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rk969 · 9 days ago

Note

Hey pal 😼

May I ask for a council of elders and reader?

(For context: Y/N Cookie is the youngest member of the council, they have their own noble house and the “Elder” of entertainment -Like making shows for the youth, doing plays, making music, and creating events. They’re pretty much in charge of the entertainment industry. So what I’m asking, is the council of elders, including Clotted Cream Cookie's opinion of Y/N Cookie and their relationships.)

(I’m also guessing that Y/N Cookie would be in their early twenties or mid twenties like how I see Clotted Cream Cookie.)

(Btw, before the Odyssey update happens, hopefully, I’m making sense lmao)

Convocation of Elders: House Y/N

Clotted Cream Cookie is incredibly fond of you and your House, always having nothing but great things to say about you. Like the other Houses in the Convocation of Elders, he sees yours as very important for the culture and prosperity of the Republic.

He sees it as a responsibility being Consul to know each respective House as well as he can, and he's the most enthusiastic to learn more of yours. He finds your dedication to each of your works so admirable, as you are always striving to continually make each composition, shows, and events better than the last, and he believes such passion for improvement and perfection are what he and every Cookie in the Republic should aspire for.

You two naturally grow very close together, sharing similar struggles and ambitions. Being the leader of a House and being an Elder in the Convocation at your younger age is unheard of. The responsibilities you and your House members have are never easy and have caused you to lose some sleep at times. Very much like the young Consul and his responsibilities placed on him by all the nagging Elders. You both enjoy being able to confide and rely on each other about nearly everything outside of Council meetings.

He's grateful you aren't like the other Elders; he can be comfortable relax and breathe normally around you. If it weren't for his duties, he'd be attending every single event, show, concert, and anything else that features your work. Thankfully, you don't rat him out whenever he occasionally sneaks off to see you or attend one of your works, and he's grateful your House members are also able to watch out for him when bringing him to you.

Sablé Cookie and House Sablé are undoubtedly your biggest supporters and investors. You were incredibly surprised, yet grateful, to have such support from one of the Elders, but she always tells you to not stress about it. After all, it's what she does!

Your style and themes in your works are so refreshing to her and she wants to see so much more of it. No matter what, she always finds a way to clear her schedule to attend any and every event, show, concert, and anything else created from your House.

During Council meetings, she is always the first to sing praises about how your House is doing and has no shame in doing so, even when you blush red like tomato from so many praises. This sometimes annoy a few of the Elders, but she's hard to stop once she gets going.

With how much arts she's seen and supported, you occasionally come to her for any feedback or advice for how to improve your works. While she is always more than happy to comment on your works, give you ideas for future projects, and tell you about former and current artists her House patrons, she will always tell you just how amazed and proud of your works she is.

As laid back and occasionally lost in his own thoughts as Mulled Juice Cookie is, he always seemed to have a clear head and schedule whenever you were around. Whatever he was thinking about before you approached him didn't matter, since by that moment you were his only focus.

He sees your House as critically important for the future of the Republic, as it inspires the youth to be creative and involved in circles of community, and that is doubled since the younger generations have a young, yet extremely innovative and talented Cookie as yourself to look up to as an Elder.

You wish you could reciprocate the generous praise that Mulled Juice Cookie is always giving you, but he doesn't let you since to him, it's unnecessary. He'd much rather step aside and let you be great rather than toot his own horn.

He encourages you to reach out to him should you ever need his engineering or alchemic expertise for help on any of your projects. You enjoy brainstorming ideas with him so much that you both tend lose track of time, causing you two to pull all-nighters just sharing creative ideas back and forth. While he normally would be against going all night for big projects, the refreshing and energetic innovation you have is so gravitating to him that he never minds spending all day and night just creating with you.

Baumkuchen Cookie is initially not too familiar with your House and your work, due to his reserved nature, but he is fond of what you do particularly for the youth.

As the Republic's symbol of medicine, he is dedicated to personally address and tend to the health of other cookies. He sees your events and entertainment as useful in helping this cause, seeing that the emotional health of cookies is equally important, and everyone seems genuinely immensely happy from everything your House does.

Normally, he'd be envious seeing a cookie as young, healthier, and better-spirited like you, but he isn't envious at all in the slightest. You help him understand how to appreciate the well-beings of others who are "healthier" than him, and he is very grateful for that.

He's always the first one to come to any event you have, since he wants to look out for any medical or allergy concerns of the attending cookies. Thanks to him, any piece of food you bring for an event is well documented and checked thrice over. You never have any health problems with cookies attending your shows and events thanks to Baumkuchen Cookie.

While she is quite busy with overseeing the Pearl Legion, maritime trade, and her duties as an Elder, Oyster Cookie has nothing but praise and goodwill towards you and your House.

When she's free, she enjoys relaxing herself by listening to the music you create in either peaceful solitude or very select and few company. Since you compose tracks and arrangements in nearly every genre, she has no issue finding what fits her taste, and she always personally thanks you for creating a song she enjoys after listening to it.

Any stress or mental block you have seems to wash away whenever you and Oyster Cookie hangout alone. Her wisdom is unmatched, and you can't begin to measure how helpful she's been for you learning about the ins-and-outs of the Council, as well as what it's like being a House leader.

She did notice on occasion a few soldiers of the Legion either singing and dancing to your music or reenacting scenes from your plays. You are more than happy to oblige when she requests you to send copies and recordings of music and plays for the soldiers, since they are mostly unable to attend seeing them performed live.

Similar to Oyster Cookie, Captain Caviar Cookie tends to be very busy and reserved, but he enjoys whenever he has the time to interact with you or attend one of your shows or events.

He never has any problems hanging out with you and would graciously let you board his ships. You can't board without supervision from him though, since he wants to make sure you're safe whenever you're out at sea. He also doesn't want to risk something potentially going awry with you on a ship and he's not there.

If you listen closely, you can hear him humming or whistling the tunes of your songs when he's fighting off paladins in the martial arts tournament. He finds you after a fight and is sure to thank you for the music you made, saying it helped him win.

Of all the Elders of the Council, including the Consul Clotted Cream Cookie, Captain Caviar Cookie is the one you can rely on the most whenever you're not feeling the best. He's more concerned on helping you feel at ease and relaxed rather than discuss the stress of your responsibilities, and you're very grateful for that.

You knew that Mille-feuille Cookie was highly respected amongst the citizens of the Republic, so you felt as if you had to show her even more respect when you became an Elder, but she simply chuckles heartily and tells you it's unnecessary to be so stiff around her.

She's always around to help get you back on your feet should you stumble, both figuratively and literally. You appreciate how she puts the needs of other cookies before her own and try to aide her whenever you can as well.

On occasion, she will ask if she could help direct or produce one of your shows or events for the cookies in Choco Mud Town and the orphans at the Divine Sanctum. You respectfully decline since your creative ideas don't gel well with hers, but you thank her for guiding you to the Divine Sanctum and Choco Mud Town so that you can host more shows and events there.

And to be honest, you always felt as if there was some ulterior motive she had whenever she asked to direct or host something of yours. You never address this with her though, in fear that either you may be wrong, or your suspicions may be right, and Mille-feuille Cookie abuses her status to have you punished...

