Tully might have felt comfortable enough to wear a smirk now, but Malachi couldn’t help but frown as he continued on.

There was a lull, a drag that seemed to suggest that he was considering the things Tully said. None of it had been because of his belief in God, nor because of the way that believers treated their priests.

“Well. You are entitled to that opinion, of course,” he ceded. He was not here to convince Tully that priests were all deserving of trust and respect for the simple fact of being a priest, and he had neither the energy nor the desire to say anything on the nature of God when he no longer felt confident about it himself.

Malachi was fully aware that his position now was one of many privileges, but it certainly hadn’t always been that way. Not that the truth of it was anything he dared share with Tully – he’d already seen that the man was more than willing to use any ammunition he gave him.

“I know that you don’t like me, Mr. Tully,” and really, who besides children truly did?

“And that’s alright, I don’t expect you to. But I appreciate that you were willing to listen.”

Francis was quiet for a few moments as he eyed him. When he said he didn't like him, the man rose his brow. "And whose fault was that? I did like you when I first met you. I thought you were a nice and interesting guy. You were the one who turned on me and treated me like scum the moment I touched your wrist because I wanted a pat on the head like a child who'd made a parent proud. Even when you almost stabbed me, I was willing to follow you like a loyal dog." He shrugged and tilted his head.

"I am cheap to get on someone's side. but I like stability and trust. But I assume you could care less about how much someone like me cares to be your friend. Just don't put it on me that I don't like you." He shrugged and wondered still what this was all up to. "I am good at listening. It's a gift." He was feeling uneasy again. "Is this really all you wanted to tell me? I mean.." He scratched his cheek. "I'm sure it's been a big weight on you.. about the detective I mean. But you were waiting for me."

Ah. Right. Malachi’s fingers flexed and his hands returned to rest behind his back, as if on cue. There were… many reasons why he had reacted the way he did when Tully touched him, but none of them felt appropriate to share. Even as he spoke, the priest looked embarrassed to even be reminded.

“That- yes. You’ve seen me in a… vulnerable state,” almost naked, “so I’ll admit that I dislike being touched where my…”

He’d never particularly liked the word ‘scars,’ but it was the right one. Malachi cleared his throat and continued, “on my scars. Like on my wrist. But it was an overreaction, yes.”

Malachi bit idly at the inside of his cheek, and did his best not to look as affected by the mention of Aslan as he felt.

“Yes. I just wanted to make sure that I found you, to at least try to make you feel less unwelcome here. And- the other thing, yes.”

What? He listened and the other man seemed sincere but it was strange to him. Francis studied him and squinted his eyes. Finally he sighed and shook his head. "I never noticed any scars. I will say though.. For a man whose job is to talk to people great and small.. your talking skills stink. "

He decided to see if Malachi really wanted to make things right and clear the air. He very briefly patted the man's shoulder to guide him. "Come.. you don't like to eat. So let's drink and talk to me." He wanted to drink, and if he got this man to share some wine or something, perhaps he'd get a bit. And the man could talk. The fact he'd said nothing to anyone would make him realize that Francis was a lockbox of secrets. "You can tell me why you like this man, or why it didn't work out. Or whatever's on your mind. You could use it, since you actually came to me to talk out of everyone."

“It… is easier when I have a script,” or, in other words, a bible full of verses and years of training spent studying and discussing them extensively. Malachi knew how to command, and recite, and preach the gospel. Talking about feelings? Having a casual chat? Clearing up misunderstandings? Not so much. He could admit that, if reluctantly.

His shoulders tensed when Tully’s hand made contact, but he forced himself to relax. It wouldn’t exactly reflect well on anything he’d said if he pushed the man away and refused to speak with him, even if a part of him felt like doing just that.

Malachi allowed himself to be guided back to the door instead.

“Alright,” he agreed, hesitant though he was to share a word more than he already had. When they reached the door he pushed inside, holding it for Tully to walk in after him and continue on to grab... something, from the kitchen.

“But not about him,” Malachi decided, “anything else.”

He noticed a subtle flinch at his touch. Was it more scars? He doubted, but the guy didn't swat him away or yell again. So whatever. He walked with him to the kitchen and sat down while he waited for Malachi to get them something.

His fingers laced together and he rest his chin on them to watch the other. "That bad huh?"He said when the man didn't want to talk about the detective. What on earth happened between the two? He doubted it was anything he'd said, otherwise Malachi wouldn't be coming to him.

"Alright. You pick the topic, what do you most feel comfortable talking about? It's not like you have anything to worry about what I hear. Who'd believe me if I even tried to talk. And I won't tell .. the detective. He never offered me a cot." He smirked as he waited for his drink.

While Tully took a seat at the table, Malachi searched the cabinets for a glass. Found one, and started to bring it over before he realized that Tully had probably meant for the priest to have a drink too. With him.

