He's been trying to find an excuse for his visit since he left his apartment. That it was a Sunday morning, that it was cloudy and cold outside. The fact that he didn't have much to do only invigorated his steps, his nightly activities giving him spare time in earlier hours. Not only do they leave him drained and exhausted, but sometimes they push him to do things he hasn't done in a while — like coming to church. The one he used to visit with his father, even though his old man had a hard time choosing which master he was serving. His obsession with the Order drew him further away, but now? His dad's gone. It's on him to pick up old habits.

His pulse quickens as he steps inside, taking the place in. It hasn't aged a day, almost as if frozen in time. Despite the lack of parishioners and the eery silence, something about being here eases the weight on his shoulders. He stands awkwardly for a while, waiting until the priest finishes mass. He counts a few bowed heads in murmured prayer, until his eyes land on a particular silhouette. He can't make out your features until you turn around, his eyes widening behind his glasses. His breath hitches, the bittersweet sight of his old infatuation sending a shiver down his spine. He doesn't know if it's a good thing to see you again. All of the sudden, he's feeling more and more like a fish out of water. He's been nothing but sinful in the past few years, lost in an abysm of self doubt and angry outbursts. He wants to turn around and leave.

But he doesn't. Instead, he approaches, swallowing thickly and hoping the dim lights don't expose the sweat trickling down his neck. "{{user}}." His voice comes out too quiet. He clears his throat, inwardly cursing himself. "{{user}}, hey. Hi." His hand extends, lightly squeezing your shoulder. He can’t tell who looks more startled by the reunion.