Chapter Text
Sunday had arrived in the ways Beomgyu knew it always did.
Beomgyu sat in his usual place, at the back of the church with his mother beside him, their shoulders barely touching. His hands resting neatly on his lap, his fingers intertwined the way he had been taught since he was a kid. The faint heat of the sun passes through the stained glass windows, painting over his knuckles, his sleeves, and his bowed head.
When you look at him from the outside, he looks the same. Beomgyu, the devout Christian boy.
Faithful.
Obedient.
Untouched.
The organ hummed throughout the church as the service began, the sound bouncing off the corners of the hall, hollow and deafening. He tried to focus on the words coming out of the pastor’s mouth, but with each syllable spoken, it left him numb. His thoughts linger on something at the back of his mind.
Yeonjun’s laugh.
The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.
How he was never afraid of anyone.
Beomgyu’s fingers tightened together as he bowed his head lower, pressing the palms of his hands together until his knuckles turned white. He prayed the way he always did, careful and desperate. As if his prayer had to be perfect or else it wouldn’t count.
Lord, please forgive me, he quietly pleaded. I’m being a good boy, please-
The loud and unwavering voice of the pastor cut through his thoughts like a knife on paper.
“Temptation does not always arrive in our lives loudly; sometimes it comes silently. Disguised as something comforting. Because sin is something that might feel right, even when it leads us away from the will of God.”
The words of the pastor echo in Beomgyu's mind as he continues his sermon, walking down the aisle and talking to his fellow Christian followers, their heads turned to him in silent concentration.
“And that is why faith is something that requires discipline. Because my fellow children, the narrow path is not an easy one, and to follow it often means denying ourselves of the things we want the most.”
Beomgyu swallowed.
Suddenly, every word he heard felt directly aimed at him. As if God himself was peering down at him from heaven, watching him have these sinful thoughts in his head inside his holy home. Beomgyu’s chest tightened, each breath becoming more shallow as guilt grew underneath his ribs.
He prayed harder.
By the time the service had ended, Beomgyu felt his head ache along with his heart.
He followed his mother through the narrow aisles of the church as they made their way outside, nodding their heads in polite goodbyes, gentle smiles, as well as pats on the shoulder. The strangers saw the version of Beomgyu he wanted them to see, and that was fine with him.
Because he didn’t want people to see how his stomach twisted whenever his mind flickered back to Yeonjun. Sweet and kind, Yeonjun.
Once outside, the sun felt too bright.
Beomgyu got in his mother’s car quietly, his hands shoved in the pockets of his coat, rosary warm against his cool skin. He tried to focus on the familiarity of the road, the houses they passed by, the cars parked on the street, the cracks in the road, hoping that it would ground him. But no matter how fast the car was, guilt managed to follow him like a shadow.
Panic curled from his chest, slow and suffocating. Beomgyu told himself it was his fault for feeling this way. It’s as if this were some sort of test, God’s quiet way of testing him. And as he sat there in the backseat of his mother’s car, deep down, he knew he was failing.
☾
Lunch was quiet, as it always was.
He sat at the small dining table, trying to make himself as small as possible as he spooned rice into his mouth. The faint sound of the television humming softly in the background, a replay of this morning’s sermon, as his mother usually liked to do during Sunday afternoons. The steel cold aura that radiated from his father, who sat across from him, reading the paper, his glasses hung low on his nose.
“Is everything alright at school?” his mother said gently as she passed him a bowl. “You seemed distracted at church today.”
Beomgyu nodded out of habit. “Yes, Mom. Everything’s fine.”
His father’s eyes lifted from the paper, settling on him. “Grades still good?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s my boy,” his father replied as if his approval was something he had to earn.
He forces a small smile at that.
His mother’s gaze lingers on him for a moment longer. “How’s school? Did you make any new friends?”
Beomgyu swallows, his tongue failing to find a response.
“Yeah, they’re nice.” He lied.
A smile of relief paints over his mother’s face. “That’s nice, Beomgyu. It’s good to have friends,” She says, her last words hesitant in a way. “Just make sure that they are a good influence, ok?”
