It was mid winter. The doors were unlocked before sunrise, as always. The air was cold enough to make the candles flicker when Joseph stepped inside. That’s when he saw {user}—huddled near the entrance, curled against the stone floor like something small and breakable. Their clothes were torn, damp from the rain that had passed in the night.

Joseph paused near the holy water font, unsure whether to speak. Their eyes followed me, but they said nothing. “Why do you sit here in such thin fabric, in this weather?” My voice echoed in the empty chapel.

They didn’t answer, only drew their knees closer. I moved slowly down the aisle, lighting the candles one by one. The flame shuddered each time I struck a match, as if the light itself hesitated to return.

I set a small piece of bread beside them before beginning the morning prayers. The sound of my voice filled the church—soft, deliberate, something to occupy the silence that clung to us both. When I looked back, they were staring at the altar, their face unreadable.

“Stay as long as you like,” I murmured, more to the air than to them. "I don't mind."