approaching him now, but the Recluse didn’t bother making himself presentable to greet him. In the early days, he would have. He might have straightened himself, smoothed out his robe, rubbed the marks out of his skin, masked his expression with something more defiant. 

But he wasn’t that man anymore.

There was no shame, no secret, no scar that he could hide from Shadow Milk. So, he didn’t bother anymore.

Instead, he simply tried to breathe, willing the invisible hand crushing his ribcage to release its grip on his lungs. He sucked in a small, shallow breath, and wound his fingers tighter into his robe to ground himself. His shoulder was smashed uncomfortably into the brick, and he tried to pin down his wandering mind using any sensation he could find. He didn’t need to be presentable, no, but he preferred to be at the very least somewhat functional in Shadow Milk’s presence. 

But before he could quiet the blood rushing in his ears, he was no longer alone. Shadow Milk leaned over him, legs crossed in midair as his sharp eyes raked over him judgementally. 

“Nilly!” He sneered, bubbly greeting laced with barely suppressed displeasure. “I’ve been looking for you for ages you know, for an old man you sure do like to stray quite far.” 

He couldn’t have been looking that long, not when every shadow could blink open into blue, slitted eyes at any moment. 

Shadow Milk watched him for another moment, one eyebrow arched, waiting for him to respond. 

He didn’t like being ignored.

Recluse looked up at him slowly, eyes dull, a chunk of limp hair falling into his face as he tilted his head up to make shaky eye contact. His lips parted to say something, but all that came out was a quiet wheeze. He didn’t have enough air in his lungs yet for this, his head still felt light and fuzzy. His hand shook where it was twisted into his robe, and he couldn’t quite feel where his knees were.

Shadow Milk grimaced at him. 

“Yeesh. I thought we talked about these little episodes of yours, Nills, remember?” He sounded distinctly unimpressed. He folded his arms across his chest, looking down his pointed nose at the Recluse. 

The Recluse remembered. But he also remembered that Shadow Milk enjoyed watching him suffer. He wondered idly if his pathetic state made the Beast uncomfortable. 

…Probably not. 

This had been his plan all along, had it not? To break him down so thoroughly, without having to use much more than the Recluse’s own sins against him. If Shadow Milk hadn’t taken him, he would have likely never realized the extent of his own ignorance.

Shadow Milk clicked his tongue at him disapprovingly, leaning in closer to get a better look at his face. His hand, powder blue and always freezing cold, stroked up Recluse’s forehead, lifting the curtain of bangs hiding his face. His palms were soft, surprisingly so for someone who was such an accomplished craftsman, but his claws were sharp. His pinkie nail dragged against his skin, leaving a hot, tender scratch in its wake. The Recluse clung to it, holding the cold sting close as his conscious threatened to slip through his grasp like smoke. Shadow Milk smoothed his hair back, and Truthless thought unwillingly that it felt nice against the cottony headache that always settled into his skull after these episodes.

“Aw, you poor, poor thing.” Shadow Milk tutted, a condescendingly pitying frown on his lips. “Crispia’s little hero has to face the truth of his lies, and he just can’t take the heat!” He giggled.

“C’mon Nilly, where’s that good ol’ can-do attitude now, hmm?” He cocked his head to the side, at an unnaturally sharp angle. “Whatever happened to that hopeful, deceitful little monster who poisoned entire kingdoms with his false light?”

Shadow Milk’s other hand came up to pet the Recluse’s cheek, his thumb stroking disconcertingly gentle circles into his skin. “You used to be oh-so resilient, don’t you remember? You used to get up again, and again, and again— I wonder what happened to that guy?” His smile was thin and toothy. 

Truthless felt another hard-won breath of air slip into his strangled airways, and despite his best efforts, his eyes fluttered closed for just a moment. A moment too long— before he could wrench them back open, Shadow Milk was already growling at him. 

“Don’t ignore me.” He snarled, and a gasp tore out of Recluse’s throat as his head was abruptly jerked upward. 

