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May 8, 2025

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 24

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You had just taken a bite of your pastry; still warm, the subtle sweetness of melon practically melting on your tongue when Chai Latte Cookie leaned in with that look. You knew that look.

“So…” she began innocently, twirling a strand of her hair around one finger. “Will the ever-elusive, breathtakingly mysterious, utterly unshakable Sage of Truth be joining us this morning?”

You nearly choked. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a low whistle, already smirking behind his cup. Earl Grey didn’t look up, but you could see the small upward twitch of his lips. You glared at Chai, cheeks warming. “We didn’t even see each other yesterday.”

“Oh, I know,” she said breezily. “Which is exactly why I’m asking. Perhaps absence makes the heart grow bolder?”

“Don’t you mean fonder?” Hazelnut biscotti offered, raising a brow.

“No,” Chai said with mock solemnity. “I meant what I said. This one’s bold now. I saw it. The way they held his hand like a seasoned romantic under the table the other day? The nerve.”

You covered your face with your hands, groaning into your palms. “I’m going to walk into the sea.”

“There is no sea,” Earl Grey said mildly, buttering his second pastry. “But if there were, I imagine you'd still try.”

Chai patted your shoulder, all too pleased with herself. “Don’t worry. We’re proud of you. Truly. But if you think for a second I’m not going to tease you every time he’s not around, you’re wrong.” You peeked out from between your fingers. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love me.” Unfortunately, you did. Still, despite the embarrassment, there was a warmth in your chest that hadn’t faded not since that day in the gardens, not since the quiet walk to dinner, not since the moment you caught yourself watching him with that soft, foolish smile on your face.

No, he wasn’t joining you this morning. But the thought of him lingered all the same. You waited for the perfect beat just as Chai Latte Cookie sipped her tea, her eyes still dancing from the last quip she made about Shadow Milk and then you leaned in, casually, your tone light but unmistakably deliberate. “So,” you said, “is there someone you’ve been thinking about lately?”

Chai choked. A sputter of tea escaped her lips as she quickly reached for a napkin, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with as much grace as one could muster after nearly inhaling jasmine green. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie blinked. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice half an octave too high.

Earl Grey Cookie raised a brow, ever observant. “They barely asked anything. You reacted as though they proposed on one knee.”

“I did not,” Chai huffed, cheeks just a touch too pink. “It was just them asking. I didn’t expect it.” You tilted your head innocently, sipping your own tea. “Why not me?”

Chai stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a carefully constructed smile, she leaned back in her seat, twirling her spoon between two fingers. “You just don’t usually ask things like that,” she said smoothly. “Especially not first.”

Hazelnut Biscotti leaned forward, clearly invested. “But it’s a good question. Is there someone, Chai?”

Chai waved him off with a groan. “Please, like I’d tell you.”

You gave her a small smile, more sincere this time. “You don’t have to tell us. I was just curious.”

Her eyes softened, and something flickered across her face brief, almost imperceptible. She reached for her teacup again, holding it between her hands like a shield.

“…Maybe,” she murmured into the steam. “Maybe there’s someone. Or maybe I just enjoy a good story too much.”

Earl Grey gave a quiet hum, sipping his tea like this was all immensely entertaining. Hazelnut Biscotti looked scandalized; he hadn't gotten a straight answer. But you just smiled, letting the moment pass. Because you saw the way her gaze lingered not on Hazelnut or Earl, but on you. And maybe she did enjoy a good story. Or perhaps she was just quietly waiting for hers to be written.

You rested your chin in your hand, watching the morning light glint off your tea. “I think we’ll get in,” you said, voice softer than expected, but certain. “All of us. The Spire, the labs we want… I really believe it.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie tilted his head, grinning. “You sound pretty confident for someone who almost got taken out by enchanted ice cream.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was one time.” Chai Latte Cookie laughed, nudging your leg under the table. “Go on, then. Enlighten us. What do you think it’ll be like?”

You glanced at each of them, letting the thought build in your mind. “Big, obviously. But not in an intimidating way. More like… the kind of big that feels earned. The towers won’t just scrape the sky, they'll speak to it. Glass ceilings, enchanted railings, whole hallways that reflect constellations, maybe even floating staircases. It’ll feel alive.”

Earl Grey Cookie raised a brow, intrigued. “You sound like you’ve seen the blueprints.” You smiled. “Maybe I’ve just dreamed hard enough.” There was a quiet moment before you added, “I want us there. Together. I want to sit with you all in some ridiculous sky-windowed study hall with piles of research and cups of bad tea and think…we made it. Not because someone handed it to us, but because we earned it. Because we never stopped trying.”

Hazelnut leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, grinning. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“I’m serious,” you said, trying not to laugh. “We’ve all worked so hard. You, with your field reports and that time you got Professor Calamint to quote you-”

“Unintentionally,” Hazelnut Biscotti mumbled.

“Still counts,” you said. “Chai, your enchantments? I saw how the upper division students were in awe of your binding techniques.” Chai blushed, sipping her tea to hide it.

“And Earl Grey,” you continued, looking at him, “you’re probably already halfway to running your own department.”

He didn’t smile, not exactly but something in his expression shifted. A kind of quiet, thoughtful pride.

“I just mean…” You trailed off for a second, then looked back down at your tea, hands cupped around it. “I want it to be us. I want to build something with all of you. Not just research. A life.”

Chai reached across the table, squeezing your hand. “Then let’s do it,” she said simply. “Let’s get in. All of us.”

Hazelnut Biscotti raised his cup. “To windows in the sky and pineapple-free food experiments.” Earl Grey added, “To what comes next. And who we’ll become, getting there.”

You smiled, heart full. “To us. Always.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie squinted at you over the rim of his cup, dramatic suspicion written all over his face. “Okay,” he said slowly, pointing a croissant at you like it was a wand of truth.

“But seriously. Who are you and what have you done with the real you?”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” he said, leaning back with a grin, “first you nearly cry over us doing research together like it’s the last scene in a tearjerker, and now you’re giving motivational speeches over tea. Are you… okay?”

“I’m great,” you replied, mock-offended. “I’m being heartfelt!”

“Oh no,” he said, gasping. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Before you could retaliate, he reached across the table and dramatically placed his palm on your forehead. “Warm. Suspiciously warm. Someone check the pineapple ice cream. I think it’s still in their system.”

Chai Latte Cookie laughed so hard she nearly spilled her tea. “Hazelnut Leave them be!”

“I’m just saying!” he protested, wagging his croissant like a lecturing professor. “Next thing you know, they’ll be asking us to hold hands and sing a unity song about the Spire.”

