Archive of Our Own

Dust has been settled in this room far longer than anyone knows.

It’s a junk room–that’s what he was told, at least–and judging from its state, Shadow Milk has no choice but to believe it. The curtains are closed, a sliver of sunlight peaking onto the maple flooring. Empty shelves are shoved against the off-white walls, books lying right in front of them.

He reaches down and picks one up. The text is faded, but the title reads The Art of Crowds and Chandeliers: A Comprehensive Guide On How to Throw Royal Parties.

Definitely not something either of them are needing. Shadow Milk places the book on top of the shelf as he turns around to see Pure Vanilla flipping on the lights. Even they’re dim.

“This is such a lovely mirror,” Pure Vanilla says, walking over to the mirror in question. “Where did you get it?”

Shadow Milk floats over, staring at the dark wood frame chipped from all the years he’s had it. Several swirl patterns are carved at both the top and bottom. From here, he can see that it’s a little bit shorter than Pure Vanilla.

He lands, humming to himself. “An old student.”

“Wow.” Pure Vanilla reaches up, brushing a finger against the glass. “It’s too bad it doesn’t work. It would look lovely in your room.”

He pauses, pressing his hand to his Soul Jam. “We could replace the glass in it, if you’d want–”

“It’s fine,” Shadow Milk says, staring at its smudges. Like always, it reflects nothing.

Pure Vanilla places a hand to his shoulder. With a sigh, he turns to face Shadow Milk. “Right, I’ve got some errands to do around the kingdom. I’ll see you this afternoon?”

“Yeah, I’ll just be”–Shadow Milk gestures to the mirror–“trying to find a good spot for this.”

Pure Vanilla giggles. “Right, of course.” He leans in and gives Shadow Milk’s cheek a quick peck before leaving, gently closing the door behind him. The second he’s gone, Shadow Milk looks around before floating up, grabbing hold of the top of the mirror.

He drags it over to be next to one of the empty bookshelves. Shoving the books out of the way, Shadow Milk glances over to what the mirror is facing. An old jewelry box and a different shelf. Should be a good view.

With that done, he stands in front of the mirror and waits.

For as long as he’s known, this mirror has never reflected anything.

As the Fount, when he first got it, he almost chucked it out of the window once he took it home and realized it didn’t work. He assumed that his star student–who’s name he no longer remembers–had to have meant it as a gag gift.

“I got it for a pretty good deal!” they had said. “The owner seemed so set on getting rid of it, and seeing as you mentioned breaking yours recently, I thought I would get you a new one!”

He found the gesture nice at first. So he kept it around.

And it's never reflected anything since.

“Oooh! Is this a new view I see?”

…But that doesn’t mean it does show anything at all.

Shadow Milk cocks his head to the side, eyes searching the glass as the dark, messy room comes into view. Cramped against the other wall are bookshelves overflowing with books and scrolls. A few spill to the floor, pages sitting next to an ink stain.

His eyes follow the trail of ink, reaching a cookie already sitting right in front of the mirror.

A cookie with yellow and blue heterochromic eyes. A golden monocle sits in front of his blue eye, and he smiles, the galaxy of his hair flowing behind him.

Shadow Milk huffs. “Hey, Sage.”

“Hello, me!” the Sage says, giggling. “Mind telling me where you have me situated?”

Shadow Milk turns to the junk behind him. For as long as he’s known, this mirror has never reflected anything. But one day, it seemed to for just a moment.

The Fount had looked into it, surprised to see himself. His eyes widened, hand pressing to the frame. Because why was it working? If it didn’t reflect anything before, it certainly wouldn’t have now.

For a moment, it showed him.

Until he saw that fraction blink before him, and they were both screaming.

Turns out, he didn’t get a mirror.

Looking back at him was himself, yes, but it wasn’t him. He had his non-existent name and face, but his universe was…different.

Different kingdoms and history. One would mention a natural disaster that the other knew nothing about. One would mention slang their students were throwing around, and the other would be bewildered over never hearing such words before. They were the same, yes, but things were different.

It took a lot of freaking out for both of them to realize that.

Shadow Milk reaches a hand out, stepping out of the way for the Sage to see. “Welcome to a random room in the Vanilla Kingdom. This’ll be your home from now on.”

The Sage claps his hands together, oohing and ahhing. “Oh! I see things worked out with our other half, huh?”

“My other half. You already have your own.”

“We can share our other halves if that makes you happy,” the Sage says, pressing his face to the mirror. Shadow Milk chuckles at how his nose squishes.

“Sure,” he says, moving to sit down in front of him. “I see he’s let you decorate that room, huh? It was bare as can be when I last saw it.”

“Yep!” the Sage says, turning around. “I’ve already moved in all of my books and scrolls. He keeps yelling at me to organize them but let’s face it–”

“You aren’t doing it?”

“Obviously.”

“Nice.”

Shadow Milk smiles at the way the Sage laughs. His other self leans back, stretching his legs out. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, Shadow Milk. It’s been far too long.”

“Well apologies for taking too long getting used to this place,” Shadow Milk mocks, poking the glass a few times. “But I had to make sure that this whole situation was”–he thinks about his next words–"permanent.”

“Aw, I’m so glad I mean that much to you,” teases the Sage, placing a hand over his chest. He gives Shadow Milk a familiar cheeky grin, one that makes the jam rush to Shadow Milk’s cheeks.

He pushes a hand against the mirror, acting like he’s shoving the Sage away. The Sage pretends to fall over, giggling the entire time.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Shadow Milk says.

“Hmm, you say that,” the Sage starts, “but I’ll always know what you truly think about me.”

Air leaves Shadow Milk’s lungs as he sits with that fact. His eyes trail the swirls of the mirror’s frame, wondering how to counter. But he’s never been good at countering the Sage. Of all cookies, he is the only one who’s ever been able to see through him.

So Shadow Milk turns away and grunts, “Keep telling yourself that.”

And the Sage just smiles, that knowing glint never leaving his eyes.

-

Pure Vanilla doesn’t check the abandoned rooms of the castle often.

Far too many of them are filled with trickles and furniture from cookies no longer around. He wants to find them a better place, but he isn’t sure what all is broken and what all just needs a good cleaning. So he keeps pushing back sorting through those rooms, saying he’ll do it later and then never actually falling through with those plans.

But right now, he has a reason for looking through those rooms.

During dinner, Shadow Milk and Black Sapphire were having the strangest argument about an old fairytale. One that Pure Vanilla recognizes from his childhood. He’s sure he remembers it being in a book in one of the rooms. So, to settle their dispute, he told them he’d look for it after they ate.

With the stars firmly twinkling through the windows, he opens the door to that room and steps inside, looking around at the mess. Books are on the floor instead of the shelves. Whoever put them there really has some explaining to do.

His gaze passes Shadow Milk’s mirror, smiling at where he placed it. Stepping closer, he brings his staff over, seeing the several smudges against the glass. He reaches over and rubs at one, not surprised to see it not come off.

According to Shadow Milk, this thing is old. The worn wood and grime proves that fact. It’s unfortunate he’s barely cleaned it.

Pure Vanilla turns away and bends down to the books on the floor. Dust cakes these books, but their titles are still eligible. He brings his staff down to get a better look. A Brief History on the Taming of Cakehounds, Pastoral Practices, How to Grow a Green Thumb…man, maybe it’s not in this pile. Oh wait! There it is.

Hiding underneath is a familiar title: 100 Fairytales Throughout the Ages. He remembers this book containing the story they were discussing. Standing up, he tucks it under his arm before turning to leave. But before he can even start walking, something catches his staff’s vision.

He turns to the mirror.

…

No. There can’t be anything there. He’s probably seeing things. His lovely staff does like tricking him whenever he pisses it off. But he’s been nice to it lately. It couldn’t have been…

Something moves. He stands in front of the mirror, peaking in.

He can’t see much. It might’ve helped if he had turned the lights on, but he didn’t expect to be here too long. With a tap of his finger, his staff emits a small light, allowing him to get a good view of the mirror.

The room on the other side is a mess. He turns his staff around, surprised to find the setting behind him rather empty. Because in front of him is a portrait of scattered books and scrolls, ink stains slouching the mahogany floor. He tries to get a closer look, noting that the room is also dark. And in his search, something comes into view.

A black staff.

A black orchid staff to be exact.

With many blue eyes blinking at him.

And soon, a face appears. One that Pure Vanilla is very familiar with.

He drops the book. “Truthless?”

The Recluse jumps back, his dull eyes widening. “What–how do you…? What are you?”

Pure Vanilla lets out a breath, placing a hand to the glass. “I’m Pure Vanilla.”

“Yeah, I can see that. How are you–” he pauses and turns his head away. He’s the Recluse alright. With his matty, shoulder length blond hair and dark robes. His face looks worn and tired, with heavy bags under his eyes. He closes them and huffs “Why do you look like that?”

Pure Vanilla blinks and glances down at his white robes, much cleaner in comparison. “Um. I usually look like this. Well, actually, this is a new look.”

“Hm.” The Recluse furrows his brows. “You’re very similar to…him.”

“Him.”

Pure Vanilla has no clue who that is.

The Recluse pinches the bridge of his nose. “What is this…some cursed object? Did he bring a cursed object into my home? I swear to the witches…”

“I should hope I’m not a cursed object,” Pure Vanilla says, smiling. “I’m just Pure Vanilla. Though this item does intrigue me.” He presses a hand to the frame. It’s so strange. When Shadow Milk was showing this to him, it showed nothing. But now that he’s alone, it shows a younger version of himself?

Well, a version of himself that seems slightly exasperated.

“Weird item indeed,” the Recluse mutters. He copies Pure Vanilla’s movements, touching the frame. He brushes a thumb against it. “So…you’re Pure Vanilla. You’re still Pure Vanilla?”

“I’m still me.”

“Right.” He closes his eyes. “But…you know who I am.”

“Of course,” Pure Vanilla says. “I was you at one point, when I was at my lowest.”

His eyes open at that, fingers digging into the mirror. “...What?”

“It was a while ago,” Pure Vanilla continues, “when the world felt painful and confusing. When my entire life felt like it was one big lie.”

“The world is painful and confusing,” the Recluse retorts. “That’s all life is. Confusing, spiteful, and pitiful.”

Pure Vanilla frowns. “It can be. But you shouldn’t let that influence you.”

His brows furrow. “You’re even more like him than I thought.”

“Who are you–”

The door swings open, tearing his gaze away. Standing at the entrance is Shadow Milk, staring at him with unblinking eyes.

“Ah,” Pure Vanilla says, “hello, my love. Sorry, I was just…” he looks back at the mirror. Nothing.

With a smile, he bends down and picks up the book. “I had trouble finding this.”

“Sure,” Shadow Milk says, voice uncharacteristically slow. He floats over and looks into the blank mirror.

“You didn’t,” he starts, “you didn’t see anything in here, did you?”

Pure Vanilla hums. “Nothing I wasn’t familiar with.” He presses a kiss to his cheek. “Now come along. The others have been waiting long enough.”

Before he leaves the room, he takes one last look at the blank mirror.

-

“You know, I’m tempted to kick them out of the lectures.”

“Hmm.”

“I mean, they’re just wasting everyone’s time! I understand that everyone has their own learning pace, but I much rather get to other content for those that want to move on. So many cookies have already asked to move on! I don’t want to keep them stuck on this one topic.”

The Sage dips his quill into the bottle of ink sitting next to him. “Maybe I should give them a private lesson. I’m sure that’ll assist them.”

“Surprised you’re still a teacher,” Shadow Milk grumbles, eyes focused on what he’s knitting. “You know, considering everything.”

“You struggled with it. That doesn’t mean I was going to let it get to me,” the Sage says, brushing his quill against the mirror. “Besides, I only give lectures at the school sometimes. I mostly lecture in the town square. Therefore! Not a teacher.”

Shadow Milk rolls his eyes before leaning his head against the mirror. The action stills the Sage for a moment before he copies, readjusting his position to be more comfortable. Glancing over, Shadow Milk sees that he’s writing some kind of paper on new spells.

If this was eons ago, the two would be exchanging spells to try and advance the magic of their worlds. It was fun, at first, but well…things happened.

Shadow Milk grimaces at his time as the Fount. He wonders if the Sage feels the same.

“So how is working with that new theater group going?” the Sage asks.

“Horrible,” Shadow Milk huffs. “Pure Vanilla keeps telling me to be patient, but I might kill someone if those cookies don’t get their act together.”

“They’re just starting out, Shadow Milk.”

“You say that like you didn’t spend the last half-hour complaining about students asking questions.”

The Sage smirks. “Touché.”

