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For the first time since he’d left the spire, when Shadow Milk woke up to a warm, familiar pressure around his waist, he didn’t bolt upright. Not immediately, anyway.
It was early morning. He could tell, as the sun was only just starting to filter through the curtains in hues of gold, and the birds had not yet greeted him with their usual serenade. He was in Pure Vanilla’s room. Or, maybe it was their room now, he didn’t know. It hadn’t been long at all since they’d become a thing. An ‘item’. It hadn’t happened with a grand gesture of love like he would’ve expected from someone like Pure Vanilla, instead with a late night kiss that neither of them had brought up the next morning, even though they both knew exactly what it meant (although Shadow Milk would rather throw himself off the balcony than admit anything).
Shadow Milk, although appearing perfectly himself (or as normal as he could be in this situation) on the outside, didn’t know whether to be angry, mortified, ecstatic or all of the above. The ancient’s soul jam was closer than ever before, closer than it had ever been since the days spent in the spire. He knew he could probably just reach out and grab it at any point he wanted, but it was difficult to concentrate. Especially if they were both pressed together.
He became painfully aware of his surroundings when his senses adjusted. Pure Vanilla’s arms were draped lazily around his waist, and he was snoring softly, unaware that their soul jams were practically squished against each other. Shadow Milk let out a quiet, involuntary gasp at the pulse of warming energy that the other’s soul jam transferred to his, but quickly stifled it when he heard another quiet snore from his companion. Despite finding the idea of waking him up quite entertaining, Shadow Milk admitted to himself that this feeling wasn’t entirely awful in his still-sleepy state. Yes, the smell of Vanilla radiating from the ancient’s chest (which he was currently near face-first in) was a little nauseating, but he was used to it now. Anyone could get used to being suffocated with pure sugar and blinding light after staying in the Vanilla Kingdom for a little too long.
He let out a sigh of defeat, knowing he was going to be stuck in this exact same position, flush against Pure Vanilla, until he eventually woke up. In an attempt to distract himself, he closed his eyes, trying to imagine he was anywhere else, but his half-asleep mind kept on drifting to what was said in the spire.
‘I want you to be my friend.’
Well, Shadow Milk thought, this definitely wasn’t his idea of friendship. He wasn’t entirely sure they had even reached the friendship stage before the kiss, but here he was. Before eventually accepting, he’d snapped, screamed, swore that he’d destroy both the spire and himself before ever saying yes. How was he even meant to grasp the mere concept of a friend, after being treated like he was nothing but a doll for so long?
As he adjusted to being awake, he suddenly found himself resisting the urge to transform into a snake and slither away. He knew it wasn’t a good idea, as he had been drained of a lot of his powers since being taken in, and a simple transformation spell like that could leave him humiliated and unable to get up if he wasn’t careful, but there was also something about the way Pure Vanilla was sleeping that was slowly convincing him to remain there forever. He cautiously pried open one eye to (as much as he’d rather die that admit it) admire the soft shadow of the ancient’s long, blond eyelashes, the curve of his cheeks, the soft dusting of freckles on his face.
He squeezed his eyes shut again, knowing he was getting way too ahead of himself, already willing himself to just go to sleep and forget about all this. Hyperaware of every limb on his body, every last bit of contact he was making, he lay rigid while his mind raced so fast he couldn’t even process half of what was going on inside. His consciousness gave him a thousand different signals: recoil, stay as still as a statue, move closer, try to go to sleep and forget it all. Well, the latter option was out of the window, with all his thoughts pestering him like tiny little snakes whispering in his ears and making their way into his brain.
He started to think about how well they fit together. Pure Vanilla’s arms felt like an irresistible invitation, as if he was waiting patiently just for the beast to crawl inside. No, no, that couldn’t be. Pure Vanilla had him trapped in a vulnerable state, to be seen is to be understood. And…to be understood is to be hurt, right?
A knife-sharp pang of realisation hit him and he jolted upright and stood up from the bed, forcefully shoving the ancient off of him without dignity. Pure Vanilla stirred, a gentle hum escaping his lips as he awoke from what could’ve been a long, restorative slumber. Shaky like a newborn lamb from just waking up, he pushed himself upright with his weight on his arms, and rested back against the headboard.
“Hm…?” He hummed softly, mildly dazed. His hazy eyes eventually focused on the shape of Shadow Milk, the beast’s chest heaving with quick, laboured breaths. He picked up his staff and directed it the other’s way to see him better, and noticed the snarl on his lips, exposing sharp, polished fangs.
