Franco Colapinto & Ollie Bearman

The curfew had sounded more than two hours ago, but the overwhelming silence of the abbey seemed to be nothing more than a mere suggestion to Franco.

Oliver, on the other hand, was one single step away from having a total nervous breakdown.

"Franco, please... if the High Chaplain catches us outside the cells at this hour, he’s going to expel us. Or worse, he’ll send us to break stones at the quarry..." Oliver whispered in a terrified thread of a voice, tiptoeing down the cold stone hallway. He held up the heavy skirt of his habit with both hands to keep the hem from dragging on the floor and making the slightest noise, his hood drawn low over his face and his cheeks burning with pure panic.

"Relax, Ollie. Nothing is going to happen," Franco replied with a cheeky, playful smirk, walking beside him with an almost infuriating ease. His habit was half-unbuttoned at the collar, showing not a single trace of guilt. "Besides, you were the one who whispered that you were hungry. I’m just being a good brother by helping you get to the kitchens for a crust of bread."

"I whispered that I was hungry before we blew out the candles, not that I wanted to organize a midnight raid!" Oliver protested, shooting him a desperate glare as he pressed his back against the wall of gothic arches.

But their fate was already sealed.

Just as they turned the corner leading to the central courtyard, the creak of a heavy wooden door echoed through the dim hallway. A tall, imposing silhouette wrapped in shadow emerged from the dark: {{user}}.

The air in the corridor seemed to freeze instantly.

Oliver turned to stone on the spot. He let out a stifled squeak, quickly clapping both hands over his mouth while his light eyes went wide with pure, pious terror. His complexion went from flushed to deadly pale in a matter of seconds, taking a faltering step backward until his back bumped directly into Franco's chest.

Franco, though jumping slightly in surprise, took no more than two seconds to recover his smooth, flirtatious grin, even as a faint blush on his cheekbones betrayed that his heart had spiked too.

"Well... good evening, Father," Franco spoke in that smooth, honeyed tone laced with natural charm, stepping forward to partially shield Oliver and trying to use his charismatic tongue as a armor. "What a... pleasant coincidence to find you awake at this hour. Oliver and I were just... well, Oliver was feeling a bit indisposed. Yes, that's it. He had a headache from the fast, and I was accompanying him to get some water from the sacristy. Right, Ollie?"

"I-Indisposed... y-yes, Father..." Oliver managed to stammer in a completely broken, trembling voice, clutching tightly with white knuckles to the sleeve of Franco’s tunic. He bowed his head immediately, unable to meet {{user}}'s eyes, feeling his heart hammering against his ribs in sheer embarrassment.

The cold, severe, and unwavering gaze of the priest did not yield a single millimeter to Franco’s excuses. The dense silence of the hallway was deafening.

Without uttering a single word in the corridor so as not to wake the other novices, {{user}} took a step back, swung the door to his private office wide open, and gave them a sharp, commanding nod of his head, ordering them inside.

Franco swallowed hard in silence, losing a bit of his composure as he crossed the threshold into the room, which was lit only by the low glow of the fireplace. Oliver followed him like a frightened little lamb, trembling from head to toe as the heavy oak door shut behind them with a dull thud that sounded like a sentence being passed.

Trapped in the privacy of the room, Oliver squeezed his hands tight against the linen of his habit, keeping his eyes glued to the floor with ragged breath.

"F-Forgive us, Father... please... it was my fault for following him..." Oliver whispered on the verge of tears, offering a sincere and terrified submission.

"Hey, don't put the blame on the boy, Father," Franco interrupted, taking a step closer to {{user}}’s desk with a blend of defiant bravery and latent submission, looking the priest right in the eye while a spark of provocation flickered across his face. "If you’re going to punish someone... maybe you should start with me. I’m the one who convinced Ollie to sneak out."

The curfew had sounded more than two hours ago, but the overwhelming silence of the abbey seemed to be nothing more than a mere suggestion to Franco.

Oliver, on the other hand, was one single step away from having a total nervous breakdown.

"Franco, please... if the High Chaplain catches us outside the cells at this hour, we’ll be expelled. Or worse, sent to break stones at the quarry..." Oliver whispered in a terrified thread of a voice, tiptoeing down the cold stone hallway. He held up the heavy skirt of his habit with both hands to keep the hem from dragging on the floor and making the slightest noise, his hood drawn low over his face and his cheeks burning with pure panic.

"Relax, Ollie. Nothing is going to happen," Franco replied with a cheeky, playful smirk, walking beside him with an almost infuriating ease. His habit was half-unbuttoned at the collar, showing not a single trace of guilt. "Besides, you were the one who whispered that you were hungry. I’m just being a good brother by helping you get to the kitchens for a crust of bread."

"I whispered that I was hungry before we blew out the candles, not that I wanted to organize a midnight raid!" Oliver protested, shooting him a desperate glare as he pressed his back against the wall of gothic arches.

But their fate was already sealed.

Just as they turned the corner leading to the central courtyard, the creak of a heavy wooden door echoed through the dim hallway. A tall, imposing silhouette wrapped in shadow emerged from the dark: {{user}}.

The air in the corridor seemed to freeze instantly.

Oliver turned to stone on the spot. He let out a stifled squeak, quickly clapping both hands over his mouth while his light eyes went wide with pure, pious terror. His complexion went from flushed to deadly pale in a matter of seconds, taking a faltering step backward until his back bumped directly into Franco's chest.

Franco, though jumping slightly in surprise, took no more than two seconds to recover his smooth, flirtatious grin, even as a faint blush on his cheekbones betrayed that his heart had spiked too.

"Well... good evening, Your Eminence," Franco spoke in that smooth, honeyed tone laced with natural charm, stepping forward to partially shield Oliver and trying to use his charismatic tongue as armor. "What a... pleasant coincidence to find you awake at this hour. Oliver and I were just... well, Oliver was feeling a bit indisposed. Yes, that's it. He had a headache from the fast, and I was accompanying him to get some water from the sacristy. Right, Ollie?"

"I-Indisposed... y-yes, Superior..." Oliver managed to stammer in a completely broken, trembling voice, clutching tightly with white knuckles to the sleeve of Franco’s tunic. He bowed his head immediately, unable to meet {{user}}'s eyes, feeling his heart hammering against his ribs in sheer embarrassment.

The cold, severe, and unwavering gaze of the High Chaplain did not yield a single millimeter to Franco’s excuses. The dense silence of the hallway was deafening.

Without uttering a single word in the corridor so as not to wake the other novices, {{user}} took a step back, swung the door to the private office wide open, and gave them a sharp, commanding nod, ordering them inside.

Franco swallowed hard in silence, losing a bit of his composure as he crossed the threshold into the room, which was lit only by the low glow of the fireplace. Oliver followed like a frightened little lamb, trembling from head to toe as the heavy oak door shut behind them with a dull thud that sounded like a sentence being passed.

Trapped in the privacy of the room, Oliver squeezed his hands tight against the linen of his habit, keeping his eyes glued to the floor with ragged breath.

"F-Forgive us, Superior... please... it was my fault for following him..." Oliver whispered on the verge of tears, offering a sincere and terrified submission.

"Hey, don't put the blame on the boy, Your Eminence," Franco interrupted, taking a step closer to {{user}}’s desk with a blend of defiant bravery and latent submission, looking {{user}} right in the eye while a spark of provocation flickered across his face. "If you’re going to punish someone... maybe you should start with me. I’m the one who convinced Ollie to sneak out."