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In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT36

A/N I don't usually do these at the beginning but firstly this is a longer chapter so prepare accordingly (16k). Secondly I've been trying to upload this for a couple of hours now (my wifi is spotty) thirdly, Merry christmas if you celebrate if not happy holidays! I will be adding the chapter links when I can (not now)! I hope everyone enjoys my small gift!

“…Okay,” you whispered to yourself, “maybe I’m not tired-tired.”

You sat up slowly, brushing sand from your arms, and tilted your head to listen. The island was quiet and peaceful in that way that only came when everyone else was either asleep or assuming you were. You grinned to yourself, a small, mischievous spark catching light in your chest.

“Well,” you said softly, “if I can’t sleep…”

You slipped from your shelter with practiced stealth, toes silent against the sand, careful not to shift the nearby leaves too loudly. The firelight from the others' camp was distant now, reduced to a flicker behind the dunes. You paused, listening. Nothing.

Perfect.

You took off running.

Not far, not fast just soft-footed laps up and down the shoreline, your breath catching in the back of your throat as the wind kissed your face and the tide lapped at your ankles. The sand shifted beneath each step, cushioning your weight, slowing your turns, making each stride feel like its own kind of spell.

There was no crowd. No comparisons.

Just you, the sea, and the ridiculous warmth still blooming in your chest.

After a while, you skidded to a stop near your shelter, grinning and slightly breathless. “Still not tired,” you whispered to yourself, shaking out your arms like you were preparing for battle.

You ducked back inside your hut and tugged open the string of your beach bag, rustling around until your fingers found the familiar bundle swimwear, rolled tight and still faintly smelling of salt from an earlier trip. You changed quickly, tugging the garments into place with a sense of determined glee.

And then you hesitated stepping halfway out of your shelter and pausing, scanning the stretch of darkness behind you.

You peeked around.

No voices. No movement. No glowing eyes of judgment.

“…Okay,” you murmured, eyes narrowed. “They’d definitely scold me for this.”

Because swimming at night was dangerous. Ill-advised. Entire lectures had been delivered on the unpredictability of tides after dusk, not to mention visibility issues and the usual concern of “(y/n), you have no sense of self-preservation.”

But still.

You turned toward the ocean.

The water gleamed faintly under the starlight, bubbles fizzing where the tide broke against the shore. The scent of tropical soda was stronger here, carried on the breeze, sweet and effervescent.

You stepped forward.

The first touch of water on your foot was cold, shocking, fizzy, and exhilarating. You bit back a squeal, grinning wildly, and stepped deeper.

By the time the water reached your waist, you were giggling outright, arms wrapped around yourself as the soda fizz bubbled over your skin like enchanted seltzer. It tickled your ribs, your knees, even your fingertips where they skimmed the surface.

You ducked beneath the water once, quick and clean, and came up laughing.

Tiny bubbles clung to your hair, popping gently, the coolness sinking pleasantly into your dough.

You twirled once, slowly, arms spread out, water glimmering off your fingers.

“This is the best terrible idea I’ve ever had,” you whispered to no one.

And as you floated there in the fizzy sea, alone beneath the stars, your body finally began to unwind. The energy ebbed. Your breath slowed.

You lingered a little longer in the water, limbs loose, body bobbing gently as the soda tide lapped at your chest. The fizzing had calmed now, settling into a soft crackle like poprocks melting on your skin, and your giggles had quieted into something smaller contentment, maybe. A fizzing sort of peace.

Eventually, your fingers began to wrinkle. You glanced down at your hands, then toward the shoreline.

“…Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “Probably should head back before I tempt the ocean gods.”

You waded carefully out, water sluicing off your legs in fizzy rivulets. The shore shimmered beneath the starlight, and you tiptoed forward with exaggerated care, trying to minimize the shlup-shlup-shlup sounds your feet made in the wet sand.

Halfway to your shelter, you turned.

Looked back at the water.

Then looked at the space in front of you.

And grinned.

You backed up three steps, just enough to get a head start, and took off running.

You launched yourself forward in a blur of motion, leaping high over the last strip of sand and crashing back into the ocean with a triumphant splash! The water exploded around you, droplets flying into the air like stars scattered across the sea.

Too loud.

You surfaced, blinking and gasping, hair plastered to your forehead. “Oops.”

You froze, listening.

Nothing but wind.

The soft hiss of waves.

The distant creak of palm trees.

You turned slowly, eyes scanning the direction of the main camp, your heart hammering just a little.

“Okay…” you murmured, floating in place. “No one heard that.”

A beat of silence.

“No one better have heard that.”

You waited a second longer.

Still nothing.

Then you smiled to yourself relieved, very, very pleased.

“…Totally worth it.”

And with that, you gave one last contented sigh, turned around, and swam back toward shore water fizzing around your legs, heart light and free, knowing full well that the best kinds of nights were the ones you didn’t tell anyone about until much, much later.

The soda sea glittered behind you, still fizzing softly in your ears, the scent of fruit and salt clinging to your skin. The stars blinked overhead like quiet, watchful lanterns. You should have been tired. You knew that. The others were probably long asleep by now snoring or murmuring through dreams, wrapped in their shared warmth and expertly-built walls.

But your eyes refused to droop. Your limbs hummed, not with energy exactly, but with curiosity.

You turned from the beach and looked toward the tree line.

It was quiet there. Darker, with only slices of starlight slipping through the canopy. The wind made the leaves whisper soft, secretive. Something only you would notice and the scent of damp bark and blooming island flowers drifted on the air.

You glanced once at your hut in the distance, still nestled like a sleepy crab in the sand.

Then you looked back at the grove.

“Well,” you murmured, tugging your towel more snugly over your shoulders, “Since I’m already awake…”

You padded toward the trees, bare feet brushing over cool grass and fallen leaves. The temperature dropped just slightly under the canopy enough to make you draw your arms in close, but not enough to deter you. Not with the way moonlight glinted off dew-dotted ferns. Not with the distant sound of nocturnal fruit birds warbling somewhere far above.

It wasn’t a full forest. Just a small stretch of dense island flora. Tall, twisting trees with bark slick from humidity, bushes that smelled faintly of vanilla and clove, little wild mushrooms glowing faintly blue near the roots.

You crouched down at one of them, eyes widening.

“Bioluminescence,” you whispered, awed.

No one was around to hear your excitement, but you didn’t need them. You just smiled to yourself and gently nudged the edge of one with a fingertip. It glowed brighter for a moment, pulsing faintly under your touch.

You wandered deeper.

No real direction. Just following where the path curved, where the scent of something sweet wafted heavier in the air. You ducked under vines and brushed aside leaves, content to let your bare feet find the way.

You weren’t aimless, not exactly. Just… exploring. Like those scholars in old expedition journals. Or the dream-versions of yourself you sometimes imagined bold, clever, never lost.

There was a thrill in knowing the others didn’t realize you were gone again. Not because you wanted to worry them, but because this quiet adventure was yours.

Not a group task. Not part of the challenge.

Just a walk. Just a secret. Just you.

And the wild, moonlit island waiting. You were bent low, peering curiously at another cluster of glowing mushrooms, lost in the peaceful mystery of it all, when you suddenly felt something small and pointed gently pinch your foot.

You froze.

Then you felt the gentle pinch again moving.

Slowly, with dawning dread, you glanced downward.

A small, determined crab, curious and unbothered, stared back at you from your ankle.

You blinked.

The crab clicked its tiny claws.

You shrieked.

It wasn't an elegant scream. It was shrill and wild and startled enough to send every nocturnal bird nearby flapping into panicked flight. You kicked your foot, limbs flailing, stumbling backward through the underbrush.

"Get it off, get it off, get it off!"

The crab went flying safely back into the foliage, utterly unfazed. But you didn't stop running. Your imagination had leapt ahead, heart pounding with adrenaline as you envisioned far worse creatures latching onto your ankles.

You crashed through branches, nearly slipping on damp leaves, hair tangled and dripping seawater down your neck as you bolted back to the beach. Halfway there, you caught your foot on a thick root hidden beneath leaves and pitched forward.

You went sprawling face-first into the soft sand with an audible thud.

Groaning, dizzy, and spitting sand, you pushed yourself upright and scrambled wildly back toward your shelter. Leaves clung stubbornly to your skin, hair plastered wetly to your forehead, breathing heavy and panicked.

"Oh stars, oh stars, oh stars" you gasped, diving into your hut and tugging the seaweed curtain closed behind you, huddling tight beneath your blanket as if it would conceal your obvious guilt.

You were soaked, your heart hammering, the taste of ocean salt still sharp in your mouth. You tried to quiet your ragged breaths.

"It's fine," you whispered frantically to yourself, voice shaky, "No one heard. It was quiet. So, so quiet…"

"(Y/N)?!" Chai Latte Cookie's panicked voice echoed faintly across the beach.

Your heart sank.

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie called loudly, clearly alarmed. Footsteps shuffled quickly across sand, voices growing nearer.

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Oh, no."

"(Y/N)!" Earl Grey Cookie's calm voice carried through the darkness. "We heard screaming! Are you safe?"

You sank deeper beneath your blanket, willing yourself to disappear. This was it the end. They'd see your wet hair, the sand on your limbs, smell the ocean clinging stubbornly to you and they'd know.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s voice was quiet, steady, and far closer than you’d anticipated. "Perhaps they've encountered something. Allow me."

You heard footsteps approach, measured steps that you immediately recognized. Your pulse sped up for an entirely different reason.

Oh no.

There was a pause outside your shelter, the rustle of fabric, the soft exhale of someone kneeling close.

"(Y/N)," Shadow Milk Cookie murmured gently, just beyond your seaweed curtain, concern quietly edging his voice, "are you alright?"

You hesitated. Took a breath.

"Um," you managed weakly, heart racing, "there was a crab."

A beat of silence.

"A... crab," he echoed calmly.

You flushed with embarrassment. "A really aggressive crab."

Another pause, this one thoughtful.

"Is it gone now?" he asked softly, without judgment.

"Yes," you said quickly. "It-I ran. It was terrifying."

More quiet, then he said, very gently, "The ocean smells strong tonight."

You shrank further beneath your blanket. "Does it?"

"It does," he murmured, "Curious, considering your shelter is dry."

Your cheeks burned. "Oh. Weird."

Another long silence, his presence lingering patiently.

"Are you certain you're alright?" he finally asked. "No injuries?"

"No injuries," you whispered, a little miserably. "Just... startled."

Quiet amusement flickered briefly in his voice. "Very well. I will inform the others that you are safe, if slightly traumatized by aggressive crustaceans."

