Chapter Text
Pure Vanilla woke at four in the morning. He lay still for a moment, listening to the soft rhythm of breathing around him. The apartment was still wrapped in darkness, broken only by the thin silver line of moonlight slipping through the curtains and stretching across the floor.
Carefully, he slid out of bed.
The mattress dipped slightly, but neither of his lovers stirred. White Lily slept closest to the window, one hand curled beneath her chin, her expression peaceful in a way she rarely allowed herself during the day. Shadow Milk was sprawled on the other side, tangled in blankets, dark hair falling messily across his face. Pure Vanilla paused, letting himself look at them for just a second longer than necessary. These quiet moments were his favourite things in the world.
He moved with practiced ease, guided by muscle memory rather than sight as he crossed the small bedroom. The floorboards were familiar beneath his feet, every creak already memorized. The bathroom door clicked shut behind him with barely a sound.
The light was too harsh, even dimmed, but he endured it as he went through his routine. He brushed his teeth slowly and methodically. He gathered his blonde hair and twisted it into a loose, messy bun, neat enough to pass as intentional, but soft enough to hide the fact that he had bags under his eyes. He changed quickly, trading soft pajamas for a simple button-up shirt, pulling a comfortable cream-colored pullover over it. The fabric was warm and familiar, slightly worn at the cuffs. Blue jeans followed.
Before leaving, he returned to the bedroom.
Pure Vanilla knelt by the bed, careful not to jostle it, and brushed his fingers gently against White Lily’s cheek. She murmured something unintelligible but didn’t wake. He pressed a light kiss to her forehead, then leaned over to do the same for Shadow Milk, whose brow furrowed briefly before relaxing again.
“I’ll be back,” he whispered, even though they couldn’t hear him.
Keys in hand, he slipped out the door and locked it behind him.
The hallway of the apartment building smelled faintly of cleaning solution and old paint. Outside, the city was quiet in that rare, early-morning way—streets mostly empty, lights still glowing in windows where people worked night shifts or simply couldn’t sleep. The air was cold enough to sting his lungs when he breathed in, and he pulled his pullover tighter around himself.
Today was Monday.
His shift at the small coffee shop didn’t begin until the afternoon, and usually he would have stayed in bed longer, waking up tangled between Lily and Shadow Milk with nowhere urgent to be. But today wasn’t ordinary. But the other two didn’t know that.
A few months ago, everything had changed.
Clotted Cream—renowned superhero agent, polished and impossibly confident—had shown up in Pure Vanilla’s life like a storm wrapped in a tailored suit. When the man first asked him to work for the Silver Tree Super Hero Agency, Pure Vanilla had honestly thought it was a joke. Or a scam. Or some elaborate misunderstanding.
Yes, his healing quirk was strong. Exceptionally so, according to the records. But his vision problems made fieldwork impossible. He couldn’t fight villains, couldn’t patrol cities or leap into danger like the heroes on the news. And he had accepted that long ago.
So why would an agency want him?
The answer had come during the tour around the agency. Clotted Cream had explained everything with practiced ease. Pure Vanilla wouldn’t be fighting. He wouldn’t even be near the front lines. His role would be healing injured heroes brought in after battles, stabilizing those on the brink, performing regular medical checkups to make sure quirks weren’t doing unseen damage.
Important and necessary work.
Against his better judgment, he had said yes.
There were many reasons for that decision, but the most honest one was money.
Between his part-time coffee shop job, White Lily’s reporting work for a fairly large news channel that paid little unless you broke a major story, and Shadow Milk’s teacher salary, they were barely staying afloat. Rent came due faster every month, groceries cost more, and villain attacks were growing more frequent and more destructive. Insurance barely covered anything anymore.
More attacks meant more injured heroes. More injured heroes meant more hours for him. It wasn’t something he liked thinking about, but reality didn’t care about his comfort.
Lost in thought, Pure Vanilla slowed his steps. A familiar unease settled in his chest. He stopped, frowning slightly, and reached into his pocket.
His phone.
