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odileeclipse · 8 days ago

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In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 21

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When morning came…The door to the lecture hall swung shut behind you with a dull thud, the echo trailing like the remnants of Professor Almond Custard’s latest rambling theory, something about spontaneous infusion patterns that had your mind swimming more than it should have.

You rubbed at your eyes, blinking away the residual glaze of boredom. Your mind dozed off before you knew it whatever was said was lost on you.

“Another riveting lecture,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie drawled, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he caught up with you in the hall.

“I think my soul left my body around minute twenty.”

“You lasted that long?” Chai Latte Cookie teased, linking her arm through yours as the group moved toward the central corridor. “I lost interest when he pulled out the second chalkboard.”

“I rather liked the second chalkboard,” Earl Grey Cookie said smoothly, appearing at your side with his usual effortless poise. Hazelnut Biscotti rolling his eyes trailing behind Earl Grey. “Though I suppose it’s only natural that one must enjoy chaos to appreciate it.”

“Speaking of chaos,” you muttered, squinting up at him, “you said you’d show us what’s required for the Spire, right?”

Earl Grey Cookie gave a short nod. “Ah. Yes. I was wondering when you’d ask.” He gestured for you all to follow him and led you through the glass-paneled corridor that cut through the Scholar’s Wing like a vein of light. The noonday sun spilled through in dappled patterns, illuminating golden dust motes as they danced lazily in the air. He stopped just outside the smaller lecture annex and pulled a folded parchment from the inner pocket of his coat. The seal on it shimmered faintly with magic, stamped with the same sigil that had been on the article you'd read about the Spire. “This,” Earl Grey began, unfolding the paper with careful precision, “is what’s required to be considered for student placement at the Spire of Knowledge.” He held it out so everyone could see.

You and the others leaned in, eyes scanning the list.

Preliminary Application Requirements for the Spire of Knowledge (Student Research Cohort): -Demonstrated academic excellence in magical theory and application (minimum GPA threshold: 3.5) - One letter of recommendation from a faculty member (Spire-affiliated or Senior Scholar preferred) -A minimum of one completed research project within your department -Submission of an intent proposal: a 750-word document explaining your desired research path and its relevance to the future of magical study -Optional: portfolio of magical constructs, spellwork matrices, or theoretical contributions

Your mouth felt a little dry as you reached the bottom. “That’s… a lot.”

Earl Grey tilted his head. “They want promising scholars. Not perfect ones. But those who can prove they’re capable of more than passive learning.”

“You said this was optional?” Hazelnut Biscotti asked, pointing to the final note about portfolios.

Earl Grey nodded. “Optional, but highly encouraged. It’s a way to stand out. The review board will be selective.”

Chai Latte Cookie leaned closer to you, whispering, “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.” You nodded slowly, still taking it all in. The list in your hands was more than a formality; it was a door. One that could lead you there. To the Spire. To him.

“Applications open next month,” Earl Grey added, tucking the parchment back into his coat. “That gives you a few weeks to pull things together. I’d suggest speaking with your current professors about research topics, if you haven’t already.”

Hazelnut let out a low whistle. “Well, this just got a whole lot more real.” You stood quietly for a moment, the magnitude of it settling in your bones. Research. Letters. The proposal. You could do this. You had to do this.

For yourself. And for the chance to be where he was, too. “Think we’ll make it?” you asked, mostly to yourself.

Earl Grey regarded you with something almost fond in his expression. “I think you’re more than capable,” he said simply.

Chai Latte bumped your shoulder with hers. “We’re doing it together, remember?” You looked between them Hazelnut Biscotti already plotting aloud how to spin his latest project, Earl Grey calmly listing professors who might agree to sponsor a recommendation, Chai Latte’s quiet determination and felt the edges of your fear soften. Together. That part was never in doubt. You exhaled, a slow breath, one hand curling around the strap of your bag.

“Then let’s get to work.” You chewed the inside of your cheek for a moment before glancing up at him. “Earl?” Your voice was smaller than you meant for it to be, but the moment felt fragile somehow, and you didn’t want to break it. “Would you… help me organize everything?”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned back in his chair, letting out a soft laugh. “What, you don’t trust us to help?”

You shot him a look. “I trust you to set my desk on fire by accident.”

“Rude,” he grinned, clearly unbothered.

Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “Fair, though.”

You turned back to Earl Grey, offering a sheepish half-smile. “No offense to either of them, but… you just have a way of making things make sense. I don’t want to mess this up.” Earl Grey Cookie tilted his head, gaze unreadable for a moment before softening, just slightly. “We’ll all help,” he said. “That was always the plan.” His eyes met yours, steady and sincere. “But I’ll make sure your materials are in order. I know how… overwhelmed you can get.”

You winced, just a little. “Is it that obvious?”

“To most? No.” His voice was low, reassuring. “To me? You forget how long I’ve been watching you wrestle with your notes during every group study session.” A flush crept into your cheeks, but it faded quickly beneath the warmth blooming in your chest. There was no judgment in his tone just gentle honesty, the kind that made you feel more seen than exposed.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. Chai Latte Cookie leaned her head against your shoulder. “We’ve got you.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie offered a lazy thumbs-up. “Team effort, as always.” You glanced at the stack of papers again daunting, yes, but suddenly, not quite so impossible. Not with them beside you. Not with him. You smiled down at the neatly arranged documents, a weight lifting off your chest now that it wasn’t just you staring down a mountain of requirements alone. The way Earl Grey had broken everything into clean, digestible pieces, color-coded tabs and annotated margins made it all feel far less impossible than it had even ten minutes ago.

“I think I’ll look over it tomorrow,” you said, fingers brushing the edge of the folder. “Maybe… after I’ve slept and recovered from Professor Almond Custard’s war on attention spans.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Sleep first, suffer later. Classic.”

Chai Latte Cookie giggled. “I’ll bring snacks for morale support. You know, the important kind of support.”

You beamed at her, heart light. “You always do.”