You groaned, grabbing a napkin and chucking it at his head. “You’re unbelievable.” Earl Grey Cookie, unbothered, sipped his tea calmly. “If they do start singing, I’m leaving. Just for the record.”

“Rude,” you muttered, trying not to smile. Hazelnut grinned, victorious. “There’s the real you. All I had to do was poke the dramatics out.”

You shook your head, finally laughing again. “Fine. No more speeches. But you’re all still stuck with me at the Spire.”

Hazelnut Biscotti gave you a mock salute. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Moments like these made you cherish what it meant to be mortal. Even as breakfast came to a close the laughter lingered in your memories.

The four of you trudged toward Professor Almond Custard Cookie’s lecture hall like prisoners marching toward a velvet-lined doom. Despite the laughter from breakfast still lingering in your chest, the energy had shifted to something sleepier, more subdued as if the early hour pressed down heavier now that the scent of fresh pastries had faded from the air.

Even Earl Grey Cookie, who normally carried himself with such relentless composure, rubbed at his eyes with a gloved hand as you rounded the corner.

Chai Latte Cookie stifled a yawn beside you. “Do you think if we all collectively fall asleep, he’ll just… keep going?”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie groaned dramatically. “He’d probably take it as a compliment. ‘Ah, yes,’”

he said, imitating Almond Custard’s slow, droning cadence, “‘my voice so soothing, so powerful it guides even the most unwilling minds into the arms of dreams.’”

You stifled a laugh. “You know that’s exactly what he’d say.” Chai nodded solemnly. “And he’d still assign homework while we’re unconscious.”

The lecture hall loomed ahead, filled already with the rustle of notebooks and the soft drone of students shuffling into their usual seats. You settled into yours automatically; second row, left side while the others filled in around you.

A few weeks ago, your stomach would’ve twisted just being here. Back then, your notebook was mostly blank, your confidence was hanging by a thread, and Professor Almond Custard had developed an uncanny knack for calling on you at the worst possible moments. But now?

Now your notebook had pages of real notes. Now you could follow the material not always easily, but with far less panic. And now, thankfully, the professor barely called on you at all. Whether that was out of mercy or satisfaction, you weren’t sure, but you’d take the reprieve.

Professor Almond Custard Cookie shuffled in at last, his robes rustling like pages of an old tome, and the class collectively slumped as he cleared his throat.

“Good morning,” he intoned, voice as slow and honey-thick as ever. “Let us return to the topic of magical theoretical integrations and their applications in low-energy environments…”

Hazelnut whispered behind you, “Wake me when he says something I need to care about.” You fought a grin and let your head tilt ever so slightly toward Chai Latte Cookie, who was already doodling sleepy stars in the corner of her notes.

Even Earl Grey Cookie didn’t pretend to look overly invested though his quill still scratched dutifully at his parchment, because of course it did. Your hand drifted to your own pen, and you began writing, a steady rhythm that helped keep your eyes from drifting shut.

The class stretched ahead, dull and slow, but you didn’t dread it anymore. And somewhere in the back of your mind just beyond the sound of Almond Custard’s voice you wondered what Shadow Milk Cookie was doing now.

If he was working on his speech that was endlessly picked apart. If he thought about you the way you were thinking about him. You tapped your pen once against your notebook. Just a little longer, you thought. Then you’d see him again.

The rest of your classes passed in a kind of sleepy, sunlit haze the kind that made your notes a bit messier than usual, but your mind was just clear enough to carry you through.

The late morning hours melted into afternoon without resistance, and soon enough, the four of you were trailing lazily down the corridor together, lingering in the quiet comfort of post-class peace.

“I think I’m gonna head to the Scholar’s Wing,” you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder and adjusting the strap with a small sigh. “Go see Shadow Milk for lunch.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie perked up with a grin. “Oh? A lunch date with the Fount of Knowledge himself?”

“Tutoring,” you corrected smoothly, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “I’ll just… check in on him. See how the speech prep is going.”

Earl Grey Cookie gave a knowing hum, brushing a bit of dust off his sleeve. “Very considerate of you.”

“I brought snacks,” you added, patting your satchel. “I’m not planning to starve myself before dinner.” Chai Latte Cookie stepped in front of you without warning, hands already moving toward your collar.

“Hold still,” she murmured, cupping your face, getting rid of any residual crumbs checking for anything that might be off.

“If you’re going to see him, you might as well look like you weren’t flattened by six hours of lectures.”

You blinked. “Do I look that bad?”

She gave you a soft smile, gently straightening a crease on your shoulder. “No. You look like you. Just… a slightly rumpled version.”

Her fingers lingered just a second longer than necessary before she stepped back. “There. Perfect.”

Hazelnut rolled his eyes dramatically. “You’re sending them off like a lovesick noble in a romantic epic.”

Earl Grey Cookie chuckled. “It’s the academic equivalent of sending a knight off to war.” You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was impossible to ignore. “You three are insufferable.”

Chai looked at you sweetly, “Don’t lie to yourself, you love us.”

You didn’t argue. Just smiled, small and quiet, your heart full. “I’ll meet you all at dinner,” you said, starting to walk backward down the corridor. “If I don’t show, assume I’ve been buried under three feet of rhetorical edits.”

“We’ll bring a shovel,” Hazelnut called.

“And tea,” Chai added.

“And reason,” Earl Grey said with a smirk. “Though he may not listen.”

You waved them off, turning toward the familiar quiet of the Scholar’s Wing notes in your bag, nervous energy in your chest, and a little bit of magic still tangled in your hair where Chai had touched it.

You approached the Scholar’s Wing with steady steps, though your heart drummed a little faster the closer you got.

The soft light that filtered through the tall arched windows of the corridor dappled across the polished floors like shards of daydreams quiet, golden, expectant. It always felt a little different, coming here with purpose.

Not for tutoring, not strictly. Just to see him. You reached the familiar door, the one you’d memorized every detail of by now the precise polish of the brass plaque, the way the faintest hum of warding spells curled around the wood like mist.

You were early. You knew that. Technically, you didn’t need to knock Shadow Milk had said so once, long ago, in his typical way “Formality is a construct. But I’ll indulge it, if you must.” Still, your knuckles rapped gently on the door three soft taps, quick and careful. It wasn’t about permission, not really. It was a greeting. A ritual. You waited a beat. Then another.

No one responded at first, and for a moment you wondered if he might be buried in his work again, head down over a sea of ancient texts or that ever-growing speech draft. But then soft footsteps. A shadow passed under the threshold. The door opened. And there he was.

