Archive of Our Own

The church Sieun went to every Sunday was echoey, his thoughts would reverberate from the walls and linger in the air.

It felt empty, despite being filled to the brim with statues and stained glass. Fragments of colour that allowed the sun to beam in, blessing the side of Sieun's cheek, painting it in blends of blue and red.

Handcrafted wooden sculptures of various saints littered the pure white walls, ones that Sieun could not name but their carefully carved faces were ingrained into his mind from the time he had spent staring at them, absorbing their image into his soul.

As if their face alone could cleanse his rotten soul, from the inside out.

He had been coming to this same church since he was a child—innocent and untouched by this sin he now held.

Had been coming to it since his father had first dragged him out his room as a small child, away from his unfinished maths homework, and into the church where the stagnant air held lingering scents of incense tainted by the musk of old hymn books—pages yellowed with age and the touch of thousands of sinners and believers alike.

Currently, the pew he was sat on was worn away. The wood was chipped with the brown paint peeling underneath him, revealing the original sandy colours that had been hidden underneath layers of polish and perfection.

It creaked when he sat, and again when he would get up to follow his father into kneeling positions, mirroring the hazy image of his father that he would catch out of the corner of his eye.

When he was here, he could never bare to look directly at his father.

He was too scared that if his father truly looked into his eyes, he would see the vale of sin cast over Sieun's entire being, repressed somewhere deep in his chest.

Untouched, banished to darkness. Yet crushing him all the same.

The leather cushions that his knees would rest upon were similarly aged, leather cracked with the weight of wrongdoing and regret. Soiled by a desperation of atonement.

His hands would automatically come up in front of his face, elbows resting upon the back of the pew in front of him. Robotic. Mechanical.

His thumbs moved on their own, crossing over each other as his fingers point upwards to face the ceiling. Eyes closing, ears listening to the prayers and chants of the congregation.

His father would always force the hymn book into his hands, already opened to the required progression of hymns of that days service. The lyrics written on the page barely made sense to him. They could barely even leave his mouth most days, even as he wrestled with his mind to just hurry up and sing—to just praise, even once.

It was as if someone had held his voice captive, dangling the concept of communication like a carrot in front of a rabbit, a temptation that he would never be allowed to reach. No matter how high he leapt to try and catch it, it would always be too far ahead of him.

As he glanced around him, he saw elderly women and men - someone's dearest halmeoni and harabeoji - and observed how their lips would move freely yet confined by unspoken strict order, indulging in prayer as their shoulders subtly sway to the polyphonic harmonies of the choir.

He tried to imagine a familiar face within the crowd. Maybe Suho's halmeoni.

Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. He couldn't imagine her soft spirit stood rigidly behind a pew, following an order of a service. Instead, when he looked at them, everyone else was tainted with the stale image of his father.

From the furthest corner his vision would allow without needing to turn his head, he looked at his father, and took in the sound of his voice smoothly pronouncing the lyrics. His father was never a musical person, and his voice was proof of that — scratchy, unappealing and uneven in tone.

However, singing in a liturgy, Sieun couldn't help but notice how his voice held no anger, unlike when he spoke to Sieun.

It was careful and considered, a manner Sieun had never heard before. A quiet comprehension of respect and admiration littered within his words that he had never before uttered towards his own son.

Before he knew it, people would start ushering themselves out of their pews, ordered and mechanic. They would all file, one by one, into the aisle, and form governed queues before the priest who awaited their individual arrival at the altar, a smooth golden bowl in his hand that glistened under the flame of the numerous candles and the warm glow of the chandelier above him.

Sieun's father would nudge him, harshly, but perfectly aimed low into his waist so that no observing eyes would notice.

He too would follow the congregation, shuffling his feet as his sneakers echoed from the tiled floor, until he arrived—as expected and waited for—in front of the Father.

"The body of Christ," the priest offers, as Sieun automatically laid his left hand over his right, something his own father had lectured him to do as soon as he became of age to receive the Eucharist.

Once, Sieun had placed his right arm across his chest at this moment, something he had seen another teenage boy do in church. He had noted that the priest did not then give said boy a piece of the communion, simply a blessing.

However, once church was over, once Sieun and his father were hidden in the dusk of their own apartment, a belt had lashed over his arm, as that was not how a true, dedicated Christian was to embrace Jesus.

Only taking a blessing, to his father, was a symbol of unwillingness to allow Jesus into your body, to see your mind and soul.

That same night, his father had questioned him relentlessly between hits and beatings on what Sieun must be hiding, what thoughts Sieun had clearly not wanted Jesus to see.

Since then, despite the sour taste the communion would leave in Sieun's mouth, he had always taken it.

"Amen." Sieun uttered, voice scratchy and forced. Upon the recognition, the priest placed the communion into the awaiting throne of his cupped hands, and Sieun took it between his fingers, and rested it against his tongue as he stepped aside to face the altar in it's glory.

He finished with a sign of the cross, hand stuttering when it reached the centre of his chest before continuing to brush his shoulders.

A mere pattern to Sieun, an outward, performative statement of faith to his father, a desperation of holiness to his soul.

As he returned to his seat, the service continued. Sieun's body was moving on autopilot from the comfort of routine and order that church offered, while his mind strayed and shifted to a land of nothingness.

He supposes that this alone makes him a sinner, for he can't even bring himself to focus for an hour on God within His gracious own home.

Sieun's list of sin was etched into his soul forever, as not even confession and redemption would cleanse him of that one sin that trumped the rest.

A forbidden desire that Sieun locked away behind his heart, repressed and forcibly diminished. Like a flame deprived of oxygen; even though it longs to prosper and grow, without oxygen—it's only life source—it wilts away, agonisingly enveloped in the wrath of suffocation.

The service gracefully comes to an end, as it always does, with a blessing offered to the congregation as they are told to Go in peace, and to Glorify the Lord with their life.

Yet, peace was a spectrum, one that Sieun had not even come across at all in his life, let alone in the moment of leaving church.

Instead, church left a sting in his stomach, a bruise of anxiety tainting his spirit as the sin left unsaid in his chest festered.

As always, though, his father would go straight to the door, pushing Sieun out of it while he turned to converse with the priest who stood by the exit offering goodbyes to each member of the congregation.

Sieun wasn't sure why he did it, but he supposed it left his father with a sense of accomplishment, as if he was a better Christian for greeting the Father personally, unlike everyone else who would simply offer a respectful bow on the way out.

Leaving his own father behind to mingle with the Father and the remaining other worshippers, Sieun tread lightly into the car park of the Church, his face blank, emotions sharply tucked away and concealed. His eyes graced the gravel beneath his feet, until a warm shout travelled through the air, bleeding comfort into his ears.

"Yeon Sieun!" The voice echoed through the wind, offering no room for doubt as to who it belonged to.

Suho has known about Sieun coming to Church for a while now, the knowledge coming after a few too many times of Sieun rejecting his advances of hanging out on a Sunday morning before Suho's afternoon delivery shift.

Before that, it was a neatly kept secret, not necessarily from a place of shame but instead an unwillingness to share this part of his persona. This side of himself was reserved for his father to force out of him and for God to frown upon, not for Suho to observe or pick apart.

