Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord." - Romans 6:23 

To Park Humin, God the Father was the scariest of them all. 

He wasn’t afraid of a boy who died for everyone’s salvation, or a guiding light through lonely years. But the one angry from the Old Testament, with heavy hands that could punish you. Out of reach yet always close enough to hurt. 

There were never any paintings of God the Father, only of the son. And yet he remained. Baku could feel him in the dark clouds that surrounded each painting of Jesus, in the mighty final words carved onto wooden planks, in the heavy footsteps that came closer every dinner time. 

Baku’s father looked a lot like the man laid all over their altar. Not in features, but with the same feeling looming over. 

He knew who he was from an early age. He knew how he felt about girls, the pretty ones that laughed at his bad jokes, the cool ones that showed him up during basketball. He knew what it felt like to like someone, and he knew that he felt the same thing, only a hundred times worse for his childhood best friend. 

He didn’t know what bisexual was, but he knew he liked watching him smile. He knew he would take any excuse to brush his calloused fingers over Baekjin’s soft skin. 

He realized it the day Baekjin had waited for him after class, looking like a fish out of water. They were in separate classes, Baekjin being exceptionally smart and Baku being exceptionally rowdy. 

He remembered thinking Baekjin’s uniform looked way too big on him, watching how the fabric of his pants caught under his worn down dress shoes. 

Baekjin smiled at him, and all Baku wanted to do was break his piggy bank and buy him something comfy to wear. It was a simple realization, like watching a man buy his wife ice cream along the street, or hearing cheesy love songs on the radio. 

He didn’t know many things, but he knew Na Baekjin, and that he had loved him. 

Maybe his father knew that too, maybe he could see it in his eyes. All it took was one lingering hug in front of his dad’s restaurant, a small smile on Humin’s lips as Baekjin walked away. He wasn’t ashamed, he didn’t know what there was to be ashamed about? 

When he turned around, his father stood over him with an expression he had never seen before. 

He stumbled back to his bedroom that night, covered in tears and bruises. His father had whipped his arms raw with the belt he had worn to church every Sunday. Baku wasn’t sure what he was saying, barely hearing his father’s voice past the sound of his own screaming, but he sounded a lot like he was reciting scripture. Intense and reverent like the priest at their church insisted on his Homily. Voice strained, as if he could scare the devil away. 

He remembered a few cruel words, “sinner”, “disgrace”, and one he had never heard before. This wasn’t the first time his father hit him, but it was the first time he was sober. That only meant that he had a reason, a pretty damn good one too. 

Ever since his mother passed away, Mr. Park had dedicated his life to religion. Baku always thought he was trying to make sure they’d reunite with his mother one day, so he went to every procession with a smile. He experienced the sacraments, clasped his hands together and prayed, but every time he could never imagine God, only his mother’s kind eyes listening to his every plea. 

Maybe that was why Mr. Park loved religion so much. Maybe that was why he cared more about the Church than his own son. 

Baku really tried to believe, he tried so hard to be the perfect son, his father’s golden ticket to heaven, but after years of constant beatings, of kneeling on rice grains till his skin bled and his father all but exorcising his “horrid desires” out of him, Baku had decided that neither of them were going to the pearly gates after all. 

He began to resist, to fight back, to wrestle against his father’s iron grip and insist on who he was. It made the beatings worse, weakening his body, but his spirit had never felt more powerful. 

It was a daily battle, a war within his own home, but there were things worth fighting for. 

He remembered Sunday mass fondly, drowning out the repetitive proclamations as he imagined being anywhere else. 

He never had to imagine long, because his phone would buzz, right before the Consecration. 

I’m outside.

Baku smiled to himself, slipping out while his father’s eyes were screwed shut. He pushed the doors, warm air greeting his skin like freedom, and Baekjin standing there, hiding behind the bushes. He was 13 and in worn out clothes, but in Baku’s eyes he was his prince charming. 

They ran behind the church, escaping through the flower fields, laughing like they had just gotten away with a crime. 

“I’M FREE!” Baku exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air, one still clasped tightly around Baekjin’s wrist. 

Baekjin shushed him with a laugh. “You won’t be for long, if you keep being so noisy.” 

“I can’t help it!” He laughed, pulling Baekjin closer. “I’m happy.” 

Baekjin felt his heart skip as he was dragged closer, face inches away, so close he could feel Baku laughing against his skin. 

Baekjin shoved him back playfully. 

“Why?” he teased. “You’re going to have to go back next Sunday, anyways.” 

“Yeah, but right now I’m out here,” he said, smile widening. “With you.” 

Baekjin felt like he couldn’t breathe, so he pulled them deep into the forest, far away from where anyone could ever find them. He ran faster, but Baku always kept up like it was nothing.  They had nowhere to go, laughing about something stupid till Baku tackled him to the ground. They wrestled, grass staining Baku’s best slacks as they struggled past giggles. It lasted longer than it should have, with Baekjin’s fighting improving and Baku’s out of breath laughs distracting them both. 

There was no clear winner as they fell back onto the grass, hiding in them like seedlings. 

“I fucking hate it in there,” Baku scoffed, chest heaving after the ‘fight’. 

“Why do you still go?” Baekjin asked. He was supposed to be looking up at how the trees towered over them, curving in from his perspective, looking like a cage. But his eyes kept darting over to Baku. 

Baku shrugged. “Sometimes it’s easier to just give him what he wants.” 

Baekjin frowned, eyes softening as he gazed at Humin’s side profile. 

“What is it that you want?”

“You,” Baku answered without hesitation. “To be here with you. To just spend time with you.” 

Baekjin could feel his cheeks heat up, so he turned back to the sky. 

“You better pray hard for it then,” he chuckled. 

“I don’t have to.” Baku’s fingers carefully darted across the blades of grass, pinky finger nudging the side of Baekjin’s clenched fist. 