Shadow Milk Cookie stood with his usual composed grace, robes drawn neatly around him, one sleeve still slightly ink-smudged. His expression shifted the moment he saw you not with surprise, but with a softness that was almost imperceptible if you didn’t already know what to look for. “You’re early,” he said, voice low, calm. You gave a sheepish smile. “I know. But I wanted to see you.”

He blinked once, slow and unreadable. Then, he stepped aside. “Then by all means,” he said, and there was the faintest trace of something warmer in his tone, welcoming, even. “Come in.”

He didn’t say anything more at first just stepped aside as you entered, the soft fall of his robes brushing the doorframe. But something about it struck you. You tilted your head, giving him a sideways glance. “You usually don’t get up.”

Shadow Milk Cookie raised a brow ever so slightly, hands folding behind his back. “Don’t I?”

“Nope.” You stepped further into the room, shrugging off your bag. “You always say ‘Enter’ like a command whispered through the walls. I’ve never actually seen you open the door yourself.” He looked at you for a long moment, then turned, walking back toward his desk with that same composed grace he always carried. “You arrived earlier than usual. I assumed it might be someone else.”

“Ah.” You nodded slowly, teasing, lacing your words. “So I’m not the only one gracing you with midday visits.”

His glance flicked toward you again sharp, amused. “I didn’t say that.” You smiled, folding your arms. “So who did you think it was?”

He paused, adjusting a few scrolls on his desk. “Perhaps I hoped it was you.” Your breath caught just briefly and then his voice softened. “But if it hadn’t been… I imagine I would’ve been disappointed.”

You blinked. You paused, your fingers hovering over the back of the chair across from him, the seat you always took.

The one for students, for questions, for careful study beneath the ever-watchful gaze of the Sage of Truth. But something about it didn’t feel right today.

Instead, you stepped around the desk, dragging the chair slowly, deliberately, to his side. The soft scrape of wood against stone echoed through the quiet room as you brought it next to his, tucking it just so close enough to feel the space shift, the atmosphere soften. Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t speak, but you could feel his gaze on you, sharp and observant, as always.You didn’t meet his eyes right away.

You just settled beside him, folding your hands in your lap. “Thought I’d try sitting here today,” you said lightly, though your voice wavered at the edges. “If that’s alright.”

There was a beat of silence just long enough for you to wonder if you’d overstepped. Then, softly, “It’s more than alright.”

You turned your head to look at him then, and for once, he wasn’t wearing the mask of the Fount of Knowledge. No distant air, no carefully crafted distance. Just Shadow Milk, sitting beside you, his gaze softened into something gentle. You offered a small smile, and he nodded once, slow and sure.

And just like that, the space between you wasn’t for questions and answers anymore. It was just for you.

You sat a little straighter in your chair, glancing sideways at him, watching the way his attention lingered half on you, half on the open scroll he had yet to properly acknowledge since your arrival. A quiet moment passed, and then, you cleared your throat gently.

“So,” you said, nudging your shoulder slightly toward his, “are you planning to eat lunch? Or are you just going to subsist on ink fumes and scholarly resolve?”

He let out a breath, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. “That was the plan,” he murmured, eyes still focused ahead. “But your tone suggests disapproval.”

You smiled, pleased. “Deep disapproval. Shame, even.” He turned to look at you then, one brow arched in that signature, inquisitive way. “I see.”

You reached down and pulled your bag into your lap, flipping open the flap with a rustle and revealing the contents with a small flourish. “Lucky for you, I came prepared.” Inside were perhaps more than reasonably necessary snacks. Wrapped treats, dried fruit, a half-loaf of sweetbread from the dining hall, and two little jars of preserved jam nestled among napkins and spoons.

“I brought provisions,” you said, very proudly. “Just in case I got hungry. Or, you know, in case you needed a reason to not forget about basic mortal needs.”

He looked at the collection, then at you, then back again. “You planned for this?”

“I plan for many things,” you said solemnly. “Hunger emergencies are high on the list. Especially in rooms where you lose track of time and forget meals exist.”

A small, fond smile tugged at the corners of his lips, subtle but real. “I should’ve known,” he murmured. “You’re quite difficult to out-prepare.”

You held out a wrapped bit of sweetbread like a peace offering. “Accept the mortal offering, O Fount of Knowledge.” His eyes narrowed just slightly amused. And then, with a quiet, almost reverent motion, he took it from your hand. “I suppose I’m convinced,” he said. “Just this once.”

You grinned. “That’s all I ask.” And for a few moments more, the two of you sat in gentle silence, sharing quiet laughter and sweeter things, the air lighter than it had been moments before.

You leaned back slightly in your chair, nibbling on your snack as the thought came to you casual, light, and maybe a little mischievous.

“So,” you began, tone playful, “what’s your favorite flower? And which do you think you’d embody?” Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t look up from the parchment he was annotating, but you saw the faint lift at the corner of his lips. “A curious question for a midday visit.”

“Come on,” you prodded. “It’s not that odd. Everyone has a favorite flower.”

“That may be true,” he murmured, finishing his note with a flourish of ink. “But few ask for both a favorite and a self-portrait in petals.”

You grinned. “Then I’m the first, and that makes it special.” He finally looked up at that heterochromic gaze resting on you with a flicker of amusement. “Very well.” You perked up. “So?” A breath passed. He set his quill down.

“…Delphinium,” he said at last. “Tall. Elusive. Slightly poisonous. But beautiful in a way not easily understood.” You blinked. “Poisonous?”

“Only to those who are careless with it,” he replied smoothly. That made you laugh. “That sounds about right.”

“But,” he added, eyes narrowing slightly in thought, “if I had to choose a flower to embody, it would be different.”

“Oh?”

“The hellebore,” he said softly. “Quiet. Winter-blooming. Not eager to be known. And yet, it endures. Even under snow.” You tilted your head. “That’s a little sad.”

“Perhaps,” he allowed. “But also true.”

You were quiet for a moment, letting that settle. Then, with a smile, you said, “Okay. Your turn. Do me next.”

His brow arched. “Pardon?”

“Pick a flower,” you said, pointing to yourself dramatically. “One that fits me. What would I be?”

He studied you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze made your cheeks warm. Then, calmly, he said, “An Orchid.” You blinked. “Really? Not something more delicate?”

“No.” His voice was firm, but gentle.“Rare,” he said, almost to himself. “Stubborn, if not tended to just right. You don’t shout to be seen, but you’re noticed anyway. And…” He paused, then added, softer, “you thrive in places others might wither.” You swallowed.

