Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“It was not with perishable things such as silver or gold that you were redeemed from the empty way of life handed down to you from your ancestors, but with the precious blood of Christ, a lamb without blemish or defect.” 1 Peter 1:18-19

In the Old Testament, a lamb is a symbol of purity, untouched by sin and clean from the darkness of evil and temptation. A prophetic symbol. A sacrificial offering made to lustrate mankind from sin, unmarked by the rot of the world. A substitute made to die instead, paying for someone else’s transgression. 

Suho was raised by his halmeoni to be a good Catholic. One who prays every day, worships God on his knees and palms pressed together. She raised him to be docile, obedient, and kind. To believe that goodness was something brittle, easily broken by the wrong touch, the wrong thought, the wrong want. He was taught that the world was full of things unclean, and that he must move through it carefully, lest the stain of it cling to him.

But what happens when the lamb grows teeth? What happens when the sacrifice refuses the altar?

“My little lamb, you’re finally home!” 

Warm was the smile that graced the face of his halmeoni as she rushed over to him, arms wide open, awaiting for Suho. Her gray hair was neatly styled in her usual bun, a few strands falling on her wrinkled and aged physiognomy. Even as old as she was now, the twinkle in her eyes every time Suho came home to her never faded. It was the same look she had worn since he was a boy too small to carry his own bag.

Without missing another beat, Suho ran to her, letting himself bask in the embrace of his halmeoni. He nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck and sighed. 

“I missed you, halmeoni,” he mumbled. “Your favorite grandson is back, hm?” 

She laughed, smacking his back before soothing it with her hand, before she looped her arm through his and tugged him gently forward.  “As if I have another one.” 

“Come now, let’s go home.” 

The bus ride back home was filled with endless chatter. His halmeoni went on about how she spent most of her days playing mahjong with her friends, about who had cheated and who had won too much money, about the stubborn tomatoes in her garden that had finally begun to grow during the time that Suho was away in Saint Matthew’s. It made him happy that despite his absence, his halmeoni was doing good. 

“You should’ve stayed at home and waited for me, halmeoni,” Suho began. “I could’ve just rode the bus alone. What if you hurt your knees again?” 

But the old woman waved him off, “Nonsense! You may be old but you’ll always be my baby.” 

This made Suho laugh, eyes like crescent moon and cheeks red from the cold and from his halmeoni’s words. Though he did worry about the old woman because of her old age, he also couldn’t contain the happiness that bloomed in his chest when he saw her waiting for him. 

“And now that you’re home,” she said, as if mentioning the weather, “you’ll come to church with me again, yes?” 

Suho’s smile faltered, but it went unnoticed by her. His hands tightened around the strap of his bag, gaze trained on the passing streets, on the storefronts blurring together outside the window. Like waves, guilt crashed and so did shame. 

“You know,” she continued, patting his knee. “I’ve been praying for you every Sunday. Father Lee still asks about you. Says my grandson must be growing into a fine man by now.” 

Suho turned to glance at her, “Thank you, halmeoni. I’ll come by the church tomorrow.” 

The house he grew up in was still the same. Still the same red bricked one storey house with small windows, a triangular shaped dark roof, and surrounded with flowers and potted plants. The white picket fence he used to jump over every time he sneaked out from his halmeoni was darkened with age. Its paint was chipped, the posts uneven from the countless times it had been knocked over and set upright again. 

It wasn’t as big as the house his parents lived in, but this was home for him. Speaking of, he wondered if his parents remembered they still had a son that they left in the care of an old woman. 

“Wah, nothing’s changed here, halmeoni!” Suho marveled, nodding in satisfaction as he looked at the green plants and blooming flowers. 

His halmeoni rolled her eyes, creaking the door open. “You’ve only been gone for a semester, boy, not years.” 

The crucifix still hung by the doorway, Christ’s head bowed eternally in suffering, his shadow stretching across the floor as the afternoon light poured in. Suho slipped off his shoes out of habit, lining them neatly by the door, the way he had been taught. 

As soon as he stepped inside, he was hit with nostalgia all at once. Memories of him as a child running around, his halmeoni hot on his trail, him eating her ridiculously delicious food, and the way he had always felt so warm and safe in this house. 

“Go wash up,” his halmeoni said, already shuffling toward the kitchen. “Dinner won’t take long.”

“Ne, halmeoni.”

Despite his body screaming for rest, Suho made a detour to the back of their home. The hallway leading to the backyard was filled with pictures of him from his childhood. His halmeoni loved taking pictures, one way to remember the good times in life no matter how hard it gets, she said. 

The backyard was Suho’s favorite part. 

Green grass dampened with dew from last night’s rain, golden rays of the sun stretching wide and painting the plants and the burgeoning flowers warm. In the middle stood a huge Wisteria tree, branches devoid of leaves swaying side to side due to the strong winds of December. He reckons snow will be starting soon. 

Suho found himself walking under the tree, breathing in the scent of soil, wet grass, and familiarity. He sat on the ground and leaned his back on the bark of the tree, fingers sprawled out on the grass, legs extended. 

He took in his surroundings and fluttered his eyes closed. The warmth from the golden hour embraced him like a hug, not even the chilly air of the holidays could penetrate his clothes and flesh. 

Sieun would’ve loved it here, he thought. If it were up to him, he would’ve dragged Sieun all the way here and dote on him. He’d make Sieun sit right beside him and together, they’d bask under the sun. He wanted to warm Sieun in all the ways he could. Wanted to be his sun, his star, and his Wisteria tree where he could lean on and rest. 

And when spring finally comes, they will sit under the Wisteria tree and its beautiful vines of lilac flowers, where they will lay to rest and talk about tomorrow. 

But he knew he couldn’t yet. It wasn’t the right time. Afterall, they were silly boys who were still figuring things out and fighting against what the church said was evil and an abomination. 

Then he thought about his sweet halmeoni, who had raised him right after his parents died. Who did everything in her power to make sure they lived and not just survive. His halmeoni who never once asked Suho for anything but to be a good Catholic boy. 

To be a good and obedient Catholic boy who serves one God and defies any form of sin and temptation. To live for the sake of being God’s vessel and creation. To abide by His divine laws alone. 

His halmeoni dreamed of seeing Suho marry and have children she could dote on for as long as she could. But now, that dream seems impossible to reach. 

There was no one else for him other than Yeon Sieun.

Before, he wanted to make her proud—still does even now—but at the moment, and after what he discovered about himself, he only wanted her support. 

Finally having enough of the sun, Suho stood up and went back inside. Lifting his bag from where he left it, he walked towards his room. Once he was inside, he set his bag down by the bed and sat, shoulders slumping forward. 

His room was simple by all means. He wasn’t the type of person to fuss over decorations and whatnot; as long as he had a bed to sleep, he was all good. Speaking of, his body began to feel the aftermath of the long ride. His limbs began to ache and his eyes weighed heavily. 

Blinking rapidly to get rid of his sleepiness, Suho decided rest could wait. He stood, limbs protesting, and crossed into the small bathroom tucked beside his room. He shut the door behind him and began to peel off his clothes, folding them neatly atop the sink out of habit he got from Saint Matthew’s. 

