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The late afternoon light slanted through the curtains in faint, honey‑colored stripes, warming the polished floorboards of Pure Vanilla’s room. A subtle sweetness hung in the air—vanilla, of course, but also something floral, something new. Shadow Milk couldn’t place it, which annoyed him more than it should have.
He hovered just inside the doorway, arms stiff behind his back, clutching a gift like it was contraband. He tightened his grip around it, crinkling the wrapping paper of the box just slightly. He prayed the Ancient hadn’t heard it. He’d spent several hours on the stupid thing—days, even—and now it felt like he was holding a confession rather than a gift.
All Pure Vanilla had told him earlier in the day was that he had something “special” for him. Which, obviously, meant nothing good. “Special” meant way too many things. It was far, far too vague. Turns out, it wasn’t all that fun when he was the one being teased with a mysterious concept that he could only guess what was.
But, due to the lack of flashiness, random scattered gifts, or flower petals everywhere when he had entered the room (something Shadow Milk unfortunately was expecting), maybe, it would be alright.
Pure Vanilla turned toward him with that gentle, oh-so familiar smile—the one that always made Shadow Milk feel like he was being seen and understood and forgiven for something he hadn’t even done yet.
“I’m glad you came,” he cooed, standing beside their shared dresser, cluttered with varying items the both of them would stick on there.
Shadow Milk clicked his tongue. “You invited me. It would’ve been rude not to show up.”
Pure Vanilla hummed, amused. “You’re never rude.”
Shadow Milk nearly choked. Never rude? He’d been rude three times just coming down the hall.
But the room was warm, and the light was soft, and Pure Vanilla was looking at him like he was something precious instead of something dangerous, and suddenly Shadow Milk wasn’t sure where to look.
He settled for staring at the floor.
“I—” He cleared his throat. “I made something for you,” he mumbled, trying to sound casual and failing spectacularly.
Pure Vanilla blinked, then brightened. “You did?”
Shadow Milk scowled. “Don’t make it weird.”
The Ancient’s smile softened. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
As he floated closer to where Pure Vanilla was standing, he was suddenly aware of just how uncomfortably warm the room was. Had there always been candles on their bedstands? There were only two of them lit, so why was he sweating bullets?
It wasn’t like Pure Vanilla’s fixed gaze was making it any better. Those disgustingly gorgeous and gentle eyes were only making his heart thump so hard he swore it was going to burst out of his chest.
He thrust the gift forward a little too abruptly. “Here. Take it.”
Pure Vanilla’s hands came up to accept the meticulously wrapped gift, cradling it with a surprised laugh. “Oh—thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”
Shadow Milk opened his mouth to deflect, to deny, to say something sarcastic—
—but then Pure Vanilla reached for a gold ribboned box on his dresser.
“And... I have something for you, too.”
Shadow Milk stared at the box like it was a threat.
He took it from Pure Vanilla like it was one, too, holding it like there was a bomb inside rather than an actual gift. The longer he had it in his hands, the more it felt fake. “Did—did you just give me this because I made you something, or...”
The Ancient gently shook his head. “No, I got it because I wanted to get you something nice for Valentine’s Day.”
The Beast’s stomach dropped. “And you weren’t expecting anything back?”
Pure Vanilla blinked, genuine confusion crossing his face. “I would’ve been happy just seeing the joy on your face, my love,” he reassured, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Shadow Milk had no idea what to do with that information.
The Beast grunted, yet it sounded more like a cough. “You can open it.”
Pure Vanilla inspected the box, his eyes scanning over every inch. The bow was big and the perfect shape; the tape was practically invisible—and a crease was almost nowhere to be found. It almost looked machine made. Shadow Milk’s handiwork, unmistakably.
“This is a wonderful wrapping job. Almost puts mine to shame. It almost feels wrong to undo something so carefully made,” he chuckled, feeling the fabric of the bow between two fingers.
There was an uncomfortable, long pause as he kept looking at the box. Just looking at it like it was just some decoration and not like there wasn’t something actually in there.
What looked like admiration to Pure Vanilla, was something else entirely to Shadow Milk.
“Well?” He snapped, a little too quickly. “Open it.”
Pure Vanilla blinked, startled by the urgency. “Oh—of course. I just didn’t want to rush—”
“You’re not rushing. Just open it.” Shadow Milk’s voice cracked halfway through, which he pretended not to notice. He placed Pure Vanilla’s gift on the dresser and crossed his arms tight across his chest, as if bracing for impact. “Yours first.”
The Ancient lifted a brow. “Are you sure? I don’t mind opening mine after—”
“No.” Shadow Milk’s eyes flicked to the gold-ribboned box on the dresser like it was a live explosive. “Yours. First.”
Pure Vanilla softened, understanding dawning. He offered a small, reassuring smile. “Alright. If that’s what you want.”
Shadow Milk didn’t answer. He just stared, unblinking, every muscle taut.
The Ancient slid a finger underneath the ribbon, slow and gentle, as though unwrapping something fragile.