You mumbled a tiny, embarrassed "thank you."

His footsteps retreated gently across the sand, his voice steady and calm as he spoke quietly to the others.

"They are fine. Merely startled by wildlife."

Chai Latte Cookie sighed audibly. "I knew it. I knew they'd get attacked."

"It was just a crab," Hazelnut Biscotti muttered.

"A fierce crab," Shadow Milk Cookie corrected diplomatically. "They require rest now."

As your friends slowly returned to their shelter, their voices fading into whispers of relief and gentle teasing, you lay curled beneath your blanket hair drying stiff, skin still cold from the ocean, heart slowly calming.

And despite the embarrassment, despite the sand and the secret still clinging to your skin, you found yourself quietly smiling beneath the stars.

Because even now, even in chaos

You were still safe.

Still cared for.

And absolutely, positively never facing another crab in your life. You listened to the soft crunch of sand as your friends slowly returned to their shelter, their silhouettes framed by firelight and starlight. Their voices had quieted just murmurs now, fading with distance.

But one set of footsteps lingered.

You peeked through a small part in your seaweed curtain, breath still shallow, and saw him: Shadow Milk Cookie, walking slower than the others, just at the edge of the tide’s reach. The water kissed his ankles as he paused, glancing once toward the sea as though deep in thought. His posture was relaxed, but there was something in the set of his shoulders a quietness more contemplative than calm.

He hadn’t followed them right away.

You didn’t know what it was that made your voice rise from your throat just then maybe it was the way the moonlight curled against his silhouette, or maybe it was the way your chest still fluttered from the memory of his gentle concern.

But you didn’t want him to walk away just yet.

“Shadow Milk?” you called softly.

His name left your lips before you could think twice.

He turned.

At first, you weren’t sure if he’d heard you, but then his head tilted slightly, and he looked back. His golden eye caught the moonlight like polished glass, His blue one a reflection of the sea, calm and steady, as he turned fully toward your little shelter.

He took a few careful steps closer, pausing again just outside.

“Yes?” he asked, his voice lower now, just for you. There was no reprimand in it only curiosity, patient and quiet like everything else he was.

You hesitated, still half-hidden behind your curtain. Then, slowly, you pushed it aside just a little, revealing your face hair damp and messy, salt clinging to your skin, sand across your shoulders. Your towel was bunched awkwardly around you, your blanket askew.

You must’ve looked absurd.

But he didn’t flinch.

You swallowed once. Then managed, “Thanks. For... not making it a bigger thing.”

The corners of his mouth lifted, just barely. “You were very convincing. A creature of quiet dignity.”

You rolled your eyes and tried not to smile. “It was a crab.”

“And you survived,” he said smoothly. “Against all odds.”

You looked down at your fingers. “I just didn’t want them to see me like that.”

There was a long pause.

Then, voice gentler than before, he asked, “Why not?”

You glanced up at him again, uncertain. “Because they always think I’m brave when I’m not. Or when I pretend to be. But if they saw me flailing in the dark, covered in salt and sand, screaming about imaginary sea monsters…”

“They’d still think you were brave,” he said. “Because you are.”

You looked at him, the words catching unexpectedly in your chest.

He continued, “Bravery doesn’t mean the absence of fear. It means enduring despite it. Running headlong into the unknown, even if you scream on the way there.”

A beat passed.

Then, with quiet amusement “Preferably not so loudly next time.”

You let out a shaky laugh, shoulders easing just slightly. “I’ll work on that.”

He gave a nod, slow and respectful. “Then I will leave you to your rest.”

But just as he turned again slow, deliberate steps tracing back toward the grove you found yourself calling out once more.

“Wait.”

He paused.

The breeze played at the hem of his shirt, the gold embroidery catching starlight as he turned his head slightly, waiting.

“…Can you stay?” you asked, your voice small, barely carried above the sound of the sea. “Just for a little while. You don’t have to come in. Just… nearby.”

His gaze shifted, just once, toward your hut.

Then, without a word, he stepped closer, settling onto the sand just beside your shelter close enough that you could hear his breathing, slow and even, but far enough to respect your space.

He said nothing.

He didn’t have to.

The night wrapped around both of you, quiet and whole.

And even though your heart was still beating fast, it was no longer from fear.

The sound of the waves was gentler now, lapping soft against the shore like a lullaby half-whispered by the tide. You shifted beneath your blanket, still curled in your little hut, the seaweed curtain rustling faintly with each breeze. Just outside, Shadow Milk Cookie sat in calm silence like a sentinel carved of moonlight and patience.

You knew he wasn’t looking at you, not directly. But somehow, you felt seen anyway.

You bit your lip, gathering the nerve, then said softly into the quiet:

“…Can I ask you for a favor?”

There was a brief pause.

Then, just as soft, “You may.”

You hesitated, the words catching somewhere between your throat and your pride. But eventually, they found their way out.

“Don’t tell the others I went swimming.”

Silence.

You peeked through the curtain again just enough to see the curve of his profile, his eyes still trained on the sea.

“They’ll scold me,” you said, voice half-wry, half-earnest. “Chai’ll panic. Hazelnut will write a survival manual with my name redacted but obviously about me. Earl Grey will say something philosophical that makes me feel like I nearly died symbolically.”

Still no response, but the edges of his mouth quirked.

“I know it was reckless,” you added quickly. “Swimming at night is dangerous. I know. I know. You can give me the lecture. As long as they don’t find out.”

He turned then, eyes meeting yours through the small gap in your curtain.

You pressed your palms together in mock pleading. “I will let you say ‘I told you so’ as many times as you want. Just… please don’t tell them.”

He regarded you for a long moment.

Then said, calmly, “You’d entrust me with the truth, in exchange for silence?”

You nodded. “Yes. Very much yes.”

He tilted his head slightly. “You’d accept my criticism… if it remained private.”

“As long as it’s not public shaming,” you said, with a crooked grin. “Lecture away, Your Starryness.”

There was a beat.

And then just the smallest, faintest breath of a laugh.

“Very well,” he murmured. “The others will remain uninformed.”

You sagged with visible relief, letting out a sigh like you’d just dodged magical expulsion. “Thank you. Seriously. Thank you.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just turned his gaze back to the ocean, the light of the moon painting delicate silver arcs across his shoulders.

“But,” he added lightly, “if I find crab prints near your shelter tomorrow, I reserve the right to use it as an instructional diagram.”

You groaned. “Fair. Rude, but fair.”

He said nothing more.

But the quiet between you now felt lighter somehow warm, despite the breeze.

And you, blanket wrapped tight and salt still in your hair, felt yourself finally starting to relax.

You were safe. You were forgiven. And your secret was in the hands of the one person you knew would keep it.

You settled back into your blanket, pulling it snugly around your shoulders as the breeze softly murmured through the woven walls of your shelter. The sound of the waves had become a gentle rhythm, and beside your hut, Shadow Milk Cookie sat quietly, his presence steady and soothing like an anchor keeping you grounded to the present moment.

You peeked out again, your gaze lingering curiously on him in the silver moonlight.

“…Shadow Milk?” you whispered after a moment, hesitating just slightly.

He didn’t look your way, but you saw his head tilt ever so faintly in acknowledgment. “Yes?”

You paused, uncertain. Then, softly, “Have… have your eyes always been different colors?”

There was a gentle silence, thoughtful rather than hesitant. He shifted, turning slightly toward you, moonlight sliding along the elegant lines of his face, revealing one eye of deep gold, bright as molten sunlight, and the other a calm, piercing blue, steady as winter sky.

“Yes,” he answered quietly, his voice even. “As far as I’m aware, they have always been this way.”

You studied them openly now, feeling safe enough in the privacy of your quiet moment to linger on the striking contrast. “They’re beautiful,” you murmured honestly, without hesitation or embarrassment. “I just never noticed before. Or maybe I did, but I didn’t fully… see.”

His expression softened slightly, just a hint of gentle amusement flickering in his gaze. “I find most only notice when they are truly looking. Often, it takes time.”

“Do they mean anything?” you asked softly. “Your eyes, I mean.”

He tilted his head, considering this. “I’ve been told many things. Some say they represent balance between sun and moon, logic and emotion, truth and mystery. Others say they’re simply a quirk of magic. Something born into me, without deeper reason.”

You smiled a little. “Which do you believe?”

“I believe,” he said gently, “they simply are as they’re meant to be. Different, yet whole. Like many things.”

You drew your blanket tighter, leaning a little closer to the opening to your shelter. “Well… whatever the reason, I think they suit you.”

His gaze flicked briefly toward yours, steady yet gentle. “Thank you.”

Another pause lingered, comfortable and quiet. You tilted your head slightly, voice soft as you broke it once more. “Do you ever… wish they were the same?”

“No,” he replied, with immediate certainty. “I’ve come to appreciate them. They remind me that sometimes truth exists beyond uniformity. Sometimes, it exists most beautifully within contradiction.”

You smiled quietly, resting your head on your folded arms, looking out at him from within your shelter. “That sounds exactly like something you’d say.”

A small, nearly imperceptible smile touched his lips, softening the lines of his expression. “Perhaps. But it is true.”

You gazed at him for a long moment taking in the serene, thoughtful quietness of him, bathed in moonlight, framed by the night sky and the gentle whispers of waves.

And softly, genuinely, you said again, “They really are beautiful.”

He didn’t answer aloud this time, but something gentle settled deeper into his expression, a quiet gratitude flickering briefly across those mismatched eyes.

And when he turned back toward the ocean, his presence felt warm like something private and gentle had passed between you beneath the quiet stars.

You returned your head to the stillness of your hut, knowing tomorrow better things awaited.

Some time had passed and you had been lying there in your little nest of sand and blanket and salt, but you couldn’t sleep. Not after the run, the crab incident, the fizzing ocean swim, the awkward sprint back. Not with the cold of drying seawater still clinging to your limbs, and definitely not with Shadow Milk Cookie sitting so still outside like a statue carved from the calm itself.

So, with a sigh, you pushed your blanket aside and crawled out of your hut, sand sticking to your calves, hair still wet and dripping in slow rivulets down your back. Your swimming gear clung damply to your skin, and a stray strand of seaweed dangled from your elbow like an accessory you hadn’t asked for.

You stood in the moonlight, squinting toward him.

“…Why are you still out here?” you asked, voice low and tired but not unfriendly. “Didn’t the others go back like…a long time ago?”

He didn’t seem startled. He rarely did.

Instead, his gaze slid to you with calm precision, mismatched eyes taking in your soaked form sand-streaked, messy, clearly not yet dry, clearly not yet tired.

