Chapter Text
ル ˖ ♡ ₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ 📍 ࣪ . ›
Pure Vanilla pushed the mop back and forth across the tiled floor of the fifth level, the dull swish of water and cleaner echoing softly down the hallway. His grip was loose, almost absentminded, as if his hands were working on habit alone. There really wasn’t much else for him to do—no one had given him new instructions, and after the argument upstairs, the atmosphere in the building felt… off.
He slowed, resting both hands on the mop handle, chin lowering as his thoughts drifted.
Is that really how siblings fight?
His brows knit together slightly. In his family, things were different. Arguments happened, sure, but they rarely escalated. If one of them snapped or crossed a line, their older brother would step in almost immediately—firm, calm, steady. And if that didn’t work, their mother certainly would. After carrying five children, she had perfected the look that meant enough. No yelling required!
They’d been good kids.
Pure Vanilla’s shoulders softened as the thought settled in, the tension in his posture easing just a little. He shifted his grip on the mop, fingers loosening, and a faint, fond smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Loud sometimes—he could almost hear it. Laughter echoing down hallways, overlapping voices talking over one another, feet thundering across floors. His hand lifted unconsciously, palm turning upward as if weighing the memory, then dipped with a small, breathy huff of amusement.
Curious. Always poking at things they shouldn’t, asking too many questions, leaning too close to the edges of the world. His brows lifted slightly at that, head tilting as if he were listening to an old scolding, the kind that ended in exasperated sighs rather than anger. But never cruel.
Pure Vanilla exhaled softly and resumed mopping, the motion slower now. He genuinely couldn’t understand why Shadow Milk and his sibling tore into each other like that—every word sharpened into a weapon, every silence heavy with history.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Pure Vanilla startled, shoulders jerking as the vibration hummed against his thigh. The mop lurched forward with him, bristles skidding loudly across the tile before he caught it. He winced, glancing down the hallway as if someone might have heard, then let out a quiet breath through his nose.
“…Right,” he murmured.
He shifted his weight and reached into his pocket, fingers fumbling briefly before closing around the phone. As he pulled it out, his thumb brushed the screen awake, the glow washing faint light over his face. His brows drew together, curiosity tightening his features as his grip adjusted—one hand still loosely anchoring the mop, the other holding the phone just a little too close.
The name on the screen made his eyes widen a fraction…..Uh Recluse? Oh it's a text message not a call…silly me.
Got a date. Some random guy I ran into.
His brows lifted slowly, mouth parting as he shifted his weight. One foot slid back, steadying him as his thumb hovered over the screen. He chewed briefly at his lower lip, then typed with a small flick of his thumb.
Already? Why are you telling me this? I care about my big brother but huh??
The reply came almost immediately, the phone vibrating sharply in his palm. He jolted again, shoulders tensing as he brought the screen closer to his face.
You're single and I wanna show off so anyways yeah, it's a weird guy kinda intense. Also a funny thing?? He looks like your boss.
Pure Vanilla blinked once. Then again.
He leaned the mop carefully against the wall this time, guiding it with both hands as if afraid it might fall over and shatter the moment. His full attention snapped to the phone, elbows tucking in close to his sides as he typed.
What…?
Dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
He rolled his shoulders back unconsciously as the next message filled the screen, fingers tightening around the phone.
Same face yeah, but the vibe’s totally different. Hair’s not the same either. And his eyes…
Yellow and blue not cyan and blue like yours.
Pure Vanilla froze.
His chest rose slowly, then stalled halfway through the breath. The phone lowered just a few centimeters as his eyes stayed locked on the words, pupils shrinking. A faint chill slid up his spine, prickling at the back of his neck.
“…That’s not funny,” he murmured, voice low and flat, as if saying it any louder might make it real.
He swallowed, thumb pressing the screen dark, and slid the phone back into his pocket with deliberate care. His hand lingered there for a second too long before dropping. When he reached for the mop again, his fingers curled tight around the handle, knuckles paling as he dragged it back into position.
He resumed mopping—but the motion had changed.
Each pass was slower, heavier, the mop pressing harder into the tile than necessary. His shoulders hunched slightly, chin dipping as his thoughts knotted tighter with every step.
Siblings who fought like enemies. Faces that shouldn’t exist twice. A company humming with tension, secrets bleeding through the cracks.
Pure Vanilla’s gaze drifted downward, following the distorted reflection of the overhead lights rippling across the wet floor. His grip tightened again, jaw setting as unease settled quietly—but firmly—in his chest.
Pure Vanilla slowed to a stop mid-swipe, the mop bristles squeaking in protest as they dragged across the tile. His arms stalled before his thoughts did, shoulders stiffening as something snagged sharply in his mind.
