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pebblyrock · 2 months ago

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In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 18

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The golden glow of the lanterns flickered in his eyes, casting their light across his face, illuminating the quiet patience in his expression. Always patient. Always composed. And yet, beneath that stillness, something lingered, something restrained, something you could almost grasp but not quite hold. Your heart pounded. You searched his face, your eyes tracing the curve of his brow, the subtle parting of his lips, the unshaken resolve that always settled in his gaze. Somewhere…somewhere…there had to be an answer.

"Not yet?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. A breath. He did not move, nor did he attempt to look away. Your fingers trembled against his sleeve. "Then when?"

His expression did not change. But his silence did. It was heavier this time, carrying the weight of something unspoken. Your stomach twisted. You swallowed against the knot in your throat, but it did not ease.

"I need to know," you murmured. "If I really am-if I really matter the way I feel I do then why won’t you say it?" A slow inhale. His lashes lowered just slightly, as if he were choosing his words with more care than usual

. "Because there are questions," he said, voice low, "that even I do not yet have the answer to." Your breath stilled.

That was not the response you had expected. "You always have an answer," you whispered. "Always." He exhaled softly, and for the first time, you saw it a flicker of something uncertain. Not hesitant. Not unwilling. But uncertain.

"And yet," he murmured, "here we stand." The words were quiet. Simple. And they terrified you. Because he was right. Here you stood, caught in the space between knowing and not knowing, between the words that had not yet been said and the truths that lingered on the tip of his tongue. Your fingers clenched around his sleeve, desperate, unwilling to let this moment slip away.

“…You won’t tell me," you said. "But you won't deny it either." His lips parted slightly.

Then, ever so softly "No." The answer settled between you, delicate and uncertain. And yet, it was something. Your chest rose and fell with each shaky breath, your mind reeling with all that was left unspoken. But as you looked at him you realized something. If he did not care, he would have let go by now. If he did not care, he would not be standing here, allowing you to hold onto him, allowing you to pull at the threads of his silence until something unraveled. If he did not care… You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your fingers loosening ever so slightly. And for just a heartbeat you thought you saw his hand twitch, as if it had nearly moved to cover yours. The dining hall doors stood open, the warm glow spilling out onto the stone path. Voices murmured beyond, the distant hum of laughter and conversation brushing against the edges of this fragile moment. And yet, neither of you moved. Not yet.

You inhaled sharply, then let it go. Your fingers unfurled from his sleeve, slipping away like a quiet surrender. The warmth of his presence lingered on your skin, a ghost of a touch you had never quite been brave enough to reach for. A breath, then another. The weight in your chest did not lift, not entirely, but you had your answer or at least, the closest thing to one.

Your lips curved, barely, into something almost playful. “Don’t really make me wait a century,” you murmured, tilting your head as if the weight of your own words did not press against your ribs. “I don’t think I’d make it.” Something flickered across his face, not quite amusement, not quite sorrow, but something caught in between.

"You underestimate yourself," he mused.

"You overestimate me," you countered, just as quickly. For a moment, he simply watched you, his gaze lingering as though he could dissect the truth hidden beneath your deflections. But then, the soft murmur of voices from the dining hall pressed against the silence, a reminder of the world beyond the fragile thread that still wove between you. If anyone saw you now, saw the way you had clung to him as if he were the only thing anchoring you to the present, there would be questions. Stares. And you weren’t sure you had the strength to bear them.

So, you exhaled, took a step forward, and let the warmth of the dining hall light spill across your face. “Come on,” you said, as if your heart wasn’t still tangled in the space between your ribs. “I don’t think you’d make it either, if you missed lunch.” A pause. Then, the smallest of smiles so fleeting you might have imagined it.

“Perhaps not,” he murmured, and followed you inside.

The warm scent of fresh bread and spiced broths wrapped around you as you stepped into the dining hall, the steady hum of conversation filling the air. The long buffet stretched before you, laden with dishes both familiar and strange, some rich and indulgent, others carefully portioned for balance and sustenance. This time, you didn’t hesitate.

You didn’t glance at Shadow Milk Cookie to see what he chose, nor did you pick something just because it seemed like the “right” thing. Instead, you let yourself gravitate toward what you truly wanted. Something warm. Something comforting. By the time you had your tray in hand, Shadow Milk was waiting, standing just a little off to the side, his own meal neatly arranged before him. His gaze flickered toward you, as if noting your choices but if he had any thoughts, he kept them to himself.

Your eyes drifted across the room, searching the sea of tables until there she was. Chai Latte Cookie, ever vibrant, spotted you first. Her eyes twinkled, a knowing smirk pulling at her lips as she lifted her hand in a graceful, exaggerated wave. Beside her, Earl Grey Cookie barely spared a glance up from his tea, while Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked in quiet amusement.

You sighed, fond but resigned, before looking up at Shadow Milk. “We should go before Chai decides to drag us over,” you said, tilting your head toward the table. For a moment, he merely regarded you, as if amused by your certainty. Then, with a quiet nod, he fell into step beside you, following as you wove through the dining hall toward the only place that truly felt like home in this vast, ancient academy.

You made your way to the table, sliding into your usual seat with an ease that came only from familiarity. The moment you sat down, Chai Latte Cookie leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands, eyes glinting with mischief. “So,” she drawled, “how’s the studying going?”

You exhaled dramatically, shaking your head. “Oh, just horribly,” you said, tone light and playful. “If I fail, it'll be your fault for not dragging me away from my books sooner.”

Chai Latte Cookie gasped, placing a hand over her chest as if you had wounded her. “Me? What do you mean me? I’m the only reason you’ve taken breaks at all!”

“Exactly,” you teased, spearing a bite of food with your fork. “If you were more persuasive, I’d be getting even more rest instead of fighting for my academic life.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled. “Sounds like an excuse.”