Canelé Cookie makes it very clear that her schedule is way too packed for her to have any leisure time. You want to say that she may be overexaggerating a bit when she says she can't have a cup of tea due to her busy duties, but you quickly changed your mind after seeing how frustrated she is before, during, and after a meeting.

Out of respect and kindness, you to leave her some recordings of plays and music just outside her doors, hoping she'd notice them. After a few weeks, you notice her mood gradually changing, and the soft parting smile she gives you every time you pass by each other is her saying "thank you;" at least in your mind.

Sometimes in meetings, she suggests that your shows, events, music, etc. should be more costly to gain larger profits. You always shut the notion down since you want as many cookies to have access to your works as possible, including making your works free for the poorer residents from Choco Mud Town. Some of the other Elders think Canelé Cookie has a fair argument, so this tends to be more often brought up even outside of meetings.

She tells you that she's only looking out for you and your House and wishes for you to prosper plentifully. While you thank her for grace, you ultimately want your House to prosper through the happiness and well-being it provides to Cookies rather than the monetary value you get. Reluctantly, Canelé Cookie respects your decision and tries to shut down the notion she suggested.

You weren't expecting you and Vanilla Sugar Cookie to gel so well together when it came to, well, anything, since you were so flexible with your ideas and she was more rigid. Despite the many contrasts, she is one the Elders you are most comfortable around.

She's never in a bad mood when you're around and sometimes seems to be cheerier and more youthful whenever she attends certain shows or listens to certain music that fit her taste. Captain Caviar Cookie thanks you for making her not such a stubborn one, although you don't really know what he's talking about since she's never been stubborn with you.

If she isn't busy overseeing the paladins, then she and her cream sheep are attending one of your events for leisure. She has offered ideas of expressing the traditional, historical, and cultural values and stories of the Republic and the Vanilla Kingdom in your plays to educate the youth, but you and her have clashed with how to go about writing a play out in a way that either of you are fine with.

You finally find ways to incorporate the traditions that she wants to see while also expressing them in a modern way for the youth to understand. She loves and gratefully appreciates this, and you hear nothing but praise from her since.

If not you, Custard Cookie is without question the most critical of your House and your works. For a while you convince yourself he's rightfully critical since he wants the absolute best to represent the Republic, the Houses within the Council, and your House, but over time it starts to feel demoralizing when he says you can't feature certain things.

He always has high expectations for what you and members of your House do, which is understandable to an extent as a fellow Elder, but it sometimes feels like his expectations are unattainable. Some other Elders express that he is too demanding to the new and young Elder, but he insists that it's necessary to uphold the reputation of the Republic.

Sometimes, he requests that you demonstrate whatever project you're working on - an event, play, song, etc. - privately with him in individual one-on-one meetings. Your nerves skyrocket every second you're with him, but you do your best to endure so that he can approve what you plan on producing.

Over time, it seems like he eases up and isn't as demanding as before, but it's not super noticeable. You do reject some of his ideas that he pushes you to use on your works, and his reactions are either dismissive or annoyed that you deny what he says.

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rk969 · 17 days ago

Text

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 30

<<<Previous Next>>>

You leaned over the table with an intensity that rivaled pre-exam week, ink smudged on your fingertips and the edge of your sleeve. Parchment covered in hasty scrawl sat in front of you, each paragraph dripping with formal logic, magical ethics, a dash of heartfelt plea, and a surprising amount of literary flourish.

You slid the page toward Chai Latte Cookie first. “Alright. I need you to… Chai-ify it. Make it poetic or profound or something.”

Chai, practically vibrating with glee, took the parchment in both hands. “Oh, yes. Let me just elevate this rhetoric.”

She pulled a quill from behind her ear like she’d been waiting for this moment her whole life. “I’m going to add a line about the transformation of truth through form. And maybe a metaphor about moonlight as mutable identity.”

Hazelnut Biscotti stared at her. “Do you even know what that means?”

“No,” Chai said, flourishing her quill. “But it sounds so convincing.”

You chuckled as she scribbled. “Make sure it still sounds like me though. I don’t want him to think I was possessed mid-sentence.”

Chai looked up with a grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it your voice. Just slightly more dramatic.”

After she was satisfied, you passed the updated version across the table to Earl Grey Cookie.

He scanned it with surgical precision, eyes flicking left to right, pausing only to make corrections with his fountain pen that seemed designed to make every edit sting with dignity.

“Your thesis is strong,” he murmured. “But tighten the second paragraph. You’re leaning too much into emotional leverage. Balance it with academic precedent.”

“You say that like he isn’t already emotionally compromised,” you muttered.

Earl didn’t look up. “All the more reason to prove you’re serious.”

He handed it off with a final flick. “The final paragraph is surprisingly elegant. That must’ve been Chai.”

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, twirling a strand of her hair.

Then it was Hazelnut’s turn.

You slid the parchment over, watching as he read through it at a pace both cautious and skeptical. He frowned at a few spots but said nothing until the end.

Finally, he leaned back and scratched his chin. “Alright… it’s convincing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Hazelnut shrugged. “I don’t know if it’ll work, but if someone handed me a scroll like this, I’d be too impressed to say no. It’s half spell theory, half love letter to magical curiosity.”

“That’s the vibe I was going for,” you said, relieved.

Earl nodded. “Then I’d say it’s ready.”

You looked down at the page revised, refined, and full of lines like

Let this transformation not be a spectacle, but a symbol that even truth, immutable and enduring, has the capacity for grace in change.

…Yeah. You were definitely not getting out of this without compromising some dignity.

Chai grinned. “So… when are you giving it to him?”

You swallowed.

“Tomorrow.”

Your friends exchanged glances.

“Stars help him,” Hazelnut said dryly.

“Stars help you,” Chai added, practically glowing. “Because if he says yes… I need to be there.”

You covered your face with both hands, already regretting everything.

But also?

Kind of excited.

You peeked through your fingers, face still buried in your hands, and muttered, “I think he’d be a lot less convinced if there were an audience.”

Chai immediately gasped, clutching her chest in mock offense. “You’re not going to let me witness history?”

“Do you want him to say yes or turn into mist and vanish?” you deadpanned, lifting your head.

Hazelnut Biscotti chuckled. “They have a point.”

“Exactly!” You gestured toward him. “If I walk in there with all three of you breathing down his neck from the doorway, he’s going to think it’s a prank or some kind of social experiment.”

Earl Grey sipped his tea calmly. “It is a social experiment. But your hypothesis requires solitude.”

Chai groaned dramatically. “Fine. But if he does it if you have to tell me everything.”

“I will write a report. With citations.”

Chai brightened instantly. “Deal.”

Hazelnut smirked. “Just don’t die from embarrassment when you hand it to him.”

You nodded slowly, lips pressed into a line. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take… for science.”

Earl Grey tilted his head. “And unhinged curiosity.”

“And possibly love,” Chai added with a wink.

You groaned. “I hate it here.”

They all laughed, and Chai nudged your arm affectionately, you couldn’t help but smile again, nervous, yes, but genuinely excited.

Because the scroll in your bag might just be your most ambitious experiment yet. You twirled your spoon slowly in your cup, watching the last of the honey swirl into your tea before lifting your gaze, more hesitant than before.