“…Wait.”
He straightened a little too fast, the mop handle thumping lightly against the floor as one hand tightened around it. His other hand lifted, fingers curling toward his chin, thumb brushing absently over his lower lip while his brows pulled together. His eyes narrowed, unfocused now, staring past the hallway as his thoughts began to sprint.
Shadow Milk’s family.
His mouth pressed into a thin line. He shifted his grip, knuckles whitening, replaying fragments in his head—half-heard arguments, sharp words, tense silences. Shadow Milk definitely had a younger brother. That much was obvious. And now Recluse was dating a man who looked almost identical to him. Same face. Different hair. Different eyes.
Yellow and blue.
Not cyan and blue.
Pure Vanilla took a slow step, then another, pacing in a tight circle. The mop dragged behind him, bristles leaving a crooked, careless trail of water he didn’t notice. His free hand lifted as if he could physically grab the thought before it slipped away.
And then—
His older brother.
Married.
Pure Vanilla stopped short, the mop handle bumping lightly into his ankle. His breath caught as his mind supplied the image uninvited: his sister-in-law’s eyes. That piercing intensity. The same weight behind the gaze. The same presence Shadow Milk carried—heavy, commanding, like a shadow sewn directly into his spine.
Pure Vanilla froze completely.
“…No way,” he whispered, the words barely moving his lips.
His eyes widened, pupils flaring as realization slammed into him. His hand flew up, fingers splaying across his forehead, brushing right over the star-shaped birthmark there. His heart kicked hard against his ribs, sudden and loud.
Is this all a coincidence… or—
“No, no,” he muttered quickly, shaking his head as if he could physically dislodge the idea. A short, breathy laugh slipped out—nervous, disbelieving. “That’s ridiculous.”
He leaned the mop carefully against the wall and crossed his arms, one hand rubbing at his elbow as he forced himself to slow down and think. His family were quintuplets. Five of them. Same age. Same birth. No mystery there.
But Shadow Milk?
Late twenties.
And the woman—his brother’s wife—
Early thirties.
Pure Vanilla’s head snapped up.
“Oh.”
His arms loosened. His fingers twitched. Then he snapped them softly, eyes lighting up as the final pieces slid neatly into place. A grin crept across his face, slow and dawning. “She could be older,” he murmured, excitement creeping into his voice. “Way older.”
He started pacing again, this time quicker, energy buzzing through him. One hand gestured as he spoke under his breath, counting off the idea. “An older sister… and three younger brothers.”
He stopped mid-step.
“Triplets.”
The word hung there.
Then his face broke open into a wide, delighted smile. A quiet laugh bubbled out of him as he shook his head, disbelief melting into something bright and warm. “Oh man,” he breathed. “That’s actually kind of amazing!”
Still smiling, he grabbed the mop again, grip lighter now, movements quicker, almost bouncy. “Heh…No wonder they’re all so dramatic,” he added fondly, shaking his head as he went back to work.
The thought stayed with him—bright, humming, impossible to ignore—as he pushed the mop forward again, curiosity firmly rooted now, a strange warmth settling comfortably in his chest.
Pure Vanilla let out a quiet giggle before he could stop himself, shoulders lifting as he ducked his head. The sound startled him a little, so he pressed his lips together, glancing down at the mop as if it had betrayed him.
Tiny.
The thought was ridiculous—and yet his mind ran with it anyway. Shadow Milk. Smaller. Softer. All sharp edges dulled by time not yet lived. His siblings too, crowded together, loud and messy and unmistakably children. The image bloomed uninvited, warm and absurd, and it made his chest feel strangely light.
“I’d love to see those baby pictures…” he murmured, almost fond.
The smile lingered—then faltered.
Not from Shadow Milk. Of course not. He could already imagine the look he’d get for even suggesting it. No, those were off-limits. Untouchable. Maybe from the others, someday. If he ever met them properly.
The thought settled, heavier now.
He and Shadow Milk would never be close.
Pure Vanilla’s grip tightened around the mop handle as that truth slid neatly into place. There would be no easy laughter between them, no shared memories, no crossing that invisible line. Employee. Boss. That was all it would ever be.
And for reasons he didn’t quite want to examine, it stung.
His gaze drifted down the hallway, unfocused. Shadow Milk looked lonely. Not in the obvious ways—no, it was quieter than that. In the pauses. In the anger that flared too fast. In the way his office felt like a stage with no one left in the audience.
Pure Vanilla swallowed. “I could be his friend,” he thought, the idea soft but persistent.
The mop slid forward again, water rippling across the tiles as he returned to work, but the thought stayed with him—gentle, hopeful, and maybe a little foolish—beating steadily in his chest as if daring him not to care.