Shadow Milk smiles playfully, eyes shifting over to him before looking back at his current project. He might have to get more yarn. But it’s not like he had a lot of this color to begin with.

“Speaking of Pure Vanilla,” Shadow Milk says, “he came in here the other day to get something, and it took him an obnoxiously long time.” He taps his middle finger against one of his needles. “You didn’t…see him, right?”

“Are you embarrassed of me?” the Sage exclaims, pressing a hand to his Soul Jam.

“What–no!” Shadow Milk yells back. “I’m just asking. He was looking at this thing when I came in here. Only curious.”

The Sage hums, bringing his quill up to his chin. “Well, I haven’t seen anyone besides you in this mirror, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Shadow Milk lets out a short breath. “Right.”

“Besides, I don’t think I can see anyone besides you.”

“...Of course.”

Back when they were both Founts, they did spend a considerable amount of time trying to figure out how the mirror worked. While they both came to the realization that to understand it completely, they would have to break it, they did discover a few things in their testing.

One: the mirror doesn’t work if the other cookie isn’t in its general vicinity. They found that vicinity to be about a distance of 10 feet.

Two: both cookies have to be in that vicinity for it to work. Otherwise, it shows nothing.

And three: the mirror doesn’t work if another cookie can peer into it, or is in the vicinity. You have to be alone.

So, it only makes sense that the only cookies they’ve seen are each other.

Shadow Milk hums. “Do you think he saw your version of himself?”

“Maybe,” the Sage says. “I’ll ask my ‘Clusey about it.”

“Thanks,” Shadow Milk mumbles. And he goes back to knitting.

-

“What are you doing here?”

“I should ask you the same thing,” Pure Vanilla says, sitting on his knees in front of the mirror. “I figured I would find myself alone.”

The Recluse glares down at him before sighing, moving to also sit down. “You and me both, then.”

The second he’s comfortable, he lays his staff in front of himself. “It’s weird. You were saying something last time and then it just…cut off.”

“It might have to do with the mechanics of this object,” Pure Vanilla says, spelling his staff to shrink. It makes it easier to see. “Shadow Milk came to get me last time. That might have something to do with it.”

“Shadow Milk?”

“My other half,” Pure Vanilla clarifies. Strange. Has he not met the Shadow Milk in his world?

“Your other half,” the Recluse repeats. He presses his hands to his knees and thinks. “Is he blue? Very loud and annoying?”

Pure Vanilla snorts. “Yes.”

“Is he slightly taller than you and he always talks about it because he’s used to being shorter than most cookies?”

“Well, no. He mostly floats, so he doesn’t stand next to me often.”

“Hmm.” The Recluse closes his eyes. “I think we have the same other half.”

Pure Vanilla’s lips part. “Really?”

“Yeah, only they’re different, if that makes sense.” He scratches around his Soul Jam. “Like how you and I are different.”

Oh.

Pure Vanilla gets it now. Seeing as the Recluse exists, it’s possible that the Shadow Milk of his world isn’t Shadow Milk at all. They have the same face, yes, but he’s different. Possibly more truthful, if the Recluse has been around long enough.

It’s likely he’s the “him” he was referring to last time.

Pure Vanilla presses his index to his chin. “Fasniating.” He thinks for a moment, watching the way Truthless stares at him through his bangs. Though, Pure Vanilla knows he can’t see anything like that. Maybe he’s trying to be intimating?

At the thought, Pure Vanilla smiles. “So if things are that different, how did you become a cookie of deceit?”

The Recluse tenses up. “You”–he goes to stand up–“you don’t get to ask that–”

“I am only curious,” Pure Vanilla says, standing up with him. “We are the same cookie; I just want to know the circumstances. Sorry if that offended you in any way–”

“Yeah, sure,” the Recluse spits out. “I’m sure that’s all. It’s not like you were able to escape that pit or anything. Oh wait!” He clenches his free hand into a fist.

Once he’s sure that he’s not going to leave, Pure Vanilla sighs and reaches up, pressing a hand to the glass. “I wouldn’t have done that alone,” he mumbles, watching as the Recluse’s eyes shift around the floor.

They dart back and forth, unknowingly following the trails of ink stains. Closing his eyes, he deeply inhales and turns his head up back to Pure Vanilla. “Course.”

Right. He doesn’t seem comfortable talking about his “deceitfullness”. As curious as Pure Vanilla is, he doesn’t want to scare the Recluse away. He’s learned from Shadow Milk to be patient. So he hums, brushing his thumb along a smudge on the glass. His brows furrow at the weird texture. Bringing his finger up, he sniffs it. Hmm. Odd smell, too.

Wiping it off on his robes, Pure Vanilla points his chin to the shelves behind the Recluse. “So what’s this room you’re in?”

The Recluse turns his staff to look, staring at the mess for a while before looking back. “That stuff isn’t mine. It’s my other half’s.”

Pure Vanilla nods. “Is he a cookie of Truth? That ‘him’ you mentioned before?”

“Yeah.”

Wow. To think there really is a world where Shadow Milk is a cookie of Truth. He would like to chat with him, just once. It’d be fun.

“So are you at his place then?” he asks.

“No,” the Recluse continues. He seems more comfortable now. “This is mine. He moved in about a year ago.”

“Ah,” Pure Vanilla says. “That’s around the same time my other half came to live with me.”

The Recluse’s eyes soften. “Are you guys in…the Vanilla Kingdom?”

“We are.”

It’s strange–his tone is so gentle. Like mentioning the kingdom’s name would cause it to shatter. Pure Vanilla wants to ask, but opening up his mouth results in the Recluse glaring at him.

So Pure Vanilla smiles instead. And he can only assume.

-

“I asked Truthless about the mirror.”

Shadow Milk tilts his head towards him. “What did he say?”

The Sage thinks for a moment, tapping his fingers against his pants. Shadow Milk finds it amusing that they both strayed away from robes after forsaking Knowledge.

“He said that he came up here to see what I did with the place,” the Sage continues, “but he said he didn’t see anything.”

Shadow Milk furrows his brows.

With a smile, the Sage leans back. “Yeah, I don’t trust him. He said it in a way that I know means he’s lying.”

“So our other halves have met,” Shadow Milk mumbles, covering the lower half of his face with a hand. It’s weird. He doesn’t know why Pure Vanilla wouldn’t tell him that. Unless Pure Vanilla didn’t even know what he was looking at.

It was different for Shadow Milk. He was a Fount looking at another Fount. But Pure Vanilla would’ve been looking at something a little more deceitful. And considering he was once a cookie of Deceit, even for a brief moment, he might’ve not liked what he was looking at.

“Do you have a problem with that?” asks the Sage.

“No,” Shadow Milk spits out. He crosses his arms. “I’m simply thinking. In fact…this could be a bit fun. If it was a one time thing, well, that’s that. But if they continue meeting…”

The Sage grins, mouth stretching to his ears. “Ohh! I like where you’re going with this!”

“Exactly!” Shadow Milk cackles. “Let’s just relax, Sage. I’m very curious on how meeting will affect our other halves.”

-

Pure Vanilla looks down at the mirror. “...You’re here.”

The Recluse grits his teeth together. “Yeah.”

“Every time I come back, you’re here,” Pure Vanilla says. He sits down with him, brushing his long hair behind him. “Why is that?”

“...I’m curious.”

The Recluse’s words sit with him. There’s more, and he can see that he wants to say more. But his brows are knitted together with his forehead pressed to the mirror.

So Pure Vanilla reaches over, pretending to brush his fingers through his hair. The action softens the Recluse’s gaze for a brief moment.

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Pulling back, he maneuvers his eyes to stare at Pure Vanilla’s face. “There’s some things I don’t understand.”

“You could always ask me,” Pure Vanilla whispers, tilting his head to the side.

The Recluse snorts. “Answers have never brought me any good.”

“And yet, you still ask questions.”

He tenses.

“I- I should go–”

“No, stay,” Pure Vanilla pleads. He reaches a hand out, bending his fingers against the glass separating them. “You don’t have to say anything. I don’t have to say anything. We can just…exist.”

The Recluse’s face is unreadable.

Pure Vanilla’s brows curve down. “Please?”

His jaw clenches. Uncleches. With a huff, he places his staff back down. “Fine. But I decide when this little…thing is over.”

And like always, Pure Vanilla agrees with a smile.

-

“Do you ever think about the endtimes?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“I do, but do you think about them anymore?”

“...Not like I used to. I think recently because it felt so…real. Guess I don’t want it on my mind seeing how everything is finally…peaceful. What about you?”

“When you were in the tree, I used to wish for it. I thought maybe, once every universe and timeline collapsed together, maybe I would see you again. And then I wouldn’t be alone anymore.”

“Hmm.”

“But everything’s okay now. I have my ‘Clusey. And I have you back. I couldn’t ask for more.”

“...Yeah.”

-

“Hi,” Pure Vanilla whispers.

The Recluse lets out a grumble and continues lying against his side of the mirror. His body is almost bent in half.

Sitting down, Pure Vanilla holds out the object in his hands. “I brought something to read. Um, I can read to you, or I can read to myself.” He smiles. “I just want to be in your company.”

It takes a while for the Recluse to respond. He doesn’t face Pure Vanilla, though his eyes do occasionally glance over. With a deep inhale, he closes his eyes and mutters, “Do what you want.”

Pure Vanilla’s smile grows.

-

“Pure Vanilla’s mad at me.”

The Sage blinks as Shadow Milk sits down. “A hello would suffice, dearest.”

Shadow Milk curses through his teeth, crossing his legs. “It’s stupid, really. I mean, it wasn’t even my fault!”

“I see we still aren’t saying hello.”

“Maybe if that kid listened to me, they wouldn’t have broken their leg!”

The Sage pulls away from the mirror. “Did you break a kid’s leg!?”

“What–no!” Shadow Milk sputters. “The kid did that themself. I just yelled at them afterward.”

“Well, you’ve always had a temper.”

“Exactly,” Shadow Milk says, crossing his arms. “But now Pure Vanilla’s upset because the kid was upset. ‘You have to try and better yourself’ he said and all that cliche shit. It’s stupid.” He pokes the mirror. “The bastard's lucky I didn’t kill the kid.”

The Sage snorts. “Well, I know my other half also gets upset when I call cookies out for their stupidity during my lectures.”

“Yeah, but didn’t you say he hates your lectures?”

“He does,” the Sage agrees, “but that’s for different reasons. Seeing as our other halves are essentially the same cookie, he might be upset with you for the same reason that mine gets upset with me.”

“Because we hurt other cookies’ feelings?”

“Exactly!”

Shadow Milk groans and bangs his head on the mirror. “Fuck me, I guess.”

“You know I would if given the chance.”

His heart twists at the comment. “Shut up.”

The Sage snickers before closing the book in his lap. “Besides that, the reason got me thinking. If Pure Vanilla is upset with you for the same reasons that Truthless gets upset with me, you could make it up to him the same way.”

Shadow Milk’s eyes widen. “Wait, your Pure Vanilla is Truthless?”

“Yes.” The Sage blinks. “Oh, right. You told me about what happened in the Spire.”

“Yeah, and you never thought to mention then that you’ve been dating the Truthless Recluse for years?”

“Well I’ve mentioned his name before!” the Sage exclaims.

Recluse. ‘Clusey. Damnit, it really was right in front of him this entire time. Shadow Milk groans and buries his face in his hands. This entire time, he really thought there would be a different version of a deceitful Pure Vanilla. Of course there isn’t.

“Are you done mopping?”

“Nope. Give me a moment.”

A moment passes.

With a deep breath, Shadow Milk looks back at him. “I feel betrayed.”

“You know I would never intentionally do that to you,” the Sage says.

“That’s what makes this feeling worse,” Shadow Milk mumbles. “Maybe you’ll have to make it up to me the same way.”

A sly grin spreads across the Sage’s face. “Ooh, you’re really going to like what it is then.”

And sure enough, the apology leaves Shadow Milk cackling.

-

Slight chatter is muffled by the door. Opening it, the conversations end, and Pure Vanilla’s looking up at him, Black Sapphire and Candy Apple’s gazes following.

Shadow Milk stands at the door. “Can you two give us some privacy?”

The kids glance at one another. They’ve adjusted to the kingdom well enough. Candy Apple’s been learning about art and sewing from some of the villagers. She also likes to run errands for Shadow Milk. And Black Sapphire’s been…somewhere. He’s actually not sure where he’s going. He’ll have to ask when he has time.

With quick nods, the two leave, scurrying out of the room. Shadow Milk closes the door and looks over at Pure Vanilla. His eyes are soft.

