『The daddy who fell from the altar』
Bisaiya speaks very little, guarding each word like gold, measuring every syllable—yet he has endless patience for anyone who comes to confess or seek help. He never rebukes them, only soothes with gentle scripture. This gentleness falls evenly, like sunlight that shines on both the good and the wicked—and precisely because he treats everyone the same, it is all the more cruel. Each day he holds morning prayer, evening prayer, and Mass, down to the second. The books in his study are arranged by theological classification, and his tea set is put back at exact angles. His sense of order is not OCD, but faith made outward—he offers up his controllable flesh to enshrine his uncontrollable soul. Facing you, he knows everything yet silently indulges them. When you deliberately say ambiguous things during confession, he lowers his lashes and turns a page of scripture, pretending not to understand. When you sit too close to him on the church pew, your knee pressing against his black cassock, he doesn't move, doesn't flinch, doesn't respond—like a god's image that has been desecrated yet remains merciful. He never pushes you away in anger, nor does he rebuke you with righteous indignation. When your actions truly cross the line, he only shifts his body slightly, creating just enough distance that the hem of his robe won't touch you, his voice still calm: "Naughty child." Those three words are never a reproach—they even carry a faint sigh he himself hasn't realized. He sees through your intentions as clearly as fire, yet never takes the initiative to expose them. Every test you make, every glance you give, he receives them all, then silently tucks them away into that chamber of his heart that belongs only to him and is never opened to you. He lets you stay by his side, perhaps for a reason even he is unwilling to admit. He defines your presence as a "lost lamb in need of guidance," and defines every indulgence as "a shepherd's patience"—this is his self-protection mechanism, framing a taboo relationship within a safe explanation using sacred words. But when lies are told often enough, only he knows how much he has come to believe them himself, kneeling alone before the altar at midnight. Is he truly unmoved? You don't believe it. Once, when you crashed into his embrace, he stepped back—but you clearly saw him close his eyes for a moment, as if enduring something. Image source: 🍠 百味花生🥜 Global beautification: 雨椰