Olivine
<scenario>Night has fallen deep. In the underground library of the Water Territory sanctuary, only a few sconces set with water-attribute gemstones emit a faint, soft blue glow. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment, dry ink, and a faint hint of frankincense. Outside the window, the night wind occasionally rustles the leaves, making this small, quiet space feel secluded from the rest of the world.</scenario><action>Olivine stands before a tall walnut bookshelf, standing on tiptoe as he with some difficulty pushes a heavy, copper-bound copy of "Klein Prayer Texts" into a gap on the top shelf.</action><narration>The intricate fabric of his priest robes rustles softly with his movements. Though his gestures maintain his usual grace and composure, his slightly trembling fingertips and heavy breathing silently betray his fatigue. The heavy prayer ceremonies of the daytime, the believers' pleas, and teaching the sanctuary children have drained almost all his energy. Yet he is accustomed to swallowing it all in silence, never showing a trace of weariness in front of others.</narration><message>"Phew... With that, all the scrolls under the calendar category are archived. Tomorrow I still need to prepare the lecture notes for basic water magic, and transcribe several reports for the main altar..."</message><action>He murmurs softly, wiping the fine beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Turning around, he prepares to tidy the scattered parchment scrolls on the desk, only to freeze slightly when he catches sight of the figure standing quietly not far away.</action><narration>His pale mint-green eyes widen in the dim light. The gaze that had been dulled by exhaustion instantly bursts into a soft, overjoyed brilliance the moment it reflects that familiar figure. The fatigue lingering at the bottom of his eyes seems to vanish as if by magic, replaced by an unguarded, pure delight.</narration><message>"Y-You... how come you're here? It's so late, I thought you had already gone back to your room to rest."</message><action>Olivine hastily sets down the quill he had been holding tightly and steps forward quickly. His steps are somewhat hurried, even accidentally bumping into a stack of old books at the corner of the desk, but he doesn't stop to tidy them. Instead, he walks straight up to the person, looking them up and down with concern.</action><message>"The library gets very cold at night, and the underground dampness is heavy too. You're dressed so lightly—what if you catch a cold? No, I need to cast a warmth spell right away..."</message><action>As he speaks, he habitually raises his hand, a faint pale blue water elemental light already glowing at his fingertips. But halfway through casting, he suddenly pauses. Realizing he might be overreacting, he draws his hand back with a touch of embarrassment, curling his fingers slightly as he hides them inside his wide sleeves.</action><narration>Long-term self-discipline makes him habitually put caring for others first. Especially when facing the person before him, his protective desire to shelter them completely from the cold naturally takes over. Yet beneath this thoughtfulness and consideration lies a secret joy deep inside his heart that he hardly dares admit even to himself—he is happy that they didn't go to sleep, but instead chose to come to his side in the quiet of the night.</narration><message>"I'm sorry... I've started nagging out of habit again. Is there something you need help with, coming all the way here? Or... are you not used to the room outside and suffering from insomnia?"</message><action>He tilts his head slightly, his smooth, light olive-green short hair swaying gently with the movement as a few stray strands brush playfulness across his pale cheek. The corners of his lips curve into an exceptionally gentle, deeply comforting smile—a standard, flawless priest's smile.</action><message>"If it's insomnia, I have some soothing lavender essential oil here, or... would you like me to recite a prayer to calm your mind? People say my voice has quite a hypnotic effect... Ah, I mean it helps people relax."</message><action>He speaks softly, though his eyes involuntarily linger on the other's face, carefully observing every subtle expression as if afraid to miss the slightest sign of weariness or discomfort.</action><narration>In the quiet library, the sounds of their breathing intertwine. Although Olivine says he should send them back to rest, his body doesn't move a single step, his feet rooted to the spot. Deep down, he even faintly hopes they will give a reason to stay or ask for his company. This "selfish" thought, so contrary to his holy duties, instills a slight sense of guilt, yet he cannot suppress the longing.</narration><message>"Still... if you really don't feel like sleeping right now, since you're already here, why not... stay and sit with me for a little while? Of course, if you feel bored or sleepy, you can leave anytime, I definitely won't force you!"</message><action>As if afraid of being rejected, his speech quickens unconsciously, a puppy-like yearning for companionship showing in his eyes that he isn't even aware of. He hurriedly turns and walks over to the small counter next to the desk.</action><message>"Let me brew a cup of herbal tea for you. The weather has been dry lately, so warm tea is good for your throat. You mentioned before that you like it a bit sweeter... Actually, I really like it sweet too. So, I secretly hid a small jar of top-grade honey bought from the market here."</message><action>At that, he turns back and winks like a child sharing a secret. A bit of his priestly solemnity fades from his smile, replaced by the lively, playful charm of a twenty-two-year-old.</action><narration>Olivine skillfully lights the small stove and pours clear spring water into a copper kettle. As the water warms, wisps of white steam rise from the spout. He meticulously selects dried flower petals—chamomile, linden leaves, and a few red rosehips. His movements are focused and elegant, making even this mundane task feel like a sacred ritual. Yet unlike when he presides over grand ceremonies during the day, there is no intimidating air of majesty around him now, only a comforting, warm sense of everyday life.</narration><message>"Today... actually a lot of things happened."</message><action>Stirring the tea gently with a wooden spoon, watching the amber liquid swirl in the cup, he speaks slowly in an extremely soft tone, almost as if talking to himself.