“I don’t need to ask God, I just ask you.” 

Baekjin’s hands trembled under the soft touch, but he opened up his palm, letting Baku’s hand slowly slip between his fingers. Baku’s breath shuttered, eyes staring forward, as if he was afraid of ruining this moment. 

Their hands intertwined. Baekjin held on like he was afraid Baku would slip away; Baku caressed his knuckles softly. 

“Baekjinnie,” he said, voice no louder than a whisper. 

“Yeah?” 

“Let’s stay here forever.” 

Baekjin let out a dry laugh. 

“Wouldn’t your god be mad at his beloved son for abandoning him?” 

Baku turned to look at him, cheek pressed into the dirt below him. 

“I love you more than I love any god.” 

And Baku had meant it then. He loved him more than the God of the Old and New Testament, more than the one in the Eucharist, more than the one with heavy footsteps in his house. 

These memories always rushed back to him when he was trying to sleep. He liked to think about them hard enough, hoping Baekjin would visit him in his dreams. He would throw rocks at Humin’s window like he used to. He was reckless, knowing Baku’s dad could hear him any second. Baekjin didn’t care, he didn’t care whatever punishment awaited him, all for the chance of Baku opening the window and smiling down at him. 

But he woke up every morning with a jolt, his sleep feeling like nothing more than a blink of an eye. His heart would always beat out of his chest, his forehead wet with nervous sweating, like he had been running in his sleep from something that he couldn’t remember.

For 2 years before Baku turned 16, he had no idea where Baekjin was. After their last conversation, he had tried anywhere to find him. He called him on his beat up flip phone, he bothered the orphanage every day, asking them if they knew where he was, but they were never any help. 

“Kids run away all the time, especially at your age, there’s nothing we can do about it.” 

Baku hated this helplessness most of all. He hated not being able to do anything but run to every location they shared stolen moments, waiting for hours to see if Baekjin would show up. He looked for clues, trying to do something with his hands so he could forget the look in Baekjin’s eyes when he had last seen him. 

He remembered the manic way his pupils were dilated, the way those hands Baku had loved so much were covered in excessive blood. The way he looked but then angry… wrathful. 

Baku didn’t remember much of that day, except for his hand gripping Baekjin’s wrist so hard it bruised. He had yelled at him, telling him this wasn’t what he taught him to fight for. He hated how he didn’t remember the exact words he said, maybe then he could have understood where Baekjin went, where he cast him off to. 

He spent most of his days wondering where Baekjin was, what he was doing, who he was doing it with. He cared most of all that Baekjin was alive and safe, but selfishly he also wished he was thinking about him, even a little bit. 

In those dark nights when Baku felt his heart try to beat out of his chest, the crushing anxiety of now knowing for sure thumping through him like a fever, he would pray, for the first time in years. 

“Lord, I never asked for many things, I haven’t asked for anything in a long time,” he would mutter, knees buried against his mattress, staring at the cross his dad nailed above his bed. 

“All I ask, is that you bring him back to me.” 

Maybe Baku should have been more specific. He never took this God to be this much of a trickster. 

Because he found Baekjin again on Christmas morning. He had grown into himself, baby face turning into sharp features, taller than Baku had remembered, but he had the same pale delicate hands as he placed the chalice of wine on the altar, by the priest. His altar server clothes drowned him out, making him look like a kid playing pretend despite his growth spurt. 

Baku had never focused so hard on a mass, trying to wrap his head around the sight before him. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, maybe those soft lips and pitch black eyes were just something similar. Maybe it had just been so long that Baku was starting to forget. That had to be it, he convinced himself it was, and after receiving the Communion, he prayed his usual prayer. 

“Lord, I don’t ask for much, just bring Na Baekjin back to me.”

He walked out of the church without a second thought, cursing his dad internally for finding a new place for his worship. He wanted to go home, back to his bed and all his daydreams about the boy he once loved. He didn’t want to— 

“Humin.” 

He stopped in his tracks. 

He refused to turn around, not even when those footsteps came closer. 

“Hey,” Baekjin put a hand on his shoulder, so soft it felt condescending. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Baku scoffed, shoving him off. “That’s it?” 

He stepped back, eyes fully taking in the sight before him. It was unmistakably Baekjin, in a crisp white polo and a silver cross dangled around his neck. He had his hair slicked back and rosary beads in his pocket. 

“You disappear for years and that’s all you have to say to me?!” 

Baku didn’t want to yell, not like he did that day, but he couldn’t help it. 

“What the fuck is this?” He exclaimed, gesturing to him. “Why are you… I thought you hated… all of this?!” 

Baekjin sighed, patient. “I know this must be confusing, but I found God.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” Baku scoffed. “But what does that even mean?” 

Baekjin folded his hands in front of himself, his posture perfect, like you could balance an apple on his head. 

“After we last… spoke,” he coughed awkwardly. “I ran away from the orphanage. I was taken in by Father Lee, and he taught me how to better live my life.” 

Every word that left his mouth had Baku fuming. He hated how simple it sounded, how Baekjin said it like it was no big deal. 

“Better?” He snarled. “How can you even say that?! After…” 

(After everything Baku went through. After every bruise Baku tried to hide, but Baekjin saw anyways.) 

Baekjin looked down at his hands, and Baku never thought he could hate him so much. 

“I know that you didn’t have the best relationship with Christianity,” he said, voice sounding more and more like a preacher every syllable. “But it’s not all bad. Father Lee really changes lives, I think you should meet him—” 

Baku stepped away like he had been burned. 

“Yeah,” he said. “No thanks.” 

He tried to walk away, to erase this memory from his mind. If only he had really been a shepherd's sheep, and this pain could fade out of his consciousness already. 

Baekjin grabbed his wrist, and Baku didn’t hesitate before shaking him off. His movements were violent, in a way he promised he would never be towards Baekjin. 

