Archive of Our Own

“Pure Vanilla Cookie?” White Lily’s voice rang from where she sat at her desk, turning to the sound from the bathroom. “Are you… ok?”

“Yeah. I just missed the thingy,” Pure Vanilla replies sheepishly.

Silence, for a moment, before she asks, “what ‘thingy’?” Not because of a lack of context, no. It’s that every bit of context she can think of wouldn’t cause such a loud, hollow thud. Not a shampoo bottle, not a toothbrush, and definitely not a book. She gets up to find Pure Vanilla lightly massaging his forehead. He’s squinting in the mirror, fingers pressed slightly off center of his star shaped birthmark. The cabinet door that straddles the sink and the towel rack is cracked open.

“Oh, hello,” he startles. “It’s really no worry.”

She gently closes the cabinet door and reaches around it, handing the towel to him. She mentally winces at how he’s allowed the water to roll from his hands and dampen his sleeves. She pointedly looks anywhere but his heterochromatic eyes.

“Ah, why thank you.” And the smile in his voice is auditory. The delight was unmistakable, all because she did such a small thing… Something simple for her, but proved challenging for another. Something she can’t name twists inside of her.

“It’s nothing. You would’ve had it handled on your own.” She tugs at the back of her arm. Desperate to think of something else to say, to escape whatever this thing was Pure Vanilla seemed intent on directing at her, she adds, “I’ll stop by the ice machine so it doesn’t bruise.”

And just like that, she’s gone.

. . .

Interactions continue like this for a while. Pure Vanilla misjudges how wide a door frame is, and walks directly into it.

He goes to set a paper weight on his desk, but instead of it sitting on the edge of the table, there’s only a tinging thud to the floor.

He invites one of the birds he’s become familiar with onto his outstretched hand. He accidentally sweeps its feet out from underneath.

To Pure Vanilla’s credit, he maintains shockingly high spirits, despite it all. But White Lily can see it. Not due to some keen social awareness, but the proximity. To soothe her nerves, it became easy to view her friend as a series of reactions to stimuli. Similarly to how a scientist would observe the changes of their experiment from day to day, White Lily observed what things made Pure Vanilla better and what things made him feel worse.

To White Lily, curiosity had always been the way her heart had indulged in affection.

She sees the way he rubs his eyes before he turns off the lights for bed. The small sigh he lets out before going out during certain types of weather. The way his eyes instinctively squeeze shut after squinting through too many worksheets in too small a font.

. . .

Their dorm in the academy comes with overhead lighting and one lamp. Pure Vanilla keeps collecting light sources like a crow collects shiny things.
White Lily is originally stumped by this.

She notes that it is not that he likes multiple sources of light. On the contrary, multiple light sources seem to be more disruptive than helpful. Yet this does little to change the fact that Pure Vanilla has stacked three lamps on to his desk. Why?

After a few more days of observation, she realizes something. Having multiple lamps minimizes shadow from things like paper folds and hand placement. It also cuts out the strain of too much peripheral lighting from things like the overhead light. He can point a flashlight, he can aim a lamp. In summary, his best option is to make a small area very bright.

Interesting.

Is he doing it on purpose? Are all of these systems in place methodically thought out with countless hashings and scrappings left in his mind?
Or is this intuitive? Like how the birds know when to hibernate for winter or a flower knows when to bloom for spring? White Lily wishes she had a way to know for sure.

. . .

Each day is hit or miss for how severe Pure Vanilla’s symptoms will manifest. Some days, it barely feels notable. Others, he’s unable to get out of bed, so nauseatingly disoriented by the way the lights and colors splash around in his mind.

Normally, it’s some form of middle ground. Light is good, very good. He needs generous amounts present for any chance to see anything. But it’s overwhelming. It’s as if he must choose when he wishes to see, spending that time like currency. The countdown, the limit for how much time he has until all his senses turn to mush, is a cruel and unforgiving one.

A double edged sword.

With every day that passes, all White Lily can think is the question that has followed her for as long as she can remember:

Why were cookies created so weak and fragile?

. . .

