"Stay here, then," suggested Malachi with a dip of his head. It was far warmer by the fire, and more comfortable too, if that was what the weary youth was worried about. It was no inconvenience to bring whatever food he found here, and he hoped as much was clear.

With a swift pivot, he made to leave the room and find the aforementioned food -- until Chéri's voice suspended him, caught within the open doorway. A few seconds passed as Malachi, suddenly startled, deciphered the question. A few seconds to register that what he had heard--

Are you going to eat with me?

--was not what the youth had actually asked him.

Malachi blinked.

"I can sit with you while you eat, if you would like," but he did not seem to imply that he would actually be eating anything himself.

Chéri didn’t move, following the indication of the priest, who was swallowed by the doorway, then came back.

Chéri did not ask any further questions on the subject, but simply let Malachi go.

While the priest was away, they stood up and took off their jacket. It was getting too warm near the fire and they needed to breathe, they also loosened the cravat a little bit and passed a hand through their hair, definitely looking now less put together than before. They put both their hands against the wall and stared at the fire, letting their troublesome thoughts burn while the fire painted their face and their shirt red.

Chéri sighed deeply and closed their eyes, as if in deep meditation.

The priest disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes passed, and then a few more.

It had been a while since he'd put together any kind of real meal himself, what with Mrs. Higgins' presence in the presbytery, but he was fortunate that one of her soups (one of the better ones, he noted) was still hanging around. Once it was heated, Malachi brought the bowl, along with some bread, into the main room.

"Here," Malachi said in English, offering the food out towards the youth. They seemed to have gotten a bit more comfortable in the space, at least, if the state of their attire said anything. Reminding himself to speak in Chéri's own tongue, he added, "I- ah, I hope this is enough. There is more for later."

Chéri had experience hunger in more than one occasion in their life and because of that they had learn to give a special meaning/value to food.

Hence once Malachi arrived their eyes lit up on pure excitement and they gave another one of those breath-taking smiles, the ones that are so often shared at the turning point of a love story, in this case between Chéri and a bowl of soup.

Measuring their steps with great care, they got to seat and pick an absurdly orderly pose to do so, something that didn't suit them at all. They looked at Malachi expectantly and could not prevent themselves from exclaiming "Marvellous!" Before starting to spoon their dinner, looking elated at every "bite" that reached their lips.

And because of the effect the soup made on then, they look at Malachi with a renewed, deeply rooted gratitude and hope in their voice. And obviously, they were staring again "Thank you."

Once the food was handed over, Malachi stepped aside to allow Chéri to sit and eat it wherever they wished. The dining room was still an option, should the chair prove unsuitable, but a part of him was glad to stay near the fire.

It gave him something else to direct his attention to, for one, when Chéri's stare found him again. He could not say exactly why it bothered him, beyond the fact that it felt like they meant to dissect him, to figure him out. They hardly felt malicious in nature, yet Malachi was unsettled all the same.

"Of course," he said again. There is no need for "thank you."

Malachi held his hands behind his back while he watched the fire, and listened to the occasional clink of the spoon and bowl.

"Do you have a plan?" he asked finally, voice free of judgement. "Now that you're here, that is. What do you want to do?"

Chéri was more comfortable than they had been in a while. Plus, they were eating and everything else seemed to matter way less when there was food they could have.

Not realising how bothersome their stare was, Chéri kept looking. Even if they did realise their stare was bothersome, maybe they wouldn’t have stopped, it was part of them, to look at others as if they were meant to uncover a deeper truth.

Chéri this time nodded and said nothing. No need for “thank you”, they repeated to themselves.

Chéri was quickly halfway through the soup and their focus was not diverted from it until Malachi asked the question.

Chéri stopped for a moment and looked in front of themselves “I will look for a job. There is a lot I can do and I am not afraid to work. Also, I am not stupid.” They said, probably used to be underestimated because of their feminine qualities, their frilly clothes and their less than refined speech. But why they felt the need to let Malachi specifically know was unclear, possibly even to them.

Malachi appeared to be content enough with the answer until the youth added on the last bit.

They were not stupid? They had not thought he was implying that they were, had they? That was far from his intention in asking. His brow furrowed, a very subtle shift in an otherwise neutral expression.

"No, I would not call you stupid," he agreed, though he had plenty of other terms he'd use for it. Malachi knelt down near the fire again, grateful for the distraction from the stare that kept finding him.

"I only ask because I want you to do well, here. I know it's hard having to pick up and move so suddenly."

The movement of his shoulder hinted at a shrug, albeit a very half-hearted one.

"And if you have trouble, then I..." well, he couldn't exactly help them get hired for their services if that was indeed what they meant by 'entertainer,' but he would offer support all the same. "I will do my best to help you establish yourself."

If Chéri had been able to read Malachi, they would have immediately understood the confusion they had caused. Maybe they would have been curious about the other terms, but obviously, they couldn’t know. So they just nodded and finished their soup like they had started it: too quickly and with immense joy.

Chéri smiled very lightly, involuntarily borrowing Malachi’s own light smile and bit back the first, fisty “why” that came up, to say “It is. But It is nothing new.”

The shrugged caught Chéri unprepared, evidently, because their gaze went from Malachi’s shoulder, to their faced, and offered a slightly tilt of the head as a response. Realising that Malachi probably didn’t reaching all his conclusion based on people’s movements, Chéri asked “Was that your case too?”

Then Malachi continued. Chéri put their hand under their chin, very surprised. They had never thought a church could hire a dance or a singer and as far as the rest went, propositions normally looked quite different, so while thinking about the conclusion Malachi was doomed to be stared at once again. And in the end, Chéri concluded with a very warm smile and this time they stayed silent. And instead of answering with a “thank you”, that was going to be rejected, they said “If you put all this thought and effort in all the tramps you meet, you must be exhausted.” Probably thank you would have been a safer answer. Chéri stood up and walked towards Malachi “Still sure I can stay here?” They asked, now just a few feet from him.

Malachi did not seem inclined to answer the first question. He offered an affirmative hum, short and sweet, and said nothing else of it. His own experience, he felt, was neither relevant nor important for them to know, even if the youth's was somewhat similar. He was here to offer guidance, not familiarity.

Chéri's next assumption earned the makings of a laugh from Malachi, who let the sound die off prematurely before he replied.

"I am."

Of course he was exhausted. He always was, but he thought that should have been of no importance to Chéri. So long as the assistance was there, did it really matter who it came from, or how the giver felt about giving it?

They left their chair soon after, but Malachi did not rise from his kneeling position near the fire, nor did he immediately turn away from it.

"Yes, I'm sure," he confirmed. He would not have offered in the first place if he had any reason to take the offer back. Malachi turned his head just slightly, peering up at Chéri for once. "There are many like you, in the bible. God did not turn them away. I would not cast you out either."

Chéri did not actually asked the first question, so an answer, understandably, did not come. Chéri nodded. The man had assured them that he was sure and with confirmation, after they had contradicted Malachi so many times, they could do nothing but comply.

In front of Malachi, looking at him from above, oddly enough, Chéri felt less the need to stare, but was still observing, with the same attitude an animal would look at another sharing the same meadow, once they had concluded not only that the animal wasn’t a predator, but also that there was no competition between them. Chéri was starting to smile again once Malachi mention “many like them.”
“And who are “those like me”?” Chéri asked, suddenly a mask of neutrality, as still as a rock. It was so sudden it could be dizzying, how they suddenly looked like a completely different person, icy and distant.