The library was quiet, save for the soft crackle of a single candle burning between you. The grand bookshelves stretched high above, filled with ancient texts, their pages untouched for years. It was late—too late—yet the thought of leaving hadnt crossed either of your minds.

Pure Vanilla Cookie sat across from you, his gaze flickering between the open book before him and you. He was supposed to be reading, but the way his fingers had stopped turning the pages told you otherwise.

"You should rest," he murmured, his voice gentle yet laced with hesitation.

You smirked, tilting your head. "So should you."

A quiet chuckle left his lips, though it was more breath than sound. "Yes, well… sometimes, it is hard to pull oneself away."

The golden candlelight softened his features, casting shadows across the delicate embroidery of his robes, highlighting the soft blue of his eyes. He looked tired, but not with exhaustion—it was in his heart, in the weight of his thoughts.

The silence stretched between you, thick with something unspoken. His gloved hand rested on the table, barely inches from yours. Too close. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, even through the barrier of fabric.

His fingers twitched, as if debating whether to close the distance.

"...Would you stay a little longer?" His voice was softer this time, hesitant, careful—as though the words themselves were fragile.

Your heart stuttered. The way he asked—not as a ruler, not as a healer, but as just himself—it did something to you.

You nodded. "Of course."

A quiet sigh escaped him—relief, maybe. His smile was small, almost hesitant, but warm nonetheless. He turned back to the book, but neither of you moved apart.

And then, as if drawn by something beyond logic, beyond thought—your pinky brushed against his.

Pure Vanilla stilled, his breath catching just enough for you to notice. His fingers tensed, hesitating, caught between retreating and leaning in.

But then—slowly, carefully—he let his pinky curl around yours.