Speaking of friends…
Pure Vanilla’s steps slowed, the mop trailing behind him as the thought surfaced gently, almost shyly. His fingers loosened around the handle while his mind wandered somewhere warmer, somewhere easier.
He should hang out with them soon.
Maybe after today’s shift?
He hesitated, lips pressing together as he considered it—then shook his head slightly. No, that wouldn’t do. He’d be exhausted, smelling like cleaning solution, brain fried from overthinking everything as usual.
It had been months.
The realization weighed on him more than he expected. He hadn’t seen Dark Cacao or Hollyberry in so long that the memory of their voices felt a little distant around the edges. And it wasn’t for lack of wanting to. Life was simply… stretched them apart. Different cities. Different schedules. Different obligations pulling in opposite directions.
Golden Cheese and White Lily, though—
His gaze lifted faintly, a small spark of comfort warming his chest. They lived close. Close enough that he could walk if he wanted to. Close enough that excuses felt thinner.
Pure Vanilla exhaled softly through his nose, shoulders sagging just a touch. “I should really stop putting it off,” he murmured.
The moment passed.
He bent down, gathering the bucket and wringing out the mop with practiced motions, the squeak of the handle grounding him back in the present. With a small nod to himself, he picked everything up and headed off toward the next task, thoughts of friends lingering quietly in the background as he moved on to something else.
Candy Apple peeked from behind the corner first, fingers curled around the edge of the wall as she leaned just enough to keep Pure Vanilla in sight. Her eyes narrowed, glossy and sharp, tracking every small movement as he packed up his cleaning supplies.
Her jaw tightened.
“…Why is he still here,” she hissed under her breath, tail flicking with irritation. “Don’t tell me he sweet-talked Boss Shadow Milk and got away with it!”
She folded her arms hard against her chest, nails digging into her sleeves. “Unbelievable!!!! He messes with the boss’s office, embarrasses him, and that’s it?”
Black Sapphire, standing beside her with far less tension in his posture, watched the scene with lazy amusement. Then, without warning, he lifted a hand and smacked the back of her head—not hard, but sharp enough to snap her attention.
“Ow—!” Candy Apple spun on him, furious.
“Relax,” Black Sapphire said dryly. “You’re missing the obvious.”
He tilted his head toward the hallway, eyes glinting. “He didn’t get away with anything because of charm. Shadow Milk’s brother stormed in. All the tension rerouted.” He made a vague whoosh gesture with his hand. “Family drama overrides janitor nonsense every time.”
Candy Apple scowled, glancing back at Pure Vanilla as he disappeared around the corner. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “So… poof,” she muttered bitterly. “He just gets away!”
Black Sapphire smirked. “For now…”
Candy Apple’s eyes darkened, irritation simmering just beneath her sugary smile as she straightened. “Good,” she said softly. “That just means it’ll hurt more later! You're such a weirdo but smart!”
Black Sapphire leaned closer to the wall, lowering his voice theatrically as if the hallway itself might be listening. One finger lifted, wagging slightly as a grin crept across his face.
“Well,” he murmured, eyes gleaming, “I also overheard something. Occupational hazard. Gossiping expert and all.”
Candy Apple’s ears twitched. She leaned in despite herself.
“Apparently,” Black Sapphire continued, dragging the word out, “Boss Shadow Milk found a tiny—and I do mean tiny—sparkle of usefulness in Pure Vanilla!” He pinched his fingers together to emphasize the size. “All because he rearranged the schedule. Make it more… available….”
He chuckled quietly. “Now he can focus on the bankruptcy mess and that stupid Golden Gala! Fantastic!”
Candy Apple’s lips curved slowly into a knowing smirk. She straightened, smoothing the front of her outfit as if already imagining the scene. “That won’t be a problem,” she said sweetly. “You know I’ll be going with him. As his partner!~”
Black Sapphire recoiled instantly, face twisting in exaggerated disgust. “Never open your mouth again,” he said flatly, sticking his tongue out. “I did not need that image in my head.”
Candy Apple giggled softly, eyes glittering as she glanced down the hallway where Pure Vanilla had gone. Her smile stayed pleasant—syrupy, even—but something sharp flickered beneath it.
“Don’t worry,” she said lightly. “I’ll handle it!!”
Black Sapphire watched her for a moment longer, smirk returning as he adjusted his posture. Whatever game was forming, it was already getting interesting.
Candy Apple bumped Black Sapphire’s shoulder with her elbow, irritation bubbling over. “Watch it,” she hissed, giving him a shove back.