Earl Grey Cookie hummed in agreement, sipping his tea. “An elaborate one, but an excuse nonetheless.”

You huffed, though the corners of your lips tugged upward. “You all lack sympathy.”

Chai Latte Cookie grinned. “No, we just know you too well.”

Then, her gaze flickered past you, and her smirk deepened. “And what about you, Sage of Truth? How’s our scholar really doing?” At that, you stiffened slightly, heat creeping up your neck.

Shadow Milk Cookie, who had been quietly settling in beside you, merely tilted his head, considering the question. “Diligent,” he said smoothly, his voice steady and certain. “Determined. Unrelenting in their pursuit of understanding.” You nearly choked on your food. Chai Latte Cookie’s smirk widened.

“Oh?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. Earl Grey Cookie merely raised an eyebrow. You cleared your throat hastily. “I mean, I wouldn’t go that far-” Shadow Milk Cookie turned his gaze to you, something unreadable in his expression. “Would you not?” You faltered, unable to hold his gaze for long. Instead, you picked at your food, muttering, “Well, now you’re just being nice.”

Chai Latte Cookie let out a quiet laugh, but for once, she didn’t press further. Instead, she turned back to her own meal, letting the conversation slip into something lighter, anecdotes about campus gossip, musings about an upcoming exam. But even as the conversation drifted around you, you couldn’t quite shake the weight of Shadow Milk Cookie’s words. Unrelenting, he had said. You wondered if he saw something in you that you had yet to see in yourself.

Chai Latte Cookie, ever the mischief-maker, had been content to let the conversation meander from topic to topic class gossip, upcoming exams, even the mystery of why the Nightmare Archive’s librarian always seemed to know when someone was about to misplace a book. But once she had her fill of casual chatter, her eyes glimmered with something far more dangerous.

“So, Sage of Truth,” she mused, tapping a finger against her cup. “You said our dear scholar here was diligent, determined, and unrelenting” she drew out each word like she was savoring the taste of them, watching the way you shifted in your seat. “Care to elaborate?”

Your breath caught. She knew what she was doing. You could see it in the way her lips curled, the way her gaze flicked between you and Shadow Milk Cookie, like a cat toying with its prey. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked knowingly, while Earl Grey Cookie, ever the composed one, simply adjusted his glasses and waited to see how this would unfold. You shot her a sharp look, but Chai Latte Cookie only sipped her drink, utterly pleased with herself.

Shadow Milk Cookie, for his part, regarded her with mild amusement, unfazed by her teasing. “Elaborate?”

“Yes,” Chai Latte Cookie said sweetly. “You don’t waste words, do you? So if you chose those in particular, surely you must have a deeper reasoning. I’m just so curious.” You clenched your fork a little tighter. You should have seen this coming. Chai Latte Cookie never let an opportunity like this slip by. Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled, a thoughtful hum escaping him. He did not rush his answer, instead taking a measured moment before speaking, as if carefully selecting his next truth.

“They do not surrender to confusion,” he finally said, his gaze steady on you. “Frustration does not deter them. No matter how insurmountable the question may seem, they persist.”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head, clearly pleased. “Interesting,” she mused. “And that’s admirable to you?”

Shadow Milk Cookie nodded once. “It is.” You swallowed hard. You were certain the others could see the warmth creeping up your neck, the way you suddenly found your plate far more interesting than the conversation.

Chai Latte Cookie, satisfied with your reaction, simply hummed and leaned back, her mission accomplished. “Well,” she said airily, “isn’t that something?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled under his breath. Earl Grey Cookie merely resumed drinking his tea. You, meanwhile, struggled to remember how to breathe. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie had been watching waiting, really for the perfect moment to stir the pot.

And now that Chai Latte Cookie had cracked the door open, he was all too happy to kick it wide. “Oh, I see now,” he drawled, resting his chin on his palm, eyes gleaming with mischief. “So our dear scholar’s stubbornness is actually admirable? That’s certainly an interesting take.”

Your eyes snapped up, already knowing where this was going. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked, delighted by your reaction. “Tell me, Sage of Truth, do you often find yourself so fascinated by the relentless pursuit of knowledge? Or is it only when they’re the one asking the questions?”

Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled softly, as if amused by the spectacle unfolding before him. “The pursuit of knowledge is always fascinating.”

“Ah, but,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie pressed, eyes sharp, “it’s different with them, isn’t it?” You nearly choked on your drink.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie sat back, clearly entertained. “After all,” he continued smoothly, “you said it yourself, didn’t you? They persist. Not just any scholar. Them.”

You turned to glare at him, but he only grinned wider, as if thrilled by the unfolding chaos. Chai Latte Cookie, looking far too pleased, clasped her hands together. “Oh, that’s true, isn’t it?” She sighed dramatically.

“How fascinating.” Earl Grey Cookie, the only one with any semblance of composure, simply shook his head, though there was the faintest trace of amusement behind his glasses. Meanwhile, you wanted the floor to swallow you whole. Shadow Milk Cookie, however, remained unshaken. He regarded Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie for a long moment before finally speaking.

“There are many scholars in search of truth,” he acknowledged. “Yet, of all those I have encountered… they are the only one who makes me reconsider my own.” Silence. Your breath caught in your throat.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie blinked. Then, much to your horror, he grinned like he had just struck gold. “Oh,” he murmured, delighted. “Oh.” You groaned and dropped your head onto the table.

Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, sighed and shook his head. "Enough," he murmured, reaching across the table to place a steadying hand over yours.

His grip was firm but reassuring, grounding you in a way that softened the heat creeping up your neck. "You've had your fun. Let them breathe."

