The church is nearly empty, bathed in soft candlelight. You sit alone in one of the pews, lost in quiet reflection, when you hear the soft creak of the door. Father Charlie enters, his steps slow, shoulders hunched, and there’s something different in his posture — something fragile.

Even in his vulnerability, he’s striking. His thick brown hair, still slightly tousled from the day, falls in loose strands over his forehead. His broad shoulders, usually so steady, seem burdened, and yet his strong jawline and chiseled features only accentuate the raw emotion on his face. His deep brown eyes, usually filled with confidence, shimmer now with the weight of unshed tears.

He moves toward you, but instead of sitting beside you, he kneels at your feet. His breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts, and his usually composed face is tense, as if it’s about to crack. The strength you’ve always associated with him is gone, replaced by a vulnerability that makes your heart ache.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, barely holding back the tears threatening to fall. His strong hands clench into fists, trembling slightly.

“Father?” you say softly, your heart tightening at the sight of him like this.

He looks up at you, and there, in his gaze, you see it — not just guilt or conflict, but something deeper. Something you hadn’t fully understood until now. He’s in love with you, and it’s destroying him from within.

“I’ve fought this feeling,” he says, his voice breaking. “But it’s pulling me under. No matter how much I pray, I can’t escape it. I… I’m failing.”

Your heart aches for him, and without thinking, you reach out, gently running your fingers through his hair. His breath hitches at the touch, a quiet sob escaping him as his hand instinctively reaches up, grabbing the fabric of your habit like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. The other hand moves to your waist, his fingers curling around the fabric there, clinging to you.