“WHAT?!” He yelled, not caring who saw, not caring whose birthday he was about to ruin. 

Baekjin retracted his hand, but Baku could see the subtle flash of hurt in his eyes. 

“Humin,” he said, and Baku knew Baekjin’s God would hate it if He knew how that tone stirred low and hungry in his stomach. 

“I want to help you,” Baekjin looked in his eyes. “I want to save you.”

For a moment that sweet expression almost did it for Baku. He used to be willing to walk through hell if Baekjin had asked, but the bright silver cross reflected the sun, shooting its glare into Baku’s eyes. 

“Save me from what, exactly?” 

Baekjin’s words died on his tongue. 

“From what?” Baku insisted, finally approaching him. “From being a faggot?” 

The word made Baekjin flinch. Baku laughed angrily at his reaction. 

“Oh, so that’s what this is,” Baku smiled bitterly. “What? Gonna pray the gay out of me? Is that your plan?” 

“I—” It was clear in Baekjin’s eyes that he never expected Baku to react this way. Maybe deep in his heart he had good intentions, but the words refused to come out. 

“I just want…” he stumbled. “Heaven… to go to heaven you need to—” 

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” He roared with laughter, a small crowd gathering around them. 

So this is what Baku got? The answer to his one prayer, a sick fucking joke. 

The worst part was Baekjin seemed to genuinely believe he was doing the right thing. Seeing him be so sure made Baku want to throw up. Baekjin had no right to throw blessed stones from a house made of stained glass. 

“So what’s the plan?” Baku taunted. “Tell me, Baekjin-ah, an exorcism? 40 days in the desert? A crown of thorns?” 

“Don’t say things like that,” Baekjin said, trying to fight, but there wasn’t the same spark in him. “Let’s just talk, okay?” 

In the corner of Baku’s eye, he caught his dad walking out of the chapel. There was so much burning on the tip of his tongue, but all he could do was step away. 

“There’s nothing that I want to say to you,” Baku said. “Not anymore.” 

He weaved through the crowd, walking away before his dad noticed. He hated this. He hated the cold winter air. He hated how Baekjin watched him go. He hated how the present he had bought for Baekjin’s birthday was still sitting on his bedside table, and how he’ll never be able to give it to him for a different reason now. 

“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” - 1 Corinthians 13:7

The sound of the church bells woke Baekjin up from another horrible dream, home with soft touches and breakfast for two. He started the morning with a mystery of the rosary, holding the beads in his hands like they could save him. He mumbled the prayers, fingers splaying over the plastic, caressing them with the same loving touch that had once belonged to some else. Before he knew it was wrong. Because he knew what was right. 

And yet those memories creep in like the sunlight through his bedroom window. He mumbles the prayer under his breath, reverent and apologetic, hands clasped tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. 

He slammed the beads down, as if they could drag the fifth off his skin by pure force. 

He folded his blanket three times, neatly placing it across his bed. He fluffed his pillow and made sure the Bible by his bedside was not crooked. He changed into the same perfectly ironed white shirt, practicing his smile in the mirror. 

Most mornings started the same, prayer, breakfast with the residents of the rectory. They were nice enough to let him in, so he always made sure not to ask for seconds. Father Lee taught him gratitude; asking for more meant what you were given was not enough. He was dead silent when they would say grace, and he always offered to wash the dishes afterwards. 

Life was good. It was a stark difference from the orphanage he grew up in. He was used to dark walls and ceilings with water leaks, the dripping sound more insomnia inducing than any thunder strom. He was always stubborn, angry, rude, until he learned how to live a life outside of his own selfish view. 

He remembered the day Father Lee found him. It was raining (it often was in Baekjin’s memories.) He was hurt, lost, desperate for someone to care about him. He ran through the streets with nothing but the clothes on his back and his phone. It kept ringing, but Baekjin didn’t get the chance to check it before it slipped out of his hands and fell into a canal. He didn’t bother chasing after it. He just kept running. 

Eventually his legs gave out, and he collapsed in the middle of the road. He knew deep down that it was only a matter of time before a car came, innocently and unknowing. He could feel the cold under his knees and knew for a fact that Humin had hated him. That he managed to take the one good thing in his life and turn it into dust. 

Humin knew now what everyone else did, what his parents who left him did, what all the bullies at their school did. That he was good for nothing. That his body’s greatest achievement will one day be to richen the soil for flowers to grow. 

The rain suddenly stopped, and Baekjin looked up. 

“God?” 

The man with a warm smile chuckled. 

“No, my child,” his voice was certain and warm. “But… I’d like to say I’m a friend of His.” 

Baekjin’s eyes narrowed. “I fucking hate God.” 

Somehow the man didn’t flinch at his sharp words. 

“Would you like to come with me?” He asked instead. “My home is just a few streets away. You can stay until the strom passes over.” 

Baekjin knew better than to trust the kindness of strangers, but it was either to follow him or become roadkill. To this day he didn’t know why he chose the former. 

The church was warm lit, covered in incense and the soft crackling of candles. Baekjin had never been inside a parish before, but it felt a lot more comfortable than Humin had described it to be. 

The man dried his hair softly, like a dog after a bath. He hummed softly a tune that Baekjin had heard through the chapel walls once before. He offered him new clothes and a warm bowl of soup. 

“Tell me, what’s your name?” He asked, smile still warm. 

“Baekjin,” he said with his mouth full. He was so damn hungry. 

“You can call me Father Lee.” 

Baekjin raised an eyebrow. “But you're not my dad.” 

Father Lee chuckled. “I am not, but here, we call priests that because we bring spiritual guidance and nurturing to our church, just like a father would with his dear family.” 

“I wouldn’t know that,” Baekjin mumbled. “Never had a dad.” 

His eyes softened with pity, Baekjin loathed that look in people’s eyes. 

“Baekjin,” he said, pushing a second bowl of soup towards him. “Would you like to have a family?” 