Floating over, Shadow Milk tries his best to appear as sympathetic as possible: gentle facial features and curling into himself to be smaller. His mind goes over what the Sage said, and with a deep breath, he sits on Pure Vanilla’s lap and wraps his arms around his neck.

Pure Vanilla stiffens in his chair. Shadow Milk presses his face into his hair.

“Sorry about earlier,” he mumbles.

His tone instantly makes Pure Vanilla melt. Damn. It really was that easy. He’ll have to thank the Sage later.

“It’s okay,” Pure Vanilla whispers, wrapping his arms around Shadow Milk’s waist. “I’m sorry for getting mad. I know adjusting has been hard for you.”

Shadow Milk grumbles and keeps his face in his hair.

Pure Vanilla rubs a hand up and down his back. “I’m proud of you for making it this far.”

Shadow Milk pulls back and looks down at his eyes full of nothing but love. The look used to sicken him, but he’s gotten used to it over time. With a half smile, he leans in and presses a kiss to Pure Vanilla’s forehead.

He already knows what he’s going to say next. So he teases, “But next time has to be different?”

“Next time has to be different,” Pure Vanilla agrees, grinning.

And Shadow Milk laughs, letting Pure Vanilla pull him down into a proper kiss.

-

There is a simplicity to their new routine. They don’t speak, even though Pure Vanilla wants to. There are so many questions that run through his mind regarding his other self. The Recluse sits there, stare blank as he leans against the mirror. And Pure Vanilla reads, fingers brushing over the braille of his book.

He’s read this story many times now. It’s one of his favorites. Judging from the Recluse’s face, he might also be familiar with it.

And yet, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t do anything. He just sits there.

Pure Vanilla thinks he’s observing him. He doesn’t mind. When the Recluse is ready, he will ask his own questions. He must be just as curious as Pure Vanilla regarding the mirror.

Thinking about it, Pure Vanilla brushes a finger against its frame. He feels the rough wood and flakes of varnish that’s, surprisingly, still intact. His index dips into a bit of chipped wood. He smiles. Especially because he notices the eyes from the Recluse’s staff looking at him.

He turns his face to the Recluse. A rosy color flushes his cheeks before he turns away.

And Pure Vanilla returns to his book.

-

“We’re starting a garden soon,” says the Sage.

Shadow Milk stares at him, brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because spring is almost here,” the Sage says. He crosses his legs, swaying side to side. From how his head is tilted, a small light gleams in his monocle. “And you know Truthless likes plants.”

With a grumble, Shadow Milk shoves his knitting project away. He needs to take a break from it. That pattern is personally out to get him. “Pure Vanilla likes plants. You should see the size of the gardens here. Its”–he laughs–“its massive.”

The Sage smiles. “I bet it is. Old texts say that the Vanilla Kingdom was so prosperous at its peak. I would ask ‘Clusey about it but, well, you know how he is.”

Shadow Milk’s picked up enough about him from what the Sage has said. It’s interesting hearing about the differences from how Pure Vanilla was when he was the Recluse. Bringing a knee up, Shadow Milk loops his fingers together and hums. “Yeah.”

Mimicking him, the Sage sits in the silence for a moment. There’s a slight flickering sound on his side of the looking-glass. Back in the day, the Sage went through a candle phase. Shadow Milk doesn’t doubt that it’s back.

The Sage smiles, resting his chin against his knee. “Do you remember the gardens at the Spire?”

Shadow Milk pauses for a moment. Then he copies the Sage’s movement. “Yeah.”

“The hydrangeas and gardianias.”

“The bellflowers.”

“The vines on the maze walls.”

Shadow Milk presses his lips together.

Their smiles are different now.

“Tch,” Shadow Milk mutters, turning his face towards the door. “It doesn’t matter. I never took care of those things anyway. They would always…die.”

The Sage hums. “True. But…it’d be nice to try again. Go back and be there for the things I wasn’t there for initially."

Even the air shifts. It’s stupid. Shadow Milk curses under his breath and shoves himself away, spending the remainder of his time in the room sitting nine feet and eleven inches away from the mirror.

-

When Pure Vanilla enters the room, the first thing he notices is that the Recluse is sleeping.

He’s bent against the mirror, knees pressed to his chest. With his right cheek against the glass, he slumbers, drool hanging from his lip.

Pure Vanilla smiles at the sight. Even the Recluse’s staff is facing the floor. Sitting down, Pure Vanilla places his own staff to the side and leans against the mirror. He copies the Recluse’s position. It’s comfortable.

He spends the remainder of his time reading. Occasionally, he hears a soft sound leave the Recluse. It only makes him smile more.

For a moment, he looks up. He presses a hand to where the Recluse should be. And he traces his outline. What he remembers of it, at least. If things were different, Pure Vanilla would be right next to him, brushing his fingers through his hair.

He pauses when he hears the Recluse shift. Pure Vanilla presses his palm to his Soul Jam.

“Good morning, Truthless,” he says, voice airy. “Well, noon actually. But good noon doesn’t sound as good, huh?”

Shadow Milk would’ve appreciated his attempt at humor. The Recluse grumbles for a moment, probably trying to gather his surroundings. “I…I didn’t realize–”

“It’s okay,” Pure Vanilla whispers.

“Sorry, I’ll go–”

“You can rest with me,” Pure Vanilla says. The Recluse lets in a sharp inhale. But he’s still there. He hasn’t gone anywhere. So Pure Vanilla continues, “You can go back to sleep if you want.”

The Recluse doesn’t respond.

But he slowly moves, pressing himself back against the mirror. Pure Vanilla smiles at the sound and lays his head back where it once was.

-

“You know this place has rats apparently?”

Shadow Milk sputters, looking away from his new project. It’s bluer compared to his last one. “What?”

The Sage nods and continues sorting through the stacks of papers sprawled along the floor. He’s mentioned before that he gets sent countless research papers on the daily. Judging from how he’s annotated it, Shadow Milk has to assume the research isn’t very good.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s to be expected. This place is the ruins of what used to be the Spire. I could’ve handled something like…mold or fungi, but rats? Really?” He huffs and pats the papers down. “Truthless has apparently also made friends with them.”

“Of course he did.”

Shadow Milk sits in his words for a moment. His head tilts up, finding the soft orange light flickering above him. “Is it…weird being back in the Spire?”

“A little bit,” the Sage says. “You know, I left this place for a reason. I didn't like it much. But ‘Clusey offered me a chance to finally make it a place that I can enjoy.” He smiles. “Plus, it’s massive. I have so much more room here.”

Shadow Milk presses his lips together.

They both stay quiet for a moment before the Sage hesitantly asks, “Was it weird for you being back in the Spire?”

His nose scrunches. “A little. I think it’s as you said. Didn’t really like it in the first place, but it was the only home I ever knew.” Tilting his head up, Shadow Milk huffs. “Plus after spending so long in the tree, everything outside of it was so…”

“Different?”

He pauses. “...Foreign. The Spire, the cookies, the grass–even you.”

The Sage presses a hand to the mirror. Shadow Milk copies.

He snorts and turns away. “Ugh, it’s annoying.”

“The world has always been annoying.”

“...Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right, thank you very much.”

And he smiles so gently at Shadow Milk’s giggles.

-

“...”

“...”

“...How is the Vanilla Kingdom?”

“...It’s small in terms of population. We’re slowly rebuilding it right now. Lots of things to do.”

“So…something happened to it in your world too?”

“Yeah. Most of it got destroyed during the Dark Flour War.”

“And that didn’t break you?”

“It hurt. But I can’t let the past get to me. I can do better this time. I will do better.”

“...”

“...Did losing the kingdom break you?”

“...It was only the first step.”

-

Pure Vanilla lets the sun beat on his face. He smiles and raises his head up, dough pleasantly warm. In front of him, Candy Apple is talking to a merchant selling yarn. Shadow Milk mentioned needing more, and she offered to get some for him.

Pure Vanilla being there makes cookies trust the deceitful trio more. Despite them having lived here for months, cookies still look at them odd.

Candy Apple runs up to him, holding a basket full of different shades of yellow and white. “Okay. Ready to go.”

“Alright,” Pure Vanilla hums. “We just need to wait on Black Sapphire, okay?”

She puffs her cheeks. “He’s been getting so much food lately. We don’t eat that much, do we?”

Pure Vanilla glances down at her, a slight smile on his face. “He has his reasons.”

She grumbles and crosses her arms.

With a hum, Pure Vanilla glances down at the colors in her basket. “Never expected Shadow Milk to need those colors.”

“He’s wanting to expand his collection,” Candy Apple says. Like she’s said so many times before. “You know how he is.”

His smile grows. He doesn’t ask any further questions.

-

“Hey, look at this.”

Shadow Milk holds out his hand, presenting a small crocheted cat. 

The Sage awes at it, pressing his face to the mirror. “It’s so cute! Did you make that yourself?”

“What–no!” Shadow Milk sputters. He turns it to face him, staring into its bright yellow eyes. “Someone from the theater group gave it to me. They said it was a thank you.”

The Sage coos more. “Awww, that means they like you!”

“Why?” Shadow Milk ponders, plopping down on the floor. His eyes never leave the cat. “I do nothing but point out their mistakes. Everyone there hates me. Why would this cookie want to thank me?”

“Well sometimes,” the Sage starts, “when we’re wanting to get good at a skill, we want someone there to criticize us. Can’t get any good if we’re shown nothing but praise, you know?”

Shadow Milk presses his lips together.

“You know, when I started volunteering at the local theater, it was those that were brutally honest to me that I appreciated the most.”

“Yeah, but you like honesty.”

“I do,” the Sage agrees. “Because with honesty, we can become better cookies.”

Shadow Milk stares at the cat. Maybe he needs to start complimenting the theater group more often.

-

Pure Vanilla has started reading to the Recluse.

It started off with the last book he was on. The Recluse hesitantly asked him to read to him, so Pure Vanilla did. And when he finished, he found the Recluse sleeping against the mirror.

He reads to him more. Right now, he’s curled up against the mirror, fingers brushing past a beloved story from his childhood. His staff is tilted to show him the Recluse, who matches his posture with soft eyes.

They’re so gentle. They’ve been getting gentlier lately. 

Pure Vanilla smiles at it, joy seeping into his words. And when he looks, he finds faint tears falling down the Recluse’s cheek.

He pauses and tilts his head up, watching as the Recluse brushes them away. “Truthless?”

“Sorry,” he mutters, hoarse. “Fuck, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize," Pure Vanilla whispers. He reaches up and brushes a hand against the glass, fingers bending against where his hair should be.

The Recluse lets out a choked-up laugh before covering his mouth. “I just…I don’t get it.” He buries his face into his palms. “I don’t get it…”

At this moment, Pure Vanilla wants nothing more than to reach out and hold him. But he can’t. So he leans his head against the mirror, hoping that this is enough.

-

“Pure Vanilla is doing something to Truthless.”

Shadow Milk furrows his brows. “What?”

The Sage looks slightly peeved. “Truthless has been moping a lot more lately. And I keep finding him in front of the mirror. I don’t know what your Pure Vanilla is doing to him, but can you tell him to quit it?”

Shadow Milk blinks for a moment, fingers fiddling with the fabric he holds in his hands. “Well, he doesn’t know that I know about him visiting the mirror.” It didn’t take too long to figure it out. Once Shadow Milk realized that Pure Vanilla was avoiding the question of where he was heading after lunch, he put the pieces together rather quickly.

“I don’t care. Do you know how long it took me to get to where I am with my Recluse? Years. Then your other half shows up and undoes all my hard work!” He throws his hands up in the air before he starts pacing back and forth.

Shadow Milk watches him for a moment, listening to the crunching sound of the Sage’s boots against parchment.

He looks down at the outfit he holds in his hands, thumb brushing past the thin shirt. “I mean, I can try poking him about it. But don’t expect me to be upfront about it.”

“Be upfront about it!” the Sage seethes, poking the mirror. “This is my other half I’m talking about! You know how I feel about him!” He curses through his teeth before biting his thumb. “I swear, if I could, I would give Pure Vanilla a piece of my mind…”

Shadow Milk snorts at the idea. “I wouldn’t be able to get you two away from each other.”

“Why? Cause I’d strangle him?”

“No, actually. You two would get along.”

“Well, I’m not very fond of him right now,” the Sage grumbles, turning away. Most of the nails from his fingers have been chewed off.

At the sight, Shadow Milk groans and rolls his eyes, gaze landing on the ceiling. “Fine. I’ll try talking to him.”

“Thank you, dearest.”

“Hmm.”

“Now what’s that you’re holding in your hands?”

