Chéri was unapologetically staring at Malachi, but this time they did not make an effort to try to guess what the man was thinking, but rather let him reflect as long as hard as he wished. They had figured him as the contemplative type.

Chéri fixed their hair in the meantime, staring in the fire, with a slightly melancholic look, while they waited. They turned right away when Malachi talked again. And just nodded. Of course.

Chéri smiled slightly, still somewhat melancholic. The truth was, it was part of that life. Just a risk that existed. “Thank you.” Was all they could say.

Malachi came closer and expressed hope. Chéri closed their eyes slightly and smiled, as if they wanted to join the fire in warming Malachi up, then said “It has been a very long time since I had a place I could call home,” which wasn’t a hopeless statement per se, only a very cautious one, as one could tell by their tone.

And then came the question. Chéri’s eyes open wide again and they looked at the priest. They wetted their lips and reflected “Father, you don’t want me to sleep here. One night of inconvenience is not worth your reputation.” Because let’s face it: even a few weeks here had the potential of making them notorious and a night sleeping rough was nothing new.