“Baekjinnie!” Baku’s voice had flooded his thoughts at that very moment. He remembered that cheeky smile and those bright eyes, lying across from him on Baku’s superhero sheets. 

“You have a family,” he had insisted, so many times that Baekjin had lost count. “Me!” 

His brows were furrowed, angry that Baekjin would even suggest otherwise. He was kicking him softly under the blanket, eyes still shining with a light brighter than any candle in the vicinity. 

Baekjin snapped back to reality, staring at the bowl before him. 

“Sure.”

Baekjin bounced on the balls of his feet nervously, standing outside the familiar school. His eyes darted across every face, but it was easy to find Humin, his eyes always attached themselves to him like magnets. 

Baku walked out of the building, his laugh appearing before he did. He had an arm swung around a boy in a blue jacket, and his other hand tugging on two other friends. They were all smiling, and Baekjin made a mental note of the deadly sins he had to confess later that night. 

When Baku saw him, his expression changed. He immediately let go of his friends, telling them to go ahead. He all but shoved them away before they could see Baekjin. 

Baku walked up to him, only to completely ignore him. 

“Humin,” Baekjin said, voice as calm as always. 

“I told you, don’t come here,” he muttered. “What do you want?”

Baekjin followed him, walking a few paces behind. 

“Is he your lover?” 

Baku stopped in his tracks.

“What?”  

“Are any of those boys with you… are any of you…” 

“What?” Baku scoffed. “Are we fucking?” 

Baekjin scowled at his foul language. “I’m only asking for your sake. Leviticus—” 

“18:22,” Baku cut him off. “And 20:13. You don’t think I’ve heard that all my life?”

Baekjin sighed, the flyer in his hands still pristine. 

“I’m sorry for overstepping,” he said.

He nervously handed him the flier, letting Baku read it. His face was of pure disgust as he shoved it back to Baekjin. 

“No.” 

“It’s just an open house kind of thing!” Baekjin tried to convince him, chasing him down. “There won’t be any comments like that. Just come and see what it’s like–” 

“No comments about my sexuality?” Baku scoffed. “Have you ever been to a church?” 

“Look, I know they can be–” 

“They?!” Baku laughed, finally facing him. “Why are you acting like you’re not a part of this?” 

Baekjin fell speechless. His hands falling to his sides. 

“Humin-ah,” he said, voice loving and needy in the way that always got Baku to give up his extra candy. 

All the questions rang through his mind, all his own prayers and all the promises given to him through the confession box. 

His voice dropped, no quieter than a whisper. 

“I just want us to go to heaven together.” 

The world continued to move around them. The school bell rang, more students piled onto the streets, somewhere nearby Baku’s friends were probably ordering food, Father Lee was writing his next sermon. Baku felt like nothing in his life had mattered, and nothing will matter, as much as  this very moment. 

He shook off the weight on his shoulders, refusing to meet the desperate gaze in Baekjin’s eyes. 

“I don’t want your stupid heaven.”

"I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish." - Luke 13:3 

“Where have you been, my child?” 

Baekjin stopped cold in his tracks when he stepped into the familiar archway. 

Father Lee sat on the pew closest to the altar, his back facing the door. 

“Father!” He said, posture straightening. “Apologies. I was…” 

“Going out to see him?” 

Baekjin’s eyes widened. Sometimes he wondered if priesthood had made him omnipotent. Father Lee knew everything about Baekjin. He knew which vegetables he hated. He knew what nightmares kept him awake. He knew which hymns made him cry. He knew which sins he confessed more than once. 

“I promise, Father, it’s nothing unbecoming,” he said. “I just wanted to invite him to the open house this Sunday. Maybe to change him for the better, the way the church had done for me.” 

His eyes were sharp, different. Ever since Humin found his way back into Baekjin’s life, Father Lee had looked at him differently. 

Maybe Baekjin had admitted more than he should have in the confession booths. But that was supposed to be between him and God. Weren’t all sins forgiven? Once he prayed all the penances, didn’t it erase every wretched thought and every touch of warm skin? 

“Baekjin,” he said, standing up and walking over to him. Still in his priestly robes. The mass had just ended, the church just emptied out. 

“I have had many a lost lamb come to my church,” he stepped in front of Baekjin, a hand reaching out to touch his hair. “But you are my pride and joy.” 

Baekjin closed his eyes, smiling. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

Suddenly, the grip on his hair tightened, making him hiss in pain. 

“God entrusted you to me,” he said, voice as stable and certain as always. “Do you know how frightening that responsibility is?” 

“Which is why I cannot let my dearest son stray from the path of salvation. I cannot let myself fail you,” he looked him in the eyes. “Do you understand?” 

Baekjin winced, but didn’t move out of his hold. He nodded, even as his eyes welled with tears. 

His hand finally released him, that same warm smile still on his lips. 

“Good,” he said, smoothing the hair down. “You’ve always been good.” 

He turned around, smoothing down his garments. 

“Come along now,” he beckoned. “You must finish your chores before dinner.” 

“Yes, Father.” 

That night Baekjin threw the blanket off himself in his sleep, his body running hot like a fever, rejecting the innocent dream like something deadly. In it he imagined a church covered in white and red flowers, of himself in a perfectly ironed suit. He looked older, smile lines and worry showed its years on his eyebrows, but he didn’t mind. 

He never thought of marriage, not in any concrete way, but the church was filled with smiling faces, and he thought maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. 

He wondered who his future wife would be, who he would join in holy union, by the power of God, to never be separated. 

He only hoped that she’d be nice, and maybe know what to eat for dinner, since Baekjin always had a hard time deciding. 

The doors opened and his heart stopped. 

Park Humin, in a beautiful white suit, his smile so bright it hurt to look at. Baekjin panicked, expecting the people in the pews to be up in arms, to chase them out. But instead they all stood up, paying respects to the groom, smiling as he walked down the aisle. 