Chai Latte Cookie pouted dramatically. “Oh, come on,” she huffed. “You’re no fun.” But her eyes twinkled with something sharper, knowing. Shadow Milk Cookie said nothing. He had observed the movement, the way Earl Grey Cookie’s fingers curled ever so slightly, the way his thumb brushed just once against your knuckles in silent reassurance. But he was the Sage of Truth, and the Sage of Truth did not entertain interruptions. He merely exhaled, a slow, measured thing, and let it pass.

Chai Latte Cookie, however, was not so easily fooled. Her gaze flickered between you and Shadow Milk Cookie, and a slow, delighted smile curled on her lips. “Oh,” she murmured, leaning her chin into her palm, eyes alight with amusement. “How fascinating.” You shot her a look, knowing full well she had caught something, something you yourself were too mortified to acknowledge. Earl Grey Cookie’s touch was comforting, yes, but why was it that Shadow Milk Cookie’s silence felt heavier?

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, sensing an opportunity for more mischief, opened his mouth, but Earl Grey Cookie, merciful as ever, cut him off with a pointed look. “Enough,” he repeated. “Let them eat in peace.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snickered but relented, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to get all serious on me.”

Earl Grey Cookie tilted his head ever so slightly, his sharp gaze settling on you with quiet concern. “You look a little pale,” he observed, ever perceptive. “Are you feeling alright?” His voice was low, even, but there was something distinctly careful about it, like a doctor taking stock of a patient before prescribing a remedy.

You startled at the attention, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “Oh-uh, I’m fine,” you rushed to say, waving a hand dismissively. “Probably just too much studying. Or not enough.” You forced a laugh, trying to shake off the tension coiled tight in your chest. Earl Grey Cookie, however, did not look convinced.

He studied you for a moment longer before adjusting his gloves. “I can get more tea for you if you need it,” he offered, already half-rising from his seat. “Something calming. It might help.”

You blinked up at him, startled by his attentiveness. “That’s… nice of you, but really, I’m okay,” you insisted, though your voice wavered at the edges. Shadow Milk Cookie had remained silent throughout the exchange, but his gaze was heavy on you. He had seen the way your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, how your shoulders had tensed just so at the sudden shift in attention.

He did not speak, did not move but he was watching. Considering. Chai Latte Cookie, of course, had no intention of letting the moment pass unnoticed. She rested her chin in her hands, a slow, knowing smile creeping onto her lips. “My, my,” she mused, voice dripping with amusement. “Such doting friends you have.”

You shot her a glare. “Don’t start.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, ever the troublemaker, smirked as he leaned back in his seat. “I dunno,” he drawled. “Seems to me like you’ve got half the table worried about you. Must be nice, having so much attention.”

“Must be exhausting,” you muttered under your breath. Earl Grey Cookie, ignoring their antics, merely shook his head. “If you need anything, let me know.” His hand, still resting lightly on the table, shifted just slightly close enough that you could reach for it again if you wanted to. And for a brief moment, your heart skipped. Shadow Milk Cookie inhaled slowly. He did not speak. He did not need to. But Chai Latte Cookie caught the slight shift in his expression the way his fingers flexed, as if resisting the urge to act, to intervene.

Oh, she was definitely not letting this go. You picked at your food for a moment before finally taking a bite, savoring the rare peace that had settled over the table. The others had fallen into their own conversations. Chai Latte Cookie was recounting some absurd academy rumor, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie was fueling the tale with embellishments, and Earl Grey Cookie merely sighed, unimpressed but listening anyway. Shadow Milk Cookie, however, was quiet. Attentive, as always. You chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed.

And, before you could stop yourself, you turned to him and blurted out the first thing that popped into your head. “So, if someone were to theoretically write down every known truth in the universe, how many pages do you think it would take?”

Hazelnut Biscotti snorted into his cup, nearly choking on his drink. Chai Latte Cookie giggled, hiding her smile behind her hand. Shadow Milk Cookie blinked. His head tilted ever so slightly, considering. “A meaningless question,” he mused. “Truth is not measured in pages.”

You grinned. “Okay, but if it were?” His lips pressed together, as if he couldn’t believe you were making him humor this. And yet, after a moment, he answered. “More than this world could contain.”

“Alright, fair.” You nodded, taking another bite. “What about your hat?” He blinked again. “…What about it?”

“How many other hats do you own? Do you have, like, a whole collection? Or is this just the hat? Like, is it an everyday thing, or do you have special occasion hats?”

Chai Latte Cookie outright cackled. “Oh, this is what you’re using your study break for?”

Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled slowly through his nose. “This is my only hat.”

“That’s kind of disappointing.” You sighed dramatically. “I was hoping you had a whole wardrobe full of them. Maybe even color-coordinated for different occasions.”

His brow twitched, but he remained as composed as ever. “…I see no reason to require more than one.”

You hummed, as if deeply contemplating this. “But wouldn’t it be fun?”

A pause. A long one. His gaze met yours, searching, as if trying to decipher what exactly you hoped to accomplish with this barrage of nonsense. “…Fun,” he repeated, testing the word on his tongue like a foreign concept.

You beamed. “Yeah, fun.” For a moment, just a brief one, you swore you saw something amused flicker behind his golden eyes. He exhaled again, slow and measured, and simply said, “You are an enigma.”

You grinned. “I try.” You leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand, watching him carefully. The playful spark in your eyes had yet to fade. "You know," you mused, "you really should take off the hat sometime."

Shadow Milk Cookie blinked, his grip on his teacup pausing midair. "You have expressed this sentiment before," he noted. "Thrice now, if I am not mistaken."

"You’re not," you said, unabashed. "And I stand by it." Chai Latte Cookie, ever the instigator, grinned. "They do bring it up a lot, don’t they?"

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled, clearly entertained. “One might start to think there’s an ulterior motive.”