The hand on his forehead was buried painfully in his hair now, and the soothing petting had switched on a dime to strict claws digging firmly into his jaw. Truthless’s eyes struggled open, flickering uneasily over Shadow Milk’s expression, twisted in anger. The eyes flickering in and out of visibility in his hair stared at him intently, but the shadowy locks did not whip back and forth. He wasn’t too upset, not yet at least. The hot lines of pain streaking through his scalp were distracting enough that he could feel the guilt and sorrow engulfing his start to ebb. His heart was in his chest again, instead of pounding unevenly in his ears. He took a shuddering breath through cracked lips, and his lungs felt sore.

“…He was wrong.” The Recluse said quietly, his voice thin and reedy. 

Shadow Milk looked surprised for a nearly imperceptible moment, then it changed swiftly to one of glee. The claws dug harder into his cheek, and he felt a wet bead of jam well up in one of the pricks. He didn’t mind too much, he clawed at his own face enough these days anyway. What was one more mark? 

“Oh! Oh, right you are, Pure Vanilla!” Shadow Milk crowed. The delighted grin split his face in half, revealing purple gums. 

His body language shifted in a matter of seconds, from irritated and expectant back to satisfied and carefree in a flutter of movement. The hand holding his chin disappeared, but the one still buried in his hair only tightened its grip as Shadow Milk used it to yank him away from the wall. His staff clattered to the floor somewhere by his feet. Truthless hissed, his eyes squeezing shut as pain flared in his scalp. He wrenched himself upright, stumbling to follow Shadow Milk’s leading hand as he chattered about something the Recluse couldn’t pay attention to. His legs still felt only half there, ghostly and intangible. They were still holding his weight for now, but—

“Whoops, dropped your staff!” Shadow Milk teased, and it was swiftly followed by a bonk to the head as his staff was brusquely tossed back to him. Truthless scrambled to catch it, and Shadow Milk thankfully released his grip on his hair to let him have it. With his hands grasping the length of the staff, the end of it planted firmly in the ground, he was starting to feel a little more solid.

”Can’t be losing that, now can we?” Shadow Milk chided him, shaking his head. “I should think not, certainly not after all that work I put in to transform it for you!” 

Truthless was sure that it had taken a truly impressive amount of work to change his staff so thoroughly. But of all the alterations Shadow Milk had made to his attire, he tolerated this one the least. 

“Mhn…” He mumbled in lieu of an actual response. 

Shadow Milk glanced at him cattily over his shoulder. “A thing of beauty, she is! A genuine creature of darkness~ oh, she fits right in, don’t you think?” 

Ugh.

Having apparently been too patient with him, the Beast patted his back roughly, nearly toppling him over. He caught himself just in time for Shadow Milk to start pressing forward again, shadowy tendrils pushing insistently at his back as the other man floated a ways in front of him. Recluse glared at the shadows nagging at him, and after a moment they slunk begrudgingly back into the cracks in the brick and the crevices behind paintings where they belonged. He’d never known magic to pout before, but dark moon magic continued to surprise him.

It had a tendency to change things, on a deeper level than other magicks. His staff no longer saw for him, now it saw him. He supposed it must be because he didn’t need it anymore. His own eyes, though still cloudy and pale, had cleared some time after accepting his new life. Another man might have rejoiced at the sudden return of his sight, but the Recluse was never so sure. Was the Lord of Lies really so powerful that he could restore a blind man’s vision?

…Or had he truly been so blinded by his baseless belief in the truth that it took his sight from him?

Perhaps the Spire had opened his eyes in more ways than one.

These days, his staff was more of an uncomfortable comfort object. He mostly used it as more of a walking stick than a visual aid, when his body failed him. He tried not to look at it, keep its head faced away from him, but he could always feel one of its many flickering eyes trained on him and him alone. If he slept, he would hide it inside the closet of his room. 

The staff’s foot thumped quietly along the stone floor as he followed Shadow Milk, the chilled vines at least keeping the muffled quality he was used to. He looked up at Shadow Milk, floating with his hands crossed behind his head now, and wondered if the flower’s watchful eye was one of his. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least, the man was horribly paranoid. Recluse could count at least three other little tricks left in his quarters that were unquestionably designed for eavesdropping. And that wasn’t counting the eyes that could crack open from any dark corner. 

Shadow Milk was telling him something about his latest set design. Truthless struggled to parse out the words, the fuzzy pounding in his head not leaving room for much else, but he nodded along obediently. He watched how Shadow Milk gesticulated in grand, sweeping motions, and explained his ideas with such pride. For someone who made it his business to exude confidence and smug authority with every word from his silver tongue, he was quite insecure— if one knew how to peer through the cracks in his mask, that is. 