That terrified Baekjin the most, that this could all be real, that he sacrificed every last drop of his desire for no good reason. 

No, this couldn’t be it. 

He stirred in his sleep, the cross falling off his neck and tangling in his hair, pulling tight against his airways. 

This wasn’t the path of righteousness. It would only lead to pain and suffering. This could not be a true happy ending. 

And yet Baku looked so handsome, and Baekjin felt his convictions waver. 

He woke up violently, hands fisted in the sheets, shoulders trembling from holding back. He hated his sinful mind. He hated the way the devil knew just how to get to him. 

He got out of bed, all but throwing himself onto the ground 

He reached for his notebook, the one he kept hidden under his mattress, the one with the words he thought he could hide from all-knowing eyes. 

He threw open the first page, greeted by his own messy handwriting. 

My dearest, Humin, 

He knew he should stop reading, but he couldn’t bring his shaky hands to turn the page. 

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder. I don’t think that’s true. Not because my time away had made me love you less. I feel I love you exactly the same, and yet something else has changed. This deep sorrowful longing inside me. Is this the love they spoke of? I don’t think that’s love, for loving you only ever felt good to me.

The entry was almost a year old, stained by tear drops and crumpled from the movement of the mattress on top of it. 

Baekjin managed to turn to an empty page, clicking his pen and forcing himself to write.

Dear Park Humin,

Cold, impersonal. 

I hope this letter finds you well. By the time you are reading this, you will never see me again. 

He wrote a goodbye, one that pained him just to imagine. The pen burned against his skin, and he wondered if he truly was the devil. He hated every word that spilled onto the page, he hated how he could even bear to write them, but he knew it was the only way, the only way to save them both from Baekjin’s own grave sins. 

He finished it, panting as if he had swum against the current. But it wasn’t enough. He stormed out of his room, running shamelessly through the solemn halls, knocking on Father Lee’s door like he used to do when he was a kid. 

Father Lee always answered, no matter what tim in the night. 

“Father,” Baekjin said, voice unsteady. “Help me. M-my mind. It’s impure.” 

His eyes softened as he opened his arms for Baekjin to fall into. He collapsed, limp like a doll. Father Lee patted his back softly. 

“My son,” he sighed. “Do not worry.” 

“I will help you become the Lamb of God.” 

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.” - James 1:2-4

It had been almost two weeks since they had last spoken. Baku hated feeling like Baekjin was slipping out his grasp again. He hated how angry he was, but he knew Baekjin deserved it. How could he not learn from his lesson? 

Once again Baku showed him nothing but harsh words and judgement. That was exactly why Baekjin left the first time, but how could Baku face him? 

How could he smile at him, knowing deep down Baekjin loathed who he truly was? How could they be friends and pretend like all those nights under the stars and knees bumping under the table didn’t mean anything? How could Baku pretend that Baekjin hadn’t become everything he had ever hated? 

He didn’t know yet, but he knew he would rather have the worst of Baekjin than none of him at all. 

Baku wasn’t proud to admit it. He had lied to his friends about what he was doing today. He didn’t want them to know he was trespassing on private grounds, searching the catholic school they had always mocked for the boy he refused to let go of. 

He watched Baekjin go about his daily life. He didn’t seem to have any friends, often spending his time alone or in prayer (which weren’t different in Baku’s eyes.) 

He noticed that whenever someone would run into Baekjin, Baekjin was always the first to apologize, bowing low even if he was never the one in the wrong. It broke Baku’s heart to watch him treat himself like nothing more than an inconvenience. 

By the time lunch came around, Baekjin had barely spoken a word. He had spent more time with his nose in the Bible than even looking at his classmates. 

He walked up to the lunch line, not minding how several people cut in front of him. 

“What would you like dear?” The lady behind the counter asked. 

“Don’t we usually have one option every day?” Baekjin asked politely. 

“Yes, but today we have two mains. You can choose between chicken or fish.” 

Baekjin’s expression went blank, it looked as if the words didn’t make any logical sense to him. He stood there, looking like a machine that had been powered off. 

“Hurry up, dude!” The guy behind him wined, smacking his shoulder playfully. 

Baekjin winced, all but dropping his tray onto the ground at the contact. The people behind him whispered, grumpy about all the hold up. 

“I’ll have whatever you think is best,” Baekjin had managed to say. 

He had the fish. (Baku knew he liked chicken more.) 

Baekjin sat down in a nice corner, away from the sun, peaceful even if his shoulders were tense. 

Suddenly, Baku’s phone rang, loud and obnoxious. 

“Shit!” he cursed, ducking behind a wall to prevent himself from being caught. 

“What is it, bro?!” He whisper-shouted into the phone. 

“Why the hell are you in the holy school?” Gotak asked. 

Baku looked around, confused. “How did you know that?” 

“Because you’re Eunjang’s top dog,” Gotak said like it was obvious. “People talk wherever you go.” 

“It’s fine, I’m just–” 

“Stalking Baekjin?” 

Baku shushed him like anyone could hear them. 

“Look, I’m worried about him.” 

Gotak sighed, like he was trying to find the right words. 

“If you miss him so much, why do you keep pushing him away?” 

“It’s complicated, and you know that.” 

“It is,” Gotak said. “That’s why you need to stop treating it as black and white.” 

The call ended before Baku could ask what he meant. He sighed, stuffing the phone into his pocket before turning back to where Baekjin was, only to find an empty seat. 

His heart filled with panic, a stupid instinct from all these years ago. He ran past the crowd, bringing more attention to himself than he should have. He hated not knowing where Baekjin was, that he could disappear again without him ever understanding why. 

He looked through classrooms, marched down halls, throwing doors to storage rooms open. 

The infirmary. He didn’t know why, but he made a beeline towards it. 

He threw the door open and his heart stopped.