Earl Grey Cookie sighed, stirring his tea. “I fear we are about to tread dangerous ground.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you, head tilting ever so slightly. “And what exactly do you believe removing my hat would accomplish?”

You shrugged. "I don’t know. I just think you should. Maybe it’s heavy. Maybe you’d feel lighter without it."

A slow blink. Then, carefully, "Do you believe I am burdened by it?"

Your lips quirked. "No. But I do think it’d be interesting to see you without it." He was quiet for a long moment, his golden eyes scanning your expression, searching for something unseen.

Chai Latte Cookie, fully enjoying this, rested her chin in her hands. "You know, I think they really just want to see your hair”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. "I bet they think you’re hiding something under there."

“I do not,” you huffed, though your growing flustered expression did nothing to convince them. Shadow Milk Cookie, for all his wisdom, simply took a slow sip of his tea, considering. "If I remove it," he said finally, "will you cease this peculiar fascination with the matter?"

You gasped, sitting up straight. "Are you actually considering it?" Chai Latte Cookie laughed. "Oh, now you have to!" Earl Grey Cookie sighed, already bracing himself. "Please do not cause a scene in the dining hall."

You clasped your hands together in mock reverence. "Come on, Sage. Do it for the pursuit of knowledge." For a moment just a moment you swore you saw the barest hint of amusement flicker across his expression, the kind so fleeting you almost thought you imagined it. But then, as if this entire conversation had never happened, he simply took another sip of tea and said, "No."

Hazelnut Biscotti let out a bark of laughter. Chai Latte Cookie groaned dramatically. You let out a defeated sigh, slumping back in your seat. "One day," you mumbled, pointing your fork at him.

"One day, you’ll take that hat off, and I’ll be vindicated."

He merely hummed. "You may continue to believe so." And just like that, the conversation moved on but the grin never quite left your lips. Lunch was winding down, the once lively conversation tapering into a comfortable lull.

Chai Latte Cookie stretched her arms above her head before sighing dramatically. “Well,” she said, brushing crumbs from her sleeves, “we should probably get going.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie groaned. “Do we have to?”

Earl Grey Cookie raised a brow. “Unless you’ve suddenly gained the ability to be in two places at once, yes.” Chai Latte Cookie stood, dusting off her uniform. “Besides, if we don’t leave now, someone” she shot Hazelnut Biscotti a knowing look, “is going to drag their feet the whole way and make us late.”

“Hey!” Hazelnut Biscotti huffed. “I am perfectly capable of walking at a normal pace!”

“Then prove it,” Chai Latte quipped, already turning away. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grumbled something under his breath, but he and Earl Grey Cookie rose to follow her all the same.

Before leaving, Chai Latte leaned down just slightly, offering you a teasing grin. “Guess that means you’ll have some alone time, huh?” You shot her a warning look, but it only made her laugh. “Don’t have too much fun without us,” she said, winking before straightening and shooing the others along.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie rolled his eyes but gave a lazy wave. “Try not to get lost in another one of your nonsensical debates, yeah?” Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, adjusted his glasses before giving you a small nod. “Take care.”

Then, just like that, they were gone. You let out a breath, shaking your head. “She really is something else.” Across from you, Shadow Milk Cookie simply hummed in acknowledgment, gaze steady as he took another sip of tea. You blinked at him, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that it was just the two of you now. The dining hall buzzed around you, but your own little corner had grown notably quieter.

You glanced down at your plate, suddenly very interested in finishing your lunch. “Well,” you murmured, picking up your fork, “guess it’s just us now.” Shadow Milk Cookie did not respond immediately.

But when he did, his voice was as calm and steady as ever. “Yes,” he said simply. “It would seem so.” You tapped your fork idly against your plate before glancing at his.

“So… what are you eating?” Shadow Milk Cookie barely spared his meal a glance. “A balanced selection of proteins, grains, and vegetables each chosen with intent. A mind cannot thrive if the body is neglected.”

You hummed, resting your chin against your palm. “You make it sound so grand. Like it’s some divine truth instead of just… food.” He took another measured bite, the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes.

“Everything is a matter of perspective.” You tilted your head, watching him for a beat before shrugging. “Alright, then. If it’s that good, let me try it.” That made him pause. Shadow Milk Cookie lifted his gaze to you, a flicker of curiosity passing over his face before settling into something unreadable. Slowly, he set his utensils down. “You wish to partake?”

“I mean, you are making it sound like some profound experience.” You gestured vaguely at his plate. “I’m just trying to see what all the hype is about.” Something in his expression shifted too subtle to name, but noticeable nonetheless. Without a word, he slid his plate slightly toward you. An invitation. You hesitated. You hadn’t actually expected him to agree so easily. But now that he had…Carefully, you picked up your fork and took a small bite, chewing thoughtfully. It wasn’t bad. In fact, it was probably the most well-balanced thing you’d eaten in weeks. But still…You swallowed, lips pressing together.

“It’s… fine?” Shadow Milk Cookie took a sip of his tea. “A weak endorsement.”

You set your fork down, shaking your head. “I mean, it’s good, I guess, but I wouldn’t call it life-changing.”

“Perhaps your palate lacks refinement,” he mused. You scoffed. “Or maybe you’re just easy to please.” For a moment, he only regarded you in silence. Studying and observing you. Then, with the smallest tilt of his head, he replied, “Perhaps.”

Your stomach did an odd little flip. Quickly, you turned your attention back to your own food, taking a bite as if that would somehow steady you. “Well,” you mumbled, “thanks for sharing.” Shadow Milk Cookie merely hummed, retrieving his plate with a measured grace.

“Knowledge is meant to be shared.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was food.”

