"The long-awaited meeting" (Shadow Milk Cookie x Truthless Recluse cookie)
Ships: Shadow Milk x Truthless Recluse
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, A story from the first POV, Feeling guilty, Modern AU, Humanization
I finally wrote it!!! Juhu!!! Know that I will not stop writing, even if it seems to you that I am not writing. I'm writing all your requests just slowly!!! Because I have ADHD!!! My 'mom' also punished me. Know that if I don't write for a long time, my 'mom' took my phone away from me. And it will be often because my mom doesn't know what extra space and time for rest are. It may seem to you that I wrote this story about Pure Vanilla, but it was about Truthless Recluse, or rather, the transformation of Pure Vanilla into Truthless Recluse into modern AU, and I also turned cookies into people. Don't be mad at me. 👉🏻👈🏻
I remember the first time we met, I stayed after school because I was behaving badly, and you went into the teacher's office to ask something. I looked at you so beautiful, as if the sun itself had entered the office in human form. You had blonde hair, glasses with huge frames that hid such beautiful eyes, you had tanned skin, and your tall and lanky figure was wearing a beautifully ironed white shirt.
You looked at me fleetingly, as if scanning, and smiled at me out of the corner of your lips. That smile, short and restrained, pierced right through me. You said something to the teacher, your voice sounded soft and confident. I remained sitting at my desk, as if paralyzed, unable to take my eyes off the door through which you disappeared. The world around me ceased to exist. There's only you left, an image etched in my memory forever.
The next time we met, when I beat up some guy, he beat me up. I was sitting outside the director's office with a bloody nose. You walked past and met my gaze, your eyes widened.
There was surprise in them, maybe even a slight disappointment. I looked away, feeling the color rise to my cheeks. That's not the impression I wanted to make. Not a hero, not a bully, but someone... more worthy of your attention. Stupid fight, stupid excuse, stupid me.
You didn't stop, didn't come up, just walked past, disappeared around the bend in the corridor. I remained sitting, clutching a bloody handkerchief in my hands, and thought that this was probably the end. The end of some kind of hope that I had imagined for myself. I hope that you see in me something more than just a noisy guy from a parallel class.
But you came back a few minutes later. You were holding a cup of coffee from the vending machine. You handed it to me, silently, without a single word. The hot heat burned my palms.
"Here you go," you said softly, and there was no judgment or mockery in your voice, just... sympathy? Caring? I looked up and saw that you were smiling slightly.
The coffee smelled bitter and sweet at the same time. I took a small sip, and warmth spread throughout my body, like a small sun inside. The taste was simple, cheap, but at that moment it seemed like the most delicious drink in the world.
I looked at the door of the director's office, at the bloodstained handkerchief, at my trembling hands and tried to understand what had just happened. His act was so simple and so incredibly touching. There was nothing superfluous in it, no pretense, just a sincere desire to help.
The director called me into the office. He scolded me for fighting, threatened me with the consequences, but at that moment I didn't care. I listened to him with half an ear, clutching a cup of cooling coffee in my hands. When I came out of the office, I saw him at the end of the corridor. He was waiting for me. He just stood there and waited, as if he knew I'd show up.
My heart started pounding like a bird beating in a cage. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks and tried to take a deep breath to calm myself. Not now, not in front of him, I silently begged myself. Steeling myself, I moved towards him, trying not to show how worried I was. Every step felt like my last, as if I were walking on thin ice that was about to crack.
When I got closer, he smiled slightly. I saw something in his eyes that I couldn't tell if it was sympathy or interest. "How are you?" he asked softly. These simple words sounded like music to me. I cleared my throat and tried to answer as calmly as possible.: "I'm fine. Thanks for the coffee."
He nodded and paused, as if considering what to say next. An awkward pause hung in the air, but it didn't seem painful to me. On the contrary, there was something special about that silence, something that allowed both of us to gather our thoughts. Finally, you broke the silence.: "It's not worth fighting. It won't lead to anything good." He said.