It’s a Friday night, spent like so many Friday nights before. White Lily’s back is turned to the rest of the room, pouring over text after text. It’s all she can ever think to do to calm her worries.

Pure Vanilla is also there. He’s sitting at his desk, back also facing the rest of the room. There’s about 8 candles on his desk, unscented and in no holder. He recently retired all but one of his usual lamps, though White Lily is unsure why. He still stays crammed close to the surface of his desk, eyes squinted and hair dangerously close to the flames.

White Lily wants to drag him to bed. He’s tired.

So is she.

But sleepless nights do not affect her like they do him, so the urge to do something feels like it falls solely on her. While she’d never doubted Pure Vanilla’s mind before, how can anyone dig themself out of a hole like this? If his eyes do not allow him to read, to attain new knowledge without taking two steps back, how is he supposed to get out? No, again, it has to be her. She’s the only one who can fix this.

She has to fix this.

It is at this point that she’s realized she doesn’t know what she’s been reading for the last five minutes. She’s been flipping pages, shifting her gaze, but it means little if she learns nothing from it.

She redoubles her focus. Again and again. Cookies were made weak, prone to crumbling. If that is the case, then why were they made? What was the intended purpose to any of this? It couldn’t simply be an accident. The miracle of creation was far too complex to be done on a whim… so it made no sense! None whatsoever! There must be a reason! Maybe that reason would explain why they’re so crumbly, and maybe that would reveal how they could not be so crumbly, and maybe that would give her a lead on how to heal Pure Vanilla’s eyes! It was all connected- it always was. The truth of this world is vast, but at the end of the day, everything has an answer. She was going to find it. All of it.

Cookies do not need to suffer as much as they do.

She notices, distantly, that Pure Vanilla lights two more candles. Before her mind catches up to her mouth, she finds herself saying, “would you like me to go get candle holders? They don’t look all too… steady.”

“Oh!” Pure Vanilla startles, like he too, is only now realizing the extent of the dangers of his methods. “Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you, White Lily Cookie.”

And there it is again. That same weird feeling that runs from her head to her waist. Such a simple task for her that means so much to him.

She will save cookies.
She will save him.

. . .

White Lily skips lectures again. She checked the syllabus, and they have yet to discuss anything that seems difficult or intriguing, definitely nothing that she can’t learn on her own time. She spends her afternoon in the library instead.

She’s decided to indulge in a bit of a rabbit hole today. She wants to dive more into psychology. Neuroscience is a subject she dabbles in frequently enough. Knowing how easy it is for a cookie’s brain to be born under baked serves her greater mission. Though it is an indirect path, knowing everything about any area of interest has always been the most natural thing to her.

At least, this was how she justified going out of her usual library aisles… or, perhaps, she desperately needed a new avenue to explore. Chronic dead ends tend to put a damper on curiosity.
She finds an empty table to set her belongings on, easing the chair out from underneath the table without dragging it. She pours through the first few pages, skimming to where the content really seems to start.

Time passes. She’s not sure how long she’s been there, but she’s taken six pages of notes when she realizes Pure Vanilla has entered the library as well. He’s quietly asking the librarian a question that she can’t make out. The other cookie nodded, and pointed him over to her direction.

Did… he really come looking for her?

“White Lily Cookie,” Pure Vanilla’s voice mirrors the quiet atmosphere of the library. He places his hands out to find the back to a chair he knows must be huddled somewhere nearby. “I thought I might find you here.”

“Pure Vanilla Cookie,” she acknowledges, gently nudging the chair out with her foot. She’s simultaneously mindful not to ram it into his shin or jam his finger with the motion, but times it so it perfectly meets his palm. “Why have you come?”

Pure Vanilla smiles at the gesture. Neither of them address it. “Have you been feeling well?”

She takes some time before she replies while Pure Vanilla takes a seat. Such an open-ended question. If it were any other cookie, she would have just said that she was fine, and waited for them to continue on. A meaningless conversation starter that she never understood the purpose for.

But this was Pure Vanilla. He doesn’t make small-talk like other cookies do. He speaks because there is reason, and that trait is one of the reasons he does not exhaust her like others have the tendency to do.