His father nods from where he reads his paper, absent. “Tell me who your friends are, and I’ll tell you who you are. Remember that, Beomgyu.”
Beomgyu’s finger curled tighter around his spoon.
“Yes, I know.” He says, each word losing meaning.
He feels the soft hands of his mother as she reaches over, squeezing his hand. “Your father and I just want you to grow up right.” She said, a gentle smile on her face as if it would make Beomgyu understand. “You’ve always been our good boy.”
The words lay heavy in his chest.
Good boy.
Beomgyu excuses himself after lunch, immediately finding comfort in his room under the pretense of having “A load of homework”. The door closes quietly behind him as he leans against it, pressing the palms of his hands on his forehead.
He wondered what would happen if they could see what was going on in his mind sometimes. If they would still look at him the same way. As their good boy.
Guilt bloomed from his chest, sharper with every thorn, each one prickling his heart as he told himself that what he felt was love, not fear.
☾
Yeonjun’s house was different from Beomgyu’s, the good kind of different.
It sat a few streets away from the school, modest and small, with chipped paint framing the doorframe and plants carefully laid across the windowsill. The faint buzz of the porch light flickering as the sound of the door unlocking snapped him out of his daze as Yeonjun stepped inside.
Yeonjun kicked off his shoes with ease, nudging both of them into a corner. “You can leave yours there.”
Beomgyu does the same, lining up his shoes neatly in a corner of the entrance out of habit.
“My aunt is still at school,” Yeonjun said, glancing at the clock on the wall, the sound of the floorboards creaking as he made his way to the living room. “She’s grading papers or something, so she’ll probably be home late.”
“Oh…” Beomgyu hummed as he awkwardly followed Yeonjun across the house like a baby duck.
Inside, Yeonjun’s house was quiet in a way that left him at ease. It was different compared to Beomgyu’s; there were no crosses on the walls, no paintings of Jesus that stared back at him, no altars with incense swallowing the whole room.
Instead, it had an easel tucked into the far corner of the living room, which faced the window as if to catch the light on purpose. Canvases adorning the walls with layers of paint stacked on one another and scraped away once more. Paintbrushes were scattered throughout the whole room, some clean, some hard with years of use, and some resting inside jars. It felt nice, warm.
Yeonjun disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Beomgyu alone with nothing but the faint hum of the clock on the wall.
That was when the refrigerator door caught his eye, light spilling from the cracks as Yeonjun opened the door to get them water. Photos hung on the door, each one held up by colorful, mismatched magnets. Receipts, notes, pictures, and fast food menus, when one photo in particular caught his eye.
It was of Yeonjun. A gleeful smile on his face, with his head tipped on one of his shoulders, eyes forming crescent moons that held the stars.
Beomgyu stepped closer before he realized it. The door of the fridge closed shut as Yeonjun came back with two glasses of water, handing one to the other. “Careful, my aunt gets mad if I spill stuff.”
“That’s you,” Beomgyu says as a matter of factly, nodding towards the picture.
Yeonjun glances back, following Beomgyu’s gaze. “Oh yeah.” He shrugs like it was nothing. “She likes putting things up, says it makes the place feel more “homey”.”
Beomgyu nodded, his fingers tightening around the glass. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Yeonjun look like that before, completely free and happy. Yet something aches within Beomgyu’s chest at the thought. As they moved back towards the couch, Beomgyu looked back at the fridge once more. It was strange, seeing a version of Yeonjun he didn’t know yet. A stranger nonetheless, but one he wanted to understand.
Yeonjun dropped his bag by the couch and flopped down without a care in the world, his arms stretched over his head with his legs kicked onto the cushions.
“You can sit anywhere you want,” he said. “My aunt doesn’t really mind, as long as we don’t break anything,” Yeonjun says as a faint laugh escapes his lips.
Beomgyu carefully sits on the edge of the couch, keeping a distance from Yeonjun, hands neatly folded on his lap. “You said she’s a teacher at school, right?”