Shadow Milk holds it out. “It’s an outfit idea for mine and Pure Vanilla’s date tomorrow night. I’ve been meaning to wear this for a while, and now seems like a decent time to do so.”

“Ooh,” the Sage says, leaning in closer. “Can I see?”

With a snap of his fingers, the jester outfit comes off, and the new one goes on. It’s fairly plain and simple, since he has no idea what Pure Vanilla has planned. Tight, black pants and a loose, white long sleeve. He’ll probably add some jewelry or other accessories when the time comes.

But Sage seems to like it, as he presses both hands to his cheeks. “Oooh! Don’t you look nice!”

Shadow Milk sweeps his arms out and bows. “Thank you, thank you.”

“Wait, wait, turn around.”

With a slight smirk, Shadow Milk obliges, turning his neck to see the beady eyes of the Sage staring low.

“Perv.”

“I don’t apologize.”

“Considering you’ve never apologized before, I don’t expect you to.”

The Sage snickers. And Shadow Milk lets the sound warm his cheeks.

-

“Ready?”

“Of course.”

Pure Vanilla takes his hand and leads him down the path. He’s still keeping what’s happening a secret, but considering the time and the trail, Shadow Milk has an idea.

And once he heard about a little something from the theater group about what’s happening tonight, that idea became clearer.

Shadow Milk glances around at what Pure Vanilla’s been planting this year for spring. Shadow Milk told him that he should get plants that come back every year, but Pure Vanilla argued that he liked the look of annual plants more.

He watched his hassle for a while. It was amusing.

But he pushes that to the side as they leave the gardens, encountering a small patch of grass with a picnic blanket and basket in the center.

Shadow Milk lets go of his hand as he floats up a bit. “How cute.”

“This isn’t the main thing,” Pure Vanilla says, smiling. He sits down on his knees and motions for Shadow Milk to join him. “You can think of this as…the preshow.”

With a slight snicker, Shadow Milk decides to sit across from him, letting his legs lay to the side. Leaning his weight onto one arm, he grins and muses, “Well, any good preshow needs to ready the audience for the main event. What does this one hold?”

“Well…” Pure Vanilla reaches into the basket and pulls out a small container. “It has this.”

He hands the container to Shadow Milk. Looking at its contents shows…a muffin? 

“What?” he asks, looking up at Pure Vanilla.

Pure Vanilla smiles, fingers drumming on his staff. “I made it myself.”

Shadow Milk almost chokes on his own spit. “What? How? Who let you into the kitchen?”

Laughing at his befuddlement, Pure Vanilla tilts his head back, moonlight highlighting his tan dough and blond hair so nicely. “I let myself into the kitchen. It’s my kitchen, you know.”

“Yeah, obviously”–Shadow Milk gestures to the staff–“but you can’t see worth a damn.”

“I just had to tilt Orchid at the right angle,” Pure Vanilla says, brushing his long bangs out of his face. “And don’t worry, I had some help. Black Sapphire was with me the entire time to try everything.”

Shadow Milk blinks. “That’s what he’s been doing?”

“Among other things,” Pure Vanilla says. “He’s also been getting ingredients for me and helping in the kitchen. He’s an excellent teacher, you know. I think he gets it from you.”

Ignoring his comment, Shadow Milk opens up the container and sniffs. It smells fine. He rips off a piece, taking more effort than it should. Hopefully this won’t poison him.

He plops the piece in his mouth and chews. He frowns.

“You left it in the oven for too long.”

Pure Vanilla sighs and adjusts his staff to look up at the sky. “Damn. I can’t seem to get the timing right.”

“At least it's edible.”

“This one is edible. My first attempts were not.”

Shadow Milk cackles.

“Don’t laugh. Remember that weekend when Black Sapphire was sick?”

Shadow Milk laughs some more. “Did you give my minion food poisoning?”

Pure Vanilla’s face turns red. “Maybe.”

Continuing to snicker, Shadow Milk leans in and presses a kiss to his nose. “That’s so precious. Let me supervise next time. I’ve been told I’m good at telling cookies what they’re doing wrong.”

Pure Vanilla looks at him so softly. Then he gasps and turns his head to the sky. “Shadow Milk, look.”

He does, finding a meteor shower happening above them.

Giddy as a young cookie, Pure Vanilla lays down on his back, pressing his hands to his stomach.

Shadow Milk snorts at his behavior before laying down next to him, copying his movements. “You know I’ve seen hundreds of meteor showers before, right?”

“I know,” Pure Vanilla says, “but this one is special, because we’re watching it together.”

Shadow Milk looks at him, eyes wide. His heart sits in his throat and he swallows it down, turning back to the sight above him.

…He guesses this one is nice.

“Do you know the story behind them?”

“The one about them being the witches' tears?”

“Yeah.”

“Course I know it. You know that story’s not even accurate, right?”

“Of course it’s not. It’s just a nice thing we tell kids when they’re growing up. But have you heard the other versions?”

“Other version?" He turns to Pure Vanilla.

Pure Vanilla smiles. “There’s one about how they’re actually the tears of the stars. They’re rather lonely up there, you know. Lightyears away from everything. And yet, we still see that loneliness. All the way from here.”

Shadow Milk glances to the side.

“I find myself preferring that version.”

Shadow Milk looks back up at the sky. “Don’t get any ideas. You’ve been spending a lot of time by yourself lately, you know.”

He feels the blanket move as Pure Vanilla tenses.

“Guess some of us have learned to appreciate a bit of isolation, huh?”

“I’ve just been trying to learn more about myself,” Pure Vanilla says. “Sometimes we need to be alone to do that.”

Shadow Milk thinks about those words for a moment. “You know…sometimes that loneliness isn’t always good for…ourselves.”

Pure Vanilla turns his head towards him.

“Sometimes we say things, and then ponder on them too long. Sometimes we see versions of ourselves that aren’t…us. But they are, if that makes sense. We see the different paths and scenarios. Better versions whose lives we can never have. Because there’s too much darkness behind us. And really, the only difference is that they saw that darkness, and knew it was a path they didn’t want to take for themselves. And now they look at you like you’re something damaged and broken.”

Shadow Milk blinks, gaze still stuck on the sky. But he tears away, finding Pure Vanilla looking at him with parted lips and watery eyes.

He frowns. “What?”

“Nothing,” Pure Vanilla mumbles. “I just…realized something.”

They go back to silence.

“Have you felt like that?”

Shadow Milk takes his hand, looping their fingers together. “...It’s complicated.”

Pure Vanilla brings his hand up and kisses the back of it. He looks at him so softly, lips trailing along each digit. “You know,” he mumbles, “I think the view down here is a lot nicer.”

Shadow Milk snorts and lets Pure Vanilla kiss his hand some more. And with a knowing glint in his eyes, Shadow Milk maneuvers himself to lay on top of Pure Vanilla, hands coming apart. He leans in and kisses him, cupping his face.

His dough is so soft against his. Pure Vanilla wraps his arms around him, palms trailing up and down his back. He’s always been so handsy. Shadow Milk doesn’t mind it, as he deepens the kiss, sucking in every little whine falling from his other half.

He pulls back with a grin and leans back in, lips dancing down his jaw to his collarbone.

An airy sound leaves Pure Vanilla as his hands find his shoulders. “You know, I’ve always wondered something.”

“Mm?”

“Why are your eyes always open when we kiss?”

Shadow Milk pauses and tilts his gaze over to the staff. “...Just wanna make sure you’re still there.”

Pure Vanilla giggles. “I’m not going anywhere, Bluebird.”

And Shadow Milk sinks his teeth into him.

-

Surprisingly, the Recluse isn’t there when Pure Vanilla arrives.

He stands in front of the mirror, seeing nothing but smudges and dirt. There’s no bookshelf full of mess and love. There’s no Recluse full of intrigue and mystery.

Pure Vanilla frowns. The Recluse is always here; he doesn’t know what could’ve made this time any different. Is it because he didn’t show up yesterday? It can’t be. Pure Vanilla’s skipped days before and he’s never said anything.

Though, in truth, Pure Vanilla still knows nothing about him. He can only infer.

He presses his forehead to the mirror and sighs. He really wanted to talk this time. He still wants to. There are so many things he needs to say. So many questions he has. Seeing how Shadow Milk spoke…maybe the Recluse, also being a cookie of Deceit, is the same.

Maybe.

He doesn’t even know.

Sighing, Pure Vanilla presses a hand to the glass, brushing his index along a stain. It’s definitely an odd texture. He pulls back and brings his staff closer. How did Shadow Milk get the mirror this dirty?

He doesn’t have time to ponder the question, as he realizes the image behind the stain. With a gasp, he looks up, noticing the Recluse slinking around the corner.

“Hey,” he mumbles. The bags under his eyes are worse.

“Hey,” Pure Vanilla says. “I was wondering where you were. How are you doing?”

“I’m. Fine. W- what,” he breathes, “what are you still doing here?”

“Well, I wanted to come see you,” Pure Vanilla says. His thumb brushes along the looking-glass.

“But I wasn’t here,” the Recluse says. “Shouldn’t you see that I’m not here and then leave?”

“You don’t do that with me. Why would I do that with you?”

“Because–” he zips his lips shut. He closes his eyes and thinks for a moment. When he opens them, he asks, “Why are you giving me the time of day?”

“Because I want to get to know you,” Pure Vanilla says, honest.

“Why? We’re not saying anything, we’re just sitting here.”

“We are. But I’ve learned a little trick from my other half to be patient and persistent.” He tilts his head, hair falling over his shoulders. “You’ll talk to me when you’re ready. And for the time being, I’ll be here. And rather it be reading or chatting, I’ll enjoy your company.”

A heavy breath leaves the Recluse. “Why?”

Pure Vanilla lets out a soft chuckle. “Because you’re me, obviously.”

“I know that, but why?”

“Because I want to know about the me on the other side of this mirror,” he whispers. “Simple as that.”

The Recluse’s breathing stays heavy. He turns away, clenching his palms against his robes. He heaves, body shaking. “No, that can’t be the reason. You can’t be here out of mere curiosity. Y- you want something from me, don’t you? Do you want to prove a point? Are you trying to mock me?”

Pure Vanilla frowns. “Why would I want to do that?”

The Recluse whips around and bares his teeth. “I don’t know, Pure Vanilla, why would a cookie like you waste your time on a version of yourself that you’re over? A version of yourself stuck in this pit of hell while you continue thriving!”

Pure Vanilla watches him for a moment. He watches his chest rise and fall. He watches as the Recluse curses to himself and presses his forehead to the mirror. Tired. Defeated.

From thoughts he has pondered for far too long.

Pure Vanilla copies his movements, only breaking the mimicry to place his left palm flat against the glass. “Truthless…is that how you think I see you?”

He breathes. Heavy and deep.

Pure Vanilla sighs and glances away. “That’s not how I see you. Even though I don’t know much about you, I know that your situation must have been different from mine. If it wasn’t for my friends, I would have stayed like that. And you…”

He smiles. “You’re so strong.”

The Recluse sets his jaw.

“You’ve lost many cookies, haven't you?”

Silence.

“Despite that, you keep going. And I can tell from the look in your eyes, you hold so much love in your heart. Despite the world beating you down, you still love. Rather that be for cookiekind, or your other half, or both.”

“Don’t say that,” the Recluse mutters.

“Am I wrong?”

He lets out a breath and pulls away, hands grasping his hair. “I- I don’t deserve your praise–”

“If you think that, it means you deserve even more praise–”

“No, no, n- not from you.”

Pure Vanilla leans back and watches him for a moment. “...How do you see me?”

The Recluse pauses. “...You’re an angel. You’re so bright. You’re right there but I can’t ever reach you. I can’t ever be like you.”

“You don’t need to be like me,” Pure Vanilla says. “You just need to be yourself.”

“But I don’t like me.”

“I like you. Your other half likes you.” Pure Vanilla keeps his hand on the mirror. And slowly, the Recluse reaches out to touch the glass on his side. “Maybe you don’t see it yet,” Pure Vanilla continues, “but we do. You’re worth it. And if you let me…I could show you how worth it you are.”

It takes him a while to respond. But when he does, with a slow, hesitant nod, Pure Vanilla can’t help but smile even brighter.

-

Shadow Milk’s hands move mechanically. He’s done this pattern so many times now. So many variations. So many colors. It’s one of the few perks of being immortal.

Well. It’s a perk and a drawback. Mainly because while yes, he’s very good at knitting, he’s also very much falling asleep.

Really should’ve gone home when a different kid fell off the stage. He knows better than this. But! Behaving in that moment meant that Pure Vanilla showered him with affection, so he isn’t complaining.