The parchment containing your “essay” sat folded neatly in your bag, safe and final. But the laughter had settled, and the buzz of the dining hall had faded into the quiet hum of content students and clinking cutlery. For a moment, your thoughts shifted somewhere else somewhere more uncertain.

“…Hey,” you said softly, glancing around the table. “Can I ask something kind of serious?”

Chai leaned forward immediately. “Of course.”

Hazelnut Biscotti looked up mid-sip, nodding once.

But your eyes turned to Earl Grey Cookie.

“Do you think this is… love?” you asked carefully. “And I don’t mean that in a sad way I’m not trying to self-deprecate. I just… I’ve been thinking about it. A lot.”

Earl Grey froze mid-reach for his napkin, caught completely off guard for what might’ve been the first time ever.

You continued before he could speak. “I mean, how do you know if it’s too soon? Like, maybe it’s just care. Or affection. Or something like love but not really it.”

He stared at you, brows furrowing slightly not in judgment, but in rare, genuine contemplation.

You gestured vaguely in the air, trying to explain. “I’m not unhappy. We’re… partners now, I think. He hasn’t said anything overly poetic since, which is weirdly comforting. It’s not grand gestures or dramatic confessions, just… quiet. Natural. Like we’re two close friends who occasionally kiss and study theory together. And that feels normal. But should it?”

The table was silent now your friends watching, not with pity, but with care. No one laughed or brushed it off.

“I just… don’t know if it’s supposed to feel like more. Or maybe it’s supposed to feel like this. Like something calm. Familiar. Comfortable. And I don’t know if that’s love or something else.”

You turned back to Earl Grey, eyes steady. “You always give me the most concise answers. So. Do you know what love feels like?”

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he set his napkin aside.

“I think,” he said, voice softer than usual, “that love doesn’t always announce itself with fanfare. Sometimes, it grows in quiet hours and shared routines. Sometimes it’s loud. Sometimes it’s gentle. But in all its forms, it’s not about how much it feels like something.”

He looked at you directly.

“It’s about whether it makes you more yourself. Whether you feel safer, more curious, more seen. Not just when it’s easy, but also when it’s hard. When you're not at your best. If someone still chooses to understand you in those moments, even when it would be easier not to… that might be love.”

You blinked, lips parting slightly.

Earl leaned back again, adjusting his sleeve. “But even then, love is not static. It changes. Grows. What it feels like now may not be what it feels like in a year.”

Chai exhaled, leaning her chin on her palm. “That was… beautiful.”

Hazelnut frowned a little. “I mean, yeah. I guess I agree.”

You sat there, letting his words settle in the space between your ribs.

Not an answer. But maybe something better.

A starting point. You stared at Earl Grey Cookie, the words he had just spoken echoing in your chest like a soft chime struck in the heart of a quiet cathedral. For a moment, you forgot to breathe.

“Earl…” you murmured, eyes wide, “how did you word that so beautifully?”

He didn’t meet your gaze.

Instead, he stared off slightly to the side, eyes fixed on nothing in particular, a distant look creeping into his normally unreadable expression. The tea in his cup had long since cooled, but his fingers remained wrapped around it like a tether to the present.

“…I thought once I felt it,” he said, his voice low not quite guarded, but measured.

Not for your sake.

For his.

You felt your heart still, your own breath quieter now as his words unraveled something more vulnerable than you had expected.

“Of course love changes,” he continued, almost to himself. “That’s what makes it so impossible to define. It grows, recedes, reshapes… But I know what it is.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was reverent.

Chai, for once, didn’t fill the space with teasing. She just watched him with the same awe-struck softness you felt creeping into your own chest.

Hazelnut Biscotti lowered his gaze slightly, respectful.

You didn’t ask who it had been. You didn’t have to. Somewhere between the distance in his voice and the strength in his words… you knew the answer wasn’t meant to be named.

It just was.

And that was enough.

You smiled gently at him, not pressing further.

“Thank you,” you said.

He nodded once, composed again, the moment sealed away behind his usual mask but not gone.

Not forgotten.

And somehow… it made the question in your heart feel a little less impossible. The conversation had drifted, as all good ones did softly, like mist curling away from morning tea.

No dramatic shifts. No clean cuts between topics or time. Just shared laughter, the slow stacking of empty plates, the warmth of familiarity, and the comfort of being surrounded by those who knew when to speak and when to simply be.

Somewhere between Earl Grey’s quiet reflection and Hazelnut’s reluctant second dessert, the sun had dipped low, casting golden light across the dining hall’s stone archways. The air had taken on that dimmer, cooler quality that meant class hours had long passed, and free time had become scarce once more.

The anticipation of tomorrow left a sour taste in your mouth. You didn’t think anything bad would come out of it but who knows. The next day was like any other and the hours seemed to slip away from you. Even during lunch, you were absent, caught up in your thoughts that seemed endless. Of course, that didn’t go unnoticed by your friends, which is why Chai insisted they drop you off with the sage himself. Something about ‘Knights can’t go without their steeds”.

And now, here you were.

The halls of the Scholar’s Wing were quiet again, washed in lantern light and the faint rustling of ancient banners. You stood before the carved door you knew too well, parchment scroll clutched in both hands like it was sacred, dangerous, or perhaps… deeply personal.

Chai Latte Cookie bounced on her heels beside you, practically glowing. “Okay, so remember shoulders back, voice steady, don’t crumple the scroll in panic”

“I won’t,” you muttered, eyes locked on the door. “Probably.”

Hazelnut Biscotti raised an eyebrow. “If he doesn’t agree, I’ll eat the dining hall’s jelly meatloaf for a week.”

Earl Grey Cookie offered a dignified nod. “You’ve edited it thoroughly. It’s a compelling argument.”

Chai smiled softly, squeezing your arm. “And it’s very you. If he says no… it’s not because it’s not good. It just means he’s being cryptic and annoying. You’ve got this.”

You took a slow breath, nodding. “Right.”

This wasn’t just an essay.

It was your most current fascination with him. One that started with curiosity, twisted into wonder, and now shimmered somewhere on the horizon between truth and vulnerability.

You weren’t sure what he’d say.

But you were ready to find out.

You turned toward the door.

Looked towards your friends for courage.

And knocked three times.

You heard his voice from the other side of the door smooth, composed, as always.

“Come in.”

You stepped through the threshold before your nerves had the chance to revolt, before your heart could second-guess the weight of the scroll in your hands or the practiced way you had folded it three times to make it feel more formal than it was. You moved past the threshold, into the warm glow of parchment and starlight that always seemed to fill his office.

Shadow Milk Cookie looked up from his notes, one hand still curled around a quill, the other resting near an open book. His gaze lifted to you, curious but not unkind his expression expectant.

But before he could say anything, you moved.

With every ounce of the determination your friends had just poured into you, you strode forward and held out the scroll between both hands.

He blinked.

Your expression was steady. Unflinching.

Like you were handing him something that could very well decide the future of magic itself.

He set his quill down with slow precision and took the scroll from your hands. The parchment barely made a sound between your fingers, but in your chest, your heart thudded like it echoed across stone halls.

Then, without a word, you turned on your heel.