The Beast swallowed hard, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet room.
Pure Vanilla carefully folded the unwrapped ribbon before setting it on the dresser. Right after that, he took an even longer time finding a piece of tape to leisurely pull off.
Shadow Milk couldn’t breathe. Could that stupid Cookie just hurry up and open it already? It was a gift, not an acceptance letter.
After the millennia it took the Ancient to unwrap the paper and set it on the dresser, he took off the top of the black box his actual gift was resting in. His eyes widened, just slightly, as realization came to him.
Before he spoke, though, he set the box down and reached to take it out. What unfolded and swayed in the air as he held it up: an embroidered robe.
Pure Vanilla inhaled softly; the kind of breath one would take when something is too beautiful to speak over.
Large, muted gold swirls stretched and twirled across the front panels and the edges of the sleeves. Small, black, and shiny beads outlined their shapes and glittered as they caught the light of the window. White jasmine blooms were threaded on both sleeves, the same beads dotting the ends of their petals and representing the pistil. Each petal curved delicately, stitched with almost excruciating precision.
Shadow Milk’s stomach twisted into a knot as he looked at it again—painfully reminded of the several dark hours when Pure Vanilla was asleep, and all he felt like he could do was work on it.
The Ancient examined it from every angle—from the front, the side, the back, and from the front again. The Beast was ready to throw up from the amount of pure admiration in his eyes. Normally, he’d be proud of something like this, of boasting about his creations and just how beautiful they were, but all he was physically capable of doing now was grip at his sleeves and restrain himself from ripping into them.
He should’ve made something smaller. Something less intimate. Something that didn’t look like it belonged on Pure Vanilla’s skin. Too late now.
Pure Vanilla peered from beyond the robe. “You made this?”
“Who else would’ve made it? It’s not like it was anything difficult to make,” the Beast hissed, barely hiding the tone in his voice that sounded way too close to jealousy. “Not like anyone else could’ve made it, anyway.”
“I’m sure you think that way,” the Ancient hummed, gathering a sleeve in his hands to take a closer look at the jasmine blooms. “You are quite talented. This must’ve been quite easy for you.”
Well, yeah, but Shadow Milk could’ve said that himself. He didn’t need it reiterated. He didn’t need compliments to know that.
“It was,” he huffed, putting his hands on his hips. “Only took me as long as you did to open it to get all of those designs on there. Really, you need to learn how to pick up the pace.”
“I should, shouldn’t I?” Pure Vanilla tittered, smiling brightly as he held the robe close to his chest. “I think it’s time for you to open your gift now. I think you’ll like it.”
Shadow Milk’s spine went rigid.
Like it. Right. Sure.
Because that was absolutely something he was capable of doing right now—liking things. Receiving things. Not panicking.
He forced a scoff. “You’re awfully confident.”
Pure Vanilla’s eyes softened. “I just know you.”
That was the problem.
Shadow Milk’s gaze flicked toward the gold‑ribboned box on the dresser. It sat there innocently, but he could feel it staring back at him. Waiting. Expecting. The ribbon gleamed in the warm light like it knew something he didn’t.
His throat tightened.
He crossed his arms, trying to look annoyed instead of nauseous. “It can wait.”
Pure Vanilla blinked. “Wait? But it’s right there.”
“I can see that,” Shadow Milk retorted, narrowing his eyes. “Doesn’t mean I have to open it right this second.”
The Ancient tilted his head, gentle confusion knitting his brows. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” the Beast said immediately—too immediately. “Nothing’s wrong. I just...” He gestured vaguely, as if the air itself would finish his sentence for him. “I don’t feel like it.”
Pure Vanilla’s expression shifted in a way that Shadow Milk couldn’t properly detect. And he hated it. It was like confusion and disappointment and something else had all churned together and slapped itself on the Ancient’s face. That face wasn’t pretty. He didn’t want to look at it anymore.
Pure Vanilla’s eyes flicked towards the robe, his gaze settling on it for far too long. And then, when he looked back at the Beast, he had that light in his eyes. Not a bright or positive one—no—one that was dimming. Losing hope. Losing the spark that made it shine brightly.
Shadow Milk knew that look far too well.
Pure Vanilla subtly brushed his thumb over the fabric of the robe, like it was a child that needed calming. “Well, that’s alright. When you do open it, however, I’d at least like to be there to see your face.”
The Beast’s jaw clenched. He hated how soft Pure Vanilla’s voice had gotten. Hated how careful he was being. Hated how his quiet sorrow was making something in his chest twist painfully.
He looked away, scowling at nothing. “You don’t have to wait around for that.”
He shut his mouth before he could say “It’s not like it’s anything that serious.”
Pure Vanilla didn’t move. “I don’t mind waiting.”
That made it worse.
Shadow Milk’s fingers curled into fists. He could feel the weight of the gold-ribboned box even as it sat there, flat on the dresser. Not even propped up on anything—just silently waiting. Tugging at him. Demanding something he wasn’t sure he could give.