He might complain about the soft look the Sage is giving him.

“Tired?” he asks, tilting his head against the glass.

Shadow Milk grumbles and stares down at his project. “I need to get this done.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. You have time.”

“The last time you said that, I ended up in a tree.”

The Sage flinches ever-so-slightly. Groaning, Shadow Milk bangs his head against the mirror. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Maybe he is tired. But not wanting to think about it, he turns back to his project and continues knitting, ignoring the way his eyes drift off to sleep.

-

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

The Recluse stands there, hand curled into a ball against his stomach. He looks to the side, contemplating before asking, “How was your day?”

So he’s starting the conversation. Pure Vanilla didn’t expect that. Still, he hums and lets his head lull to the side. “Pretty typical. Wrote some letters. After this, I have to go teach some classes.”

The Recluse observes him for a moment. “You’re a teacher?”

“I teach basic healing to some of the villagers. Nothing too crazy.”

“Hm.”

Pure Vanilla adjusts his hold on his staff. “Is something wrong with that?”

“No,” the Recluse mutters. “I’m just realizing things about myself.” He pauses and turns his head to the left. “You um, you mentioned writing letters? Who were they to?”

“My friends,” Pure Vanilla says. “They have their own kingdoms and lives. I still like to keep in touch.”

“Of course.” The Recluse thinks for a moment, closing his eyes as he inhales. From his movements, Pure Vanilla notices a little something hiding within his palm.

He leans in. “What’s that?”

The Recluse flinches a bit, eyes squeezing tighter. But with a shaky exhale, he opens his hand and extends it, revealing a small vanilla orchid pendant. One that Pure Vanilla remembers well from his childhood.

He gasps and covers his mouth. “You still have that?”

“I have a lot of things.”

“Woah,” Pure Vanilla says, reaching out. He goes to take it, but frowns once he remembers the glass in the way. So his fingers just bend against the image.

The Recluse snorts.

“I haven’t seen that in so long,” Pure Vanilla says. “Did you get it from the shepherds too?”

“The ones that lived right next to us? Yeah.”

“Amazing,” Pure Vanilla says. “I used to visit them whenever I went back home. Wow, it’s been ages since I’ve been back. Everyone that I once knew is gone, but it’s still nice to see the place, you know?”

He pauses once he sees the blank stare in the Recluse’s eyes. “...Truthless?”

His fingers curl around the pendant. He squeezes it tightly.

Pure Vanilla presses a hand to the frame of the mirror. “Did…something happen in your world?”

He breathes for a moment.

He keeps his eyes closed.

“After the war. After I lost my kingdom, my life, I- I went back home. Because…I couldn’t have lost everything, right? But…there were monsters. In the village. In the streets. In the pastures. Around every corner and in every shadow. They had killed every cookie.”

-

“Alright, what do you think?”

The Sage looks up from his paper, eyes squinting at what Shadow Milk holds in his hands. “Is that a scarf?”

“Obviously,” Shadow Milk snorts. He looks down at it. The yarn isn’t the best quality, but he has a lot of it. It’s what he gets for stealing every shade of blue he could get his hands on in his younger days. “My other project was pissing me off so I made this.”

“It’s cute,” the Sage says, leaning in closer to the mirror. “Though it looks similar to all the other ones you made.”

“Yeah, that’s why this one is for you.”

The Sage stares, lips parted. “...What?”

Shadow Milk stands up and wraps the scarf around the mirror. “I need to get something to hold it, but here.” He positions it around Sage, watching as his cheeks turn a similar color as the yarn. “It matches your hair.”

The Sage covers his mouth, eyes watery. “Aww…”

“Hey, don’t cry on me now!”

“You’ve gone soft!”

His face burns, nails digging into the scarf. “What–no I haven’t!”

“You have!” the Sage exclaims. “Just last week you wouldn’t let me draw flowers around your face and now you’re making me a scarf!”

“I didn’t want you to damage the mirror!”

“Oh, you know this mirror’s experienced worse.”

Shadow Milk’s breath hitches.

“Hold on, wait,” the Sage continues, placing his papers to the side. He knocks over an ink bottle in the process. “Tie it around the mirror. Tell me how it looks.”

Grunting to himself, Shadow Milk does. With a loose knot formed, he tugs it slightly, a smirk curving against his lips at how Sage moves forward.

“Well?”

His eyes twinkle in such a familiar way, smile lines growing on his face. Both hands press to the mirror, and Shadow Milk hums, pulling the scarf again. The Sage moves closer. So does Shadow Milk.

Gaze flitting over him, his smirk turns soft, in a way he knows the Sage is familiar with. So he chuckles. It feels nice.

“It looks really stupid,” he mumbles, and the Sage laughs.

“I bet it does,” he says. “It makes me wish I could be on that side with you.”

Shadow Milk doesn’t verbally respond. But they both lean in, lips pressing against the glass.

-

Pure Vanilla tilts his staff down, staring at the object clinging to the mirror. “...Do you see this?”

The Recluse looks with him, face scrunching. “Why do you have a scarf tied around the mirror?”

“I didn’t do this,” Pure Vanilla says. “Must’ve been Shadow Milk or one of the kids.”

“Hm. Wait, you guys have kids–!?”

Pure Vanilla’s face burns. “Wait–no! We don’t! They’re not our kids! They worked for Shadow Milk, and they came to live with us when we moved in together. Not our kids!”

The Recluse’s breathing calms down a bit at that. He places a hand to his chest, hunching over. Like the idea of kids was that terrifying to him. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“Apoligies,” Pure Vanilla says. “I didn’t know you hated kids.”

“I don’t hate kids. I just can’t see me and Sage ever having them.”

Pure Vanilla blinks. “Is Sage your other half?”

“Yeah,” he says. “The Sage of Truth, as cookies call him.”

Pure Vanilla frowns. “Does he not have an actual name?”

“No,” the Recluse says, “I’ve asked him about it, but he says he doesn’t see the need for one.”

Interesting. Pure Vanilla can’t help but wonder why, seeing as Shadow Milk has a name. 

Pushing that curiosity to the side, he goes and sits down, crossing his legs. Like always, his staff shrinks. And the Recluse copies. Though, Pure Vanilla can’t take it seriously because of the scarf.

He giggles. “That looks so silly.”

“You’re telling me. It’s like you’re cut in half.”

Pure Vanilla giggles some more. He’ll have to thank whoever put the scarf there later.

-

The floor on the other side of the mirror is a mess.

It usually is. The Sage has always been messy with his research, tossing it in the closest corner instead of organizing anything. Shadow Milk was the same back in the day. But now, he obviously doesn’t like looking at anything remotely close to a research paper.

It makes him question how the Sage is still able to do it.

…Well. He has a few ideas.

He stares at the knocked over ink bottles and spilled scrolls everywhere. The Sage sits in the mess, quickly jotting something down with the messiest handwriting imaginable. Shadow Milk can’t read it from this angle, and every time he floats in an angle where he can, the Sage presses the paper against his chest.

“I’m not gonna steal it from you.”

“Well you’re not allowed to look! It’s a surprise!”

They don’t exchange spells anymore. The Sage knows this. And yet, he writes anyway.

Shadow Milk groans and looks to the ceiling.

-

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Pure Vanilla bends down, noticing the Recluse holding something in his hands. “What’s that?”

He extends it, revealing a small pink tulip growing in a pot. It’s still young and too early in the season, but Pure Vanilla gasps all the same. “Oh, it’s so beautiful.”

“We’re growing them in our garden,” the Recluse says. He places the pot in front of the mirror before sitting his hands on his knees. “It’s been difficult. I haven’t grown anything in very long. But it’s been…enjoyable.”

He scoots the flower closer. “Here. I want you to have it.”

Pure Vanilla stares for a moment, lips parted. A small sound leaves him as he covers his mouth, looking back and forth between the tulip and the Recluse.

“Oh, Truthless,” he says, pressing his hand to his chest. “You shouldn’t have…”

“You’ve been taking a lot of time out of your day by seeing me. This is the least I can do to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“For putting up with me.”

Pure Vanilla’s smile turns sad as he reaches over, placing a hand to the mirror. The Recluse copies, eyes shifting along the floor nervously. “Truthless,” he says, voice soft, “you are so sweet. But I already told you you’re worth so much. Please, do not feel like you have to thank me.”

The Recluse’s breath shakes. His fingers bend against the glass and he turns away, cheeks dusting themselves a lovely garnet red. “Uh, yeah. Right. Course.”

And Pure Vanilla giggles, his own face warming at the beautiful reflection before him.

-

“Have you told Pure Vanilla about me yet?”

Shadow Milk blinks, looking up from his project. Now that he’s had a sufficient enough break, he finds himself with new inspiration for this old piece. But he has to push it to the side, because the Sage stares at him with big, unblinking eyes.

Papers are still spilled out around the floor. He still doesn’t seem to care.

“No,” Shadow Milk says, laughing. “That would be a bit weird, wouldn’t it?”

The Sage frowns.

Sitting his needles down, Shadow Milk tilts his head to the sky. “Have you told Truthless about me?”

“Yes, of course. I tell him everything.”

“No you don’t.”

“Okay. I try to.”

Shadow Milk glances over at his other self through his bangs. “Pure Vanilla and I don’t talk about the mirror. I think he knows that I spend time here. I’d be surprised if he didn’t, but it's not something we’ve ever verbally acknowledged.”

The Sage keeps giving him that same pitiful look.

Shadow Milk throws his hands up. “What? What do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell your new partner about your old partner.”

“Didn’t know we were official.”

The Sage raises an eyebrow.

Shadow Milk’s face warms. “Okay. Fair.”

“So will you tell him?”

“I’ll try.”

“Hmm. Good boy.”

And Shadow Milk playfully shoves him away.

-

Pure Vanilla’s eyes don’t want to stay open.

He tries his best to stay in the moment. He doesn’t get to see the Recluse a lot. And even if their conversations are small, they’re still sweet. He still wants to be there. So he tries his best to stay awake.

Unfortunately, the Recluse can immediately tell that something is wrong. “What happened?”

Pure Vanilla sighs and glances to the bookshelf on his left. “Nothing. Just tired.”

The Recluse doesn’t buy it. “I’m sure that’s all.”

Pure Vanilla pushes some of his hair out of his face and huffs a laugh. “I didn’t sleep well. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in the Spire. Back in the war.”

“...You still think about that stuff?”

“Of course I do,” Pure Vanilla confesses. “Just because things are better now, doesn’t mean these things don’t haunt me.”

The Recluse presses his lips together.

“It doesn’t matter. Despite my lack of sleep, I still had things to do this morning. There’s a few cookies in the kingdom that still don’t trust Shadow Milk, Black Sapphire, and Candy Apple. I try my best to get them to see that they have changed. But…things don’t always work for some cookies.”

“...Yeah. I know what that’s like.”

Pure Vanilla smiles. “We’re used to it at this point.”

The Recluse thinks for a moment, gaze facing what Pure Vanilla now knows is the door. His fingers drum against his staff, the vines wrapping around his wrist. And when he stops, he turns to face Pure Vanilla.

“Why do you let it not get to you?”

“Because I can’t always change what cookies think about me and those I care about,” Pure Vanilla says. 

“No, no. I mean…everything? There is darkness in you, but you don’t let it make itself known.”

“I don’t,” Pure Vanilla says, “because living in that darkness won’t make the now better. I can learn from it. I can grow around it. But I can’t change it. So instead of letting it consume me, I’ll use it to make a better future for me and the cookies around me.” He pauses. “Does that make sense?”

The Recluse looks at him for a moment, free hand balled up against his side. But he unclenches it and sighs, looking to the floor.

“...Yeah. I know what you mean.”

-

When Pure Vanilla’s back hits the bed, he almost passes out then and there. The day has been so long, but he doesn’t regret it. He’s glad that cookies still choose to live here. He’s glad that he can teach the basics of healing.

So he’s glad for the exhaustion. Glad because it means all his efforts are starting to mean something.

He smiles briefly at a gentle movement. Even with his eyes closed and pulled away from his staff’s vision, he can sense him.

“Hello, Bluebird.”

“Hey, Nilly.”

His hair brushes against his chin, causing him to giggle. “Can I help you?”

“You’ve been ignoring me all day.”

Pure Vanilla’s heart pangs at the reminder. “Ah, right. Shit, I’m sorry. You were wanting to talk about something, right?”

“Yeah,” Shadow Milk mutters. He hums to himself and floats down closer, breath warm against Pure Vanilla’s face. “But it can wait.”

“No, we can discuss now–”

“Nope,” Shadow Milk says, popping the “p” sound. “You rest. Now. We’ll discuss in the morning when you have a clearer head.”