Black Sapphire scoffed and pushed her in return, heels scraping lightly against the floor. “Oh please, don’t act innocent. You’re the one plotting out loud!”
She stumbled half a step, caught herself, then grabbed the front of his sleeve and yanked. “WHAAAT!? I am not plotting! I am uhhh……strategizing!”
They were mid–tug-of-war, bodies leaned inward, feet braced against the floor as their hands twisted tight in the fabric between them. One of them yanked back hard, teeth clenched, while the other hissed something sharp under their breath, shoulders hunching as whispers cut faster and meaner with every second.
Then the light behind them shifted.
It dimmed—not all at once, but enough to make the air feel heavier.
A shadow spilled across the floor, stretching long and deliberate, swallowing their feet first, then creeping up their legs like a warning.
Both of them still.
Fingers tightened reflexively. Breaths caught halfway in. “What,” a smooth voice drawled from behind them, low and edged with danger, “are you doing?” The words slid in close, calm and controlled, and somehow far more threatening because of it.
They froze completely.
Hands locked in place. Shoulders rigid. Spines stiffening as if any movement might snap something they couldn’t afford to break.
Candy Apple’s eyes went wide, pupils shrinking as she dropped Black Sapphire’s sleeve instantly. Black Sapphire straightened so fast his posture snapped into place, spine rigid, chin lifted.
They turned in unison.
Shadow Milk stood behind them, arms already crossed, expression unreadable. His gaze flicked between them slowly, deliberately, like he was savoring the moment.
“Well?” he asked coolly. “I am waiting for an answer?”
Candy Apple clasped her hands together, smile snapping into place with practiced ease. “We were just… discussing teamwork!...” she looked over at Black Sapphire.
“Yes,” Black Sapphire added a beat too fast, nodding enthusiastically. “Team morale, sir! Very important. Especially today.”
Shadow Milk’s brow arched.
Candy Apple laughed lightly, waving one hand as if brushing away a misunderstanding. “We might’ve gotten a little passionate, that’s all! haha…”
Shadow Milk frowned and looked at them carefully.
Both of them stood perfectly straight, shoulders tense, waiting to see whether their excuses would hold—or snap under the weight of his attention.
Shadow Milk’s gaze lingered on them, sharp and assessing, before his shoulders dipped slightly. He brought a hand up to his face, rubbing at his temple as if fending off a headache that refused to leave.
“You're acting weirder than usual, but I don't have time for childishness so my question is have either of you seen Pure Vanilla?” he asked, voice quieter now but no less heavy.
Candy Apple’s eyes flicked to Black Sapphire. Black Sapphire’s mouth twitched. They exchanged glances with each other.
Candy Apple turned back first, a smile settling into something innocent and sweet. “N-No,” she said lightly, tilting her head. “Not at all, Sir!”
Black Sapphire followed immediately, hands lifting in a casual shrug. “Haven’t crossed paths,” he added smoothly. “The whole place is b-u-s-y today, you know!”
Shadow Milk studied them for a long moment. His eyes narrowed just a fraction, but he didn’t press.
Instead, he exhaled and straightened, arms uncrossing as he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. “If you do see him,” he said, tone clipped, “tell him to come to my office.”
Candy Apple nodded quickly, almost eagerly. “Of course, Sir!”
Black Sapphire mirrored the motion, chin dipping. “Right away, Sir!”
Shadow Milk gave them one last look—measured, unreadable—then turned and walked off down the corridor, his steps echoing softly…
The moment he disappeared down the corridor, Candy Apple’s bright smile faltered—then tightened, lips pressing thin as she reached up and rubbed at the corner of her mouth like she was wiping away a crack before it showed. Her shoulders dropped a fraction, tension she’d been holding finally seeping out, and her fingers curled against her palm, nails biting lightly into skin.
Black Sapphire exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound low and controlled. He dragged a hand down the back of his neck, thumb digging in as if trying to unknot something lodged there, gaze flicking once toward the hallway before settling back on her.
They exchanged a brief look. They had lied well. Every gesture was rehearsed. Every word is placed just right. Whether it would matter later was another question entirely.
Candy Apple leaned in close, lowering her voice as if the walls themselves might tattle. One hand lifted, gesturing sharply down the corridor Shadow Milk had vanished into.
“We need to keep them away from each other,” she whispered, lips curling into a thin, determined smile. “Pure Vanilla and the boss. Separate paths. Separate problems.”
Black Sapphire raised a brow, folding his arms. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”
Candy Apple’s eyes gleamed. She tilted her head, tapping one finger thoughtfully against her cheek before her smile widened—sweet, calculated. “We keep him busy,” she said softly. “Give him tasks. Lots of them. Important ones. Boss Shadow Milk will get bored trying to track him down.”
