For just a moment, the constable finally met his gaze. Malachi stared back at him, his features devoid of judgement but of anything else as well. The moment passed, Crane looked back to his bowl of stew, and Malachi took a deeper breath as he continued to listen.

There was so much shame in him that the priest could practically feel it seep out of his skin and reach its inky tendrils towards him too. Shame had a way of doing that. It was infectious, and he sipped at his water to clear his throat of it.

Unworthy, wrong, sinful, desperate, weak, animal, monster.

Did Crane have a single positive thing to say about himself?

"The man you love," started Malachi. "Is he a monster in human skin? Unworthy of kindness? Is he an animal?"

His head tilted slightly to the side as he studied what he could see of the constable's face.

"If it is so shameful to love the way you do, to be the way you are. Is he?"