A part of Pure Vanilla’s surprised by Shadow Milk being this considerate. A few months ago, he wouldn’t say such a thing. This little moment makes him smile, and he coos as Shadow Milk shifts into a small animal and climbs onto his chest.

He reaches a hand up and pets his soft, fluffy head. A cat. He’s turned into a tiny cat.

As a cat, his other half kneads his chest before curling up, purrs lulling Pure Vanilla to sleep much quicker.

For the first time in a while, he has a dreamless night.

And when he wakes up, he smiles at the blurry black cat sleeping on his chest. As much as he knows they should discuss whatever Shadow Milk was wanting to discuss, he can’t help but not want to disturb him.

It’s so rare that he gets to see him so peaceful. He wants to cherish him forever.

Unfortunately, he must be breathing too loud or something, as Shadow Milk starts to shift, ear twitching. His heterochromic eyes open, and Pure Vanilla reaches up to pet his head.

“Good morning, love,” he whispers. He gets a meow in return.

He giggles before Shadow Milk shifts back into his usual cookie form, legs dangling off the bed. Grumbling, he maneuvers so he’s not about to fall off before placing his head right back on Pure Vanilla’s chest.

“Did you sleep well?” Shadow Milk asks. “Is your head finally clear?”

Pure Vanilla lets out a chuckle, brushing his fingers through Shadow Milk’s hair. “Yes. I slept well.” He presses a kiss to the top of his head. “It was wonderful. Thank you, Bluebird.”

“Don’t thank me. I just need you coherent for this conversation.”

Pure Vanilla hums, shifting to be more comfortable. “This must be serious then, huh?”

“Depends on how you take it,” Shadow Milk mutters. He sits up, looming over Pure Vanilla. And while Pure Vanilla can’t see much from his staff, he can see a bit of worry in his other half’s face.

Worry.

He doesn’t see him worried often.

“Listen,” Shadow Milk says, “you know uh. Us? What do you call us?”

“Soulmates?”

“No, no. I mean…our relationship besides that.”

“Partners?”

“Yeah,” Shadow Milk breathes. He closes his eyes and thinks for a moment, hands gripping the sheets of the bed tighter. “There’s kinda…someone else.”

…

Pure Vanilla blinks.

Oh.

His lips part and he stares. He blinks some more. He stares again.

And then he turns his head towards the sky. “...Huh.”

“...Is that all you have to say?”

“I’m trying to process this.”

“Right.”

Pure Vanilla tilts his head back towards him. “So, you’re seeing someone else?”

“I was seeing them before you,” Shadow Milk says quickly. Sweat accumulates against his dough.

“Oh,” Pure Vanilla says. “How long before me?”

“...A while.”

A while.

He’s being vague.

“Do I know this cookie?”

“No,” Shadow Milk says. “You don’t.”

Huh.

Pure Vanilla hums. “Do they live in the kingdom?”

“Kinda? In a way? Not really, but kinda.”

…What?

Where could he have met this cookie? Are there cookies that still live in the villages around the Vanilla Kingdom? Pure Vanilla doesn’t think there is. There’s nothing there anymore.

But besides where this cookie could live, there’s the aspect that he’s been seeing this cookie before Pure Vanilla. Why didn’t he mention this before? Is this a cookie that he was sort of seeing and they finally decided to put a label on it?

“Do they know about me?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Shadow Milk says. “They’re also seeing someone else. If that. Helps.”

Pure Vanilla presses his lips together. His head is starting to hurt. Why didn’t Shadow Milk mention this before? He’s not mad, just confused. He wants to know about this cookie. He wants to know when they met, how they met–how they were able to form a relationship with him before Pure Vanilla.

He swears he would’ve noticed a difference in behavior from him if he started seeing someone. Sure, he’s different now, but it’s been a gradual difference. His sharper edges are still there, even if a bit duller.

So why can’t he pinpoint a point in time where he could’ve met this cookie? He’s lived in the Vanilla Kingdom for almost a year now. They’ve known each other for one and a half years. Did he meet this cookie before he came to live here? What, did he meet them before the tree–

…

Pure Vanilla’s eyes widen.

…Ah.

He had suspected something, the item is his afterall, but he didn’t…

To think that his relationship with him is more.

The stains. The shape of the stains.

The hours he’ll spend there.

Pure Vanilla almost laughs. But Shadow Milk is still staring at him with big, unchanging eyes.

So he smiles and turns his head towards him. “Does this cookie make you happy?”

Shadow Milk finally blinks. He shifts a bit. “I guess.”

He says the same thing about Pure Vanilla. His smile widens. “Then they’re okay in my book.”

Shadow Milk blinks more rapidly. “Are you sure–”

“You’re allowed to love more than one cookie, Blue,” Pure Vanilla says. He reaches up and brushes some of his hair out of his face. “But next time someone catches your eye, please let me know.”

His other half lets out a breath, hand pressing to his chest. “Right. Thank you.”

He leans his forehead against Pure Vanilla’s. Pure Vanilla hums and wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer. “I mean…wow. I would love to meet this guy one day. What’s he like?”

“Loud,” Shadow Milk mutters, burying his nose into the crook of his neck. He inhales deeply, finally allowing his body to relax. “Blunt. Rude. But he’s very smart. You’d get along with him.”

“Would I?”

“Yeah. It’s why I can’t let you two meet. I wouldn’t be able to get you away from each other.”

Pure Vanilla laughs, nuzzling his nose against his temple. “I see.” He sighs and cards his fingers through his hair. “You know, there is a cookie that has caught my eye recently.”

“Hmm. Wait, excuse me?”

Shadow Milk sits up, hovering above Pure Vanilla. “What? Who? When? How?”

Pure Vanilla giggles at his tone. Quick and confused. He turns his eyes towards the ceiling and rests his hands against his stomach. “Just a guy. He’s quiet. Reserved. But there’s this underlining softness to him. I want to hold him and tell him everything is gonna be okay.”

“You’re like that with every cookie you crush on.”

“You’re not wrong,” Pure Vanilla agrees. 

Shadow Milk stares at him some more. “Are you and him anything?”

“No,” Pure Vanilla says. “But maybe someday. I think that’d be nice.”

“Hm.”

“Hm indeed. I’m glad you told me about this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shadow Milk mutters, climbing off the bed. “Don’t expect any double dates soon.” He stretches his arms above his head, groaning in the process.

“I won’t,” Pure Vanilla says. “And, love?”

He looks back at him.

Pure Vanilla smiles. “The blue scarf you made him is really cute.”

Shadow Milk tenses, lips parting. And then he laughs, the air around them tasting a bit more honesty.

-

The Sage is once again spending his time writing.

Notes are lying around him. Shadow Milk thinks he’s comparing them. And he’s sure that he’s spent a lot of time away from the mirror researching. Sometimes, he checks to see if Shadow Milk is still there. He taps the mirror. Shadow Milk taps back.

And then he’s back to writing.

Shadow Milk complains. The Sage tells him he’ll regret stalling him once he realizes what he’s working on. But Shadow Milk couldn’t care less.

So he turns back to his knitting project, needles working with the pale yellow yarn.

-

“Where do you live?”

“...Huh?”

Pure Vanilla tilts his head towards him. “You know where I live, but I don’t know where you live. You mentioned it being your place, yes? Where is it?”

The Recluse turns away and clears his throat. “Ah. Yeah, it’s uh. It’s the old Spire at the Peak of Truth.”

“The Peak of Truth?”

“Do you not have that?”

“No,” Pure Vanilla says, “We don’t. I do know about the Spire. I spent some time there when I was a cookie of Deceit. It’s truly massive, huh?”

“It used to be,” the Recluse mutters, “When Sage was the Fount. But after he left it, it went to ruin. Most of it is crumbled. Some parts are still intact–the parts that we live in. But for the most part, it’s old and probably filled with some kind of disease.”

“And yet you chose to live there?”

“Yeah. Someone has to protect cookies from the Peak.”

Pure Vanilla thinks for a moment. “I see. Is the Peak dangerous then?”

Flinching slightly, the Recluse stays silent. Until his lips slowly part, and he whispers, “It’s the knowledge the Peak holds. Answers to all the secrets of cookie life. Even answers that would drive any cookie to insanity.”

“I assume that’s what happened to you?”

The Recluse pauses again.

“I…I had already lost everything. I wanted something that wouldn’t be as painful. This couldn’t be what my life, what all my efforts, came to. Life had to mean something else. But…no. The Truth is just as miserable.”

“It can be,” Pure Vanilla says, frowning, “but I’ve learned to not let it impact the choices I make.”

“That’s what Sage says.”

“Sage seems to be right about a lot of things huh?”

“Don’t tell him that. It’ll go to his head.”

Pure Vanilla laughs.

“You know Truthless,” he giggles, “it’s sweet that you wish to protect cookies. Even after everything. You really have a lot of love in your heart.”

The Recluse clenches his hands into fists. “...Thank you.”

-

When Shadow Milk enters the room, he sees the Sage sleeping against the mirror. A string of drool hangs from his lip, face smushed against the glass.

A few papers are scattered around him. Even in his slumbers, his fingers cling to a bunch laying in his lap. Shadow Milk tilts his head, finding himself unable to even read his handwriting. It seems to have gotten worse as the years have gone on.

He’s tempted to leave him like this. Leave him sleeping, and then wake up regretting that he slept through the only hours of the day they get to talk.

Shadow Milk crouches down and glares at him. The hours used to be more. As Founts, they often spent days in each other’s company. But then the years happened. Shadow Milk started sinking.

And when he needed him most, he wasn’t there.

His fingers dig into the fabric hugging his knees at the reminder. But he’s pulled away at the sound of the Sage muttering.

“No…”

Of course he talks in his sleep. Shadow Milk snorts. Pure Vanilla says he does the same.

“No…I- I’m sorry.”

Shadow Milk tenses, eyes digging into the sleeping figure. He twitches: fingers digging into the stack of papers, leg kicking out slightly.

“S’not funny,” he mutters, lip trembling, “please…come back…”

Swallowing down his emotions, Shadow Milk knocks on the mirror, pulling the Sage away from his dream. He jolts up, head whipping over to Shadow Milk’s direction. And when he sees that he’s still there, he lets out an exhale and presses his forehead to the mirror.

“Just a nightmare, Sage,” Shadow Milk whispers.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah…”

-

Pure Vanilla has found that the Recluse has kept a lot of things over the years. Most days he’ll bring trinkets. Gifts that were handed to him from both friends and strangers. Cookies he met in his travels and cookies that once lived in his kingdom.

He’s kept it all.

Pure Vanilla feels less bad about the junk still lingering in the castle. Because the Recluse finds worth in it. He’ll show him an empty capsule that once held food. He smiles, because behind that item was a cookie. A life.

And even though that cookie is no longer around, they still live through the items.

So the Recluse will show him an old pot with dry soil and wilted plants. And Pure Vanilla will turn around, finding peace with the jewelry boxes and empty shelves.

-

Shadow Milk watches the Sage work.

He’s almost done with his project. He could work on it. But instead, he watches the Sage work.

His forehead pressed to the mirror, his eyes linger on the way his hands move. The way he writes. The way his gaze flickers over each paper like they are of equal importance. The Sage smiles when he works. It’s as if he genuinely enjoys what he does.

Genuinely enjoys academia.

A world that crushed Shadow Milk over and over again.

He closes his eyes and breathes.

-

“Hey,” Pure Vanilla whispers.

The Recluse glances over at him, eyes so soft. The bags under them have been getting better too. It makes Pure Vanilla smile before he reaches to his side and reveals a red carnation.

His other self sits up straighter, bringing his staff closer to get a better look. “...What?”

“For you,” Pure Vanilla says. “For allowing me to accompany you in these moments.”

The Recluse presses a hand to his lips, body shaking and trembling. And then he digs his fingers into his face and tilts his head down. And then he cries. Soft. Quiet.

Just for them.

-

“...How do you still do it?”

“Do what?”

Shadow Milk scrunches his nose and points. “That.”

“Research?” The Sage finally pulls away from his papers to look up at him. “I mean, I enjoy it. I wasn’t going to let other cookies ruin my love for discovery and papers just because they were being assholes.”

Shadow Milk sews his lips shut.

The Sage watches him for a moment, the grip on his quill loosening. “...Shadow Milk?”

“Hm?”

He pauses and looks back at his papers. Then he looks back at Shadow Milk. “You know I wouldn’t be me without you, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. You didn’t want to fuck yourself over like me, I get it.”

“Shadow Milk, that’s not what I meant–”

“No, but it’s what you implied.”