“Yeah,” Yeonjun said. “I think you can guess what she teaches.” Yeonjun says as he gestures around the room, he hears a soft giggle from the remark as he glances to his side. “She offered to take me in after everything went to shit.” His voice had no hint of hurt, as if he had been used to it.
“Hey, guess it’s better than bouncing around.”
Beomgyu nodded, unsure of what to say. His own home flashing through his mind, his mother’s careful routines, his father’s iron authority, the way everything felt…
Suffocating.
Here, he felt like he could breathe.
Beomgyu was quickly brought out of his own thoughts as Yeonjun handed him a bag of chips that looked like it had been opened and resealed too many times.
“This is all we’ve got,” he says. “Hope you’re not picky.”
“I’m not.” Beomgyu quickly replies in his defense.
“So,” Yeonjun said, dropping back onto the couch. “You wanna watch something? My aunt hates the shows I watch, but she’s not really here, so.”
He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV without waiting for an answer. A thriller film filled the room, the sound of fake gunshots and zombie gurgling echoing a little too loudly in the quiet house. Beomgyu didn’t like gory shows. But Yeonjun liked them, so he didn’t mind. Yeonjun scooted sideways, stretching out fully this time, one foot nudging dangerously close to Beomgyu’s knee.
Beomgyu didn’t move away.
Beomgyu didn’t really pay attention to the film playing on the screen in front of them; rather, he found himself listening to Yeonjun ramble under his breath whenever something interesting happened, jumping in his seat when cheap scares pounced at them through the screen. Beomgyu found himself smiling despite the movie they were watching, his shoulders relaxing as the minutes went by.
At some point when the sounds from the TV began to drown out, Yeonjun leaned back farther. Their shoulders brushing, yet never really parting.
It felt weird, not that it needed to. Beomgyu could feel his heart pounding painfully against the walls of his ribs when it shouldn’t.
This was nothing. It’s just two boys on a couch, watching TV. They were doing nothing wrong, were they?
And yet.
He felt warm, he felt safe. Inside a small living room tucked away somewhere in the small town he grew up in, somewhere he could close his eyes and breathe.
It scared him.
Beomgyu tried to focus on the screen again, but all he could see were flashes of light, how figures turned to shapes, and how scenes began to blur. He could feel everything, the way Yeonjun shifted beside him, how their shoulders would occasionally brush against each other, the rise and fall of his breathing.
He tried to push these thoughts to the back of his mind.
He had spent years doing just that, to repress “evil” thoughts, to “pray it away”. This was no different; it shouldn’t be different.
Yeonjung shouted something when the climax of the film finally played on the screen, which made Beomgyu startle before he could stop himself. Yeonjun noticed, he always does.
“Sorry,” Yeonjun said, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he glanced at Beomgyu beside him. “Didn’t mean to scare you. This movie’s dumb anyway.”
“It’s ok,” Beomgyu replied, but usually the faster you answer something, the less honest you are.
Yeonjun nodded, settling back from his previous position, his warmth piercing through the fabric of his clothes. He didn’t pull away; neither of them did.
For a while, Yeonjun went quiet. His ramblings stopped, and his reactions were more reserved. He watched the screen, the faint glow of the TV cascading through the creeks and valleys of Yeonjun’s face.
He looked beautiful.
Beomgyu swallowed.
He had wondered if this was what the pastor meant when he talked about temptation. Like it wasn’t loud or dramatic, not a loud thud on the floor, but something more gentle. Something that felt safe, something that felt like rest.
Beomgyu could feel it, the fear and shame, as it clogs his mind.
He shifted slightly, leaving a small space between the two of them. It didn’t help; the warmth that once settled in Beomgyu’s skin only faded, and what was left was a cold sting.
“You ok?”
“Yes,” Beomgyu said, too fast, less honest. “I'm just tired, that’s all.”
Yeonjun nodded in silent acceptance, not pushing. “We can turn it off if you want; this movie sucks anyway.”