Staring at himself in the mirror, he could tell he’s a different person now. Before he went to Saint Matthew’s, his eyes were hollow and begging for mercy—to be heard, to be answered, and to be clean. He used to stare at himself for hours on end, asking God, asking himself, why he felt different. 

For years, he saw himself as a lamb with two heads—a freak of nature. 

A creature split down the middle, pulled in opposing directions. One head bowed in devotion, docile and obedient, praying and repenting. The other turned towards yearning for a love that is unacceptable in the house of God. 

He did not know which part of him God saw.

But now, his eyes were not the same poor beseeching pair that would look up at the sky and ask God for forgiveness. They no longer carried the weight of indifference, no longer brimmed with fear each time he thought God might be watching too closely.  

Instead, they were lighter, softer, and not clouded with worry. There was warmth in them now, like embers coaxed back to life after years of ash. Like winter had finally left and spring came to him in the form of Sieun. 

Though he lost his faith, he looked alive again. 

He turned the shower on and waited for the water to warm, steam slowly fogging the room. When he stepped under the spray, heat washed over him, easing the ache from his muscles, loosening all the knots and tiredness and letting it all flow down the drain. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, letting the water run down his hair, his neck, his spine.

The water dripping down his body reminded him of the time he and Sieun went to the river. It was one of the times in which he had never seen someone as pulchritudinous as Sieun. 

There, he worshipped Sieun like a saint, a divinity. But is there any other way to treat Sieun other than a deity, like he is the sanctity of life that Suho would consume until he was all bones and ashes. 

Love is indeed violent, but he was willing to retract his fang and claws, and bare his neck in submission for Sieun. 

The scent of his old shampoo engulfed his senses, but it was far from the one he and Sieun used to share back in the institution. 

It didn’t smell like Sieun. 

As he lathered his body with soap, he fluttered his eyes closed and imagined that it was Sieun’s hands on his body instead of his. He lingered his touch on the slope of his neck and on his collarbones—places that Sieun relished on touching. 

Glancing down, his fingertips prodded on the flesh of his chest, where a bruise was formed from the heat of Sieun’s mouth. Violet and red, a symbol, a promise, and possession. 

His bottom lip was beginning to draw blood from how hard he was biting it, a habit he had when his body had become too consumed with thoughts. His hands were now roaming all over his frame—neck, chest, abdomen, and the heat between his thighs that seemed to grow each time he harked back to the moments they shared together. 

The mirror by the sink had fogged from the steam coming from the shower, and so did his mind. It was only filled with Yeon Sieun and the way he had touched Suho’s flesh. 

For he was not God’s strongest soldier, and he could only endure so much, his fingers wrapped around his length, one hand pressed against the tiled wall. His eyes screwed shut as pleasure ran through every vein and in every shaking breath he exhaled out. 

Sieun. Sieun. Sieun. 

It had been awhile since he had done it himself. Sieun has been insatiable since the first time they had sex, and Suho was not one to complain. He loved seeing the blissful look on Sieun’s usually void face. Loved it when his eyes would fill up with tears as Suho fucks into him. Loved it when he could break Sieun’s walls and have him pleading for more. 

“Fuck.” Suho moaned lowly, swiping his thumb on the sensitive tip of his cock. He threw his head back, mind in haywire as images of Sieun flashed in his mind. 

Then, the line between fantasy and reality began to blur completely. Maybe the devil had heard his prayers instead and decided to play tricks on him because he suddenly felt a familiar wet mouth. Opening his eyes, his heart leapt out from his chest. 

In front of him was a kneeling Sieun, mouth attached to the tip of his cock, looking incredibly beautiful and sinful. His lips were stretched over Suho’s cock, glistening with spit and precum. 

A penitent and a saint all at once. 

Not once had Sieun broken eye contact with him. He engulfed Suho’s length in one go, nose pressing against Suho’s pelvis, tip of the cock hitting the back of his throat. He choked a little from the thickness and length, but nonetheless bobbed his head back and forth, hands caressing and gripping Suho’s thighs. 

Suho almost collapsed from the absolute pleasure of being consumed like this. His body was on fire, hand gripping the crown of Sieun’s head and guiding him to take in more. The sound that had filled the bathroom was obscene, a mix of wetness and a list of profanities that had left his mouth.

Chalice of salvation and a parched sinner. 

Sieun pulled his head back, leaving just the tip inside, playing and swiping it with his tongue. His eyebrows were knitted together, and if Suho wouldn’t know any better, Sieun looked as aroused as he was. 

Absolute beauty he was. He looked like he belonged to an altar.

Suho’s desires were carnal and all consuming. He cupped Sieun’s cheeks and thrust every inch of him inside, causing the latter to choke all wide-eyed and teary. 

The world narrowed to sensation and sacrament. The sound of the water running and dripping down from his body and onto the floor muffled the sounds as that left his lips. His hips snapped and stuttered as he fucked the mouth that belonged to the divinity named Yeon Sieun. He felt split open, emptied, offered.

And Sieun took him all in. Opened his mouth wider and let Suho ruin not only his throat but his mind, body, and soul. 

With a low groan, Suho released into Sieun's mouth. Toes curling, eyes closed, and lip red from the blood that had formed from his bite, he emptied himself and painted Sieun’s throat with his semen. The vision climaxed into white, blinding light like the inside of a church at noon, like judgment, like grace.

And like a good Catholic receiving bread and wine, Sieun imbibed it like it was the blood of Christ. 

Suho’s knees had gotten weak, buckling and almost losing his balance. But when he opened his eyes, gone was the mouth that had given him his release and gone was the cosmically beautiful eyes that stared up at him like he does not know any other god but Suho.

Instead, it was just him and his hand covered cum and the continuous stream of water inside this small bathroom. 

There was no Sieun, but there was guilt and shame, present as ever and spreading like a wildfire. His skin started to burn, and he knew it wasn’t because of the water. 

After he finished showering, Suho went to get dressed. The towel was snug around his waist, the fabric already damp where droplets of water slid from the ends of his hair and traced down his spine. His duffel bag was still untouched on the floor, clearly forgotten from all the things that ran in his mind. 

Placing the bag on his bed, he began to unpack. There wasn’t much to bring seeing as Saint Matthew’s has a strict uniform policy, and only on Wednesdays were they allowed to wear civilians. He lifted each item out, stacking them beside him without much thought. 

Then, his fingers found the familiar windbreaker that Sieun wore one night randomly. He stared at it for a moment, breath stalling in his chest. The clothing looked too big on Sieun back then, the hem reaching his thighs and sleeves going past his hands. He also remembered going feral and fucking Sieun with the windbreaker on. 

Suho smiled fondly at the memory. He brought the material to his nose and fluttered his eyes close, inhaling deeply the scent despite how faint it was. His grip tightened, knuckles whitening, the fabric bunched against his face as he buried his nose into the collar. 

He sank backward onto the bed like his body had gone weak from the surge of emotions, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as a quiet exhale tore out of him. He wants to consume and inhale Sieun until he is lodged deeply between his lungs, his ribs, his heart. 