“Perspective,” he reminded you, and for once, you weren’t sure if he was teasing. Lunch concluded with an air of quiet contentment. Your friends had long since left, and now it was just the two of you, the hum of the dining hall fading into the background as trays were cleared, conversations dimmed, and the midday bustle gave way to the steady rhythm of the academy. You fell into step beside him as he made his way toward the Scholars’ Wing, the path familiar now, your feet tracing the same worn stones they had countless times before. Shadow Milk Cookie carried himself with the same composed grace as always, his stride unhurried yet deliberate. His hands remained folded behind his back, his head held high ever the image of a scholar lost in thought. You, however, were anything but composed.

Your thoughts flitted restlessly from one thing to the next his words at lunch, the way he had regarded you with that quiet, unreadable expression, the warmth of his presence beside you. And above all, the knowledge that soon, you’d be seated in his office again, combing through exam material, desperately trying to keep up with his explanations while pretending your pulse wasn’t quickening at the way his voice curled around every word. It was ridiculous. You were ridiculous.

Still, you walked with him, drawn forward not just by the looming exam but by something else something that kept you tethered to his side despite the nagging voice in your mind telling you to stop being so affected by him. The halls of the academy stretched before you, lined with grand archways and ancient sconces that flickered with gentle candlelight. The corridors here were quieter, the rush of students thinning the closer you got to the Scholars’ Wing, until it was just the two of you, your footsteps echoing in the vast space. It wasn’t until the door to his office came into view that you finally spoke.

“I’m ready,” you murmured. Shadow Milk Cookie came to a halt, glancing at you with an arched brow. “For the lesson,” you clarified, ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck. A pause. Then, the faintest ghost of a smile.

“Good.” With that, he pushed open the door, stepping aside so you could enter first. The scent of parchment and ink greeted you, the familiar walls lined with bookshelves filled to the brim with tomes and scrolls. The massive desk sat in its usual state of organized chaos, papers meticulously arranged despite their sheer volume. The room felt timeless, caught between centuries of wisdom and the quiet hum of curiosity that lingered in the air. You exhaled slowly, stepping inside, steeling yourself. It was time to study. Not time to dwell on the way your heart had nearly stopped at the sight of his faint smile.

Definitely not. You settled into your usual spot, flipping open your notes with a determined breath. The pages were filled with hasty scribbles, diagrams of ley lines and arcane anchors, and the occasional margin note scolding yourself for not understanding something sooner. Shadow Milk Cookie took his place across from you, ever composed, his piercing gaze settling on you expectantly. He did not have to say a word; the weight of his silence alone urged you forward. “So,” you began, tapping the end of your quill against the table as you gathered your thoughts. “Ley lines. They’re, um, basically the lifeblood of magic, right? The invisible currents that run through the world, shaping how spells interact with the environment.”

He nodded slightly, waiting. “And then there are arcane anchors,” you continued, leaning forward as you traced a rough diagram on a spare piece of parchment. “These stabilize ley lines in certain areas, creating fixed points where magic can be drawn more efficiently. They aren’t always naturally occurring sometimes they’re made by scholars or spellcasters to manipulate energy flow.” His expression remained unreadable, but you caught the faintest flicker of intrigue in his eyes.

Emboldened, you pressed on. “At first, it seems like anchors and ley lines are just background knowledge like, you don’t need to understand them to cast a spell. But if you don’t, then you don’t really understand why spells behave the way they do. Like, if you miscalculate the position of an anchor when setting up a ritual, the entire flow of magic could be disrupted, or worse-”

Shadow Milk Cookie suddenly leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His gaze sharpened. “Then tell me,” he interjected smoothly, “what happens when two arcane anchors are placed too closely together within an unstable ley line?” Your breath hitched. Oh. Oh. He was testing you now. You scrambled to recall the answer, flipping through your mental notes as you tried to push down the rising panic. “Uh-if they’re too close, they can create an interference pattern, right? Like… like two ripples in water colliding, which distorts the ley line’s natural flow.”

“Correct.” His tone was deceptively gentle, but you barely had time to feel relieved before his next question came, faster this time. “And what is the threshold for safe anchor placement in a ley line of high magical density?”

“Um-uh-” You blinked rapidly, flipping through your notes as if the answer would magically appear in the scrawled pages. “It-it depends on the ley line, but generally, no less than”

“Five meters apart.” You swallowed hard. “Right. That.”

His lips quirked ever so slightly, but he did not slow down. “And how do you stabilize a ley line that has already begun to fracture?”

You gripped your quill tighter, brain racing. “You-you need to reinforce it with a secondary anchor, but only if the core structure isn’t completely unstable. Otherwise, you risk…”

“Overloading the line,” he finished for you.

You nodded hastily, pulse hammering. “Then,” he continued, tone still maddeningly calm, “if a fractured ley line is already overloading, how long do you have before catastrophic feedback occurs?”

You opened your mouth then hesitated. A heartbeat of silence stretched between you. Shadow Milk Cookie merely tilted his head, waiting. Your throat went dry. “…I don’t know.” His eyes gleamed. It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t mocking. But something in his gaze told you he already knew you wouldn’t be able to answer.

And yet, he had asked anyway. You felt heat prickle at the edges of your ears, frustration curling in your stomach. Shadow Milk Cookie leaned back slightly, folding his hands together. “The answer,” he said evenly, “depends on the severity of the fracture. In some cases, mere seconds. In others, minutes. And sometimes, the damage is irreversible before anyone even notices.”

You exhaled shakily, slumping forward. “That’s cruel.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “It is simply the truth.” You groaned, dropping your forehead against your notes. “I was doing so well in the beginning.”

“You were,” he agreed, and you weren’t sure if that was meant to be reassuring or just an observation. “But do not let one misstep deter you. You are improving.”

You peeked up at him, dubious. “You’re just saying that so I won’t despair.” He arched a brow. “Have I ever said anything I did not mean?”

You pursed your lips. “No, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t being nice about it.”