His words penetrated my heart like a warm ray of sunshine after a long winter.
At that moment, the world around me seemed to cease to exist. It's just the two of us, standing in the midst of the hustle and noise, but trapped in our own little world. I could feel his presence filling me with strength and confidence.
Suddenly, someone called your name, bringing us back to reality. You looked back. "I have to go," you said with a slight sadness in your voice. "But I'm glad we talked." He turned around and walked away, leaving me standing alone.
Suddenly it dawned on me and I shouted after him. "Wait!!! Wait a minute!!! What's your name!?"
His steps slowed, and he turned around, his hair gently fluttering in the wind. Surprise flashed in his eyes, but he didn't stop.
"Pure," I heard his soft name, like the whisper of the wind. "My name is Pure vanilla." And with that, he finally disappeared around the corner, leaving me alone.
I stood motionless, repeating that name to myself like a prayer. Pure vanilla… Pure…
After that, our meetings became inexplicably frequent, either a game of chance or a whim of fate. We started getting to know each other better. You turned out to be surprisingly calm, like a quiet harbor in the raging sea of my life. You seemed to genuinely enjoy my company, and you found a response in my jokes, even if they were not always understandable to others. You patiently helped me with my homework, always found time to reply to my messages, and we wandered the streets together, melting into the embrace of the city.
That's when I started noticing things about you that I hadn't seen before. Not just a friend, not just a good friend, but something more. When you looked at me, your eyes seemed full of inexplicable warmth. Your voice sounded like a gentle melody when you said my name. And I, like a moth on a flame, couldn't resist this magic.
We spent more and more time together, discovering new facets in each other every day. You shared with me your dreams, your fears, your innermost thoughts. I, in turn, felt like my soul was opening up to you, as if I'd found someone who understood me without words.
The city that used to seem like just a place where I live has become a witness to our nascent history. Every alley, every bench in the park, and every cafe have become places filled with memories of our meetings, our conversations, and our smiles.
And then one day, walking under the starry sky, you took my hand. It was simple, but so meaningful. At that moment, I realized that all my feelings for you are not just friendship, but something much deeper, stronger and more real. I realized that I fell in love with you.
And now, looking back on those days, I realize that it was the most wonderful time of my life. A time when two people, like puzzles, found each other and formed a single picture full of love, tenderness and hope.
But my pride, that damned wall between me and happiness, got in the way. I was afraid. I was afraid to appear ridiculous in front of my friends, I was afraid of their ridicule, I was afraid that they would not understand. This cowardly thought settled in my head and slowly poisoned all the bright things that had blossomed between us. I've been hiding you like a jewel that I'm ashamed to put on display. What a stupid thing to do!
And of course you felt it. He noticed my hesitation, my awkward attempts to hide our meetings. Your eyes, once full of warmth, have become thoughtful and sad. A shadow of doubt settled in them, which corroded our fragile bond day after day.
One day you asked directly: "Why are you hiding me?" And instead of honestly admitting my idiotic fear, I lied. I said something unintelligible about the "inopportune moment," about the "need for time." The words came out of me like counterfeit coins with no value.
You listened in silence, lowering your eyes. At that moment, I saw something break inside you. The spark of hope that had been burning so brightly began to fade. You left without saying a word. And I remained standing, cursing my cowardice and stupidity.
Then I started to drift away, disappearing into the company of friends, and you were silent, watching the wall grow between us. But the worst was ahead. I saw them beating you up in the backyard of the school. I froze, paralyzed by horror. Your once beautiful hair was disheveled, your glasses were cracked, and you noticed me and looked at me hopefully. They certainly noticed that look. "Do you know him?" They asked, and I, a pathetic coward, put on a mask of indifference and, spitting into your soul, said, "Who do you take me for? I would never associate with such a freak."
The words burst from my lips, burning worse than blows. I've seen the hope in your eyes fade, replaced by the ashes of disappointment. The physical pain they inflicted paled in comparison to the pain I inflicted on you with my words. They let you go, having lost interest. You got up, staggered, and, without saying a word, disappeared around the corner of the school.
