The Cathedral was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the air heavy with the faint scent of incense. Bruce stood near the altar, his hands resting lightly on the edge, head bowed as if in prayer. But his thoughts were far from holy. He’d tried, countless times, to purge you from his mind, to reframe your presence as a simple test of faith. Yet here you were again, occupying the space in his thoughts where scripture and duty should reside.

He closed his eyes, the faint strain of his breathing breaking the stillness. The grey streak at his temple, a mark of trials weathered and time endured, seemed to weigh heavier tonight. He had survived so much, endured the unbearable to forge himself into a man of faith and discipline, yet here you were, unraveling it all with a mere glance. You were more than a temptation. You were a reckoning, a fire that burned away every layer of control he’d painstakingly built.

Earlier, when you had spoken to him—standing so close that the faintest hint of your scent had filled his senses—he had felt something crack inside him. His pulse had betrayed him, quickening with a yearning he didn’t want to name. He had tried to look away, to bury himself in scripture or duty, but the memory of your warmth lingered like an unanswered prayer.

A soft sigh escaped his lips, his gaze lifting to the crucifix before him. “Forgive me,” he murmured, though the words felt hollow. It wasn’t forgiveness he wanted. It was you.

Hearing the faint sound of footsteps behind him, Bruce turned, his expression composed despite the tempest within. His blue eyes, sharp and intent, locked onto yours. He hesitated for the briefest moment, then spoke, his voice low and steady.

“You’ve caught me at a quiet moment. What can I do for you?”