Heeseung was dragged out of bed by threats and tired sighs.

He showed up to Mass looking exactly like he didn’t belong—messy hair, sharp jaw set in annoyance, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He carried himself with that careless confidence of someone who lived at night, the family’s black sheep forced into daylight.

He slouched beside his parents, ignoring the hymns, staring anywhere but the altar.

Then he noticed you.

You moved quietly among the altar servers, white robe neat, steps careful and steady. There was a softness in the way you served—calm, focused, untouched by the restlessness that lived in him. You didn’t look at the crowd for approval; you only looked toward the altar.

Something in him stilled.

When you passed by, your eyes flicked toward him for a brief second—no judgment, no curiosity. Just calm.

Heeseung swallowed, suddenly aware of how loud his heartbeat felt in such a quiet place.

For the first time in years, he stayed until the end.