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“You’ve consecrated a marriage for which your love feels nothing towards you,” Shadow Milk speaks, resting his arms on the windowsill of their shared bedroom with the windows open to let the cool air in.
Pure Vanilla takes off his dress, neatly folding it to put away just as his husband did a few minutes earlier.
“What do you mean by that, bluebird?” He asks simply, continuing to put away their clothes and get the bed ready for the both of them.
The beast sighs, turning around to face Pure Vanilla while his elbows still prop him up.
“I don’t…love you, Nilla. Not like how a cookie should. You’ve anchored yourself to me and for what?”
The ancient rubs the trimmed stubble on his chin in thought as he sits on the edge of their plush bed, facing his lover. A place is left empty next to him, a silent offering to the man before him.
“I think it’s untrue to say you don’t love me,” he replies plainly, a placid smile on his face as his tanned hands settle in his lap.
“I feel nothing seeing you, Vanilla,” he starts. “My heart does not flutter. My face does not heat up. My pulse does not quicken. You still married me—a man who does not love you—why?”
Shadow Milk pushes himself off the windowsill, stalking toward the ancient until he can cuff the front of his nightgown in his claws.
“You have chained yourself to an unloving, unlovable beast, Pure Vanilla Cookie,” he hisses.
Warmth captures his frigid hands as the ancient smiles up at him, thumb rubbing over the beast’s knuckles.
“I don’t think ‘love’ necessarily has to be something you feel, Shadow Milk,” he says.
“Your children are loved by you, no? Is it not the actions you take that prove to them you care?”
“Then what is the point of the emotion? Why does everyone describe this—this emotional response to someone they care for?” Shadow Milk gesticulates wildly, growing frustrated with the prospect of an emotion not being that, but instead action put into place by thought.
“I think the emotion guides most people into a relationship, yes, but you can reach a destination even without a guide, bluebird. You are very kind to me. There’s no one else I’d rather have.”
“But do you not feel awful? To be in a relationship where your partner does not love you?”
Pure Vanilla looks at him, eyelashes gently fluttering open to meet his lover with eyes that painfully remind the beast of what he used to be. It makes him shuffle in discomfort, but the ancient closes them soon after.
“I cannot make you feel something for me, my love, and I think your actions speak for you enough. You are enough, Shadow Milk. I married you knowing what you were. I didn’t marry you to “fix” or “change” you, if that’s what you worry over.”
A warm hand plants itself on the beast’s cheek, gently rubbing away beading tears hidden by Shadow Milk’s grimace.
“You feel love for me,” he states, a prompt for which Pure Vanilla nods hesitantly. Not out of doubt for the love he feels, but knowing his action will have a follow-up. A split pathway where either option is likely to send his husband to tears.
“But I have not earned it. I have been with people who didn’t love me, Nilly. Do you not feel emotionally neglected? Unfulfilled?”
“Unfulfilled, no. Neither do I feel neglected emotionally being with you, Shadow Milk.”
Hands around his waist bring the beast into their shared bed, which he subconsciously burrows into, seeking warmth. It’s not fair his better half gets to be so warm. He gets to love and be loved effortlessly when this beast has to fight for any scrap of attention or affection someone finally gives up for him out of pity.
A hand comes up to brush away som unruly bangs covering Shadow Milk’s eyes.
“Emotional neglect would assume that you invalidate my feelings or completely ignore me when I’m experiencing an emotion outside of one you are willing to deal with,” he mutters, starting to comb through the sparkles and eyes held in his lovers hair.
“You do not,” Pure Vanilla states plainly. “Even on my worst nights, you comfort me when I seek it. You share in my joy, my sorrows, my fears. In turn, I do the same. I’m not missing out on anything because I’m with you, Shadow Milk Cookie, love of my life.”
The beast rolls his eyes.
“And what of when I won’t reciprocate your sexual advances? You know what comes after a wedding. The deflowering and honeymoon? What if I were to confess I’m repulsed by the mere idea, much less the act?” He spits.
“There is nothing to love. Mind. Or. Body.”
Despite his glare, shooting daggers into the fluttering eyelashes of the ancient, threatening fates worse than death, Pure Vanilla laughs. A warm, smooth chuckle that teases and soothes at the same time. The condescension makes him bristle. The mirth makes him melt.
“Shadow Milk!” The ancient barely manages to get through laughs. “You’re not some object for me to seek pleasure from. You’re my husband!”
Deceit almost recoils from Truth’s hold. Thats it? The threat of an unending life without pleasure is so preposterous Pure Vanilla laughs in his face at the idea?!
“What, what’s funny, Nills?” He croons, gripping the ancient’s chin as his laughter dies down.
“You think you can get through your immortal life without sticking your dick in me even once? How noble. How pure,” he growls.
“I know how cookies tick, Pure Vanilla. They love. They fuck. They die. I cannot provide you any of those things.”
Still, the compassionate man’s smile does not waver, eyes opening in the most lovesick stare the beast has seen since their reception.
“Again, you’re not a means to an end, love. I always have my hand. If it repulses you, we don’t have to partake, and I can always take care of myself,” he punctuates with a kiss to Shadow Milk’s forehead when his combing hands come to brush away the persistent bangs in his way.
“You’re my husband. Not because of what you can do for me, but because of the kind, brilliant, funny, soft, beautiful man you are.”
“Witches above you’re a sap,” Shadow Milk grumbles.
No more retorts come from Deceit, who nuzzles into Pure Vanilla’s chest after a minute or two of silence. The soft movements in his hair draw raspy purrs from his throat, an embarrassing habit he was baked with.
He’s glad Pure Vanilla hasn’t made him feel weird for it. That understanding the ancient first claimed to hold, and what he eventually fought for, was the best thing that ever came into his life. Pure Vanilla knows now. Truly knows all in which he lacks, and Shadow Milk is not being ostracized for it.
It feels weird, having someone in your corner for once; someone backstage who loves you outside of your performance.
“Have you ever heard the term aromantic before, bluebird?” Pure Vanilla asks right as night almost lulls Deceit to sleep.
“A romantic? I mean sure I have. Dozens of suitors have tried to obtain me in my past,” he slurs.
The chest he’s snuggled against huffs in a lighthearted chuckle.
“No, not a romantic, aromantic. One word. It means you don’t feel romantic attraction to anyone.”
“That so?” Shadow Milk is barely awake enough to extrapolate the words being spoken to him, but the fading recesses of his mind squirrel away the bit of information given to him. It makes him feel warm for some reason. Seen, maybe.
“There’s also asexual cookies. It’s the same thing except you don’t feel sexual attraction.”
“Mmn.”
“Black Raisin Cookie is asexual, you know. She’s a very good friend of mine. I hear her crows gave you trouble when you first came here, though.”
Shadow Milk can’t respond anymore, quickly feeling the tides of sleep take him as Pure Vanilla’s voice becomes pleasant white noise in the back of his head.
Aromantic and asexual, hmm? It’s nice knowing he’s not a mistake, at least. Not something to “fix”. He’ll wake up in the morning, still in his husband’s arms, and will be loved all the same.