He feared judgement, and not from God himself, but from Suho, of all people. As if admitting his failure of a belief to Suho would banish him to a realm of solitude and rejection.

Yet, when he first told him about his weekly endeavours to Church, none of the script he had spent their whole friendship mentally writing for Suho in his internal plan of this conversation had came out of Suho's mouth.

Instead, his eyebrows had lifted, and he offered out a "Oh, cool", before rambling about how he would have to settle for Yeongi's company that day instead of Sieun's.

Here and there, Suho had asked him questions about his beliefs, not from any place of criticism but from pure curiosity.

"Halmeoni never took me to Church as a kid, she's always been more of an occassional temple visit kind of person. What do you even do there, every single week?"

To this, Sieun had no answer, as he often spent most of the service consumed with guilt with his jaw clenched too tight to stop pure sin from spilling from his mouth and eternally tainting the walls of the Church. Instead, he answered from what he observed from his father's actions, and Suho was none the wiser.

Now though, Sieun's feet naturally gravitated themselves towards Suho. His voice was like a magnetic force flowing through his body, urging his legs to move without his mind even necessarily telling them to.

Suho was leaning on his motorcycle, an arm waving dramatically through the air as if Sieun's gaze wasn't already utterly captured by him.

"Hi," Sieun replied, his voice coming out just above a whisper, somewhere between softness and pure silence.

Suho coming to pick him up was not unusual, most weekends he would whisk him away to some restaurant for lunch before dropping Sieun home before his shift would start on some unfortunate Sunday evenings.

Suho wore a wide smile on his face, pinching his cheeks up into something Sieun would not allow himself to perceive as cute, or beautiful, or breathtaking. The flutter of his heart at the sight must purely be a punishment from God of the pure sin caked in a disguise of desire.

"How was the whole service thing?" Suho questioned as Sieun was now stood a foot away from him.

"Fine." Sieun responded briefly, answer clipped and icy around the edges. He swallowed harshly, his expression as sharp as stone, yet Suho did not waver.

Instead, the taller boy offered out a blue and black helmet—Sieun's helmet—waiting for him to take it before grabbing his own black and red helmet from the handlebars. Suho slid his own helmet on quickly, then made sure to reach back out to Sieun, adjusting his helmet's visor before clipping it gently into place under his chin.

Suho's hands were too close, too close to the words he had gulped down his throat and swore to himself that he would never allow to escape.

The moment was over before Sieun could contemplate it further, and he watched as Suho made himself comfortable at the front of the motorcycle before he himself got on the back, hands lightly gripping the edge of the red windbreaker in front of him.

Suho tutted, not from annoyance but holding more of a teasing tone, before he reached behind himself, once again entering Sieun's personal space, grabbing Sieun's arms and wrapping them entirely around his waist.

"No need to be shy, Sieunnie." The words were accentuated with a wink, before Sieun hid his face in Suho's back, hiding the evidence of how his cheeks filled with a familiar warmth.

To distract himself from the heat tainting his face, he got out his phone while Suho slowly pulled off from his parking space, sending a very brief message to his father that Suho had picked him up. He knew that his father wouldn't have even noticed otherwise, and would have simply left without him, but the message allowed Sieun to purposefully remind his father of his existence. Something he forgot about much too often.

The drive was slow, not in speed but in how time seemed to slow down to the point of barely even existing as Sieun's arms were wrapped around Suho's warm body, comfort diffusing from him into Sieun.

His face was pressed right up to the middle of the other boys shoulders, and if Suho hadn't of had the helmet on then his hair flowing backwards in the wind would have been tickling Sieun's face.

Suho really needed a haircut. Sieun couldn't help but wonder what style he would go for next, how his freshly cut bangs would frame his curved face, and if his sideburns would still reach down to the apple of his cheek, where Suho went most rosy on warmer days when his face would flush.

Disgusting thoughts, really.

Eventually, after feeling like hours yet simultaneously also feeling like only seconds of warmth had passed, they pulled up outside of a restaurant they often frequented together. It was ran by one of Suho's halmeoni's friends.

She adored Suho, having first met him when he was a young toddler with a gappy tooth smile and far too much energy vibrating through his small body. They often ended up with bowls that they hadn't even ordered sneaking themselves onto their table, filled with food cooked purely with love.

When coming to a stop, the first thing Suho did was jump off the motorcycle and offer his hand out to Sieun to help him off, before unclipping his helmet too, taking it off with careful and measured hands before even thinking off taking off his own.

They entered the restaurant side by side, shoulders brushing for a brief moment that lingered for another moment far too long afterwards in Sieun's mind, as Suho lightly nudged Sieun in the door before walking in himself.

A gulp shot down Sieun's throat, as he forced himself to focus on the warmth irradiating from the various grills on each table rather than the heat from Suho's palm. He tuned himself in to the sound of the overhead extractors sucking up steam, cleaning the air from humidity to hold purely the tangy smell of barbequed meat and grilled vegetables.

Sieun led them both to their usual table, a booth in the back corner of the restaurant, furthest from the door. Suho took a moment to greet the owner, the friend of his halmeoni, bowing his head multiple times on his way to sitting down opposite Sieun.

As he sat down, his foot nudged Sieun's shin, causing him to look up with an eyebrow raised, making a sound of acknowledgement laced with curiosity.

"You okay? You've barely spoke, and you're sitting there like I've just told you you've failed your midterms. What's up?" Suho emphasised his words by leaning in slightly, resting on his elbows on top of the table, avoiding the grill.

In truth, Church always made Sieun feel sick. It filled him with a vile nausea woven with sin and self disgust; a deep, unspoken guilt for what he will never be able to atone for.

Love.

Swallowing bile that was rising up his throat, Sieun replied, "I'm fine. Just thinking about things." Bleak. Too unsatisfactory in detail for Suho, yet Sieun simply couldn't indulge him any further into his true emotions.

"Is that it? You think too much. Here, c'mon, let me do some of the thinking for once, give me your thoughts through telekinesis."

Suddenly, Suho reached out to Sieun, slapping the palm of his hand onto Sieun's forehead, and closing his eyes as if using a power. He then started moving his hand in circles, as if conjuring Sieun's thoughts out of his mind, messing up Sieun's hair in the process.

Sieun's eyebrows furrowed, his nose scrunching up as he attempted to push Suho's hand away.

"Do you mean telepathy?" He tutted, finally getting Suho's hand off of him and pushing it right back until it nearly hit Suho in his face. "It's a good job I do all the thinking, if you did it we'd have about 3 brain cells to work with."

Suho smiled, another wide, sappy grin that sent a shiver through Sieun's stomach, lingering there before it was forcibly replaced with dread.

"It's funny, you're expecting me to take you seriously with your hair sticking up like that."

Sieun tutted yet again, moving to try and use the reflection of himself in the smoke extractor to smooth down his hair, before Suho continued, "I didn't mean you had to fix it, it was cute."

At that, Sieun's heart dropped, as his hands froze in place where they were hovering over his head.

A rush of nausea overtook him once again, and he looked up to see Suho casually browsing over the menu—they've been here tens of times, Sieun doesn't know why he bothers to look anymore—as if his words didn't just drive a stake through Sieun's heart.