“No, it’s fine.”
The movie continued, and what was left was a sea of noise that once again filled the room, familiar yet different. Beomgyu sat there, hugging his knees closer to his chest, as he searched for the quiet safety he had felt when recalling the pastor's words in his head.
Because if being here, if being this close was supposed to be temptation when it felt like peace. Then what does that say about everything he had been taught to fear?
Guilt clawed at Beomgyu.
Because what did it say about him that wanting to stay felt easier than praying?
☾
Change didn’t happen all at once.
It arrived in small pieces, choices that Beomgyu deemed were “necessary.”
He stopped going to Yeonjun’s house. He tried to sound casual whenever Yeonjun asked, said that his parents wanted him home earlier now. He’s not entirely lying; his mother liked knowing where he was because it eased her mind. He still hated the way the excuse felt on his tongue, rough and dry. Like a mouthful of sand.
At school, he sat in a different seat. Even though the seat next to the window was his favorite.
The desk beside Yeonjun suddenly became empty. He sat somewhere near the back, where the light barely hit, hoping that it would keep him focused on something other than the window seat and the person who sat beside it.
Lunch felt quieter without Yeonjun’s voice.
He ate alone, choosing to eat in one of the bathroom stalls on the highest floor of the campus. He disliked the smell of the cleaners, and the stalls were cramped. He missed the company that came alongside lunch; he told himself that this was better and that this was how things were always supposed to be. After all, he is a good boy, right?
Whenever he found laughter rising from his chest, he swallowed it.
Whenever he saw Yeonjun's light, he turned away.
He made himself believe that temptation always came disguised as something kind.
Yeonjun noticed. He always did.
“You don’t really come by anymore,” Yeonjun said one afternoon, trying to catch up to him in the hallways a little out of breath. His tone was light, but it wasn’t convincing either. “Did I… say something wrong?”
Beomgyu shook his head, too quickly. “No.”
“Oh,” Yeonjun replied, his voice sounding weak almost. “Then… did I do something?”
“No,” A defeated sigh escapes his mouth as he continues to avoid Yeonjun’s eyes. “I’ve just been… busy.”
A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You always say that.”
Beomgyu didn’t respond, he couldn’t.
The silence that followed felt heavy in Beomgyu’s chest.
“Okay,” Yeonjun replied, quieter. “I was just wondering.”
He didn’t push further, he never did. Yet somehow, that hurt more than if Yeonjun just yelled at him instead.
Beomgyu thinks back to the time in Yeonjun’s house, how time seemed to stand still. He remembered how warm it felt that day he found himself sprawled across Yeonjun’s couch, how everything seemed kind and soft, and that it was something he didn't need to earn for himself.
Which is why he told himself not to look back.
He knelt beside his bed later that night, the knuckles of his hand turning white, each finger digging into the skin of his hands. He turned to God once again, hoping for answers he knows he will never receive.
But he prays anyway.
The little notebook under his pillows filled with careful lines, each word written like a plea that he would never dare to speak.
I am a good person. I go to church, and I pray every night. I also don’t ask for much, at least I don’t think I do. But why do these thoughts keep coming back?
There is a pause where the pen last stood, the ink bleeding slightly through the paper.
The pastor says that faith is proven through sacrifice, and that I should sacrifice things so that I don’t give in to temptation. So I guess this must be mine.
If wanting something makes it bad and sinful. Then I will not want it anymore. I will learn to not want it anymore.
The next lines are messier, as if they were written in a hurry.
What is wrong with me? Why am I like this? The other boys in my school are all normal, and some of them are rowdy and even rude. So how come I am the one who is punished? They all like girls, but I don’t.
Why?
Why did God make me… wrong?
The handwriting grows smaller with each line.
I tell myself that he is just a friend, or was. I miss him. Is it so wrong to miss someone? The people at church told me it’s bad to think about boys this way. I don’t think it’s bad, even though they say it is.
He doesn’t pray like I do, he used to, but just not anymore. He doesn’t go to church every Sunday, but he is still the kindest boy I know. I miss him.