Pure Vanilla waits patiently for her reply, like he had already anticipated the delay and welcomes it.

“I have… been looking into new research topics.” She says, carefully, not wanting to ramble about everything and nothing. There’s always the off-chance that he really did just wish to know as a pleasantry.

Pure Vanilla sighs a breath of relief at the admission. “Ah, so that’s what it is. That’s good to hear.”

She opens up a new book, even though she cannot think clearly enough to get the full benefits. She’s left feeling like she missed a step somewhere in the conversation, but she doesn’t know where. She doesn’t know what she doesn’t know, so she can’t even ask a question.

Pure Vanilla clears his throat, not rude, but a gentle warning before he requests her attention again. “White Lily Cookie, may I ask what the area of research is?”

“Hm?” She asks, but she doesn’t need him to repeat himself. He knows this as well. A few moments pass before she replies, “I wanted to investigate how a cookie can influence their body by thoughts alone.”

Pure Vanilla lets out a thoughtful hum. “Like how a cookie can increase their endurance with proper motivation?”

“That is an area of study in this field, but not the one I am currently investigating… though it would not surprise me if there is overlap.”

He gently slides his chair to be facing the same direction as her’s. He leans in so close to the books that White Lily’s first thought is that he’s going to lick the ink right off the paper. She… can’t tell if that thought came from worry for him straining himself or some other type of intrusive thought.

She makes a disapproving sound and kindly pushes him back to be sitting correctly in his chair, not letting go of his shoulder until he returns to the correct posture.

No. Save yourself for when you have to see. I can do it right now. Let me be your eyes.

“This seems less scientific than what you normally read.” He frowns, putting a hand to his chin. “Less on data and more so observed, lived experiences.”
She nods. “You would be correct, but I want to be thorough.”

In the silence that follows, she can’t help but add, “You could possibly tie it in with Franchar Cookie’s works, as it does incorporate the concept of nature vs. nurture. Personality vs. temperament. Genetic predetermination vs freedom of choice. The ability to choose our own future, regardless of the cards we’ve been dealt. I could then filter the new information through my notes on how particular genotypes can be expressed as their respective phenotypes. Obviously, depending on specific environmental factors. Perhaps childhood illnesses or toxicity exposures… Blunt head traumas? Making a connection to genetics, molecular biology, and immunology if we get specific enough in the questions we ask. So, while not pure biology or alchemy or anything of the sort… um… yeah. That’s what I’ve been up to.” She picks at the hems of her sleeves.

Pure Vanilla leans back, eyes trying to center on hers. White Lily is not one to look people in the eyes, but she remembers Pure Vanilla’s gaze when they first met. His gaze was shifty, just like how hers are when she tries to look cookies in the eyes. But now, his eyes shift in smaller circuits. Not like he needs a break to catch his breath, looking away to feel less unsettled by the eye contact, but because his eyes cannot track hers. Cannot stay in one place. Is it muscular? Is it neurological? Is it voluntary?

Then again, he has been keeping his eyes closed more and more often. She didn’t realize how relieving it was to be around a cookie who could not stare holes into her.

A pang of guilt.

How could she find any solace in another cookie’s suffering? Was she secretly grateful that Pure Vanilla was suffering? Freeing her from the weight of being perceived? Her thoughts turn cottony. Pure Vanilla is talking, but she is only half-aware.

She focuses on the smell of the books, the texture of the rough paper under her fingertips. And then, finally, the sound of Pure Vanilla’s voice again.
“...class is far more fun when you go too,” she hears at the tail end.

“How have you been doing?” She says stiffly, uncertain of the words she’s forming, like her mouth is alien to her.

Pure Vanilla has an unmistakably amused look on his face, though she’s not sure why. What was amusing about that question?

“I’ve been doing fine. How about you?”

“You already asked me that.”

“Then may I ask instead what prompted you to ask me just now?”

“How are you finding your classes?”

His face scrunches, and she can’t tell if she’s said something wrong or amusing. “White Lily Cookie… I know the paths to my frequently visited areas just fine.”