“…That’s really sweet.”

He gave you a knowing look. “You asked.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed across your face. “Alright, fine. You win.” Winning what you weren’t quite sure.

“I usually do.” He picked his quill back up, but the corner of his mouth curled just slightly, betraying the softness beneath the mask.

You said nothing more. Your heart caught, an unexpected stillness fluttering in your chest. You smiled, a little breathless. “That was… a very poetic read of me.”

“I am, regrettably, quite familiar with you.”

You laughed, light and flustered. “Is that a compliment?” He didn’t answer. But the corners of his lips curled, and his quill moved again this time slower, steadier. You looked at your hands for a moment, then glanced back up.

“Thanks,” you said, voice quieter now. “For seeing me like that.”

He didn’t look up. But he murmured, so gently you almost missed it, “You’re easy to see. When one bothers to look.” Shadow Milk Cookie brushed the last few crumbs from his sleeve with careful fingers, finishing the small snack you’d brought with the same attention he gave to deciphering constellations or ancient texts…an absurd level of seriousness for a biscuit.

You watched as he folded the empty wrapper and set it down beside his quill, then turned toward you with that unreadable calm. But you’d known him long enough to see the way his eyes softened at the edges.

The way they held a question before his mouth ever moved. He gestured faintly to the seat you’d dragged beside his. “So,” he said, voice low, amused, “was today’s visit prompted by academic curiosity, or did you simply come to feed me?”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. “Both, maybe.”

“Oh?” He leaned his elbow lightly on the desk, resting his chin against his knuckles. “You brought sustenance and questions? How strategic.”

“I like to come prepared.”

“Clearly.” His gaze flicked toward the snack wrapper. “Though if your goal was bribery, you’ll need to bring more than one.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not bribery, it’s hospitality.”

“And if your presence is hospitality, then what is the lesson I’m supposed to impart in exchange?”

You shrugged. “Company. That’s all I wanted today.” He didn’t reply immediately, but you could tell he was still watching you carefully, attentively.

Like you were a page he hadn’t quite finished reading. After a beat, he said softly, “Then consider me a willing participant.” You blinked, a little stunned by the quiet sincerity of it.

“No tutoring today?” you asked, only half-teasing. “No assessments? Not even a pop quiz?” He smirked slightly. “Not unless you request one.” You groaned. “You ruin everything.”

“I ruin nothing,” he said, voice just barely playful. “You’ve simply come on a different kind of lesson day.”

“Oh yeah?” You raised an eyebrow. “And what kind of lesson is that?” He leaned back slightly, just enough for the window light to catch in his hair.

“The kind,” he said, “where we sit in silence, eat questionable snacks, and pretend, just for an hour, that time doesn’t exist.”

You smiled. “I think I could pass that.” He smiled, too just a flicker. Just enough to say he agreed. You leaned back in your chair, eyes drifting to the soft afternoon light spilling through the Scholar’s Wing window.

The warmth made the air feel still, like the day itself had paused just for the two of you. Your foot nudged against the leg of his desk absently, your gaze flicking toward him as he finished brushing a final crumb from his sleeve.

“So,” you said lightly, almost dreamily, “when the hour’s up… does that mean we have to go back to tutoring?”

Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t look at you at first. He was quiet, contemplative, his gaze trained on the golden rim of his teacup as if divining truth from the way the light curved around porcelain. Then, with the faintest lift of a brow, he finally replied.

“Of course.”

You groaned dramatically, slumping forward onto his desk like a tragic play protagonist. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“Why would I?” he said, tone infuriatingly serene. “An hour of reprieve is generous. But I am still your tutor. And you are still… you.”

You raised your head just enough to glare at him from over your arm. “That’s rude.”

“That’s accurate.” You scoffed, but your lips curled despite yourself. “What if I claimed the hour was spiritually transformative and I can’t possibly return to academics today?”

He didn’t blink. “Then I would suggest you take up poetry and write a full reflection on your enlightenment by tomorrow morning.” You let out a long, suffering sigh. “You’re evil.”

“I’m thorough.”

“Same thing.”

Shadow Milk Cookie gave the faintest shrug, and you could almost swear there was the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “If it’s any consolation,” he murmured, “I find your dramatics deeply amusing.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “That is… not consolation.”

“It is to me.” You exhaled again, defeated, but a grin found its way to your face anyway. You settled back beside him, arms folded behind your head, and let the silence return for just a while longer.

An hour could last forever, if you didn’t look too closely. However time flies and you found yourself one-foot in the grave from his merciless tutoring.

Shadow Milk Cookie leaned back in his chair slightly, elegant as always, before he returned his attention to you with an expectant look. He definitely asked you something…but you don’t remember what…time to deflect. You twirled your pen between your fingers and gave him a sly glance. “So… once I finish tutoring, do I get a reward?”

He tilted his head, as if amused by your phrasing. “You mean beyond the privilege of knowledge?” You groaned theatrically. “Oh come on. That’s not a reward, that’s just the academic version of vegetables.”

“I happen to like vegetables,” he said, entirely unbothered.

“Of course you do,” you muttered. “Let me guess. You were the kind of kid who asked for steamed greens as a treat.”

“I was the kind of child,” he replied smoothly, “who did not need treats to behave.”

You blinked. “Okay, that’s kind of terrifying.”

He smiled, just faintly. “So. You want a reward.”

You nodded, leaning forward over your notes. “Just a little something. I think I’ve earned it. I didn’t even fall asleep during the theory explanation, and I only got mildly distracted twice.”

“I counted four.”

You gasped. “That’s not fair! My thoughts were only briefly astray!” His smile deepened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he said, “If you finish the next two questions properly I’ll consider it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not a yes.”

“No,” he said. “But it is a challenge. And I know how you are with those.”

You stared at him, then picked up your pen. “Fine. But if I ace this, I’m expecting at least a poetic compliment and maybe a walk to the Academy gardens. Or stargazing. Or a secret book from your private collection.”

He raised a brow. “You negotiate like someone who intends to win.”

“I always intend to win,” you said, scribbling the first answer. “Especially when you’re involved.” His voice was quiet when he replied. “Then perhaps I should start preparing your reward.”

You handed him your notebook with a sheepish look, hoping praying that maybe, just maybe, your overconfident answers had landed somewhere near the truth.

Shadow Milk Cookie took it with all the ceremony of a scholar preparing to weigh ancient truths, flipping to your page without a word. He read through your work carefully, eyes scanning your answers with a focus so intense it made your stomach twist. Then came the silence. Not the awful, disappointed kind. The worse kind; the patient kind.