Cute.

It was fine, friends called each other cute all the time.

He tried to recall any other occasions, but all he came up with was the time Yeongi had called him cute once, when he had rice stuck to his lip at lunch, which provided no help, as that had no impact on Sieun. He couldn't care less what Yeongi called him, and it certainly hadn't caused his heart to stutter and for his jaw to lock in place, stunning him into an unwilling silence.

The owner of the restaurant came over in the middle of Sieun's turmoil, placing a tray of bulgogi, lettuce wraps and japchae onto their table. Their usual.

"Suho-ssi, I'm so happy you came tonight, it's been a while!" In reality it had been about a week, but Suho laughed her off all the same. Her voice was soft and offered a comforting audible embrace, calming the storm inside of Sieun's stomach, even if the words weren't aimed at him.

She continued placing the various bowls onto the table, as she continued, "Hm, Suho-ssi, this is random but I do have a question for you if you don't mind."

"Oh, yes? That's fine, go ahead, halmeonim!" When talking to elderly women, much like his halmeoni, Suho always spoke with such care and affection. Guiltily, Sieun loved hearing how his voice would drop, tone becoming softer and measured.

The butterflies in his stomach must be a tangible manifestation of the sin flowing through his veins.

"You're a fighter, right? Boxing, gym, whatever you want to call it?" At Suho's eager nod, she continued, "My son's boyfriend was looking for a gym to start some self defence classes, and I thought of you straight away from what your grandmother's told me. Do you have anywhere you'd recommend?"

Sieun's blood turned ice cold.

Anything else that was said after that, Sieun was none the wiser, as his brain tripped up on that singular detail that wasn't even the focus of the conversation. His mouth was suddenly dry, too dry, he couldn't even swallow away the acid creeping into his mouth.

My son's boyfriend.

His muscles had turned rigid, and his fingers had dug tightly into the flesh of his knees. At this point, his lungs weren't even taking in any air, and Sieun had to force himself to drag in a burning inhale before his vision would start to blur.

My son's boyfriend.

Poison filled Sieun's abdomen, bleeding into his soul and intertwining with his mind, controlling him. The nausea from before had only worsened ten fold, his brain still stuck on that fact. The way she had said it, so casually, as if it held no real importance apart from to conversationally progress onto her question.

Unable to recover himself, Sieun forced his eyes to look straight at Suho, hoping to see the boy similarly sitting there, frozen in guilt and shame.

But no, instead, Suho still had that sickening smile on his face, animatedly continuing to engage in conversation, the topic unbeknownst to Sieun as he was consumed by horror.

By the time the poison had let go of Sieun, regaining his full consciousness, the woman was bowing her head, thanking Suho. Suho was mirroring her, falling into a deeper bow, and then she walked away.

Suho, still with that dreadful smile plastered onto his stupid cheeks, turned back to Sieun, and was utterly surprised to be met with a deep frown, tight lipped as his jaw was still clenched shut.

"What's wrong Sieun-ah? Why do you look like someone just spat on your physics textbook?" Pure concern rounded off his smile into something deeper, something ingrained with a worry that itself made Sieun's frown dip lower.

A stretched moment of silence.

"Was that not weird?" Sieun forced out, swallowing more shame down his sinful throat.

Suho's eyebrows furrowed themselves at this response, leaving a crease in Suho's forehead that, deep down, buried under mountains of guilt and disgust, Sieun wanted to iron out with his thumbs, brushing them over his face gently until the smile returned.

Filthy thoughts of a disgusting sinner.

"Huh? The self defence classes? I actually know quite a few people who have started them recently-"

"No, who they were for." Sieun interrupted, stark and clipped.

At this, Suho's eyes left Sieun's for a moment, lingering in the air in thought as he retraced the conversation. As if the detail didn’t even matter to him, and it had slipped away from his memory.

"Her.. son's boyfriend?" The question was hesitant, accompanied by a restrained tone Sieun had not heard before. The sound of this, coming straight from Suho, left acid in Sieun's mouth.

Sieun hummed, diverting his eyes away from Suho's gaze as he busied his hands by placing some meat on the grill. Being distracted was good, as it allowed him to stray from his mind of pure filth and sin.

Suho's mouth repeatedly opened, then closed again, words trapped behind an invisible barricade.

"You don't, um, Sieunnie," sentences came out of Suho's mouth fragmented, broken by a lingering anxiety that was tangible between them. "What's weird about it?" was what Suho finally settled on, his gaze still fixated on Sieun's face, boring holes through him.

Sieun prayed he couldn't see past his front of—what he thought was—normalcy.

The sound of meat sizzling filled the awkward silence between them, as Suho awaited a response, a response that Sieun did not have in words, only the ideas of one encased in belief and conformity.

"Two men. Dating."

A strangled noise came from Suho, but even at this Sieun could not bring himself to look up. He was shocked at how Suho was reacting, as if Sieun was the weird one here.

If it was his father sat in front of him, Sieun wouldn't even have had to have spoken. His father would have done it for him, spewing pure disgust and resentment at how normalised fairies were becoming, and how society was losing its strong men to a gay disease.

"No, Sieun. I don't think that's weird, why would I?"

"I don't know. Why wouldn't you?" The response was automatic, pre-rehearsed.

Sieun knew why Suho should think it was weird. Throughout the whole Bible, man was meant to engage only with women, with the intent of procreation. God had made Eve straight from the rib of Adam in order to keep him company. However, none of this came out, caught in his throat as Suho continued to stare at him in confusion.

The timer for the meat went off, and Sieun calmly flipped it over, masking how his hand was trembling under the movement of flipping the tongs.

Suho scratched his chin, jaw hanging open in a way that, if Sieun had his jaw like that, Suho would have teased him—something about catching flies. But that humour had no home here now.

Sieun had tarnished that. His poisonous soul corrupting everything he touches.

"You know it's normal, right, Sieun?" Suho's tone clearly lacked any affection, in fact it was void of nearly all emotion, words precisely chosen and aimed at Sieun. It made Sieun feel sick again, for an entirely different reason.

He continued, "Two men going out is no different to a guy and a girl. Same as two girls. Who gives a shit, really? Kiss and fuck whoever the hell you want."

Sieun considered his words, and how carelessly he said them. The way he dismissed homosexuality, a sin written straight into the bible, so casually as if it didn't mean anything made Sieun shake his head on instinct.

"I don't think so."

"So what do you think, seriously?" Now, Suho's tone was teetering on the verge of aggression, but held back cautiously, clearly still laced with concern over what was coming out of Sieun's mouth—his best friends mouth.

A long blink and a shake of the head was all Sieun could do in reply. He leaned to take the meat off of the grill and dish it up onto both his and Suho's plates.

They both moved in silence to serve themselves from the variety of foods scattered on their table, Suho's eyes still flickering onto Sieun's face, observing him much too closely.

Look any closer, sin will be revealed.

Pushing his food around on his plate, Sieun no longer had an appetite, not that it was ever there in the first place. "I don't know, it.. it's a sin, for us. In church, I mean." His tongue brushed over his dry lips, though didn't provide much respite as his mouth was similarly barren.