Suho turned onto his side and dragged the windbreaker closer, burying his face into it without much thought about how he looked ridiculous right now. He breathed in deeply, shamelessly, again and again. His body began to be as warm as the Wolf-Rayet star, and his blood turned into the shade of Sieun’s eyes when the rays of the sun rested  on his face. 

He shifted, curling around the jacket, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight. His nose pressed into the collar, into the place where Sieun’s neck would have been, teeth clinching like he was searching for the familiar supple flesh to sink on. 

Out of all the things that his body couldn’t fathom, it was the sudden separation. Though it was temporary and survivable, his body couldn’t understand it. It felt like  a limb had gone missing and no one had bothered to tell him how to live without it. 

Sieun had completely rewritten Suho’s body and made it so he couldn’t survive a day without him. 

Suddenly, a knock on his door startled him out of his trance. 

“Suho-ya? Dinner is ready.” His halmeoni’s voice was muffled on the other end. 

Scrambling to his feet, he nearly tripped over the edge of the bed. “Ne, halmeoni! I’m just…finishing up.” 

“Come now or the food will be too cold to eat.” 

Albeit the old woman had no clue what he was up to, Suho felt warmness spread across his face. He immediately dressed in comfier clothes and put away his things, not even caring how he carelessly shoved it inside the closet. 

When he got to the kitchen, his halmeoni was waiting for him at the table. She had prepared a feast for him—Doenjang Jjigae, Japchae, Galbi, and other side dishes. The old woman knew his appetite was similar to a bear’s, and even commented earlier that he had lost weight from all the bland food the institution had been feeding him. 

“Wah, halmeoni,” Suho grinned, pulling the chair and sliding in. “You know the way to my heart.” 

His halmeoni laughed, shaking her head as she handed Suho a bowl of rice. 

“Just eat, child. You talk too much.” 

They began to eat, the clinking of utensils and Suho’s hums of satisfaction filling the small kitchen. With each bite, Suho melts into his seat. He piles up more food on his plate and digs in without a care in the world. He had missed his halmeoni’s food a lot, and he wishes Sieun was there to taste her cooking. 

The old woman watched Suho tenderly as a grandmother would to her grandchild. Then, after a moment, she spoke up. 

“Have you made any friends there? In Saint Matthew’s, I mean.” 

Suho swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yes.” 

She nodded, smiling and proud. “I knew you would. You’re the sweetest. Who are your friends?” 

He thought for a while before answering her. “Park Humin and—” he darted his eyes on the food, not meeting her eyes. Gone was the enthusiast he had when he scarfed down the food, and in place, the guilt reemerged. “Yeon Sieun.” 

Unbeknownst to the war waging in his head, she beamed. “Two! That’s good. Tell me more about them.” 

“Well,” Suho didn’t know where to start. “They’re good people, and because of them, I quickly adjusted. He, uhm, he’s very smart in every way possible. Though, he’s way better when it comes to numbers, halmeoni. You should see his report card and scores! A prodigy. Brilliant.” 

There was a knowing smile on the old woman’s face, nodding as she continued to listen. 

“And he’s so warmhearted, soft, and kind. I think you’ll like him, halmeoni!” A smile as blinding as the sun never left his lips. “Though I hate how he’s so altruistic sometimes, I think he’s just being the kind person that he is.” 

 “Hm, it seems that Sieun is a good person.” 

“He’s the best—” his eyes widened when he realized the words he just spoke. He glanced at his halmeoni and cleared his throat. “He’s my best friend.” 

Best friend. 

The word tasted like iron in his tongue. 

Reducing the love of his life into that felt like he had swallowed a thousand knives. But he just couldn’t come out to his halmeoni like that. He feared that she would not be as accepting as he thought she would be. And he couldn’t break the obedient grandson image she had in her mind. 

Sieun was more than just a friend. He’s the new prayer that Suho had learned willingly, his hands the bible, and his eyes holding the northern star that guides Suho back home to him. Sieun is the only religion he will only need and the only belief he will ever uphold. He is the truth, the begotten, and the way of life. 

For him, Suho would die. He would turn away from his upbringing and tear his heart out and offer it to him—in front of Saint Matthew’s, in front of the whole world, in front of God. 

But shame, fear, and cowardice are a grotesque quicksand that pulls him in. 

He cannot lose his halmeoni like he has lost God. 

Rigt after dinner, Suho volunteered to wash the dishes. It was an excuse for him to busy himself from the guilt that was eating him alive. His halmeoni shot him looks of concern from time to time but still stayed quiet as she retreated to the living room to watch television. 

By the time he retreated to his room, the house had settled into its nightly stillness. He closed the door softly behind him and leaned his forehead against the wood for a moment, eyes shut. His mind kept repeating the words. 

He found himself kneeling by the edge of the bed, palms pressed together. With such contempt of himself and the way he had demoted Sieun as, he began to pray. 

“Sieun-ah, I ask for your forgiveness for being a weak man. I thought I was brave enough to love you openly but,” he paused, sighing. “I’m afraid I will lose the very person who raised me.” 

He glanced at the crucifix hanging on the wall. “I am sorry, God. I have betrayed you. But betraying Sieun would be the end of me.” 

How could he ever think of betraying him?

Later that night, when Suho actually remembered he had a working phone and that he was no longer in Saint Matthew’s, he scrolled through his device and frowned when he remembered they didn’t have any photos together. Technically, the students weren’t allowed to use their gadgets throughout their stay, confiscating their phones the moment they entered the institution. 

Suho figured he’ll give them a dummy phone next time so he and Sieun could photograph their memories in the four walled room that they call sanctuary. 

Letting curiosity get to him, he opened the Facebook app and typed in Sieun’s name. The screen loaded for a second before it flickered to No result found. This deepened his frown even more. Then Instagram but still nothing. He tried LinkedIn and Twitter, but to his dismay, nothing showed up. 

His last resort was Google. 

Yeon Sieun 

Suho’s eyebrows shot up when he found a few articles relating to him. It made him think how relevant was Sieun’s parents to be featured in articles. 

Yeon Hyunjoo celebrates as she accepts an award for being one of the top lecturers in South Korea! 

A proud mother, dutiful wife, and a good servant of God—Yeon Hyunjoo gets awarded for her influence. 

And the only time Sieun was mentioned, it was about an award his mother accepted in Saint Matthew’s. The article alone didn’t even feature a single picture of Sieun.  

Yeon Hyunjoo’s son, Yeon Sieun, accepts an award for his school performance! Watch how proud she looked when her son went up on stage! 

Everything was all about Sieun’s mother, a few articles from his father emerging but not as relevant as Yeon Hyunjoo. It made Suho wonder about Sieun’s living situation back at home. He knew there was more to Sieun’s story than what he had previously said before. But he couldn’t just force Sieun to open up to him. 

Choosing to give up, Suho opened his messages app and chuckled when he saw messages from his friends. Though he had such a small circle, they were the ones he trusted the most. 

He opened Geum Seongje’s first. 

Je

heard u were back 

8:12 PM 

yeah srry 4 the late reply 

9:19 PM 

u comin to church toms?