“…I take it I don’t get my garden walk,” you mumbled, slumping in your chair. Shadow Milk Cookie closed the notebook with a soft thump and folded his hands over it. “Not quite.”

You sighed, dragging your hands down your face. “Okay, but in my defense, I got close. The structure was there, right? Emotionally, it was correct.”

“Emotion,” he said gently, “is not what governs magical theory. You’ve made conceptual leaps without establishing the foundation first.”

You peeked up at him through your fingers. “So… I failed the challenge.”

He tilted his head, gaze soft. “You simply haven’t passed it yet.” You blinked. Then sighed. “Okay. Walk me through it. Again.”

He picked up your notebook and turned it toward you, tapping lightly on your first answer. “Here. You conflated mnemonic sigils with memory anchors. Understandable, there’s overlap but you have to trace the function backward. What is this sigil supposed to do?”

“…Reinforce the cognitive imprint of a casting pattern?” you guessed.

“Correct. But not preserve it. That would be a memory anchor.” You nodded slowly. “Okay. So the application is different…”

“Fundamentally,” he said, tone never once unkind. “You’re not wrong in instinct. But instinct is only the beginning.”

You scribbled a note next to the margin. “I’m still not getting that third part of the last question, though. About the transfer threshold.”

He leaned closer, reaching over to annotate the diagram in your notebook. His voice was soft, measured steady in the way only he could be. “The threshold isn’t static. It fluctuates based on the complexity of the spell and the vessel channeling it. You were thinking too linearly.”

You stared at the correction, then at his handwriting, elegant and sure even in the tight margin of your page. “This is why I wanted a reward,” you muttered, lips twitching. “You’re too good at making me feel like an amateur.”

He gave a rare, almost fond chuckle. “And yet, you are here still learning.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You nudged his elbow lightly with yours. “Thanks for not rubbing it in.”

Shadow Milk Cookie looked at you and offered a smile, so earnest, it made your chest ache. “I would never mock a mind in pursuit of truth,” he said softly. “But I will correct it. Gently.”

You couldn’t help the smile that broke across your face. “Even if I don’t get my garden walk?”

His eyes gleamed. “Finish the next section. Then we’ll see about the stars.” You set your pen down with a quiet click, stretching your arms above your head with a groan that felt entirely too dramatic for only an hour’s worth of effort.

Still your brain was tired, and your notes looked like a battlefield of trial and error.

Victory was hard-earned, even if the page wasn’t perfect. Shadow Milk Cookie glanced over your latest attempt. “Close,” he murmured, tapping one line with his index finger. “This theorem wants clarity, not charm.”

You leaned in, squinting. “So, charm doesn’t count for partial credit?”

“That depends,” he said. “Are you trying to charm the rubric, or me?”

You snorted. “Both, ideally.” He gave you a long, slow look. Then, with a soft hum, gently guided you through the correction. His voice was steady, as it always was, and even your missteps didn’t feel like failures when he spoke, not scolding, but unveiling the answers, like the truth had always been there, waiting for you to uncover it. By the time you scribbled down the final line again, the sky outside had begun to mellow, bathed in hues of lilac and pale rose.

The day was fading fast. You sat back in your chair and exhaled. “Well, I didn’t get them all right… but we finished before dinner. That’s something.”

Shadow Milk Cookie gathered the loose pages with fluid precision, stacking them neatly before turning to you. “It is.” You hesitated, glancing out the window toward the soft-lit spires and glowing walkways of the Academy.

Then you turned back to him. “I’ll come with you,” you said quietly. “After dinner.” His head tilted slightly. “Come with me?”

You nodded, voice a touch firmer now. “Wherever you’re going after this. If you’re working or wandering or… just sitting in your favorite chair cataloging truth like it’s poetry I’ll come.” The air held still for a moment, like the room itself was listening.

“But,” you added quickly, raising a hand, “after dinner. Because dinner is sacred, and if I miss even one meal with them, Chai will write a haiku about my betrayal. And Earl Grey will read it aloud.”

He blinked once. Then, finally, the smile arrived soft, quiet, and full of that strange fondness that never had to be loud to be real. “Then I will wait,” he said. “Sacred rituals must not be disturbed.”

You stood, gathering your things with a smile that reached your eyes. “You’re learning.”

“On the contrary,” he replied smoothly, walking with you to the door, “I’ve always known how to wait.” And outside, the day dimmed into dusk, while your heart carried the warmth of a promise unspoken but understood. The walk to the dining halls was practically engraved in your bones, lost in your thoughts.

You stepped into the dining hall just as the golden lanterns flickered to life above, casting their warm evening glow across the room. The scent of baked herbs and sweet rolls drifted from the buffet tables, mixing with the hum of end-of-day chatter and the occasional clatter of cutlery. Your friends were already at your usual spot middle table, just near the windows.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie had kicked back in his seat, nursing something that looked suspiciously like his second bowl of stew. Earl Grey Cookie sat with perfect posture, reading over something folded in his lap that looked a lot like extra-credit material. Chai Latte Cookie, of course, was mid-sentence, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“-and then,” she was saying as you slid into the empty seat beside her, “he tripped over his own robe trying to flirt with one of the potion scholars. Knocked over two cauldrons. The entire hallway smelled like burnt strawberries for an hour.”

Hazelnut let out a bark of laughter. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish,” Chai said dramatically, turning toward you as you began to fill your plate.

“Oh, you made it just in time. I was just about to retell the story, and trust me you need to hear this.” You arched a brow. “Is this the part where you traumatize me with gossip before I’ve even had dinner?”

“It’s tradition,” Earl Grey offered dryly without looking up. Chai grinned, tapping her spoon against the rim of her bowl like a conductor warming up the orchestra. “So. Rumor is, one of the second-years you know, the one who always talks about elemental harmony like it’s a romance novel? Well he accidentally enchanted his shoes to follow someone around campus. Without his consent.”

“Wait, what?” you blinked. “Like… autonomous shoes?”

“Fully sentient slippers,” Hazelnut said solemnly.

“They followed her for three hours,” Chai continued, barely holding back laughter. “She screamed every time they got closer. They had to call in the Labyrinth Tactician to unbind them.”

You pressed your hand to your forehead. “I leave you all alone for one afternoon, and chaos takes the stage.”

“It always does,” Earl Grey said, setting his paper aside with an exhale. “But at least it’s never our fault.”

Chai gave you a pointed side glance. “Well. Usually never.” You made a face but couldn’t suppress the smile curling at the corners of your lips. The table felt warm, familiar like all the strange, academic chaos of your life had found its grounding here.