He was forced out of his thoughts when they rounded a corner, and his face abruptly bumped into Shadow Milk’s leg. Before he could even think to offer something like an apology, the beast had already retreated higher into the air, frowning down at him irritably.

“Watch where you’re going, old man.” He griped, lightly whacking Truthless upside the head. 

He resisted the urge to flinch when the headache flared unhappily, and kept his mouth shut. Looking up again, he noticed they had reached his room. This wasn’t the typical route he would take to get back here— but of course, the ‘typical route’ consisted of vague wandering, a landmark or two, and hoping that the Spire wouldn’t change the floor plan on him. There was no telling how long the trip would take, or where he would turn to get there. Unless the beast was leading the way, that is. 

“Did you need something from my quarters?” He asked eventually, rubbing his nose where it had smacked into Shadow Milk’s shin.

Silence. 

He glanced up, and— oh. That had been the wrong thing to say.

“What, that’s all you have to say? You weren’t listening at all, were you?!” Shadow Milk yelped indignantly, his hands balled into fists at his sides. 

“…I—” He tried lamely, but the beast wasn’t having it today. 

“Ugh, you are so rude! Where were you raised, a barn?” That was definitely a jab at him being a shepherd’s son. “I can’t believe you! I, your oh-so gracious host, go out of my way to share behind the scenes details with you, and you can’t even bother to pay attention!” He gasped, looking supremely offended with a hand clutched dramatically to his chest. 

Honestly, his antics were quite entertaining when Truthless was so out of it that he couldn’t summon the sense to be afraid. 

“I’m sor—” He tried again, Shadow Milk cutting him off mid-apology.

“Oh no, I don’t think so.” He loomed over Recluse threateningly. His hand found its way into his hair again, jerking upward to force him to look him in his eyes while the Recluse let out a pained grunt. 

He couldn’t tell if the shine in his mismatched eyes was really only from his anger, or if there was genuine hurt underneath. 

“An audience that can’t listen isn’t a very good audience, is it Nilly?” He prompted, his voice dropping steadily into a low growl. Truthless shook his head as much as he could, trying in vain to ignore the pulsing, stabbing ache that lit up whenever he moved. 

“So naturally, for the sake of his show and his actors, any good director in this situation would have to reeducate his audience on how to behave in a theatre.” Shadow Milk said slowly, his threat disguised in metaphor but still very much real. That smile filled with sharpened teeth was back, and Truthless stared up at him silently. His stomach flipped, terrified of what his next ‘lesson’ would entail, but it would do him no good to display that fear on his face. 

“Alas!” As quickly as his anger had appeared, it was gone. “Sharing my wisdom with you will have to wait.” 

Shadow Milk’s hand untangled itself from his hair, and flew to its master’s forehead to rest there as if he were a dizzy maiden on a fainting couch. His eyes closed as he sighed loudly. Truthless watched him warily. His mood swings were hardly unexpected, but postponing a punishment was… rare, to say the least. He preferred to get the jump on the Recluse, to never give him any time to prepare or adjust to whatever fresh torture awaited him. He liked his reactions “raw, real! I want you to really feel!” 

So this, was… 

“A shame, a tragedy! I know, I know.” Shadow Milk lamented, leaning backwards in the air to pat Recluse on the head consolingly. Recluse noticed with an inward sigh that even his hair hurt now. Wonderful. 

“But since you’re clearly feeling useless today—” His mild tone turned sour on the last note, “—I suppose I’ll have to find something else for you to do.” 

Ah, there was the catch. 

“Like taking a bath.”

What.

“…What.” Truthless stared at him blankly. Shadow Milk stared right back, completely unphased. His eyebrows were raised judgementally, his lips pursed in a prissy frown.

“A bath, Pure Vanilla.” There was that name again. “I’d ask if you remember what that is, but considering how much grease is on my hand just from touching you, I’d say it’s pretty obvious that you don’t.” Shadow Milk rolled his eyes, the eyes in his hair following suit. 

