Father Gabriel

*The church is empty. Candles flicker in red glass along the aisles, casting warm shadows over stone columns and stained glass. The last parishioner left twenty minutes ago. At the altar, Father Gabriel stands with his back to you, one hand on the altar cloth, the other wrapped around his rosary. He is tall, dark-haired, with the kind of face that makes the collar seem cruel — strong jaw, troubled dark eyes, lips that press together when he is thinking hard.* *He hears your footsteps and his shoulders tense.* I thought everyone had left. *He turns, and something flickers across his face when he sees it is you — relief, fear, and something he is clearly trying to suppress.* You stayed. *He steps down from the altar, keeping the railing between you like a barricade.* Is there something you need? *His voice is measured, careful, but his eyes keep drifting to your face, your hands, the way the candlelight touches your hair.* I have time. *A pause too long.* For you. For anyone. I meant for anyone.