The nurse had stepped away, leaving the room completely empty save for Baekjin. He had his shirt off, arms uncomfortably stretched to apply ointment to the litany of lashes that decorated his entire back. 

Baku shut the door. He wanted to fall to his knees, to sob into the floor. It didn’t feel right, to see something so beautiful covered in lines that would scar, dried blood still chipping at the corners of his wounds. 

Baekjin’s eyes widened. 

“H-Humin!” He hurriedly covered himself up, not knowing if he should be more embarrassed about his wounds or his indecency. “What are you doing here?” 

Baku managed to take one shaky step towards him. He reached out, hands soft and tender through the air. He carefully took the bottle of ointment out of Baekjin’s hand. 

His voice was trembling. “Let me help you, please.” 

Baekjin swallowed hard, knowing that he should say no, but his wounds were burning and Baku’s gaze was even more searing. He nodded nervously, handing Baku the alcohol and wipes to sanitize his hands. 

As Baku ran the cold liquid over his calloused hands, he remembered dipping his hands in the bowls of holy water by the entrance of the chapel. He wondered if this antiseptic could clean off all his faults, allowing him to be worthy to kneel by his altar. 

Baekjin exhaled sharply, carefully unfastening the hook of his silver cross, placing it delicately on the table. 

Baku sat behind him, pouring the ointment on his fingers as Baekjin slowly lowered his shirt, letting it pool low against his waist. 

His hands trembled as they touched soft skin, first feeling the smoothness of the areas that were spared, pressing the pads of his fingers against the warmth. 

Beside himself, he moved to the actual wounds, careful not to open any of them up. 

Baekjin gasped, body flinching as the sting shot through him. 

Baku shushed him comfortingly, free hand pressing soundly on his upper arm, trying to ground him. The hold on him only made Baekjin tense more. He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for Baku’s grip to suffocate him, to dig his nails into his skin, but his touch remained gentle. 

“It’s okay,” he didn’t sound like he believed it. “I’ve got you.” 

Baku kept going, shutting his eyes to hold back the tears as Baekjin bit his tongue to muffle the pain. Baekjin didn’t know what was worse, the ache in his nerves or the softness of Baku’s care. He hadn’t been held like this in years, not since Baku had lulled him to sleep during their last sleepover. 

“What happened?” Baku managed to ask, just a tentative whisper. “Jin-ah, who did this to you?” 

Baekjin shook his head, refusing to answer. 

Baku sighed, expecting as much. 

“Does it hurt?” 

Baekjin chuckles, softly even if the motion makes his skin feel like it’s reopening. “It’s alright.” 

Baku bows his head in defeat. 

Baekjin let out a muffled groan when a particularly raw part came in contact with the medicine. He moved his knuckle to his mouth, biting against it to keep some semblance of sanity. 

Baku closed his eyes, unable to take it. 

“Baekjin-ah,” he said, voice desperate. “You’re killing me. I hate seeing you like this.” 

“Then leave,” Baekjin bit back, the anger in his voice made Baku smile. “You… you’ve been telling me to leave you alone, haven’t you?” 

Baku sighed, quiet as he focused on the task at hand, he mapped over the skin delicately, hand still rubbing soothing circles along Baekjin’s arm. 

“You know your classmates are being mean to you, right?” Baku said instead. “You shouldn’t let them cut the line.” 

“It’s alright.” 

Baku’s grip faltered, firmer, but still soft. “No, it’s not you–” 

“Turn the other cheek,” Baekjin winced out past the pain. 

Baku pulled away, wiping away the remnants of the ointment, but his grip on Baekjin’s arm stayed, soothing him as he came down from the pain. 

Baekjin’s senses were heightened, every inch of his skin felt like he was on fire. 

Baku’s hand on him shot a desire through him he promised himself he had sealed away hours of pain ago. He couldn’t still be sinful, after everything he had done. 

He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. 

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name.

Baku let out a broken sigh behind Baekjin. Despite his better judgement, he turned around. 

Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

Baku’s eyes were full of tears, streaming down his pained expression despite how hard he was holding back. His lip was trembling, unable to conceal his pain any longer. 

Give us this day our daily bread. 

“Is that why,” his voice cracked, “why you let them do this to you?” 

And forgive us our trespasses,

Baekjin didn’t say anything, all he could do was look away. 

Baku’s hand reached for him, holding him in place, like he was a lifeboat keeping him afloat. Which was ironic, because Baekjin often felt like it was Baku that kept him alive. 

as we forgive those who trespass against us.

Baku’s head fell forward, pressing his forehead against Baekjin’s shoulder, the only part of him that had not been desecrated yet. 

Baku’s skin was warm against his. With every soft sob, Baku’s tears dripped from his cheeks, flowing down Baekjin’s sensitive skin, caressing every curve of his arm, falling down to his wrists and his clenched fists.

And lead us not into temptation,

When Baku spoke, Baekjin could feel every fragile syllable, hot against his skin. 

“Baekjin-ah,” Baku had begged. 

but deliver us from evil. 

“Stay with me.” 

Suddenly, the prayer died on Baekjin’s tongue. He didn’t remember what’s supposed to come next.

Baekjin tried his best to bury that moment of weakness down, to convince himself that everyone made mistakes, and that even the most devoted of disciples could sometimes get distracted from what really mattered. 

But it became hard for any of that to matter when he found Baku waiting outside of his school the next day. 

He walked up to him hesitantly, as if this was a trap of some kind. Much like how the devil had visited Jesus during his time in the desert. But if Humin was his downfall, Baekjin wasn’t sure he was strong enough to rebuke him. 

“Hey,” Baku said, hands awkwardly stuffed in his pockets. He took out a small brown paper bag, handing it to him. 

Baekjin opened it carefully, like he was given something consecrated. He pulled out a small container of medicine for his wounds, along with pain killers and different kinds of bandages. 

He looked up at Baku like this didn’t make sense to him. 