"The church? Seriously, Sieun? What do they do in there every Sunday, brainwash you? Gay people are humans too, you know." Similarly, Suho also hadn't touched his food yet, extremely unlike him. He would usually eat it almost straight off of the grill, of which Sieun would remind him every time not to, as it always burnt his mouth, and Sieun would feed him lettuce afterwards to cool the heat.

"That's not what my father says."

The word 'priest' in place of 'my father' died on his tongue, because while the memories of his father's hate were ever present in the forefront of his mind, any examples of the priest preaching against homosexuals fumbled in his memory.

Now, he wasn't even sure if there were any, his train of thought caught up in ancient bible passages and his fathers angered shouts.

An awkward laugh sounded from Suho, yet when Sieun looked up, the smile he hoped to attribute to the sound was not there. Something much more strained, more painful, had spread across Suho's face in its place.

"What, is your dad God now? He call the shots over what's a sin, yeah? Will he give me the key to Cheonguk personally when I die? Be waiting up there for us?" Sarcasm dripped from his voice, landing awkwardly. It made Sieun frown.

His sin was leaking out of his every pore, infecting Suho.

Swallowing dry, Sieun shakily exhaled, eyes dropping to his plate once again. "I'm sorry, forget it, Suho."

"Sieun-ah, I can't really forget this right now." Suho fidgeted in his seat, looking uncomfortable by Sieun's mere presence from across the table.

It was like he could smell the sin coursing through Sieun's veins.

"You know, I mean, you have to know that I'm-" his words were cut off abruptly, by a loud clattering from nearby. Shocked, they both looked around, finding the owner stood next to a pile of dishes and food that had scattered its way across the floor.

Suho was on his feet almost instantly, while Sieun stayed glued to his seat.

He guesses that even now, his sin weighs him down, ties anchors to his feet and wraps his tongue in knots around itself, as he couldn't get up, or even speak to offer help.

On the other hand, Suho had already rushed over, sliding to his knees as he fussed over the woman, making sure she was okay before using his hands to try gather the metal plates.

"Aigo, Suho-ssi, go sit down, it’s okay! My hand just slipped, I'll sort it." The woman's voice was shaky, clearly startled by her error but rooted in assurance that she could manage by herself.

Suho shook his head, still on his hands and knees in the middle of the restaurant, picking up plates and stacking them neatly.

Suho did reply to the poor woman, but Sieun's ears filtered it out. As he stared at Suho's broad back, and how his muscles moved as he reached for each plate, Sieun was stuck on what the boy had said.

"You have to know that I'm-"

He was what? What was Suho expecting Sieun to know?

Was it about how he could see right through Sieun's facade? As if his skin was a transparent mesh intended to be cut away to reveal the truth inside, to let it spill over the edges and spread like a plague.

His brain went into a self inflicted overdrive.  It flicked between scenarios or possibilities, times where he might have slipped up and exposed his vile interior, exposed his true selfish desires that should be eternally hidden away within the fiery pits of Hell.

None of these thoughts revolved around Suho. Around a possibility of Suho saying anything about himself, because he knew Suho was pure. The way he was still currently collecting plates from the grimy floor of this restaurant, dirtying his trousers as he kneels in spilt food and the remnants of mud from people's shoes, was proof of his virtue.

A soul untouched by sin; completely void of the venom that loomed over Sieun.

Hands trembling, Sieun stayed put, simply watching as Suho insisted on taking the dishes back to the kitchen, disappearing behind a door.

When he reappeared again, he was, once again, fussing over the older woman.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sieun managed to make out, the buzz in his ears lifting.

"Ah, Suho, aigo.. I'm more embarrassed than anything." She waved her hands around, wafting off Suho's attentive hands that were trying to seek out any imperfections in her spirit. "You truly didn't have to help, thank you."

Suho let out a small laugh before reassuring her, multiple times, that he didn't mind helping, that his halmeoni dropped things all the time, trying to comfort the woman.

From his seat, as he carefully observed the way the other boy cared for others, putting his whole soul into acts of service.

Sieun couldn't help but wonder if he himself would ever be that free again.

Would he ever escape from this burden, and be ripped from the temptations of unholy desire that taunted him?

Unholy desire in the form of the boy that stood before him, tangible yet choking. A sin that came quietly in waves, disrupting his being in precise motions.

He doesn't know how many moments had passed, but what he does know is that Suho was now lowering himself back down into the chair opposite him, immediately reaching for his spoon and chopsticks.

The boy offered no remark to Sieun, simply spooning some small vegetables and rice onto a lettuce wrap, followed by a strip of meat. Using his hands, he wrapped it up tightly, ensuring no food would spill from the edges.

Then, in a complete turn of events, he reached over the table, offering it in front of Sieun's lips.

Almost reflexively, Sieun's lips parted, slowly and calculated, disallowing any unwanted inner secrets from spilling from his mouth. Suho pushed the lettuce past his lips, patting them closed before retreating back to his chair, repeating the process with his own wrap.

For a moment, Sieun savoured the way it entered his mouth and hit his tongue, then chewed carefully, eyes latched onto Suho. There was no smile tracing his lips.

He was still wondering what Suho was going to say, what he was going to expose. That he knew of Sieun's lies and sins. Yet, Sieun stayed quiet. He couldn't bare it, and he wasn't going to remind Suho of sharing his disgust in him.

They ate in silence, not entirely awkward but definitely not comfortable, a middle ground that they had never chartered into before.

Usually, their lunches were spent in hushed conversations only meant for them, until Suho would bellow a laugh in which would leave him offering his apologies to the people next to them for his volume.

Now, they were silent.

Once their meal was finished, the woman came over, insisting that Suho wouldn't have to pay for this meal as she cleared up their plates from their table. Suho denied, yet she continually refused his offering for money, and walked back to the kitchen.

When they both got up to leave, though, Suho slipped 20,000 won onto the table, grabbing his windbreaker as he looked back to ensure Sieun was following him out.

He was, of course, as he would follow Suho to hell if it meant being with him. But that was a cursed thought, and stayed deeply unravelled in his mind.

Silence lingered as they walked out to Suho's motorcycle, and anxiety thrummed in Sieun's stomach. He opened his mouth, willing something—anything—to spill from his lips.

"I'm sorry." Was all he could eventually manage, as Suho turned to face him when they reached the motorcycle, his hand resting on top of the blue and black helmet.

"Don't apologise, Sieunnie."

"I mean it. My.. belief.. upset you."

Suho's eyes were soft as they gazed down at him, a soft yet restrained curl at the corner of his lips. "Really, it's fine. It's not your fault."

Confusion was immediate, as how could the words that left Sieun's mouth not be his own fault?

Suho must have seen the dip of his eyebrows as a brief chuckle filled the air between them, as the helmet suddenly came down onto his head. "Cute." was all that remained, uttered with forgiveness etched into the surface.

The ride back to Sieun's house was filled with darkness. Not physically, the sun at its peak of the day, blessing the sky and those who dwell under it. Instead, it was his mind that was darkening, a land of sickening thoughts of sin and consequence.

He knew Suho's halmeoni had never taken him to a church. They did not believe in a sole God, but instead worshipped in temples when it was needed, having a few shrines that they frequented sporadically throughout the year.