“Bluebird…?” He shuffled across the bed, reaching out a large, warm hand, and Shadow Milk instinctively recoiled as if disgusted by the mere thought of touch despite being tangled in an embrace only moments ago.
Shadow Milk, with every single defence up in full force and a sense of stubbornness that made sure he would rather die than even admit the slightest bit of enjoyment, burst out into hysterical laughter, before suddenly going quiet. “What?” He asked with a smirk, the question clipped and his voice tinged with the slight shakiness that came with his giggling.
“Well, you sat up so fast, is something wrong-”
“Hm?” Shadow Milk tilted his head unnaturally far, feigning cluelessness, the signature determination to try and irritate his companion returning in his wakeful state. “I don’t get it. What are we talking about again?”
Pure Vanilla, immediately sensing that something was amiss, let out a soft sigh, his brows furrowed in concern. “Is something wrong?” He pried slowly.
Again, Shadow Milk was sent into a fit of giggles. “Oh, Silly Vanilly, nothing could ever be wrooooonng~” He was practically digging for a reaction now. The ancient was by his side, he could do whatever his heart desired. And this? Yeah, this was…definitely what it desired. He reached out a hand, poking the other’s soul jam teasingly.
Pure Vanilla’s tender gaze faltered slightly as he felt the sensation in his soul jam. Despite trying to hold it together, he let out a small, involuntary huff. He attempted to question further, yet again trying to break the beast cookie’s thick, hardened shell, which was to no avail. He dodged interrogations with quips and jokes and teasing, which eventually led to the dreaded question.
“Do you really want this, Bluebird?”
Oh, now he’d done it.
Shadow Milk, unable to differentiate the intense multitude of emotions triggered by Pure Vanilla’s words, concentrated it all into a hot, blinding rage that wrapped around his whole body and mind like a constricting snake. That day at the spire came rushing back to him in an instant. Despite being beside the ancient now, everything he’d worked for to achieve it had collapsed in an instant. In that forsaken structure he was starting to be understood in a place where he’d pushed himself so far down that no light could reach him, and yet the other half of his soul jam was able to squeeze through, just like he had done again now.
Pure Vanilla had shared his own loneliness in that spire, waiting for him with open arms, and he ignored every feeling it stirred inside him, leaving only anger. And he was about to do that again.
With a subtle flick of his wrist, he destroyed one of the sugar glass windows, but almost instantaneously felt the price deep inside his core. His soul jam, which was already drained, pulsated under the strain, each heart-like beat sending a sharp knife of pain through his chest. He doubled over after an excruciating few seconds of trying to hide his pain, huffing loudly as a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
“Shadow Milk Cookie!” Pure Vanilla exclaimed in terror, leaping out of bed and rushing to the beast’s side, who was now stumbling around quite close to the headboard.
Shadow Milk could only feel the burning hot sting of humiliation rising to his cheeks, most of the control over his body deteriorating along with his soul jam. The Beast of Deceit, the Fount of Knowledge, reduced to this?! Witches, it was a pathetic sight.
He felt a guttural, agonising groan slip from the back of his throat as he reached to grab the headboard in an attempt to stabilise himself. Pure Vanilla was already at his side, he knew it because he could feel the overwhelming light radiating by his left side. It was so hot, so stiflingly hot. His whole body was drenched with sweat, his face felt like it was burning, everything hurt…
.
It only felt like a blink, but as Shadow Milk’s eyes adjusted to the light, he came to realise that it was…probably much longer. He was sat in an oversized, plush yellow armchair in the corner of the room, the bed where he definitely remembered standing lingering in his peripheral vision, to his left.
He tried to lift himself from the chair, but immediately, both legs and levitation failed him, and he forcefully sat back down with a grunt, the seat creaking under his weight.
“No, no, don’t try to stand up!”
Shadow Milk’s head, which was tilted downward, eyes locked on his hands which were clasped in his lap, snapped up as he heard the voice. He regretted it as soon as it happened, however, as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He placed a hand over his cheek, craving the cool surface of his palm as his whole face seemed to heat up from the spinning sensation.
“Well, it’s nice to see to awake,” Pure Vanilla continued, approaching from the doorway with what seemed to be a tray carrying two steaming mugs in his hands. He set it down on the small table beside Shadow Milk’s chair with a gentle thud, the towers of steam now visible to the beast as he stared into the contents of the cups with a mixture of confusion and disgust as the strong smell of vanilla assailed his nostrils, stronger than Pure Vanilla himself. It felt entirely alien for him to admit to himself that the smell wasn’t actually that bad. Really, he was more disgusted at even beginning to think something like that than the scent of the concoction itself.