“I meant, are you able to keep up?”

There’s a quiet that blankets their table. Upon the words leaving her mouth, she wonders if she phrased it wrong again. Perhaps he just needed longer to fully think about the answer. Maybe he had already wracked up a migraine today, and it was already fogging his thoughts. Did he eat today? That will make his symptoms worse if he hadn’t. Maybe he was plagued with nightmares last night, so his sleep wasn’t restful. That would slow his thoughts down too. Yes, there were plenty of reasons that would explain this reaction. Reasons that were not her doing. Her thoughts continue to swirl at a pace far faster than she could control.

Her shoulders are tense, how long has that been happening?

She’s cold. Is she always this cold? She wraps a hand in the excess fabric of her uniform.

Pure Vanilla’s voice finally speaks up. “Yes, my classes are fine.”

“That’s good to hear.” She relaxes, but something feels unresolved. She’s not sure why. The feeling of unease hangs over her like a cloud. “I don’t know why you’re skipping class with me.”

A moment of, something, slips from Pure Vanilla. White Lily can’t name it. Can’t place it. But something is wrong. She knows it. She just doesn’t know what to do about it. So she returns her gaze back to the books, intentions set to reading.

“You were gone when I went to bed last night and you had left before I woke up. I was… worried.”

White Lily was not expecting that. He was concerned? No less, concerned for her? But why? He was the one who deserved the concern. She was researching. That’s her element. That’s what she was good at. Late nights and early mornings are her normal. This was how she lived her life, and her life was not one she thought to be concerning.

“I don’t understand.”

Pure Vanilla repositions in his seat, pressing his hands harder against the table top, like it could ground him through the distortions of light he was constantly bombarded with. “You’ve been skipping class.”

“But I always do that?”
And you’re doing that with me right now. How many times have we skipped class together? I just do it far more than you do.

“You’ve also been skipping the dining hall.”

“We always go together.”
So if I’m not going, you haven’t been going either.
Ah, that’s not good. Another tally for things she must find a way to save him from.

“You’ve been caught up in your studies.”

“So have you.”

“It has been more than your usual amount,” he clarifies.

There’s a pause. The tension in both parties deflate, even by just a small amount. Caught in a continuous stalemate, yet it might be exactly what’s needed to reveal the truth. A mutual goal for the other.

“Are you saying you’re worried about my health?” She says in a small voice. The question feels laughable. White Lily is nearly certain this theory is incorrect, but regardless, she feels it necessary to try.

He nods in reply. “You seem to disappear from the world once you’ve made up your mind about something. And I…” he hesitates. In the time that elapses, she counts five different types of bird calls coming from beyond the windows. “I know it’s selfish. I know that you always focus on your studies first and foremost. That it would be silly to assume this... But I was worried that the reason for your withdrawal had something to do… with me…”

Had she been found out that easily?

She chances a direct look at his face. His eyes are half-lidded, thick white lashes beginning to clump from the tears in his eyes.

His expression seems too sad. She must be missing something. He had guessed right, but why did his conclusion bring him to sadness? She thought that Pure Vanilla made more sense than most cookies around her, but at times like these, she realized that she knew less than she could have ever dreamed.

“Why does that make you sad?” Her voice is tender, like she’s trying to get a scared kitten to warm up to her.

She’s scared. That cloud of dread becoming a thick fog. Had she made another mistake? Had she misread the situation that badly? She stares holes into her papers, to the point that the world begins to sway slightly.

“Did I cross a line?” Pure Vanilla asks. His voice only sounds more hurt with every sentence he says.
How is she only making this worse?!

She knew she wasn’t good at friends. She knew she was weird. She knew people didn’t like her. She’s had no idea how Pure Vanilla has put up sharing a dorm with her. Such a small space to deal with how unpleasant a smell everyone always reminded her her lily scent was.

She knew she wasn’t good. She wasn’t kind.

But she was smart!

And she could help people! So why did it always feel like she always hurt the people she tried to protect? To care for. To… love.