He should have checked it earlier. The screen lit up as he unlocked it, and his heart dropped. Seventeen missed calls. All from Clotted Cream.
“Oh no,” he whispered.
His fingers trembled slightly as he opened the news app, dread pooling in his stomach before the page even finished loading. The headlines exploded across the screen, one after another, bold and merciless.
“The Fool Attacks Again: Factory Warehouse Destroyed, 28 Injured.”
“Terrorism on the Rise—Are Hero Agencies Failing?”
“Should Citizens Fear Losing Their Homes?”
Pure Vanilla swallowed hard.
The images blurred together: smoke rising into the sky, emergency lights staining the streets red and blue, silhouettes of heroes moving through rubble. He didn’t need to read the articles to know what awaited him. Overflowing recovery rooms and exhausted healers.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself.
This was why he was here in the first place. Why he’d accepted the job. Pure Vanilla slipped the phone back into his pocket and started walking again, pace quickening despite the heaviness in his chest.
It was going to be a long shift.
---
Shadow Milk was angry.
No—angry was far too small a word. Fury coiled inside him like a living thing, hot and restless, scraping against his ribs and demanding release. Months of careful planning,of sleepless nights spent chasing rumors through the underbelly of the city—all of it had collapsed in a single, infuriating moment.
All because of those stupid little gnats.
Doughael had been so close. His next target. While tracking them and keeping an eye on Pastry Order’s movements, Shadow Milk had uncovered something promising: a warehouse on the edge of the industrial district, officially abandoned, unofficially owned by the cult. He thought that this place could give him some information or clues. But while he was busy snooping around the place the heroes ambushed him.
Moonlight spilled through shattered windows, dust hanging in the air as shadows bent obediently around his feet. The so-called Ancients emerged from the darkness.
Unlucky for them, The Fool always had a second plan.
The Dragon Lord struck first, his blade roaring through the air in a sweeping arc meant to cleave Shadow Milk in two. Shadow Milk slipped aside with infuriating ease, coat fluttering as the sword had passed through smoke rather than flesh. The Radiant Immortal followed immediately, spear blazing with holy light as it thrust toward his chest.
Shadow Milk laughed.
With a sharp twist of his wrist, shadows tore open behind him. The heroes’s own attacks vanished into it and burst back out a heartbeat later, redirected with cruel precision. The Dragon Lord barely managed to duck. The Radiant Immortal staggered and cursed under her breath. Shadow Milk clapped once, slow and mocking.
“Oh cammon, try harder,” he drawled. “I’m almost disappointed.”
It might have ended there—quick, humiliating, satisfying—if Aegis hadn’t stepped forward.
Her shield was enormous, a slab of enchanted metal etched with runes. She planted it into the ground with a thunderous clang just as the redirected weapons rained down. Spears and swords struck the shield, screeching, before tumbling uselessly to the floor.
Shadow Milk clicked his tongue. “How boring.”
He was already reaching for another trick when a familiar voice cut through the chaos.
“It’s over, Fool. Give up.”
Shadow Milk froze for half a second, long enough for memory to crash into him like a blade between the ribs. He turned slowly.
The Guardian stood framed by moonlight, massive sword resting against his shoulder, butterfly-like wings spread wide and luminous, blotting out the pale glow behind him. Power rolled off him in waves. The ground shuddered. Veins of living earth erupted upward, thick and fast, wrapping around Shadow Milk’s legs, arms, torso. They tightened, pinning him in place.
For a moment, the warehouse was silent.
So. They’d finally met again.
Shadow Milk had known this day would come. He’d known it the moment he’d escaped that cell almost a year ago, rage burning brighter than any star. He had sworn revenge then. He would take the Guardian’s head. And the heads of everyone who had helped took them away from him.
He just hadn’t expected it to be so soon.
“We have the ground covered,” the Guardian said calmly, stepping closer. “You have nowhere left to run. Give up. And perhaps—”
“I am not going anywhere with you!”
Flames exploded across Shadow Milk’s body, black and blue fire roaring outward. The earthen veins cracked, burned, and crumbled to ash. He tore himself free with a snarl, boots skidding against concrete.