And marched to the chair across from his desk.

But instead of sitting, you bent down and grabbed the legs of the chair with both hands.

You began to drag.

The wood groaned in protest as you struggled to maneuver it around the polished corner of the desk and just as you were halfway through gritting your teeth and about to commit to dragging it all the way-

It moved.

Soundlessly. Cleanly. As though the stone beneath it had turned to air.

You blinked. Your hands hovered in the air for a moment before you looked up.

Shadow Milk Cookie stood beside his desk now, parchment scroll in one hand, a long-suffering sigh escaping through his nose.

He didn’t say a word.

You offered a grin and settled into the chair now neatly aligned beside his, shoulder-to-shoulder. “Thank you. You're getting faster at that.”

“I was trying to save the floor.”

“I was trying to make a point,” you replied, folding your hands with faux dignity. “That this is a co-investigator level interaction.”

He arched a brow, gaze lowering to the scroll.

You nudged him slightly with your elbow. “Now read it carefully. Every word. Analyze it like it’s critical spell theory. This is very important.”

He looked at you again, eyes narrowing slightly with a glimmer of suspicion. “For science, I assume?”

“Exactly,” you said solemnly. “For science.”

He exhaled softly.

Then, without another word, he began to unroll the scroll.

You sat beside him, doing your best to appear calm, collected, and completely unaware of the fact that you were sitting next to the most unreadable person in the entire Academy with a ticking time bomb of magical curiosity in his hands.

This was fine.

You were fine.

You just… might pass out a little.

But for science? Worth it. You folded your hands in your lap to stop yourself from fidgeting, but it didn’t help much. Your knee still bounced the smallest bit, your shoulders tense despite your best efforts.

There was something deeply embarrassing about having someone read your work always had been. Even when it wasn’t personal.

Even when it was just a simple analysis on mana circuits or historical transmutations, there was always that flicker of vulnerability. That tiny voice whispering, What if it’s not good enough? What if they think it’s silly?

But this?

This wasn’t just coursework.

This was you asking the Sage of Truth to shapeshift.

This was every spiraling thought and late-night curiosity packed neatly into metaphors, magic theory, and if you were being honest at least two and a half emotionally compromised flourishes courtesy of Chai Latte Cookie.

And he was reading it.

Right next to you.

His eyes moved slowly down the page, calm and steady. His posture unchanged, expression unreadable. Not a twitch of an eyebrow. Not a quirk of his lips. Just the soft rustle of parchment as he unrolled a bit more, and the occasional pause that made your heart leap into your throat.

You tried to steal a glance at his face just a peek.

But there was nothing.

Not disapproval. Not amusement. Just… silence.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how loud your own thoughts were. Every second felt like it stretched too long, too wide.

Still, you waited.

Because despite the silence, despite the burn of embarrassment crawling up your neck… you wanted him to see it.

Because this wasn’t just for science.

This was yours.

And right now, that had to be enough. You waited.

Not the impatient kind of waiting, the fidgeting, time-checking, foot-tapping sort but the quiet, breath-held kind. The kind of stillness that only happened when something delicate was unfolding, and you didn’t want to move in case it shattered.

You could feel your own heartbeat in your throat as he reached the end of the scroll. His eyes lingered on the final line Chai’s idea, something about “truth reshaping itself not to deceive, but to reveal what curiosity dares to ask.” It felt too dramatic when you wrote it. It still did now.

And then he looked at you.

He didn’t speak right away.

Just regarded you with that steady, deep gaze mismatched eyes so calm they made the silence feel like part of the conversation.

You braced yourself.

“This is…” He paused, folding the parchment carefully with deliberate hands. “Remarkably structured.”

You blinked. “Wait structured?” You knew it was but to hear it from him was another thing.

“A logical progression. Efficient use of magical precedent. Clear intent.” He placed the scroll down on the desk with reverence, as though it were a thesis submitted to a higher council.

You stared at him, unblinking. “That’s all you got from it?”

He turned to you fully now, his expression softening just slightly.

“And charming,” he added.

Your heart skipped.

“I did read every word. Including the parts where you tried to convince me this was purely academic,” he said, lips curling just faintly.

You opened your mouth to object but he held up a hand.

“No need to deny it. I appreciate the effort. And the… scholarly fervor.” He leaned back a little in his chair, gaze thoughtful. “You’ve always been curious. But this kind of curiosity is… different. More personal.”

You looked down, fingers twitching in your lap. “Well, yeah. I guess… I just wanted to see. To know. It’s not like I’d publish a paper on it or anything.”

“I know,” he said gently. “And I am not dismissing the request.”

Your head snapped up. “Wait, really?”

His smile was small. But it was real.

“I’m merely considering my terms.”

You gawked. “Terms?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Surely, you didn’t expect something like this to be without cost.”

You blinked. “Are you saying I have to pay you to shapeshift?”

“Not in gold,” he mused. “But perhaps in kind. One trade of curiosity for another.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely.”

You huffed, slouching in your seat. “I can’t believe you’re making this into a negotiation.”

He raised a brow. “It’s what scholars do.”

You exhaled sharply… but a smile tugged at the corner of your lips despite yourself.

“Fine,” you said. “But I want it noted that this began with you withholding cosmic-level shapeshifting powers and me just wanting to observe.”

“And now,” he said softly, “we’re here. At the edge of something new.”

You stared at him for a long, quiet beat.

And, just beneath your breath, you said, “I can live with that.”

You leaned in a little, eyes narrowing not with suspicion, but with the kind of sharpened curiosity that always surfaced when he dangled something just out of reach. It was like he’d placed a rare tome on the top shelf and was waiting to see if you’d dare climb for it.

“…Alright,” you said, voice low but certain. “What are your terms?”

Shadow Milk Cookie looked almost too pleased. Not smug. Not condescending. Just… quietly, profoundly satisfied, like he’d known you would ask from the moment you handed him the scroll.

He folded his hands atop the parchment, his expression measured but still touched with that unreadable warmth that always seemed to creep in when he thought you weren’t looking.

“My terms,” he repeated slowly, “are quite simple.”

You raised a brow. “Simple for you or for me?”

He inclined his head, ignoring the jab entirely.

“One; You must allow me to ask a question of equal weight.”

You blinked. “That’s… vague.”

“Precisely,” he said, tone maddeningly light. “You may not know when I’ll ask. Or what it will be.”

“So you’re setting a trap.”

“I’m offering balance.”

You gave him a long look. “Fine. One mysterious, possibly ominous question to be determined later. What else?”

“Two…” He reached for a quill, idly spinning it between his fingers. “You must promise not to run.”

Your brow furrowed slightly. “Why would I run?”

He glanced at you not with teasing, not with challenge. Just… something steadier. Something deeper.

“Because,” he said softly, “when truth is given form, it often changes the one who sought it.”

You held his gaze for a moment, and something in your chest tightened just a little.

Still, you nodded. “Okay. I won’t run.”

He considered you, as if weighing whether to believe you.

Then, slowly, he nodded once in return.

“That’s it?” you asked, your voice quiet now. “Just those two things?”

“Is that not enough?”

You hesitated then exhaled.

“…No. It’s fair.”

He said nothing for a moment.