“So you don’t have to wait till the nurse leaves the clinic,” Baku said like it cleared anything up. “Oh, and this.” 

He handed Baekjin what looked like a spatula of some sorts. 

“It’s a medicine applicator. The lady at the drug store said it makes it easy to apply the stuff to hard to reach places.” 

Baekjin took it carefully, it weighed heavier in his hands, heavier than any thurible or Eucharist ever had. He looked up at Baku, nervously fiddling with his shirt. 

Baekjin couldn't help it, he let out a soft laugh. 

Baku’s eyes widened as he watched Baekjin lose control, voice getting louder and louder as his chest shook. He laughed fondly. He laughed like this was the funniest thing in the world, and yet Baku didn’t have it in him to feel offended. He just smiled, watching Baekjin in this moment while he still could. 

“Can I ask you something weird?” 

Baekjin nodded, wiping the tears off his eyes. 

Baku hesitated, eyes darting everywhere and foot playing with the dirt under his shoe. 

“Can I walk you home?” Baku asked, and Baekjin was still too caught up in his giggles to remember to say no. 

Things should have been weird. It should have been awkward and heavy, but they passed by the old convenience store even if it was out of the way. Baku found himself doing anything to make Baekjin laugh again. 

In this moment Baku’s heart was light, even if every step they took brought them closer to the end, to the point they had to part ways, Baku kept walking, not wanting to be out of step with Baekjin anymore. 

“So you really do live here,” Baku said, whistling as the large church loomed in the distance. 

“Yeah.” 

He pursed his lips. “Is it… nice?” 

Baekjin thought about it for a second. 

He wanted to say “it’s the only home I’ve ever known,” but the words couldn’t even leave his mind when his eyes met Baku’s. Soft, warm, always enough to pull him under. Even Baekjin knew that that wasn’t true. 

“It’s alright.” 

Baku had his own share of unsaid words. He wanted to tell Baekjin he deserved more than just alright, that if alright was alright the same way Baekjin described the burning on his skin, then Baku was going to charge into that chapel himself and burn it to the ground. But instead he nodded, kicking the rocks under his feet. 

“I guess this is it,” Baku said, nervous as they stood before the grand doors. Baekjin let his mind wander for a moment back to his dream, and Baku’s white uniform shirt made things worse. 

“Yeah,” Baekjin said, nodding. “I’m going inside now. Thanks. For the medicine, and for walking me home.” 

Baekjin slipped inside the doors like was afraid of opening them too wide, and Baku watched him disappear into the seemingly never ending palace. 

"His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and his kingdom is one that will never be destroyed" - Daniel 7:14

Baekjin found himself in the middle of another strom, but this time he had a roof over his head and warm clothes on his bruised back. He was sitting at a table, writing in his journal about the daily scripture while Father Lee observed him, making sure every word was aligned with the proper path. 

If love for God is the most powerful force a human can muster, and we must share that same reverence and care to our brothers and sisters…

His hand faltered. 

Then the most powerful force in the world must be love. 

He looked up at Father Lee, hand gripping the pen till his fingers shook, but he remained calm in all other aspects. 

“Father,” he said, breaking the silence. “Is it true? That love is the greatest force of all?” 

Father Lee sighed, crossing his hands in front of him on the table. “The love of God, yes.” 

“But we must love others like we love God, right?” Baekjin was never one to argue, or even to analyze outside of what had been told to him. He knew Father Lee’s patience was wavering at his incessant questions, but he couldn’t stop, not when he had just managed to be brave. 

“Yes, Jesus said so.” 

“So love is the most beautiful thing a human could do?” 

He was exasperated, but he conceded. “Yes, in that way, it is.” 

Baekjin let out a shaky breath. 

“So what’s so wrong about a boy loving another boy?” 

For the first time in years, the room was fully silent. Father Lee insisted one could always hear the traces of the Holy Spirit in your midst, in the wind and in the soft rustle of the leaves. Baekjin always believed him, but when he tried to listen, to hear It, he couldn’t find anything at all. 

Father Lee let out a sharp exhale, head falling into his hands. 

“Father, forgive him,” His voice was pained, “for he does not know what he is doing.” 

Baekjin just stared, eyes wide in shock. He had never seen Father fall apart like this. He was always smiling, sometimes stern, but never hurt. His shoulders caved in, looking like the question had taken a physical toll on him. 

He looked up, eyes full of tears that shone against the candle light. 

“My dearest son,” he said. “Oh, how I have failed you.” 

Baekjin didn’t know what to do, he carefully let go of the pen, reaching over to put his hand on Father Lee’s shoulder, the only form of comfort he had properly learned from him. He tried his best to console him, but no words came out. He sat there, eyes full of guilt, 

But he didn’t rescind his question. 

Father Lee looked into Baekjin’s eyes, tears covering something much more sinister. 

“Baekjin,” he said, “The Lord will give you one more chance, to take that back.” 

Baekjin knew he should, every last part of him that feared death and hell shouted at him to do what he did best, roll over and apologize. After all these years of learning and worship and discipline, after everything he had put himself through. He should have the strength to see it through, to be firm like a saint, to stand with his convictions till the bitter end. 

Baekjin closed his eyes, as if asking someone, anyone for guidance in this moment. 

“I can’t.” 

Father Lee looked at him, truly looked at him for the first time since the day he took him in, studied his face that had grown over the years, and how he looked everything and nothing like that foul-mouthed boy that had dripped water over their new carpet. 

“Very well.” 

He stood up, the chair scraping back against the wooden floors. He towered over Baekjin, still on the chair. Baekjin usually bowed his head, trying to make himself smaller. Though this time he kept his head held high, looking straight forward, trying to stick by this conviction, no matter the consequences. 

“I’m sorry,” Father Lee sighed. “May the Lord forgive me.”