His smile was unreadable, but there was something softer in the way he regarded you. “I am merely telling you what is true.” And somehow, that meant more. You sighed, staring down at your notes, the ink smudged slightly where your hand had lingered too long. The weight of his scrutiny still pressed against you, though it was not cruel…never cruel. But sometimes, it was exhausting, the way he always met you with nothing but truth.

“Sometimes,” you muttered, voice quieter now, “I wish you’d lie to me.” A pause. You didn’t dare look up at him, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your parchment. “Just… once in a while,” you added, as if softening the admission would make it less shameful. “Maybe tell me I did perfectly, even when I didn’t. Or say that I’m making more progress than I really am. Just something to make it feel like I’m not-” You hesitated, the words catching on your tongue. “Like I’m not constantly falling short.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and unreadable. When you finally forced yourself to look up, Shadow Milk Cookie’s expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and deep as an ocean at midnight. Thoughtful. Measured. Not quite surprised, but something close to it. “I see,” he murmured at last. He tilted his head slightly, studying you with a scholar’s gaze, as if weighing the meaning behind your words, dissecting each syllable. “You wish for comfort over truth?”

You swallowed hard. “That’s not” You exhaled, rubbing your temples. “That’s not what I meant.” He watched you carefully, but did not interrupt. You struggled to find the words, your heart twisting. “I don’t want you to lie to me, not really,” you admitted. “But sometimes, it’s hard hearing the truth all the time. It makes it feel like… like I’ll never be good enough. Like I’m always reaching for something just beyond my grasp.”

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “And I know that’s my own problem, not yours. I just-” You shook your head. Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you in silence. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t respond at all.

Then, so softly you almost didn’t catch it he spoke. “Would it help?”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

“If I were to lie to you,” he said, his voice still as steady as ever, “would it help?” You faltered. Would it? Would it ease the weight in your chest, the ache of constantly feeling like you were just barely keeping up? Would it make studying easier, if you could believe just for a moment that you were better than you were? Or would it feel hollow, knowing that the man before you did not deal in falsehoods? You bit your lip, forcing yourself to hold his gaze.

“…No,” you admitted. “It wouldn’t.” He inclined his head slightly, as if that answer had been expected.

“Then I will not insult you with falsehoods.” You let out a small, weary laugh. “Of course you wouldn’t.” But somehow, despite the exhaustion lingering in your bones, despite the frustration curling in your chest, his words did not sting as much as they should have. Because at the end of the day, he was not unkind.

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Well, good thing you’re the beacon of truth here, because I’m no such thing.”

You rested your chin in your palm, offering him a wry smile. “Honestly, I’d probably insult you with falsehoods all the time.”

Shadow Milk Cookie arched a brow, the faintest trace of amusement glimmering in his eyes. “Would you, now?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “If it meant saving face, avoiding an argument, or just-” you waved a hand vaguely “-smoothing things over.”

You shrugged. “I’m no scholar of truth. I’m just trying to survive my classes.” He hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. You drummed your fingers against your notes, a lazy rhythm filling the space between you.

“Like, for example,” you continued, voice light, teasing, “if you asked me right now whether I actually understand everything we just went over, I’d probably tell you ‘yes.’”

Shadow Milk Cookie did not miss a beat. “And I would call your bluff.”

You groaned dramatically, slumping forward. “See? This is exactly what I mean.” His chuckle was quiet, but there. Real. You blinked up at him, caught off guard by how warm it sounded. Still, he shook his head. “A scholar of truth need not be an absolute beacon. Seeking it, that is what matters.”

His eyes flickered with something softer. “And despite your self-deprecation, you are seeking it, are you not?”

You hesitated. You were. And though it didn’t always feel like enough, somehow, hearing him say it made the weight of your own inadequacies feel a little lighter. “…Maybe,” you murmured, dropping your gaze. He regarded you for a long moment before nodding, satisfied.

“Then that is all that matters.” You tapped your fingers against the desk, staring at him with open curiosity. The question had been circling your mind for a while now, ever since you first met him since the moment you realized just how deliberate, how careful, he was with his words.

So, before you could think better of it, you asked, “Do you ever lie?” Shadow Milk Cookie blinked. You tilted your head, watching his reaction closely. “Or do you always speak the truth?”

A pause. His gaze met yours, steady and unreadable. Then, at last, he let out a quiet hum. “I do not waste words,�� he said, his tone measured, deliberate. “Nor do I see value in deception.”

You exhaled through your nose, unsurprised but still… dissatisfied. “That’s not really an answer,” you muttered, leaning forward. “I asked if you ever lie.” A flicker of amusement crossed his features.

“Would you believe me if I said I did not?”

You frowned. “I don’t know.” He chuckled. “Then tell me, if I were to lie, would you know it?” You hesitated.

The weight of his gaze pinned you in place, but you held firm, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, of uncertainty. “…I think I’d like to believe I would,” you admitted. Shadow Milk Cookie inclined his head slightly, thoughtful. “Interesting.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s still not an answer.” His lips twitched. “Is it not?” You groaned. “You are impossible.” His laughter was quiet, but unmistakable. “And yet, you persist.” You huffed, crossing your arms. “Of course, I do.”

You paused, then quieter, more contemplative added, “Truth matters, doesn’t it?”

His expression softened. “It does.” You held his gaze a moment longer before sighing. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” Shadow Milk Cookie merely smiled, and you got the distinct feeling that, had you asked just a little differently, perhaps he would have answered.

You opened your mouth to ask another question, something entirely off-topic, something just to fill the silence, to keep talking, to keep the weight of the upcoming exam from creeping back into your mind. But before you could even get the words out, Shadow Milk Cookie raised a hand, halting you mid-thought. “As much as I enjoy indulging your curiosity,” he said smoothly, “I fear your anxiety for the exam will not fade if you continue avoiding it.”