“Go on, drink it. You’ll feel better.”
That tone. Pure Vanilla was still using that sugary sweet tone of voice on him. Like he always did, when he asked for friendship, and when they were finally starting to get used to the proximity, and when, on a whim, they’d found themself so close on that faithful night-
Shadow Milk’s sneered, grabbing the cup with both hands, having to physically will that thought away from the front of his mind. He felt…nauseous. Like a million tiny little snakes were slithering around in his stomach.
His acknowledgment of the mutual love between them was ephemeral like a vase of cut wildflowers, fleeting and beautiful. On a rare occasion, the mere thought of Pure Vanilla being by his side for the rest of his days felt like something he desired more than anything else. But as soon as he even started to dig deeper into those feelings, they dissipated into crevices so thin and so deep that every single spark was drowned by darkness. Right now, he couldn’t tell if the crevices were overflowing, or if he was just too dizzy to form a coherent thought.
With an impulsiveness triggered by a sudden and desperate avoidance of his thoughts, he took a large sip from his mug, which he was startled (but not exactly surprised) to find that the contents were, in fact, still boiling hot. He swallowed hard, fanning his face, tearing up in an instinctual response to the heat.
Pure Vanilla chuckled softly. “Take it slow,” he advised. “I wouldn’t want you to burn yourself.”
Shadow Milk coughed, the sensation of the hot tea still lingering in his throat, but he disguised it as a breathy laugh as he adjusted his grip on the mug, the liquid’s heat slowly seeping through the thin porcelain. “Oh, ya only bothered to tell me now?” He replied teasingly, but his voice was much less harsh than he intended it to be.
Completely unprompted, Pure Vanilla nudged Shadow Milk to the side a little, and squeezed himself next to him on the chair, his own mug clasped in his hands. “Are you alright, Bluebird?” He asked, the nickname naturally slipping from his mouth. It was second nature now; the ancient had referred to him with this name way too many times to himself, to other people, and ultimately to Shadow Milk himself. He waited patiently, not expecting to get much of an answer.
Out of pure instinct, Shadow Milk shifted away, leaning his whole body in the opposite direction. That urge to flinch, to shove, to slither away came crawling over him again. Still leaning away, he lifted the tea back to his lips, and took a much smaller, less aggressive sip. The taste of spiced berries and vanilla immediately filled his mouth, giving him something to focus on apart from the gentle throbbing of his soul jam, which had started again now that it was reunited with its other half. Cautiously, he placed the mug down onto the floor, next to the leg of the chair.
He couldn’t help himself. Slowly, he peered up at Pure Vanilla, who was already gazing back at him with a sweet, patient smile. Again, he was brought back to that same night in which their relationship had been established, after what felt like years of confusion between friendship and a deep, bitter hatred.
That feeling of love that he had once buried so deep started to come back to him again. The wildflowers, once mercilessly plucked and put in a vase to slowly die, were uprooted and lovingly placed in a garden where both truth and deceit could coexist, if they simply tried hard enough.
He was weak now. His soul jam had been drained so much since he first arrived in the Vanilla Kingdom; it wasn’t like he could run away or escape without tiring himself out, or getting hurt in the process. He didn’t have much of an option to do anything but stay here now, with the one person he’d swore he’d never, ever let in. It hurt to even look at the ancient because of the feelings of adoration, hate, obsession and fear overwhelming him at once. But he knew, somewhere deep down, that he couldn’t keep shoving him away. Not anymore.
‘Fuck it,’ Shadow Milk thought, pulling Pure Vanilla’s robes as he kissed him hard on the lips. The ancient let out a startled grunt, but almost instantly leaned into it, returning the kiss with gentle care.
He didn’t know if he’d regret this later. He didn’t know if that familiar hatred would come back to haunt him. He didn’t know what this meant for their relationship, if it solidified things further or if it simply made things more complicated between the two of them, and between the citizens they’d heard gossiping about him the other day, and between the ancients, who, despite trying to act clueless, knew that there was something they kept hidden.
As much as he’d liked to think that he was right where he was meant to be now, he still had no idea. So he focused on the sensation of their intimacy, of his lips making contact with his partner’s, of their soul jams clinking together as they took breaks from their kiss, then leaning back in again, something which would’ve blinded him with rage not long ago.
Shadow Milk didn’t push his companion away this time. Not quite yet.