Then leaned in just slightly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Then the terms are accepted.”

And somewhere, beneath all the words exchanged between you, a quiet agreement settled. Not signed in ink or blood but in trust.

And maybe something a little closer to wonder. You stared at him, your curiosity prickling again, even sharper now that you’d agreed to his cryptic little bargain.

“…What is it you wish to know?” you asked, voice steady but soft. “If I’m agreeing to answer one question of equal weight… then what is it you’re so eager to ask?”

You expected him to deflect. Maybe lean back in his chair, say something evasive like in time or you’ll know when it matters. Maybe arch a brow and smirk like he so often did when you wandered too close to truths he wasn’t ready to name.

But he didn’t.

He just watched you.

And then

“I don’t know yet,” he said.

That stopped you.

You blinked. “You… don’t know?”

He shook his head, slow and honest. “Not yet. But I will.”

You tilted your head, wary. “That’s a little unnerving.”

“I could lie,” he offered, lips curling slightly.

“Please don’t. You’re the last person I need lying to me.”

“I wouldn’t,” he said quietly. “Not to you.”

You sat back, the weight of that truth settling into your chest like something warm and strangely grounding. There was no game here. No dramatic setup. Just honesty clear, rare, and a little too vulnerable if you thought about it for too long.

You looked down at your hands, thumbs brushing over each other.

“And when you do figure out the question?”

“I’ll ask it.”

“And I’ll have to answer.”

His voice was barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

You met his gaze again, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “I hope it’s something good.”

“It will be,” he said, and somehow it felt like a promise not of comfort or safety, but of knowing. Of being seen in a way that went past observation and into belief.

You nodded once.

And sat there beside him, heart full of stars and questions. You rested your elbow on the desk, cheek in your hand, still watching him carefully half wary, half fascinated. The scroll between you was no longer just a scroll. It was a pact. One sealed with curiosity and trust, and maybe a little too much emotional investment for your comfort.

“…So,” you said slowly, eyes narrowing, “does that mean I’ll only get to see you shapeshift after you ask your mysterious life-altering question?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he took his time of course he did fingers trailing lightly along the edge of the parchment, as if rereading your words in silence.

You waited, trying not to fidget.

Eventually, he spoke, voice calm. “That depends.”

“On?”

His eyes met yours, something unreadable flickering behind them.

“On whether I think you’re ready to see me like that.”

Your breath hitched.

“…Like what?” you asked, the words coming out softer than you meant them to.

He tilted his head, gaze unwavering. “As something unfamiliar. As something outside the image you’ve grown used to.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the gravity in his tone.

“I don’t want to unsettle you,” he added, more gently now. “That’s not the point of this. You asked out of curiosity. But if I do this, if I show you a version of myself that’s entirely unlike what you’ve known… I want you to understand it’s still me. That the truth doesn’t vanish just because the form changes.”

You swallowed, your voice barely audible. “I would still know you.”

He watched you a moment longer, as if searching for the depth of your certainty.

Then, finally, he nodded. “Then no. You will not have to wait until I ask the question.”

Your heart fluttered.

“But,” he added, with a glint of amusement now dancing at the edges of his lips, “I reserve the right to make you wait just long enough to drive you mildly mad.”

You groaned, slumping forward with your forehead on the desk. “I knew there was a catch.”

His chuckle rippled through the air like warm silk.

And somehow, the idea of waiting didn’t seem so terrible after all. You lifted your head off the desk just enough to glare at him, squinting like you were trying to set his robes on fire with sheer willpower.

“You’re being unfair,” you declared, pointing an accusing finger at him. “I put together a well-researched, carefully-worded, academically sound paper with citations, by the way and you’re going to tease me? After all that?”

Shadow Milk Cookie, ever composed, simply raised an eyebrow, lips threatening the faintest smirk. “You also included a metaphor about truth wearing earrings.”

“Poetic license!” you snapped. “Chai said it was evocative.”

“It was certainly something.”

You groaned, slumping dramatically back into your seat with your arms folded. “I deserve better.”

He leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “You believe scholarly diligence should be rewarded with spectacle.”

“Yes,” you grumbled. “I believe me being very nice, very respectful, and putting my soul into that scroll means I should absolutely get to see you shapeshift, like, today. Or now. Or, better yet yesterday.”

He watched you silently for a moment, a trace of that fond, unreadable amusement still hovering in his eyes.

“You truly are relentless when you want something,” he said finally.

“I’m a scholar,” you said, lifting your chin. “It’s my job to question the universe. And also… you.”

“Then you’ve succeeded.” He set the scroll aside, folding his hands. “The universe is duly questioned.”

“And?”

“And I never said no,” he murmured, voice low and deliberately maddening.

You narrowed your eyes. “You are enjoying this.”

“Immensely.”

You let out another sigh and leaned back against the chair, arms still crossed. “I’m going to file an academic grievance.”

“I’ll be sure to grade it personally.”

You shot him a look, but you were already smiling again, despite yourself.

Because as much as he was teasing you he hadn’t said no.

And that, more than anything, meant it was only a matter of time. You glanced sideways at him, still slouched in your chair, your arms crossed in a dramatic show of indignation. But after a beat after the laughter had softened and his smirk still lingered you let the question slip.

“…What if we run out of time?”

You said it lightly, jokingly, like it was just another thing to throw into the endless back-and-forth between you. Like you were still riding the high of teasing him. Like it didn’t matter.

But he didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even smile.

The silence that followed was subtle, but immediate.

He turned his head toward you fully now, the low golden lamplight casting a soft shadow across the edge of his face. His expression wasn’t unreadable not this time. It was something else.

Still.

Quiet.

Serious.

“Then I will regret,” he said slowly, “not showing you sooner.”

Your breath caught, the shift in atmosphere pulling the words right out of your chest. The weight of his voice was different now, not sharp, not heavy, but true. Like something ancient being spoken for the first time in a very long time.

“I may live longer,” he went on, his gaze unwavering, “but that doesn’t mean I am exempt from time. Or from what it takes.”

You sat up straighter.

“…Takes?”

He nodded once. “Patience. Intention. Restraint. All things I wield because I have to because I must maintain control. Because if I give in to every impulse, then I become no different than the truths I’ve warned others about: overwhelming. Dangerous. Absolute.”

You swallowed.

He looked down briefly, folding his hands together again. “But if I ever did run out of time… I would rather be remembered by you as known, than as a mystery you never had the chance to understand.”

The quiet between you stretched. It wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was reverent.

You blinked slowly, the weight of his words settling in your chest like a stone dropped in still water.

“…You’re not a mystery,” you said softly.

He looked at you.

“Not to me,” you added, quieter now. “Not anymore.” This of course was a lie but it felt right to say.

He exhaled slowly, gaze warm and distant at once. “Then perhaps time is not the thing we should fear.”

You stared at him for a moment longer, unsure of what to say. What could be said, really?

So instead, you whispered “Then don’t wait too long.” The weight of the moment lingered in the air between you soft, thick, impossible to ignore.

His words still echoed in your chest. “Then I will regret not showing you sooner.” And the way he said it not with drama, but with sincerity lodged somewhere too close to your heart for comfort.

Which was exactly why you did what you always did.