Black Sapphire squinted at her. “That sounds vague. I need details.”
Her smirk deepened. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “I have a special task in mind.”
‧˚꒰🐾୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
Candy Apple found Pure Vanilla a few floors down, reorganizing a supply cart with careful precision. She approached with light steps, clasping her hands behind her back, posture relaxed and pleasant.
“Pure Vanilla!” she called brightly.
He startled a little, nearly dropping a bottle before catching it against his chest. “Oh—hi, Candy Apple!”
She stopped just a bit too close, eyes sparkling with importance. “I’ve been LOOKING everywhere for you,” she said. “There’s an urgent task that needs doing!”
Pure Vanilla hesitated, brows knitting. “Urgent… how urgent?”
Candy Apple waved a hand airily. “Very. Extremely. ShadowCorp-level urgent!”
She leaned in, lowering her voice again. “There’s a maintenance shaft above the archival server room. It hasn’t been cleaned in years. Dust buildup, exposed wiring, unstable footing.” She smiled. “Management wants it spotless.”
Pure Vanilla glanced down the hall, then back at her. “…That sounds dangerous.”
Candy Apple tilted her head, feigning surprise. “Dangerous? Oh no,no,no,no,” she said sweetly. “Just…uh challenging?”
He shifted his weight, fingers tightening around the cart handle. Something about this didn’t sit right. “Shouldn’t that be handled by…well maintenance?”
Candy Apple’s smile never faltered. “They’re busy. And you’re capable!” She leaned back, gesturing encouragingly. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
Pure Vanilla swallowed. After a beat, he nodded. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll do it.”
Candy Apple watched him walk off, her smile sharpening as soon as his back was turned.
“Perfect,” she murmured.
Shadow Milk slowed in the middle of the corridor, one hand lifting slightly as if he were about to ask the same question again.
“Pure Vanilla,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Where is he…”
Candy Apple clasped her hands in front of her, posture immaculate. “Busy,” she replied smoothly, blinking up at him. “Very busy.”
Black Sapphire nodded beside her, tapping two fingers against his tablet. “He’s been given a long task. Won’t be free until the end of his shift.”
Shadow Milk studied them, gaze sharp enough to peel paint. His fingers flexed once at his side, impatient.
“So,” he said slowly, “I speak to him after.”
“Yes,” Candy Apple chirped. “Much easier that way.”
For a moment, it looked like he might argue. Instead, he exhaled, the tension in his shoulders settling into something heavier. He turned on his heel, coat swaying with the motion.
“Fine,” he muttered.
Back in his office, he dropped into his chair and dragged a hand down his face. The screen lit up with numbers the moment he nudged the mouse—red, ugly, uncooperative. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
Bankruptcy didn’t solve itself.
His eyes scanned reports, projections, inconsistencies. He scrolled, paused, scrolled again. Something still didn’t line up. Money missing where it shouldn’t be. Timing too clean. Movements too deliberate.
Shadow Milk tapped a finger against the desk, rhythm slow and thoughtful.
Someone inside his company knew exactly what they were doing.
And somehow—annoyingly—his thoughts kept circling back to a blond janitor with quick hands and sharper instincts than he let on.
He frowned at the screen, jaw tightening.
“…Connect the dots,” he murmured to himself.
Outside his office, Candy Apple smiled to herself.
For now, Pure Vanilla was out of reach.
‧˚꒰🐾୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
Blueberry Milk sat stiffly on the edge of the examination bed, shoulders hunched, hands clenched tight in the thin paper gown. Foam clung stubbornly to his lashes as the doctor leaned in, gently rinsing his eyes with practiced motions. He hissed when the liquid touched, fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to rub.
Recluse stood a few steps away, arms crossed, watching in silence. His weight shifted from one boot to the other, helmet tucked under his arm, gaze fixed on Blueberry Milk with an expression that hovered somewhere between concern and mild fascination.
“There we go,” the doctor murmured, calm and efficient. “Try to keep your eyes open.”
Blueberry Milk sniffed, blinking rapidly. “I am,” he protested weakly, voice hoarse. “They’re just… very dramatic.”
The doctor chuckled softly, then glanced between them. “So,” he asked, reaching for a cloth, “what happened?”
Blueberry Milk opened his mouth immediately. “I tried to be cool,” he said too fast. “...didn't end well?” Recluse snorted.
“He’s lying,” Recluse said flatly.
Blueberry Milk shot him a betrayed look. “Hey—!”
Recluse stepped forward, shrugging as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “I sprayed him,” he said. “Couldn’t see well. Thought the blue guy was about to attack me.”
Blueberry Milk winced, lifting a hand in protest. “You didn’t have to say it like that!”
