It did matter. All the things a priest should not have, should not even want, were those that Malachi wanted most.

Whitby had been a fresh start. St. Hilda’s, a new a point of devotion for his life. He’d wanted so badly to stop, to change, and he had failed so soon, backsliding into bad habits and making new ones so much worse.

Malachi was grateful for the steady motion of her fingers on his hand; it gave hazy eyes a point of focus, and his mind a place to ground.

“I could never call you a bad person,” he answered weakly. “I- I would…”

He would love her all the same, no matter what she did, or who she was. It occurred to him a moment later that that was likely her point – and he shook his head, eyes closing once again.

“…But you would never do the things I’ve done. You wouldn’t. And I’m… I’m sorry that I’m not the person I wanted to be for you.”