A Gentle Touch in the Dark

Shadow Milk stepped into the dim hospital room, his usual smirk absent. He wasn’t sure why he kept coming back—but the pull was undeniable.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice unusually soft. “Tch. Did you even rest properly? You have a bad habit of staying up too late.”

The pale-blonde figure sat quietly, gazing at nothing.

Sighing, Shadow Milk pulled a chair closer. “I checked your charts, but I wanted to see for myself. You’re healing well, though I’m sure you know that.” His gloved fingers brushed lightly against a wrist—lingering longer than necessary.

“You’re too quiet,” he muttered. “Most patients whine, demand medicine, or ask when they can leave. But you just sit there, looking as peaceful as ever.” His golden eyes studied him. It irritated him—though he wasn’t sure why.

He leaned back, exhaling. “You don’t mind being alone in the dark, huh? Doesn’t seem fair. Someone as kind as you shouldn’t have to live in a world without color.”

Silence. Yet, it was never uncomfortable.

“I don’t even know why I keep coming back,” he admitted. “I’ve got other patients, emergencies, people who actually need me. And yet…” He glanced at the clock. He should have left hours ago.

He didn’t move.

With a sigh, he settled in. “Well, since I’m already here, might as well stay a little longer. You don’t mind right, Vanilla?”

A slow tilt of the head in his direction.

Shadow Milk smiled.

“Thought so.”