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For the first time in a long, long time, dancing didn’t feel like a curse.
Nearly every time I’d set foot on the floor in the past, it hadn’t been of my own volition. Back when I’d ruled a kingdom, I’d had to attend hundreds on hundreds of parties and dances and balls, and every time I did, some excited Cookie would drag me out to the floor, thick robes and all, and insist I get away from the ‘dreadfully boring sidelines.’ I never objected. How could I? It was strange enough that the King wasn’t dancing yet, and it would be even stranger if he denied his subjects’ requests.
Safe to say, dancing left a bad taste in my mouth near-every time I did it (sometimes literally, as oftentimes, the Cookies that dragged me onto the floor would also insist I tried some of the ‘delectable’ party foods). I did not like to dance. I did not want to dance. When I retreated to the Peak of Truth, it became clear I would likely never dance again, which was perfectly fine with me.
But here I was again, because of course I was, because not even my isolation had stopped the damned Cookie in my arms from getting to me. Because I understood him. Because I loved him.
The worst-best-and-strangest part about it was that it didn’t feel at all like it had when I used to dance. It wasn’t boring, it wasn’t overwhelming, and for once, my dance parter hadn’t been the one to drag us into it—instead, the Sage was simply going along with everything I’d asked of him.
Guilt for standing him up still roiled in my chest, unyielding and infinite. All this time, he’d done so much for me, and I’d just wanted to return the favour, but here I was, fumbling everything I did. I’d found him crying, for Witches’ sake. I’d hurt him. Again.
“Recluse?” hummed a familiar voice, and I blinked, focusing my vision back onto the Sage’s face. He was looking up at me with that softness in his eyes, that worry in the lines of his face, and even more guilt filled me. “Recluse, dear?”
“Sorry,” I said instinctively. “What?”
The hand the Sage had placed on my waist for the dance was warm. “You lost yourself again,” he said knowingly, brushing his other thumb over my hand. “Are you alright?”
I cleared my throat, disregarding the way my heart stumbled upon seeing the way the golden glow of the lights around us lit his eyes. Guilty one moment, lovestruck the next—couldn’t I just pick one? “Yes,” I replied, nodding quickly and looking away, “I’m okay.”
“Tell me what’s wrong, my lo—... my dear,” the Sage murmured, slowing his steps. We had already been moving quite slowly, but now we nearly stopped, and Blueberry Milk drew closer, looking up at me with all that worry in his mismatched eyes.
Why he worried so much, about me, no less, I would never understand. Nonetheless, another wave of the guilt hit me, and I felt sick. “I—...”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to,” he whispered. “I just don’t want you to be upset. You don’t deserve that…”
His words ended in a sigh, and he looked away as well. I returned my own gaze to his face, finding myself staring at him again.
“Why did you do so much for me? Really?” the Sage asked after a long minute. His eyes flicked back up to mine, and this time I didn’t look away. “This must have taken so much effort… this isn’t some kind of—some joke, or a trick, right? If you’re trying to—if you’re trying to let me down gently, don’t. I’d rather know what you truly want.”
He looked steady, his voice didn’t shake, his gaze didn’t move from my face, but I could tell. He was upset. It was pulsing through my Soul-Jam—not my emotion, though I was in some turmoil, but his.
“Sage, make no mistake,” I began, swallowing thickly and searching for the words, “I hated you when we met.”
He winced. He probably remembered that all too well.
“It didn’t last long,” I continued, looking down this time. “I didn’t want you all over me all the time, though, and you hardly listened to anything I said. And I was—... I was afraid. So I ‘hated’ you. But—you—... you listen now, and… I’m not so scared.”
Blueberry Milk’s eyes were wide as he nodded rapidly. “Of course. And I—I’m so, so sorry for back then. I-I was a disrespectful, unfeeling-”
I shook my head. “Don’t. You don’t have to. I’m apologizing right now. You didn’t deserve what I did.”
He huffed in rueful amusement. “I did. At least some of it.”
“Maybe some of it,” I muttered. “But—you—you didn’t just… leave.”
The Sage blinked a few times. “Wha—?”
“You didn’t leave me alone, even when I forced you to,” I told him. “You… you cared enough not to.”
“Of course I cared,” the Sage murmured, shaking his head. “I’ve always cared. Maybe I'm not very good at it, but I care… so much…”
“I know.” I squeezed his hand, the one that wasn’t on my waist. “This is… I suppose it’s me trying to say I—I care too.”
His eyes widened. He stumbled over his feet, and I steadied him best I could. “Really?”