Among food, friends, and just enough nonsense to remind you that no matter what, you were still allowed to laugh. Chai Latte Cookie tapped her spoon against the rim of her teacup like a judge ready to deliver a sentence, her eyes glinting as she leaned in. “Okay, okay…this one isn’t about any random student for once.”

You nearly choked on your tea, relieved and yet… mildly suspicious. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie looked up, intrigued. “Then who is it about?”

Chai wiggled her brows. “You know Professor Dandelion Quiche, right? The one from the Divining Sciences department?” Earl Grey Cookie’s brow arched ever so slightly. “The one who’s always late to faculty meetings and quotes ancient dream omens out of context?”

“That’s the one.” Chai grinned. “So get this apparently, someone saw her sneaking out of the Cryohex Lab in the middle of the night. With Professor Frosted Thyme.” Hazelnut nearly dropped his fork. “No way.”

“They’re from opposite disciplines,” you said, bewildered. Chai leaned in closer, as if she was telling you all state secrets. “Exactly. Divination and elemental alchemy? It’s like academic blasphemy.”

Earl Grey sighed, brushing crumbs from his sleeve. “That lab’s restricted after dark. If they were there, they were either committing scientific brilliance or a deeply suspicious rendezvous.”

“Or both,” Chai said, sipping her tea with flair. “Some say they’ve been working on a long-lost fusion technique. Others say they’re just… working on each other.”

Hazelnut let out a choked snort. “I’m never going to be able to look at Professor Quiche the same again.”

You stared at Chai, half-amused, half-horrified. “How do you even find these things out?” Chai just winked. “You’d be amazed what people forget to whisper in the tea line.”

She beamed. “I’m simply conducting research of the heart. And also chaos.” You shook your head, trying to smother your laugh behind your cup. “Well, thanks for the image. Really enriched my afternoon.”

Chai patted your arm sweetly. “Anytime.”

Chai Latte Cookie had just launched into another one of her scandalous tales, this one about a rumored duel between two rival potion instructors over a misidentified root when Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, set down his teacup with a soft clink and spoke.

“She’s not the only one,” he said, voice smooth as always. Chai turned to him, eyes wide with mock betrayal. “Earl Grey.” He arched a brow at her, unbothered. “Please. Half the things you know are because I told you first.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nearly choked on his juice. “You? No way.”

You looked between the two of them, blinking. “Wait…Earl Grey’s your source?” Chai huffed, folding her arms. “Sometimes. Occasionally.”

He smiled faintly. “Often.” She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.

Earl Grey took another sip of tea, his expression amused. “But I let her do the reporting. It’s only fair. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t let her have the gossip spotlight?”

Chai gave him a begrudging grin. “You mean the glory, which I richly deserve.” Hazelnut leaned across the table, eyes wide with mock reverence. “So you're like… the secret informant? The shadow behind the gossip throne?”

“I prefer to think of myself,” Earl Grey said coolly, “as the archivist. She’s the herald.”

“I’m the herald,” Chai repeated, eyes sparkling. “Okay, I kind of love that.”

You laughed, unable to help it. “So you’ve been working together this whole time?” Chai gestured between them with her fork. “Only when it’s really juicy.”

“And it always is,” Earl Grey added without missing a beat. You shook your head fondly. “No wonder you two are dangerous.”

“We’re efficient,” Chai corrected.

“Terrifying,” Hazelnut muttered into his cup.

Chai just beamed, clinking her glass gently against Earl’s. “To the dream team.”

He returned the gesture with a dry smile. “To chaos well-curated.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie extended his hand across the table toward you, his expression equal parts exhausted and helplessly amused. Without a word, you took it, your fingers sliding into his with an ease born of mutual suffering.

No dramatic flourish. No commentary. Just the silent, resigned solidarity of two Cookies who had been utterly outmaneuvered by the gossip duo at your table.

Chai Latte Cookie and Earl Grey Cookie were now deep in some kind of dramatic reenactment Chai’s arms flailing as she described the alleged potion duel in increasingly elaborate detail, while Earl Grey occasionally nodded, offering precise, unnecessary corrections like a dedicated footnote brought to life.

You and Hazelnut just… sat there. Holding hands. Witnesses to chaos.

“What even is this,” you whispered under your breath, half-laughing. Hazelnut exhaled through his nose, squeezing your hand gently. “I don’t know,” he murmured, deadpan. “But we’re in it together now.”

You gave him a solemn nod. “This is our reality.”

“Pray for us,” he added, as Chai dramatically slammed her spoon down to mimic the sound of “a wand being shattered against a cauldron in fury.” You both winced in unison.

And kept holding on. Because sometimes, friendship meant enduring the gossip apocalypse with the only other sane person left at the table. Chai Latte Cookie leaned forward, her eyes alight with mischief and the kind of energy that only brewed from too much tea and too many rumors.

“Okay, but hear me out…what if we all just come back to my dorm again? Another sleepover. I’ve got clean sheets, cinnamon candles, and I may have saved the last box of almond puff pastries.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie perked up. “You had pastries this whole time and didn’t say anything?” Earl Grey Cookie gave him a side glance. “She was waiting for a dramatic reveal. Obviously.”

Chai grinned. “What’s the point of hoarding snacks if you don’t unveil them like buried treasure?”

You laughed, setting your tea down gently, but shook your head. “As tempting as that sounds, I can’t tonight.”

Chai blinked. “What? Why not?” You hesitated for a moment, then said softly, “I have to head back to the Scholar’s Wing. Shadow Milk’s waiting.”

The words settled quietly over the table not dramatic, not scandalous. Just true. Chai tilted her head, the mischief fading into something gentler. “He’s expecting you?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I told him I’d come back after dinner. I think… he was hoping I would.”

Hazelnut let out a soft “oooh” under his breath, but didn’t say anything more. Earl Grey simply gave you a knowing look and a faint nod of approval. Chai smiled, nudging your arm. “Alright. We’ll save the pastries for next time.”

Chai Latte Cookie’s smile faltered for half a second so brief it might’ve been missed if you weren’t looking. But then it was back, radiant and a little too bright, like sunshine forcing its way through a clouded sky.

“Ditching me for your mysterious scholar boyfriend?” she teased, elbowing you gently. “I see how it is. Cold betrayal wrapped in ink-stained affection.”

You snorted, setting down your cup. “I never said he was my boyfriend, it's a bit complicated.”

“Oh, please,” she huffed dramatically. “You think I didn’t notice the way you practically floated back into the dining hall last time? If that wasn’t a post-kiss glow, I don’t know what is.”