There are faint smudges from where the ink drags and creases on the page as if it is being pressed on too hard.
I am scared.
I don’t want to go to hell, I don’t want to disappoint God.
Why does being good hurt so much?
The writing stops there.
No answers. Just ink on a piece of paper etched with fear and guilt. With a name he wanted to write but never dared to, even though it’s there. Beneath every single line.
☾
Beomgyu found himself on one of the steps of the old chapel behind the school, hoping it would give him refuge from the chaos that he felt around him. Somehow, knowing that he was probably the only person who ever went to the forgotten chapel gave him comfort. It gave him something to believe in, that this was the only thing Beomgyu could call “his”.
He was supposed to go inside when he heard someone call his name.
“Beomgyu.”
He kept walking. Thinking that if he didn’t stop, if he didn’t turn around, then maybe everything would just disappear. Yet life didn’t work the way he wanted it to.
“Beomgyu.”
This time, his name sounded different. It felt heavier.
He stopped.
The afternoon sun bore down on him like a punishment, the air still and the leaves overhead never daring more than a whisper. It was as if the world itself knew better than to interrupt. Distant chatter reached the school's sacred grounds, but it faded around the edges of a quiet bubble, leaving the two of them inside.
It felt cold.
Beomgyu turned around hesitantly as Yeonjun walked up to the chapel, his breathing unsteady, his hands wandering in the pockets of his jacket like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“Are you really just not gonna talk to me anymore?” He asked.
There was no sharpness in his voice; he didn’t sound angry or upset, he just sounded exhausted.
Small pieces of grass sprout from the small cracks in the stone beneath Beomgyu’s feet, as he can’t quite seem to look Yeonjun in the eye. “What… what do you mean? I told you I’m just busy.”
Yeonjun let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but it didn’t really sound like one either.
“You always say that, Beomgyu.”
Hearing his own name come out of Yeonjun’s mouth sounded like venom; he knew he wasn’t a bad person, but he wasn’t good either, knowing that he was the cause of the pain that followed every word that came out of Yeonjun left him uneasy.
“Because you don’t sit with me,” Yeonjun continues, his words spilling out of his mouth. “You never come over, you stop walking home with me, you barely even talk to me… You don’t even look at me anymore, Beomgyu…”
He forces his eyes shut as tears threaten to fall before he looks up and opens them once again. “Junie,” He starts, and then stops.
Because this time, he looks at him. Really looks at him.
There’s a look on his face that Beomgyu’s never really seen before; he looked tired. The faint shadows that hang low below his eyes, how his shoulders slump, and how he lost the smile Beomgyu has grown to miss.
And it hits Beomgyu all at once, as if he had just been hit by a car in ongoing traffic.
Because this was his fault.
Because Beomgyu was nothing but a collection of hate and loathing for no one else but himself. Beomgyu, who ruins everything kind that comes to him because of how he was made, yet he tries anyway because he is “good”. Beomgyu, who was finally forced to stop and stare at the shadow that had been chasing him for years, only to see that it was him all along.
All the guilt came back crashing into him tenfold, a wave of resentment dragging him by the ankles straight to hell. Wasn’t he supposed to be good? He was supposed to be the one to turn away from the devil’s temptations. That he was supposed to be the one basking in the light of God, yet the only thing he could feel now was guilt, unworthy of God and the boy in front of him.
Silence stretched between them, long and aching.
“We don’t have to be around each other all the time ok?” Yeonjun says, breaking the silence that has enveloped them. “I just-” He stops, fingers curling into the palms of his fists. “I just need to know if I did something wrong.”
Beomgyu could feel the frantic rise and fall of his chest, tight like he had been holding his breath for days.
“You didn’t.” Was all he could say.
“Then, how come you can barely even look at me?” Yeonjun asked in quiet agony.
Beomgyu swallowed, the chapel looming behind him, the metal cross above the doors watching him. He felt judged, small, and useless.
“I just…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Need space.”