This was how she loved. She loved by analyzing, by learning and returning with more to share. She would learn and learn. She could be the best at whatever they needed. She could be what they couldn’t be. Because she did care! Other cookies have always been important to her, so why couldn’t anyone else see that?

“No, you didn’t… I’m worried that I’ve done that to you.” Her voice doesn’t feel like hers. It’s hollow. She sounds far calmer than how she feels. Her hands tremble under her sleeves.

“What? No, no…” He pauses, and looks around. A nearly useless action. “Would you prefer we went outside to discuss this more?”

She nods and gives a quiet hum of agreement. Muscle memory ensues. She lends her arm to her friend, and he hugs it to his chest. It’s not necessary for an obstruction-free, short, familiar walk like this, but it’s comforting, nonetheless. A way to ease the mental load, possibly even comfort.

Pure Vanilla knows where he wants to take her, so he steers them both towards a familiar spot. White Lily only helps with the smaller things, like avoiding freshly sprouted ant hills. Right behind the campus’ library, there’s a large tree. In that tree’s shade, there lays a patch of milk crown flowers. Normally, they grow a little below the knee of most cookies, but these ones must have been a variation. They grew closer to the ground, and they were soft, similar to a patch of clovers.

She sits down in a spot with few petals, so as to not squish any young buds beneath her. Her body feels heavy on the bare ground, like the flowers could sweetly encase her for a long nap. She had always liked plants, and of course, Pure Vanilla knew that.

“So…” Pure Vanilla formulates his words slowly. “You’ve been distant… because of me?”

“Yes.” She confirms. She tries to think of what would be a helpful addition to the admission, but she can’t. Nothing that feels profound enough. “Why does that upset you?”

Pure Vanilla straightens, blinking a few times in surprise. “Oh… I wouldn’t say, ‘upset’. It’s more that I can’t understand what I’ve done to upset you… to distance yourself like this…”
And there it is again. That horribly sad tone in his voice again, amplified even more so, knowing that she is the cause.

Hurt.
All she does is hurt cookies.
How can she say she loves them when this is what her love does?

She takes a breath. The milk crown’s scent is refreshing, sobering. She can scratch a bit of the soft soil peaking through the blade, and it settles under her nails in a cold, soothing sensation. “I’m not upset. I’ve been researching.”

Pure Vanilla chuckles, but White Lily doesn’t think there’s anything funny about what she’s said. Is he running out of ways to reword the question? Running out of patience? Running out of the grace he’s willing to spend on her. White Lily wants to answer, she really does, she just doesn’t know how.

“Then why have you been acting so different? The White Lily Cookie I know would have never worried about my intellect. I thought… Even though you score higher in our exams, I thought… I thought I could still be of use to you. Am I so useless that you don’t talk to me?” He pauses, before reconsidering. “I’m not saying this as an accusation. I want you to show me where my thoughts have strayed. Where I misunderstood.”

She can’t get past the first assumption- that she’s avoiding him. She thinks of Pure Vanilla often. She watches him more than she watches anything. Perhaps it’s that he can’t see her watching him…

She offers advice, narrates things that are happening that are only happening visually… she’s using her voice! She’s talking to him… All these thoughts swirl in her head, but they are so far away from his actual question that she finds herself speechless.

Pure Vanilla continues, “I get it. I’d only slow you down in your research. Reading out loud is far less convenient than reading to yourself. But… you used to give me your own lessons on what you were learning. At least, it didn’t seem like you were hiding your research from me.”

Something clicks in White Lily’s head. “You miss my rambles?”

She chances another glance at his face. It’s flushed, his lips pressed tightly together, but he does nod.

“Oh… I thought… since they were so off topic from what I would see you research…” She trails off, embarrassingly remembering another factor to her newer secrecy. Pure Vanilla notices she isn’t finished, letting her have the space to complete the thought. “And… I felt awkward about it.”

Pure Vanilla’s voice takes on a stance of unmistakable intrigue. “Oh? And why would that be the case?” The curiosity morphs quickly back to embarrassment, although White Lily isn’t sure why he’s been having such a back and forth of it all. She’s the one who messed up, not him.

