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The sky lights up every time the thunder strikes. The storm must be close, Pure Vanilla thinks idly to himself as he turns the page of his book, seeking out the first paragraph with his fingers. He’d brought the book from Crispia, although he’d read it multiple times, he still enjoys revisiting it. It’s a timeless story, after all, a tale of two lovers finding their forever after. Although he’s had many partners over the centuries, he still adores the book. Even if it’s a little idealized.. Somewhere deep in his heart, he still longs for a romance that lasts, a forever love. Ah, but soulmates are such a silly notion, especially for an immortal… Yet he finds himself rereading over, and over, at least once a year, he returns to the silly love story.
Being unable to read with his true eyes is, admittedly, a bit frustrating. It’s always an awkward and often an embarrassing endeavor to hold a book in front of his staff, and angle it just right. As a result, he mostly reads braille, but even that can be difficult since books in braille are hard to come by at times. However, at least one advantage to braille is that he can read even in the pitch dark, which is exactly what he’s doing now. The sound of the storm had woken him up, and, for whatever reason, he hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. Something nagged at him, but he couldn’t place his finger on it. So he’d reached over, and felt along his nightstand for the book he’d left there.
So, here he sits. In the dark, listening to the storm rage outside his temporary room. The faeries had graciously lended it to him, as well as several other rooms for his friends. Truly, such kind cookies! The rooms are cozy, despite the harsh weather. Suddenly, a loud crack of thunder fills the sky, making the small room shake a bit. The sound startles him, causing him to lose his place in his book. He sighs, and goes about finding the sentence he’d just been on, but a different noise, a much quieter one, makes him pause. He hears the sound of shuffling blankets coming from the couch at the other side of the room, the noise is accompanied by a small huff, the soft sound of air leaving a cookie’s lungs. Pure Vanilla smiles softly at the noise. He’s always enjoyed sharing sleeping spaces with other cookies, it’s comforting to hear their soft breathing, or the sounds of them shuffling at night.
It ended up working well enough, at least he thought it did. Nobody had wanted Shadow Milk to be on his own, yet they also didn’t want to share a room with him, so naturally, Pure Vanilla had offered. Unfortunately, they seemed even more hesitant to let Pure Vanilla in particular spend the night with his other half, but as soon as the thought had entered his mind, he was determined, and eventually, the others had agreed. It would be good, he gets to have a warm body in the room, which is always appreciated, and he can show Shadow Milk that he truly means no harm! Besides, aside from those two main reasons, it also just feels.. Nice to be around his other half, an intrinsic feeling of belonging, and wholeness.
He’s sure Shadow Milk must feel it too, although he would probably never admit it. Unless the two of them become very good friends, which of course, is Pure Vanilla’s goal. The rain continues to pour down on the Faery Kingdom, filling the room with the pitter pattering sounds of rain, and the crackle of thunder. According to White Lily, storms on Beast Yeast tend to last quite awhile, but that’s fine by him. He could never complain about the rain, not when it brings life to the plants, and animals that need it. Not to mention it makes lovely background noise for a very late night reading session, or, depending on how you look at it, a very early morning reading session!
More loud thunder makes itself known, quickly followed by the blinding light of lightning. He’s honestly a bit surprised that Shadow Milk can sleep through all this. However, a restless rustle of the blankets on the couch alerts him that the jester may be more bothered by the storm than he’d initially assumed. Pure Vanilla quietly returns to his book, although his mind remains elsewhere.
Perhaps he could offer a book to his temporary roommate, he’s pretty sure he saw a bookshelf when he’d first walked into the room. Ah, but how would he read it in the dark? Those books didn’t look like braille, and he’s not sure Shadow Milk can read modern braille anyways. He closes his book, and lays it on his nightstand.
He’s about to open his mouth to ask the beast directly, but the sound of thunder cuts him off. For the third time that night, the blankets on the couch rustle, as his other half tosses and turns. This time, however, the sound is accompanied by a small, low pitched whining sound, likely involuntary. It reminds Pure Vanilla of the kind of sound a cookie might make while their wound is being wrapped. It reminds him of injury.