You reached over, grabbed the scroll you’d painstakingly written and edited with your friends’ help, and waved it in the air dramatically.

“Well,” you said, voice suddenly bright, “if you do run out of time, I’m keeping this and publishing it under ‘Unfulfilled Magical Requests and the Tragedy of Teasing Professors.’ Subtitle; Why Saying ‘Maybe’ Is Emotional Warfare.”

He blinked, visibly caught off guard for a second not at the words, but at the sharp shift.

And then, as expected, he exhaled a quiet sound that might’ve been a laugh. Barely there. But real.

Your tone only got more theatrical. “I’ll submit it to the Academy archive. It’ll become required reading in Magical Ethics courses. You’ll go down in history as the Sage of Selective Silence.”

He arched a brow, amused again, watching you with that knowing gaze of his the one that always saw a little too much.

“You always do this,” he murmured, not unkindly.

You froze mid-rant. “Do what?”

“When emotions get too close.” He tilted his head, gently, like he was observing you the way one observes the stars curious, fascinated, never quite needing to name what they are.

“You run. Not with your feet. But with your words.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Fumbled. “I… I don’t run. I sidestep. Gracefully.”

He gave you that faint, insufferable smile. “You deflect.”

You threw your arms up. “Okay, fine, I deflect. But I do it charmingly.”

“And with purpose,” he said softly. “I’m not blaming you.”

That shut you up again.

Just for a second.

You looked away, hands lowering to your lap.

“I just…” you mumbled, “I’m not always sure how to hold things like that. The big stuff. It doesn’t sit right in my chest. It… gets too quiet. Too real. So if I make it lighter, I can breathe again.”

There was no judgment in his silence.

Only understanding.

“I’ll let you know,” he said, “before I show you.”

You looked up.

“Before I shift,” he clarified. “So that you’re not caught by something too heavy.”

You smiled, soft and crooked. “See? That’s why you’re the best mentor-slash-possibly-more-than-that-but-we’re-still-not-labelling-it.”

He chuckled under his breath.

And just like that, the weight in the room eased dissolved into something warmer, lighter.

Exactly how you liked it. He let the quiet linger a moment longer, eyes still on you not dissecting, not calculating, just… aware. Then, with a soft exhale, he leaned back slightly and tapped a nearby stack of parchment with the edge of his finger, drawing the moment to a gentle close.

“But,” he said, voice smoothing back into his usual scholar’s tone cool, calm, gently chiding, “as much as I enjoy doing nothing with you…”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Thanks. So romantic.”

He ignored the comment entirely. “...Your academics come first.”

You groaned, already slumping in your seat. “Nooooo.”

“Yes,” he said with a little more firmness now. “Your finals are approaching. You will need to revise elemental stabilization matrices, temporal layering, and the ethics of magical application Professor Almond Custard’s section in particular will be weighed heavily.”

You tried to groan louder, but he continued smoothly.

“You should also be prepared to interpret dream-sequence transcriptions and disprove flawed magical constructs. There will be case studies. And likely, one open-ended essay.”

“Can’t I just write about how emotionally repressed you are and pass with extra credit?” you muttered under your breath.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Only if you can do so with proper citations.”

You let your head thunk against the back of the chair dramatically. “I miss when this was about shapeshifting.”

He smirked. “This is about preparing you for the world beyond me.”

You blinked, then squinted at him. “That… sounded way more ominous than you meant it to.”

He gave a small, amused nod. “Possibly.”

Still half-draped across the chair, you sighed loudly but turned your head to glance at him from the corner of your eye. “Fine. Academics first.”

His voice softened just slightly again, enough to make it linger. “Always.”

You looked away, smiling faintly.

Always… but maybe not forever. And just like that, the mood shifted not in the jarring way, but with the smooth precision of turning a page in a very familiar book.

He began going over the foundational elements again: temporal layering and how unstable weaves behave when disrupted by external magical sources, the difference between intention-led spellcraft and reflexive casting, how to analyze illusory magic without being misled by form.

You sat up straighter, less slouch and more scholar now, drawn into the rhythm of it. It wasn’t like lecture. It was quieter. Closer. The kind of exchange where your thoughts could unravel safely where you could be wrong, get messy, ask without embarrassment.

He would correct you, sure, but never harshly.

You got through the key points on stabilizing enchantments, and you were halfway through the philosophy behind magical ethics debating the fine line between intention and consequence when something in your brain clicked into place.

“Oh! Wait!” you straightened suddenly, eyes brightening. “That reminds me of something Almond Custard said last week during lecture, about layered intention in temporal folds! I thought it was going to be boring, but it wasn’t it was actually kind of brilliant”

He paused mid-note, already familiar with your tone. “Go on.”

“Okay, so,” you said, already talking with your hands, “he was going on about the theory that when you perform a time-anchored spell, the intent you embed in it doesn't just affect the spell in that moment, it actually reverberates backward into the framework of the spell. It influences how the spell began forming even before you consciously made it! Isn’t that wild? Like, magic reaching backwards through your own process of thought!”

You barely registered that he’d stopped writing and was now watching you just listening.

“So technically, that means spells are always a little bit alive, right? Not just in how they act, but in how they echo. Which also made me think, what about spells that go wrong because the caster’s intent wasn’t stable to begin with? Not because they didn’t mean to do it right, but because their emotions were split? Can you even fix that if it’s embedded into the foundation of the magic before you even consciously realize it?”

You leaned forward, completely lost in your own spiraling fascination now. “And then I wondered does that mean if someone has really conflicting emotions, they’re always casting unstable magic? And what if the magic responds by changing in ways we don’t even detect because the system we use to measure it doesn’t account for the emotional resonance inp”

“You memorized all of this?” he asked, quietly.

You blinked mid-ramble, realizing you hadn’t taken a breath in quite some time. “Uh. Yeah? Sort of. Not intentionally. I just thought it was really cool, and I kept thinking about it, and then suddenly I was writing notes in the margin of my spellbook and-”

He nodded slowly.

You hesitated, glancing at him.

He was smiling.

Not his usual, teasing sort of smile. Not even the fond one he sometimes wore when you said something accidentally poetic.

This was softer. Subtler.

So you took a breath. Sat back.

And kept going. You didn’t mean to keep going.

You really didn’t.

But once the words started, once the thought had begun to spill forward, there was no stopping it. The idea kept unraveling, tugging at every half-formed theory you’d scribbled in the margins of your notebook, every late-night thought you hadn’t been able to let go of. And he just sat there, quietly, without so much as a breath of interruption.

“-and I mean, if magical intention does retroactively shape a spell’s formation, then that would explain why some spells collapse even when the mechanics are perfect, right? Because the caster isn’t emotionally consistent. So the spell reflects that instability, and maybe that’s why certain enchantments degrade faster in emotionally charged environments especially in collaborative spellcasting! Because two people means two layers of intent, and if they’re not aligned, then the foundation is compromised before it even stabilizes-"

You paused only to breathe, your hands gesturing in sweeping arcs as your brain tumbled faster than your words could follow.

"and what if that’s why ancient spells needed entire rituals to stabilize emotional intent? Like, not just precision of word or motion, but the actual state of the person casting. They knew it, right? That the heart informs the spell just as much as the incantation? What if that’s what we’re missing in modern instruction-”

You stopped.