“Because you were right. The topic of my research has revolved around you, Pure Vanilla Cookie. I’ve been… researching. Trying to understand why cookies suffer.”

The birds chirp. White Lily gently sweeps a jelly fly off her cloak.

“So,” she continues, “I’ve been looking into how to fix your eyes.”

The wind blows. Pure Vanilla takes off his hat and sets it on his lap, eyes down cast.

Again, she wonders, terrifyingly, if she’s made another mistake. It’s like all she can do is make mistakes.She keeps her distance- she hurts others. She gets close as an apology- and she still manages to hurt others.

“But there is nothing to fix. This is how it is.”

His tone is resigned. The calmest it’s been this whole conversation. No… that’s not right. It’s not calm. It’s flat. She thinks about the other times she’s heard him speak like that. The times his voice is flat like that, maybe it’s meant to be comforting? To who, she’s not sure.

She glances back, and there’s a small smile on his face. But… wasn’t there sadness in his voice? He had to be sad about this! No cookie could face a permanent loss like this with anything other than terror! Especially not a cookie who loved to read, and walk all over pastures with hidden pot holes, and heal others, and watch the sunset, and, and, and…

And then it clicks.

He talks like this when he’s more worried about the other cookie, not himself.

She timidly takes his hand in hers. The touch causes him to flinch, not because it’s unwelcomed, but it was unexpected.

White Lily makes a note to start announcing movements like that.

“Pure Vanilla Cookie,” she says softly, her voice taking on a similar quality to his. Though she doesn’t know how, not yet, she wants to learn. She wants to learn to be a better friend. Perhaps, the first step to learning is imitating- at least until she can figure out how to do it in her own way. “Do you really mean that?”

He pulls back, ever so slightly. “Of course! This isn’t that bad. I’m going to be a healer. It’ll help me relate better to my patients.”

“Regardless, it’s still a struggle to hold.”

He sighs, “at times, yes.”

“So you want it fixed?”

“I would not be opposed, but there isn’t anything to fix. Eye sight cannot be returned. Not when it’s lost like this. Fixating on a return to normalcy is wishful thinking. You know it as well as I do. If I am faced with a struggle, I’d rather embrace it than run from it.”

“But you want it to get better. To be easier. Am I understanding you correctly?” White Lily’s pitch is low, but tender in a way she never knew she could sound like. It almost feels like scissors gliding through paper with how it rolls from her throat.

For a horrifying moment, she wonders if it only feels so easy because it isn’t her. That it’s easier to pretend to be Pure Vanilla than herself when the situation calls for emotional competence.

Luckily, the thought doesn’t have much of a chance to stick before the conversation drags her back to her senses.

Pure Vanilla makes a sound in his throat, like he’s swallowing a foul admission back down, before he relents, in a voice barely even audible, “I miss seeing the details of the stars. I love the light, I always have, but keeping my eyes open… it’s all so blurry. I’m tired of being dazed from how much it makes my head spin and ache.”

White Lily has never heard him be so… vulnerable. She listens to what he says, but there’s an unavoidable voice screaming in her head that she’s going to say the wrong thing again. That however she takes this admission, it will be wrong.

She’s wrong.

How can she say anything? Both her eyes can see perfectly fine. She’s never struggled with any form of visual impairments before.

She doesn’t understand.

She never will.

“That sounds hard…” She mumbles.

“And then-” his voice cracks. Whether it be a lack of breath or the nerves clawing at his voice again, she’s not sure. “And then, I had you. You’ve always been so kind to me, but you’re not always around. And that’s ok! It’s my fault for wanting you to be something different than you’ve ever been. But then I realize how much harder everything is when there isn’t someone there who stays mindful of things. You whisper what’s written on the board to me during lectures, because no one else seems to remember there’s something wrong with me, so they don’t tell me when there’s a note on the door saying that lecture has been moved to a different room. You know when to help before I even know something’s wrong- like it's the most natural thing for you to do. You don’t over do it either. But then… you say stuff like just now. Things that make me think you don’t think I’m smart, like you, all because I’m…”

White Lily doesn’t move. Not even for breath. Was she the solution? Or part of the problem? Was she hurting or helping? She didn’t mean to be belittling. She never once thought of her friend as less than for this. On the contrary, she thought what he overcame in a day was admirable. Not pity. Not stupidity. Not even bravery. He was doing his best. So obviously, she would want to do her best too. She just wanted to help.