However, he still couldn't wrap his brain around how easy it was for Suho to deny the existence of sin. To deny the words that pour from his fathers mouth like honey from a beehive, thick and oozing from every crevice.

Words of supposed teaching. Hatred, hidden in spirituality.

"You have to know that I'm-"

The cut off sentence still plagued him, shuddering through his body leaving him cold and nervous. Even as they pulled up to the gates of Sieun's apartment block, he couldn't help the tired and shaky sigh that pulled itself from his lips.

Suho parked up carefully, on the edge of the road so that cars could get around him. They took their time to get off the bike, Sieun's greed of keeping his hands wrapped around Suho's waist was threatening.

Taking off their helmets, Suho looked Sieun directly in the eyes, carrying a purpose. A breath caught in Sieun's chest, lungs stuttering to function.

Then, suddenly, in between the movement of one moment to the next, Suho rounded the motorcycle, planting himself in front of Sieun. His arms came up, and Sieun almost flinched, mind too filled and plagued by images of his father whom he had left behind at the Church doors.

Instead of bringing a hit or a punch, though, Suho's arms wrapped around Sieun's shoulders, bringing him flush against his chest. Sieun's body went rigid, for a second, before his muscles automatically softened, relaxing at the feeling of home.

Not the apartment complex behind them, but the warm embrace.

His avarice really was sickening. A greed too terrible to name.

Another trembling sigh escaped his mouth, as his fingers traced around the curve of Suho's waist to gently grip his windbreaker, as Suho squeezed his shoulders tight, an action that said I'm here, I've got you.

It was a moment before Suho spoke up, not breaking the hug but filling the air between them with his careful words.

"I don't blame you, Sieun-ah. For thinking what you think. I think, for your whole life, you've been forced to compress your whole identity into a small box, and you don't know how to accept the fact that others got out of their boxes before you did."

A watery haze filled Sieun's vision, and he pressed his face further into Suho's neck, hoping the warmth would evaporate the tears before they would leak down his cheeks.

Suho's grip was still unfaltering. His voice was the only thing cracking. "You've always been ahead of the curve in class, you know that. But I truly think, without you even realising, you've been left behind by the two people who were meant to hold your hands and walk you along with them as you grew up. As you learnt to accept others," he paused for a moment, before adding, in a hushed breath, "and yourself, too."

At that small addition, simply three words, Sieun bit his lip to stop the sob from escaping him. He feared, if he let out this emotion, the sin would come tumbling out with it, an unstoppable force that would consume both himself and Suho.

He was listening to Suho's words, very carefully, but couldn't absorb them. His walls were too strong, built by hand by his father, cemented in place not from a source of love or protection, but from the intent to enclose Sieun inside of himself.

"I'm not offended. Well, not anymore. I was for a second, you have to know that." Sieun frowned slightly at the confession, still with tears on his face that were soaking Suho's windbreaker—offended? How? Sieun hadn't said anything about Suho.

"But I realise how your—or, your dads, beliefs.. are strangling you, Sieunnie. At some point you need to come up for air, but you don't even know how." A hand had found its way into Sieun's hair where it met the back of his neck, stroking small comforting circles. He could envision Suho's halmeoni doing the same to Suho when he was a child.

"You need to know that I'll be here for you, the moment you think you're ready to face yourself. On your terms, Sieun-ah, I'll be waiting."

A final tear fell down Sieun's cheek, hands pulsating in a trembling grip around Suho's waist. The weight of his words were crushing him, a harsh reality that almost overcame the weight of the sin on his chest.

Almost.

In this moment, Sieun was caught up with the overwhelming feeling of strong arms wrapping around him, grounding and securing him, that he hadn't noticed the black Jeep pull up beside them both.

Neither had Suho, he assumed, as he still felt the boys face pressed against the top of his head.

The point of realisation came when the slam of a car door made him nearly jump out of his skin, hands tensing and falling away from their home around Suho's body.

The sound of quick and heavy footsteps followed after, and in the blink of an eye, a man manifested in front of them both, ripping Suho from Sieun's grasp, literally dragging him by the collar of his windbreaker.

It was his father.

"Hey, man, what the fuck?" Suho choked out, unknowing of who his assaulter was, right before he was consequentially thrown to the floor by the very hands that raised Sieun.

A cough was ripped from Suho's chest, as his father moved to similarly push Sieun backwards, causing him to stumble and nearly trip on his own two feet.

"Sieun-ah, what's happening?" Suho shouted from the floor, eyes wide and eyebrows deeply furrowed, struggling to pick himself back up, gravel digging awkwardly into his palms as he tried to hoist himself to standing.

Sieun had no fucking clue.

"Appa, what are you doing?" Sieun faced his father, looking into his eyes, for what seemed like the first time, and was met with pure rage, disgust and repulsion.

The wrinkles of his fathers face deepened with aggression, his top lip quirking upwards preparing to shout, "Sieun, what the fuck are you doing? I leave you alone for a few hours and come back to see you mingling with a faggot, being fucking all touchy with a fairy right in front of our own home, hah?"

His father was fully turned to him now, morphing into a dark and utterly evil presence that loomed over Sieun. Sieun's blood was cold, icy and covered in frostbite, and he was choked up on his own words.

"What, what do you mean? Suho's my friend, appa, you know him, Ahn Suho!" Sieun's face was overtaken by a significant desperation, the meaning behind his words subtle yet aimed in a way he knew his father would understand.

Suho was his friend, and he was not friends with homosexuals. The two could not co-exist, not under his fathers watch.

His father spared a sharp turn of the head to look at Suho, who was still working his way up off the floor, when he spat in his direction, landing in a wet heap onto the side of Suho's trousers.

Right next to the fresh food stain he'd picked up from the floor of the restaurant. All from his heart being too big for body.

"Sieun, your friend is filthy. Care to tell me why I drive up behind his motorbike and see rainbows on the back? Pride, screaming I'm a fucking filthy fairy to everyone who seems them? Right next to you two hugging your gay little hearts out?"

The word pride was spat out. A word that would usually connotate a strong self respect instead seeped venom from the mouth of his father.

Sieun froze, truly froze, an overwhelming constraint that he had never felt in its true force until now. Suho, too, was of a similar state, hunched over as his muscles locked in fear—or apprehension of what was to come.

The buzz that Sieun had felt in his ears back at the restaurant returned, cotton filling his mouth and a sting blurring his vision.

His father couldn't be talking about Suho—his Suho—or the right motorcycle.

His eyes must have failed him, perhaps the colours of the stickers that sat on the back of Suho's delivery bike had blended together in an incorrect order, looking like something they weren't.

Yet, the way Suho was still, turned to stone, made a familiar dread fill his gut and rise up his throat.

At school, if falsely accused of something petty, maybe stealing someones backpack or hiding their phone at the end of class, Suho was quick to retaliate. Everyone knew he could fight, and the second that Suho would deny accusations in his stern, stable voice, they would back down.

But, here and now, something was choking Suho. And it wasn't the collar of his windbreaker anymore.

"Sieun, I'm-" Suho tried to start, yet was met with a quick kick to the shin that made him hiss and almost topple over.