Earl Grey Cookie gave a quiet hum of approval as he slid the folder back into its case. “Sleep is an acceptable excuse for now,” he teased, a rare note of mischief in his otherwise polished tone.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you said, stretching your arms out with a small sigh. “Tomorrow, then. We’ll tackle it together.” There was a warmth at the table that lingered, a quiet promise spoken not in declarations, but in gestures. In how Earl Grey kept the documents close at hand, in how Chai was already thinking of snacks, in the way Hazelnut’s relaxed posture said you’ve got this without a single word. And deep down, you knew you’d be okay. Because you wouldn’t be doing this alone. Chai Latte Cookie reached across the table, her fingers lightly brushing yours as she closed the folder you’d been staring at for the past few minutes.

“You should nap,” she said gently, her tone so sweet and final it left no room for protest. “We’ll wake you when it’s time for tutoring. Promise.”

You blinked at her, blinking slowly, the heaviness in your limbs catching up to you all at once. “But what if-”

“Nope,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie interrupted with a lopsided grin. “No arguing. You look like you’ve been dragged through five lectures and four existential crises.”

“That’s… alarmingly accurate,” you muttered, already sinking back into your chair. Chai Latte Cookie giggled, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face like she had every right to like she always did. “You’ve done enough for today. Let your brain take a break.” Earl Grey Cookie gave an approving nod, already tidying the papers as if sealing the deal. “We’ll keep everything safe. You’ll be far more efficient after rest.”

You gave a weak laugh, warmth blooming somewhere in your chest at the quiet care in all their voices. “Alright, alright. Just for a bit.”

Chai Latte Cookie stood and held out her hand, helping you up. “Come on. You can use my blanket. It smells like cinnamon and reassurance.” You let her guide you away. Chai Latte Cookie’s dorm room smelled exactly like her warm, floral, and ever-so-slightly spiced, like steamed milk kissed with cardamom and honey. The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the sounds of the hallway, and you stood still for a moment, letting the atmosphere settle around you. It was soft.

Every corner of her room breathed softness, like it had been designed not just for comfort but for care. The walls were a muted rose color, washed gently in natural light filtering through gossamer curtains embroidered with little constellations of gold thread. Strands of fairy lights looped from one end of the room to the other, casting a gentle, magical glow over the shelves lined with worn novels, dried flower bundles, and carefully curated trinkets from festivals and markets long past. There were pictures, too tucked in between vases and books of the four of you, of her family, of blurry sunrises captured in shaky hands and bright, unfiltered smiles.

Her bed was massive, layered in plush quilts and far too many pillows, silk, velvet, hand-stitched, patterned with swirling florals and soft geometric shapes. It looked like a cloud pulled down from the heavens and coaxed into a shape meant for daydreamers. On the desk, there were journals open and overflowing with curling cursive and half-doodles, stars and teacups and notes-to-self and an old teapot kept warm on a charm-cast tray. There was a small music box by her windowsill, its paint chipped just slightly, as if it had been loved too much to stay pristine. She placed a hand on your back, guiding you gently toward the bed.

“You’re using the quilt with the little stars,” she declared, already fluffing the pillows behind you. “It’s my favorite, and it’s good for dreaming.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie dropped onto a chair in the corner, stretching his arms overhead with a yawn. “Place still smells like poetry,” he muttered.

Earl Grey Cookie only nodded once, fingers ghosting along the edge of her bookshelf as he glanced over the titles. “A surprising number of historical romances,” he mused.

“I contain multitudes,” Chai Latte replied sweetly, pulling the quilt over your legs once you settled down.

“And a hopeless romantic streak.” You murmured something incoherent into the pillow, and she brushed your hair back, tucking it behind your ear like she always had. Her touch was as familiar as the rest of her gentle, grounded, and unflinchingly kind. “We’ll be right here,” she whispered, voice quiet enough to rest on your skin like sunlight. “Just rest, okay? When it’s time, we’ll wake you.”

The last thing you saw before your eyes drifted shut was the soft, golden lantern light flickering above, casting faint stars across the ceiling. And the sound you fell asleep to wasn’t a lullaby, but the low hum of your friends talking softly just beyond you, safe and close. You didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment, the quilt was warm against your cheek, the scent of Chai Latte Cookie’s lavender sachets settling deep into your lungs, and the next gentle fingers were brushing over your shoulder.

“Hey,” Chai Latte Cookie murmured, her voice like steam rising from a fresh cup. “Time to wake up, sleepyhead.”

You groaned softly, blinking into the plush folds of her favorite star-quilt, bleary-eyed and dazed. The golden hue of the room hadn’t changed much, though the fairy lights now glowed a little brighter with the late afternoon sun dipping behind the window curtains. A hand gently patted your back.

“You should get to your study date,” Chai Latte said lightly, a playful lilt in her voice. Your eyes opened a little wider. “Tutoring,” she corrected, in the exact same breath, as if she hadn’t just tripped over her words.

“Obviously.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted from where he lounged on the floor, flipping through one of Chai’s romance novels. “That slip was louder than a thunderclap.”

Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed and mildly insufferable, offered a knowing glance over the rim of his teacup. “I believe the term is freudian. Though I’m not entirely convinced you mind the implication.”

Your face flushed as you pushed yourself upright, the quilt pooling around your waist. “It’s tutoring,” you mumbled, throat dry from sleep. “Academically-motivated tutoring.”

Chai Latte Cookie only grinned, her hands on her hips, betraying no shame. “Mm-hmm. That’s what we’re calling it.” You shoved your arms through your sleeves, cheeks still hot as you gathered your bag. “You guys are the worst.”

Earl Grey grinned, rising to his feet, “you still rely on us though.”

Chai handed you a small to-go cup of tea warm and sweet, because of course she’d made something while you slept. “Go,” she whispered, her teasing replaced with something gentler. “You’re gonna be late.”