But despite all this, you continued to communicate with me, continued to love me. And so we were sitting on the roof, you were sitting with me and play of the guitar.
The wind ruffled our hair, carried away fragments of the melody that you were playing. The guitar in your hands sounded sad, then gentle, as if retelling the story of our relationship. I looked at the city spread out below us, at the glowing lights that seemed so far away and indifferent to our pain.
Your fingers slid over the strings, extracting sound after sound, and I felt the tension in my chest release a little. You never reproached me, you never reminded me of those words, as if they had never happened. Your love was silent, forgiving, like the endless sky above us.
I knew that I didn't deserve you, that I had caused you too much pain. But you were there, you were always there. You kept seeing something good in me, something that I had lost in myself a long time ago.
You finished playing, and in the silence that followed, I heard your soft breathing. I turned around and saw your smile, as bright and warm as the day we first met.
You suddenly asked. "What do I need to do to make you love me again?" And like a fool I said, "Change you the damn thing. Look at you"
My heart sank at my own words. They sounded harsh, rude, like a slap in the face. I saw the smile slowly fade from your face, giving way to confusion and pain. At that moment, I hated myself more than ever before. How could I say that? How could I hurt you, the most precious thing I had?
I reached out to touch you, but immediately pulled back. I didn't even deserve that. I didn't deserve your love, your forgiveness, your presence. I was a broken, spoiled man, unable to appreciate the treasure I held in my hands.
You were silent, with your head down. I saw the tears slowly rolling down your cheeks. Tears because of me. Tears because of my stupidity, my cruelty. I wanted to scream, to rip out my tongue, just to get it all back. But the words had already been said, and they poisoned the air around us.
Through a brilliant veil of tears, you gave me the most dazzling of all your smiles, and in that smile, despite everything, there was hope: "Then I will change..."
And this strange combination attracted me. It's like you've awakened a beast that was previously slumbering under the guise of a modest and shy guy. And this beast was charming in its primal savagery.
I've watched you talk to others, confidently and assertively, like you've never talked before. It was like you were enjoying your new freedom, your new voice.
I remember when you started wearing a leather jacket, how there was a twinkle in your eyes, how your gait changed. You weren't trying to please anymore, you weren't trying to be a good boy. You were yourself, the real you, and that was the most attractive thing about you.
You changed your name, as if you had shed your old skin, and the new identity suited you incredibly. Dark colors, chains, and heavy boots appeared in the wardrobe. You've become a magnet for attention. You basked in this attention, as if you had been deprived of the sun for a long time.
Oh, if only I could have foreseen what this would lead to.… We were sitting in a bar, drinking beer, laughing in the circle of my so-called "friends". Suddenly, a quarrel broke out between me and someone, and you, like a faithful knight, came to my defense. At first, there were only rude words and punches, but soon the verbal altercation turned into a fierce fight. You were pushed, you fought back, and now our whole company was fiercely fighting with another one. After dealing with one of the attackers, I turned to you to make sure you were okay. And then, as if in slow motion, I saw a guy swinging a knife at you. You miraculously grabbed his arm... and the knife plunged into him. You could see the instant realization in your eyes, the horror of what you'd done, as you staggered back.
The police arrived quickly, the sirens were deafening, and the headlights pierced the night. We were all taken to the police station and interrogated separately. I kept saying the same thing: you were protecting me, it was self-defense, an accident. But the words were drowned in a chaos of testimony and contradictions.
A few hours later, they let me go, but they kept you. I waited at the door of the police station all night, hoping to see you, to find out that everything was okay. In the morning, the investigator came out, tired and gloomy. He said that the guy with the knife is alive, but in serious condition. You have been charged with grievous bodily harm.
The world around me collapsed. What started as an ordinary drinking session with friends turned into a nightmare in which you found yourself in the middle of events. I felt guilty, responsible for what happened to you. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be in this situation, you wouldn't be grab here.