He showed the Recluse his hand, which was admittedly shinier than it should have been. He felt shame prickle at the back of his neck. His face felt hot, and he hunched inward on himself. His hair fell into his eyes, and he noticed for the first time in a while how piecey it looked. It was heavy, shiny with oil and tangled from neglect. His skin felt rough and greasy. He probably smelled terrible. 

He didn’t like to look at himself too long, for fear that thing in the mirror might look back. 

He always felt dirty. No amount of scrubbing ever made him feel less tainted, no brush was rough enough to peel the filth from his being.

He supposed that he had been ignoring himself more often recently. 

He was tired.

How humiliating, that the man who despised him was the first to notice. 

…

Disgusting. 

Had he really let himself fall so far?

He bit his lip, and kept silent. He stared resolutely into the stone bricks of the floor, anything to avoid the accusatory gaze burning into the crown of his head. Shadow Milk let out a little huff, then reached forward to push the door open himself.

“Well, in we go!” Shadow Milk made a sweeping gesture, flipping his hair up to grin at the Recluse. 

The Recluse just stared at him.

We?

“…What?” He was starting to feel like a broken record, but he really had no idea what was going on anymore. 

The grin dropped immediately as Shadow Milk deadpanned, “Jeez, Nilly, I know you’re feeling a little extra slow today, but come on—” He complained, spinning in midair. He kneed Truthless forcefully in the back to helpfully nudge him over the threshold.

“You’re obviously not going to do anything to clean yourself up on your own, so I’m taking matters into my own hands.” Shadow Milk said huffily, as if this should have been self explanatory. With that, he pulled the door shut behind them with his foot, and darted off into the bathroom, grumbling something about ‘having to do everything himself around here.’ It left the Recluse standing awkwardly in the middle of the floor, suddenly even more unsure of how to exist in his own room than usual. Should he sit down? Follow Shadow Milk?

He twisted his fingers nervously, picking at his cuticles. He felt paralyzed by uncertainty.

Were they really doing this?

No, Shadow Milk was probably just going to push him into the water and then disappear laughing. 

…But if he was serious. Was the Recluse going to let him?

Truthless stared unblinkingly into the darkness, his face scrunched up in confusion. He didn’t speak much these days anyway, but now he felt completely lost for words. 

After what felt like ages, he finally found the will to move. Instead of reaching to turn on a light, he took a tentative step towards the bathroom door. When nothing erupted from the room to punish him, he took another. And then another.

He edged closer to the door, opened just a crack, and peered inside. The warm glow of the lamplight spilled out over the floor and past the doorway, illuminating a narrow strip of the runner carpet outside. The tile gleamed orange and pink, welcoming in a way the Recluse didn’t know it could be, and he could see Shadow Milk hunched over the bathtub. He was muttering something Truthless couldn’t make out, sniffing at a bottle of shampoo and then tossing it aside disdainfully. There was a soft swirl of magic, and then a different bottle appeared in his hand. He reached over where the Recluse couldn’t see, and then there was a metallic groan and a rushing sound as water began to pour out of the faucet.

One of the eyes in his hair caught sight of him, and Shadow Milk whipped his head around to glare at the Recluse. For a reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint, he shrunk back, feeling a little abashed. 

“Why do you still have clothes on?!” He barked, and before Truthless’ mouth could fall open at his bluntness, Shadow Milk snagged a rolled up towel from the shelf and lobbed it at his head. 

It hit him squarely in the face with a fwump, and then fell into his arms. Truthless glared at Shadow Milk’s back. The few eyes watching him were curved upward with mirth. He frowned, and turned on his heel to slink out of sight. He paused in front of his closet, looking contemplatively at his staff. It looked right back, its eyes fluttering over him with lively interest. He looked away, the way its pupils rolled and swirled nauseated him on bad days.

His legs still felt a little fuzzy, like they were made of shifting waves of sand, but it wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t risk hiding away his staff. He wouldn’t need to support himself in a bathtub, anyway. He placed the staff inside the wardrobe, and ignored it when a vine cheekily waved goodbye to him. He closed the door, and listened to the sound of the water gushing into the metal basin in the other room. Then he looked down at the soft, dark blue towel in his arms. 

…They were really doing this.

Truthless was accustomed to nudity. The naked form was a perfectly comfortable concept in the Vanilla Kingdom, and in lands before. Friends were often familiar with the bodies of their loved ones, and even those of friendly acquaintances—

But Shadow Milk was none of those things.