In any other situation, Sieun would have been there, catching him before he could fall, a stable hand to hold him up. But now, he was rooted in place, still tied down by anchors of fear.

An accusatory finger waved in Suho's face, holding far too much weight behind it. "You keep your rotten mouth away from my son, and get your queer ass the hell out of here on your fucking queer little bike before you make things worse. Do you hear me?" His father's voice held no bounds, reaching a deafening volume with shouts that were soon surely going to cause their neighbours to peek out of their curtains.

Suho's eyes met Sieun's, a sickening desperation behind them for Sieun to say anything, something to soothe the blows and to console his father.

Suho's not like that, Appa, he's normal.

Suho would never be like that, calm down.

The stickers don't mean that, they're just decoration, I swear.

These words, ideally, would have long since left Sieun's mouth, a verbal armour against his father to protect Suho. But instead, they were locked in his throat.

Honestly, he wasn't sure of the truth anymore. Of what Suho was, what lay hidden behind his affectionate personality and kindred soul.

Even as he mirrored Suho's wide eyed expression, swallowing down a thick lump of bile in this throat, his voice was gone.

Acceptance, not of himself, but of his father's actions.

Wordlessly, Suho backed away, demeanour filled with a caution that he had never once carried into the boxing ring when faced with a fight. This was different, not purely about the punch of fists and the kick of shins, but something deeper.

Engraved with sin.

A wet sound left Suho's throat, eyes similarly filled with a familiar wetness Sieun felt in his own eyes. Before Sieun could even blink, Suho was limping onto the motorcycle, leaving a lingering gaze locked onto Sieun before he revved the engine, and sped away.

From where he stood, he could see his father was right.

The rainbow sticker sat, with a pride of place directly in the centre of the delivery box on the back of the bike, and Sieun wondered how he never noticed it before. It was large, and unmistakable for its meaning.

It wasn't a curved rainbow. Not one you find in the sky as a blessing, an intermediate between sunshine and rainfall, bridging two polar opposites into one miracle. No, it was a rainbow in the shape of a rectangle, directly next to a yellow smiley face that now taunted Sieun.

He wasn't sure if he never noticed it out of pure ignorance, or if it was something he genuinely didn't think could be attributed to Suho.

Or maybe, deep down, he did see it one day in passing, yet never found the urge to care about it.

Something similar to the fact Suho has deep brown eyes, rich black hair and a mole underneath his left eye. Simple facts of his persona that were purely a part of what built Suho—the boy he treasured.

Sieun was still firmly stuck in place when his father scoffed, looking around to make sure there were no witnesses, before tugging on Sieun's hair, dragging him into the apartment complex.

His hand stayed aggressively tugging on his roots, a complete juxtaposition to how Suho had caressed the ends of his hair mere moments ago, while he forced Sieun up the stairs and eventually into the door of their apartment.

There, he threw Sieun over the boundary, tearing his own shoes off before slapping Sieun right across the face.

The sting was immediate, and the force was enough to knock Sieun backwards into the wall. He fell against it harshly, blasphemously, and the vibration caused the crucifix that hung on the wall to shake, threatening to fall.

His father wasn't done there, as he tracked to where Sieun was hunched over and, with a similar motion, flung him to the ground, and the boy was unable to contain the gasp of pain that left him.

Sobs that were previously repressed were now bubbling up with full vigour, unconcealed and violent. Tears flooded down his cheeks, overflowing like a river after a relentless storm.

The moment of reprieve was brief, as his eye caught his fathers arm gearing back, an object in his hand ready to fly.

It was the small plant pot that was sat on the bench in the hallway, housing a cactus inside of it. Suho had given it to him. There wasn't enough light in his bedroom, so Sieun had put it in position of the window in the hallway to allow sun to grace it, to bring it life.

When he had first got it for Sieun, he presented it with a small blue bow wrapped around the brown pot. Suho had said that the cactus resembled Sieun—prickly on the outside, an immediate defence mechanism inbuilt into its life-form, yet with a softer inside, watery and fluid with emotion.

His father was too inherently absent to know this, so Sieun assumed that God must be guiding him through this punishment. Ordering him to deliver the blows that would pack the most mighty punch - not in strength but in hidden meaning - to Sieun's spirit, despite if his father knew why or not.

The plant pot collided with the side of Sieun's cheek as he had ducked his head with a miscalculated ignorance. The ceramic shattered instantaneously, spewing soil on Sieun and the floor.

"Apa, apa.." He forced out, a cry for help dripping with desperation as his voice cracked and came out engrossed with the sound of his sobs.

Apa. Pain.

A coincidental homophone. Very ironic and laughing in Sieun's face now as he looks into the eyes of his appa, and how, at his hands, Sieun is reduced to searing pain and bruising flesh.

For a moment, he wonders if this is what it would be like in hell. His fathers beatings being a trial period for the place where he would surely spend the rest of eternity atoning for his sick sin of love.

In the same thought, he supposes —wishes, perhaps— that if someone were to set this apartment on fire right now, it really would mirror hell.

The four walls would blaze up, just like Satan must intend for Sieun's soul. Sieun would die, suffocating, kicking and choking on smoke, an innate fire burning him from the inside as the flames cooked him outwardly too.

A warm liquid rushed down the side of his face, thicker than tears and lacking translucency. It dripped onto the floor, staining the carpet red as a permanent statement of Sieun's existence, and how, if he died here, his father would be reminded.

He wouldn't care though.

At some point, Sieun must have ended up closing his eyes so tight to reveal stars floating in his vision, as when he peeled his eyelids back, his father was no longer in a fighting stance before him.

Instead, he was walking over to Sieun, making sure to step on his hand that was braced on the floor as stepped over his curled up body.

A final cry left Sieun's mouth, as his father continued down the hallway, leaving him to rest in the fetal position that he was curled up in.

How gracious.

Blood continued dripping from his cheek, slipping its way down his neck and onto the floor. His legs were still trembling, in fact his whole being was. His heart was still stuttering, unable to cope with the adrenaline and shock of the past few scenes of his life.

Like a newborn baby deer, though Sieun lacked a motherly doe to guide him, he rose on shaky legs. The toe of his sneaker slipped on blood stained soil that littered the floor. Snot leaked from his nose, making his face a pure mess of fluids that showed weakness.

Leaking from every possible pore was sin.

Sin always prevailed.

The walk—or stumble—to the bathroom was autonomous, yet took far too much effort for a 17 year old boy.

On a normal day, it would be mindless. However now, as his vision blurred with a stinging pain soaring through his face and body, each step took careful consideration before his feet would move.

He didn't bother flicking on the light switch, moving to grasp the sink before his legs gave out from beneath him. He did not want to look up, a hesitancy engulfed with fear and shame for what his reflection would hold.

Realistically though, he knew he needed to. There was a fervent necessity to wipe the evidence away from his skin before it translated into stains or anything with permanence.

His neck strained both from the ache and from reluctance as he hesitated to look upwards to the mirror, swallowing the thick spit and bile that had accumulated at the back of his mouth.

As his eyes locked with himself, his own reflection, he frankly did not recognise the monster looking back at him. Without even needing to pay attention to the blood and snot and tears, he was already disgusted.