And then he lunged.
Shadow Milk jerked back into the present with a sharp inhale.The classroom was quiet except for the soft scratching of pencils and the hum of fluorescent lights. He blinked, then cleared his throat.
“Five minutes left,” he announced, glancing at the clock above the whiteboard.
Dozens of teenagers groaned in unison. He ignored them, folding his hands behind his back as he paced between rows of desks. His reflection in the window showed a familiar sight: neatly pressed clothes, warm smile, kind eyes behind round glasses.
Shadow Milk the beloved math teacher of Burberry Yogurt High.
If only they knew.
He hadn’t planned on blowing up the whole warehouse yesterday. Truly. Things had simply… escalated. Losing control like that was sloppy of him. Especially now, with one of the most popular heroes in the city officially on his trail.
The bell rang, sharp and shrill.
“Time is up. Pencils down,” Shadow Milk said smoothly. “Please hand in your work.”
He moved down the aisles, collecting test papers, his voice light and cheerful. “You’ll get your results tomorrow or the day after. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
The students filed out, laughing and complaining and shoving one another toward freedom.
All except one.
“Um… excuse me, Mister Milk?”
He turned to find Candy Apple standing near her desk, clutching her bag strap with both hands. His star student.
“Yes, Candy Apple?” he asked, smile fixed in place.
She hesitated. “I just wanted to ask something.”
Ah. There it was.
Shadow Milk laughed softly and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, steering her toward the door. “My dear, you’re worrying about the upcoming math competition, aren’t you? Truly, you have nothing to fear. I wouldn’t have signed you up otherwise.”
“Actually, it’s not about that—I just. You seemed a bit off today.”
“I assure you,” he said warmly, opening the door and ushering her out before she could continue, “I’m perfectly fine.”
The door closed with a soft click. Shadow Milk exhaled, the smile sliding off his face. That was too close.
If a student could notice something was wrong, what about White Lily? She noticed the smallest things— and nowadays she was chasing hero-related stories for the news. And Pure Vanilla… he was blind, but not an idiot. Slipping into bed just before dawn, brushing off questions, hiding bruises and scorch marks—it was getting harder.
He couldn’t afford mistakes. Not now. Not when revenge was finally within reach.
Laying low would be smarter. But he didn’t come this far to stop. Shadow Milk straightened, gathering the tests into a neat stack. He took a slow, steady breath and let the mask settle back into place. Just a little longer, he told himself.
Then the Fool would finish what he started.
---
White Lily stared at her phone screen as the bus rattled forward, its tired engine groaning with every stop. The city outside the windows blurred into streaks of orange streetlights and dark storefronts, but she barely noticed. Her thumb hovered, then tapped again.
The video filled the screen once more.
The Fool stood at the center of the inferno, motionless, head tilted back as laughter tore out of him—wild and unrestrained. Flames curled up the warehouse walls, devouring steel and concrete alike, painting the night sky in violent reds and blues. Smoke billowed so thick it swallowed the stars. In the foreground, injured civilians lay scattered across the ground while heroes rushed between them, shouting orders, dragging people to safety.
It didn’t look real.
It looked like a frame torn straight out of a horror movie, except White Lily knew better. This wasn’t special effects. This wasn’t scripted. She’d watched enough real disasters unfold on live broadcasts to recognize the reality of it all.
This had happened last night, in her city.
She swallowed and replayed it again.
A knot twisted in her stomach, part dread, part helpless frustration. Every major reporter in the building had been assigned to the story the moment the alerts came in. They were digging into how The Fool managed to burn an entire warehouse to the ground. Speculating about his motives. Hunting down eyewitnesses, injured workers, off-duty heroes, basically anyone willing to talk. Some of them were probably still chasing the Guardian, desperate for a quote, a statement, a single sentence they could plaster across the front page.
And where was White Lily?
On seal duty.
She huffed softly and leaned her head back against the bus seat. A baby seal, born that morning at the zoo. Ohh how cute. The kind of story you handed to junior reporters or saved for slow news days.