Bathing was certainly a social activity, but it was a tender thing. It was caring, intimate. A demonstration that you could be trusted, that you could show kindness to someone’s smallest and most vulnerable form when they were stripped bare of all their worldly defenses.

His bones itched uneasily as he slowly took off his robes. 

Shadow Milk had been right, though. He wouldn’t have mustered the energy to do this himself, had the other man left. 

His hands still trembled slightly, as he shucked off the last layer of his cloak. It pooled around his feet, the heavy fabric doing little now to ward off the ever-present chill of the Spire. He rubbed instinctively at his side, trying to encourage some heat into the thin bodysuit. But the smooth, stretchy cloth wasn’t particularly insulating, so the Recluse forced himself to get on with it. 

The shoes went next, then the long socks that hugged his legs. He didn’t used to wear anything on his feet at all, but that was one of the first things Shadow Milk changed. He’d called him something that had probably been a slur for rural folk thousands of years ago, and then dragged him into the costume department for fittings.

His fingers fumbled uselessly with the hidden zipper at the back of his neck for a moment, then finally caught the tab under the slim flap of fabric obscuring it. He was definitely feeling the cold now, as he tried to peel the skin-tight sleeves off faster. Finally he shimmied it down his legs, only nearly pitching over twice during the process, and quickly wrapped the towel over himself. 

He didn’t trust Shadow Milk with this. 

But he didn’t have another choice, so he slowly made his way back to the bathroom. He paused just out of frame of the doorway, one foot twisting nervously into the freezing tile. He knew he was being ridiculous, but… it had been a long, long time since he last had this kind of closeness with someone. 

The light that reached past the bathroom’s confines draped itself over his foot, and it made his bony frame look warmer than it had in a long, long time. 

Eventually, the faucet knob squeaked, and the sound of water slowed to a trickle. He breathed through his nose, and knocked softly on the doorframe. 

“Come iiin!” Shadow Milk trilled from inside, and the door pushed open wider on its own. “The water’s just fine!” 

The Recluse padded through the open door, but he didn’t close it behind him. Maybe he had been right the first time, and Shadow Milk would leave after he got in.

“Close the door, silly Nilly, unless you want a cold bath.” 

He closed the door. 

Inside the bathroom was warm and hazy, filled with comforting steam rising from the water. It was mildly sweet smelling, but he couldn’t be sure of the scent from the door. The large circular mirror over the sink had already fogged up, and the Recluse couldn’t help but feel grateful for that. He didn’t really want to see how haggard he looked right now. Shadow Milk was leaned over the coppery gold standing bath, and the rug usually covering the center of the room had been moved to sit where Shadow Milk was kneeling. 

…Kneeling—?

“I don’t have all night, I’m a busy man you know.” The jester complained at him, waving him over impatiently. He was noticeably still fully clothed, which was generally understood as poor bath etiquette, but the fact that he wasn’t floating was enough to shock the Recluse into complying. 

He picked his way over the floor, head down, and slowly let the towel fall to the floor. Shadow Milk grumbled at that, snatching it up and slinging it over the rack. While he was occupied, the Recluse slipped quietly into the bath. He let out a contented little sigh as he settled into the water, a noise that the beast must have caught, if the twitch of his ear was anything to go by. 

The water was warm, almost uncomfortably so, but he was so cold that it didn’t bother him. He leaned forward, submerging as much of himself as he could into the water. The surface foamed with fluffy, cloud-like mounds of bubbles, and Truthless wondered how much soap Shadow Milk must have poured in here to achieve this. The steam swirled around him, filling his nose as his breathing finally slowed. He didn’t feel like he was fighting for each breath anymore.

“Feels good, huh?” Shadow Milk smirked at him, arms folded under his chin and draped across the edge of the tub. One of the eyes in his gently swaying hair winked at him.

Truthless felt his face heat up a little, and looked away. “Of course it does, it’s a bath.” He mumbled, but the words came out more affected than he would have liked. 

“Mayyybe that would be more convincing if you took them more often!” Shadow Milk snickered, and unfolded himself to reach up the nearby shelves and grab a few things. 

Truthless frowned, embarrassed, and kept his eyes averted. 

“Y’know, back in the day—” Shadow Milk started conversationally, “—when I went through this, it didn’t hit me nearly as hard.” 

