'Hopeless' was not the word Malachi would have used to describe him, but he did not challenge the constable. A man was allowed to reflect on his inadequacies, even if his perception of them proved faulty.

His silence followed after Crane when he departed from the room to check the stew. Allowing himself another cursory glance about the furnishings -- the books and hastily-tidied papers in particular -- Malachi rose from his seat and gave a distracted nod.

It had not been his intention to have dinner with a parishioner tonight, but at least he knew that this one wasn't trying to fuck him.

As far as he could tell.

"It's easier said than done, of course," he admitted. "Distraction can help, so long as you are not using it to bury and hide your feelings, but to... give yourself the time to distance yourself from them, instead."

Now he was not blatantly suggesting that Crane find some other man to drown his sorrows in... but he wasn't not saying that either.

Malachi did not think to bat an eye when his assistant priest was mentioned. A smile settled easily on his face.

"If you would prefer," started Malachi, "I could come here and offer mass with you, on those days. It would not be a problem."