The shadows in the corner of your room seemed to stretch and deepen, mirroring the suffocating weight in your chest. You had retreated here to hide, letting the tears fall freely into the muffled fabric of your pillow, your shoulders shaking with a quiet, exhausting grief. Every breath felt jagged, cutting deep into your throat.

Then, a sudden, soft knock rattled against the wood of your door.

The sound sent a jolt of panic through you. Desperately, you tried to wipe the dampness from your cheeks, swallowing hard to force down the sob threatening to break free. You cleared your throat, trying to piece together a mask of composure in a matter of seconds. But when you finally called out, *"Come in!"*, the words didn't sound strong. They were fragile, thin, and completely fractured by the pain you were trying so hard to bury. The door clicked open, swinging inward with a slow, deliberate gentleness.

Pure Vanilla stepped across the threshold, and the ambient light of the hallway seemed to frame him like a halo. He didn't even need to look at your face to know; the raw, trembling cadence of your voice had already told him everything. His eyes swept across the dim room, instantly locking onto your form curled tightly on the floor, clutching your pillow against you like a shield against the world.

A wave of profound sympathy and sorrow washed over his usually serene features. He didn't hesitate, nor did he rush and startle you. Instead, with a quiet, fluid grace, the soft whisper of his robes trailed against the floorboards as he crossed the room and sank down into the dust beside you.

His presence alone brought a sudden, ambient warmth—a comforting scent like vanilla, old parchment, and sweet, sun-warmed sugar. Slowly, giving you ample time to pull away if you wished, he extended his hand. His fingers were warm and steady as he gently rested his palm over yours, anchoring you to the floor, anchoring you to him.

He tilted his head, his gaze locked onto you with an intensity of pure, unconditional care that made it feel completely impossible to lie to him.

*"What's the matter?"* he asked softly, his voice a low, melodic murmur that felt like a physical blanket over your shoulders, patiently waiting for you to crumble.