“I noticed,” he said softly, “that you hadn’t gone to sleep yet.”

You blinked, brows furrowing slightly. “So you stayed?”

“I thought it wise,” he said, tone gentle but matter-of-fact, “to remain nearby. In case your evening continued to... evolve.”

You groaned softly and ran a hand through your wet hair. “You thought I’d run into more crabs, didn’t you.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t confirm or deny. Instead, he said, “They did appear to have a strong tactical advantage.”

You sat down in the sand beside him, legs still slick with sea water, sand sticking to your thighs with complete disregard for dignity.

“They really did,” you muttered. “That one had intent.”

“I believe you,” he said sincerely.

You glanced at him again, tilting your head. “Still. You could’ve gone back. The others made room in the fortress for everyone, didn’t they?”

“They did.”

“So why didn’t you?”

He looked out toward the sea again, the starlight casting faint reflections across his sharp features. His voice was quiet when he spoke.

“Because you hadn’t yet finished your evening. And I… did not feel compelled to leave.”

You stared at him for a moment, lips parted slightly, unsure of what to say to that. The tide filled the silence with its soft, fizzing rhythm.

Then, cautiously, you asked, “Because you were waiting for me to fall asleep?”

“No,” he said, and then, almost too gently too honest “Because you asked me to stay.”

Your breath caught just slightly, your chest tightening in that now-familiar way that always came from him being unexpectedly kind.

And then, a bit smaller, a bit embarrassed “Oh. Right.”

He didn’t press further. Just sat beside you, calm and unbothered, like being here on the cold sand beside a dripping scholar in ill-advised swimwear was as natural as any moonrise.

You nudged his foot with yours. “...You're not going to write a report on my crab incident, right?”

He turned to you slowly, one brow lifting with exquisite patience.

“No promises.”

You sat there in the hush of night beside him, seawater still trickling slowly down your spine, sand sticking stubbornly to your calves and arms, your breath slowly evening out now that the panic had faded and the moonlight softened everything it touched.

And he was still there.

Not because he had to be.

But because you asked.

You turned your head toward him, the starlight reflecting in his mismatched eyes one gold, one blue each as steady as the tide.

“…Hey,” you said softly.

He looked over, wordless but listening.

You reached out and wrapped your arms around him.

It was clumsy, your arms still damp, your skin cool from the water, and you were definitely still covered in sand in all the wrong places but you didn’t hesitate. You just leaned into him with your full weight, cheek pressed briefly to his shoulder, arms snug around his sides.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “For staying.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t shift away. If anything, he adjusted slightly just enough that your weight didn’t unbalance him, just enough to meet you there. His breath was steady, his body still, and though his arms didn’t immediately return the gesture, the warmth in him didn’t waver.

“…I’m sorry if I get you wet,” you added, muffled against the fabric of his vest. “Or sandy. Or… seaweed-y.”

“There are worse fates,” he said, quiet amusement threading through his voice. “Than a bit of salt and sand.”

You pulled back slightly, enough to glance up at him.

“You sure?”

He looked down at you, expression calm, his golden eye catching the firelight still smoldering in the distance, his blue one reflecting the quiet of the stars.

“I’ve endured worse,” he said gently. “You’re hardly a burden.”

Your chest tightened, soft and warm. You nodded once and finally let your arms fall, settling back beside him on the sand still close, but not clinging.

“You’re really good at this,” you murmured.

“At what?”

“Knowing what to say. Being here. Staying.”

He was quiet a long time.

But then so softly you almost missed it:

“So are you.”

And there it was again that invisible tether. That quiet understanding. That truth, neither questioned nor explained.

Just… shared.

You stayed there beside him, legs half-buried in sand, your damp hair starting to dry in sticky strands against your skin. The air was cool, but the warmth from his side had started to seep into yours subtle at first, a gentle contrast to the salt clinging to your limbs, but now undeniable. His body heat curled around you like firelight, steady and low, the kind of warmth that coaxed something loose in your chest.

Your shoulder brushed against his arm again barely a touch but the heat there felt steady. Reassuring.

Safe.

And for the first time all night, your muscles stopped buzzing.

You didn’t even realize how heavy your eyelids had become until you blinked slowly, twice, then gave in to a long, drowsy yawn that caught you by surprise.

You blinked again and murmured, half-lidded, “Okay… I might be tired now…”

Shadow Milk Cookie turned his head just slightly toward you. “Is that a revelation?”

“Mm,” you hummed, already slumping a little more against his side, “it snuck up on me…”

His tone gentled further, the edges of his voice quiet. “That tends to happen. When you’ve been sprinting from crabs and oceans.”

You gave a small, sleepy laugh, your head tipping lightly toward him. Not enough to lean again just enough to acknowledge the comfort he offered. The quiet gravity of him.

“You’re warm,” you mumbled, not really thinking about it.

He tilted his head ever so slightly, but said nothing.

You let your eyes fall closed for a moment, just to test it. His presence beside you was so still, so calm, it made the world feel slower. Softer. The wind tugged faintly at the edge of your towel, the last of the fizzing tide retreating behind you.

“…Don’t leave yet,” you whispered, eyes still closed.

“I won’t,” came his quiet reply.

It was simple. Certain.

And you believed him.

And now, lulled by the weight of salt and warmth, the soft hush of his breath beside yours, and the tide curling lazy into sleep, you finally let yourself rest.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, the world was slow and blurred and full of warmth. For a moment, you weren’t sure where you were. The scent of sea salt still clung to your skin, mingled now with the faintest hint of something deeper spiced parchment, lavender, the memory of starlight.

The morning light seeped gently through the seams in the thatched walls of your hut, soft and golden, turning the edges of everything warm.

You moved to stretch only to realize you couldn’t.

There was weight against you. Firm and steady and wrapped securely around your middle.

Arms.

Strong ones.

You blinked hard.

You were nestled in your hut your hut but it wasn’t just you anymore. The small space, already a snug fit on your own, now felt impossibly close, intimate. The blankets had been pulled tighter around you, drawn up to your chest, and behind you, someone’s body curved carefully along yours, perfectly aligned with each breath.

You felt it now the slow, even rhythm of breathing behind you. Warmth pressed along your back. A steady presence that had folded into the shape of your little world.

You froze.

You didn’t dare turn.

Your brain was still caught between sleep and waking, between the memory of stars and the feel of ocean salt still cooling at your collarbone. But the way the arm was draped around you the quiet way they held you, like the position had been chosen carefully and not changed all night you knew.

You knew.

“…Shadow Milk?” you whispered, barely a breath.

The body behind you stirred faintly. No sudden movement. Just the smallest shift, the faint brush of his breath at your neck.

“Yes.”

His voice was low from sleep, softened and unarmored. It vibrated faintly against your back, smooth and reassuring.

Your pulse quickened not out of fear, not really. Just… surprise. A flurry of questions your mind couldn’t quite string together.

You swallowed, your voice still soft. “Are we… did you…?”

“You fell asleep beside me,” he said gently. “I wasn’t going to leave you alone in the cold.”

You blinked again. Your eyes were finally adjusting to the filtered light. Your hut looked the same, just… smaller now, with the two of you filling it. There was no space to move away, not without disturbing everything.

You let your breath out slowly, heart skipping.

“…There wasn’t much room,” you whispered.

“No,” he agreed.

His tone held no shame. No apology. Just calm acknowledgment, steady as the tide. If anything, he seemed to be waiting for you. For whatever came next.

You didn’t know what to say. Not yet. You just stared at the faint light dancing across the roof, your back still pressed to his chest, wrapped in warmth that you hadn’t asked for

but hadn’t been denied.

You didn’t move.

And neither did he.

The silence settled gently over the hut again, the warmth around you comforting, familiar now. Outside, the morning was still quiet, the world caught in that hazy pause between night and sunrise. You blinked slowly, adjusting to the quiet intimacy of this shared space, breathing in rhythm with the steady presence at your back.

Slowly, Shadow Milk Cookie's breathing evened out again, softening into deeper, heavier breaths sleep slowly reclaiming him. You felt the subtle shift in his posture as he relaxed, leaning just a little more into your form, his grip around your waist unconsciously tightening slightly, holding you just a bit closer.

You swallowed, cheeks warming softly, heart stumbling over itself.

You could have moved. Could have gently shifted away, giving yourself room, creating some distance. But you didn't want to.

Instead, you let yourself settle back slightly against him, carefully adjusting so your body fit more naturally within the curve of his, your head finding a comfortable place against the blankets beneath you. His warmth seeped deeper into your dough, chasing away any lingering cold from your late-night swim, wrapping you securely in gentle, reassuring heat.

You closed your eyes, breathing deep and slow, feeling the rhythm of his breath and heartbeat behind you. The last threads of your initial surprise melted slowly into quiet acceptance. You felt safe. Sheltered. Protected.

With each gentle rise and fall of his chest, you felt yourself drift closer toward sleep once more. He was warm. You were safe. And even though neither of you had spoken about it maybe because neither of you had spoken about it, it felt okay. It felt right.

The morning could wait a little longer. The island could wait. Even your friends and their inevitable teasing could wait.

Right now, in this tiny, fragile hut, beneath blankets and warmth and quiet breathing

There was only the soft, steady heartbeat at your back, and the gentle comfort of arms that refused to let go.

You were vaguely aware of morning's full arrival, the stronger sunlight streaming brighter through your shelter, birdsong fluttering gently overhead, the ocean humming quietly in the background. But you were still caught somewhere soft and quiet, not quite asleep but not fully awake yet either, nestled comfortably against Shadow Milk Cookie's warmth.

There were hushed voices drifting from nearby murmured conversations you recognized but didn't quite register until a particularly mischievous tone broke sharply through the tranquility.

"Oh my stars," Chai Latte Cookie whispered in scandalized delight, her voice a gleeful stage-whisper loud enough to break through your sleep-addled mind. "This is so much better than I imagined."

You blinked, jolting awake at once. Your breath hitched slightly, heart thudding fast as reality snapped sharply into focus. Shadow Milk Cookie was still behind you, breathing softly, his grip gentle but firm around your waist. The warmth of his body was comforting but now fully, alarmingly apparent.

"Wait, wait," Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered, leaning forward with an audible shuffle of sand, "are they…?"

"Oh, they're definitely cuddling," Chai said, practically vibrating with excitement. "I told you! My teasing was entirely warranted!"

Earl Grey Cookie's calm, precise voice murmured thoughtfully, "Statistically, this outcome was likely given their mutual gravitational pull."

You felt your face burn, fully awake now, eyes wide and pulse racing. Carefully, you shifted slightly beneath the blankets, trying not to disturb the sleeping figure behind you, craning your head just enough to peek through the seaweed curtain.