You clutched the tea to your chest and nodded once. There was no turning back now. Whatever this was, whatever it would become you were already stepping toward it. You moved through the Scholar’s Wing on autopilot, feet barely grazing the floor as you weaved through the golden afternoon light slanting in through the high-arched windows. The halls were quieter now most students still lingering in their final classes or tucked into the library, looking over pages with ink-smudged fingers. But you?

You had somewhere else to be. The cup of tea Chai Latte Cookie had pressed into your hands remained warm, cradled like a charm of courage between your palms. You hadn’t taken a sip yet. Just holding it felt like enough a silent reminder of your friends’ unwavering support. You reached the familiar door tucked in the Scholar’s Wing, simple and heavy, carved with the faint outline of ancient runes barely visible unless you knew how to look. Your hand hesitated for only a breath, hovering before the wood. Then, with a quiet rap of your knuckles, you knocked. Just three times. A formality, really. You both knew you didn’t need to anymore. But still you knocked.

From within, you heard the soft shuffle of parchment, the closing of a book, and then his voice: calm, measured, and unmistakably him. “Come in.”

You exhaled slowly, adjusting your grip on the tea, and pushed the door open. “Hey,” you said, the word coming out softer than you intended, like your voice hadn’t quite found its footing. It was the same type of greeting you always gave him, informal, unceremonious, something that once masked how nervous you used to be just being in the same room as him. You had said it a hundred times, maybe more. But today… it didn’t sound the same. Not to your ears. Shadow Milk Cookie looked up at you from behind his desk, and though his expression remained composed, there was something quieter in the air between you. Something not yet named, but no longer hidden.

He didn’t answer right away. Just held your gaze for a moment too long…long enough that your heart skipped. Then, with a faint curve to his lips, he replied in kind. “Hello.” You sat down without being asked, as you always did. The chair was familiar beneath you, the desk scattered with papers and ink. Everything about the moment should have felt like routine. The familiar rhythm of your tutoring sessions, the way the silence filled the room like velvet, the warm scent of parchment and candle wax clinging to the air. But it wasn’t the same. Not really. Because even though you were still you and he was still him, something had changed. The truth had shifted the light in the room gentle, but unmistakable. And maybe no one else would notice. But you did. You sat straighter than usual. Your fingers didn’t fidget with your notes. And when you looked at him you saw something new in the way his gaze lingered, in the way he waited for you to speak like he already knew you would, but still hoped to be surprised. “Long day?” he asked, voice calm as always, but softer somehow.

You smiled, small and private, the kind of smile that only belonged here. “Not yet,” you murmured. “But it’s about to be.” You reached into your bag and pulled out your notes slightly crumpled from being stuffed between too many books, corners folded and scribbled with your usual half-formed thoughts and highlighted passages you weren’t entirely sure you understood. You flattened the pages out on his desk between the two of you, fingers hovering over the diagrams you'd drawn. “So,” you said, nudging the notebook forward, “I think I’m missing something here between the leyline convergence and the anchor sigils.” You tapped your pen against the margin, frowning. “This part just… doesn’t make sense to me.”

Shadow Milk Cookie leaned forward, his expression sharpening not with judgment, but with focus. His eyes swept across the notes, tracing the lines you’d drawn, the hastily-sketched symbols. And just like that, something shifted. Gone was the quiet, almost tender stillness from moments ago. This was the Sage of Truth. His gaze took on that unmistakable glint, bright as a star yet weighted like ancient stone. He didn’t rush. He simply began his voice even, calm, yet commanding in that way that always made you sit a little straighter, hold your breath a little longer.

“You’re approaching it as if the sigils are meant to reinforce the leyline. But in this configuration,” he said, lightly turning the notebook toward you, “they’re actually meant to contain its flow, not strengthen it.”

He reached for a piece of parchment, already illustrating the concept anew, translating the arcane theory into something tangible with practiced ease. His voice wove through the explanation, never faltering, never hesitating. Words that might’ve felt impenetrable in a lecture hall unfolded here with clarity, like pages turned by a knowing hand. “And this,” he added, pointing toward a corner of your notes, “is not a convergence, but a divergence caused by residual energy. You mistook it for equilibrium but in truth, it’s instability.”

You blinked. “But how is that even sustainable?” He glanced at you, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Because it isn’t. That’s the lesson.” Oh. You sat back slightly, processing the weight of his words not just the answer, but the way he always knew how to give it. As if he had peeled back the layers of your confusion before you’d even fully formed the question. It was humbling. A reminder of why you’d come to rely on these sessions more than you ever thought you would. And yet… this time, the air between you carried something more. You weren’t just looking at a scholar, or a guide, or even the Fount of Knowledge. You were looking at him. The one who had seen your worst confusion and never turned you away. The one who’d waited quietly, patiently for you to understand more than just theory. You exhaled slowly, gaze flickering from his notes back to his face. “…You always make it sound so simple.”

Shadow Milk Cookie looked up at you fully then, the golden light catching in his eyes like some distant, steady flame. “Truth,” he said gently, “is rarely simple. But clarity that, I can offer.” And you believed him. You always had. You leaned forward slightly, propping your chin on your hand, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips. Your notebook still lay between the two of you, now marked with new annotations and precise diagrams that only he could make look so elegant.

“You know,” you said, half-teasing, “I was thinking…”

Shadow Milk Cookie glanced up from the parchment he’d just finished sketching on, one brow arching in mild curiosity. “Were you?”

You gave a soft, amused exhale. “What’s it like? Being able to reshape the academic world with, like… a flick of your wrist?” You wiggled your fingers dramatically for effect. “One stroke of a quill and suddenly entire departments are reorganizing themselves to follow your latest lecture.”

There was a beat of silence. Then he laughed. A real one, low and soft, like the echo of a library chuckle that had never quite forgotten how to be human. “If only it were as effortless as you make it sound,” he replied, eyes gleaming with something like fondness. “Influence is not granted by the flick of a wrist. It is earned over years, sometimes centuries by the flicker of ideas. The wrist simply carries them forward.”

