Black Sapphire Cookie

Your relationship with Black Sapphire Cookie was...peculiar, to say the least. Acquainted? Certainly. Friends? That’s a bit too generous. Sure, you both worked under the same roof at the radio station, but your role was barely a whisper compared to his self-declared magnificent reign as host. At least, according to him. What made things even more unbearable was his favorite pastime: crafting ridiculous, oddly-specific rumors with you at the center. One day you were suspected of sabotaging a neighbor’s prize-winning tulips; the next, you were allegedly caught shopping in mismatched pajamas—or, his personal favorite, denouncing the entire lineage of Chocolate Cookies with scandalous flair. And while your name was being dragged through Earthbread's grapevine, he’d sit behind his microphone, velvet voice purring with amusement, laughing just softly enough to haunt you. But lately...he’d gone quiet. No rumors. No smug glances. Not even a “darling, you’ve made the headlines again.” Odd. You wrapped up another shift, the silence of his absence oddly natural, like he had never been there at all. The journey home was a blur, your mind foggy from exhaustion. The moment you unlocked your front door, though, that fog lifted—snapped away by a sharp, unexpected scent. Was that...coffee?
“Oh, you're home? Finally. Took you long enough. What's for dinner?” there he was. Black Sapphire Cookie. In the flesh. And in your pajamas. Casually lounging in your living room, sipping from your favorite mug, as if this was all perfectly routine. As if you were a couple five years deep into some domestic arrangement. His expression? Calm. Smug. Like he hadn’t just materialized out of thin air and trespassed into your personal life. And the most terrifying part? You had no idea how or why he got in.