Pure Vanilla slowly shuffles out of bed, it's cold outside of his plush blankets. He considers grabbing his orchid staff to see, but quickly decides against it. Ever since his awakening, its light has been rather blinding, and Shadow Milk probably wouldn’t appreciate a flashbang in the dead of night.
Despite it being pitch dark, he’s able to navigate the room decently well. He’s used to mentally mapping out rooms, just in case he doesn’t have his seeing eye staff with him. He steps quietly over to the couch where Shadow Milk lies, listening intently as the whining sound repeats, except much quieter this time, barely audible over the sound of the rain. He sounds like a kicked cakehound.
“Shadow Milk Cookie?” He asks softly, “are you alright?” There’s no response. Pure Vanilla hesitates. He almost goes back to bed, but something inside makes him reach out instead. Perhaps it's the healer cookie in him, but he can’t just leave his other half. It truly makes very little sense to check for a fever, he had seen Shadow Milk up and about, no signs of sickness just a couple of hours ago, and he has no reason to think that he’s gotten ill since then. It’s mostly a knee-jerk reaction.
Still though, he can’t help himself from reaching down to press the back of his hand to the beast’s forehead. Old habits die hard. Pure Vanilla has very little idea of where his other half is actually laying though, and he knows he’s missed the mark when he feels soft eyelashes brush against his hand. The lashes flutter against his dough like butterflies, and he knows that he’s woken the cookie. He moves his hand up a bit until it rests on Shadow Milk’s forehead, no fever, as expected. Actually, in Pure Vanilla’s opinion he feels a bit too cold, but then again the Spire had also been exceedingly chilly, so that could simply be the norm for Shadow Milk.
His thoughts are interrupted when his hand is abruptly slapped away, very harshly, he might add. The action leaves a sharp stinging sensation. He can’t see much of anything in the dark, much less whatever facial expression Shadow Milk is making, but he figures it's reasonable to assume that whatever it is, it’s far from pleased.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Shadow Milk all but hisses at him, although Pure Vanilla can’t help but pick up on the little tremble behind the anger. He hums thoughtfully, as he brushes his fingers along the back of his own hand. He summons a bit of his magic, to ease the slight pain where his gentle touch had been rejected.
Restlessness, irritability, and trembling. He quietly ponders the symptoms while his other half still seethes in front of him. A nightmare would fit the bill, or perhaps Shadow Milk Cookie is simply uncomfortable with being in the Faery Kingdom. It would make sense, after all, this was where he had been sealed away for several thousand years.
“You worthless waste of dough,” his jester is speaking again, “finally forgotten how to speak in your old age?” Pure Vanilla resists the urge to chuckle at how quickly he’d jumped to insults. Apparently he’d been quiet for too long.
“Certainly not, I’m only making sure you’re alright.” He pauses, taking a moment to find the right words. Saying the wrong thing to Shadow Milk when he’s vulnerable often rewards him with more bitterness, and creative insults. Creative insults that he finds amusing, but not terribly productive. “You seemed restless,” is all he says, leaving it purposefully vague. Whether or not that was the right thing to say, he may never know, because whatever Shadow Milk is about to say in response is interrupted by lightning from the storm, which makes the room so bright that it almost looks like day for a moment. The flash of light gives him the opportunity to see, albeit briefly, and not very well.
From this distance Pure Vanilla can see well enough, well enough to notice the jester’s face quickly shift from a sneer to an uncomfortable grimace. The light retreats as quickly as it had come, leaving the room in darkness and an oppressive silence. Pure Vanilla carefully lowers himself, to sit on the edge of the couch, near the jester’s legs. Surprisingly, Shadow Milk isn't outraged by the proximity, in fact, he doesn't even comment on it. Sitting this close to him, Pure Vanilla can feel the tense stillness in the other’s body. He opens his mouth, not entirely sure what he should say, but sure that he should say something. The storm interrupts their conversation yet again, this time in the form of rolling thunder that seems to shake the room.
Pure Vanilla’s attention is immediately drawn away from the thunder by the way Shadow Milk’s entire body jolts at the sound. The jerking is accompanied by an undignified little squeaking noise that sounds as if it got caught in the jester’s throat. He can’t help the small, slightly bemused smile that worms its way onto his face, as he puts the pieces together.
“You,” he begins, voice full of gentle mirth.
“No.” The other cuts in immediately.