You wrinkled your nose. “You could’ve just said, ‘It’s a lot of work.’”

“I could have,” he agreed, amused. “But then, you wouldn’t have had your little moment of reverence.”

You scoffed. “Who said I was reverent?”

He leaned forward ever so slightly, voice dipping lower, quieter. “You speak as if I move stars with my hands,” he murmured. “Yet it is you who offers constellations in your margins, and truths in half-formed questions.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Your face flushed with heat as you quickly averted your gaze, muttering, “That’s… unfair.”

Shadow Milk Cookie only tilted his head, the faintest smile still playing at his lips. “You’re the one who asked.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I’m never asking anything again.”

“You will,” he said, with maddening certainty. You would. You were supposed to be reviewing ley line variance theories, something about elemental drift and spatial fractures but somewhere between diagrams and ink stains, your mind veered off-course. It always did with him. You tapped your pen against the page, then looked up at him slowly, voice casual despite the steady thrum beneath your skin. “If you weren’t doing this teaching, theorizing, being the Fount of Knowledge or whatever what do you think you’d be doing instead?”

Shadow Milk Cookie paused, the tip of his quill held just above the margin of your notes. “An intriguing question,” he said, not looking up yet. “Though I suspect anything I answer will sound terribly pretentious.”

You tilted your head, smirking. “Try me.”

He finally set the quill down, folding his hands atop the desk, expression thoughtful. “I suppose I’d be… a lighthouse keeper.”

You blinked. “What?”

“A lighthouse keeper,” he repeated, as if the idea wasn’t completely ridiculous. “Somewhere far from here. Remote. A cliffside, perhaps. I would tend to the light. Keep records. Listen to the sea.”

You stared at him. “That’s so dramatic.”

“I am dramatic,” he said mildly. “And there’s poetry in solitude.”

You leaned forward, grinning now. “So you’d rather be alone on a craggy coast with no one but a thousand squawking seabirds for company?”

“I never said I’d be alone,” he said, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “I’d simply prefer… quieter company. Perhaps someone who asks nonsensical questions to fill the silence.” Your breath hitched. It was such a small thing his tone was still and even. His gaze was still soft but it made your heart lurch anyway.

You looked back down at your notes, suddenly embarrassed by how warm your face felt. “…You’re impossible,” you mumbled.

“I prefer inevitable,” he replied smoothly. You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back a laugh. And for a long, quiet moment, the question of ley lines was forgotten, suspended in the hush that had settled between you the kind that needed no explanation. The study session passed more smoothly than you had anticipated. The gaps in your understanding didn’t feel like deep chasms waiting to swallow you whole, but rather, shallow dips you could step across with care. You flipped through your notes with a practiced hand, the ink clean and your diagrams if a little messy and accurate.

Shadow Milk Cookie sat across from you in that same elegant stillness he always did, his hands folded atop a stack of tomes, golden eyes sweeping across the parchment you laid out before him. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t steer, he simply watched, letting you walk yourself through the concepts. You knew he’d only speak if you faltered, if your logic veered too far off course, but today… you didn’t falter much at all.

“…So, if the anchor pulse destabilizes, it starts to slip through the ley line current, right?” you asked, tapping your pen against the diagram you'd drawn. “But if the convergence point is reinforced beforehand, the distortion minimizes less of a ripple?”

His gaze didn’t leave the page. “Precisely.”

You looked up at him, blinking. “Wait, really?” A slow nod. “You’ve grasped the core concept. That’s more than most.” There was no teasing in his tone, no quiet amusement at your surprise just a calm certainty, the kind of praise that didn’t flare and vanish but settled deep into your chest like a quiet ember. You looked back down at your notes, a small smile tugging at your lips. It felt good, so good to not be drowning for once. Every now and then, you still asked a question. But they weren’t frantic or confused, not desperate grasps at meaning. They were thoughtful, steady. The kind you could only ask when you understood enough to start wondering why. And he answered them with the same gentle depth he always had. But there was something different about it now. Something less guarded. Something warmer. Eventually, you leaned back in your seat, stretching your arms over your head with a soft groan. “Okay,” you said, smiling a little, “I think that’s everything. I mean for now. Until I find a way to confuse myself again tomorrow.”

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with a soft look, the corners of his mouth curving upward in that quiet, elusive way of his. “Then tomorrow, I will be here.”

You let out a laugh, your hand brushing your notes into a neat pile. “Of course you will. You’re as consistent as the moon.”

He tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable but not distant. “Even the moon waxes and wanes.”

“…But you don’t,” you said, then quickly added, “At least, not when it comes to this.” He didn’t answer right away. But his gaze lingered on you longer than it needed to. Something soft. Something steady. And you found that for today you didn’t need him to say anything more. Shadow Milk Cookie had begun tidying the corner of his desk a quiet, practiced movement, like brushing away the remnants of time. You gathered your things just as softly, your fingertips trailing along the edge of your notebook before finally lifting it from the polished wood. But as you stood, something lingered. Not just your steps, not just your thoughts, but a truth you hadn’t spoken yet. The kind that pressed at your throat with hesitant breath. You clutched your notebook to your chest, and before turning to go, you paused by his desk once more.

“…Can I ask you something?”

He looked up immediately. Not surprised. Not impatient. Just present. “As always.”

You bit your lip, gaze faltering. “Do you want to keep this” you gestured vaguely between you, between the two chairs and the shared silence and all the unnamed moments that had stacked quietly in the space between your hearts “us… quiet?”

His expression didn’t change at first. But you saw the flicker in his eyes. A small shift, like a truth catching the light. “I wouldn’t mind,” you said, quickly, earnestly. “If you did. If that’s what you want. I mean, I understand. You’re… you.” You offered a small smile. “You belong to a bigger world than I do. You have so much ahead of you, and I just…” You swallowed. “I don’t want to be the thing that ever holds you back. I want your happiness more than anything.”