A filthy reflection fit for a filthy boy.

The realisation came much too quick, as it left Sieun gagging into the sink, bringing up sparing slops of the food he had ate with Suho. Purging him of any remnants of the boy's touch and lingering signs of his care from deep within him.

Everything apart from the glaringly obvious sin and rebuttal. That was idly etched into his very soul.

The thought of Suho himself made him gag again, bringing up only bile and coughing diseased air.

This reaction wasn't from a place of disgust though, rather a secluded, needy part of Sieun that couldn't comprehend the fact Suho had managed to hide this from him for so long.

It was selfish, really. Selfish and desperate, throwing up over your best friend not telling you that he was gay.

At last, he knew what Suho had been itching to tell him at the restaurant, and he wished that it would have came out then.

Maybe, if it had, Sieun would have been able to disconnect himself gently, rather than his father ripping him unceremoniously from his vital life-source.

From the corner of his eye, he sees the monster watching him from inside of the mirror, waiting to pounce at a sign of weakness, feeding off of his anxiety and making dessert of his dread.

Without looking up again, already regretting that mistake, he grabs a spare rag—black, not wanting to leave tangible evidence on anything white or cream coloured. He wet it with cold water and dabbed it along his cheek. He drags the blood stain downwards, washing away the very thing that keeps his body alive, that had now poured out of him.

Wiping his nose and smudging tear streaks away, a gulp slid down his throat, catching for a moment before releasing its hold.

He knew where he needed to go, who he needed to face, and he just prayed that the monster in the mirror didn't take over before he managed to get there.

Exiting the bathroom, still on legs too weak to hold up his own body, he glanced down the hallway, seeing his fathers door shut and the lights turned off.

Before he could decide against it, Sieun padded over to the front door, swiftly opening it with shaking fingers, pure muscle memory. He didn't care to lock it behind him.

Time seemingly passed in transcendence, a thirdly entity passing by without acknowledgement. He didn't truly know how his legs were moving or where he was, but he knew his final destination.

And that was all that mattered.

Not the journey spent sniffling and trembling, nor the people in the street whom he caught staring at his ghastly and horrific appearance with wide eyes and dropped jaws.

Not the way his heart was giving up, blackened with sin and the weight of his ever looming consequences.

Just Suho.

Mentally, he was disconnected from himself, regaining a faint consciousness when he found himself outside of a familiar doorway that housed his temptation.

By the sweat of his brow, of this foreboding temptation he knew he would succumb to. For dust he was, and after he eats from this tree of temptation - Suho, with a serpent hanging from his neck, dust he shall return to.

At some point, tears had slipped down his cheeks again, so he wiped them away with fervour before they could leave tracks of wet stains on his cheeks.

While his arm was raised, he took the courage offered to him and knocked.

Three times, in a quick succession, with a fourth softer knock dangling on the end. Sieun's knock.

He heard something clatter inside, followed by a slight mumble, probably a curse. He imagined Suho jumping from his bed, previously in a very light slumber, and his knee smacking against his side table as he leapt up.

That thought would usually make Sieun laugh to himself. A warmth would creep over his cheeks—blush, he allowed himself to name, as the denial of sin now was just as deadly as the sin itself. But now, the moment was hollow; familiarly echoey and empty.

The lock clicked from the other side of the door, and for a second, Sieun was overcome with regret.

Regret coming here, regret of even thinking of burdening Suho with his transgression. If his legs weren't still wobbling under his weight, he probably would have ran. But he was stuck, frozen in space once again.

Although, as quickly as it came, the regret faded itself away into something softer, something more undeniably sinful as the door opened to reveal a boy who he knew too well, even from just the feet he was currently looking at, unable to bring up his eyes.

He didn't need to look up, though, as Suho could see him perfectly clear under the overhead lights of the outdoor hallway of his apartment complex, surely seeing the way blood was likely still caked in his scalp and the cut scarring itself into Sieun's cheek.

A gasp, then a choked exhale, already wettening around the edges.

"S-sieun-ah.. what happened?" The door was fully open now, and Suho had stepped over the boundary between his sanctuary and the sin on his doorstep. He crouched down gently in front of Sieun, as if dealing with a feral cat, as if any sudden movement would cause him to flee into the nearby bushes.

He was looking up at him now, a vile scene as Suho's eyes watered and bottom lip trembled, sucking in a breath of composure from trembling lungs.

"Sieun-ah, talk to me. Please, baby, it's ok. You're going to be okay, yeah?" His voice was soft, something Sieun did not deserve to be blessed with.

What Sieun deserved was the claustrophobia of a confessional room, facing a barred window with a priest on the other side.

He deserved to be condemned, told that he would suffer endless pain and torment for his sins that he allowed to fester within his soul, sins of deep and utterly evil desire.

At this, Sieun broke.

Sobs tore straight through his chest, tumbling from his mouth before he could clamp it shut. Suho was in a similar state, as he rose from the floor and with a steady, mindful hand around Sieun's shoulder, he ushered him into safety.

Sieun didn't know how he ended up perched on Suho's bed, or when Suho ended up with a white rag in his hand, wet with warm water to wipe away what tainted Sieun's tanned skin.

Almost on instinct, Sieun flinched away, not from pain but from something deeper that was taunting him.

"I'm sorry, did that hurt? I'm really sorry Sieun-ah, but you have blood in your hair. Let hyung help, hm?" Suho looked worse for wear, as if he had been silently crying for a while now. All because of Sieun.

Sieun shook his head, as much as he could with the way Suho was cupping his cheeks and cradling the back of his head. "Nn, you're gon' stain it." Sieun mumbled, words moulding into one another as his tongue sluggishly moved, as if not his own.

Suho's brow creased, and Sieun still longed to straighten it out with his thumbs and leave smooth skin in his path. "Stain what?"

"The.. the rag." Sieun attempted to move his head away again, only to be held in place by affirming hands.

"Sieunnie, who cares? You're more important than a little rag, Sieun, let me help, please."

In response, Sieun's eyes slipped closed as his nose sniffled up sobs, the words cutting deep.

Sieun had lived his whole life purposefully trying to erase every trace of his mere existence, praying no one would notice him before he had the chance to clear his messes.

Yet, here Suho sat, crouched before him, insisting it was okay. Okay to leave a stain of his being behind, and okay to accept help in doing so.

The calloused hands in his hair were suddenly the softest thing he had ever felt, a stark contrast to the harshness of a belt buckle or of his father's fists.

More time passed, slowly, measured not by seconds but through breaths from both boys that echoed through the room. Some breaths would stutter as they left their chests, dragged down by an indescribable pain.

As if his lips had a mind of their own, it was Sieun that ended up breaking the silence.

"I can't take it."

Suho awaited a further clarification, granting Sieun a space to speak without being cut off or interrupted. A space to merely exist in his entirety.

"Every time I wake up, I'm just.. just consumed by awful, awful things, Suho-yah. Awful, filthy thoughts. And, I thought, if I kept going to church, maybe God would notice. Maybe he would cast them out of me, deliver me from evil, safe from distress." Lines of prayer swarmed around in Sieun's mind, as he took a moment to breathe, choosing to ignore the way the soft bedroom light caught the tears streaming down Suho's face.