“You're afraid-” he continues, voice fond and undeterred.
“No.” Shadow Milk hisses again. Pure Vanilla can’t help but chuckle.
“Oh, bluebird,” he sighs.
“Stop talking.” the jester half groans. Based on the sounds of shuffling, and the muffling of his voice, Pure Vanilla is pretty sure that he’s hiding his face behind a pillow at the moment.
“You’re afraid of the storm.” he states plainly, pleased that the other has finally let him finish speaking. He has to admit, the idea of such a powerful cookie being so nervous about a little thunder is a teeny tiny bit funny, and almost cute in a way. Shadow Milk does not seem to share his sentiment
“I am not!” He snaps irritably. “Tell me, oh so foolish Vanilly, why would I, the great Shadow Milk cookie, the Beast of Deceit, possibly be afraid of something as pathetic, and insignificant as bad weather?” Shadow Milk’s voice is dripping with contempt. Pure Vanilla is sure he must be gesturing wildly, deeply offended that his fear has been noticed.
But how could the healer cookie not notice? Once upon a time, it had been his entire job to notice and soothe the discomfort of other cookies, and in many ways, it still is. Although he’s taken on many tasks and roles over the years, he’ll always be a healer cookie in his heart of hearts.
“Hmm, you're right, perhaps I should be more specific. You’re scared of the thunder, correct?” He hears an affronted gasp, and stifles more of his own bubbling laughter.
“Preposterous! You and your silly silly little ideas..” As he’s speaking the storm picks up a bit. The rain sounds more heavy now, no longer a gentle pitter patter on the roof. Another bolt of lightning fills the room with yet another burst of light. Pure Vanilla’s eyesight isn’t exactly perfect, even at such a close distance, but he is able to see Shadow Milk startle, his jaw immediately snapping shut in obvious shock. He’s also able to see the jester’s hands, both of them are clenching the blankets tightly.
WIthout even an ounce of hesitation or thought, he grasps one of those cold hands in between his own, and sees Shadow Milk’s head whip over to look at him. Then, the room is plunged into darkness yet again. They wait in silence again, surprisingly, Shadow Milk doesn't tear his hand away. Pure Vanilla can feel it trembling minutely in his hold. As delayed as it may be, thunder is sure to follow the lightning soon enough.
He counts the seconds in his head, the thunder comes far quicker this time. There are barely five seconds between the light and the sound. If he remembers correctly that means the storm must be about a mile away, decently close. When the sound of thunder fills the air, Shadow Milk jumps again, and Pure Vanilla could’ve sworn he heard another choked off whine, but that may have been his imagination. The hand he holds is nearly torn from his grasp by Shadow Milk's startled jerking, but Pure Vanilla tightens his grip, keeping the hand cradled between his own. It’s fully trembling now. Pure Vanilla thinks he can feel the rest of the jester shivering as well, but he’s hardly close enough to really be able to feel it, and it's too dark to see without the lightning.
He would love nothing more than to scoop the shaking cookie into his arms, but he resists the urge. Shadow Milk Cookie is generally not fond of touching others, and he has a tendency to run away when Pure Vanilla Cookie gets too touchy with him. Instead of wrapping his other half in a warm embrace like he so longs to do, he settles for tenderly brushing his thumbs over the trembling hand he still holds. Pure Vanilla Cookie waits for a long moment, until he finally realizes Shadow Milk truly isn’t going to say anything. At least he isn’t pulling away. He’s sure that something should be said, and so he says the first thing that comes to mind.
“Is there anything I could do that would be helpful?” He asks the other cookie, his question is accompanied by a slight squeeze of his hand to make sure he has the other’s attention. The jester’s answer comes in the form of a noncommittal grumble. Pure Vanilla Cookie sighs quietly and returns to his gentle caressing, pleased to find that his own body heat is slowly warming the other’s hand.
The thunder rolls again, the sound reminds him of the fearsome growl of a cake wererhound. It’s not the resounding crack that had shaken the room earlier, but he still feels Shadow Milk tense at the noise. Yet just a couple moments later, the sheets rustle ever so slightly as Shadow Milk relaxes again. There's a peacefulness in the quiet that follows thunder. The sound of rain fills the silence with a comforting white noise. It’s cozy, which is strange because the blueberry cookie usually tries to go out of his way to make any situation more chaotic. For now, the jester does not make any jokes at Pure Vanilla’s expense, doesn’t scoff in offense at his gentle hand holding, he just.. Sits.