Shadow Milk Cookie remained still for a heartbeat. Then another. He set the scroll in his hand down with quiet precision, the soft papery hush of it folding into the quiet. His gaze met yours not the gaze of the Sage of Truth, but of the man beneath it. The man who let you ask nonsensical questions just to hear your voice. The one who never looked away when you were uncertain.

“You are not something to hide,” he said at last, his voice low and even as always held the weight of something certain. “But some truths deserve to unfold in peace.” Your heart gave a strange, aching flutter. He stood, stepping around the desk not to close the distance between you, but simply to see you off, as he always did.

“If discretion grants us quiet joy for a time,” he said softly, “then let us choose that joy.” You nodded slowly, understanding, grateful. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

You turned toward the door, pulse steadying as your hand reached for the handle. “And for the record,” his voice came, just before you opened it, “your happiness is not a cost to be weighed against mine.” You turned to glance at him, surprised. His gaze met yours, unwavering. “It is part of it.” That moment was enough to carry you through the rest of the night.

The dining hall buzzed with its usual chatter, but your friends were easy to find same table, same chaotic energy. Chai Latte Cookie spotted you first, her hand already raised before you’d fully stepped inside. She waved you over with all the subtlety of a spell gone awry. “Look who finally returns from their very academic meeting,” she sang, scooting over to make room.

You slid into your seat, giving her a look. “Don’t start.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted into his cup. “Oh, we’ve already started. You’re just catching up.”

Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, gave a polite nod. “Welcome back.” He set his teacup down with that familiar, deliberate clink. “We took the liberty of organizing your Spire application.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

Chai Latte grinned. “Well, not submitting anything. Just getting everything in one place.”

Hazelnut stretched his arms behind his head. “More like rescuing your drafts from binder purgatory.”

Earl Grey reached into his satchel and produced a neatly clipped stack of papers, which he passed across the table to you. “You had almost everything already. We compiled what we found. Personal essay, transcripts, relevant project summaries, letters you’ve started…”

Chai Latte Cookie beamed. “We even labeled the sections. Earl Grey wouldn’t let me use glitter ink, though.”

“I spared you,” Earl Grey said dryly. You flipped through the pages, a bit stunned. “This is… really well-organized.”

“Of course it is,” Chai said, reaching over to straighten one of the tabs. “He color-codes everything like his life depends on it.”

Earl Grey ignored her. “You’ve got four weeks until the deadline. But if you want to be considered for the earlier review batch, I’d recommend finishing your research statement by the end of next week.”

You looked at the stack, heart catching just a little at the effort they’d put in. “I didn’t even ask.”

“You didn’t have to,” Chai said, nudging your arm. “We knew you’d want to apply early.”

Hazelnut nodded. “Besides, this way you don’t have to panic last-minute. Very unlike you, I know.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was hard to fight. “I don’t even look stressed.”

“No,” Earl Grey agreed smoothly, “you look suspiciously well-balanced. Which is why we struck while the calm was fresh.”

“We can go over the rest of it tomorrow,” Chai offered, tugging your tray toward you. “Tonight, just eat and bask in how loved and supported you are.”

You laughed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re welcome.” She tapped your arm. “Come back to my dorm after, yeah? We’ll start organizing the research sections. Or nap. Or both.”

Hazelnut grinned. “Mostly the nap.”

Earl Grey just smirked, sipping his tea. “I’ll bring copies of the department rubrics tomorrow. For your reference.” Your chest ached, but in a good way. Full. Grateful. This strange, unexpected life you were building wasn't just yours anymore. “Okay,” you murmured, hugging the papers closer to your chest.

“Tomorrow.” The thought of the Spire didn’t feel far away. It felt like something real. Something possible. Something within reach. You let your fingers linger on the edge of the neatly compiled documents, flipping absently through the labeled sections again as warmth rose in your chest. All the care, all the little details each one held pieces of your friends. It wasn’t just their effort you held in your hands. It was them.

“So…” you said, glancing up at them around the table, “what about you guys? Are you all submitting for early review too?”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie looked up from his plate, a half-eaten bread roll hanging between his fingers. “That’s the plan,” he said. “Assuming Chai doesn’t start rewriting her personal statement every other night.”

Chai Latte Cookie swatted his arm. “I’m just thinking about fine-tuning the narrative voice.”

“You’re going to be rewriting your life story like it’s a romance novel,” he shot back, grinning.

“It is!” she declared with a dramatic flourish, earning a chuckle from Earl Grey Cookie. You turned to him. “And you?”

Earl Grey lifted his cup, always so poised. “I’ll be submitting before the week is out,” he said.

“Just waiting on one final signature.” You nodded slowly. “So… letters of recommendation are all that’s left for everyone?”

“Pretty much,” Chai said, balancing her spoon on her finger. “Professor Mulberry’s writing mine, but I’m going to ask Professor Pistachio, too. She knows my research better.”

Hazelnut raised a hand. “Professor Currant. He already said yes. He owes me after I helped him fix his projector like three times.” Earl Grey took a measured sip of tea. “I’ve asked Professor Cardamom, as mentioned.”

He paused, looking at you. “Have you decided who you’ll ask?” Your breath caught. Your thoughts immediately drifted to him his eyes, the soft way he’d looked at you when you’d asked what you were, the weight in your chest when he didn’t answer but stayed anyway.

“I think I know,” you said softly. Chai Latte’s smile bloomed like sunlight. “He’d say yes,” she said. “I know he would.”

You offered a sheepish smile, tucking your papers closer. “I’ll… ask tomorrow. Maybe.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Oh, come on. You’ve already made out with the man, what's a letter of rec in comparison?”

Your face went red. “Hazel-!” Chai burst out laughing, Earl Grey pressed a hand to his mouth in a rare moment of stifled amusement, and you could only bury your face in your hands.

“I hate you all,” you muttered into your palms.

