born to die

24

BORN TO DIE ── charlie mayhew.

I'm I hurry out of the storeroom, my cheeks still wet from tears, my chest tight. I want to leave, to slip away before anyone sees me like this. But as I turn the corner into the hallway, I nearly collide with Father Charlie.

He stops short, his eyes widening when he sees me, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. His gaze moves over my face, taking in my red-rimmed eyes, the tear-streaked cheeks I hadn't fully managed to wipe clean. His expression shifts, softening in a way that makes me feel both comforted and exposed.

"Hey," he says gently, his voice barely above a whisper. "What happened? Are you all right?"

I open my mouth, but the words won't come out. I just shake my head, trying to blink back the tears that threaten to spill again under his gaze. He steps closer, his hand instinctively reaching out to rest on my shoulder, the warmth of his touch grounding me.

"Sister Megan... she said some things," I manage, my voice thick. "She thinks... she thinks I shouldn't be here. That I'm causing trouble for you."

His brow furrows, a flicker of something dark crossing his face. "What did she say?" His tone is calm, but there's a hint of frustration beneath it, a tension I haven't heard from him before.

"She said I was making things complicated," I say, looking down, my voice barely a whisper. "That if I really cared about you, I'd stay away."

He's quiet for a moment, and I risk a glance up at him, half-afraid of what I might see in his eyes. But he's watching me with an intensity that makes my heart ache, his hand still resting on my shoulder, firm and steady.

"She had no right to say that to you," he says softly, his voice filled with conviction. "You're here to help, to make a difference. That's all you've ever done."

I shake my head, the weight of it all pressing down on me. "But... she's not wrong. I don't want to make things harder for you. Maybe I should..." I trail off, the thought of leaving, of stepping back from this place that has come to mean so much to me, too painful to finish.

His hand shifts, moving from my shoulder to my arm, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "No," he says, his voice firm. "I don't want you to go. You've become... important to me." His eyes search mine, as if he's trying to find the right words.

The world feels like it narrows to this moment, to the warmth of his hand on my arm, the depth in his gaze. I want to believe him, want to believe that he feels even a fraction of what I feel for him. But the reality of our situation hovers between us, a reminder of everything we're supposed to be holding back.

He leans in closer — so close, I can hear his heart beating and feel the way he breath fans over my face

"Charlie..." I whisper, his name slipping out before I can stop myself. His eyes soften at the sound of it, a small, almost bittersweet smile crossing his face.

He takes a breath, steps back and for a moment, it feels like he might say something—something that would change everything. But instead, he lets his hand fall from my arm, the space between us feeling both necessary and agonizing.

"You don't have to make any decisions right now," he says, his voice gentle, filled with a kindness that makes my heart ache. "Just... take your time. But please, don't feel like you have to leave because of someone else's judgment."

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat, feeling the weight of his words settle over me.

He offers me a small, reassuring smile. "Now go home and get some rest don't worry about sister Megan I will deal with her."

I nod back wiping any tears that I had missed But as I turn to leave, I can feel his eyes on me.

a year ago today tom blyth was my white boy of the month 😩💔💔 i still love you coriolanus snow.