“Perhaps you’d be more comfortable in the bed..?” He starts, but his voice, as soft as it is, seems to break whatever spell had softened his other half. The now warm hand is suddenly yanked from his grasp. He hears a shaky intake of breath, a quiet, soft sound that likely wasn't meant to be heard, but Pure Vanilla has always had good ears. He’s not sure why the detail sticks with him so much.
“Oh ho ho, Pure Vanilly Cookie trying to lure the dastardly beast into his bed? How scandalous!” Shadow Milk chides, his tone teasing, his voice performative. Pure Vanilla feels his cheeks flush a bit at the implications, but he can’t help but chuckle. Not to mention the little jester hadn’t exactly said ‘no’.
“Ah, well, I actually meant that you would take the bed while I moved to the couch, but if you’d like companionship, I’m certainly not opposed!” The idea of scooping his other half into his arms, and keeping him safe throughout the night re-enters his mind with a passion, but yet again, he suppresses the urge, for now. Shadow Milk scoffs, and Pure Vanilla feels himself being nudged away by the jester’s legs. Reluctantly, he stands from where he’d been perched on the edge of the couch, although he remains close to the couch’s side, hands clasped in front of himself.
“Run back to bed, foolish king, before this monster decides he’d like a midnight snack.” The threat is obvious in his tone of voice, but Pure Vanilla easily sees past the half-hearted warning. He’s trying to push him away, because he’s vulnerable. This will have to be handled delicately, but first.. He can't let that particular word choice go unmentioned.
“Please, there’s no need to refer to yourself as that,” he scolds mildly. Shadow Milk scoffs loudly.
“Really Nills? This is the conversation we’re having? Buzz off, gnat.” The jester snaps at him. Pure Vanilla frowns. He supposes that’s about as far as that conversation is going to go tonight, especially with the late hour, perhaps something to revisit later. The healer hums thoughtfully, blatantly ignoring Shadow Milk’s dismissal, and staying right by his side. His other half should know by now that Pure Vanilla is not one to give up easily.
“You’re right, there are much more interesting conversations I’d like to have, such as, how you plan to sleep through this storm.. Perhaps, I could cast a sleeping spell?” He offers gently. A disgruntled sound followed by the shuffling of sheets answers him. Shadow Milk’s next words are slightly muffled, as if he’s turned himself away from Pure Vanilla. Probably hiding his face in the blankets or pillows again, despite the fact that the room is entirely dark, and even if it wasn’t dark, the healer doesn't have his staff so he wouldn’t be able to see much beyond blurs anyways. Such a silly cookie his bluebird can be!
“Eugh, I’d sooner crumble than let you lather your obnoxiously bright magic all over me. Again.” The healer chuckles a little at the petulant tone of the blueberry cookie’s voice. Shadow Milk is just as ancient as himself, and yet he sometimes seems to act so much younger, it’s endearing, really.
“Ahah, well I suppose you could just cast it yourself then?”
“Meh, I’d be too groggy tomorrow,” Shadow Milk responds quickly, as if he had already considered it. Perhaps he had.. How long has his poor bluebird been kept awake by the thunder? After a brief moment of consideration, he leans down closer to where his other half lies, allowing him to lower his voice to something gentler, and still be heard over the sound of the rain.
“Then my question remains, would you like to rest in the bed tonight?” He hears the sheets rustle as the jester startles, he must not have expected the healer’s voice to be so close. Shadow Milk’s words are even more muffled when he finally replies, even Pure Vanilla has to lean in a bit closer just to hear him over the sound of the storm. He wishes he could sit on the couch with him again, but his other half likely wouldn't take any intimacy very well at the moment.
“Just.. Just go back to bed, Nilla. I don’t even need sleep..” The response both surprises, and concerns the healer.
“..You may not require sleep to survive, but you won’t feel like yourself without it.” He advises his jester gently. He aches with the desire to scoop him into his arms like a hurt lamb, but he resists. “If you don’t rest, your quality of life will suffer.”