Then the trial began. Every meeting was torture. In the courtroom, I saw your parents, their faces full of grief and disappointment. I wanted to go up to them and tell them I was sorry, but I couldn't find the strength. The lawyer insisted on self-defense, but the prosecutor was relentless, demanding severe punishment. The witness statements were contradictory, some confirmed my version, others claimed that you attacked first.
I testified, tried to be convincing, but I felt like every word I said was drowning in a sea of doubts. I saw the jurors looking at each other, shaking their heads. I knew that their verdict would decide your fate. They conferred for several days, and every hour of waiting seemed like an eternity. Finally, they pronounced their verdict: guilty.
Prison. The word that I feared the most has become reality.
I didn't visit you in prison. Not because I didn't want to, and not because your friends had built an impregnable wall around you. No. The reason was the gnawing guilt that corroded my soul like acid. The years passed by in a rush, taking me further and further away from those days. I grew up, became a teacher at the institute, and found my place in life. I don't have many friends, but each of them is like a piece of solid rock that you can lean on.
The nights have become even longer, and the silence has become even more oppressive. Your image does not fade, but only becomes brighter and clearer. I can see every wrinkle in your eyes, every shadow of doubt on your face. I remember how your hands were shaking when you took on all the responsibility. I stood there as if paralyzed, unable to utter a word. And that silence haunts me to this day.
I started my journey of redemption small. At first it was just helping a neighbor, then participating in charity events. Gradually, I got involved, and it became the meaning of my life. I help the homeless, victims, and those who have lost hope. In their eyes, I see a reflection of my past cowardice, and it spurs me on to move on.
I know that this is not enough. I know that no amount of good deeds will bring back the past or ease the pain I caused you. But I keep trying. I believe that someday, when I stand before you, you will see not only a coward and a traitor, but also a man who sincerely repented and tried to somehow make amends.
Sometimes it seems to me that I feel your presence next to me. In the quiet rustle of leaves, in the warm breeze, in the casual smile of a stranger. Maybe it's just my imagination, or maybe it's a sign that you're watching me. I hope you can see that I've changed. I hope you can see that I'm trying to get better.
The room was flooded with dim light that fell from a narrow window near the ceiling. The air was heavy, heavy with the smell of dust and old wood. I was sitting on a chair, my fingers nervously clutching the armrests, my heart was beating so loudly that it seemed to echo off the walls. The door creaked, and I looked up.
You entered, followed by two guards. They put you in front of me, and I couldn't take my eyes off you. You've changed. You've grown taller, but at the same time thinner, as if your body has stretched out under the weight of time. Your blond hair, which I remembered as short, now was medium length, and there was a scar on your lip, like a mark left by a life that didn't spare you. You squinted at me, and at first I thought it was hate. But then our eyes met, and I froze.
You couldn't see me clearly, I realized that right away. Your eyes, once so clear, were now clouded, as if covered with a veil. My heart ached with pain.
"Hi," I said, and my voice shook like a branch about to snap under the weight of snow. You were smiling. Not the cold, distorted smile I was expecting, but the one that was warm and soft, like sunlight at dawn. She was the same as when we sat on the roof of the old house, sharing dreams and a pack of cigarettes stolen from your father. That smile, it was as if it tore the veil of time, and I saw you again — not changed, not broken, but the same boy who believed that the world could be changed by desire alone.
"You're here," you whispered, and your voice sounded like a candle going out in the dark. It was quiet, but there was something more to it, something I couldn't describe. Heaviness, pain, and hope were all mixed up in one short sentence, but there was so much warmth in those words that I could barely hold back the tears.
"I knew you'd come back," you whispered, and your voice was so low that it was barely audible. But I heard it.
"I'll always be here now," I replied, and my words sounded like an oath, like a promise I couldn't break. You laughed, tears started to flow from your eyes, and you covered your eyes with your hand. I also laughed with you and cried at the same time, tears were streaming from my