The doctor paused, one brow lifting. “You sprayed him… preemptively?”
Recluse nodded once, unapologetic. “Yeah.”
There was a beat of silence.
The doctor sighed, clearly choosing peace, and finished wiping Blueberry Milk’s face. “Well,” he said carefully, “given the circumstances, I have to ask—do you want to file a police report?”
Recluse didn’t answer right away.
He turned his head slightly, looking down at Blueberry Milk. The corner of his mouth lifted, slow and deliberate, into a grin that made Blueberry Milk’s pulse spike despite the sting still burning in his eyes.
“Nah,” Recluse said casually. “I’ve got something else planned.”
He winked.
Blueberry Milk’s lips parted, a breathless laugh escaping him before he could stop it. “Oh no,” he murmured, half-delighted, half-terrified.
The doctor cleared his throat, resolutely ignoring whatever that meant. “Alright,” he said briskly. “I’ll give you two a moment. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
He stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Recluse’s grin lingered.
Blueberry Milk blinked, eyes still watering, but smiling all the same.
Recluse leaned back against the counter, arms folding loosely as he watched Blueberry Milk blink through the last of the sting. His eyes were still red and Recluse squinted at them, lips pulling into a crooked line.
“Didn’t think they’d get that red,” he muttered. He tilted his head, assessing. “For a second I thought—” he waved a hand vaguely, then snorted. “Never mind. Good thing I explained before it got weird.”
Blueberry Milk let out a wounded hmph, turning his face away in exaggerated offense. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Recluse hummed in response, then reached out without warning. Two fingers hooked under Blueberry Milk’s chin, lifting his face back up. His grip was firm but lazy, his smirk sharp as he leaned in just enough to invade space.
“So,” he asked, voice low, curious rather than accusatory, “what were you doing at that business company anyway?”
Blueberry Milk froze.
The color drained from his face—then rushed back in all at once, turning him a deep, mortified blue. His eyes darted away. He swallowed, then shook his head once, sharply.
“I went to see my brother,” he admitted, voice tight. “He kicked me out.”
Recluse’s brow lifted.
Blueberry Milk glanced back at him, squinting through the lingering blur. “Also,” he added slowly, “you look exactly like some chick from his company.”
Recluse didn’t even blink. “That’s my little brother.”
There was a split second of silence—thick, suspended, like the air itself had forgotten how to move.
Then Blueberry Milk sucked in a sharp, startled breath, shoulders jerking as his hand flew to his chest. His eyes went wide, pupils flaring as he staggered half a step back, heel scraping against the floor. His fingers curled into the fabric over his heart, clutching it like it might leap out, lips parting as the gasp tore free—loud, dramatic, unmistakably him.
His hands flew up, wrapping around Recluse’s torso before Recluse could react, arms locking tight as he pressed his face into his chest.
“I can’t believe it,” Blueberry Milk said, voice muffled but bursting with emotion. “Your brother has to work with my brother? That’s tragic!!! That’s poetic. That’s—”
Recluse stiffened, then relaxed with a low huff, one hand hovering awkwardly in the air before settling on Blueberry Milk’s shoulder.
“…You’re really dramatic,” he said.
Blueberry Milk didn’t let go.
Recluse shifted his weight, one boot scraping softly against the linoleum as he tilted his head. His brows drew together—not sharply, not accusingly, just enough to show genuine confusion.
“What’s so bad about your brother anyway?” he asked. One hand lifted, palm up, fingers flexing as if weighing the thought. “I interacted with him once. He just seemed… like a sad loser. Like an orphan who lost his parents…in a car accident…while he played online games….”
“That's great!” Blueberry Milk let out a short, humorless breath. His shoulders rolled back, then slumped, as if the fight had leaked out of him all at once.
“Of course he wants you to believe that,” he said, waving a hand dismissively, fingers trembling just a little. “That’s his specialty. But in reality?” His jaw tightened. “He did. And still does. Messed up things.”
Recluse didn’t interrupt. He leaned his hip against the counter again, arms crossing loosely, eyes fixed on Blueberry Milk’s face—steady, attentive. He gave a small nod, wordlessly inviting him to continue.
Blueberry Milk dragged a hand down his face, fingers pressing briefly into his eyes before he dropped it to his side.
“Let me tell you about my family,” he said quietly. “Especially our older sister.”
He inhaled, slow and deliberate, then opened his mouth again.
“When we were little, she was supposed to watch us,” he began. His hands moved as he spoke—one sketching vague shapes in the air, the other clenching and unclenching. “Me, our other brother and Shadow Milk.”
His lips curled.