9:20 PM 

hmm idk halmeoni wants me to go but idk

9:22 PM 

bro for someone who just came 

back from such school shouldn’t 

u be more religious 😆

9:27 PM

shut up

wbu 

9:29 PM 

yes my mom wants me to go

lets smoke at the back toms? 

yeongyi will come too

9:31 PM 

mamas boy lmao 

k see u 

9:33 PM

Geum Seongje had been his friend ever since he and his halmeoni moved here. They met when Suho stumbled upon Seongje beating up another kid for stepping on his brand new shoes. The other boy was already crying, hands up in surrender, cheeks bruised and dirtied.

Of course, being a righteous person and being taught to defend the weak, Suho didn’t even hesitate. His halmeoni had taught him that righteousness wasn’t something you debated—it was something you acted on. If someone was being hurt, you intervened. If someone is weaker, you help them. 

He grabbed Seongje by the back of his shirt and yanked him back, causing him to fall flat on his back. His strength as a kid wasn’t that much but his confidence and nonchalance probably helped. And when Seongje attempted to throw a punch, Suho dodged and aimed for his stomach. 

This scared and amazed ten year old Seongje. He has always been on top when it comes to fighting. He has always been the biggest, the loudest, the one everyone learned to avoid.  No one would dare cross him in fear of getting beaten to a pulp but Suho was the first one to keep him on his toes. 

“You’re going to apologize,” ten year old Suho had simply said.

Seongje only laughed at him back then, refusing. But when Suho stepped on his shoes, he realized Suho was not fucking around. 

In the end, Suho didn’t just make him apologize to the boy with the ruined shoes; he marched Seongje through the neighborhood and made him apologize to every kid he had ever bullied. 

Yeongyi then showed up a year later declaring she  wanted to be friends with the strongest kids. 

The church Suho attended with his halmeoni the next day was old in the way only buildings that had held generations of prayers could be. Its stones were worn smooth by time and touch, the wooden pews dulled by the countless hands that had rested on them. The Stations of the Cross displayed and painted with colors on the large arched windows. 

At the center of it all was Christ, nailed on the cross and looking down at everyone—judging, observing, no one could really tell. 

For years, Suho attended mass here with his halmeoni. This was the place of worship where he learned how to pray, to receive the body and blood of Jesus Christ, and where he learned to kneel and repent for what he thought was wrong. 

Heading over to the pew where they usually sat, Suho felt a sense of a feeling he couldn’t quite decipher. Everything was the same, and everyone was as warm as they were. But being here now as a completely different person, Suho felt like he was a two-headed lamb. 

A freak of nature.

His skin itched, burning and tingling. There was a need to reach under his coat and scratch his flesh raw, but he swallowed the lump in his throat and clenched his fists instead. 

He sat beside his halmeoni, knees pressed together, hands resting awkwardly on his thighs. She bowed her head in prayer, lips moving soundlessly, rosary beads slipping through her fingers. 

At the corner of his eye, Seongje was sitting with his family. It was obvious that he did not want to be there with the way his fingers kept twitching for a smoke and his knee bouncing impatiently. When he spotted Suho, he gave a small wave before his attention shifted to his mother. 

When the bell rang, the mass had finally started.

Suho flinched at the reverberating sound. They all stood up and watched as the priest walked from the entrance, altar boys swinging the censer that had burning charcoal and incense burning inside. It filled the room and burned his eyes. 

When the Sanctus bell rang and echoed throughout the church, the shiver that ran down his spine felt like the devil’s hand caressing him, shoulder tensed and spine stiffening. His eyes were trained on the wall, afraid that if he looked up at God, he would weep. 

“In the name of the Father,” Suho squeezed his eyes shut.

“And the Son,” when he opened his eyes, he saw Sieun by the river, calling out to him. 

“And the Holy Spirit.” 

His skin started to burn. 

“Amen.” 

He adjusted his hands again, then again, palms damp with sweat. He pressed them flat against his thighs, grounding himself in the solid presence of his own body. His eyes drifted back to the stained glass, to the way the light fractured and scattered across the floor. 

Beside him, his halmeoni was serene. Her faith filled the space around her like a calm, steady breath. He wondered what it would feel like to believe without question. To kneel without his chest tightening. To pray without wondering whether the words were meant for someone like him.

The readings passed. The psalm was sung. Suho’s lips moved when they were supposed to, but his voice barely emerged.

Unlike before, Suho’s guilt and shame didn’t swallow him whole anymore. It didn’t devour him like a lamb would be by a predator of religion. 

I have made peace with the flames that will burn my soul as long as I get to love you, Yeon Sieun. 

“As everyone knows, the Bible says men shall not lie with another man,” Father Lee began, scanning over the sea of Catholics. 

At the mention, Suho felt like he was dropped from the highest mountain. His breath hitched, but he kept his face neutral despite the turmoil in his chest. He waited for the slur, for the ignominy. Waited for the familiar words he knew the priest would say. 

Instead, “but this is incorrect,” Father Lee gave a gentle smile. “It does not refer to homosexuality. The correct passage is ‘men shall not lie with a boy’, emphasis on the boy. This refers to pedophilia. Now, if that passage was correctly translated, how many graves would have been empty?” 

This earned murmurs from the people. Though this church hadn’t really been one to talk about social issues, there were still people who thought of homosexuality as taboo. And now that Father Lee had openly talked about it, Suho wonders if they’d see it in a different light. If they’d be kinder and more accepting. 

But he knew that would be wishing to a dead star. 

He glanced sideways at his halmeoni, at the gentle slope of her bowed head. Would she still rest her hand on his back if she knew? Would she still pray for him the same way?

Father Lee continued, “Remember the prostitute whom Jesus washed her feet with his own hands? He was not disgusted. Instead of throwing stones or shaming her, he taught everyone the most important lesson of all—compassion.” He let the murmurs settle, hands resting lightly on the pulpit. 

“The Church has long struggled with the difference between love and hate,” he said. “Between desire that wounds and desire that seeks to protect. Scripture was written by men in time, translated by men with agendas, and wielded by men who often forget the greatest commandment of all.”

He paused, letting the silence stretch.

“To love.”

Suho wanted to look at his halmeoni and know her reaction, but instead, he stared straight ahead. The words of the priest lodged deep within his heart, and he let hope bloom like a flower. Maybe there’s still a chance for people like him to love so openly. 

Maybe one day, he and Sieun could hold each other without the fear of being shunned by people. 

Maybe God is a merciful God. 

He finally looked at the altar, at the carved lines of Christ’s ribs, the careful depiction of suffering made holy by repetition. His hands trembled on his lap.

If this were true—if faith could be gentle—then what had all the pain been for?

“There are many who sit among us today believing they are beyond grace. That they must choose between faith and truth. Between God and love.” His gaze moved slowly across the pews. “That is not the Gospel I believe in.”

Maybe. 

“Let us pray…” 

The congregation moved as one body, and Suho moved with them, even as his thoughts lagged behind, tangled and aching.

When the mass was over, he lingered by the steps while his halmeoni exchanged greetings with familiar faces. The winter bit his cheeks red. He smiled and talked with the old ladies who kept fawning at his looks, claiming that he looked like he could be an actor especially with a charm like his. 

Before they could intervene him further about his love life, he managed to excuse himself and walked by where Seongje was. 