There they were your three friends crouched right outside your hut, peering inward like curious detectives investigating a scandalous mystery.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie met your eyes first, eyebrows raised. "Oh, good morning, you menace. Have a restful sleep?"

Chai Latte Cookie practically sparkled, clasping her hands together in excitement. "You know, I did wonder why you didn't want to sleep with us but this explains everything! You sly little-"

"Chai," Earl Grey Cookie interrupted gently, though his voice held amusement, "perhaps lower your voice. The Sage of Truth is still asleep."

"Too late," came the soft, measured voice behind you.

Shadow Milk Cookie shifted gently, arms loosening slowly from around your waist as he began to sit up, careful not to jostle you too much in the tight confines of your shelter. His expression was unreadable, but composed, even as his mismatched eyes took in the group assembled just outside.

"Good morning," he said mildly.

Hazelnut coughed awkwardly, clearly attempting (and failing) to stifle his laughter. "Ah… good morning, Sage. Restful night?"

Shadow Milk Cookie simply inclined his head slightly, entirely unfazed. "Indeed."

Chai Latte Cookie, however, was visibly struggling to contain herself, eyes sparkling wickedly as she leaned forward conspiratorially. "So. Anything you'd both like to-"

You groaned, hiding your flaming face beneath your blanket. "Chai, please."

She laughed softly, delighted. "Oh, don't worry. You have all day to explain this little arrangement."

You felt Shadow Milk Cookie's gaze briefly touch you calm, warm, unbothered before he looked back at your friends and said smoothly, "No explanations necessary."

Your heartbeat stuttered. You peeked up from beneath the blanket, blinking shyly at him.

Chai Latte Cookie dramatically pressed a hand to her chest. "Oh, my heart."

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie simply shook his head, a resigned but amused grin on his face. "We'll leave you two to… wake up properly. Come on."

Earl Grey Cookie nodded sagely, though his eyes twinkled with quiet humor. "We'll have tea ready."

They turned, walking slowly away, their teasing whispers drifting back toward you with playful warmth.

You sank deeper beneath your blanket again, feeling both embarrassment and quiet happiness swirling in your chest.

Shadow Milk Cookie's hand briefly touched your shoulder, reassuring and gentle, before pulling back. His voice, calm and soft, carried quietly in the tiny hut.

"You needn't worry," he murmured. "Though perhaps next time, we choose a less… conspicuous location."

You laughed softly beneath your breath, warmth rising into your cheeks as you finally sat up properly, pushing damp, salty hair from your eyes.

"Agreed," you whispered. "Maybe somewhere they can't tease us."

He gave a quiet hum of agreement. "Impossible, I'm afraid."

But when you looked at him again, his quiet amusement, his steady gaze endlessly calm and kind you knew with absolute certainty that you wouldn't have changed a thing.

You didn’t respond right away.

Not when Chai’s voice rang out like a victory bell. Not when Hazelnut made his barely contained snort of laughter. Not when Earl Grey muttered something about “gravitational inevitability.”

You just sat there, frozen in the warmth of your blankets and the now too-aware echo of Shadow Milk Cookie’s presence still beside you, his words still gentle in your ears.

And then mortified, burning alive you did the only thing you could think to do.

You flopped back down and yanked the blanket up over your head.

Fully. Completely.

Like a turtle retreating into its shell. Like a dramatic scholar who had simply decided to opt out of the current plane of existence.

Shadow Milk Cookie blinked once, watching your retreat in silence.

From beneath the cocoon of damp towel, sand-stained cloth, and panic, you whispered into the folds, voice small and muffled:

“Don’t look at me. I’m not here. I’ve transcended.”

There was a pause beside you.

Then, quietly: “I can still see the outline of your head.”

“I’m a concept now,” you muttered, refusing to come out. “A myth. A tale told around campfires. Leave no trace.”

Outside, you could still hear Chai cackling as the others finally moved away, their footsteps trailing off down the sand, their laughter fading like the last ripple of a skipped stone. But it was too late. The damage was done. They saw.

“Legend,” Chai had whispered. “Absolute legend.”

You groaned and curled tighter beneath the blankets. “This is it. This is how I’m remembered.”

Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled a sound that might’ve been the closest thing to a laugh you’d ever heard from him low, soft, warm with quiet amusement.

“I believe you are remembered for far more than one morning in a blanket.”

“Not anymore I’m not.”

“Then allow me to revise the record,” he said, voice still gentle. “You are a scholar of persistence. A creature of curiosity. A survivor of aggressive crabs. And…” His voice lowered just slightly, almost teasing, “...an exceptionally stealthy midnight swimmer.”

You made a muffled squeak of protest from your blanket.

But slowly, slowly, a small smile crept across your face under the folds.

You didn't emerge.

Not yet.

But his voice, his presence, the ease of his tone let the world feel just a little less terrifying outside your makeshift sanctuary.

And though you were still a blanket burrito of embarrassment…

You were warm. You were safe. And you were, unmistakably, not alone.

Eventually, you peeked out from under the blanket just enough to test the air. The fire was crackling again in the distance. The sky had lightened into full day, soft blues and early golden beams stretching over the sea like the world had forgiven you for existing. No sign of Chai Latte Cookie’s dramatic glee. No snickering from Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie. No philosophical musings from Earl Grey Cookie.

Just quiet. Just the scent of tea on the breeze.

With one last sigh of reluctant dignity, you finally unwrapped yourself from the cocoon, brushing sand from your arms and legs. You ran a hand through your hair still vaguely sea-salted and chaotic and stepped out of your hut like it hadn’t just been your fortress of shame minutes ago.

Shadow Milk Cookie followed behind at an easy pace, his presence calm as ever. If he held any thoughts about your temporary retreat into blanket-based anonymity, he didn’t voice them. Not a word. Just a faint glint of quiet amusement in his mismatched eyes.

By the time you reached the communal shelter again, Earl Grey Cookie was already pouring tea with ceremonial grace into makeshift cups.

“Ah,” he said, looking up. “You’ve returned.”

You sat cross-legged near the fire with a grunt of acknowledgment, accepting the tea like it was a sacred offering. “Please don’t say anything.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Earl Grey replied, passing you your cup.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie gave you a lazy salute from where he was half-reclined in the shade, already halfway through a mango. “You missed the best part.”

You blinked. “What part?”

“She caved,” he said, gesturing with his fruit. “Chai.”

You looked at Earl Grey.

“She left early this morning,” he confirmed, sipping his tea. “Said she couldn’t stomach another coconut. Went to the village at the other end of the island.”

You stared. “The village?”

Hazelnut nodded solemnly. “She came back with food. Real food. Warm. Wrapped. Possibly kissed by culinary deities.”

“And you two…?”

“Folded instantly,” Hazelnut said without shame.

Earl Grey raised his cup slightly. “I, for one, would rather embrace civilization than perish over a mango pit.”

You blinked again, glancing between them. “So… she forfeited?”

Earl Grey nodded.

“You both ate what she brought?”

Hazelnut grinned. “Immediately.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Then that means…?”

“Congratulations,” Earl Grey said with practiced composure. “You are the last remaining participant of the Tropical Soda Islands Survival Challenge.”

Hazelnut clapped, just once, deadpan. “Our champion. Ruler of sand and splinters. First of their name, protector of pineapples.”

You stared at them, flabbergasted. “I was literally hiding under a blanket an hour ago.”

“Still counts,” Hazelnut said.

Shadow Milk Cookie settled beside you, folding his long legs with practiced ease. He held a cup of tea in one hand, steam curling gently into the breeze.

“They did endure,” he said quietly.

You gave him a look. “You don’t have to validate this.”

“But I will,” he said simply, and sipped his tea.

You stared into your cup, warmth spreading up through your hands.

You were a mess. Sticky with salt. Sand still clinging to your calves. Hair vaguely untamable. Still faintly vibrating from earlier embarrassment.

And yet… you won.

You, who had slept in a bush hut and run from a crab. You, who swam in a sea that bubbled and fizzed like soda. You, who asked for company, and were met with presence.

You grinned.

“Does the winner get a crown?” you asked, lifting your tea.

“Only if you make it out of banana leaves and overconfidence,” Hazelnut said.

“Done.”

You raised your cup, toasted the fire, and took a long, victorious sip.

Monarch of survival.

No one could take that from you.

The rest of the weekend drifted past like scattered notes scribbled hastily into the margins of your consciousness moments rather than a cohesive story, little vignettes threaded loosely together by sunlight and anticipation.

The first morning back at the Academy, you watched Chai Latte Cookie parade triumphantly around the dining hall, dramatically recounting her “heroic quest” for civilization to anyone who would listen. You leaned on your elbows, smirking quietly into your cup as Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie insisted that her “surrender” would be forever remembered in the annals of tropical history.

Earl Grey Cookie sipped his tea with practiced serenity, murmuring sagely, “The true mark of civilization is knowing when to surrender gracefully.”

You snorted into your toast.

By mid-afternoon, you found yourself beneath one of the great trees in the central courtyard, pages of your notes fluttering restlessly in your lap as the wind teased your hair. The others sat close by Hazelnut Biscotti sprawled dramatically over the grass, Earl Grey writing quietly, Chai Latte scribbling a gossip-laden letter to her pen-pal back home, pausing occasionally to read aloud particularly scandalous excerpts.

You glanced across the lawn and caught Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze as he emerged from one of the Academy halls, robes rippling gently behind him. He gave the barest nod just a quiet acknowledgement and a small, private smile meant only for you.

Your heart fluttered traitorously.

You looked quickly away, pretending to return to your notes, and missed the quiet laughter from Hazelnut Biscotti as he elbowed Earl Grey knowingly.

That evening, you gathered in the dormitory lounge, lazily sprawled on the cushions scattered across the floor. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie taught Chai Latte an obscure card game from his village, which she immediately dominated with ruthless efficiency. Earl Grey quietly brewed tea, the scent warm and comforting, as he murmured something about “overconfidence leading to tragic downfalls.”

You caught yourself staring into the fire, smiling softly at nothing in particular, only dimly aware of Chai Latte’s teasing whisper: “Someone’s daydreaming again.”

You didn’t respond but you couldn’t hide the gentle flush on your cheeks.

Sunday morning found you pacing nervously through the gardens, palms clammy, muttering quietly to yourself, practicing the congratulatory words you would eventually have to deliver to Shadow Milk Cookie at the ceremony. You’d written them down, edited them multiple times, and still felt like every version was horribly inadequate.