Not because you’d run out of thoughts, stars, you had so many more but because you finally noticed the silence again. The kind that meant you were being watched, and not just watched, but heard.

You turned.

He hadn’t moved.

Shadow Milk Cookie sat beside you, one arm resting on the desk, the other relaxed in his lap. His expression wasn’t the usual calm, unreadable veil you’d grown used to.

He looked…

Content.

Not the fleeting contentment that came from a good book or a solved problem. No, it was something deeper. Something that settled quietly into the space between you. As if he had been waiting not for you to stop talking, but simply to be there while you did.

Not once had he tried to redirect you. Not once had he told you to focus or stay on topic.

He had let you speak. Let you spill, without judgment, without impatience. Just listened, as though every spiraling tangent was worthy of his time.

And when your voice finally trailed off, breathless and wide-eyed, he simply said “You’ve thought about this deeply.”

You flushed, suddenly self-conscious now that the adrenaline had burned off. “yeah. Sorry. I know I talk too much sometimes. When something gets stuck in my head, it stays there until I-”

“I know.”

You blinked.

He looked at you again, gaze unwavering.

“And I’m glad you shared it with me.”

The words hit soft, but true like all his truths did. Not loud. Not showy.

But deep enough to echo.

And for a moment, you forgot the embarrassment entirely.

Because being heard like that?

That felt like magic too. You shifted in your seat, your fingers idly tracing the edge of the desk as your thoughts, still fired up from your last tangent, began to circle back to something else you hadn’t planned on bringing up. You hesitated but only for a second.

“So… um.” You glanced at him. “Not that I was looking for your papers specifically, but I-sort of ran into a few. On purpose.”

His brow lifted slightly. “On purpose?”

“Not in a weird way!” you said quickly. “I just… yours were the most detailed. They cited things no one else did, and you reference primary sources everyone else avoids because they’re obscure or out of translation. So I kind of... leaned toward them. That’s all.”

He said nothing, but the corners of his mouth tugged in the faintest way that suggested he was either amused, flattered, or both.

You cleared your throat and pushed forward. “One of them the one on emotionally synchronized casting you mentioned that intention and magical efficiency increase when the spellcaster’s emotional state aligns with the elemental resonance of the spell being cast. I wanted to ask what you meant in the part where you talked about ‘harmonic temperance as a conduit of magical fidelity’ because I kind of get it, but also kind of didn’t. I think you were saying the more regulated the emotion, the stronger the anchor, but…”

You trailed off, looking at him expectantly.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepling. “That’s a fair interpretation. But it’s less about regulation and more about clarity. If you’re angry and know you’re angry, and the spell is born of that emotion, it’s clearer than if you’re conflicted and trying to hide that anger while casting.”

You nodded, thoughtful. “Right. That makes sense. And I actually tried it.”

He blinked. “You what?”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them. “I tried using the same spell basic levitation but in different moods. I kept everything else consistent. Stance, intent, recitation speed. But one time I did it while I was really upset. Another time when I was focused. Another time when I was… not thrilled but not miserable. Just a little sad.”

He stared at you now, expression unreadable again but in the way that meant he was definitely reading everything.

“And I know I probably shouldn’t have,” you added quickly, panic creeping into your tone as you waved your hands. “I mean, I know it’s unstable casting while upset is basically asking for backlash. I didn’t do anything dangerous, I swear! But I just… wanted to see. I kept it small. Nothing got flung across the room! Just… you know. Some unexpected hover-jitters.”

You winced. “I forgot I didn’t want to tell you.”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“I mean, I know you’re going to say it was reckless and dumb and you’d be right but-”

“I’m not angry.”

You froze mid-babble.

“…You’re not?”

He shook his head, voice calm. “Curious. And mildly exasperated.”

You exhaled in relief. “Oh. That’s fine.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Fine?”

“I’ve lived with exasperation before. I can handle that.”

He let out a slow breath and leaned forward, resting one elbow on the desk as he studied you.

“You shouldn’t test unstable casting conditions without supervision,” he said, “but your observation was not without merit. And your control, evidently, was sufficient.”

“…So you’re not going to scold me?”

“Oh, I absolutely will.” His voice was sharp, but his expression softened again. “But later. For now…”

He tilted his head slightly.

“Tell me what else you found.”

And just like that, you forgot you were supposed to be nervous.

Because there was something about the way he said it quiet, steady, and open that reminded you this wasn’t just your curiosity anymore.

It was shared.

So you did.

You told him everything. Of course, it didn’t last.

The moment the last of your excited words trailed off, the Sage of Truth went perfectly still. Too still.

You knew that stillness. You recognized it.

It was the calm before the storm, not the shouting kind, but the quieter, more dangerous kind. The kind that came with controlled words and an expression that said, You’re lucky I like you, because otherwise this would be a formal disciplinary hearing.

He closed the parchment he had been idly referencing, set it aside, and laced his fingers together on the desk in front of him.

“I want to be very clear,” he began, his voice calm too calm. “You’re telling me you willingly cast spells while emotionally compromised. Alone. Repeatedly. Without consulting anyone. Without recording your safeguards. Without a controlled environment. And without protective wards.”

You blinked. “...Okay when you say it like that-”

“Because that is exactly how I’m going to say it,” he interrupted, expression firm. “Do you know how many recorded magical accidents come from spells cast in a state of emotional instability?”

You slumped slightly. “Yes.”

“Do you know how often those spells backfire in ways that don’t harm the caster, but others around them?”

“Yes.”

“Then why-”

“I had wards!” you insisted. “Not strong ones, but I was careful! I picked a classroom no one was using! I triple-checked the threshold sigils!”

He gave you that look again the one that felt like he was peeling back every layer of your argument in silence.

And you did what you always did when confronted by well-earned disappointment.

You tuned him out.

Not fully. Not rudely. You just… let your focus drift. You knew the consequences. You knew it had been risky. You weren’t proud of it. You didn’t regret it either, but you knew it wasn’t something he could condone.

Still, as he went on listing magical theory, emotional resonance thresholds, the dangers of internal misalignment you found yourself staring at the edge of his desk, at the way his fingers moved when he spoke, the way his voice dipped not with anger, but worry.

That’s what stung most.

The fact that beneath the precise scolding and the well-structured warnings, what you heard clearest was: you could have been hurt.

“…And if anything had gone wrong,” he said, at last finishing, “do you think I would have forgiven myself?”

Your head lifted at that, a little startled.

He hadn’t raised his voice. But the weight behind those words that got your attention.

You blinked slowly.

“…No,” you said, a little quieter. “I guess not.”

His shoulders eased slightly, just enough to suggest he hadn’t even realized they’d tensed.

He looked at you. And now his tone was soft. Controlled. But not cold.

“Next time,” he said, “you don’t do it alone.”

You nodded, subdued now, guilt settling in with a quiet sort of ache. “Okay.”

He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose like you’d aged him a century.

You offered a tentative smile. “You done?”

“For now.”

You smirked faintly. “You sure?”

“I could assign a research essay on magical misfires.”

You gasped. “Cruelty.”

He didn’t smile.