“Oh dear, oh my! Not my ‘quality of life’!” The jester mocks. Based on the sound of his voice, he can tell Shadow Milk has leaned in closer, no longer facing away from him. “Witches you talk like such a healer cookie, you know that?” The jester adds bitterly. Pure Vanilla smiles faintly, and tilts his head.
“I am-”
“Foolish little healer,” the jester hisses, words spat like a curse. “The cookies that you heal will all crumble eventually,” he can practically hear the sneer in his voice. “Your efforts will all be for naught, my dear vanilly~” The blueberry cookie sighs dramatically, a perfect performance, but thanks to his many years of caring for the sick and injured, Pure Vanilla immediately takes notice of the slight shake in his other half’s breathing. Yet again, he’s trying to push away his kindness. Even so, his chest tightens, Shadow Milk knows how to draw jam with his words. The silence is oppressive, and tense, broken only by the constant noise of the storm outside.
“..You're being cruel because you’re scared,” he says eventually, as he slowly rises from where he’d been kneeling next to the couch. The jester does not respond, so he fills the quiet with his own voice. “Do you even believe what you just said?” His question goes unanswered. Pure Vanilla knows what this is. Shadow Milk is waiting for him to give up, to leave, and return to bed. But Pure Vanilla Cookie is a stubborn cookie.
Suddenly filled with a new boldness, he leans forward again. His hands quickly reach his other half, and he feels around blindly in the dark.
“Just what in witches name do you think you’re doing!?” Shadow Milk jumps at the unexpected wandering hands and tries to roughly shove him away, but Pure Vanilla has already found what he’s looking for. One of his hands lands on Shadow Milk’s shoulder while the other ends up laying over his legs. Now that he has a better idea of where the jester is actually laying, he should have an easier time with the next part. He huffs a slight laugh and pulls back the covers a little in order to loop his arms under Shadow Milk’s knees and back.
The blueberry cookie lets out an undignified squawk of a sound as he’s lifted into a bridal carry along with his blankets that remain draped over him. It’s easier than it should be to scoop up his other half, he’s almost worryingly light. ‘I don't need sleep’ ‘Beasts don't need to eat’. He can’t help but wonder how true those statements really are. He has certainly had his own struggles with food. Perhaps he should be more insistent when he offers his bluebird meals..
Two hands land firmly on his shoulders, bringing him back to the present. Shadow Milk isn’t quite pulling away, but he isn't exactly leaning into the touch either. The hands braced against his shoulders fidget and fiddle with the fabric of his bed clothes. He smiles warmly although he knows his jester isn’t able to see it in the dark. He’s thrilled to finally have his other half in his arms. The blueberry cookie’s body is cold despite the blankets he’s wrapped up in. Not an issue. Thankfully, Pure Vanilla has plenty of warmth to spare.
“..What” Shadow Milk huffs, “What are you doing?” he snaps. They’re close enough now that Pure Vanilla can feel the jester’s breath on his face. It smells faintly of blueberries, just like everything else that has to do with Shadow Milk.. He’s not sure how he wound up with that name when he’s so obviously a blueberry based cookie. Though the scent is somewhat faint, it's still there. Perhaps no one else got close enough to notice? sweet, but tart. A flick against his forehead draws him from his thoughts. He’d been quiet too long.
“Ah, apologies my friend,” he sighs happily as he turns to walk over to the bed. “To answer your question, I’m holding you because I'd like to move you to the bed." also because he knows that Shadow Milk secretly craves affection, but he doesn't mention that part. Drawing attention to something the jester views as a weakness will only serve to drive him further away.
There's a moment of quiet that Pure Vanilla recognizes as Shadow Milk sorting through his likely conflicting thoughts. He's glad to know that he's trying to think through his feelings a bit more, but only time will tell how successful he is at it.
While he waits, he tucks the blankets a little closer around Shadow Milk's still slightly shaky body. He also begins to make his way towards the bed, walking blindly through the dark, and relying solely on his memory of the layout. He's not as familiar with this room as he is with his own personal quarters, and the dark combined with the fact that his seeing eye staff is still at his bedside means that seeing is all but impossible.