"And I think he did notice. I think God noticed how my eyes would.. would linger on you for too long. How you would drop me off at my door after church, and I wouldn't think about another Bible for the rest of the night, only you."

A tear dripped down his face. Probably landed on Suho's leg.

"He must be so, so utterly disgusted by me. I think I was cast out of God’s house a long time ago. I can't even," Sieun choked on his words with sobs, "I can't even love how I'm supposed to. What use is someone in Heaven who can't even love properly? I've never looked at a girl. Not even once. The first time I even ever saw—truly saw, not just observed—someone else, was you, Suho-yah."

He fidgeted with his fingers, his nail catching on a loose piece of skin hard enough to draw blood, before those same calloused hands draped over his own, holding them steady without even looking away from Sieun's face.

"And I'm disgusting. I know I am. And it's even more disgusting that I think, even if I had to spend eternity in hell, Suho, I'd still choose you. I'd still chose the motorcycle rides late at night, the way you always make me hug you tight so I don't fall, even though I've seen how you let Yeongi just hang on to the back of the bike. The lunch at your favourite barbeque place—which is only your favourite because your halmeoni used to take you there as a kid. It’s got the same beef as every other place, but I see how your eyes light up when you think of halmeoni so I don't say anything."

A wet laugh, merely an expel of air, left Suho, followed by a breathy and snotty sniffle from them both.

"If I had to choose between you, even for just this lifetime, or an eternity with God, I'd choose you, Suho-yah. And that.. that makes me sick. Sick at how easy it is with you, how I don't even care about the sin anymore when I see how you smile at me, all cheesy. God, it makes me sick."

Sieun tongued the side of his cheek for a moment, but before he could feel Suho how tensed up, he continued.

"Sick because I don't know how to let myself look at you while existing with this sin. I know now, how much I want you, but I don't think you'll ever look at me the same once I tell you and it's killing me. It's punishing me, more than any God could ever. It keeps me up at night. It’s gonna kill me one day, in the street or in my own apartment, and I can't risk not telling you. I need you to know, even if you can't look me in my eyes ever again, it's okay. I just need-"

Something cut Sieun off, a warm feeling on his mouth that melted his lips in place.

At first, he thought he must have died, God must have finally struck him down and his feeling was the heat of blood pooling in his mouth and spilling from his lips. Wet, and sticky.

Yet, he was still breathing, still blinking, still feeling.

Still feeling, all to well, how something was brushing against his lips, subtly moving against them as a reminder of his living.

Looking down, he realised what it was.

It was Suho. Suho's lips, specifically.

Their lips were pressing against each other, softly; messy and wet, not with just saliva but with the salt of tears that were falling from both of their eyes.

Sieun could comprehend any maths or physics question in seconds, yet couldn't comprehend the feeling of Suho's lips touching his own no matter how long you gave him.

God could grant him eternity in this very moment, and he still doesn't think he would understand it.

He tried to speak, a muffled and airy "What?" leaving his lips, straight into Suho's mouth as the other boy shushed him gently, calloused hands once again finding their way back into his hair for the uncountable nth time today.

Suho pulled him in closer, soothing the tension in his shoulders, as their lips properly slotted against one other. It caused a pang in Sieun's stomach, and not one driven by guilt, or by shame, but something new, something freshly dressed in want and desire.

Sieun's eyes fell closed, focusing purely on the feeling of their connection. He couldn't even remember what he was talking about, what he was warning Suho about in terms of the rotten core inside of him.

Instead, the rot seemed lighter now, as if it had simply been in disguise the whole time. In its place grew a burning need for more, as Sieun finally pressed his lips back against Suho's.

The disgust Sieun had expected to rise into his mouth never arrived, purely an insatiable craving for something he never knew he could have. Like a camel stepping foot onto snow, or a penguin feeling hot sand beneath its flippers.

When the kiss eventually deepened, Sieun didn't know whose tongue had peeked out first, tracing each others mouths as explorers to unchartered territories. They slid against each other, smoothly and purposefully, a sensation dripping with admiration.

A breathy whine escaped Sieun's throat, much too aware of how his lungs were burning with a need for oxygen yet his brain was too preoccupied by the boy he knew—the boy he loved—Suho—kissing him gently.

It was a gentleness Sieun had never felt before, not even from his own mother as she nursed him as a child before abandoning him years later. Or from his father, whom no matter the scenario had always turned to anger and demolition.

No, this was softer. It created a heat in Sieun's abdomen that wouldn't die down.

Yet, now, he didn't think it was the sin that was trying to burn him alive.

Now, it was Suho's touch causing this, igniting passion from realms deep within him that had long ago been buried under mountains bruises and shame.

Oh, how easily Suho moved those mountains, creating a crater of space for them to merely exist.

Suho had risen from his crouched position now, continuing the kiss as they occasionally parted for a quick intake of breath, as he gently lowered himself and Sieun down on top of the bed beneath Sieun, crawling on top of the smaller boy.

One of his hands still cradled the back of Sieun's neck, fingers languorously tracing shapes along his skin, and the other came down to rest by Sieun's head, propping himself on the bed above Sieun.

Their lips were now moving in sync, a dance of rhythm erupting from them both with unspoken purpose, as if this was always meant to happen. As if they were born for this moment, as if God himself had written it into the tale of their destinies right from birth.

He supposes, all the fear seemed silly now.

When he opened his eyes - just a squinting peek - he didn't see the devil tormenting him, or God's watchful, judging gaze.

He saw Suho.

Suho who still had his eyes shut, eyebrows creased not in pain, but something bordering pleasure.

Unrestrained, Sieun stopped moving his lips, creating a small bridge of distance between them. Before Suho could chase him, Sieun's hand came up, tracing details of Suho's face, before his thumbs landed on the crease between his eyebrows.

He brushed against it with as much care as he could muster, confident that his touch now only left purity in its path. Untainted by sin, with a newfound ability to soothe rather than corrupt.

He watched as Suho's eyebrows smoothed out, his face relaxing, cheeks flushed and eyes hooded.

Before he could deliberate it for long, Sieun pushed back upwards again, meeting Suho's waiting lips.

And as this continued into the night, Sieun knew this was it.

This was what his soul was made for.

Not to worship, or to pray, but simply to feel.

To love, to cherish moments of love, no matter how fleeting or how deep, like their current kiss.

That night, they would sleep together, a tangling of limbs wrapped around each other.

When the sun would rise the next morning, it would arrive softly, peeking through the window and illuminating the whole of Suho's bedroom, painting their cheeks in golden, warm hues.

When next Sunday would arrive, at Holy Communion, the priest would not find himself graced with Sieun's arrival at the altar.

Instead, he would be securely cuddled between Suho's arms, and he would rest, mouth touched not by the sour tang of communion but instead purely by Suho's own.

Maybe, in a few months time, Sieun would accompany Suho and his halmeoni to their shrines. He would indulge in the way they would smile, weights lifting from their chests through their bows to Gods and Goddesses, and Sieun would smile too.

And when God, whoever he may be, would await their arrival, in many, many years time, he would be stood waiting at the pearly gates of Heaven.

For their love was not a sin.

And it would never be condemned as one.