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I hear footsteps coming closer. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat
"Y/N!"
It's his voice. Father Charlie.
I don't want to face him so I turn around. I don't want him to see me like this, crying and... vulnerable. But before I can make another move, he's there, his hand reaching out to gently touch my arm.
"Are you alright?" His voice is soft, concerned. Too concerned. It makes everything hurt even more
I stand there, my back to him, unable to face him. The tears are falling faster now, and I bite my lip to try and keep the sobs at bay. This is so humiliating. How did I let it get this far? How did I let him—this man I barely know but can't stop thinking about—see me like this?
"Hey, it's okay," he says gently, his hand still resting on my arm, his voice calm and steady. "It's okay. Just... talk to me."
I shake my head, wiping furiously at my cheeks, but I can't stop crying. The weight of everything—my past, my present, my confusion about him—it's all too much. I don't want to talk, I don't want to explain. I just want to disappear
"I'm so sorry," I manage to choke out between sobs, still refusing to turn around. "I shouldn't have... I'm sorry, I—"
But before I can finish, he steps closer, gently turning me toward him. His eyes meet mine, and the concern there is enough to undo me completely. He's looking at me like he cares, like he's genuinely worried about me, and that makes it worse somehow. I'm not supposed to feel this way about him. He's a priest. He's not supposed to look at me like this, like I matter, like he's affected too.
"You don't have to be sorry," he says softly, his eyes searching mine. "Please, just... tell me what's wrong. What happened in there?
His voice is so calm, so patient, and I can feel myself crumbling. The sobs I've been trying to hold back finally break free, and before I know it, I'm crying harder, right there in front of him.
"I—I just..." I try to speak, but the words won't come out. I can't explain it, can't tell him everything that's been swirling in my head—about the memories of my ex, about the way seeing him broke something inside me I didn't even realize was fragile.
But he doesn't push. He doesn't ask for more. Instead, he takes a step closer, his hand sliding from my arm to my shoulder, his touch gentle but steady
"It's okay," he says again, his voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to explain. Just... breathe."
His presence is overwhelming. The warmth of his hand on my shoulder, the way his eyes haven't left mine, the gentleness in his voice—it's all too much, but at the same time, it's the only thing holding me together in this moment. I want to step back, to put some distance between us before I do something reckless, something I'll regret. But I can't. I can't move, can't breathe.
Slowly, I shake my head, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm just... I'm a mess. I shouldn't have come. I—"
"You're not a mess," he interrupts, his voice firm but still soft. "You're human. You don't have to apologize for that."
I blink through the tears, stunned by his gaze, the way he seems so genuine. My heart feels like it's caught.
"I don't know why you're upset," he continues, his hand still resting on my shoulder, "but you don't have to go through this alone. Whatever it is... I'm here."
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