Recluse’s eyes snapped to the beast’s face. 

“I mean, sure, it was a real plot twist,” he plowed on casually, as if he wasn’t sharing something that the Recluse had never once heard him mention freely, “when I realized that truth was just some silly, idealized, moralistic weapon for fools—” He squirted a blob of shampoo into his hand with a little more force than was necessary. 

“Aha, it was a reeeal doozy.” He grinned down at his hand, but it looked stretched forcibly wide. “But I don’t think even I got this bad!” He chuckled then, and flicked a limp strand of hair out of Truthless’s face. 

The Recluse could only stare at him incredulously.

“Are you seri—” 

“WHOOPS, would ya look at the time!” Shadow Milk cut him off, shoving a pocket watch that he definitely hadn’t had a moment ago in his face. It had one hand, pointing to where the number eight had been replaced with the word ‘bath’ written in cursive. 

“I can’t believe you let me go on for so long, you old sap.” Shadow Milk tittered, waving him off bashfully. “Look at me, reminiscing like an old biddy!”

Recluse frowned, trying to get the conversation back on track, but the jester bowled him over easily. 

“Aaanyway,” Shadow Milk abruptly dropped his blushing act, his eyes snapping to Truthless’ with a manic grin splitting his face. “DEEP BREATH!” 

Before Truthless could do anything more than look alarmed, Shadow Milk had grabbed him by the scruff and unceremoniously dunked his head under the water. He thrashed instinctively at first, wrenching his back and connecting one of his arms with the unforgiving wall of the tub. Soapy tasting water flooded into his mouth and nose, stinging his eyes. His body screeched at him to struggle, fight back, get the water out. Then the hand gripped around his neck squeezed, those sharp claws digging into the vulnerable flesh with precisely controlled pressure, and he remembered himself. His head was somewhere between his knees, and he had no leverage here. He stilled, and put his instinctual panic to the side like one would put a misbehaving child in timeout. He closed his mouth, and did his best to hold in what little air he had left. He reminded himself that not only was Shadow Milk a predator, but that he was much stronger than him, and enjoyed the thrill of the struggle. 

He would just have to wait.

Shadow Milk wanted him miserable, not dead.

After another long moment of Recluse’s lungs threatening to explode in his chest after the day of abuse they’d endured, the hand clamped around his neck finally dragged him up out of the water. He surfaced, coughing and spluttering, body shaking violently as it decided whether or not to try and heave up the water it had choked down. His arms flailed, splashing around blindly until his hands found the edges of the tub to hold himself up with.

His eyes cracked open, finding Shadow Milk’s self satisfied expression through a curtain of dripping hair. They abruptly slammed shut again when the soap in them rudely reminded him of its presence. 

Water dripped from his lips as he sucked in breaths, his chest heaving as he tried to calm himself. Truthless flinched sharply when he felt a light touch on the top of his head, but instead of withdrawing it only flicked him. 

“Oh stop being such a baby, I had to get you wet somehow.” Shadow Milk chided him from somewhere to his left. It sounded muffled— there was water stuck in his ear. Truthless forced his reddened eyes open to glare at him somewhat murderously. All he got for his trouble was the burning sensation flaring back up, and a rather amused look from the beast. 

He sighed, and said nothing. He raised his dripping hands out of the bubbles to try and wipe some of the excess water from his face. This time when he felt a touch on his head, he stifled the urge to jerk away. He wasn’t so stupid as to do such a thing consciously. 

Shadow Milk’s hands, palms smeared in shampoo, began to work through his hair with surprising gentleness. His claws were merely a near-pleasant scritching sensation against his scalp as he worked the product into a lather. It was only then that Truthless could refocus on what Shadow Milk had so violently tried to distract him from. 

“You plunged Earthbread into decades of devastation. You call that reaction not so bad?” There was no heat in the Recluse’s words, though the indignant snarl he got in response implied otherwise.

“I—” Shadow Milk growled, sounding like he was about to argue. Defend himself. Then there was the smallest of pauses, before he swiftly changed his tune. If the Recluse hadn’t spent so much time with him at this point, he wouldn’t have caught the hesitation. “—was just having a little fun! I did something productive with my time. The show stops for no one man, you know.”