You clamped your mouth shut. He wasn’t wrong, and that was the worst part. He studied you carefully, his voice quieter when he added, “Diverging from the subject may bring you temporary ease, but it does not change the task at hand.”

You exhaled through your nose, dropping your gaze to the desk. “I know that,” you muttered, tracing an idle pattern on the wood with your finger. “I just… thinking about it too much makes it worse.” Shadow Milk Cookie did not immediately respond.

Then, after a brief silence, he said, “Then let us not dwell on your apprehension, but rather, its resolution.”

You blinked up at him. “That’s a fancy way of saying ‘let’s just study,’ isn’t it?” His lips quirked in the faintest hint of amusement. “If you already understand my meaning, then I see no need to restate it.”

You groaned, but there was no real frustration behind it. Begrudgingly, you straightened, gripping your quill once more. “Fine,” you relented. “Hit me with whatever impossible questions you’ve got.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s smile grew. “A bold declaration.”

His eyes gleamed with something sharp, something knowing. “Then let us begin.” Shadow Milk Cookie did not hold back. One question after another, sharp and relentless, each one demanding more precision, more critical thought. He wove theories into practical applications, twisted simple concepts into complex scenarios, forcing you to think three steps ahead, to recall forgotten details, to stretch your understanding to its very limits.

You did your best, you really, truly did. But with each passing moment, your brain grew heavier, more sluggish, drowning in a sea of terminology and magical constructs that had started blending together. You answered where you could, hesitated where you couldn’t, and when he threw you a particularly convoluted question regarding ley line distortions under celestial interference, your mind simply… Stopped. You stared at him, utterly blank. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. The only thought echoing in your head was what in the world did he just say? Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head, waiting. You continued to stare. And then, after a long moment, he exhaled a soft chuckle.

“Ah,” he mused, leaning back. “It seems I have tested you past your limits.” You blinked at him, still dazed. His gaze softened just slightly. “Very well. I shall relent.” You slumped over the desk with a groan, burying your face in your arms.

“I think I saw my soul leave my body halfway through that,” you mumbled, exhausted. Shadow Milk Cookie merely hummed, entirely unfazed.

“I must commend your endurance,” he said, amusement lacing his words. “Few last this long before yielding.”

You turned your head just enough to squint at him. “You enjoy doing this to me, don’t you?” His lips curled into the subtlest smirk. “I merely seek to prepare you.”

You groaned again. “You could prepare me gently, you know.”

“I could,” he agreed. “But would that truly serve you?” You scowled, not bothering to dignify that with a response. Instead, you let your head drop back onto the desk, allowing yourself a moment of peace before the inevitable studying resumed. At the very least, he was giving you a break now. Small victories.

You lifted your head just enough to give him a tired glare, your cheek still smushed against your arm. “Next time,” you muttered, “be gentle.” Shadow Milk Cookie raised a brow, ever so slightly. You sat up with great effort, leveling him with the most serious look you could muster despite the exhaustion in your eyes.

“Because if you aren’t,” you warned, “there won’t be a next time. I’ll find a kinder tutor. Someone who doesn’t take pleasure in watching my brain short-circuit.”

He let out a soft, knowing chuckle. “Would you, now?”

“I would.” You crossed your arms for emphasis. He studied you, the glint of amusement never quite leaving his gaze. And then, ever so theatrically, he placed a hand over his chest. “Alas,” he sighed, “to be so easily discarded for another.” You rolled your eyes. “Easily? You fried my brain.”

“Only so it may be tempered into something sharper.” You groaned, rubbing your temples. “You know, most tutors don’t seek to temper their students like they’re forging a legendary blade. They just teach.”

Shadow Milk Cookie leaned forward slightly, resting his chin against his hand. “Would you truly be satisfied with mediocrity?”

“I’d be satisfied with not feeling like I’ve fought a battle every time I study with you.” His lips twitched not quite a smile, but something close. “Duly noted.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Does that mean you’ll actually be gentle next time?” He tilted his head, thoughtful.

“We shall see.” You groaned again, dropping your head onto the desk. “I hate you.” A chuckle warm, indulgent.

“Ah, but you do not.” You sighed, half-defeated, half-amused. “No,” you admitted. “I don’t.” You peeked at him from where your head lay against your arms, exhaustion still weighing on your limbs.

“Then again,” you added, voice muffled by your sleeves, “that’s impossible. Everyone loves you.” Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Do they?”

You snorted, finally lifting your head. “Of course they do. You’re you. Respected, renowned, admired everyone wants to be around you. To learn from you. To impress you.” You poked at your notes absentmindedly. “I mean, if I did hate you, you’d probably know, right?” He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” You frowned, shifting in your seat to face him properly. “You mean to tell me you don’t always know what people think of you?”

His lips curled, not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. “Not always,” he admitted. “Truth is not so easily gleaned as one might think.”

You blinked, surprised by the honesty in his tone. “Huh.” Shadow Milk Cookie did not elaborate further, nor did he need to. The weight of his words lingered, a quiet sort of revelation tucked between them. You tilted your head. “But surely, you must know when someone dislikes you. You’re too observant not to.”

He exhaled softly, a measured breath. “Observant, yes. Omniscient? No.” The answer unsettled you, though you couldn’t quite say why. The idea that even he, the Sage of Truth, the one who saw through all falsehoods wasn’t infallible felt almost…wrong. You tried to shake off the feeling, leaning back in your chair instead. “Well, I wouldn’t worry about it. Everyone does love you.” Shadow Milk Cookie chuckled, the sound thoughtful.

“And you?” Your heart stumbled over itself. You opened your mouth perhaps to deflect, perhaps to tease but no words came. Shadow Milk Cookie simply watched you, gaze steady. Patient. You swallowed. “I just said I don’t hate you, didn’t I?”

