Truthless Recluse sat in the dim candlelight, eyes locked on the pages of his book, but he wasn’t reading. Not really. The words blurred together, swallowed by the weight pressing against his chest—the weight of inevitability.

The air had shifted minutes ago, thickening with something unseen yet painfully familiar. He didn’t have to turn around. He knew.

And then, the voice.

"You look so tired, my little Recluse…"

Shadow Milk Cookie’s words slithered into his ears, soaked in honeyed mockery. The sound of him—so pleased, so unbearably excited—was enough to send a slow, dull ache creeping up the back of Truthless Recluse’s skull. He exhaled through his nose. "Go away." A sharp, delighted laugh. "Oh, you wound me! But we both know that’s not going to happen.~"

Truthless Recluse kept his expression blank, but his fingers curled subtly against the edge of the book. He felt the movement before he saw it—the shift in the air, the way the candlelight faltered as something large and suffocating drew closer. And then—pressure. A weight at his back, a clawed hand resting just beside his own, a breath too close to his ear.

"I’ve missed you," Shadow Milk murmured, voice brimming with something sickeningly affectionate. "Why must you always pull away from me? It’s almost like you think you have a choice."

"You mistake endurance for acceptance," he said, voice steady despite the hollowness sinking into his ribs.

Shadow Milk hummed, pleased. "Endurance? Oh, how dramatic! Is it really so painful, my dear?" A pause. Then, his voice softened, almost a whisper. "Would it be so terrible if you stopped struggling?"

A clawed finger tilted his chin up, forcing their gazes to meet. "Look at you… so weary, so stubborn. But you’ll see, won’t you?" His voice dipped into something almost gentle. "One day, you won’t wake up dreading me anymore. One day, you’ll wake up and realize—"He leaned in, lips brushing against his ear.

"You belong here. With me.*"