“That night,” he continued, voice tightening, “Shadow Milk went to this massive party. Got drunk. Like—really drunk. Got into a fight. Came home beaten up bad!”
Blueberry Milk’s fingers dug into his own palm.
“When we saw him like that, our sister stepped in,” he said. “Didn’t even hesitate. She took the blame. Said she didn’t watch him properly.”
Recluse’s jaw set.
“Our parents believed her,” Blueberry Milk went on, bitterness seeping into every word. “Because their precious, innocent Shadow Milk could never do anything wrong. Never.” He laughed softly, the sound brittle. “They called her names. Said she was irresponsible. Useless.”
His voice dropped.
“They kicked her out.”
Blueberry Milk looked up then, eyes sharp despite the redness, pain flickering behind the anger.
“And now?” he said. “She cut all of us off. Built herself up. Became the biggest shot ever.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “And Shadow Milk still walks around like the world owes him everything.”
Recluse didn’t speak. He just watched him—really watched him—his expression unreadable, but his fingers curling slowly into a fist at his side.
Recluse went quiet.
Not the awkward kind of silence—this was heavier, deliberate. His gaze drifted to the far wall, unfocused, jaw slowly tightening as his thoughts clicked together one by one. A thumb traced the seam of his glove, over and over, as if grounding himself. He had the picture now. The shape of it, at least.
His mouth twitched.
For just a heartbeat, he tipped his head and gave a quick, shameless wink at absolutely nothing at all—no one in the room, no reflective surface. Then he straightened, attention snapping back into place as if nothing strange had happened.
He nodded once, firm and final. “That’s messed up,” he said, rolling his shoulder back. “But, honestly?” A crooked grin slid onto his face. “I like bad guys.”
Blueberry Milk froze.
His eyes went wide, pupils shrinking as his hands flew up toward his chest. “You—what?!” He sucked in a sharp breath, then leaned forward eagerly, words tumbling out. “I can be bad too. I am bad. Like—very bad. Extremely—”
Recluse cut him off by reaching out and patting his head, palm warm and casual, fingers ruffling his hair without ceremony.
“I like losers too,” he added easily.
Blueberry Milk’s mouth dropped open. His face flushed a deeper shade of blue as he melted into the touch for half a second.
“Awww—” he started, then jolted upright. “Hey—!”
The door opened.
The doctor stepped back in, clipboard tucked against his side, eyes flicking between the two of them. “You can go now,” he said calmly.
Blueberry Milk turned toward him mid-protest, hands still half-raised, while Recluse just smirked, already pushing off the wall as if this had been the plan all along.
The automatic doors slid open with a soft hiss, spilling harsh daylight across the tiled floor as Recluse stepped outside first. He stretched his arms over his head, spine cracking beneath the fabric of his clothes, the heat immediately clinging to him. Blueberry Milk followed half a step behind, squinting and lifting a hand to shield his still-sensitive eyes as the sun hit his face.
He groaned dramatically. “Ugh. That hospital bill is going to be expensive. Like—tragically expensive.”
Recluse let out a low whistle, slow and teasing, as he swung his leg over his motorcycle and leaned back against it. “Already paid.”
Blueberry stopped short. His head snapped up, eyes wide. “You—what?” He hurried closer, hands fluttering. “Wow. That’s… that’s really generous of you.”
Recluse glanced over his shoulder, one brow lifting as he pushed himself upright. “Wasn’t generous,” he said flatly. Then he turned, a sharp grin cutting across his face. “Your wallet was.”
Blueberry blinked.
Once. Twice.
His hands shot down to his pockets. He froze. Color drained from his face so fast it was almost impressive. “—Wait. No. No, no, no—”
Recluse lifted two fingers and flicked them, and there it was: Blueberry Milk’s wallet, dangling lazily between them. He twirled it once around his finger like a prize.
Blueberry yelped and lunged. “HEY—give that back!”
Recluse pivoted smoothly, stepping just out of reach, boots scraping against the pavement. He lifted the wallet higher, arm fully extended, posture relaxed like this was nothing more than a game. “Careful,” he said lightly. “You’ll pull something.”
Blueberry hopped in place, swatting at the air. “You thief! That’s mine! I need that—there are cards in there—important cards—”
Recluse laughed under his breath, shifting again as Blueberry grabbed at his sleeve and missed, nearly stumbling forward. Recluse caught him by the collar at the last second, steadying him before he fell—still keeping the wallet well out of reach.
“So dramatic,” Recluse muttered, amused.
Blueberry clutched at his arm, glaring up at him with watery, furious eyes. “You’re evil.”
Recluse leaned closer, lowering the wallet just enough to make Blueberry’s fingers twitch. “You like bad guys,” he reminded him.
