Uh oh.

Mister Fa'afili was going down.

“Shit–” Malachi hissed without thinking, immediately stepping forward to try and help or at least steady the older man, but he'd caught himself (mostly) before he could.

Wide-eyed, he could only blink. Mister Fa'afili picked the bag up with both hands this time, and Malachi said a silent prayer for the man's poor arm.

“...Yeah.”

Malachi got the door without another word about it.

He followed Mister Fa'afili inside, and let the door gently shut behind them. Before he could even look around the interior, someone else was there, staring on with what appeared to be as much confusion as Malachi felt.

“Hello,” he offered, after a moment of silence lasted too long. This at least spurred the poor man into action.

“Hello, can I… help you?”

Malachi looked to the man beside him, as if his question was directed at him instead.

“This is Saint Hilda’s, right?”