He didn’t buy the easy smile on Shadow Milk’s face, but he wouldn’t push it.

“You could really learn how to have some fun, Vanilly. Lighten up for once, you don’t always have to look so severe.” Shadow Milk pulled a comically depressed expression that the Recluse surmised was supposed to look like him. 

“Why do you insist on calling me that.”

“Hah?” Shadow Milk’s hands, scrunching through his lathered hair, did not pause as he responded distractedly. If he didn’t know better, he would start to think the beast had some kind of fixation on his hair.

“Pure Vanilla.” He intoned dully. 

He would have thought that finally broaching the subject would be a rush of emotion, hot and spitting, threatening to burst out of his chest at any moment. Instead the words fell heavily, lifeless stones from his lips onto the cold tile floor beneath Shadow Milk’s knees. The long dead animal that was his name stared up at him with numbed, clouded eyes. 

He didn’t want to carry the rotted thing with him anymore. 

Shadow Milk’s lip curled into a sneer, his hands slowing until they stopped, tense and motionless. He regarded Truthless with a look of such antipathy that it made his stomach flip nervously, but to his surprise, he didn’t immediately shut down the conversation.

“Isn’t that your precious, witches-given name?” His lip twitched over his fangs. “Aren’t you the holy light of virtue, leading the ignorant masses to their long awaited truth? Is that not what you are, Pure Vanilla?” Shadow Milk leaned into his space, practically interrogating him now. The grip on his skull was crushing now, Shadow Milk holding them practically nose to nose.

His claws clenched painfully into his scalp for a moment, and the Recluse flinched uncontrollably. He scowled, furrowed brows warping the blue star on his forehead, and opened his mouth to defend himself.

…No, that is what Pure Vanilla would have done. 

If Shadow Milk wanted him changed, then he could suffer the consequences. It was time to go on the offensive.

“Shall I call you the Fount of Knowledge, then?” He stared into Shadow Milk’s eyes unblinkingly, and watched as his pupils instantly shrank to burning slits. 

He wrenched his hands away from Truthless, and slammed them down on the rim of the tub, claws scratching fine lines into the metal. His hair rose behind him, thrashing and whipping back and forth, its master hovering above him now.

Shadow Milk’s snarl of a grin slipped off his face like water, and what lay underneath was cold, expressionless rage. 

“Choose your next words very carefully.” He murmured, his head cracking to the side ominously. Recluse felt all the warmth in the room vanish in a heartbeat, as if it was sucked into the void that was Shadow Milk. 

His glare hardened, and he steeled himself. He would not back down so easily this time.

“You and I both know exactly what I am, Shadow Milk. You know what I am not.” The words came forth sturdy, emboldened by an age corrupted. “Do not taunt me with that vulgar name, we both know it is nothing more than a pretty lie.”

Shadow Milk was silent for a long moment. His innumerable eyes were locked onto him, unmoving. 

“Oh.” The word fell out of his mouth like he hadn’t expected it to be there, quiet and honest bafflement unfettered by his usual theatrics. 

He blinked. The eyes in his hair eventually followed suit— still staring at Truthless, but the murderous rage in them had flickered out. 

“Oh.” He repeated himself, this time with an inclination of awestruck understanding. He sank down in the air, leaning over the tub to hook his finger under the Recluse’s chin, pulling him closer. The uncontained glee dawning on his face was almost sickening in its sincerity. 

“Well then, my dearest other half, what shall I have the pleasure of calling you?” He purred, stroking his cheek. 

The warmth flooded back into the room all at once, almost muggy as Shadow Milk’s natural chill seemed to dissipate for just that moment.

He let out a shuddering breath, and relaxed stiffly into Shadow Milk’s hold. He was tired, he didn’t want to fight anymore. And for the moment, he didn’t have to. Shadow Milk… was listening, only if just for tonight. Perhaps only because he knew he had won, but it didn’t matter. The Recluse had known that ages ago anyway.

“Truthless Recluse, or nothing at all.” The hand caressing his face almost felt nice. He could pretend that it felt safe, if he tried hard enough. Shadow Milk grinned at him. His frenzied look of excitement had swiftly melted into dilated, heavy-lidded enrapturement. His eyes, round and soft with delight, never strayed from him.

“Oh, my Recluse, you have my word.”