But his eyes did. You had barely begun to relax sinking ever so slightly into your chair with that tentative sense of okay, he’s done, I survived when you heard him shift.

Not a dramatic shift.

Just a quiet repositioning of his posture, the slight realignment of his spine, the way he folded his hands again with renewed purpose.

Oh no.

You straightened instantly. “Wait there’s more?”

He didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

You groaned. “But you just said-”

“I said I was done for now. That ‘now’ has passed.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already on a roll.

“You treat magic like it’s something pliable,” he said calmly. “Something that will always bend around your curiosity. But it doesn’t bend. Not without cost. The difference between exploration and recklessness lies in preparation. You know better.”

You winced slightly, eyes darting away. “It was just levitation-”

“It could have been anything.”

You sighed and leaned your cheek on your hand, muttering under your breath, “Truth doesn’t punish the seeker for being curious. It simply demands they be prepared.”

He paused.

A long pause.

You slowly looked up at him.

His expression was flat. Deadpan.

“…Did you just quote me at me?” he asked.

You tried very hard not to smile. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“Oh, I noticed.”

You gave him your best innocent blink. “You’re the one who said it.”

“And you’re using it to dodge accountability.”

“I’m using it to highlight that I was seeking knowledge with intention and poetic integrity.”

He stared at you.

You gave him a small, helpless shrug. “For science?”

“...You are infuriating,” he said, and somehow despite the words his voice was so fond it made your stomach flip.

You grinned. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”

“I keep hoping it won’t be,” he muttered.

And then, because you were shameless: “You said hope was an enduring trait of scholars.”

He gave a slow exhale, leaned back in his chair, and covered his face with one hand.

“…Stars preserve me.” You watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose, fingers pressed lightly to his temple like you were the cause of every headache he’d ever had past, present, and hypothetical future. The silence stretched long enough that you dared to hope.

“...So,” you said, lifting your chin, daring to test the waters, “are you done lecturing me now?”

His hand dropped.

He gave you a look. The kind that should’ve turned you to stone if magical eye-rolling were a real curse. “No,” he said flatly.

You groaned. “Come on-”

But he was already on his feet, pacing behind his desk now not dramatically, not angrily. Just with that purposeful stride he got when his thoughts were lining up like dominoes ready to fall.

“You cast unsupervised magic while emotionally compromised,” he began, holding up one finger. “In an unsecured setting,” another finger “without proper safeguards or documentation-”

“I had thresholds-”

“without proper safeguards,” he repeated, louder this time, “and you withheld that information from me until it accidentally slipped during a completely unrelated tangent.”

You huffed. “I wasn’t trying to hide it! I just… didn’t want to hear the lecture!”

“Then why would you remind me to keep going?” he demanded, clearly bewildered by your logic.

“Because I thought we reached the natural conclusion!”

“There is no natural conclusion when you treat magic like an emotional experiment and use yourself as the test subject!”

“I was safe!”

“You were lucky!” His voice was sharper now, not loud but edged. It cut more because it wasn’t fury. It was something closer to fear, pressed down into composure. “Luck is not a framework. It is not a shield. It is not something I want you relying on. You-”

He stopped.

Just for a moment.

Then, much quieter, under his breath but loud enough for you to hear:

“Stars, I could’ve lost you.”

You froze.

But he didn’t let the weight linger this time.

He turned back toward you, more composed now, drawing in a breath that steadied him like it had steadied you so many times before.

“I’m lecturing you,” he said, “because I care.”

He crossed his arms, the motion calm, firm. “Because you’re not just a scholar. You’re my scholar. And if anything happened to you because of something preventable because you pushed too far, too fast, without thinking I wouldn’t just be furious. I would be devastated.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Because he wasn’t being dramatic. Or manipulative. Or even theatrical.

He was being honest.

And that somehow hurt more than any scolding could have.

“…Okay,” you said softly, after a beat.

And you meant it this time.

He watched you for a moment longer, his jaw tight but slowly, his shoulders eased.

Still, he wasn’t quite done.

“You’ll come to me next time,” he said, voice even. “If you want to experiment. If something upsets you. If you need supervision. Or help. Or… anything.”

You nodded again, smaller. “I will.”

He exhaled.

Then sat back down beside you.

“…Good.”

And for a few seconds, neither of you said a word.

You just sat there. Both a little overwhelmed. Both still holding onto the edges of something fragile. The rest of the tutoring session passed with a kind of soft, deliberate quiet.

You returned to the notes event manipulation, cross-channel mana resonance, comparative theory between willed enchantments and reflexive charmcraft. Nothing too complicated. Nothing too simple. Just enough to fill the space between you, to let things settle without pressing too hard on what had just been said.

He explained things clearly, as he always did. You asked your questions, less playful now, but no less curious. He corrected your diagrams with gentle precision, sometimes conjuring a flicker of light to demonstrate, other times just guiding your hand across the page.

It all felt normal.

Mostly.

But not entirely.

The echoes of his words from earlier still clung to the edges of your awareness. Not in a sharp or stinging way but like the faint warmth of a fire that had already burned through its most dangerous heat. That lingering feeling of something having mattered.

And you knew he felt it too.

Because even though he returned to his composed rhythm, he didn’t move quite the same. He sat a little closer than usual. Watched you a little longer between your thoughts. And when your brow furrowed at one particularly dense passage, his hand came to rest gently on the edge of your parchment steadying, grounding without comment.

By the time you reached the end of the session, you’d covered more than you expected to. You’d understood more than you thought you would.

And yet, underneath it all, that earlier moment still pulsed.

As if some invisible line between you had been redrawn.

Not a boundary crossed.

But something acknowledged.

As you gathered your notes and slid them back into your bag, he said nothing but you could feel his gaze on you again.

You glanced up at him, offering a small, tired smile.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you said quietly.

He inclined his head. “And I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

You stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and looked toward the door. Then back to him.

“I guess we’re even.”

He didn’t smile, not really.

But the look he gave you then the soft glint in his eyes, the way his head tilted just so, like he was considering something precious was more than enough.

“Until next time,” he murmured.

You nodded once.

And left with more than just your notes. By the time you made it to dinner, the smell of baked cheese rolls and grilled rosemary vegetables hit you like a sigh of relief.

The hall was already buzzing with familiar chatter, forks clinking, laughter echoing between rows of stone pillars and there, in your usual corner, sat your friends. Chai Latte Cookie was already waving frantically the moment she spotted you, nearly knocking over her cup of tea in the process.

“You’re late,” she said the moment you dropped into the seat beside her. “We were this close to staging a recovery mission. Again.”

Earl Grey Cookie looked up from his notes, though his expression betrayed only mild concern. “You missed the raspberry lemonade. It went fast.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, across from you, handed you a roll before you even asked. “Rough tutoring session?” You sighed, resting your arms on the table. “You have no idea.”

A/N So apparently this didn't get posted I clicked post now yesterday night but I checked my page and it's not there... So late upload MY BAD GUYS

also I just want to note there is no reason why mc would run my thinking for why I did that is just because he's making sure to cover all his bases because quite honestly the reasoning he provides isn't great if I'm being honest.

Also just completed my first work week woohoo!!!

anyways...

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

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