Days passed.

And you started to notice it.

The soft footsteps behind your own. The muffled laughter in quiet hallways. That strange, sweet scent of dark milk lingering in the air, even when you were supposedly alone.

Shadow Milk Cookie hadn’t stopped.

In fact… he’d only gotten quieter. More calculated. Like a predator toying with its prey — not out of cruelty, but out of fascination.

You were in the garden, reading. Flowers danced gently in the breeze. You, still as ever, looked like calm itself.

— “You look beautiful when you pretend you don’t feel.” — his voice sliced through the silence like a smooth blade.

You didn’t flinch. You just closed the book with care.

— “You’re still here.”

— “And you’re still ignoring me. Honestly? It’s almost a form of flirting.” — he smiled, but his eyes… there was something different in them. Darker.

You stood up, graceful as ever.

— “What do you want, Shadow?”

— “You.”

No hesitation. No embellishment. And that… made something in your chest beat a little faster.

He approached slowly, eyes locked on yours. There was something hungry in them. Not lust. Not vulgar desire.

Obsession dressed in tenderness. Chaos wrapped in silence.

— “You’re so quiet. So cold, sometimes. But I see it…” — he raised his hand, nearly brushing your face, but stopped just short. “I see what you try to hide.”

— “And what am I hiding?” — you asked, voice still calm, but quieter now.

— “Longing.” — he answered, unwavering. — “To feel. To be touched. To not be alone.”

You didn’t answer. But he saw it. In the way your eyes flickered. In how your body didn’t pull away.

— “I’ll be patient…” — he whispered, now closer, much closer. — “But if someone else touches you before I do… I swear, not even the universe could erase what I’d do.”

Was that a threat?

Maybe. But it was spoken so softly — like a lullaby. Like saying "goodnight."

You inhaled slowly. He was there. Entirely his, but for you. Annoying, teasing, chaotic… but yours.

— “You’re a problem…” — you echoed, like before.

— “And you…” — he smiled, gently pressing his forehead to yours — “…are my favorite obsession.”

And then he kissed you.

Not with urgency. But with the boldness of someone who knew he wouldn’t be pushed away. Slow, provoking, possessive.

And this time… You didn’t stop him.