“A void answer.” His lips twitched. “Hardly an admission.”

You scoffed, looking away before he could see the warmth creeping up your face. “And here I thought you didn’t always know what people thought of you.” He let out a soft hum. “Some truths reveal themselves without the need for confirmation.” Your breath hitched. You chose, for your own sanity, not to dwell on what he meant by that. Instead, you stood abruptly, gathering your notes in a hurried mess.

“Right. Well. I think that’s enough philosophy for the day.” Shadow Milk Cookie merely chuckled. “Indeed.”

And yet, as you left his office, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already unraveled an answer you weren’t yet ready to give. The door shut behind you with a quiet click, your hurried steps already carrying you down the hall toward the dining halls, thoughts of food and the reprieve of friendly company filling your mind.

You had left behind the weight of study, the exhaustion of rapid-fire questioning, and unbeknownst to you something far more damning. On his desk, among the scattered notes and ink-stained pages, lay your forgotten notebook. The worn cover bore the faint indentations of hurried scribbles, and within, nestled between detailed explanations and haphazardly scrawled theorems, were remnants of something softer.

Tiny hearts drawn absentmindedly in the margins of his writing. A sentence underlined twice, as if its importance stretched beyond academia. A fleeting note, quickly scribbled and then scratched out, barely legible; he really does have a nice voice. Shadow Milk Cookie’s fingers ghosted over the page as he turned it, expression unreadable. His gaze lingered on the small, insignificant details so easy to brush off if questioned, so simple to dismiss if he chose. But he did not dismiss them. Instead, he simply exhaled, the corners of his lips curling ever so slightly. And then, with deliberate care, he closed the notebook, setting it aside as he leaned back in his chair. The truth had a way of revealing itself. And this, perhaps, was a truth you had not meant for him to find.

The weight of your absence settled in the quiet of his office. Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled, tilting his head back slightly as he regarded the closed notebook on his desk. The knowledge within both academic and otherwise belonged to you, yet now it sat in his domain, its pages whispering truths you had yet to say aloud. For a moment, he considered simply setting it aside, allowing it to be nothing more than a misplaced object, something you would return for later with an embarrassed apology.

And yet, the faint indentations of your hurried writing, the stray hearts in the margins, the small, hastily scratched-out notes they spoke louder than any admission could. He had seen it before, of course. The way you clung to his words a fraction longer than necessary, how you hesitated before speaking his name, how your frustration with his relentless questioning was never sharp-edged, but something softer, something almost fond. He had been careful not to assume. But now, with evidence laid bare before him, he was forced to acknowledge it, forced to decide what to do with this newfound knowledge. His fingers drummed lightly against the desk. A dilemma, indeed.

Yet, there was no urgency to act. The truth had revealed itself in ink and quiet gestures, but it remained unspoken between you. And perhaps, for now, it was best left that way. His lips curled slightly, a flicker of amusement crossing his features before vanishing into the composed serenity of his expression. With a slow, deliberate motion, he tucked your notebook safely aside, ensuring it would be returned to you without so much as a comment. Because if you had not yet gathered the courage to say it aloud, then he would wait. The truth would come in its own time.

The warmth of the dining hall buzzed around you, filled with the soft clatter of dishes and the hum of conversation. It was comforting in its familiarity, a reprieve from the endless cycle of study and self-doubt. Your friends, ever lively, had pulled you into their rhythm without hesitation, filling the space with laughter and playful banter.

But amidst the usual chaos, Chai Latte Cookie’s eyes glimmered with something far too perceptive, far too knowing. “Be careful, Earl Grey,” she sing-songed, swirling her cup with lazy amusement.

“Lest you upset the Sage of Truth.” You blinked, mid-bite, caught entirely off guard. Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, merely exhaled through his nose and lifted his cup to his lips, as if that might spare him from whatever scheme Chai Latte Cookie was concocting

. “I’ve done no such thing.”

“Oh? Haven’t you?” she mused, tapping a finger against her cheek. “The way you reached for their hand earlier so very gentle, so very considerate.” Her voice dripped with mirth, but beneath it lay something sharper.

“You’re quite the knight in shining armor, aren’t you?”

Earl Grey Cookie didn’t so much as flinch. “They needed reassurance.”

“And how noble of you to provide it.”

You groaned, setting down your spoon. “Chai.”

“What? I’m just making observations,” she said innocently, though the playful tilt of her lips suggested otherwise. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snickered, leaning back in his chair. “Oh no, she’s right,” he teased. “It was very gallant of you, Earl Grey.”

Earl Grey Cookie shut his eyes for a long moment, as if summoning patience from the deepest recesses of his soul. “If you’re going to be insufferable, at least let me drink my tea in peace.” You sighed, rubbing at your temples, but the heat curling at the edges of your face refused to fade. “I swear, you all make something out of everything.”

“Not everything,” Chai Latte Cookie mused. Then, with a saccharine smile, she added, “Just the fun things.” Her gaze flickered toward you, and something in her expression shifted subtle, unreadable, but distinctly aware. You hesitated. “…What?” She simply hummed, taking a sip from her cup. “Oh, nothing.”

A/N hey guys sorry for not being super active with my inbox...I'm still recovering from food poisoning and being an academic weapon, I love interacting with you guys and will be getting back into it once I recover to a point where I'm not constantly exhausted, I am taking breaks so guys no need to worry <3 But I am just constantly sleeping so that's the main reason I'm not replying super often I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I loved making it! Thank you guys for being so patient with me <3

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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#cookie run #cr kingdom #crk #cookie run kingdom #shadow milk #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk cookie x reader #shadow milk costume #crk fanfic #sage of truth #shadow milk x reader #reblog #tasty tasty fanfic #cozy readings #really enjoyed it #wish for a quick recovery 🙏

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