Work Text:
She didn't expect to run into him here, of all places. And when she saw him, her urge was to run. Run from him, Run from every feeling he made her feel in the past three years.
But she didn't run. She stayed rooted even as he saw her, and he spun on his heel in a full circle, like maybe he was trying to run too.
Before she knew it, pulled like magnets, they were there, standing before each other. She leaned on the metal guard rail for support the cold steel biting into her palm, and he mirrored her.
Break dust was bitter on the wind, and the aroma of coffee danced around them as a woman queued nearby.
“Hi.” She said, her voice a near ghost in the din of the station.
“Hi.” His voice was exactly as she remembered it, rich with melody.
A ruckus spawned behind them and they saw a young man racing towards them, jingling like metal. A cop followed close behind him yelling “Stop! Thief!”
And the next moment the man had vaulted over the railing and jumped into a train-car just as the doors began to close.
The cop stopped in his tracks with a “FUCK.”
And that was when she saw. The robber had handcuffed them to the rail. Her and him. Face to face, feet apart.
“FUCK.” They said in unison.
For a long moment, they just stood there, both pretending to watch the cop radio for backup while stealing glances at each other.
The crowd around them thinned as another train departed, leaving them in a bubble of awkward silence. A maintenance worker approached, took one look at their situation, and promised to return with help. That's when the priest cleared his throat.
"How is your wrist?" he asked, his tone carrying that familiar gentle concern she'd heard him use with others countless times before.
"Other than being shackled to a pole, it's fine." She shook her wrist and the clanging of the metal reverberated through the railing. Her eyes caught on the edge of his collar peeking out from his jacket - stark white against black. She gestured between them. "This, on the other hand, is..."
“Ironic?” He asked, eyes crinkling.
She nods. "I saw you in the paper last month. The youth center project."
"It's going well." He runs a hand through his hair - a nervous gesture she remembered well. "The kids are..." He looked at her directly then, something raw in his expression. "They're why I stay, mostly. Not the ceremonies or the hierarchy. Just helping people find their way." He pauses considering his words, "You look good."
She looks at the ground, her face frowning. "So do you. The years have been kind."
He opens his mouth but a train whistle sounds and he promptly closes it agan.
"I went to Mass last Christmas. You weren't there." She yells, and the Train whistle stops, a woman nearby glares and her, and the priest and her prediciment.
"I was transferred. Different parish now."
Her eyes were sad. "I know. I checked."
“I never regretted my calling. But I regretted hurting you." His jaw twitched.
“Did you ever consider that maybe loving someone was your calling?"
"I loved both. That was the problem.”
"And now?"
The locksmith approaches, and she curses him under her breath. He frees them and they stand, shaking their wrists and looking away from each other.
"Do you ever..."She bites her lip to stop herself.
"Every day. You are the best worst mistake Ive ever made."
"That wasn't what I was going to ask."
“Yes it was.” He bumps his shoulder into hers with a sad smile.
As she walks away, she does not hear him say, "Love is also a calling."
She settles into the train seat near the window. She wants to look at him one last time, forever, never again. His eyes meet hers though the glass and she watches him reach into his pocket for his phone.
In her purse, a buzzing noise jolts her. With shaking hands she opens the notification that she slides open.
The message reads:
I've been thinking about leaving the priesthood for the past year. Not because of you - because I realized my true calling was always counseling and helping others, not necessarily as a priest. The youth center showed me that. Seeing you today... maybe it's a sign that the timing is finally right. Can we talk?
She looks up from her phone, remembering his words about the kids, about helping people find their way. He's still there, watching, and she sees now what she missed before - the lightness in his shoulders, like someone who's finally set down a heavy burden.
A small smile forms on her lips as she types...
This is the address ill be staying at. I'll be there for two weeks.
He darts toward the train. The doors are about to close. And then, hes in front of her.
"What are you doing?"
"Following my heart for once. And maybe God is leading me there too."
"What about your duties at the parish?"
He glanced at the platform behind him, where his old life waited with its familiar certainties. The station master's whistle pierced the air - last warning. His fingers found the cross he still wore under his jacket, a reflexive gesture from years of seeking guidance. But for once, the answer didn't come from above. It came from within.
"I already submitted my letter last month. I just hadn't decided what was next. Until now."