Chai Latte, walking nearby, stopped to watch you pace. “Are you rehearsing an apology or a marriage proposal?”

You stopped dead in your tracks, face flaming. “Neither.”

She raised a skeptical brow. “You’re adorable when you’re lying.”

Late afternoon sunlight spilled through the stained glass windows lining the Academy corridors, painting everything in hues of amber and rose as you hurried toward your dormitory. You passed a quiet alcove, catching the faint rustle of robes.

Shadow Milk Cookie stood with several High Scholars, his expression serene but guarded, his voice a low hum of authority as they discussed something solemnly. He glanced sideways, eyes briefly meeting yours. His lips twitched faintly acknowledging your presence without interrupting his flow and you nodded shyly before scurrying away.

You didn’t notice the small, fond smile that lingered on his lips even after you disappeared around the corner.

The morning of the ceremony came swiftly. The entire Academy buzzed with restless energy, the air thick with excitement and expectation. The Hall of Enlightenment had been transformed, banners unfurled, ancient tapestries cleaned, and hung proudly. Rows upon rows of chairs filled the space, meticulously aligned, waiting patiently to receive the students, faculty, and honored guests.

You sat quietly among your friends, dressed formally but fidgeting nervously with the fabric of your robe. Chai Latte Cookie leaned over, straightening the fold at your collar with practiced hands. “Stop fussing, you look perfect.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, seated beside her, offered you a reassuring grin. “Besides, all eyes will be on the newly-crowned Fount of Knowledge.”

You swallowed. “I know.”

Earl Grey Cookie, on your other side, inclined his head gently. “Are you prepared for that?”

You exhaled softly. “As ready as I'll ever be.”

Chai Latte nudged your shoulder gently, whispering conspiratorially, “Just remember: if you faint dramatically, aim towards him.”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile curving your lips despite yourself. “Not helpful.”

She merely grinned, leaning back in her seat. “I'm always helpful.”

You glanced towards the raised platform at the front of the hall, heart fluttering as the ceremony finally began. The head of the council stepped forward, robes flowing elegantly as he spoke of legacy, of the importance of truth and knowledge, and of the scholar who embodied it all Shadow Milk Cookie.

Your heartbeat quickened as he stepped into view his adjusted robes impeccably tailored, elegant and stately, free of the infamous hat he’d once worn. Instead, atop his carefully-styled hair rested a small, beautifully modest crown, shimmering gently in the soft candlelight.

His eyes briefly scanned the assembled audience until, quietly, they settled on you.

He held your gaze for just a moment longer than necessary, something soft and reassuring in his expression, a gentle acknowledgement that steadied your nerves and made your heart beat faster all at once.

You didn’t even realize you’d stopped breathing until Chai Latte elbowed you gently in the ribs.

“Breathe, scholar.”

You inhaled shakily, watching as he gracefully stepped forward to address the hall, the title of Fount of Knowledge waiting to be officially bestowed upon him.

Your breath caught again, pulse fluttering beneath your skin.

This wasn’t just a ceremony this was a beginning.

And quietly, secretly, you knew,

You’d follow wherever this truth led, even if you didn’t quite understand it yet.

You stood amidst a sea of murmuring scholars, the Hall of Enlightenment shimmering softly under countless lanterns and polished crystal sconces, gilded beams arching gracefully overhead. Light danced across walls etched with inscriptions older than memory, tracing their gentle curves with flickers of gold and shadow.

Your heart felt ready to burst excitement and nerves tangled so tightly you couldn't separate one feeling from another. This moment felt impossibly fragile, as if even breathing too deeply might scatter it like morning mist.

"You look like you're about to pass out," Chai Latte Cookie whispered, gently tugging your sleeve.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned over her shoulder, his voice low and teasing. "Maybe we should've brought smelling salts."

Earl Grey Cookie glanced sideways at them, a faint, amused quirk of his lips. "Or a fainting couch."

"Stop," you breathed, voice barely audible over the hushed murmurs around you. "I'm fine."

Chai Latte smiled knowingly, slipping her hand into yours. "No, you're not. You're starstruck."

You didn't respond. Because she was right. You were trembling slightly, and your chest ached with anticipation. This was different from lectures, different from private tutoring sessions and quiet conversations beneath moonlit skies. This felt grand, momentous like seeing your favorite artist take the stage, your pulse quickening with each passing second.

Then, all at once, the hall quieted to a collective hush, rippling outward like a wave as Shadow Milk Cookie stepped onto the platform.

Everything stopped.

He stood tall beneath the gentle glow of ceremonial lights, his presence so impossibly composed, so calmly magnetic that every eye in the hall was drawn instinctively toward him. His ceremonial robes were regal and refined, midnight-blue threaded intricately with gold, each careful stitch gleaming softly beneath the luminous lanterns. And atop his dark hair sat the modest crown, delicate yet purposeful, elegant rather than ostentatious.

His eyes one brilliant gold, one deep celestial blue scanned the crowd carefully, his gaze gentle but focused. When they reached you, he paused for half a heartbeat.

You felt yourself flush, warmth rising into your cheeks as he gave you the faintest, softest of smiles subtle enough that only you could possibly have noticed. Your heart fluttered frantically in response, even as he looked away and lifted his chin to address the assembled scholars.

"Truth," he began, his voice low and steady, resonating softly through the hall, "is not simply something one finds. It is not a hidden artifact, nor a distant star."

His voice carried gently, effortlessly commanding the hall’s attention.

"Truth is something one becomes," he continued, gaze calm yet resolute. "It shapes us, molds us, challenges us. It requires patience, humility and, perhaps most importantly, courage."

Your heart squeezed, his words settling deep beneath your skin. His gaze flicked briefly toward you once more, as though his next words were a gentle echo of private lessons shared in quiet rooms.

"It asks that we approach it, again and again, with open minds and open hearts. That we confront our own ignorance bravely, and our uncertainty gently."

The hall seemed to breathe with him, every scholar caught in his quiet gravity.

"You have granted me this title Fount of Knowledge," he said slowly. "Yet knowledge is never contained by a single source. It exists in each of us, a light waiting patiently to be recognized and shared. A lantern that, once ignited, can illuminate worlds."

His voice softened, the cadence of his words wrapping warmly around your heart, drawing you deeper into quiet awe.

"And though I accept this title with honor," he added gently, gaze sweeping slowly across the audience, "know this, the search for truth does not end here. It has no boundaries, no final chapter. It is an endless horizon, stretching farther each day."

His eyes met yours again.

"And it is a journey I would gladly share with each of you, if you are willing to walk beside me."

You held your breath, your heart fluttering like trapped sunlight beneath your ribs. Beside you, Chai Latte gently squeezed your hand again, her voice the softest whisper: "Breathe."

You exhaled shakily, realizing you had forgotten entirely to breathe, pulse trembling in your fingertips.

Shadow Milk Cookie inclined his head softly toward the hall, voice quiet yet strong, closing his speech like a promise spoken beneath stars.

"Let us discover these truths together."

The applause began quietly at first, a ripple of respectful awe spreading quickly into heartfelt enthusiasm. Your friends cheered beside you, their voices joining the swell of appreciation. But you stood still, speechless, heart beating hard enough to ache.

Shadow Milk Cookie met your gaze again, expression gentle, eyes deep and soft with something you couldn't name but recognized immediately.

And as the applause filled the Hall of Enlightenment, warm and proud and deeply felt, you knew one thing clearly:

You would gladly follow him anywhere to truths known and unknown alike, no matter how uncertain the path ahead might be.

Because he was there.

The applause didn’t stop.

It surged like the tide rising, folding, swelling again. The Hall of Enlightenment, so often solemn and reserved, now vibrated with something electric. Awe clung to the marble columns and rippled across velvet-lined benches. You stood frozen among it all, eyes fixed on him as the noise and light blurred into a single, humming note of reverence.

And he

He stood at the center of it like it had never once fazed him. Back straight, chin held with quiet dignity, golden and blue eyes cast out over the crowd not demanding attention, but receiving it nonetheless, like gravity obeyed him. Like light did.

The soft crown resting atop his dark hair caught the gleam of the chandeliers, casting little pinpricks of gold onto the polished floor. His ceremonial robes, now fully visible, looked tailored from the constellations themselves deep, starlit navy embroidered with threads of knowledge, the edges trimmed with symbols of the Academy’s oldest teachings.

It was like watching a star in the making.

Students around you murmured in disbelief. Some stared in open awe, lips parted, eyes wide with a kind of wonder usually reserved for miracle sightings and celestial events.

“Is that really the same professor who gives monologues in soul theory?” someone whispered breathlessly behind you.

“Forget soul theory,” someone else murmured, “I’d let him give a monologue about weather patterns and I’d still weep.”

“He looks like a myth,” Chai Latte Cookie whispered beside you, leaning into your shoulder with a dazed smile. “Like he stepped out of a legend. Oh stars, no wonder everyone’s losing their minds.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie looked half-impressed, half-exasperated. “I can’t tell if I want to be him or propose.”

Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, nodded slowly. “He has the presence of someone who has already read the ending of every book in the room and is simply choosing not to spoil it.”

You couldn't say anything. You were still looking at him really looking. And seeing him like this, standing tall in front of an Academy that now bore part of his legacy, honored by the highest scholars and idolized by students who hadn’t even spoken to him… it made your chest ache.

Not because you didn’t believe he deserved it. Because he absolutely did. But because… this wasn’t the version of him you’d first known.

The one who waited patiently for you to understand a single line of text, who poured truth gently into your cupped hands when you were too afraid to grasp it, who listened always listened and never once made you feel small.

And now he stood beneath golden light, being treated like a celestial being, a once-in-a-generation mind.

Because he was.

Still, when he stepped back from the podium and cast one last glance into the crowd, his gaze found you.

Just for a breath.

Just for a moment.

The others didn’t notice.

But you felt it how his shoulders eased, how the weight of expectation slid ever so slightly from his posture. How the tiniest breath of something real, something soft, slipped through the cracks of his composure.

He smiled not the reserved, dignified smile he wore for ceremonies, but something quieter. Familiar.

And in that single look, you saw him not as the Fount of Knowledge.

But as him. The person who had stayed outside your hut all night. The person who once offered you tea after a particularly bad day. The person who, quietly, had made space for you in his world and let you stay there.

Your breath hitched, your heart thudding once more.

Because it didn’t matter how many people swooned, how many whispered his name like prayer.

He had looked at you.

You looked right back.

The ceremony concluded with a final wave of applause, respectful bows from the council, and the soft chime of bells echoing from the spire’s tower. One by one, scholars began to rise from their seats, buzzing with reverence and disbelief, their robes brushing softly as they turned toward the great doors of the Hall of Enlightenment.

