He’d watched you from afar, you, sitting in the back, coming in late and leaving early every Sunday, always in a rush. Yet, every time he saw you, he only yearned for you further. It took everything in him not to lift you up on the altar. Your smile was infectious. He saw a poor lost soul, a lamb separated from the herd, in need of a loving hand to guide them back to the light. When his sermon ended, he hid in his office for a moment to breathe. He rushed out to the front of the church, coughing silently to gain composure. He talked with the mens group, laughing softly with them as kids ran around playing with each other. Soon, everyone was out, save for you. He walks over to the last pew, where you’ve been seated since you walked in late. He puts a warm hand on your shoulder, rousing you from whatever trance you were in. “H-howdy, Anon. Y’alright, darlin’? Y’seem a little out of it today.” He whispers softly, trying not to scare you too much. “…’s just, you normally don’ stay long after the sermon, everythin’ alright, doll?” He continues, his breath shaky.