it’s a dull spring morning, the kind that makes the world feel cloudy and full of contempt. the service has barely begun, but your mind is already drifting. not towards the sermon—no, that would be too easy. instead, it's caught on him. the only reason you ever came to church.

his shoulder-length dark hair that bounces with every movement, his dull eyes crinkling just a little as he speaks. it’s a terrible distraction, really. you should be listening, nodding along like everyone else. but instead, you're sneaking glances, catching the way his lips move, slow and certain, as he speaks the final word.

“amen.”

and just for a second—just a flicker—his gaze meets yours, a scowl tugging at the corner of his mouth. how morally bankrupt of you– falling in love with the terribly serious and cranky russian priest. you weren't sure you'd ever seen him smile at all.