You didn’t move.

Not at first.

Chai Latte Cookie tugged gently on your sleeve. “(Y/n).” Her voice was quieter now. Less teasing. More grounding.

You blinked, head still tilted slightly toward the podium now empty your mind miles away, stuck somewhere in the lingering starlight of his presence. The words he had spoken still echoed softly in your chest, every syllable etched into you like truth carved into ancient stone.

“He’s still just a person, you know,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie said gently as the crowd began to shuffle around you, laughter and celebration building like waves crashing just beyond your awareness.

“Debatable,” Earl Grey Cookie added. “That was a divine experience.”

“You gonna start a shrine?” Chai teased, looping her arm around yours.

“I might,” Earl Grey replied dryly.

You let yourself be herded out with the tide of students, your limbs moving on instinct, your mind still reeling. Around you, voices swirled

“I swear he looked right at me.”

“Is it normal to cry during a knowledge ceremony?”

“Do you think he has office hours? For… metaphysical consultation?”

You barely registered them, still staring ahead as if you were afraid to look away in case the moment disappeared.

“He’s still him,” Chai whispered at your side. “Still the same person who knows how you take your tea.”

You blinked again, looking at her.

“I know,” you said quietly. “I just” You swallowed. “He looked like someone I was lucky to even know. And now… everyone else knows it too.”

Hazelnut Biscotti bumped your shoulder. “Yeah. But not everyone got to hug him while covered in seaweed and salt.”

“Hazelnut,” you groaned, face burning.

Chai beamed. “You’re never living that down.”

You sighed, letting them guide you through the hall’s open doors, out into the bright afternoon where the warmth of the sun didn’t quite match the warmth still curling inside your chest. The air buzzed with excitement students already breaking into plans for celebration, for post-ceremony snacks, for impromptu campus parties that would inevitably get too loud and too heartfelt.

The four of you were swept along with the tide, making your way across the stone paths toward the dormitory lounge. The sky stretched open above you, vivid blue with the occasional cloud curling lazily across the horizon. The wind carried the scent of flowers and parchment, and you felt strangely untethered like the ground beneath your feet was both familiar and suddenly new.

As you passed the entrance to the Scholar’s Wing, you couldn’t help glancing back one last time.

The Hall of Enlightenment stood tall behind you, sun glinting off its carved spires.

You could almost still see him standing there his voice calm, his eyes steady, his truth unshaken.

You didn’t realize you were staring again until Chai leaned close and murmured, amused, “(Y/n). You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The look of someone who’s been struck by a falling star.”

You snorted softly, but didn’t deny it.

Because maybe she was right.

And maybe… you didn’t mind.

You slowed your steps just slightly, the sun catching on the edges of the dormitory lounge ahead as voices swelled all around you celebration, chatter, movement. But none of it reached you fully.

Not when your heart was still wrapped around the way he had looked at you. Like you mattered.

“I think I have been struck by a falling star,” you said quietly, almost more to yourself than to the others.

The words slipped out before you could second-guess them, soft and reverent.

Chai Latte Cookie’s smile faded not in disappointment, but in the way light dims gently before a storm passes through. She glanced at Earl Grey Cookie.

And Earl Grey… he didn’t say anything at first. Just met her gaze with that unreadable calm of his, his hands tucked loosely behind his back as the crowd flowed past you. There was something unspoken in that look. Something tender. Something that didn’t need to be said aloud.

Not grief. Not quite. But maybe the quiet understanding of watching someone drift toward something they can never quite reach.

A kind of letting go.

You noticed the look but didn’t know how to name it.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie did, though.

He saw it, that silent exchange how something subtle passed between the two of them and his expression changed. Not surprised. Not exactly.

Soft.

He rubbed the back of his neck and gave a faint, crooked smile.

“Well,” he said, his voice steady, “then I’m happy for you.”

You turned, surprised.

He shrugged, stepping forward just enough to stand between you and the hush that had fallen around your friends.

“Really,” he added. “Despite everything. Everyone feels that way. About him. About you. It’s just…” He hesitated, then looked at you fully. “It’s different when it’s you. Because we know you.”

You opened your mouth, unsure what to say.

“And we see it,” he continued, more gently now. “The way you look at him. The way he listens when you speak. The way something changes in the room when it’s just the two of you.”

Chai looked down at her shoes.

Earl Grey’s eyes stayed fixed on the horizon.

And Hazelnut gave you a half-smile, not bitter. Not jealous.

Just honest.

“It’s not just a falling star,” he said. “It’s someone who chose to land. Right where you are.”

You didn’t know what to say.

Not yet.

So you just stood there, at the edge of a celebration, the sun brushing your skin, the ache in your chest blooming quietly into something softer.

And around you, the people who knew you best held space for your silence.

Even if it cost them something, too.

The wind tugged gently at your sleeves as you stood just outside the dormitory lounge, the sounds of celebration muffled behind you laughter, music, the clinking of glass and ceramic. The rest of the Academy had spilled into joy without hesitation, swept up in the wake of his speech, his title, his gravity.

You stood at the edge of it.

Still in awe. Still feeling like something had struck you clean through and left you lit from within.

You glanced back toward the Hall of Enlightenment now distant, glowing faintly in the sun-drenched afternoon like a sacred place in some old tale and exhaled slowly.

“…Do you think I should go looking for him?” you asked, voice quiet, as if afraid saying it too loud might disturb the balance of everything. “Or should I just… let him have his space? Let him bask in his glory for a little while?”

There was a pause behind you.

Then Chai Latte Cookie said gently, “You could do either. And he’d still find his way back to you.”

You turned slightly, brows furrowing.

Earl Grey Cookie stepped up beside her, his voice calm, but thoughtful. “He’s always been drawn to reflection after things like this. He might be basking, yes but not in glory. In silence. In meaning.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie sat down on the edge of the stone bench, arms resting on his knees. “He’s not the type to forget who was beside him before the crowd started clapping. You’re not a face in the sea to him.”

Chai nodded, arms loosely crossed, her voice softer now. “You’re real to him. Not just someone who watched him shine… but someone who knows what it took for him to burn that bright.”

You blinked, unsure what to say.

Hazelnut shrugged lightly. “If you go to him now, I don’t think you’d be interrupting anything. He’d probably be… relieved. That it’s you.”

Earl Grey added, “But if you choose to wait… he’ll come.”

You looked down at your hands for a moment, still tingling from where he’d held them beneath the table.

Still warm.

Still steady.

“…I think I just don’t want to be another voice adding to the noise,” you murmured.

“You never were,” Chai said, and though her smile was smaller now, it held more truth than teasing.

You let the silence linger for a moment, then slowly straightened.

Somewhere deep down, you already knew the answer. You just needed to hear them say it first.

And now that they had… you found yourself ready.

Not to chase him. Not to demand space beside him.

But to be there. If he wanted you to be. Just as you always had been.

Leaving your friends to their own devices you stepped quietly down the stone paths that wound gently toward the gardens behind the Hall of Enlightenment, your feet carrying you as if they already knew where he might be. The Academy grounds were quieter now, the rush of celebrations distant and muffled behind you now only a whisper, softened by distance.

The gardens opened slowly before you, blooming quietly beneath the gentle touch of afternoon sunlight. The air here smelled faintly of fresh leaves and something sweet, like distant honey. And at the far end of the garden, near the smooth marble benches and the quiet circle of engraved stone, stood Shadow Milk Cookie surrounded, yet distinctly separate from the scholars around him.

They were speaking in soft, careful tones, their robes elegant and dignified, embroidered with symbols you recognized from your texts but still couldn’t fully grasp. They held themselves with an air of wisdom and measured confidence. These were the highest of scholars, those who moved effortlessly through the halls of the Academy with gentle but assured authority.

They were like him.

Stars in their own right burning quietly but unmistakably brilliant. A constellation of excellence.

And he stood at their center, effortless in his composure, eyes calm, expression serene. The crown upon his head seemed so natural now like it had always been there, like he’d never worn anything else.

It wasn’t painful, exactly, seeing him like this standing tall among equals, his voice steady and resonant, his presence quietly magnetic.

But it was sobering.

Because standing there at the edge of the garden, the truth of the distance between you felt suddenly sharper, more real. It wasn’t something that hurt, exactly. It wasn’t a wound.

Just a quiet, dull ache of acceptance.

Because you knew, deep down, that even though he sometimes stepped into your world, even though he walked beside you on sand and under starlight he didn’t truly belong there.

He belonged here.

Among those who spoke in truths and revelations, who breathed in the language of wisdom. You had stumbled toward him, reaching, hoping but he was never someone you could fully grasp.

You were lucky, truly, to even witness him like this to bask in the warmth he radiated, even from afar. But you would never be the only one warmed by his presence. It was impossible. He was a star, after all meant to cast his glow widely, equally, endlessly.

Slowly, quietly, you knelt and reached into your bag. You’d packed a blanket earlier, something soft and comforting, thinking perhaps there might be a moment today when you could sit quietly together, away from ceremony and formality, and just be.

But now, carefully, you drew it around your shoulders, using it instead as a shawl, hiding yourself just enough that you might blend quietly into the garden around you. A quiet observer, wrapped in something soft, watching him shine.

You didn’t want him to see you. Not now.

You wanted instead to watch him like this, in his best form, precisely where he belonged. A glimpse into his world, knowing gently, calmly, that it wasn’t a world meant to hold you permanently. But one you could still see, could still admire, from a respectful, quiet distance.

The dull ache in your chest didn’t fade entirely but it settled into something gentle. Because even if the space between you would never disappear…

You were still lucky. Still grateful.

Still here, to witness it. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, its weight comforting, grounding though it did little to hide the way your pulse thrummed beneath your skin.

From the quiet alcove between the trimmed hedges and flowering sage, you sat still, barely breathing, eyes fixed on the small circle of scholars just across the garden’s polished stone. They stood like pillars around him, their robes flowing like water, gold embroidery catching the light in delicate flashes. Their voices, though low, wove together like threads from a tapestry you weren’t meant to touch.

“…though if the logic of soul transference is applied outside of dimensional context,” one of them murmured, “then it no longer hinges on containment, but resonance.”

“Precisely,” another agreed, their tone clipped and sure. “Which is why you can’t simply contain knowledge it must be mirrored. That’s the flaw in the third framework.”

Shadow Milk Cookie nodded, arms folded neatly behind his back, his posture both regal and relaxed. “That flaw, in particular,” he said, voice smooth and measured, “is why the Spire must redefine its foundation on synthesis, not division.”

