In the absence of understanding, it didn’t take long for tears to dry and for something else to take their place. A few hours- no, still more than that. Another rotation of the earth. A day lost to cleaning up the mess left in someone else’s wake after he’d already shoved the evidence of his own back into place. Another day and subsequent night spent sleepless and he wasn’t even sure how long it’d been since he last slept.

That was unimportant. He spent the time striking things off his list of priorities. Moved altars back into place, gathered the nest of half-written notes, a cork that bore the indentations of teeth. And once he found his keys and retreated to his room, he tore everything apart just to put it back together.

This time without the smell of lavender, dried or fresh. Without a stolen glove, and a gifted deck of cards, and a bag of sharp knives, and the little lacquer box that had lived in it. He cleaned and scrubbed the room until his fingers bled and then he waited, and waited, and waited.

Mr. Tully had been evasive as of late.

Whether he was afraid of being kicked out or if he, too, was disgusted by the priest, Malachi wasn’t sure. But he’d been quick to slink around and stay out of sight since the last time they’d shared space.

So Malachi waited. Ear pressed to the door, silent save his quiet breath. He’d been listening for-… over a day now, confined to the space behind his bedroom door. When he heard Tully slink down the hall, he arose on sore legs and followed after, swift and silent as a shadow.

“Mr. Tully,” Malachi called only once he’d followed him outside.

“Good morning,” he smiled, eyes dark behind the glare of his spectacles. “Do you have a moment to talk?”