Seongje followed him immediately, peeling away from his family, jacket already shrugged on, cigarette tucked behind his ear. 

“Jesus,” he muttered, once they were out of earshot. “That was… not what I expected.”

“I was surprised you actually stayed all throughout the mass,” Suho snorted, clamping a hand on Seongje’s shoulder. 

Seongje had a habit of sneaking off to smoke or go home in the middle of the mass. He was not the most religious but because of his family’s history of being religious, he had to sit through at least thirty minutes. 

The latter rolled his eyes. “Barely.”

Yeongyi appeared moments later, hands shoved into her coat pockets, a wide grin etched on her face. Her short, awkwardly cut shoulder length hair was long gone, replacing it with a pixie cut. She looked as rebellious as one would in her teen years. 

“The priest had guts,” she said. “I’ll give him that.”

“Brave or stupid,” Seongje muttered. “Depends on who’s listening.”

Suho buried his hands in his pockets. “He wasn’t wrong.”

Seongje glanced at him sideways, squinting through his glasses. “Didn’t say he was.”

They drifted toward the back of the church where the stone wall cast long shadows and where no one would ever go to. Trees surrounded and covered the back of the church, shading them from falling snow. 

Seongje lit up first, exhaling smoke with visible relief.

“So,” he said, glancing at Suho through the haze. “Saint Matthew’s. Was it hell, or just aggressively holy?”

“Somewhere in between.” Suho huffed, refusing when Seongje offered him an unlit cigarette. He didn’t like the way smoke tasted in his mouth after having something so sweet and addicting for the past months. 

Yeongyi tilted her head. “You didn’t tell us why you suddenly wanted to move schools.”

Right, Suho didn’t tell them the exact reason. He scratched the back of his head, searching for a good enough cover up. 

“Yeah,” Seongje added, studying him more openly now. “You never told us. What’s up, man? Is it family stuff? Or?”

Suho sighed, “I just needed time.” 

In truth, it wasn’t a complete lie. He needed time to pray away those thoughts and turn to God but things happened, and here he was, happier than ever despite the tremors of guilt lapsing from time to time. 

“For what?” Seongje asked. 

Words stacked up behind his teeth, heavy and impossible. Suho picked one that wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“To figure things out.” 

Seongje took another drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly. “Fair.”

The topic then drifted off into what they were planning to do for the holidays. Like always, Seongje would be visiting Jeju with his family, having owned a rest house there. For some reason, he would always look extra glowing every time he came back. Yeongyi, though, being an orphan and living with the nuns in the church monastery, would spend her Christmas with Suho and his halmeoni. 

Though Suho's parents won’t be home until March—which he actually preferred—he planned to spend the holidays joyously as ever. 

“Well, look at this,” a voice rang out. “Did the sermon inspire a support group?”

Standing six feet tall and with a cocky smirk on his face was Baek Dongha. He looked as annoyingly as ever since Suho last saw him. His family was influential in a way that everyone knew not to mess with them. Unfortunately for others, it meant letting Baek Dongha step over them. 

But unfortunately for Dongha, Ahn Suho and Geum Seongje do not care. 

Rolling his eyes, Seongje dropped his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, grinding it into the gravel until the ember died. 

“Go home, Dongha,” he said, voice was flat, almost bored. “Or I’ll split your head open again.”

Dongha laughed, “What, I can’t enjoy a little fresh air after mass?” His gaze flicked between the three of them, lingering just a second too long on Suho. “By the way, Suho. Welcome back.”

Suho cocked an eyebrow up, stuffing his hands inside his coat’s pockets. “Mass just ended. I don’t want to deal with you.” 

“Pray tell,” Dongha leaned against the wall, clearly amused. “Has anyone caught your eye? Oh, wait—” he feigned confusion. “I forgot, it was an all boys school. But who’s to say you haven’t turned into a little faggot?” 

The moment those words registered in Suho’s mind, he saw darkness and pure rage. His fist clenched so tight, pulling his shoulder back to strike a punch at Dongha’s face but Seongje already beat him to it. 

Seongje’s fist collided with Dongha’s face with a solid, cracking sound that echoed off the stone walls. Dongha’s head snapped sideways, his body staggering back into the wall hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. He let out a strangled noise  as he slid a step downward.

“Don’t,” Seongje said already stepping forward again, “you fucking ever say that again.” 

Dongha barely had time to straighten before Seongje grabbed him by the collar and slammed him back against the wall. The impact rattled the loose stones beneath their feet.

“Seongje—” Yeongyi shouted, panic evident  in her voice. Then, she turned to Suho. “Suho, don’t just fucking stand there!”

It seemed like Suho’s feet were rooted to the ground. He stood motionless and watched as Seongje struck another punch. The ringing in his ears felt like the Sanctus bell earlier, and Yeongyi’s screams were muffled. It was like being submerged under water. 

Faggot. 

That was all he could hear. 

Dongha lashed out clumsily, his punch glancing off Seongje’s shoulder. But the latter drove his knee into Dongha’s stomach, hard enough that Dongha folded forward with a wet gasp, bile rising in his throat.

“You think you’re funny?” Seongje sneered. “You think you get to open your mouth and decide what people are?”

Dongha coughed, hands scrambling uselessly at Seongje’s coat. “Fucking son of a bitch!”

Seongje answered with another punch, this one to the jaw. Dongha crumpled to the ground, palms scraping against gravel as he tried to catch himself, blood smeared his lower lip. 

“Say it again,” Seongje said, looking down at him. “Say it.”

“I-I didn’t—” Dongha’s voice cracked, pain and panic finally breaking through his arrogance. “I didn’t mean it.”

Seongje leaned down, gripping Dongha’s hair and yanking his head back so their eyes met. “Next time you fucking say that word, I’m gonna shove my fucking dick in your mouth.”

“Seongje-yah,” Yeongyi was shaking now, grabbing desperately at Seongje’s arm. “That’s enough please.” 

Somehow, it finally convinced Seongje to release Dongha, shoving and sending him sprawling back onto the ground. He straightened slowly, chest rising and falling, knuckles scraped and red. They watched as Dongha scrambled to get up and run away. 

Seongje turned to Suho, forehead creased and knitted. “What the fuck? Why did you just let that son of a bitch call you a faggot?” 

Because it’s true, Suho wanted to scream. I am one. 

Instead, he looked at the snow covered ground. “It’s not worth the fight. We’re in the house of God, Je.” 

But this made Seongje madder. He marched up to Suho and grabbed him by his collar. In the years of their friendship, he and Suho had always been level headed towards each other. They knew not to get on each other’s throats like this, but it seemed that today was an exemption. 

“When the fuck did you care?” Seongje was pissed. “The Suho I know wouldn’t just stand there and get called names.” 

Yeongyi was trying to break them apart, but gave up halfway. She was certain Seongje wouldn’t hurt Suho, and Suho wouldn’t allow himself to get hurt. Though, she did fear that this might cause their friendship to drift away. And for someone who had been abandoned, it triggered her. 

“And now you’re both turning against each other?” She yanked Seongje back. “What the fuck is wrong with you both?” 

Adjusting his glasses, Seongje glared at Suho. “You heard what he said right? Or are you fucking deaf?” 