You flushed, and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie cackled into his drink. “She’s not wrong.” True or not, nothing would help your case.

Earl Grey Cookie, as always, was calm and composed, though his eyes twinkled just slightly. “We’ll be sure to ration the pastries accordingly in your absence.” You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “It’s just one evening.”

“That’s how it starts,” Chai sighed, clutching her chest like the lead in a tragic play. “One night becomes two. Suddenly we’re attending your wedding in the Moonlit Archives and I’m writing your vows.”

“You’d write the vows anyway,” Hazelnut muttered. Chai smirked.

“Exactly. I’d do a great job.” Despite her theatrics, you saw it that tiny flicker of something behind her eyes. Not sadness, exactly. Not jealousy, either. Just… a quiet ache.

The way someone might look when they realize a secret part of their world is shifting. You reached across the table, brushing her hand with yours.

“Next time, I promise. Sleepover, pastries, everything.” She looked at you for a moment and then her smile softened into something more real.

“You better,” she said, voice warm. “Or I’m holding your pineapple ice cream hostage.”

You grinned. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would.”

The table broke into laughter again, but your fingers lingered on hers for a second longer just long enough to say what you couldn’t out loud. Then, quietly, you rose, the chatter fading behind you as your thoughts turned toward the quiet hum of the Scholar’s Wing.

Where he would be waiting. The knock was more of a courtesy than anything three soft raps against the wood, followed by the subtle creak of the door as you slipped inside and shut it behind you. The wards barely flickered, recognizing you, allowing you entrance as if you belonged. You weren’t expecting silence.

But that’s what you were met with the low hum of enchantments, the faint rustle of parchment disturbed by the breeze of the closing door, and the softest sound of steady breathing. Shadow Milk Cookie was asleep. He was slumped over his desk, head resting on the crook of his arm, ink still drying beside a half-finished passage, his quill cast aside like a soldier at rest. Strands of star-dappled blue hair had fallen from their usual order, trailing like silk across the page and his cheek.

His brows, usually so precise, were relaxed, his whole expression stripped of his usual composure. In sleep, he didn’t look like the Sage of Truth. He didn’t look like the Fount of Knowledge. He just looked… tired.

And human.

You stood frozen for a moment, the breath catching softly in your throat. He hadn’t moved the chair you'd claimed so many times before tucked beside him behind the desk rather than across from it. A quiet invitation. Your steps were featherlight as you crossed the room, your shoes barely making a sound against the floor.

You lowered yourself into the chair beside him with the kind of care normally reserved for sacred things. For a long moment, you didn’t speak. Didn’t move. You just watched him. The afternoon light spilled through the stained glass in the corner, casting a gentle shimmer across the edge of his robes. You could see now just how long his lashes were. The faint shadows beneath his eyes, the subtle weariness in his posture.

The way his fingers still twitched lightly, as if even in sleep, he was chasing something: an idea, a truth, maybe even a dream. You weren’t sure how long you sat there, only that the air in the room felt softer now, almost reverent. You didn’t dare reach for him afraid to wake him, afraid to interrupt the one moment where even time itself seemed to let him rest. Instead, you leaned in just a little, your voice barely above a whisper.

“…You always wait for me. Maybe I can wait for you just this once.” You smiled, small and warm, and rested your chin against your hand. And then, in the stillness, you waited. Your voice barely made a sound. Not even a whisper, really just breath shaped into words, the kind that dissolved into the quiet before they ever had a chance to be heard. Still, you spoke them anyway, tracing the air between you and him with thoughts too heavy to hold in silence.

“…I don’t know what we are,” you murmured, gaze flicking over to his peaceful, sleeping face. “Not really.”

You watched the way his breath moved, slow and even. Not a stir, not a twitch. He was lost to slumber, far from the questions swirling in your chest. “Are we… something?” you continued, so soft that it was almost like thinking aloud.

“Are we together? Are we… in love?” You didn’t expect an answer. Of course you didn’t. That wasn’t the point. “I mean, how do you even know?” you said, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve.

“Is it love if you never said the word? If you just… keep showing up? Keep holding someone’s hand beneath the table, or letting them sleep on your shoulder, or fixing their portfolio without asking?”

You glanced down, a faint crease forming in your brow. “Or is that just kindness? Infatuation? I don’t know. I don’t know how to tell the difference.” Your voice wavered, but never rose.

“I keep waiting for someone to define it. For you to define it. But maybe… maybe it’s not supposed to be defined.” You looked at him again his cheek resting on ink-smudged parchment, his expression gentle, the starlight of his hair softly spilling over the page like spilled magic. “I just…” You swallowed. “I hope it’s not something fleeting. Not something that vanishes when my part in your timeline ends.”

Still, he didn’t move. And maybe that was a kindness too. You leaned back just slightly in the chair, curling your knees up to your chest, folding your arms loosely around them. “You’re asleep,” you said, barely audible. “So I guess this is safe.” A pause. Then, quieter still, as if confessing to the air itself

“…I think I’m scared because it feels real.”

And there, in the hush of that quiet, starlit room with no answers, no definitions, and no one to hear you but the weight of your own words you let your thoughts drift beside his, just for a little while longer. You shifted slightly, careful not to make a sound. The wooden desk felt cool beneath your cheek as you rested your head down, facing him. Closer than you’d normally dare when he was awake.

From this angle, you could see the subtle slope of his nose, the way his lashes cast faint shadows beneath his eyes. His lips were parted slightly, breath even and soft. He looked peaceful like this… reachable. You studied him in silence, your own breath syncing to his without you meaning to. And then, like a secret too heavy to keep, your voice slipped out.

“I don’t know what we are.”

It wasn’t bitter. Just honest.

“I mean, we’re clearly not just friends. Not anymore. Not after everything.” Your gaze lingered on his hands, one curled under his head, the other resting loosely near the forgotten quill.

“But no one’s said anything. No label. No definition. It’s just… this.”

A silence. One he didn’t break. Couldn’t. That was what made this easier. “I think I’m okay with it. Most days,” you whispered.

“But sometimes… sometimes it aches. Just a little. To not know. To not call it anything.”

You shifted your cheek against the desk, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. “It’s easier to say this when you’re asleep,” you added, quieter now.

“When no one can hear. Truths are easier like that…when they don’t echo.”

The ache in your chest pulsed again quiet, persistent. “I don’t need you to say it,” you breathed. “But… sometimes I wish I could.”

