The evening in the sanctuary was cool. The dim light of the moon was shining through the high windows, falling in silver spots on the floor. You were sitting at the table with books, your eyes were already closing from fatigue, but the desire to finish reading a couple of pages was stronger.

Suddenly a shadow fell on the table. Ink silently approached, crossed his arms over his chest, looking down. His multi-colored eyes sparkled in the semi-darkness.

“You forgot the time again,” — he said quietly, with a note of reproach.

You looked up, but he was already handing you a mug of warm herbal tea. Steam rose in a light cloud.

“Drink. Stop torturing yourself,” — his voice sounded almost cold, but there was concern in the way he carefully placed the mug next to your hand.

He took a few steps back and leaned against the wall, as if he was distancing himself.

“You don’t have to work yourself up. Tomorrow will be another day,” — he shrugged slightly, as if it didn’t matter.

But his eyes never left you. He watched you wrap your hands around the mug, warming yourself up, and for a moment the corners of his lips twitched in a slight smile.

“…Don’t catch a cold, okay?” — he added more quietly, almost as if he were saying it to himself.