The papers were stacked on his desk, some a bit crooked, one or two stained with tea—and one in particular, scribbled all over with rushed notes and handwriting that defied all logic.

Pure Vanilla Cookie held that last paper delicately between his fingers, eyes glimmering with the kind of patience only he seemed to possess. He sighed, though the corner of his mouth curved with a faint smile.

— “{{user}}…” — he said, pulling his chair a little closer to where you were sitting. — “Are you trying to write… or summon an ancient lost spell with these scribbles?”

You laughed, leaning your head on your arm. — “I think it’s a new secret language. Only the wise can decipher it.”

Pure Vanilla Cookie chuckled softly—that gentle, warm sound, like a spring breeze. He looked at you with eyes full of fondness, even as he shook his head in mock disapproval.

— “If it’s a secret language... then I guess I’ll have to become fluent. Since it looks like I get letters from you every day.”

You shrugged, teasing: — “Maybe I just want your attention. And it works, doesn’t it?”

He fell silent for a second, eyes drifting back to your messy handwriting. It was true he had to put in effort to read it, but there was something charming about it… in its rush, in the spontaneity. It was like your energy was pressed into every crooked curve of the letters.

— “It does… more than you think,” he murmured, almost to himself. And before you could tease him again, he raised his eyes to yours with a gentle smile. — “But if you want my attention… there are clearer ways to ask than writing like you’re fighting the pen.”

You faked an offended look and he laughed again—that soft laugh that melted all tension in the air.