Suho stiffened, the iciness of the December air seeping through his coat. 

“Drop it, Seongje.” 

“Why?” Seongje shot back. “Because it bothers you? Or because it doesn’t?” 

Suho exhaled through his nose, irritation flaring. “Because it’s not worth talking about.”

“Bullshit.” 

There were many things that Suho wanted to say, but he couldn’t. He doesn’t think he’s brave enough yet. To tell them the truth of his becoming would mean to really face the reality that there was no turning back. That what he had discovered about himself was not a phase, not confusion, not something prayer or discipline could drizzle down into something more acceptable. 

And despite their closeness over the years, he didn’t know Seongje’s perspective about homosexuality. He couldn’t risk losing his friends. 

His mind is a circus of confusion. 

A walking contradiction he was. One moment he was willing to engrave his love for Sieun on every stone and every church, and the next, he was denying everything—calling Sieun a friend, letting Dongha call him such name, and being a fucking coward. 

“I’m not like that anyway, so why would I care about what that idiot said?” he finally spoke. 

“Like what?” There was an edge to Seongje’s voice. 

Yeongyi looked like she wanted to be anywhere but right there. She tried to shrink herself back but her eyes were swimming with worry and fear. 

“Guys, please—” 

Suho’s body twitched uncomfortably, and before he could stop it, “I’m not gay.” 

“Oh.” 

It was like Seongje had crumpled like paper, face softening, and a flicker of hurt flashing on his face. 

“And even if I were,” Suho added, voice hardening, “it’s not exactly something to be proud of, is it?” 

Acid. Each letter was like swallowing acid. 

Seongje took a step back, like Suho had physically shoved him. He shook his head, looking away. “I thought you were scared because people like Dongha exist.” 

“That’s too much, Suho.” Yeongyi couldn’t hide the disappointment in her tone. 

Seongje looked back at Suho then, like a wounded dog that had been betrayed by its owner. “Turns out you’re just scared of yourself.”  

“That’s not fair,” Suho snapped, desperation creeping in. “You don’t know anything about me.” 

What exactly is he trying to prove? That he was pure? Clean? That as long as he doesn’t say it out loud he could still be absolved from his sins? As if God counted sins by confession alone, and not by the quiet truths a man carried in his body. 

Like he hadn’t just been baptized and rebirthed by Sieun’s touch in the warmth of a river that washed over them both, sunlight trembling on the surface as if bearing witness.  Like he hadn’t accepted that he would rather burn than to forget what loving Sieun felt like. 

So why? Why are these words coming out from his mouth when the very same mouth had kissed the flesh of his beloved? When it had learned his name in whispers, in gasps, in devotion? 

He doesn’t know, but he wanted to pick apart his brain  and reassemble it to forget his beliefs and only know Sieun. 

“You know what?” Seongje shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders slumping just a little. “Forget it.”

He turned away, already walking. “Next time someone says shit like that, don’t worry.”

Suho’s chest tightened. “About what?”

“About me stepping in,” Seongje said without looking back. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

But it seemed like Suho had done more harm than good. 

He betrayed himself for nothing. 

They say that the dog that weeps after it kills is no better than the dog that doesn’t. The guilt had followed Suho home, and like a ghost, it perched on his shoulders. It is endless, and no matter what he does, it won’t undo anything. 

The church and their house was just a walking distance away. The wind blew through Suho and his halmeoni, sweeping their hair and flushing their faces. 

“How was the mass, Suho?” His halmeoni asked, a hand curled around Suho’s bicep. 

Suho thought long and hard. The mass made him feel a lot of things. The homily had given him hope that God is not as cruel as they said. He thought that there was still light at the end of the tunnel. But the hope dissolved because people like Dongha existed. 

“It was great.” Was all he could mumble. 

His thoughts were a web of lies, confusion, and shame. It jarred into the depths of his body. It was his only second day back at home but he was already fucking things up. 

He missed his home. 

His halmeoni stared at him, the lids of her eyes nictating. In the years of raising Suho, she knew better than to force the truth out of him. 

“Well, Father Lee is truly exceptional.” She said, caressing Suho’s back as an act of subtle comfort. “His own version of the gospel sends a path of light to the true word of God.” 

But Suho failed to recognize the meaning behind her words, or the mellowness of her tone. Everything else was a noise for him. 

Just a few meters away, Suho spotted a car right outside their house. Immediately recognizing whom it belonged to, his mood turned even more sour and bitter. He could feel his halmeoni tense up beside him, tightening her hold. A familiar bitterness rose in his throat, thick and acrid.

The car stood out in the middle of the street like a sore thumb. Black, sleek, and luxurious in a way that it seemed like an insult to the house it was parked in front of. 

“Suho-ya.” It was a soft warning from the old woman. “They didn’t say they’d be visiting.” 

The way leading to the front porch was long and dragging. He could feel his body sagging under the weight of what was about to greet him the moment he opened the door. Could feel it in the way he was grinding his teeth and clenching his jaw. 

Ahn Ki-hoon and Ahn Hwa-young looked as elegant and wealthy as ever. Clad in designer clothing, there was no mistaking they were loaded and had such influence. And as they stood inside the living room of such a small and modest house, they looked out of place. 

The air inside the house felt disturbed and eerie; December has never felt this cold. Everything looked misplaced as well—expensive coats draped on the sofa, leather shoes and shiny heels plastered near the door. None of it belonged to this house. 

“Suho,” his mother walked up towards him. “How are you, darling?” 

Ahn Hwa-young may have Suho’s eyes but she didn’t have his heart. She got pregnant with him when she was just at the peak of her career, and usually, when that happens, it’s the child that suffers the most. 

The timing was catastrophic. An excellent woman whose career had taken off. Opportunities had lined up neatly in front of her, waiting only for her to reach out and take them. She was finally getting the recognition she deserved. 

Until she met a simpleton like Ahn Ki-hoon, who had promised her the world but only had a few cents to his name. Then, she got pregnant and that was the start of her downfall. 

Everyone knew that if it weren’t for the child, she would’ve soared higher. 

Growing up, his mother had never looked at him warmly. For her, Suho was the fruit of her stupidity. A mistake that she wished she never committed. Because of him, she was robbed of the glimmering future she was once promised. 

A mother’s hurts and regrets are then passed down to the child. 

Suho has been suffering the consequences ever since he was born. He wondered if he would die now, would his mother weep like the way Mary did when she felt Jesus’ heart stop on the cross? 

“I’m fine.” He flatly said. He didn’t want to look at her any longer. 

His father stood near the window, phone in hand, attention divided even now. He glanced up, offered a nod like he was just greeting an acquaintance. It was the same gesture he’d given Suho every time he returned home after months away. 

A stranger more than a father. 

Ahn Ki-hoon looked nothing like before. He had this aura that screamed he was out of reach and that normal people—even his own son—couldn’t easily touch. And unlike before, he was cold, calm, and composed. 

A completely different person than the angry man he used to be. 

“How was the mass?” his mother asked, smoothing the sleeve of her coat, eyes flicking briefly over his posture, his clothes, the way he stood.