“No, you don’t,” Chai teased, leaning her shoulder against yours. “You love us. And you’re going to do great.” You peeked out from between your fingers, and for a moment, the thought of the Spire didn’t feel heavy or impossible or frightening. It felt like something you were walking toward together. Maybe it wasn’t about reaching the top alone. Maybe it was about the ones walking beside you the whole way there. And tomorrow… you’d ask.

Dinner had ended in a blur of laughter and half-finished stories, the kind of night that made you forget the time until it was too late. By the time you and Chai Latte Cookie reached her dorm, the halls of the Orchid Wing had quieted to a sleepy hush, the enchanted lanterns dimmed to their softer, golden hue. Her room welcomed you with its usual warmth, soft and familiar the scent of cardamom and honey curling around you like a shawl. The constellation-threaded curtains danced in the faint breeze, and the fairy lights blinked low and slow, like they too were ready for rest. Books and trinkets stood like sentinels in their places, watching over the space with a kind of loving stillness. Chai didn’t bother to turn on any brighter lights. Instead, she set her satchel down with a sigh and pulled out the packet Earl Grey had prepared. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice a murmur in the hush of the room. “Research tracks. Let’s at least pick the ones you’re leaning toward so we’re not scrambling tomorrow.”

You dropped your bag beside hers, stifling a yawn as you joined her on the bed. The plush quilts dipped beneath your weight like they were embracing you, and the moment you sat down, you felt how late it truly was. “Do we really have Almond Custard first thing?” you muttered, rubbing your eyes. You don’t know why you bothered to ask…you knew the answer.

Chai smirked. “Unfortunately, yes. Bright and early. And you know how he gets if we’re late he drones slower just to punish us.”

You groaned and flopped back against the pillows. “This is cruel. There should be a rule against late-night responsibility and early-morning boredom coexisting.”

She chuckled, laying down beside you with the research packet still in her hands. “Just pick your top three tonight, and we’ll organize the rest tomorrow after class.”

“Fine.” You reached over, squinting at the categories in the low light. “Leylines. Dimensional stability. Artifact restoration.”

Chai hummed in approval. “Strong choices. We’ll mark those and build out the proposal after class.”

You let out a soft breath. “Thanks for doing this with me.” She didn’t say anything at first. Just reached over and gently adjusted one of the velvet pillows behind your head. “Of course.” You both knew you wouldn’t be awake much longer. She clicked off the fairy lights with a flick of her fingers, leaving only the soft glow of the charm-warmed teapot on her desk. Then she settled beside you, her arm brushing yours beneath the covers.

“Wake-up call at dawn,” she said through a yawn, “and I swear, if you fake sleep, I’m dunking you in cold water.” You smiled sleepily. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Liar.”

You let the silence stretch between you, quiet and safe. And then, just as your eyes began to flutter shut, you heard her whisper, barely audible beneath the breath of the curtains “I’m proud of you.” You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t hear her. But because your heart did, and that was enough. Sleep claimed you gently, wrapped in the warmth and scent of tea and twilight. And someone who had always, always stayed.

The next morning came far too soon. Drowsy sunlight filtered through the constellation-speckled curtains, casting golden patterns over the room. The air smelled of jasmine and cinnamon warm, familiar, like the remnants of a half-forgotten dream. You blinked awake slowly, blinking against the soft light, your mind still wrapped in the folds of sleep. And that’s when you noticed it. Chai Latte Cookie had, at some point in the night, wrapped herself around you like a favorite pillow. Her arm was slung over your waist, her cheek resting against your shoulder, her breath soft and steady in the crook of your neck. Her hair smelled like her tea floral, warm, and sweet and the weight of her presence was both grounding and… impossible to slip away from.

You shifted slightly, trying not to wake her. Her grip tightened. You groaned softly. Of course. A muffled voice mumbled from behind you. “No moving. Warm.”

“Chai,” you whispered, poking at her arm, “we have class.”

“Don’t care,” she mumbled, nuzzling closer. “You’re comfy. Five more minutes.”

“Professor Almond Custard will literally bore us to death if we’re late.” A dramatic sigh. Her arm loosened slightly, but she still didn’t let go.

You gave her a gentle shake. “Chai.” Another groan.

Then, reluctantly, she peeled her arm back with the sluggish agony of someone parting with the last honey-drizzled waffle on campus. She flopped onto her back, blinking up at the ceiling with one eye open. “…You’re so annoying in the mornings,” she muttered, voice hoarse with sleep.

You smiled. “You say that like it’s new.”

She waved a hand limply toward the teapot still warm on her charm tray. “Warm tea on the desk. Go be functional. I’ll rise like the dead in a minute.” As you sat up and stretched, your heart swelled a little with affection. It was the kind of morning that, despite the looming threat of Almond Custard’s lecture, felt soft and safe woven with lazy smiles and quiet friendship.

You reached for the tea. “You’re the one who latched onto me like I was a quilt.” Her only response was a sleepy hum and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes… but lingered all the same. You paused mid-sip, blinking down at the cup in your hands. The tea was warm and comforting, as if it had just been poured and yet you knew neither of you had gotten up in hours.

You glanced over your shoulder at Chai Latte Cookie, who still hadn’t moved from her sprawled position on the bed, one arm thrown dramatically over her eyes like a swooning noble.

“…How is this tea still warm?” you asked, eyeing the cup like it might reveal its secrets if you stared hard enough. “It’s been sitting here since last night, hasn’t it?”

She cracked open one eye, lips curling into a lazy, triumphant smirk. “Mm. Magic.” You squinted. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is an answer. Just not one you understand before breakfast.”

You set the cup back on the tray, though your hands lingered near the steam curling up in delicate wisps. “Seriously though, what spell keeps tea warm but doesn’t overbrew it?”

Chai rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand. “An enchantment I learned from my aunt. She used to make whole pitchers of chai and keep them warm for days. Said the secret was warmth without burn. Gentle heat. Like affection.” She grinned. “Like me.”

You gave her a look. “So what you’re saying is the tea is imbued with the essence of you.”

“Exactly.” She tossed a pillow at you with very little aim. “Drink it with reverence.” You caught it with a laugh, shaking your head. “You are so full of yourself.”