Every thought she can think of in reply is a muddled, sloppy goo of this train of thought. Time passes, it surely must, she knows, but she can’t tell how long.

She feels a squeeze on her hand. Right. The hand that’s holding Pure Vanilla’s. He didn’t let go. He’s still here, sitting with her. Willing to talk things out. Willing to give her another chance. At least another chance to explain herself.

“I… I’m sorry,” she says in a shaky breath. “I just wanted to save you.”

“What do you mean by ‘save me’?”

“If you can’t read, how are you supposed to continue towards your goal?”

“But you read to me.”

“But you said it yourself. I’m not always there. I’m a bad friend.”

“I didn’t say you were a bad friend.”

“But isn’t that how I treat you? You don’t have to say it. I’ve been told it enough.”

“Even if people have told you that in your past, that doesn’t make it true. That also doesn’t mean that I agree.”

“This doesn’t answer my question of how good can your quality of life be with what you wish to do if you cannot see!”

The visible tension he has releases. For a split second, she worries that she hit a nerve that even Pure Vanilla, in all his love of truth, could not face head on. A handful of soil and a few stray blades of grass are tightly clenched in her fists.

“I’m not sure yet.” The timid admission makes White Lily regret making him admit such a scary assessment. “But… I’d like to think there are ways to live with it. Ways I have yet to discover.”

Live with it?

Her mind and tongue do not fully converse with one another before she asks, “like learn to echolocate?”

While not the stupidest question she could have asked, she’s almost certain that that is not actually how most people cope with such challenges. She feels her face burn.

Luckily, it does manage to lighten the mood. Pure Vanilla chuckles softly, head tilted down, mouth barely opened, but his free hand still covers it.
The feeling she keeps trying to ignore stirs in her again distantly. She rubs her thumb on the back of his hand.

“My, while that would be rather interesting, that feels like it would be rather challenging to pick up. Perhaps one day later down the road.”

Now that she’s thought about it more, she’s perking up. “How about a staff? I’ve heard of plenty of cookies using a staff before.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” He says thoughtfully. “But, do you think,” he hesitates, before continuing on. “For today… right now? I just want to sit with you. Out here. In these flowers. I don’t want to think about what I can or can’t see. What does or doesn’t hurt. Or what the future holds. I just… want to be with my friend.”

Friend.

After all this, he still wants to be her friend. She hasn’t failed past redemption. She hasn’t lost him. She hasn’t hurt him. He still cares for her. And she cares for him. And he wants to be around her.

It’s different from the way they share a dorm. It’s different from the way they share the same classes. It’s different from how their dining hall visits are shared in the name of convenience and accountability.

He believes in her. Believes she’s capable of being a real cookie.

The giddiness of not having lost her only friend, but now feeling even closer, makes her feel as if she snuck a few swigs of berry juice.

There’s a plan. And they’re doing it together. And he wants her to stick around for the journey. She hasn’t had another person leave in an angry huff at how inattentive she is, or how cold she is, or how hard she is to read. He’s willing to not toss her aside. Perhaps it’s a Herculean task. Perhaps it’s the bare minimum. Regardless of the answer, it leaves her no less thrilled.
It’s not her job to save Pure Vanilla. They’re just going to take it one day at a time. And they have each other.

“I do too.”

And with the weights on their chests mutually lifted, the two’s nerves finally relax. Pure Vanilla slumps to the side, his cheek finding home on White Lily’s collar. Her arms hold his head gently, tracing over his temples in small, circular motions.

Slowly, she shifts closer to the ground, letting her shoes peak out from the shade. She knows he must be able to feel her breathing, maybe even her heart beat. For some reason, the thought doesn’t alarm her like she always thought it would. She can feel his breath too. In and out.

What a funny thing it is, she thinks, to find such comfort in another cookie.