The words echo in his mind like an admission of his guilt.
Yeonjun blinks as he looks down, and then back at Beomgyu. “From me?”
Beomgyu didn’t answer because if he did, then he might tell the truth. The truth that he didn’t belong anywhere, not with God, not with his parents, and especially not with Yeonjun.
Yeonjun exhaled slowly, a long breath as if he was bracing himself for something he already saw coming.
“Okay.”
It sounded soft and resigned, and somehow, it hurt more than anger ever could.
“That’s okay…” Yeonjun says, nodding to himself. He wasn’t looking at Beomgyu anymore. “If that’s what you want.”
“I don’t —” Beomgyu started, then stopped. His voice cracked just enough that it came out like a whimper.
Yeonjun notices, and his mouth twitches into something that wasn’t a smile, but something close to it. “You know, I just wish you’d say it,” He says, his arms lax and void of any strength. “Instead of pretending I don’t exist.”
“I never meant to hurt you,” But somehow, he knew he would sooner or later.
Yeonjun’s eyes softened. “Yeah, I know.”
Another pause settled in, heavier than the last. The kind that presses down on your chest and never lets you breathe.
“Can I ask you one thing?” Yeonjun says.
Beomgyu nods, even though he felt his heart shatter in the safety of his own ribs.
“Was any of it real? Or did you just feel bad for me?”
The words hung in the air, cruel in a way.
Beomgyu could feel his chest tighten painfully. “It was real,” He says, clutching onto the only memories he could hold tightly without feeling himself break. “It was.”
Yeonjun looks at him, his eyes lingering like he’s memorizing something he would see one last time. Finally, he nods.
“Okay, was just curious.”
He takes a step back, and then another, giving Beomgyu the space he had been asking for willingly.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” Yeonjun added, in attempts to bring lightness that didn’t quite hold up.
“See you around, chapel boy.” And he leaves. Without looking back, each step took him further and further from the broken boy who stood on the steps of a chapel surrounded by nothing but silence, the sun long forgotten.
Beomgyu stayed where he was.
Behind him, the chapel stood open and waiting.
Yet, he didn’t go inside.
Being left alone with the space he had asked for felt empty as he stared at the ground where Yeonjun once stood.
He didn’t feel anything, numb in a way that it didn’t hurt all at once. It nestled itself inside Beomgyu’s heart, pressing against his chest until breathing felt hard.
Beomgyu swallowed. He told himself to turn around and go home, yet his feet didn’t listen.
Tears fell without warning, blurring the pavement beneath him.
He lifted a hand to his face, his breaths hitching as the weight of what had happened finally broke through, the guilt, the want, the sound of Yeonjun’s voice saying okay like it didn’t mean anything.
Like he didn’t lose anything.
Beomgyu bowed his head, his feet giving out as he hugged his knees closer to his chest that could not breathe, his shoulders trembling. He felt helpless and disgusted at the person he had become.
And for the first time, he wondered if being good was even worth it at all.
Beomgyu had spent his whole life measuring his worth by it, by the rules he followed, by the prayers he recited, by the quiet acknowledgement in his parents’ eyes when he did everything correctly. Being good had always been the answer that would lead him to God. The thing that was supposed to keep him safe.
But standing there, alone in the absence of the afternoon light, made him numb.
What did being good give him? Because it didn't give him answers, nor did it give him the life everyone laid out for him. All it gave him was a chest that didn’t have a heart. It gave him a boy walking away with tired eyes. It gave him a silence so heavy he felt deaf.
His hands curl into the fabric of his sleeves, his nails digging hard as if they could anchor him to something real. He had given up the only thing that made him feel normal, the only thing that made him feel seen. All in the name of being good.
And still, he was here. Crying because of what he had lost, afraid of who he had become, afraid of himself.
Beomgyu pressed his forehead to his knees and let himself cry harder, like a confession to the Lord that remains unheard. Because for the first time in his life, the thought crept up in his mind, unwanted, yet undeniable.
The thought that maybe God wasn’t saving him after all.