“And you love it.” You didn’t argue. Mostly because she wasn’t wrong. The morning air was crisp as you and Chai Latte Cookie stepped out of the dorm, the soft clink of her tea thermos tapping against her satchel with every step. You’d barely managed to wriggle out of her grip earlier; she had clung to you sometime during the night like a beloved plush, soft and immovable, mumbling half-asleep protests when you’d tried to move.

You’d barely had time before the morning pulled you both forward, the hazy light of dawn glimmering through the ivy-veiled arches of Blueberry Yogurt Academy. By the time you reached the central fountain on the way to Professor Almond Custard’s lecture, Earl Grey Cookie was already there, unsurprisingly punctual, tea in hand and posture perfectly composed. He nodded toward you both, adjusting the strap of his satchel. “Good morning,” he greeted smoothly. “I hope the sleepover didn’t devolve into midnight chaos.”

“Oh, it absolutely did,” Chai said proudly.

“You didn’t hear about it because you weren’t invited,” you added. He hummed in amusement, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Noted.”

Then Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie arrived, nearly bouncing down the steps with his usual easy charm. “There they are!” he said with a grin, stepping up beside you.

“Good morning to you too,” you said, already bracing for whatever chaos he brought with him. “Hold on,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his coat. “I found something the other day meant to give it to you sooner but kept forgetting.” He pulled out a small pendant on a delicate chain, an orchid carved in fine silver, its petals etched with intricate veins and tiny dew-drop sparkles that caught the light.

“I saw it in a market stall,” he explained. “Made me think of you. It’s got this… quiet strength to it. Like it blooms when it wants, not when it’s told.”

You blinked, stunned. “Hazelnut…”

He grinned, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Sentimental. Just take it before I regret getting all poetic this early in the morning.” You took the pendant carefully, the silver cool against your palm. “Thank you. It’s… beautiful.”

Chai Latte leaned in, whispering with a wicked smile, “You’re getting all the suitors lately.” You elbowed her gently, but your heart fluttered all the same.

Hazelnut just chuckled. “Come on, we’re gonna be late for Almond Custard’s lecture of doom.” Together, the four of you moved as one through the morning mist, the comfort of friendship tucked quietly between the space of laughter. The lecture hall was unusually still for an early morning. No fidgeting. No distracted glances at the window. No whispered side conversations. For once, everyone including your trio of partners-in-chaos was focused. Professor Almond Custard stood at the front of the room, droning on in his usual syrup-slow cadence about interdimensional grain storage and enchanted fermentation ratios, but somehow… it stuck.

Maybe it was the looming exam next week. Maybe it was the collective determination to end the semester strong. Maybe it was just that shared sense of urgency that crept in when the finish line was finally in sight. You found yourself scribbling notes faster than you could think, underlining terms you knew you’d have to memorize, circling formulas with half-formed mnemonic devices already taking shape in your head. Beside you, Chai Latte Cookie was unusually silent, her brow furrowed and her pen dancing swiftly across her notebook. Her handwriting, always looping and dreamy, had sharpened into something tighter still lovely, but undeniably focused.

Every so often, she’d tilt her notes your way for you to copy something you’d missed. Behind you, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie didn’t make a single joke. Not one. His gaze was locked on the board, his fingers tapping steadily as he jotted down formula after formula. His notes weren’t neat, no surprise but they were thorough. You could hear the quiet rustle of his pages turning, one after another, like he was chasing the lecture’s pace and determined not to fall behind.

And Earl Grey Cookie, of course, looked like he was born for moments like these. His notes were already color-coded, diagrams annotated, keywords highlighted with exacting precision. He barely blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching every so often when something particularly important was mentioned. He looked perfectly calm, but you could see the intensity in his eyes, the kind of focus that could burn through stone if left unchecked. You sat straighter. You matched their pace.

You wanted to do well not just for yourself, but for them. For everything you’d been building. For the Spire. The professor’s voice faded in and out of clarity, not because you weren’t listening, but because your mind was working faster now linking concepts, stitching them together with things you’d learned from Shadow Milk Cookie, from your own late-night study sessions, from the lingering weight of all the time you’d invested. This was the final stretch. And you weren’t going to stumble. Not now. The clink of chalk against the board marked the end of a long equation. Almond Custard cleared his throat and turned back toward the hall.

“This,” he intoned, “will be the cornerstone of your final exam.” A quiet rustle of pages. Pens pressing faster against parchment. No one slacked. No one dared. You glanced at your friends, all of them immersed, serious, determined, burning quietly with a shared sense of purpose. You took a breath. And kept writing. The lecture ended with a dry scrape of chalk and Professor Almond Custard’s half-hearted reminder about next week’s exam. You were already closing your notes before he’d finished his sentence, your fingers itching to be anywhere else.

Outside the classroom, the halls buzzed as usual. You and your friends walked in easy step together, still half-absorbed in the material. Earl Grey had already started analyzing one of the professor’s offhand comments. Chai Latte, always the multitasker, chimed in while braiding a bit of ribbon into her hair. Hazelnut Biscotti popped a candy into his mouth and offered you one without even looking. You shook your head, hugging your portfolio close.

“Hey… I’m gonna head to the Scholar’s Wing.” Chai looked over with a knowing glance. “Another meeting with him?”

“Tutoring,” you said too fast, clearing your throat. “Mostly. Also… I want him to look over this.” You lifted your binder slightly for emphasis.

Hazelnut raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust our craftsmanship?”

“Please,” you said, giving him a look. “I trust you three more than I trust myself on most days.”

“Correct answer,” Earl Grey murmured. You smiled faintly. “I just… want a fourth opinion. He sees things differently. Thoroughly. Painfully, sometimes.”

Chai Latte nudged your elbow. “You’re hoping for an endorsement, aren’t you?”

“I mean,” you began, “if anyone’s word could get something noticed by the Spire committee, it’s his.” Hazelnut gave a low whistle. “Think he’d recommend all four of us?”

