[There's a funny sort of clarity that settles in as Basch holds him again. As he speaks... some of the things that plague him, and receives comfort in return. In the quiet, as he listens to Basch breathe and speak, he finds himself at once elated and guilty. Sure that he's misrepresented something, not because he actually thinks he would but because a lot of it he's never voiced to anyone.]

... I know, but... there was no one I could talk to. [was.] I thought about ways out of it, but it really was all I knew. Everyone knew what I would be, so there was no escape. It's... stifling, trying to behave, to pretend I don't want anything.

[The words slip from his lips and he pauses, the sudden rigidity of realisation taking him. He hadn't meant to admit that much, let alone burden Basch with it—even though the man had offered to hear it, to share his burdens.

It's automatic, the way he laughs. He doesn't even realise what he's doing, trying to preempt an argument that will never come.]

Sorry, I don't mean to complain. But that's... really all there is to me. A priest who never actually wanted to be a priest.