Chapter Text
Once he was living on his own, or at least away from camp, Nico was much better about going to mass. That’s not to say he made it every Sunday, he certainly didn’t, but he went often enough that he considered himself, more or less, a good Catholic. It certainly helped that he specifically chose an apartment within walking distance of a church and it wasn’t like he had all that much to do on Sunday mornings anyway, so he usually found himself somewhere towards the back of a cathedral, letting himself just be .
It was usually just him. Occasionally he managed to drag Leo along, always on Holy days, but he was certainly the more devout of the two of them. His church was also definitely one of the more progressive ones, although they all seem pretty progressive to him considering he grew up with the pre-Vatican II era mass that was fully in latin. Still, it was nice to be able to mention his husband or bring him along without heated glares or being asked why he had chosen to live in sin.
When mass ended that Sunday, Nico lingered. Partially because he was chatting with Mrs. Martino, the old Italian woman who lived above him and Leo, about an old recipe she found for lasagna and how it was absurd that some Americans thought cottage cheese was an acceptable replacement for ricotta. Nico turned up his nose at the thought, disturbed.
When Mrs. Martino left, along with almost everyone else, Nico stayed. The confessional booths were always a little busy after Sunday mass and usually Nico wouldn’t even bother trying, but he woke up that morning and knew he should. He toyed with the wedding band on his finger, sitting quietly as he watched the line of people waiting shrink.
When the last person went in, Nico stood up and waited outside, far enough away he couldn’t hear anything being said by the priest or the confessor. He stared at his feet, his hands in his pockets. After a few minutes, the final person left too, smiling at Nico as she stepped out. Nico smiled back, trying his best to seem polite and not cold.
He sat in the concessional booth, the seat unpadded, as he preferred. Nico did the sign of the cross carefully, like always, muttering a soft “Ave o Maria,” as he finished. “Good morning, Father Dante,” he said.
The priest, Father Dante, was one Nico knew well enough. “Good morning.”
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession. These are my sins,” Nico grabbed the crucifix around his neck, the same one he bought years ago, and held it for comfort. “I have been blasphemous, taking the Lord's name in vain. I have succumbed to idolatry, praising other gods. Though, honestly, I have yet to meet God but he is the one I believe in the most,” he smiled softly as he swore he heard thunder rumble outside. “And I have despaired.”
Nico swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut. “I still struggle with believing God loves me and will forgive me. Half the time I don’t think anyone loves me, but… I love God. Sometimes it feels like the very circumstances of my existence are an affront to God,” Nico clutched at the crucifix around his neck. “But He is the one who was there when nothing else was. He was the smell of perfume and bread slipped to me on the street and my husband’s hand in mine because God is love. All I know, all I need to know, is that when I love someone, nothing else brings me closer to God.”
Nico took a deep breath, dropping his hand back to his side. “I am truly sorry for all my sins.”
“God’s mercy is beyond mortal comprehension,” Father Dante said. “He is the alpha and omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end. God is infinitely more than we will ever understand, and he loves in a way we can’t even begin to know. But you, my child, have come closer to understanding than most I have seen.”
Nico slid his wedding band up and down his finger, focusing on the feeling of the metal and not the tears burning in his eyes. “As penance,” the priest continued. “Do some extra prayers in the coming week. And, for your despair, light a prayer candle for yourself.”
Nico’s brow furrowed, nearly opening his mouth to protest before he snapped it shut. It took him a moment to remember he was supposed to recite the act of contrition. “My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us. In his name, my God, have mercy.”
Father Dante recited the prayer of absolution and Nico had to fight to pay attention. A strange bundle of nerves had settled in his chest and it made him twitch.
“Give thanks to the Lord for he is Good,” the priest said.
“His mercy endures forever,” Nico said.
“Your sins are forgiven. Go in Peace.”
“Thanks be to God.”
Nico did the sign of the cross again, his mind more frazzled than it usually is. Instead of leaving and heading home, the son of Hades walked to the rows of prayer candles. He lit one carefully. “For… for me,” he whispered.
He watched the flame flicker as he tried to will the ball of anxiety in his chest to fade. Confession was for forgiveness. He knew that. He knew that more innately than he knew most things. It was something he had held onto for years, when all he had was his faith. He had never allowed himself to entertain the thought that he could forgive himself. That he was punishing himself for things he had already been absolved of.
Nico had seen hell, he had been there , and he was trying his best to never go again. But was he not creating it within his own mind when he forced himself to relive and never release sins he had long since confessed to? He wasn’t sure where he would go when he died, to his father’s kingdom or the gates of the Father, but he knew there was no point in putting himself on trial now.
His gaze was locked on the flame, burning strong. “For me,” he repeated. “Because I am forgiven.”
Nico tucked his hands in his pocket and turned away, his chest lighter than it had been in years. He had never been very good at being kind to himself. It always seemed like something that needed to take a back seat while he saved the world and the people around him, but he wondered, somewhat sarcastically, if maybe there was something to the whole self-love thing. God is love and was he not made in His image?
He usually stopped for coffee on his walk home from mass on Sundays, getting himself something that was mostly whipped cream and something horrifyingly bitter for Leo, but today he made a beeline home. He took the stairs two at a time, flying around the corners as he rushed to their apartment.
When he made it in, Leo was perched on the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. He smiled at Nico through his mouth of food before chewing rapidly and swallowing. “How was mass today? Did Mrs. Martino tell you about the cottage cheese?”
Nico walked straight to his husband, grabbing the bowl of cereal from his grip and ignoring his huff of annoyance. He wrapped his arms around Leo, burying his face in his shoulder and taking a shuddering breath. “Oh,” Leo said softly, hugging Nico cautiously but just as tightly. “Are you okay?”
“I’m perfect,” Nico mumbled, pressing a kiss to the exposed skin from Leo’s slouching collar. “You’re perfect.”
Nico could hear the concern in Leo’s voice even as he tried to joke. “Are you dying or something, sweetheart?”
Nico pulled back and looked at his husband with a soft expression as he shook his head. “Everything is okay,” he assured him. “Mass was just… it was good. Really good.”
Leo smiled tightly, his expression melting. He placed a hand gently on the side of Nico’s face, running his thumb across his cheek. He didn’t smell like rose or sea salt, but the touch was familiar. Nico leaned into it, closing his eyes. “Okay,” Leo said. “I believe you.”
“Love you,” Nico whispered.
“I love you too.”