Ahn Suho looked nothing like Ahn Hwa-young and Ahn Ki-hoon. He may have his mother’s face and his father’s physique but he didn’t have their love. 

Why do you care? He wanted to shout. 

“It was fine.” He settled with that instead. 

She smiled again, satisfied enough. “Good. It’s important to keep up appearances.”

His halmeoni, because it was her nature to be kind, prepared them warm tea. Her shaky hands placed the tray on the table and smiled. 

“Have some tea, Hwa-young, Ki-hoon-ah.” 

Suho’s mother turned to his halmeoni next, “We were in the area for a meeting,” she said. “Thought we’d stop by. It’s been a while.”

A while but it has been a fucking year. 

Suho watched his halmeoni nod, gracious as ever, offering them tea, asking about their travels. She filled the space they left hollow with politeness and care, just as she always had.

When Suho was younger, he used to wait for his parents by the window. He was so young when his parents dropped him off and left him under his father’s mother’s care. He used to count the days, then weeks, then months, waiting patiently for his parents to come back. Each time they promised they’d come back sooner next time. Each time, the visits grew shorter.

Eventually, he stopped waiting.

Dinner was more of a performance and attendance rather than an actually enjoyable experience. His mother talked about business, about acquaintances Suho had never met and never would. His father commented occasionally, correcting details, steering conversations. Neither of them asked how he was really doing. 

The meal placed on the table was not his halmeoni’s cooking but rather from an expensive restaurant his mother had ordered from. Lavish, vibrant, but bland. It made him lose his appetite. 

He fiddled with his chopsticks, mum as ever and avoiding their gazes. He only looked up and thanked his halmeoni every time she put more meat on his bowl. 

“How is Saint Matthew’s?” his mother asked at last, without looking up.

“It’s fine,” Suho replied.

“Just fine?” She glanced at him then, assessing. “You transferred all of a sudden without consulting us.”

Suho felt the familiar irritation creep up his spine. He shrugged, “It’s not like you actually care.”

His halmeoni cleared her throat gently. She tried to divert the conversation, “Everyone in church is so fond of  Suho!” 

But his father was triggered by Suho’s tone. He stopped chewing and looked at his son with annoyance and anger. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

The old woman tried to intervene, “Ki-hoon-ah, don’t.” 

Suho is his father’s son afterall—they share the same temper. His jaw squared and he could feel his body warming up and shaking with rage. 

“It means I’m fucking done with this play pretend shit,” Suho raised his voice, fist banging on the table, cluttering the utensils. “Why the fuck did you even come here?”

It was his mother who stood up, “Suho what has gotten into you?” She tried to touch him but Suho flinched away. 

“What has gotten into me?” He bellowed, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “Have you tried asking yourself that?”

“Don’t speak to your mother that way!” His father yelled, still sat on the chair despite the chaos unfolding. 

The words enraged Suho even more. A mother is someone who cares about their kid. Someone who doesn’t resent a child and blaming them for something they couldn’t control. 

A child couldn’t hate their mother without her hating the child first. 

“Mother? That woman only gave birth to me but she is not my mother. She has never been one.” Suho could feel his lungs burning. “And you have never been a father to me.” 

At the corner of his eye, his halmeoni was silently watching everything. Suho felt his heart clenched when she started to cry. In her mind, she was wondering what kind of son had she raised for him to turn out like that. 

And as she looked at Suho, she realized her little lamb had grown teeth. 

“You ungrateful piece of shit!” His father roared. “We provided for you and this is how you repay us?” 

“I did not ask to be born!” Suho cried out. “I did not ask to be your son but you are blaming me for being born.” 

Why is it that the first thing a child is expected to do when they are brought to this world is to heal their mother’s wounds and carry their father’s resentment? 

His mother looked like she had been stabbed, and it was so unfair for Suho because she doesn’t deserve to feel that way after abandoning her own flesh and blood. 

“I’m sorry—” she tried to apologize but Suho cut her off. 

“Do not ask for my forgiveness.” His body was trembling, and for the first time ever since he was born, they saw his tears. “I refuse to free you with my forgiveness. I have carried this burden so now you have to carry the guilt.”

He exhaled, beyond exhausted already. There was still so much to say but he knew he would just regret opening up and revisiting the wounds he tried so hard to cover up. 

“I wish you never had me.” 

The silence that fell on the table was louder than anything else. They watched as Suho left the table and walked away, the front door slamming shut as he finally got out. 

Suho found himself standing in front of the church. It was the least place he wanted to be in but somehow, his legs carried him to the very place that he resented the most. He crossed his arms over his chest, hands rubbing useless warmth into his sleeves.

The church was bright and warm with all the lights. The snow covered walls made it even more inviting. He never thought that a church would feel more warm than the house he grew up in. 

Suho hesitated before stepping inside, shoes echoing softly against the stone floor. The vastness of the space swallowed him whole. Rows of empty pews stretched out like open arms he didn’t know whether he was allowed to enter. 

He decided to sit at the back. His breath fogged slightly as the cold clung stubbornly to him. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together so tightly his knuckles ached.

Jesus looked more like a father than his own, staring down at him with such gentleness and worry. 

Why, God? Why did you even give me life? 

Then, he heard footsteps. 

Suho stiffened, shoulders tensing. He turned just as Father Lee emerged from a side door, hands folded behind his back, expression calm and unsurprised. 

“Suho,” Father Lee said gently. “I wondered who came in.”

“Sorry,” Suho muttered. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“This is not a place one intrudes upon,” Father Lee replied, walking closer. “May I sit?”

Suho nodded, unable to find words.

Father Lee settled beside him, leaving a respectful distance between them. His black hair had a few gray tones taking root, old age catching up to him. 

For as long as Suho remembered, Father Lee had always been kind. Not once had he shown any distaste to anyone. His sermons were always of love and hope, compassion to others, and leaning more on faith. 

“Father,” Suho began, gaze fixed on the glowing crucifix. “Where do you think people like me go if God takes only the holy?” 

Does that mean the devil takes the weak, the weary, and the shameful? 

Father Lee was silent for a moment. Perhaps he wasn’t expecting this from someone who has always been good and pure. 

“God is a loving God, Suho. He does not abandon anyone for being different.” 

But why does it feel like I am talking to no one when I pray to Him? 

Father Lee tilted his head slightly, thoughtful. “Do you believe God is cruel?”

“Yes.” If He’s real, He would have to ask for my forgiveness instead. 

Father Lee did not recoil. He did not correct him. He only breathed in slowly, weighing the shape of Suho’s pain rather than the words themselves.

“That is a heavy thing to believe.” Father Lee said gently. “I wonder who was so cruel to you that they have instilled such belief in you.” 

Father Lee leaned back slightly, eyes drifting to the crucifix as well. 

“There are people who grow up being taught that God’s voice sounds like fear,” he continued. “So when fear speaks loudest, they mistake it for Him.”

“My fear is very loud,” Suho admitted.

“I can hear that.”

Sighing, Suho ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the dampness from the snow. “I’m scared, Father.” 

“Of what?” 

“Because of what I have become.” Suho squeezed his eyes shut, afraid of the judgment and preparing for the worst. 