Ah. I knew that hopeful, delighted voice. There was most likely either a bouncing-off-the-walls Sage or a tackle-hug in my future.
I nodded. “A lot.”
For once, Blueberry Milk didn’t nearly push us both over like he already had several times: instead, he simply leaned forwards, wrapping both arms around my waist and putting his face in my shoulder. I felt his tail curl happily around me too. I closed my eyes. It was perfect. He was perfect.
I love you, Blueberry Milk Cookie, I thought. It was the first time I could remember that I had allowed myself to think the words. It was not the first time that they had been true.
I felt the Sage freeze against me. Worrying I’d somehow released some of my chilling White Magic into his body or that something had happened to him while I had my eyes closed, I blinked them open to find him no longer leaning on my shoulder, but standing straight as a board, eyes wider than the moon. “Blueberry, wha—?”
“...you… love me…?” Blueberry Milk whispered, piercing my shirt with his claws as he clutched me to his chest.
My heart stopped.
Had I—?
Stars, no. No, no, no, no, no. This couldn’t be.
I ruined it. I ruined it, and he would never come back to the Peak. He would never come back to me. I would be alone. Again.
“Recluse,” he breathed, interrupting my jumbled thoughts, and when I looked, his eyes were full of something so infinitely ecstatic I could hardly wrap my mind around it. “Will you say it again?”
“What?” I managed to choke out, shock and fear and hope, horrible, horrible hope, stabbing me over and over. “What?”
“Say it again?” mumbled Blueberry Milk, gaze fixed onto mine, the clearing around us forgotten. “That you l—that you—love—me?”
“You want me to…?” I asked, blinking the tears away so I could see his face, his beautiful face, better.
“Just say it,” he whispered, desperately, delightedly.
I complied. “I love you,” I murmured, and Blueberry Milk exhaled, looking as though he’d just discovered the secret to happiness. That, or my own emotion, or any other reason, made me say it again—“I love you”—and I watched as Blueberry Milk sniffled slightly, scrubbing tears out of his eyes.
“Really?” he breathed, and I had never seen him so delighted.
“Really,” I confirmed, my heart stuttering, and nausea filling my chest as I panicked. Why was he doing this? What could he possibly gain from hearing me say I loved him! Would he tell the whole town later? Have a good laugh about it with his sister? Would he leave me alone, like-
“I love you too.”
I stopped.
I stared.
Blueberry Milk’s grin was the truest thing I’d seen in years. I couldn’t even question whether he was lying, because he simply… wasn’t.
Now I was the one crying.
We stood there for… I don’t know how long… just holding each other, crying a little, whispering I love you over and over to reassure each other. It was wonderful. He was wonderful. I forgave the world for all the wrongs it had done me—without those wrongs, the Sage would not have been here, telling me he loved me.
I felt my Soul-Jam pulse.
Both the Sage and I jumped a little—he had felt it too, through the connection of our Soul-Jams. “Uh—?” he blurted, touching his Soul-Jam. “What was that?”
“I—I don’t know,” I muttered, eyes wide. “My Soul-Jam—it—I don’t know—it hasn’t done that in…” When had it last done that? I knew it had before I had fallen, but not once had I felt it do that since then! Even before, the Light of Truth had been silent. “...a… long time…”
“Oh, my,” the Sage said with slight wonder, unpinning his own and staring perplexedly at it. “Why on Earthbread could that be…??”
“Uh…” I searched for words. I couldn’t just tell him what I thought it was! “...You?”
Well. Too late, I suppose.
Blueberry Milk’s jaw dropped. He stared at me for a long minute. Then, he burst into tears.
“Ah—?!” Distraught, I took him by the arms, fear filling me. “Blueberry Milk?! What—what happened?! I’m sorry, I—I didn’t think, I—”
“I’m—I’m s—so glad,” the Sage sobbed, giving me another one of his brilliant smiles. He scrubbed at his eyes again, giggling delightedly, and my only thought was how wonderful he looked. “I… I helped you…?”
“Well—yeah, sure, I guess,” I stammered, flushing as he took my hands. “I—... can’t think of any other reason my Soul-Jam would be acting up…”
“Oh, ‘Clusey, I’m so happy,” the Sage sniffled, grabbing me and hugging me tight; he was warm against me, and I wondered why I had ever used to shove him away. “I’m so happy you’re getting better…”
I put my arms around him, too. I buried my face in his hair, I held him tight, and I cried.
Better. Better. I’m not perfect by any means, and I never will be—but I’m getting better.
(He makes me better.)