And still, he slept. And still, you stayed half-hoping, half-afraid that one day, the silence between you would have a name. You tapped him lightly on the shoulder gentle, careful, like a knock made from fingertip to sleeve. Shadow Milk Cookie stirred beside you, shifting with a soft, drawn breath as though pulled gently from some far-off dream. He blinked slowly, hair falling slightly into his eyes, his gaze still hazy with sleep as he turned toward you.

“…You’re here,” he murmured, voice rough and low, like a warm stone just beginning to cool from the sun. You gave him a small smile. “You were asleep when I got here. I didn’t want to wake you.”

His brow furrowed faintly, more out of puzzlement than anything. “How long was I out?” You shrugged. “Not sure. I just… watched you for a while.” A quiet pause followed thick with something unspoken, something neither of you felt the need to put into words. His golden eyes lingered on you, still soft from sleep. You were close. Closer than usual. Close enough that you could count the stars in his hair if you wanted to. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he said, sitting up straighter and rubbing at his eyes.

“You didn’t,” you replied quickly. “I liked the quiet. And besides, I told you I’d come back.” He smiled faintly at that just the smallest shift of his lips. “So you did.”

You leaned your cheek against your arm, resting on the desk beside him. “If you’re still tired, we don’t have to do anything. I could just stay. Or we could go for a walk, if you wanted. Or we can sit here and talk about absolutely nothing until we get tired of that too.”

“Talking about nothing sounds dangerously close to philosophy,” he teased, voice still soft-edged.

You grinned. “That’s only if you do it.” He chuckled lightly under his breath, the sound rare and warm. The world outside hushed and still. Then, on a whim, you spoke. “Can I ask you some questions? Not serious ones. Mostly nonsense.”

He gave you a wary but amused glance. “That usually means trouble.”

“Definitely,” you confirmed. He gestured with one hand, resigned. “Very well. Proceed.” You cleared your throat dramatically. “If you had to live in a teapot for the rest of your life, what flavor of tea would you want to steep in?” His brow lifted. “…What.”

“Answer the question.”

“Chamomile,” he said, without missing a beat. “Mild. Soothing. Unlikely to stain my robes.” You laughed. “You’ve thought about this.”

“I’m simply fast on my feet.” You took another breath, letting yourself relax into the rhythm of your questions, the quiet between his replies.

“Okay, new one. Would you rather read every thought someone has about you or have to recite every thought you have about someone out loud?” He winced. “Neither.”

“Not an option.”

“…The first, if only so I could never speak again and no one would find it strange.”

You were still laughing when the next question slipped out too quick, too curious. “Have you ever been in love?” The air between you stilled. You instantly regretted it not because it was a bad question, but because you hadn’t meant to say it so soon, hadn’t meant to ask it when his guard was still soft, when the edge between sleep and wakefulness made everything feel too close, too real. He didn’t answer at first.

But then he turned slightly, eyes meeting yours with a look you couldn’t decipher right away. “If I have…” he said quietly, “I imagine it would feel like this.”

Your heart skipped. You didn’t reply. Couldn’t. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t ruin the softness of that moment. So instead, you reached across the desk and gently nudged his hand with yours nothing more than a touch, light as air.

And he let his fingers rest there, beside yours. Not reaching. Not pulling away. Just being. You felt the weight of his words settle somewhere between your ribs, the silence afterward stretching not awkward, but undeniably charged, like the pause before a leap neither of you were brave enough to take. His fingers still lingered near yours. Close, but not quite touching.

You didn’t know what to say. So, naturally, you said something else entirely. “…If you were a soup,” you asked softly, “what kind would you be?” He blinked once. Slowly. There was a twitch of his brow, almost a smile, but not quite. “A… soup?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, as if doubling down would make it seem like less of a cover. “Like, if you had to embody the spirit of a soup. What would it be?” He looked at you for a long, still moment. And then quietly, almost conspiratorially he said, “Miso.” You raised an eyebrow. “Miso?”

“Mysterious. Slightly salty. Best when warm,” he replied, ever composed, though his gaze flicked briefly toward your lips before darting back to the space between your hands. “Also widely misunderstood.” A breathy laugh escaped you, too quiet to be called anything more.

“Sounds about right,” you murmured. Neither of you mentioned the question you did ask. Neither of you dared to acknowledge how close you were to something that would change the rhythm between you forever. And so, you leaned into the ridiculous. Let the veil fall back into place.

“Wrong answer,” you said at last, deadpan. “The only correct soup is tomato bisque.” He scoffed delicately, theatrically. “Of course you would say that.” And for a little while longer, the veil stayed intact. But neither of you let your hands drift apart.

You stood from the chair slowly, your movements careful quiet. You didn't want to disturb the strange stillness that had settled over the room, the way the golden lamplight made the air feel soft and warm and a little heavy.

Shadow Milk Cookie blinked at you, still emerging from the drowsy edges of sleep, and in the quiet that stretched between you, there was too much you both weren’t saying. You looked down at him, at the faint print his sleeve had left on his cheek, the way his hair was out of place ever so slightly from his nap. You could’ve reached out. You could’ve asked. But instead, you offered a small, lopsided smile.

“I think I’ll take my leave,” you said, voice light, a little too easy. “You seem too tired to be interrogated tonight.”

His gaze lifted to yours slowly, the corners of his eyes still soft from sleep. “You don’t have to go.”

You hesitated. “I know. But you’re tired, and I…well, I’m feeling merciful tonight.” That got the smallest huff of air from him, barely a breath away from a laugh. You made it halfway to the door before glancing back over your shoulder.

“Oh, and just for the record,” you added, voice deliberately casual, “if you were a soup, I’ve decided you’d be a very dramatic miso.”

A blink. “…Why?”

You smiled faintly. “Because you always seem composed until someone stirs you, and then everything just… floats to the top.”

His expression faltered not with annoyance, not with confusion, but something more like… hesitation. You weren’t sure. But he didn’t reply. And you didn’t ask again. You turned back to the door and rested your hand on the handle. There were questions you could’ve asked.

Ones that weren’t dressed in metaphor. But neither of you were quite ready for that not yet. Maybe one day you’d say what you meant. When that day came maybe, he’d say it back. But for now? You slipped quietly through the door, letting it close behind you with a soft click, and left your feelings resting in the silence between them.

A/N Hey y'all! this chapter has been LONG overdue, I'm studying for finals nothing major (I'm coping) but no I promise I am a okay thank you to all of those who have asked, and not to worry I will bring this story to completion...Once all my exams are over I will have all the time in the world (for a bit) Anyways I will be replying to my inbox tomorrow!

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥

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lcrossiantycrunchu

i need this whole story to be injected into my veins i fear