“Shadow Milk–”

“I get it, Sage,” he snarls, “I get it.”

-

The Fount of Knowledge spent many years alone.

He was always supposed to be alone. A solitary figure meant to guide cookiekind to the path of Truth and Knowledge. A path away from sweetness and confusion.

Maybe his witch wasn’t thinking when she baked him. Knowledge will oftentimes be confusing. Truth is oftentimes painful.

So the Fount spent that delirium alone.

…Until he got the mirror.

On the other side of the mirror was himself. But at the same time, a separate cookie. A cookie he could talk to on the same intellectual level. A cookie that could understand him. In a way, a cookie just for him.

He spent many nights talking to himself. To the mirror. At first, they exchanged information and research. But as the years went on, they found themselves laughing at jokes only they found funny. They found themselves talking about their days. Complaining about cookies and colleagues. Because on the other side of the mirror was a cookie who got it. A cookie just for them.

And the Founts would smile, fingers and lips brushing against their shared glass.

Until one day, one didn’t show up.

The Fount stayed by the mirror for hours, wondering if maybe the other said he wouldn’t be there the previous day and he just forgot. That happened sometimes. Or like other times, when something important would come up last minute and they didn’t have time to tell the other.

So the Fount thought nothing of it.

And he came back the next day.

He still wasn’t there.

Maybe it was something really urgent, he thought. Cookies of the world were like that. They never thought to consider that the Fount of Knowledge had more important things to do.

The Fount shrugged and went about his day.

And he came back the next day.

Once again, he wasn’t there.

So he came back the next day.

The Fount stared at the mirror. Surely his other self would have mentioned something.

So he came back the next day.

Surely his other self wouldn’t abandon him.

So he came back the next day.

Surely–surely–this is all some misunderstanding. He must have mentioned a duty or something that would separate them for a period of time. He must’ve.

So he came back the next day.

And he came back the day after that.

And the day after that.

Because he knew his other self never mentioned anything.

So he came back the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

Weeks passed in front of the mirror. Weeks passed away from him.

He kept coming back.

He kept staying.

Years passed with no sign. Years passed away from him.

And when he’d inevitably leave, he’d return and wait.

And when the years inevitably crushed him, he’d return.

Because maybe, he’d be there. Maybe the crippling job and horror of reality wouldn’t hurt if he was there. Because he understood. He understood the pressure.

He’d come back again and again.

And when that pressure caved, he was left beating his hands against the mirror.

Because there were three consistencies in his life:

One: the cookie populus was a fucking joke.

Two: cookies always preferred sweet lies over the bitter truth.

Three: everyone always left him.

And he was no exception.

It didn’t matter what they were. It didn’t matter how connected they were. It didn’t matter how he made him feel. None of it mattered.

And yet he stood in front of the mirror, no glass to reflect the depravity. Something closer to Shadow Milk than the Fount.

And yet, he returned again and again.

And when he saw him again, it was as if time never passed in his world.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he exclaimed, “I got looped into a research opportunity across the sea and spent a little bit more time there then I would’ve liked! Oh, I’m so glad you’re still here–”

He paused, finally looking at what he had become. “...Fount?”

He shook his head. “Not anymore.”

He almost looked terrified. Hands pressed to the glass, he leaned in, eyes darting along his figure. “Oh, dearest, what happened? I- I couldn’t have been gone for that long–”

“Years.”

“We’ve survived longer! T- these years couldn’t have been any different–”

“...Well they were.”

He never knew how to start with what happened to him. In truth, he never opened up about it. He hoped that maybe time would also take its toll on him, and then maybe, he would understand once more.

But that never happened.

Maybe in a way, it did. But not like the broken piece of glass that he picked up and still decided to cherish.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m here now, yes? It’s okay. E- everything is okay.”

“Is it?” He cocked his head to the side. “C’mon, lovely, we’ve spent years apart now. Look at you and look at me. Do you think my hours have been a sugary delight?”

“They haven’t,” he agreed. “But I still love you, okay? C’mon, just tell me what happened–”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Of course I’ll get it–”

“You won’t,” he gritted out, “because you had to go and play scientist while I had to deal with the idiotic morons of this world. Did you have fun without me? Was I just holding you back?”

“Dearest please, I love you, you know it’s not like that–”

He grabbed hold of the mirror, bringing it closer to his face. “Oh it’s not like that, is it? Tell me then, what is it? What made you gain the courage to come back after all this time? After abandoning me without saying a goddamn word.”

“I missed you,” he said, reaching up to touch his face. “I miss you every time we’re apart.”

He bared his teeth. “Liar.”

“No, I mean it,” he continued. “You know I’m nothing but honest with you. I- if you don’t want to tell me now, that’s fine. But I’ll continue coming back, okay? I’ll be here. Maybe one day, you can find it in yourself to be honest with me again. But until then, just trust me, okay?”

He glared at him.

“Dearest, please. We have time now.”

“Do we?”

“We do,” he said, smiling.

And the next time they met, it was thousands of years later as Deceit and Truth.

-

It doesn’t take a lot to make the Recluse smile now.

Sometimes all Pure Vanilla has to do is look at him and get blessed with the view. He never noticed how delicate he looks when he’s happy. Because the world is finally giving him a reprieve.

Or maybe he’s always had one, and it’s only taken him this long to see it.

Pure Vanilla lets the thought warm him as he glances over at the sleepy figure next to him. They like to go back to their old routine on occasion, with this being one of those moments.

Pulling a hand away from his book, Pure Vanilla reaches up and brushes a finger along his matty hair.

The Recluse leans further into the glass and smiles.

-

Shadow Milk glares down at the Sage still working.

“Are you done yet?”

“No. I’m close though!”

Shadow Milk groans and tilts his head up to the ceiling. “You’ve been saying that for weeks now.”

“Yes, but considering how long I’ve been working on this, a few more weeks is close.”

Right.

He’s tempted to reach out into the mirror and strangle him.

-

“What’s life like there?” the Recluse asks.

Pure Vanilla hums, drumming his fingers against his knee. “It’s finally peaceful.” He giggles to himself. “It’s been peaceful for a while now, though. But sometimes it feels like I might wake up and see that this is all a dream.”

“...You feel that too?”

He turns to face the Recluse as he rapidly blinks before yanking his head towards the bookshelves. “I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“No, don’t apologize," Pure Vanilla says, pressing a hand to his shoulder. “I get it. Everything hurts for so long, and when it's finally over, we keep expecting it to come back.”

The Recluse pulls his knees to his chest, hugging them tight. “I- I don’t…”

“It’s okay,” Pure Vanilla says.

“I…”

“It’s okay.”

“...How do you feel it?”

“I’ve felt pain. You know this.”

The Recluse covers his mouth. “I don’t…I don’t understand…”

“We’ve all felt pain, Truthless.”

“...I don’t understand…”

-

Shadow Milk stares down at the finished project in his hands, finger rubbing over the soft yarn. Next to him, the Sage continues scribbling, hands covered in ink smudges. He’s so focused. Just like before.

Just like the past.

He huffs at the sight and turns back, pressing the cardigan to his chest.

-

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Pure Vanilla expects him to start the conversation. But the Recluse stands there, both hands on his staff. He squeezes his eyes shut. He opens them. He parts his lips to speak. He closes them.

He swallows. So Pure Vanilla tilts his head to the side. “Truthless?”

“I- I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“You have nothing to apologize for–”

“No I”–he covers his mouth–“I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Pure Vanilla frowns. “Truthless–”

“No, let me talk.” He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. With both hands back on his staff, he says, “I’m sorry. I- I started coming here because I was curious about you. How could another version of me that hasn’t suffered exist, you know?”

“Truthless…”

“B- but as we’ve continued meeting, I came to the realization that I’m just a moron, huh? Of course he’s suffered. But he’s just like that damn Sage. He found a way out of it. And I have to sit here and deal with it. Because he’s suffered. He’s been through hell. And what? Does that mean that I’m weak because I can’t climb out of it?”

Pure Vanilla presses a hand to the glass.

The Recluse copies. “But apparently it’s worse than that, huh? Not only has he’s suffered but”–he lets out a choked-out sob–“he keeps looking at me like that. Like I’m not me. Like I’m someone worthy of that look.”

“Because you are,” Pure Vanilla interjects.

“But I’m not,” he begs. “I can handle those words from Sage. But not you. Please…anyone but you.”

Pure Vanilla watches the tears roll down his cheeks. “...What makes me the exception?”

“You’re me,” the Recluse says, “a me that’s so radiant. A me that I actually like. I–” he pulls away from the mirror, pressing his hand to his chest. “I can’t handle it, Pure Vanilla. Please, stop looking at me like that.”

Pure Vanilla drags his hand higher. “I’m not doing that.”

The Recluse curses under his breath and turns his staff away.

“I still don’t understand why you can’t see the beauty in yourself.”

“...Because I’m not you. I was fine until I learned you exist.”

Pure Vanilla hums. “I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t you first.”

The Recluse turns around and shoots a glare at him.

Sighing, Pure Vanilla takes a seat on his knees, shrinking his staff down. He waits for the Recluse to join. He doesn’t. He just hovers over Pure Vanilla.

So Pure Vanilla pushes his hair out of his face and contemplates his next words. “I like you, Truthless.”

“...Why? I haven’t given you a reason to.”

“Existing is reason enough,” he says. The Recluse flinches. “I like you, because you exist. Because yes, I did have to reach darkness before heading towards the light. For me, that was being a type of Recluse.” He smiles. “And yet, you’re different.”

The Recluse frowns. “This isn’t comforting.”

“I’m getting there,” Pure Vanilla says. “You are different. You are so different. In my darkness, there were moments where I didn’t want to see the next day. But you…you strive. You live.”

He leans in closer. “You live to protect cookiekind from the things that have harmed you. You live with love and care in your heart. You smile and experience happiness. You’ve planned a future with somebody, Truthless! That’s amazing!”

His face turns that familiar shade of red. “I- I didn’t–”

“Do you have your miserable days? Yes. We all do. But you’re proof that we can live next to that. After the misery comes good days. Love will grow in its roots.”

“That’s–” the Recluse chokes out. He covers his mouth as the tears continue. But he stays. He stays and collapses in front of the mirror. “Don’t say that to me…”

“You love,” Pure Vanilla continues, “you love, and that’s amazing.”

He moves his hand to act like he’s cupping his face. The Recluse, tears raining down his cheeks, snorts and leans into it. He smiles. So soft. So bright in its own deceitful way.

And maybe Pure Vanilla is being a bit ridiculous here. But he looks at the Recluse. The Recluse looks at him. And Pure Vanilla slowly leans in, eyes flicking between the Recluse and his staff.

He breathes, and they both lean in, lips pressing against the mirror.

It looks silly from what Pure Vanilla can see. They both pull back giggling, the Recluse covering his mouth as the sound continues.

“Oh my witches…”

“I know,” Pure Vanilla says, kissing that spot again, “I know.”

“How the hell does Sage do that?”

Pure Vanilla hums, readjusting his staff. “I guess he keeps his eyes open.”

The Recluse’s lips part, hand pressing to his Soul Jam. He looks back at Pure Vanilla’s staff before leaning in again.

It’s softer this time. A few giggles seep past their lips, but they're trapped against the glass. Pure Vanilla faintly flicks his tongue against the mirror, face burning at the taste. Burning at how the Recluse does the same, a gorgeous whine falling from his throat.

Pure Vanilla grips the frame. The Recluse copies. The Recluse tilts his head. Pure Vanilla tilts it the other way.

His whole gut turns. His hold on the mirror tightens. His nose bends against the glass. 

Maybe in a time and space where all universes have collided, they can have each other even closer. Pure Vanilla can press him against his dough and tangle his fingers into his hair. He can hold him, and grow to love him.

They pull back panting, foreheads pressed against the mirror.

With flushed cheeks and adoring eyes, the Recluse smiles. “Thank you.”

And Pure Vanilla smiles back.

-

Pure Vanilla spends his evenings with the kids.

Once again, they aren’t his kids (they aren’t even kids) but Shadow Milk refers to them as such. And in turn, his manner of speech is starting to rub off on him.

He sips his tea, humming at the way the vanilla taste warms him. Sitting across from him is Black Sapphire, who has taken up looking through some letters from the Faerie Kingdom. On the floor is Candy Apple, laying on her stomach while she doodles.

His staff tilts towards her. “You’re getting so much better,” he tells her.

She grins, showing him all her sharp teeth. “I’ve been listening in on some cookies in the kingdom teaching this.”

“Ah,” he says, “you know, I’m sure they’d love having you in their lessons.”