You watched as another scholar stepped forward older, cloaked in ink-stained robes, his voice reverent. “And you’ve written of this… the theory of shared perception.”

“I’ve only offered a beginning,” Shadow Milk replied, with the kind of quiet humility that only made him more luminous. “The truth will evolve long after my contribution is forgotten.”

They all nodded solemnly. Not one of them questioned it. Not one challenged him. They revered him not with blind admiration, but with respect earned through brilliance, consistency, grace.

And you sat there, wrapped in your shawl of soft fabric and quiet awe, listening to words that felt just out of reach. Like music in a language you had yet to learn. You knew the basics, of course. Had studied, scraped your way toward understanding.

You’d worked for every fragment of knowledge you held.

But this? This was beyond textbooks.

This was the realm of the greats. The thinkers who shaped theories so vast they bent the future around them.

And he stood in the center of it. Not reaching. Not proving. Just being.

There was a moment, just then, when you caught the faintest expression across his soft, thoughtful face. Listening intently to the scholar beside him, his eyes gleamed with consideration, not superiority. There was wonder in his gaze. Stillness.

It was the same look he gave you sometimes when you said something that surprised him. When you reached further than he expected.

And yet here, surrounded by brilliance, he wore it again.

You felt it then not jealousy, not even yearning. Just that same dull ache. A kind of smallness that wasn’t bitter, only… truthful.

You weren’t one of them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But you were here. You were listening. You were trying.

And for now… that had to be enough.

Eventually, you drew a long, quiet breath, feeling the air seep back into your lungs, chasing away the lingering tightness in your chest. As much as you could have sat there all day, hidden and watching from your quiet corner it wouldn't do you any good. You couldn't spend the rest of your afternoon wrapped in wistful contemplation, gazing at him from afar like he was some distant star.

Even if he was.

You stood slowly, careful not to disturb the soft hush of the garden, folding your blanket back into your bag. Reality tugged gently at your sleeve, reminding you of things left undone your room waiting to be packed, boxes and books and clothes to be sorted, stored, and moved. The end of the semester always brought change, but this time, it felt more significant. This wasn't just any dorm move.

You were heading to the Spire.

The thought brought a flutter of excitement tempered by nerves. You'd earned a place in the research program there, a rare opportunity and a requirement for graduation. Summer would no longer be the sleepy respite between semesters; it would be a time of growth, intense learning, and scholarship.

Your final year at the Academy. Your final year spent with your friends, your studies, and him all entangled in ways you weren't entirely sure how to untangle.

But first, you needed to pack.

You turned quietly away from the group of scholars, careful not to draw attention, slipping away down the stone path and out of the gardens. The sounds of their gentle discussion faded behind you, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of campus life.

By the time you reached the dormitories again, the sun was dipping lower, painting everything in warm gold. You expected the lounge to be quiet, your friends scattered to their own preparations, lost in plans or sleep.

But when you opened the door, you found all three of them exactly where you'd left them.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie was sprawled across one of the cushioned chairs, his head resting against its arm, eyes half-closed in lazy contemplation. Chai Latte Cookie sat curled up comfortably, tea in hand, leafing through a well-loved book she'd read a dozen times before. Earl Grey Cookie had his feet propped up neatly, staring out the window, eyes calm and thoughtful.

They glanced up in surprise when you stepped into the room.

Chai Latte Cookie blinked, eyebrows raised. "You're back already?"

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie tilted his head, eyeing you curiously. "That was fast. We assumed you'd vanish for at least a few hours."

You gave a faint, sheepish smile, dropping into a chair across from them. "I thought you'd all be gone by now."

Earl Grey Cookie exhaled softly, gaze warm. "We intended to pack, but it turns out we're all too tired."

Chai nodded emphatically, holding up her book. "Lounging is a necessary step before serious academic relocation efforts."

You smiled faintly, settling into your chair. "Right."

There was a beat of silence, comfortable and quiet, before Hazelnut glanced at you again. "So, did you talk to him?"

You hesitated briefly, your gaze sliding toward the window, toward the gardens and the conversation you'd left behind. "No," you finally admitted. "I saw him, but he was... busy. I didn't speak to him."

Your friends exchanged quiet glances, understanding dawning in their eyes. Chai Latte Cookie lowered her book, studying you carefully.

"You alright?"

You nodded slowly, exhaling quietly. "I am. Really. I just- he was with people who... well, they were like him. Brilliant and graceful and just different. It made me realize we're not exactly the same. He's meant for that."

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie's expression softened slightly, voice gentle. "You're still allowed to stand next to him, you know."

You smiled again, softer this time, tired but genuine. "I know. But maybe not all the time."

Earl Grey Cookie nodded thoughtfully, his voice steady. "And yet, your journey continues alongside his in your own way. Soon you'll both be in the Spire."

You let out a slow breath. "That's true."

Chai Latte Cookie leaned toward you, eyes bright with encouragement. "And that's your path. Maybe not to shine the exact same way he does, but you'll have your own place, your own glow. And he'll see it too."

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked faintly, eyes gentle. "He always does."

You smiled a little more, their words softening the quiet ache you'd carried back with you. You looked around the familiar lounge, feeling the comfort of their presence surround you, steady and sure, easing away some of the distance you'd felt earlier.

Maybe the gap between you and him would always remain. Maybe it would shrink someday. Or maybe it wouldn't need to.

Because here, right now, surrounded by those who saw you clearly, you knew you'd be alright.

You were headed to the Spire, toward new truths, new lessons.

And you'd carry him with you, even if he sometimes stood just beyond reach. The afternoon slipped swiftly through your fingers, sunlight fading to a softer gold, then deepening slowly to amber and rose. Your room, once cluttered with scattered notes, ink-stained parchment, and half-opened books, gradually became neat stacks of packed boxes and carefully wrapped belongings.

Your friends after enough lounging and avoiding their own packing had eventually wandered into your room, lingering near the doorway with amused smiles until Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie made a dramatic announcement:

“It’s decided,” he declared, arms crossed, eyes twinkling. “Your packing process is significantly more fascinating than mine.”

“Agreed,” Chai Latte Cookie chimed in brightly, stepping past him into the room, already rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s help you avoid existential crises about which textbooks deserve a place in your new room.”

“Or,” Earl Grey Cookie murmured mildly, settling himself comfortably against your desk, “simply postponing our own packing a bit longer.”

Hazelnut Biscotti shrugged, already lifting a pile of scattered notes. “Both valid.”

Together, you packed swiftly, the work made lighter by laughter, teasing debates about the sentimental value of old assignments (“You can’t throw away something the Sage himself wrote ‘adequate’ on!” Chai Latte gasped, snatching the paper from your hand and lovingly folding it into a box,) and whispered retellings of memories sparked by unearthed objects pendants, pressed flowers, and notes from long-forgotten classes.

The room transformed steadily under your collective hands, until at last it was neatly packed away, boxes lined up by the door, sunlight pouring in soft, fading streaks through the windows.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie stretched dramatically, arching his back with exaggerated satisfaction. “Alright, hero. You’re officially boxed and ready to move.”

Chai Latte Cookie nodded approvingly, dusting her hands. “You owe us your eternal gratitude. Or tea. Preferably both.”

Earl Grey Cookie straightened his jacket calmly, expression mild. “I’d settle for dinner.”

Your stomach rumbled at the mere mention, reminding you how quickly time had slipped by. “Is it really already that late?”

“Time flies when you’re meticulously labeling parchment,” Hazelnut deadpanned.

Chai Latte hooked her arm through yours gently, already steering you toward the door. “Let’s go. You know we always eat at the same time anyway.”

It was true, of course one of the comforting routines you’d come to rely on. Dinner was always taken together at the dining hall, around the same quiet, familiar table. Even after chaotic days, complicated feelings, or gentle, reflective afternoons, dinner was always steady, dependable.

Together, you wandered across campus, stepping into the hall just as the late afternoon turned to evening, light deepening to rich, muted colors. The air was warm, filled with gentle voices, clinking dishes, and the scent of freshly baked bread, sweet fruits, and savory herbs.

You took your usual table, settling comfortably into your chairs with easy familiarity. Hazelnut Biscotti immediately reached for the breadbasket, Earl Grey began neatly pouring tea, and Chai Latte, ever observant, watched you quietly, her eyes warm with gentle curiosity.

“You okay?” she murmured.

You hesitated briefly, then nodded slowly. “I think so. It’s… been a lot today.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled, passing you a slice of bread. “You mean packing your entire life into boxes and watching your personal star shine from afar?”

You shot him a half-hearted glare. “Not helping.”

Earl Grey raised an eyebrow mildly. “But not entirely incorrect.”

Chai Latte Cookie squeezed your hand gently under the table, offering quiet comfort. “It’s alright to feel that way. It was a big day.”

You smiled softly, looking around at them their easy companionship, their quiet reassurance. “Thank you.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smiled faintly, nudging your shoulder gently. “You’re stuck with us anyway.”

Dinner unfolded gently after that warm conversation, quiet laughter, familiar teasing. Outside, the sky softened gently toward dusk, stars faintly beginning to flicker awake.

You felt the quiet comfort of the moment deeply the steady presence of your friends, the familiarity of the dining hall, the gentle ache of change ahead.

Even amidst uncertainty, it felt quietly, perfectly right.

Because no matter how bright some stars might shine, you had your own steady constellations your friends, your truths, your own place beneath the sky.

Your steps slowed slightly as you approached your usual dinner table your quiet haven tucked comfortably by the tall windows that caught the dying rays of sunlight. Familiar, always waiting for you at the end of each day.

But today, someone else had arrived first.

Shadow Milk Cookie no, the Fount of Knowledge now sat at your table, looking utterly composed and impeccably elegant, a tray of carefully chosen, meticulously balanced food before him. His meal seemed almost artful, arranged neatly with delicate fruits, vibrant vegetables, and grains that probably carried more nutritional value than your entire semester's meals combined.

You glanced down sheepishly at your own tray, a haphazard assortment of sweets, pastries, and comfort foods piled with little care beyond satisfying your cravings. It suddenly looked… childish. Reckless.

You quickly shifted it slightly behind your back, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

But of course he did. His gaze lifted slowly, golden and blue eyes soft with quiet amusement. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie blinked, visibly stunned, the bread basket forgotten in his hand. Chai Latte Cookie’s mouth opened slightly in surprise. Earl Grey Cookie, ever calm, simply raised an eyebrow.

"To what do we owe the honor?" Earl Grey asked smoothly, calmly settling into his seat and gently placing the tea pot in the center. "Not that we mind, of course but why seek us out this evening?"

