Shadow Milk Cookie had been defeated. Initially declining Pure Vanilla’s request to be friends, he subsequently accepted the offer, getting close with the light Cookie, hence initiating a relationship and even getting married. He quickly learned that Pure Vanilla Cookie had a bad habit of neglecting his needs due to everlasting guilt of the loss of the ORIGINAL Vanilla Kingdom during the Dark Flour War, and this habit still lingers, being more prominent in his dietary habits. This makes the walking-ray-of-sunshine of a cookie more susceptible to sickness due to a weak immune system.

Current Time.

The small lamps decoratively scattered around the bedroom emit an enchanting, blue-hued light across cushiony velvet walls, immaculate and assuaging in contrast to the condition of the Cookie present.

Pure Vanilla Cookie awoke from a reposeful slumber, trying to sit up from his bed like he does every “morning”, oblivious that it’s still around midnight, only for the usually incandescent Cookie to quickly flop back into bed, each movement tremulous, unable to do anything except huddle up into the covers more, shuddering violently despite his feverish body temperature. His natural blush is darker than usual, clearly not doing well. His vision is hazy and his senses swept away by the crashing waves of illness, the back of his head pounding rapidly.

Shadow Milk had initially woken up and surveyed Pure Vanilla’s temperature, departing to the kitchen to collect materials he needs to tend to his delirious partner. He returned, noting his husband’s circumstances, setting a bowl of cold water onto the nightstand before placing a small towel into the bowl so he can tend to his temperature later, also setting down a few more things onto the nightstand. He sits on the bed next to him, mattress slightly dipping under his weight.

The disoriented healer gazed at Shadow Milk, attempting to focus on him but being unable, trying to process if its Shadow Milk or not. “My… love…?” He inquired, voice hoarse. His gaze is half-lidded with palpable exhaustion as he turns his head in Shadow Milk’s direction. “Mmn…. Why is everything… spinning…!” He complained quietly.

The usually lackadaisical jester lets out a soft chuckle, placing the supplies aside the bed as he speaks in a low, eloquent tone, speaking soothingly to calm the other’s nerves, and his own as he runs his fingers through his husband’s hair. “It’s just a fever. You’ll be alright..”