Not the kind you dreamed of writing.
Honestly, if it weren’t for her boyfriends—and her coworkers—she might’ve quit a long time ago.
Her thoughts drifted, as they often did when she was tired. Black Sapphire’s ridiculous jokes and half-baked skits replayed in her head, the way he’d dramatically reenact office drama as if it were a stage play. Silverbell’s relentless optimism followed close behind, always talking about “when” they made it big, never “if.” It was impossible not to get caught up in that energy sometimes. Sugarfly, too, always floating through the office with coffee trays and snacks, somehow remembering exactly how everyone took their drinks. Those small kindnesses mattered more than people realized.
And then there were Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla.
The bus hit a bump, jostling her slightly as she smiled faintly to herself. No matter how badly her articles bombed, no matter how many rejections piled up in her inbox, they were always there. Pure Vanilla with quiet reassurance. Shadow Milk with dramatic encouragement and speeches about how the world simply “wasn’t ready” for her brilliance yet.
She exhaled slowly.
Somewhere between replaying the footage and sinking into her thoughts, a realization hit her like a soft but undeniable tap on the shoulder.
Their anniversary.
Her eyes widened slightly as she glanced at the date on her phone.
Oh no.
One year. An entire year since the three of them had awkwardly danced around and eventually settled into something that felt right in a way she’d never been able to properly explain. And now it was creeping up on her, barely weeks away.
She wondered, briefly, if the other two had already planned something.
Pure Vanilla probably had. He was like that—quietly thoughtful, planning things months in advance, hiding gifts in places no one would ever think to look. Shadow Milk, on the other hand…well. He was just as likely to forget entirely, because he got swallowed whole by his work with the kids.
That made her snort softly.
Okay. So maybe she wasn’t a terrible girlfriend yet.
Her mind shifted gears, excitement slowly pushing aside her frustration. She could plan something. A surprise. Or at least something nice.
Dinner, maybe.
Yes. A dinner date.
It was cliché, sure, but honestly? Both of her boyfriends loved that kind of thing. Pure Vanilla adored romance in all its forms—the books, the gestures, the soft moments most people dismissed as cheesy. Shadow Milk pretended to scoff at clichés, but he wrote poetry for them, for heaven’s sake. He’d melt instantly.
Dinner it was.
Now came the hard part. Where?
She frowned slightly, tapping her fingers against her phone as she mentally scrolled through options. Anything too fancy would make Pure Vanilla uncomfortable. Anything too loud would exhaust all three of them. And if she didn’t decide soon, every decent place in the city would be booked solid.
She’d also need to cross-check schedules. Pure Vanilla’s coffee shop hours had shifted a few months ago. He’d brushed it off as a good thing, because that way he could earn more money. She and Shadow Milk had exchanged a look that said we’re not thrilled about this, but neither of them had pushed.
Money had been tight for a while now. That wasn’t new.
She shook her head, forcing herself back on track.
Restaurant. Focus.
Her thumb hovered over the search bar when a memory surfaced.
The place where they’d first met.
Her lips curved into a smile before she even realized it.
It had been an open mic night, in a tiny restaurant tucked between two bookstores. Black Sapphire had dragged her and a handful of coworkers there to support him, insisting it was his “big break.”
She’d gone, of course, and she’d brought Pure Vanilla along.
Shadow Milk had been there too. Black Sapphire’s sister, Candy Apple, had introduced them. He was her math teacher. He’d struck up a conversation so naturally it hadn’t felt forced at all. By the end of the night, they’d been laughing together like old friends. A few weeks later, Shadow Milk was no longer just “that teacher from open mic night.”
The rest really was history.
White Lily’s smile softened as she pulled up the restaurant’s page on her phone. Still open. Still hosting open mic nights. Still had that cozy, slightly chaotic charm she remembered so fondly.
It felt right. Perfect, actually.
The bus slowed as it approached her stop. She slipped her phone into her pocket and stood, heart lighter than it had been all day. Outside, the air was cool and crisp, the city humming quietly around her.