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Being a degenerate is okay these days
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Jae's vision was static.

He could shoot Michael, he had a clear shot, he would be right to do it, but he couldn't move and he couldn't see-

oh right he was hyperventilating.

As soon as Michael's retreating back disappeared from view, the crossbow clattered to the floor. Jae followed it halfway, sagging against the pew and heaving in deep, ragged breaths for several moments.

"I'm okay," he mumbled to Asha, not really grasping what she'd said to him, "I'm fine." He was absolutely not fine, had never been further from fine ever in his life, but nobody here was dead and that was a better outcome than anyone had reasonably expected from this little encounter.

He hobbled the few steps over to where Asha was sitting and sat down heavily next to her, vaguely aware that the crossbow was still on the floor at his feet. There was a buzzing in his ears and in his fingertips, and for a minute he just leaned over with his eyes closed, trying to steady his breathing.

After a minute or so, a quiet, humorless laugh bubbled up from his chest. "...It was Nancy." He stayed bent over, laughing to the floor until he gave in to the hacking cough that had been nagging at him.

"Brendan, you fucking idiot."

He was still trembling from lingering adrenaline. On impulse, he reached over and grabbed Asha's hand, squeezing tightly and ignoring the twinge of pain in his fingers. "Sorry," he said, not entirely sure what he was apologizing for.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Devil's Choir · Crematorium Chapel