Pure Vanilla spoke again, sweeter and softer this time. “I just want to share the moment with you.”
The Beast’s breath hitched—barely, but enough that he felt it. Enough that he hoped Pure Vanilla didn’t.
He glared at the ground, as if it would randomly sprout flowers. Or turn into glass. Or suddenly be covered in every square inch with shimmering glitter. Something—anything to get the attention off of him.
“You’re making it sound like it’s some kind of... event.”
“It is to me.”
Shadow Milk’s heart lurched violently against his ribs.
He didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
That look in Pure Vanilla’s eyes—that soft, sinking look—it clawed at something deep and ugly in his chest. He loathed it. Loathed how it made him feel like he’d done something wrong. Loathed how it made him want to fix it.
Loathed how he couldn’t stand it.
Pure Vanilla stroked the robe again, delicate and careful, like he was comforting himself more than the fabric. “Whenever you’re ready,” he murmured.
Shadow Milk’s throat went dry.
That was it.
That tone. That softness. That patience.
It snapped something inside him.
“Fine,” he barked, louder than he meant to. “Fine. I’ll open it.”
Pure Vanilla’s head lifted slightly. “Shadow Milk, you don’t have to—”
“I said I’ll open it,” the Beast growled, violently grabbing the box like it was a weapon rather than a gift. “So stop—” He waved a hand sharply. “Stop doing that voice.”
The Ancient blinked. “What voice?”
“That—” Shadow Milk gestured vaguely at him, glowering. “That soft, sad, disappointed—whatever that is. Don’t do that.”
Pure Vanilla’s lips parted in surprise, then melted into something warm. “I wasn’t disappointed in you.”
Shadow Milk froze, his free hand hovering over the ribbon.
He didn’t look at him. He just couldn’t.
“Just—” His voice dropped to a low, rough mutter. “Just let me open the stupid thing.”
Pure Vanilla smiled—small, gentle, and no longer dim. “Of course.”
Shadow Milk swallowed hard, bracing himself as if the box might explode.
Then, with a sharp inhale, he tugged at the ribbon.
The Ancient’s work was—admittedly—of lower quality than the Beast’s, but that wasn’t exactly something he was focused on right now. He pulled at an obvious flap, ripping the wrapping paper with far less care than Pure Vanilla had. He paused as he revealed text printed on a brown box.
His gaze flickered towards Pure Vanilla, who was still smiling at him. He nodded, as if he took Shadow Milk’s pause as a silent ask for permission.
And it might’ve been, but that didn’t really matter.
He pulled away the rest of the wrapping paper. And what was in his hands? The gift he had been avoiding like it were the very plague itself?
...An embroidery kit.
The brown cardboard was plain, unassuming—insultingly harmless. The picture of a design on the front of the box was even more basic. A mug on top of books, surrounded by flowers? Ugh, gross.
But yet, Shadow Milk’s brain stalled. Completely. Utterly.
He turned it around in his hands, examining it. Checking if it was real. He didn’t know what he was expecting to happen. To open it and confetti explode in his face? For something to pop out of it, to hurt him? He’d expect that from himself.
But he got this from Pure Vanilla. He wouldn’t do that.
...At least, he hoped so.
“...What is this supposed to be?” He began, still staring at the box.
“A kit, for embroidery.”
“I can see that. I meant—” He looked back up, the contents of the box shaking and bumping into each other as he threw his arms down. “Why.”
Pure Vanilla looked back down at the robe. “Because you’re good at it. And because...” His eyes found Shadow Milk’s again. “...you seem calmer when your hands are busy.”
The Beast’s stomach twisted. “Don’t analyze me.”
“I wasn’t. I just wanted to give you something you’d enjoy.”
Shadow Milk stared at him, the embroidery kit still clutched in his hands like it might bite him.
Enjoy. What a ridiculous word.
He scoffed, but it came out weaker than he intended. “I don’t... ‘enjoy’ things.”
“You do. You just don’t notice when you do.”
Shadow Milk’s throat tightened. He looked back down at the box, at the example design, at the harmless little mug and flowers. At the stupid soft colors and the stupid gentle design. It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t anything he’d ever choose for himself.
But Pure Vanilla had chosen it for him. And somehow that made it worse.
“...That design’s ugly,” he muttered.
Pure Vanilla laughed—quiet, warm, and unbothered. “Then you can make something prettier.”
Shadow Milk’s breath stalled. He couldn’t remember the last time he breathed properly since he’d been in here.
Pure Vanilla stepped closer, just enough that his voice dropped to something softer. Sweeter. So weirdly and grossly intimate. “I wanted you to have something that was yours. Something you could alter and make into whatever you wanted.”
The Beast’s fingers tightened around the box.
He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to say anything.
So he settled for the only thing he could manage.
“...You’re annoying.”
The Ancient’s smile brightened, tender and knowing. “I know.”
Shadow Milk looked away, ears burning, and his heart pounding far too loudly for his liking.
But he didn’t put the kit down.
And Pure Vanilla noticed.