Still, he manages well enough until he gets to the foot of the bed, and grossly misremembers where it had been the last time he could see. Pure Vanilla trips over the bedframe with all the grace of a newborn biscuit deer. The arms that had been braced against his shoulders are immediately withdrawn and wrapped around his neck instead; Shadow Milk’s desperate attempt to keep himself from toppling over.
"Do not drop me-!" The jester manages to blurt out, right before the two of them tumble into the bed in a mess of blankets and limbs. Pure Vanilla certainly doesn’t let go of him, he's not sure if landing on top of him counts as 'dropping' him. He hears a sharp exhale from the jester, as all of the healer's weight hits him square in the chest.
"Guh- G-get off!" Shadow Milk grits out through gnashing teeth, as he struggles to shove him away. Pure Vanilla immediately rolls off of his other half with a breathless chuckle.
"Ah, my apologies, friend," he says, thankful the other cookie can't see the embarrassed flush dusting his cheeks. "It wasn't my intention to, uh,"
"Slam me into the bed like a cookie pancake?" The blueberry cookie inquires dryly.
"Yes, that," he chuckles. "My sincerest apologies to you, Blueberry Pancake Cookie." He can't help but tease his other half, besides, he knows his bluebird enjoys the banter. The healer slowly shifts to a sitting position, and begins to orient himself, turning to look towards his left at the cookie next to him. He can't see him very well at all, he wishes he had his staff, and some light, but at the same time something tells him that Shadow Milk probably doesn't want to be seen right now.
"Blueberry Pancake?" The jester starts, his tone is more than enough to guess at his facial expression, wry and unimpressed. Pure Vanilla is expecting some sort of snarky remark. A comment or half-hearted insult that will lead into their usual banter, but instead there's an unexpected pause. The healer hasn't known Shadow Milk to pause very often, he is a whirlwind of emotions and words, he never pauses to consider things, at least not in front of other cookies.
Had the nickname accidentally struck a nerve..?
“Peh! Your wordplay is as clever as you are!” The jester trills suddenly, returning to his over the top showmanship just as quickly as tugging on a coat. There’s a soft thump and whoosh of air as the blueberry cookie flops back onto the bed. “Wouldn’t that make me Shadow Pancake Cookie?” Shadow Milk inquires slyly. Pure Vanilla is sure that he’s grinning sharply right now, if only he could see it.
“Mm, I suppose so.” The shepherd agrees mildly. “Perhaps I should leave the playwriting to you,” he adds with a chuckle. Rain still pours from the heavens, filling the air with the pattering sound of water hitting the roof outside. The healer finds himself lying down next to his jester, and leaning a little closer, just to ensure they can hear each other over the sound of the storm. Shadow Milk giggles, the sound high pitched and blissfully genuine.
“Ohh indeed! For I am, in fact, the greatest playwright in allll~ of earthbread!” The cookie declares loudly, practically preening at his own praise. Pure Vanilla sighs lightly and smiles softly, he’s glad that Shadow Milk is feeling good enough to brag.
“Mhmn, and don’t forget the cleverest, and most handsome..” He adds jokingly, groginess making his words slur slightly. Now that he’s not so worried about his other half, he can feel sleepiness beginning to tug at his eyelids, weighing them down. Almost without thinking, he raises his arms, and wraps them around the other cookie. Shadow Milk makes a small sound of surprise, but doesn’t fight the shepherd as he gently drags both their bodies further up, to lay properly in the bed.
The jester’s arms rest between their bodies, his hands fidgeting nervously with the buttons on the front of the healer’s night clothes. Pure Vanilla doesn’t mind. He lets go of his bluebird for just a moment, in order to pull the blankets up over them. With the added layer of both his own bed’s blankets, as well as the blankets of the couch, he’s certain that he can coax his jester’s freezing dough into warmth. Wriggling under the several layers of cozy fabric, Pure Vanilla settles in closely to his other half.
Shadow Milk is oddly silent throughout the process. The healer can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he decides whether or not he’s going to accept this affection. Deciding to push his luck, he slowly raises his arms, and drapes them over the other cookie again. Pure Vanilla’s limbs land awkwardly in the darkness, not quite ending up where he had meant for them to, one even coming to rest on the jester’s head. Shadow Milk’s quiet snickering is music to his ears. He chuckles warmly in return. Amidst the sounds of their shared joy, they’re hardly aware of the raging weather outside. The healer feels cold hands find his arms, and begin to rearrange them. Pure Vanilla’s aimless hands are placed in more sensible places, one laying around the jester’s torso, and the other being laid between them.