Blueberry growled—and lunged again.
Recluse let out a long breath, the playful tension finally draining from his shoulders. He rolled the wallet once more between his fingers, then pressed it flat into Blueberry Milk’s chest with a firm tap. “Alright,” he said, tone settling. “Fun’s over.”
Blueberry blinked, hands instinctively closing around it as if it might vanish again. He looked down, checked it in a rush—cards, cash, everything still there—then looked back up, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across his face.
Recluse turned away before the grin could earn another comment. He strode back to his motorcycle, boots heavy against the pavement, swung a leg over the seat, and adjusted the handlebars. The engine rumbled to life beneath him, vibrating through the air.
“Come on,” he called over his shoulder, jerking his head toward the back seat. “Hop on. Let’s get out of this place.”
Blueberry didn’t hesitate. He tucked the wallet safely away, practically bouncing on his heels before climbing on. He settled behind Recluse, hands resting lightly at first on his sides, then gripping the back of his jacket as the engine growled louder. His lips curled into a smug little smirk, eyes narrowing with private triumph as the bike began to roll.
Enjoy your solitude while it lasts, Shadow Milk, he thought, shoulders lifting with quiet satisfaction. I’ve got a partner for the Golden Gala.
‧˚꒰🐾୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
Pure Vanilla slowed near the window, one hand still wrapped around the mop handle while the other drifted up to rest against the glass. Outside, the sky was melting into warm shades of gold and rose, the sun sinking low between buildings as if it were taking its time just for him. The light spilled across his face, softening his features, catching in his hair and eyes. He smiled without thinking—people always said he looked his best like this, bathed in sunset, calm and almost unreal.
He lingered there for a moment, shoulders easing as the day finally seemed to exhale with him.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Pure Vanilla blinked, pulled it out, and glanced at the screen. His smile shifted instantly—lighter, fond, unmistakable.
“Oh,” he murmured. “Little H.”
He answered at once, lifting the phone to his ear. “Hey,” he said warmly, leaning his shoulder against the window frame. “What’s up?”
There was a brief pause on the line, then Little H drew in a breath so deep it crackled through the speaker. “I… I kinda hate myself for asking this,” he admitted, voice tight with nerves. “But—could you maybe come by the orphanage?”
Pure Vanilla straightened a little, fingers tightening around his phone as he listened.
“It’s really packed today,” Little H continued quickly, words tumbling over each other. “Black Raisin and I could really use an extra pair of hands. You’re… you’re really good with kids, you know?” He hesitated, then added in a quieter, conspiratorial tone, “And—um—Black Raisin misses you too. She told me not to say that.” A small giggle slipped out before he could stop it.
Pure Vanilla laughed softly in response, the sound warm and genuine. He shifted his weight, the mop bumping lightly against the wall as he nodded to himself. “Alright, alright,” he said, smiling into the phone. “You got me. My shift’s over anyway—I’ll be on my way.”
Relief practically radiated through the call. “Really? Thank you!” Little H sounded like he might jump through the phone.
“Of course,” Pure Vanilla replied. “I’ll see you soon.”
He ended the call and slipped his phone back into his pocket, still smiling as he turned away from the window—
—and nearly collided with Shadow Milk, who had just stepped into the room.
Shadow Milk halted a step inside the room, his posture stiffening the moment his eyes landed on Pure Vanilla. He cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and folded his hands behind his back as if that alone could snap him back into something properly professional.
“…Is your shift over?” he asked, voice measured, carefully neutral.
Pure Vanilla turned fully toward him, the last stretch of sunlight spilling in through the window and washing over his face. It caught in his hair, softened the lines of his expression, made his smile look almost unfairly warm. He nodded, easy and relaxed. “Yeah. Just finished.”
For half a heartbeat, Shadow Milk simply stared.
Then he blinked hard, shook his head as if physically dislodging the thought, and looked away with a faint huff. “Good. I—” He paused, fingers flexing once at his side. “I want to ask you something tomorrow.”
Pure Vanilla’s smile widened just a touch. He nodded again, earnest, almost eager. “Of course. I’ll be here.”
He stepped backward, then turned, already walking away. As he reached the doorway, he lifted one hand and gave a small, casual wave over his shoulder. “Have a good evening, sir.”
Shadow Milk watched him go, rooted in place, until the sound of footsteps faded down the hall.
Only then did he exhale.
Something lingered in his chest—subtle, unfamiliar, and deeply irritating in its vagueness. He pressed a hand briefly to his coat, frowning as if the feeling had personally offended him, unable to name it… and even more unsettled by the fact that it refused to leave.
ル ˖ ♡ ₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ 📍 ࣪ . ›