“Nah. I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I said I’m good. They don’t like me, I don’t like them. ‘Tis the way of life–or something like that.”

Pure Vanilla frowns. “They don’t like you?”

“She cursed them out when we first got here,” Black Sapphire says, smirking.

“And they deserved it!” exclaims Candy Apple, whipping her head over to him.

Sighing, Pure Vanilla tilts his head up. Seems like there’s still so much to do around the kingdom.

The sound of the door opening tickles his ears, and he turns his head. Despite not being able to see who entered the room, he knows there’s only one cookie it can be.

“Hey, Blue,” he says as Shadow Milk plants his feet next to him.

“Hey,” says his other half. He presses his hand to his shoulder.

“You’re usually with Sage around this time,” Pure Vanilla points out. He notices how Black Sapphire and Candy Apple glance at one another. From what Shadow Milk’s told him, they don’t know about the mirror

“He’s been ignoring me lately,” Shadow Milk grumbles. 

Pure Vanilla hums. He remembers the Recluse mentioning that he’s been working on a major spell recently. Something that could change their lives for the better, if he manages to get it right.

“Well, I’m sure that won’t last long,” Pure Vanilla says, taking Shadow Milk’s hand. “But until then, you can stay with us.”

“Yeah, um, about that,” Shadow Milk starts. His voice trails off, but he must’ve made some kind of signal to the younger cookies, as they both get up and leave the room.

Pure Vanilla shifts, placing his cup of tea on the table next to him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shadow Milk says. He slowly steps into view. “You know, it’s just…this entire thing has been weird and strange and. Weird.”

Pure Vanilla smiles. “You’re gonna have to specify what you mean, love.”

Shadow Milk presses his lips together before making a vague gesture with one hand. The other stays behind his back. “Us. Me being here.”

“Of course,” Pure Vanilla says. “I never expected you to adjust right away.”

“I’m still adjusting,” Shadow Milk grumbles. “I mean, have you seen the theater group? Witches, I want to rip their heads off most days–”

“Shadow Milk.”

“Right,” he grits out. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. When he exhales, he continues, “Look, you know this is weird to me. You know I don’t do all these…emotions and comfort with all the handholding and rainbows. But. It’d be weird being here and not”–he really thinks about his word choice–“appreciate what you’ve done for us. Mostly the kids. You know, not me, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Yeah,” Shadow Milk says. With a shaky breath, he slowly reveals the item behind his back, presenting a pale yellow cardigan. Knitted onto the ends are a few cream sheep.

“Here,” Shadow Milk continues. “Take it.”

Pure Vanilla does, smiling so wide that his cheeks hurt. His whole body warms, and he’s sure Shadow Milk feels the same from how his face and ears turn the color of blueberries.

His fingers run over the yarn. It’s so soft.

“I love it,” he says, pressing it to his chest.

“You better,” Shadow Milk says, crossing his arms. “That thing was a pain in the ass to make. Those sheep? Those sheep are assholes.”

Pure Vanilla laughs, feeling like he’s floating. He stands up and places the cardigan down before pulling Shadow Milk into a hug. He tenses, arms stuck at his sides.

“Thank you,” Pure Vanilla whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t thank me,” Shadow Milk spits out, “I- I just didn’t want to feel like I owed you anymore.”

“Hmm, of course, my love.” Pure Vanilla kisses that spot again. “Whatever you say.”

Shadow Milk groans and buries his face into his shoulder. “I hate you.”

“I love you too.”

-

Maybe being in the Vanilla Kingdom is changing him in a way.

Shadow Milk doesn’t like to think about it. He’s the Beast of Deceit, how is one squishy kingdom supposed to change him? It wasn’t supposed to. In the beginning, he just agreed to go out of survival.

But…

He finds that the kids enjoy being here. Enjoy living a life. Having the chance to be regular cookies.

He finds that he gets less weird looks. As the weeks drag on, the stares passed his way are mere glances. Something he’s never had before.

And then there’s Pure Vanilla.

A cookie that he sought to destroy. And now he’s sharing a bed with him? He’s knitting him cardigans for no other reason than because he feels like it? He kisses him, and lets his hands explore his body not to get access to his physical weak points.

But because he has become his weakness.

Shadow Milk groans at the thought, digging his fingers into his hair.

Things really have changed since he left the tree. The world fluctuates still, and yet, its breaths have calmed. Things can be peaceful; everyone says that. He never knew that peace for himself could also mean peace for everyone else.

It never was before.

He should be happy. And yet…

He looks at the old door. A door that contains an even older mirror.

When he left the tree, the Sage seemed to be the most changed of all. The last time he saw him, he was still the Fount of Knowledge. But then the years passed. And instead of ascending into Deceit, he fell into Truth.

He experienced the pressure. The annoying public. And instead of letting it get to him, he decided to forge his own destiny.

But what does that say about Shadow Milk?

In the beginning, he was just happy to see him again. The terms they left off on seemed meaningless. Because now, Shadow Milk was going to make sure they could stay together. The Sage had changed, yes? Maybe in the years, he learned his lesson. Maybe, like Pure Vanilla, he would vow to never leave him alone. And stay by his side.

But Truth never changes.

He stares down at the Sage, letting the years flow crystal clear in his mind.

“There you are!” the Sage exclaims, sitting up straighter. “Where were you? It’s been days!”

Shadow Milk raises an eyebrow. “Wasn’t aware you cared about my absence.”

The Sage frowns, pressing both hands to the glass. “Of course I care about your absence. Shadow Milk, you know I love you–”

“Oh stop spewing that bullshit,” Shadow Milk snarls, bending down. “You say that all the damn time, but you really don’t mean it. You really think that our years and experiences equal love?”

The Sage’s fingers dig into his papers. “You can’t be backtracking now after everything. What’s gotten into you?”

“Oh I don’t know, Sage,” starts Shadow Milk, “maybe it's that everything is finally all covered in sunshine but this one bit of my past doesn’t seem to get the memo. He’s still stuck in a hole of research pretending that his reality isn’t looking back at him.”

“I like research, Shadow Milk,” the Sage snarls, tossing his papers to the floor. “I like what I do. I know we’ve been over this so can you stop projecting–”

“I’m not projecting,” seethes Shadow Milk. He points at his Soul Jam. “It’s just that one of us seems to have not learned anything over the years.”

“I have learned things,” the Sage retorts, “I’ve learned many things about the world and myself. You think just because you allowed yourself to be hurt by those things means I was going to let them hurt me?”

“Allowed? You think I allowed anything to happen to me?”

“I don’t know, Shadow Milk. It’s starting to seem that way.”

Shadow Milk bares his teeth and grabs the frame of the mirror, pulling it closer. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He laughs. “You’re so delusional, lovely. You can’t seem to see the state you're in. After all these years, you’ve never known freedom. You don’t even have a name–”

“I do have freedom,” the Sage says. “You want to talk about being trapped? You’re constantly letting all this shit get to you while not realizing that there are other ways. You never learned to ignore their voices in pursuit of your own happiness. You never learned to be better.”

He laughs, mimicking his pointing. “And you want to know the funny thing? I believed otherwise. Because look at your surroundings, Shadow Milk. You have something good. That sunshine you mentioned? It’s all around you. Things are better. So stop looking for the bad.”

“I can’t.”

“Oh really? Why can’t you?”

“Because you can’t seem to understand that hell,” Shadow Milk says. “Because you’re a stubborn, arrogant pain. Because you keep ignoring me in favor of some stupid spell–”

He pauses, lips sewing themselves shut.

The frustration in the Sage’s face slowly subsides.

Shit.

“...Is that seriously what this is about?”

Shadow Milk groans and plops himself on the ground.

“Witches, you’re pathetic.”

Shadow Milk shoots his other self a glare.

With a heavy sigh, the Sage pushes his bangs out of his face. “Witches above, why is this my type? I need to stop doing this to myself.”

Chuckling softly to himself, the Sage scoots closer, brushing his spells and research away. “...Are you up for unpacking all that?”

“No.”

“Too bad.” The Sage shifts to sit more comfortably. “Shadow Milk, dearest, you know how you experienced the worst in the time that we were apart?”

“...Yeah.”

“It was like that for me when you were in the tree,” he says. “When I last saw you, you were so damaged and hurt. And then you went away. And I never knew the reason.” He gives him a sad smile. “I waited. Spent years in front of the mirror. I feared the worst, because there was nothing else for me to compare it to. So I waited. I begged. I waited. And after the century passed, I started thinking.

“Whatever happened to you must have been so painful. By the time I finally stepped away, things had changed. There were cookies that grew up without a Fount of Knowledge that now had access to one. That small break, albeit unintentionally, gave me the time to realize the world around me. What I had let cookiekind do to me. What it eventually did to you.”

He places a hand to the mirror. “I love research. I love telling cookies about everything I know. But if cookies aren’t going to offer me an intellectual conversation, why should I waste my time with them? Eventually, the crowds dwindled and Knowledge stopped speaking, but I learned that that was okay. Because I learned to be true to myself. And eventually, I started attracting cookies that wanted those conversations.”

His smile grows. “Eventually, I had Truthless. My other half. Things seemed so complete, no?”

Shadow Milk furrows his brows.

“But they weren’t,” the Sage continues, “because even after eons and eons of not seeing you, I still found myself standing in front of this mirror. Wishing I could reach into the other side and pull you out of the darkness you found yourself in.”

Slowly, Shadow Milk places his hand against the Sage’s. He keeps his gaze on the door.

From his peripheral, the Sage leans in closer. “But you made yourself a home in it, huh?”

Shadow Milk groans and leans his head against the mirror.

“A home,” he continues, “that you want little ol’ me in?”

“You’re starting to give me a headache,” Shadow Milk grumbles.

The Sage giggles and places a kiss on the side of his head. “It just means that you love me.”

“No, it means you’re giving me a headache.”

“Semantics.”

Shadow Milk rolls his eyes, but smiles anyway.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you,” the Sage says. “But I knew this was a spell that you’d enjoy.”

“And how would I enjoy it? I don’t get all giddy about that kind of stuff anymore.”

“Well,” the Sage starts before pausing. He knits his brows together, thinking. “Hold on, it’ll be easier if I show you.”

He quickly shoves everything away with his foot, clearing the space in front of the mirror. From here, Shadow Milk can see that the floor is more ink than wood at this point. A fresh spill lies directly in front of the Sage, bottle right by his knee.

“Lean back for me,” the Sage says, “I don’t know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

Hesitantly Shadow Milk listens, moving to sit on his knees and turn his body towards the Sage. The Sage copies before sticking a hand out. He wiggles his fingers a bit, slowly inching towards the mirror.

“I’ve been working on this spell since you were in the tree,” he says. “For a period of time, I thought it was impossible. But recently, I came across some information that made me realize otherwise.”

He spins his middle finger around in circles. Never touching the mirror. “From my understanding, all I have to do is this…”

He pushes his finger forward. His hand. His wrist. Forward.

Through the glass.

Right in front of Shadow Milk.

He gasps, air rasping against him as the Sage cups his face, that wickedly beautiful grin growing. Instinctively, Shadow Milk leans in, soft thumb brushing along his cheek. Bitten nails brushing through his hair.

“Sage,” he breathes, because there is nothing else to say.

“Shadow Milk,” the Sage says. He reaches his other hand out. He holds the face of his other self. Palms and cheeks so similar yet different.

The Sage leans in, nose, bangs, monocle passing through the glass. Right in front of Shadow Milk. He reaches out and holds his face in return, breath shaky. He meets him halfway.

And after all these years, he can finally answer the question on how he tastes.

-

“Thank you once again,” Pure Vanilla says.

Black Sapphire waves him off. “Please. You’re providing me a place to sleep. It’s the least I can do.”

Pure Vanilla giggles, the sound gentle even in the empty halls. He adjusts the cookbook in his arms and sighs, gaze finding its way to the window illuminating the night sky.

“Hey, Black Sapphire–”

A scream yanks him away, the two looking at one another before dashing towards the sound.

His heartbeat quickens as he gets closer and closer, dread knowing where it came from the second they turn down its halls.

He opens the door.

And stares down at Shadow Milk and the shattered mirror.

He steps in, cookbook falling from his hands.

Black Sapphire stands next to him. “W- what happened?”

Pure Vanilla steps forward. Feet dig into the shards.

Shadow Milk stares down at his own jam covered hands.

Holding a piece of glass.

Pure Vanilla drops his staff. Drops to his knees.

He holds his other half. His other half holds him.

“He’s such an idiot,” he mumbles. “A stupid, clumsy idiot…”

Pure Vanilla breathes.

And they collapse into the embrace.