You shrugged. “I’m not counting on anything. He probably wouldn’t unless he thought it was deserved. Too much integrity, that one.”

Earl Grey nodded in agreement. “He won’t be swayed by sentiment. But he will tell you the truth. Whether you want to hear it or not.”

“That’s the plan,” you murmured. Chai gave your shoulder a light squeeze. “Go get your truth, then.” You glanced back at the three of them, warmth pooling low in your chest. “Thanks. I’ll meet you at dinner?”

“We’ll save your seat,” Hazelnut said, already pulling Chai into a new conversation. And with that, you turned down the familiar path to the Scholar’s Wing, fingers curled tight around the edge of your binder. This wasn’t about doubt. You just wanted to know what he saw when he looked at your work, when he looked at you. You weren’t late. You weren’t even close to late, actually but your pace had been brisk more out of nerves than necessity. Still, there was something jittery about the way your fingers tapped against your binder, like your body hadn’t yet received the memo that everything was, technically, on time.

The Scholar’s Wing greeted you with its usual hush soft-echoing footsteps, warm sconces glowing like suspended starlight, the faint scent of ancient parchment lingering in the air. You passed a few scholars deep in discussion near the far alcoves, but no one paid you any mind. It was peaceful. Familiar. And maybe that was what made it worse when your foot suddenly slipped on the overly polished marble. It wasn’t dramatic. No witnesses. No loud crash. But your binder, your painstakingly organized, section-labeled, early-application-ready binder flew from your hands in an arc that felt cruelly slow. The contents fanned out in every direction: pages sliding across the floor like they were trying to flee your academic future, post-it notes scattering like panicked birds. You didn’t fall. You just stumbled, catching yourself with a quick, awkward step forward.

But somehow, that was worse. You stood still for a second, heat flooding your face. Not because anyone was watching. Not because someone laughed. But because of that ridiculous little flinch in your chest that whispered, Of course. Of course this would happen now. You crouched down quickly, gathering up your pages, cursing every single loose document for not staying put in their designated folders. You had dividers for a reason.

Earl Grey would have been appalled. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as you pressed everything back into place, palms brushing away the dust that had settled along the page corners. You gave the binder a pat like it was a pet that needed soothing and straightened. Still not late. Still fine. Just… slightly less composed than you wanted to be. You smoothed your hands down the front of your robes, forced your shoulders back, and took the last stretch of hallway with steady steps. Shadow Milk Cookie’s door came into view, tall and dark and just a little intimidating, like it always was. You paused at the threshold, one breath to center yourself, then knocked three times softly. For formality’s sake.

And then, you opened the door, stepping inside with your binder pressed close to your chest and a heart that beat just a little too loud in your ears. Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t glance up at first. His desk was covered in constellations of parchment and drifting quills notes levitating just above the surface, slowly rotating through invisible orbits as though the air around him itself hummed with focus. His brows were furrowed, eyes moving quickly as he scribbled something down with a deep indigo ink that shimmered faintly, catching the warm lamplight.

You didn’t speak right away. You never did when he looked like this. There was something endearing about it this kind of focused stillness he fell into when no one else was watching. He wasn’t the Sage of Truth then, or the Fount of Knowledge, or any of the titles inked beneath his name in gilded letters. He was just… Shadow Milk. Lost in thought, and unaware at least for the moment that you had entered. You lingered by the door, hugging your binder closer to your chest. Not out of nervousness, not really. Just… quiet admiration. There was something sacred about watching someone so consumed by something they loved.

Eventually, as if the rhythm of your breath finally disturbed the quiet equilibrium of the room, he paused. His quill stilled mid-word. His fingers relaxed. And then, he lifted his gaze. His eyes found yours calm, luminous, sharp as ever and you could see the shift behind them. That subtle click back into awareness. “You’re early,” he said, voice low and steady, the faintest curl at the edge of his mouth betraying his otherwise unreadable tone.

You smiled, a little sheepish. “Not really. You’re just distracted.” Shadow Milk Cookie set his quill down with care, the ink on the parchment still drying in slow, shimmering trails.

“Is that what I am?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Distracted?”

“Thoroughly,” you replied, stepping further into the room. “But in a charming way.” He huffed, a soft exhale that could almost be called a laugh, and leaned back in his chair as his papers gently rearranged themselves with a flutter.

“And what brings you here with such flattery on your tongue?” he asked, eyes gleaming. You placed your binder on his desk and slid into your usual seat.

“I want a fourth opinion,” you said. ��On the Spire portfolio. My friends helped me get it together, but well, I figured I’d ask the most terrifyingly honest person I know to look it over.”

He looked at the binder. Then back at you. “And what makes you think I would go easy on you?”

“I don’t,” you admitted, smiling. “That’s the point.” You nudged the binder closer across his desk, its neatly clipped pages now feeling heavier than ever. Your fingers hesitated just for a second before slipping away. “I want you to look it over,” you said, meeting his gaze. “All of it.”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes flicked to the binder, then back to you. “I gathered as much.” You let out a breath, shoulders tightening with something nervous but steady. “And I want you to be honest. Completely. Brutally, if you have to.”

There was a pause. He looked at you not just with those piercing, soul-deep eyes that always made you feel like your thoughts were laid bare, but with something gentler hidden beneath the surface. Something knowing. “Brutally?” he echoed. “Even if it leaves your pride in tatters?”

You snorted. “Please. My pride’s already hanging on by a thread.”

He considered you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reached out and opened the binder. “If you ask for truth, you shall have it,” he said, flipping to the first page. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You smiled faintly, hands settling in your lap. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

A/N Hey y'all <3 So I finally got around to posting this I am so excited to finally have more time to write and work on things I want so yah!!! HELLL YEAHHH!!!! anyways I have been doing well... I am getting through my inbox...I will have more time tomorrow...Now excuse me as I go to finish my genetics lab report <3 I'm almost done

anyways...

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