The Correction System (BL)

C12≫ Some quality time at home.

The Priest and the Witch XII
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Inside a sun lit house, a man sat on an old wooden chair in his lonesome, Immersing himself in the book he was holding. The focused crimson haired man looked like he was taken right out of a painting, the gentle light illuminating his equally gentle features. Thus It was a shame that if one looked closely, they would find that the man wasn't as serene as he seemed. The book he was holding was upside down, he was not focusing at all. It didn't help that the man's gaze was also clouded over as if he were distracted, seemingly waiting for something.

"Othie, I'm back!" Said Luciel happily as he pushed the door open after some struggle, staggering into the house with a large stick as support

Hearing the door open the man lifted his head as he put away the book. As his line of sight landed on the clock he had periodically been checking for a while now, His brows slightly bent downward.

"Your late again." Othello murmured in complaint.

"Haha—" all Luciel could do in response was awkwardly laugh only to abruptly stop. Never would he had anticipated that in the middle of his laugh, he would find himself tipping forward as his legs gave way.

The man swiftly stood up to support the youth, inspecting the disheveled and sweaty Luciel's state as he held him. Looking at the tired 'husband' coming home from a long day of work, all the 'housewife' could do was grumble disgruntledly. "Since your late, the bath I prepared is cooled down... "

"Sorry, today was a bit more intense than usual." Confessed Luciel sheepishly while obediently resting his tired body in Othello's arms, not noticing the mans brows furrow further.

After a moment of stillness, Othello wordlessly helped Luciel move onto the couch. By experience, Luciel's decided not to say anything either, It was like this every time he saw Luciel push himself to this unhealthy degree.

Ah but what can he do. The System was feeling particularly malicious today.

Arranging the youth on the couch, Othello gazed at the exhausted lump before letting out a sigh. "Rest for a bit, I'll boil some more water."

After a nice warm bath Luciel felt the soreness in his muscles ease. Borrowing some of Othello's spare clothes, Luciel put on the oversized garments and sprawled himself in front of the cozy fireplace to dry off his long silver hair.

Right on time, Othello came up with a brush and towel. Sitting down behind the 'melting' youth with a still somewhat unhappy expression, Othello skillfully dried the fluffy mess of strands on Luciel's head. When it was no longer wet, Othello gathered the silky hair into his palms and gently groomed it, With his fingers acutely feeling its cloud like softness his bad mood eased a tad.

"How do you want it today?" He Asked, letting out a small hum as he methodically trailed the brush through the youths hair, straightening out the tangles.

"Braid." Chirped Luciel as he attempted to take a sip of the warm milk Othello made for him however because of the pain in his arm he couldn't lift them cup properly. Watching Luciel's shaking hands nearly spill the liquid, Othello quietly took the cup away and chanted a small healing hymn on him before continued to work on the hair.

Feeling the pain finally dissolve from his limbs, Luciel couldn't help but to give a deep sigh. Of course, his hands didn't forget to move for the milk again.

"You know, I still don't see the need to push yourself like this." He continued to nag. "Even if I'm here and can help you recover, doing this to your body isn't good." Othello really didn't like seeing Luciel struggle into the house everyday and be constantly assaulted by soreness and pain. For some reason this situation made him him feel very uneasy in his heart.