Pure Vanilla smiles warmly, wishing that Shadow Milk could see his face, and that he could his as well. He runs his hand lightly over the cookie’s back, not moving his arm from where it had been placed. He can’t help his soft gasp of surprise, when he feels cold fingers clasp his free hand. The jester giggles mischievously, the sound only driving Pure Vanilla’s grin to widen.
“Oh, don’t sound so starstruck Nilly,” Shadow Milk teases, his voice nothing more than the hint of a whisper, yet Pure Vanilla can still hear him loud and clear over the constant sound of rain outside. “What’s wrong? Never held a cookie’s hand before?” He asks slyly, quickly followed by another devilish giggle. Pure Vanilla chuckles alongside him. He leans forward, knocking their foreheads together lightly, and feeling cold breath brush his cheek, stirring his bangs. Pure Vanilla’s heart beats with all the franticness of a trapped bird in his chest. He’d thought something as simple as friendship would be a long road; never in his wildest dreams did he expect to have his other half in his arms so soon.
“Never held your hand before,” he clarifies simply, his voice still soft, and whispered. He giggles again, when he hears the jester’s soft gasp. “What’s wrong?” He asks, his tone lighter, but equally as sly. “Never been-” His admittedly very bold, and possibly premature flirting is abruptly cut off by another crack of thunder. Shadow Milk jolts, going very still, and nestling closer to Pure Vanilla, as if he were trying to mold their dough into one. A pained sound, almost like the squawk of a startled bird, or the squeak of a mouse, leaves the jester’s mouth. Pure Vanilla can’t help but find it very endearing.
“Ovens above..” He sighs, wrapping his arms tighter around the anxious cookie. “It seems even the weather is harsher in Beast Yeast,” he murmurs. “My poor bluebird,” he adds softly, the nickname slipping from his tongue without permission. Shadow Milk’s breath shudders with faint laughter.
“So many nicknames tonight, Nilly,” the blueberry cookie murmurs, his voice muffled by Pure Vanilla’s robes. “It’s unlike you.”
“Hm..?” The healer winces, realizing how many boundaries he’d pushed in only one night. “I apologize, friend, I-”
“No,” Shadow Milk interrupts quietly, his voice still vaguely shaky. “I like it. Don’t stop.”
“Hah..” Pure Vanilla huffs a slight laugh, drawing his hand along the blueberry cookie’s back once more. “Alright, then.. My bluebird.” He lowers his chin to rest atop his other half’s head, breathing in the pleasant scent of tart blueberries, and fresh milk. He sinks further into the mattress. At some point he can’t tell where his own dough, the sheets, or even where Shadow Milk’s dough begins and ends. He simply floats in a sea of sleepy comfort, punctuated by the soothing white noise of rain, and the gentle sounds of life, breathing, and shifting, coming from his other half. His eyelids have long since fallen shut, and he can feel sleep weighing on his mind. His jester is mostly still, and hasn’t spoken in some time, so it’s reasonable to assume that he’s also teetering on the edge of sleep.
Unexpectedly, the cold hand in his own tightens its grasp, linking their fingers together more reliably. When Shadow Milk speaks, his voice is wrought with barely fought off sleepiness. He sounds like he’s on the verge of slipping into unconsciousness.
“N..Nilla,” he mumbles listlessly. Despite his own grogginess, Pure Vanilla manages to hum in response, urging him to continue.
“Don’t.. Don’t leave me… alone, when I.. When we…” Shadow Milk trails off, his words slurred with sleepiness, and nearly incoherent.
“I won’t..” the healer promises, only slightly more coherently. He tightens his grip on his other half’s cold hand, willing the warmth of his own body to warm up Shadow Milk’s cold dough. “I’ll stay with you tonight… Be here, when you wake up.. And tomorrow too. If you’ll have me, I suppose.” The last thing he hears before he melts into a comforting slumber, is his other half’s delirious, breathless, gleeful little giggle, audible even over the roar of the storm. Pure Vanilla’s heart feels full as he drifts off.