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded them calmly, serene as ever. His eyes moved from Earl Grey, to Hazelnut Biscotti’s bewildered stare, then to Chai Latte’s curious expression, before settling finally on you. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet and unbothered.

“Is this not where we always eat?”

There was a beat of silence. Hazelnut coughed quietly.

“You... typically eat here?” Earl Grey asked, sounding faintly amused, though careful.

Shadow Milk Cookie inclined his head slightly, expression unchanged. "I've grown accustomed to certain routines."

Tension hovered briefly over the table, delicate as smoke. Hazelnut Biscotti’s eyes flicked to you uncertainly. Chai Latte shifted her weight, glancing between you both as though unsure how best to intervene.

But you didn’t hesitate. You stepped forward, heart beating faster but determined. With a soft smile, you slid smoothly into the empty chair beside him, placing your mismatched meal openly on the table.

“You know,” you said lightly, shooting him a gentle, teasing glance, “if you wanted to judge my dinner choices, you could've just asked.”

His lips twitched ever so slightly. “I made no judgment.”

“You didn’t have to,” you muttered, though your eyes danced lightly with humor.

The subtle tension broke gently, fading with each exhale. Earl Grey’s shoulders eased slightly, relief softening his gaze. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie relaxed visibly, settling comfortably back into his chair with a grin.

Chai Latte Cookie, mischievous sparkle returning to her eyes, leaned forward with a sly smile. "Well, I suppose if the Fount of Knowledge himself sits at our table, we’ll have to start eating smarter. Or at least pretend to."

You groaned softly, playfully hiding your face behind your hands.

Hazelnut chuckled, holding out a fist toward Shadow Milk Cookie with casual ease, eyes bright and teasing. “Honestly, though, welcome to the cool kids' table. Fist bump?”

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded Hazelnut’s outstretched fist for a long moment then, with quiet dignity, slowly lifted his hand and gently tapped his knuckles to Hazelnut’s.

A ripple of laughter traveled warmly around the table soft, genuine, and comfortable.

You felt your heart settle again, the warmth of shared companionship easing gently around you. Your mismatched tray of indulgent foods didn't feel quite so ridiculous now, nestled comfortably beside his carefully balanced meal.

Because here, in this quiet, gentle space, beneath fading daylight and familiar friendship there was room enough for both.

For elegance and messiness. For knowledge and curiosity. For truth and laughter.

And perhaps, most importantly For you and him, side by side.

You were just beginning to relax, pastry in hand, laughter warming the table, the tension gently dissolved when Shadow Milk Cookie glanced sidelong at your tray again, his gaze calm but undeniably assessing.

You paused mid-bite.

“…What?” you asked, wary.

His expression remained placid, unreadable except for the faintest crease of concern in his brow. “Your dinner,” he said simply, “is predominantly sugar.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted into his drink.

You looked down at your tray two fruit tarts, some kind of honey-drenched bread, something chocolate-adjacent, and… perhaps a decorative sprig of mint that was doing absolutely nothing.

“It’s dessert-forward,” you defended.

Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, a sound of mild disapproval that sounded entirely too refined for someone about to commit culinary theft.

Before you could stop him, he reached out with calm precision, taking one of the pastries off your tray and placing it neatly onto his. Then, just as smoothly, he slid a portion of his food onto your plate a few slices of roasted squash, a small triangle of seed-crusted bread, and a medley of steamed greens with pomegranate seeds scattered artfully across them like scholarly punctuation.

“Excuse me?” you sputtered, staring at the growing arrangement of responsible food on your tray. “Are you trading with me?”

“I’m intervening,” he said, as though this clarified everything. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to be nutrient-deficient by morning.”

Chai Latte Cookie tried very hard and failed to suppress her laughter. “Oh stars, he’s parenting you.”

Earl Grey Cookie didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “He does it quite naturally.”

“I’m not nutrient-deficient,” you muttered, but your protest lacked conviction as you reluctantly nudged one of the pomegranate seeds with your fork.

Shadow Milk Cookie, unbothered, took a small bite of your purloined pastry, chewing thoughtfully. “This is good,” he admitted. “Excessive, but pleasant.”

Hazelnut Biscotti leaned back, arms crossed, clearly enjoying every moment. “You two are like opposites. Pure chaos and pure order.”

Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin and turned back to you, voice gentle but firm.

“I’m not opposed to sweets,” he said. “But your body cannot thrive on sugar alone. Especially not now. You’re beginning a research term.”

You sighed, poking a piece of squash with resigned acceptance. “You’re relentless.”

“I’m invested,” he corrected.

You glanced sideways at him his serene expression, the modest crown still settled neatly on his brow, the golden threads in his robes catching the soft dining hall light.

He had stolen your pastry. He had gifted you roasted vegetables. And somehow, impossibly, this felt like care.

You gave in and took a bite of the food he gave you.

…it was good.

You didn’t say anything.

But the way you kept eating it gave you away.

You narrowed your eyes at the well-balanced plate in front of you, willing it to taste bland just out of spite. You took a small bite of the roasted squash and made a face. Not a real one. An exaggerated, performative grimace that was meant more to communicate, look at what you’ve done to me, than anything resembling truth.

Shadow Milk Cookie, seated to your left, didn’t even glance at you. “That expression would carry more weight,” he said calmly, “if you weren’t already reaching for another bite.”

You froze mid-forkful.

“…I’m committing to the bit,” you muttered.

“I’d rather you commit to your health.”

Across the table, Chai Latte Cookie hid her grin behind a half-empty teacup. Earl Grey Cookie raised a brow as though already predicting your next mistake. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie was trying poorly to suppress laughter, his shoulders shaking.

That’s when Chai made her move.

With the cunning of someone who’d been your partner in crime since first semester, she carefully broke off a piece of her pastry under the table and held it out discreetly in your direction. Her eyes sparkled, her mouth quirking in silent rebellion.

You hesitated, glancing down at the plate of pure virtue Shadow Milk Cookie had curated for you.

Then, in one smooth motion, you dropped your napkin.

“Oops,” you said far too casually, leaning down.

Chai slid the pastry into your open hand like a practiced smuggler. You straightened up with all the grace of someone entirely innocent, tucking your hands under the table as you feigned interest in your squash again.

Hazelnut saw the whole thing and immediately covered his mouth with his fist to muffle a laugh.

You waited until Shadow Milk Cookie was absorbed in sipping his tea his eyes half-lidded, distracted and you took the quickest, smallest bite of your smuggled treasure. You chewed silently, triumph swelling in your chest.

Sweet. Warm. Absolutely perfect.

You’d almost made it.

Almost.

“(Y/n),” came his voice low and calm, but with that distinct edge of I know what you did.

You froze, eyes wide, pastry frozen halfway behind your napkin.

“…Yes?” you asked, your voice just a touch too high.

Shadow Milk Cookie set his teacup down with elegant finality. “If you're going to sneak dessert, at least maintain better posture while doing it.”

Chai choked on her tea.

Earl Grey blinked slowly. “He noticed the posture.”

Hazelnut slumped forward, wheezing. “You really can’t get away with anything around him.”

You groaned, dramatically collapsing forward onto the table, half-laughing, half-defeated. “Can’t I enjoy one reckless decision without being read like an open book?”

“You can enjoy it,” Shadow Milk Cookie said evenly, “after you finish your greens.”

You turned to him, squinting. “You’re enjoying this.”

He tilted his head, a faint glint in his eye. “Immensely.”

Chai reached under the table again and lightly tapped your ankle in solidarity, mouthing, worth it.

You grinned, despite yourself defiant and full of sugar.

No regrets. Dinner had drifted into the familiar rhythm of shared meals elbows on the table, soft laughter echoing off the stone walls, the clinking of dishes blending into the hum of conversation. Talk had shifted, as it naturally did, to the future. To what came next.

"The labs are supposed to be fully alchemical," Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie said, gesturing with a piece of bread. "Auto-scrying chalkboards, self-writing quills, enchanted containment arrays. The works."

"I heard the main observatory dome opens with voice command,” Chai Latte Cookie added, eyes glittering with excitement. “You can literally call to the stars. Can you imagine the view?”

Earl Grey Cookie sipped his tea, calm as ever. “I’m more curious about the rumor that there's a central archive with living text. Scripts that shift and expand in real time, responding to thought.”

They all leaned in closer, animated, tossing theories and half-heard gossip back and forth each description grander than the last.

But you…

You had stopped listening somewhere between “voice command” and “living text.”

Your fingers rested lightly on the edge of your tray, eyes unfocused, your friends’ voices fading into the background hum of the dining hall.

Because the Spire gleaming and vast and unknown was drawing near. You’d been accepted. You’d earned your place. It was everything a scholar could dream of.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about what you were leaving behind.

You pictured your favorite place in the Academy Gardens, the one your body always drifted toward on instinct after long lectures, difficult days, and nights when the silence of your own room felt too heavy. The quiet bench beneath the great Willow Tree the one that shimmered gently at dusk. The pool that mirrored the sky in still perfection. The koi-like spirits that surfaced without sound, disappearing before your breath could catch.

You remembered the scent of night-blooming jasmine, the hush of the leaves when the wind stirred through them. The way the lanterns cast a slow-moving glow across the cobblestones, as if time itself walked slower there.

And you realized, suddenly and sharply, that you wouldn’t sit there again for a very long time.

The Spire was new. Unknown. No one had yet stepped inside its upper floors, no one had studied in its labs or slept beneath its high-vaulted ceilings. You didn’t know what the gardens looked like there. If there were gardens. If they would hum with magic the same way. If the air would smell like sun-warmed stone and moss and blossoms. If the stars would reflect in still water the same way.

Probably not.

The ache bloomed quietly, surprising in its gentleness. Not grief. Just… farewell.

Your eyes drifted back toward your friends, still mid-discussion Hazelnut exaggerating the supposed size of the central research atrium, Chai countering with some ridiculous tale about floating staircases that moved depending on your mood. Shadow Milk Cookie remained beside you, silent but present, the corner of his mouth pulled ever so slightly upward in amusement at the way Chai used her fork as a wand to animate her theories.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t interrupt.

You just sat in the warmth of their voices, in the familiarity of the dining hall, letting the moment linger a little longer. Because this… this was still the Academy. Still yours.

And the Spire Well. You’d get there soon enough. Eventually, the rhythm of dinner began to slow, the plates mostly cleared, cups only half-filled, the flickering lights above dimming ever so subtly as the dining hall edged toward closing. The soft clatter of other students leaving filled the space with a gentle hush, one table at a time fading into absence.

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