Father Lee shifted, “Suho, I will not tell you to turn to God if you feel that religion is suffocating you. But I will tell you to be more honest with yourself.” 

He offered a kind smile and continued. “Whatever and whoever you are, as long as you are true, honest, and kind, you have not failed in any way. Do not be scared, child. Live your life without being apologetic and fearful of everything. Love freely as God had loved us all.” 

They sat in complete silence after that. Father Lee had given him more comfort than his own relatives—he refuses to call them his family. With a gentle pat on the back, the priest murmured a quiet blessing and left him there to reflect, footsteps fading into the hush of the church.

Suho stayed rooted in the pew. His mind, though still had a war waging inside, was more bearable than before. Father Lee’s words seemed to have worked, which was something he never thought would be possible.

He inhaled slowly and exhaled deeply. Maybe he can get through this and go home to Sieun. 

Suddenly, the church door creaked open.

Instinctively, he tensed up, head snapping up. For a brief, stupid second, he wondered if it was his parents; if they had followed him here to finish what they started.

But it was Seongje.

His hair was disheveled and dusted with snow, coat unbuttoned halfway through. He looked like he ran to get here. Then he took a deep breath before walking down the aisle with long, uneven strides. He stopped beside the pew but didn’t sit. His hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders tense.

Seongje stared at Suho, expression unreadable. Suho thinks he should be the last person Seongje should be seeing. Afterall, their feud was fresh. 

Dragging a hand down his face, Seongje finally sat beside him, leaving a careful distance between them. 

There was silence until there was none. 

“I’m bisexual,” the confession was raw and unexpected. Seongje sounded vulnerable and trembling. “I-I met this guy when I was fifteen when I went to Jeju. He was—”

There was a pause. Seongje’s lip tugged up as he started to reminisce about the past. His face that used to always harden into a facade was soft and dreamy, like he was recalling a dream. Coldness easing into warm; winter melting into spring. 

“When I first kissed him I got punched. But I loved him either way. I think he goes to Saint Matthew’s too.” 

That perked up Suho. “Really? Then what happened?” 

Seongje pursed his lips, dropping his head low. “I continued to pursue him and he let me. Every Christmas I would look forward to seeing him again but then, last year, I found out he never really loved me.” 

“Oh.” Suho couldn’t find the right words to console his friend. “I’m sorry, Je.” 

Holding up a hand, Seongje chuckled. “It sucked because he was in love with someone else. But what’s even more funny, he was in love with someone who didn’t love him anymore.” 

Suho frowned. “That’s tough.” 

“Exactly.” Seongje leaned back against the pew, staring at the ceiling. “Feels biblical, doesn’t it? Loving someone who can’t love you back. Sounds like a punishment God would come up with.”

Suho thought he was lucky to have Sieun, who loved him more than any religion in the world. He wished Seongje would meet that someone.

“Hey, for what it’s worth, that guy is totally missing out. I mean, I’m not biased but anyone would be lucky to have you, Je.” Suho said, laughing a little. 

“Whatever. I’ll see him again in a few days but I don’t know what to tell him.” Seongje sighed. “What about you?”

“Me?” 

Seongje nodded. “What was up with you earlier?”

Father Lee’s words about being true to himself rang in his ears. Suho knew that fostering his guilt and shame will only make him suffer, and he couldn’t just lie and hide when Seongje had laid out his truths bare. 

“I met someone,” he began, eyes shining with fondness as he thought about Sieun. “He breathed life into me, and I knew loving him was always something I was destined to do.” 

Seongje glances at him, “What’s his name?”

“Yeon Sieun.” Suho had to bite his cheeks from smiling too much. “And when he touched me, I knew I no longer belonged to anyone or anything but to him.” 

He is my spring. I have made a cathedral out of him. He fills the cracks with warmth where the guilt and shame used to rot. I am a new person because he baptized me himself. 

“Do you love him?” 

“So much that I would turn away from everything and everyone for him.”

In the house of God, their confessions were finally heard. They weren’t absolved but they were renewed. 

The night went on with Suho and Seongje sharing their experiences and how they came to a conclusion about their sexuality. It was nice, both of them thought. They listened without interrupting, without trying to fix each other. There was no need for bravado here, no need to be strong. It wasn’t every night that they were allowed to be this vulnerable. Rarer still to do it without shame.

In the end, Suho didn’t go home. He ended up standing outside Seongje’s place, snow melting into slush beneath his shoes, hands shoved deep into his pockets. 

The house was as grand as Seongje’s family. A three storey house with floor to ceiling tinted glass windows  that reflected the night back at itself, brown accent walls and dark gray bricks. The lawn was mowed to perfection, bushes shaped to compliment the entire house. 

“Dude, please adopt me.” Suho joked, trailing behind Seongje as they entered the household. 

Seongje brushed him off, “You can stay here as long as you want but tomorrow, expect my mom to nag you to death.” 

“I love your family. They can nag me all they want.” Suho chuckled. 

The Geum had always been the most welcoming to Suho. They gave him a home and a pair of arms in times of his despair. In moments when his own home felt like a place he merely occupied, the Geums made him feel like he belonged.

For the rest of the night, Suho couldn’t sleep a wink. Seongje was sleeping soundlessly on the bed while he laid on the floor—with blankets and all of course. His thoughts keep circling back to the things that took place the moment he stepped foot in this place. He stared up at the ceiling until it blurred.

He wasn’t sure how but he somehow managed to catch a wink for a couple of hours. And just like always, he dreamt of Sieun. 

In the dream, they were in a blue 1961 Cadillac car with the hood pulled back. Suho was the one driving, and his beautiful Sieun sat on the passenger seat. They were driving along a beautiful beach. Blue as the summer sky was the water, the wind softly caressing every inch of their skin and sweeping their hair, and the air smelled of salt and something sweet, something hopeful.

It wasn’t winter. Maybe spring had finally arrived. 

Sieun was laughing, Suho could only stare at him with such awe and wonder. There was no God to repent to, no parents to impress. It was just them, the car, and the sea. In this dream, they were just two silly boys who found light in each other. They could finally love each other without shame. 

And when Sieun leaned his head, Suho barred his neck submissively. Submissive in the way a hound lowers itself before the flock it has torn the world apart to protect. His pulse beat openly beneath Sieun’s cheek. 

“Stop!” 

Suho turned to look at the side mirrors. 

They were all distant voices, not taking any shape but they were there—loud, persistent, and ugly. 

“That is a sin! Man should not lie with another man.” 

The sky darkened without warning, blue bruising into gray. The sea lost its warmth, turning vast and black. Sieun gazed up at him. Though his eyes swam with worry and fear, he held Suho’s hand tighter. Despite everything, he still had the smile he would only give to Suho. 

“You will both go to hell!”

The Cadillac shuddered as Suho pressed harder on the gas,  jolting the car forward. He wasn’t looking at the road anymore. There was nowhere left to go for them. If they stopped, their paradise would end too. 

Ahead, the dock stretched out like a final answer.

For one suspended, weightless second, there was no sound at all; even their voices were muffled. Sieun’s eyes widened, reflecting the endless dark of the sea below. Suho reached for him, fingers tangling together just as the car left the edge.

They flew.

Then the sea rose up to swallow them whole.