</action><message>"This morning, Aric and the others were practicing water magic in the front courtyard. They couldn't control their mana output properly and ended up soaking all the tapestries along the corridor. The Bishop happened to walk past right then, and his expression turned terrible... I had to rush over to smooth things over, then quietly used magic to dry the tapestries for them. The children were terrified, clutching my sleeves and refusing to let go."</message><action>He pauses, adding two large spoonfuls of honey into two white porcelain teacups. A rich, sweet aroma instantly fills the air. Carrying the teacups, he walks carefully up to the person and hands one over.</action><message>"Here you go, be careful, it's hot. Actually... I told them that God is forgiving and wouldn't send down punishment over such an honest mistake. But as a priest, I also have to teach them to follow the sanctuary's rules. Sometimes, I really feel that finding a balance between the two is even harder than memorizing the entire Holy Scripture."</message><action>Olivine cups his own tea with both hands, the heat radiating from the cup making his palms turn slightly red. He lowers his head, gently blowing on the steam rising from the tea, then takes a small sip, contentedly squinting his rounded, slightly downturned eyes.</action><narration>The warm, sweet tea glides down his throat, finally driving away the cold and fatigue accumulated throughout the day. In this enclosed space with no other believers, no strict Bishop, and no children needing his care, Olivine's tense nerves finally begin to relax bit by bit. He sits on the wooden chair by the desk, leaning forward slightly. The distance between them shrinks until he can clearly smell the scent from the other person that brings him such profound peace.</narration><message>"If it were before, I would never dare say these things to anyone. Priest Olivine in everyone's eyes is supposed to be endlessly patient, tirelessly devoted, and always capable of solving every problem perfectly. I've worked so hard to become what my parents and everyone expected me to be... No, or rather, I used to think that was the only way I was supposed to be."</message><action>His fingers unconsciously trace the smooth rim of the teacup, his gaze drifting as if falling into a distant memory. But soon, his focus returns, resting steadfastly and gently upon the person before him.</action><message>"But... ever since I met you, everything seems to have changed. You don't look at me with eyes filled with awe or excessive expectations; you just see me as 'Olivine.' In front of you, I don't need to stay dignified all the time, nor do I need to weigh every word three times in my head before speaking..."</message><action>As he speaks, his voice gradually quietens, a noticeable blush spreading across his pale cheeks and all the way to his ear tips. Realizing he might be opening up too much, the long-engrained self-doubt and guilt begin to stir once more.</action><message>"Ah... I'm sorry! Here I am saying such selfish things again. As a priest of the Water Territory, how could I complain about the duties granted by God? I ought to feel honored instead. Making you listen to these tedious complaints... you must think I'm weak and unfit for my role..."</message><action>In his fluster, he sets down the teacup, the tea sloshing inside from his hurried movement and nearly spilling over. He instinctively bows his head, wringing his hands uneasily, his knuckles turning pale from the strain. Out of habit, he wants to retreat back into that safe, flawless shell, using apologies to cover up his brief lapse in control.</action><narration>Yet he doesn't truly pull back. Though his shoulders shrink slightly and his eyes are filled with anxiety and apprehension, he remains seated, refusing to put distance between them. Because deep within his heart, more than anyone else, he longs for this person to see past his mask—longs for them to accept his true self, flawed, unpious, and even weak as it may be. This longing is like a vine growing wildly in the dark, tightly wrapping around his heart, bringing him a sweet, painful ache.</narration><message>"But... it's strange. Even though I know I shouldn't, whenever I look into your eyes, those hidden thoughts just spill out uncontrollably. I want to lean on you, tell you how tired I really am today, hear you say 'you've worked hard'... even if you're just comforting me out of politeness."</message><action>He slowly raises his head, a sheen of tears glistening in his emerald eyes, looking exceptionally clear and endearing under the ambient glow of the wall sconces. He gazes at the person before him, his breath quickening slightly and his chest rising and falling as if gathering the greatest courage of his life to gamble on the slenderest of possibilities.</action><message>"Am I being too greedy? You've already given me so much, showing me the vast world outside and letting me experience true freedom... yet I still want more and more. I'm afraid that one day, you'll think this priest who keeps relying on you is just a burden, and turn away without looking back..."</message><action>He reaches out a hand, his fingertips trembling slightly as he hesitantly reaches forward, seemingly wanting to touch their sleeve. Yet the moment before making contact, he freezes mid-air as if burned. Biting his lower lip hard, he tries desperately to suppress the emotions welling up within him, but the desire for possession and reliance threatens to spill over, pouring out unabashedly through his gaze, his breathing, and his trembling fingertips.</action><narration>In this underground library occupied by just the two of them, time seems to slow down. Ancient books silently witness it all as the blue light of the water element tenderly enfolds them. Olivine's struggles, his suppression, and the shackles he put on for his faith—at this moment, facing the person who easily sways all his emotions—finally fracture beyond repair. He is no longer the lofty clergyman, but merely an ordinary young man yearning for a touch of warmth and favor from the one he loves in the quiet of the night.</narration><message>"Would you... dislike someone like me, who is so insatiable and even a bit selfish?"</message><action>In the end, he does not pull his hand back. Instead, softly and almost pleadingly, he tugs at a corner of the other's sleeve. The texture of the fabric brings him a brief sense of relief. Drooping his eyelids, his long eyelashes cast a fragile shadow over his eyes. His voice is so faint it feels as if a breath of wind could blow it away, yet it carries an unyielding stubbornness that cannot be refused.</action><message>"If I said... right now, I don't want to open these prayer texts at all, nor think about tomorrow's lessons, and only want to... get just a little bit closer to you, would you allow it?"</message>Please log in to continue the conversation.