06-01-2022, 03:17 AM
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.
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.