He went back and grabbed a second glass.

Didn’t respond to the little inquiry regarding his refusal to speak of the detective, because that’d be talking about him more than he currently could cared to.

Malachi reached a long arm into the back of the pantry, rifled around for a second, and retrieved a tiny glass bottle of deep red liquid. He set the glasses down in front of Tully and poured a bit of the wine into both, then held one out to the younger man.

“Blood of Christ,” he joked, stone-faced.

He sat down after that, trying to keep his… what was it, nervousness? Shyness? Awkwardness? Whatever the fuck it was, he needed it contained. He couldn’t talk about the only thing that was on his mind, so what else was there? Even dead lovers felt safer.

Oh.

“Linus,” Malachi said, glancing down into his glass. “He was…”

God, this was hard too. He took a big sip from the wine.

“Would you tell me more about yours? About… Lewis?”

Francis waited patiently then took the wine glass. "Tastiest blood there is."He chuckled slightly but didn't take a sip yet. For once, it wasn't fear of poison. He was going to take his time.

The man sat with his legs tucked under the chair and watched the priest until he settled and was ready to speak. There was clear struggle on his face, but he said nothing. Finally, the man mentioned a new name and immediately seemed to regret it. "Your first love?"

He glanced over and finally took a very small sip of his wine as he seemed deep in thought. "That's fine. I've never been in love before or since Lewis. " He seemed in thought and a dreamy look came to the man's expression and he relaxed and looked at peace. "We lived beside each other all our lives. When we could, we worked together. When we were done, we were always hanging out." He held out his hand. "When we were finally adults, he was a little shorter than myself.'He held out his hand to around 5'7. "But I was skinny as a pole while he was broader. He had a smile like a summer's day and his hair.."

He held up his hands and gripped at nothing. "It was so thick and curly. I could just run my fingers through it all the time. I'd grab it for fun when we were kids. It was only when we were much older and things were different, did he realize why I really grabbed his hair all the time." He chuckled weakly and closed his eyes.

"Just imagine.. the most handsome and sweetest man you've ever met. Someone who would help anyone just because they needed help. Someone who never spread a bad word. Imagine that.. and then make him even more so. That was Lewis. There would never be another one, the world didn't deserve him."

It was difficult not to fall victim to the charm of Tully’s recounting. How much peace it seemed to bring him just to remember; the honesty at the heart of every word. Malachi had felt love before, he was certain of it. It just hadn’t felt at all like he thought it should have, when he compared it all to the tender way Francis spoke of his beloved and the love they’d shared.

And maybe it was the exhaustion, or the lingering shock, or… maybe it was somehow just the wine, as little of it as he’d consumed thus far. Whatever it was, it made his eyes sting between every slow blink. Glaze over, as he followed the movement of Tully’s hands and then stared down into the red depth of his wine, swirling gently in his glass.

He swallowed hard against a lump in his throat.

Love like that – true love, if anything could honestly deserve such a term – was… anything but plentiful. He knew that well from the countless weddings he’d guided both bride and groom through; knew that ‘love’ was just a label to wrap around whatever was most convenient and least likely to break. Whatever provided the most opportunities, or wealth, or land. That was the example his father had set, and the one he’d seen reinforced throughout his life.

Malachi bit the inside of his cheek, the taste of iron and wine on his tongue.

“…Linus was my piano instructor,” he finally said, accompanied by a weak laugh. It was easier to speak of him when it felt so inconsequential compared to Tully’s love, but it was clear that the priest had never put any of it into words before.

“He was not even half the person Lewis was, I’m certain,” but that hadn’t mattered then.

“But he was the first person that…” Malachi paused, thoughtful. Reflected on what he could remember of their earliest lessons, when he’d slapped away Linus’ every attempt to simply correct the positioning of his hands. “…He was the first person I met in England that didn’t hurt me. He was patient.”

It felt so unnatural to speak of it. Of him. Malachi raised his glass and took a much bigger sip before he could take any of it back.

After recounting just a little of the amazing man that was his Lewis, he looked at the other. He didn't seem to feel any better but he was opening up. Francis leaned back in his chair and studied his own wine though it bared jo secrets or interesting self reflections. "That's not fair to Linus, unless there's more to the story. It's stupid that patience is free but people are so greedy with their time and attention. But he gave it to you, you deserved it in his eyes. Maybe you were his Lewis. After all.."

He sipped from the glass just a small amount, barely enough to taste. "No one else loved Lewis. I don't know why, and I don't care. Maybe it was something that had to grow from our childhood into what it was? You can't just stumble into it. I'm not an expert on love. But.."

He gestured to malachi. "You have hope to find a Lewis since you haven't yet. I lost mine. So life hasn't mattered since." He took a deeper sip.