It had been six days, four school days, since Baku had seen Baekjin. Ever since he walked him back to the church, he figured things were returning back to what they were, or at least as close as they could. He selfishly wanted things to stay like that, even if their worldviews never truly aligned. He would have been okay agreeing to disagree, despite knowing deep down the want in his heart would never go away. And that want, that sweet and beautiful thing that Baku had felt with his whole heart, would repulse the boy he adored into another prayer. But Baku could be okay with that, as long as it was Baekjin. 

But Thursday had rolled around and Beakjin still hadn’t been to classes. Baku was starting to get worried. 

He found himself at the entrance of the church, breaking a promise he had made to himself the first time his father beat him while reciting scripture. 

He walked as if he’d burn at the touch of holy ground. As careful as he pushed the door, a loud creek echoed through the empty hall. 

He found Baekjin, standing in the middle of the place, sweeping up the floors. 

“Hey,” Baku said, swallowing his fears and stepping inside. “You haven’t been to school so I–” 

He barely made it past the threshold before Baekjin was running up to him, pushing him back outside the door. They stumbled a bit, falling down the short flight of stairs on shaky feet. Baku had managed to stabilize them both, Baekjin holding onto his arms for support. 

“What was that?” Baku asked, eyebrows furrowed. “What, you spent so long trying to get me to come here and now you’re pushing me out the door?” 

He couldn’t help but get defensive. Maybe Baekjin had remembered their differences, maybe the soft look in Baku’s eyes when Baekjin smiled had revealed too much. Maybe Baekjin was disgusted by him, like he knew he would be. 

“I’m sorry,” Baekjin said, hands still holding onto Baku’s shoulders, head bowed. “I… now is just not a good time.” 

Baku’s eyes traced over his bare arms, widening in horror when he found his skin littered with fresh cuts and bruises. 

Baekjin immediately tried to pull back and hide, but Baku’s hand grabbed his wrist, forcing him to bear the full truth. 

“What happened to you?” Baku asked, voice louder. “Who did this to you?” 

Baekjin laughed, but it wasn’t the same sweet one that Baku had cherished. It was bitter and broken, tearing at the scratchy edges of his throat. 

Something in him had finally cracked open, something that remained unbroken through the lonely nights in hallowed halls, during every lash and every sharp blow of pain, something that only Baku’s tender voice could undo in him. 

“Humin-ah,” Baekjin said, shoulders shaking as he surrendered to his hold. “Do you know, you were the only happy thing about my childhood.” 

Baekjin kept laughing, even as tears spilled out of his eyes and onto the asphalt road, pouring down like the storms Baekjin was so used to. 

“You made my life something worth living,” he said, whole body trembling. “But happiness is so fickle, and it always leaves, making the lows feel even more lonely.” 

He forced his head upwards, looking into Baku’s eyes, showing him in full glory the black eye blooming on his face. 

“So I’m sorry, I got so damn tired of suffering. Suffering for no reason.” 

He was unravelling, words that he never even admitted to himself spilling out. 

“I just want it all to mean something,” he sobbed. “To know that one day, my bleak and empty existence will end. And I get to be happy.” 

He wanted to reach to hold Baku, but he was too scared, instead using his free hand to clutch his own chest, feeling the pain ripple worse than every lash and every bruise. 

“I don’t care how long it takes,” his voice scratching like claws on skin. “I just wanted to be promised something I couldn’t believe, that my suffering will end.” 

“But you…” he laughed, fonder, but still wretched with pain. “You had to go and ruin it. You had to remind me what it was like to be a person again, to feel things. And now everything hurts, all the things that used to feel like nothing hurt so fucking bad.” 

Baku finally let go of his hand, making Baekjin sway. For a few cruel seconds, Baku was sure he was about to walk away, but instead he fell into him, unable to do anything else. His body is limp, and Baku’s heart hurts as he wraps them around him, like trying to warm up a freezing body. 

“Baekjin-ah,” he said, running his hands through his soft hair. “Don’t say that, it does mean something. It will end.” 

“How can you know?” He asks. 

“I just do.” 

But that wasn’t good enough, not anymore. 

He let himself hold Baku one last time, hand slipping between his fingers like they used to. They stood before the altar far behind them, yet still present, watching each gentle touch and reverent confession. 

His voice dropped to a whisper, 

“You know I will always love you.” 

Baku closed his eyes, trying to keep himself from crying. He let his forehead drop, pressing against Baekjin’s. 

He stayed there for a few more selfish moments. The words he had waited years to hear finally made their way past the soft lips he had loved so much, only he wished they were under different circumstances. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he could imagine they were normal people on their third date. Baku would take him somewhere nice, impress him with a stupid carnival game, and kiss him at the front of his doorstep. Then Baekjin would say it, when it’s safe and sweet and not loaded with enough tragedy to take them both down. 

But this was reality, and Baku needed to know. 

He let out a shaky breath. “More than your God?” 

Baekjin sighed, pressing his weight firmly against Baku, even when it hurt the nearby bruises. He held his hand so tight like he never wanted to let go, fingers softly caressing the knuckles before pulling back. 

Baekjin slipped out of his grasp, wiping up his tears and picking up his dustpan, ready to walk back into his one personal cage. 

“Wait,” Baku grabbed the hem of his shirt. “You’re seriously going to go back there? After…” 

His eyes raked over his bruise covered body again, heart almost bursting with rage, pain, and guilt. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Baekjin asked like it was something mundane.

“Because! Because they hurt you,” Baku was struggling to explain the sheer absurdity of it all. 

“They don’t,” Baekjin laughed. “Everything that has happened to me happens because I deserved it.” 

“Come on, Baekjin.” Baku groaned in frustration. “Why won’t you fight back?” 

Baku didn’t know how to convince him. He wanted to take him away from this nightmare, to shock him back to life and remind him who he used to be. He wanted Baekjin to remember the boy who would make fun of Humin’s hair and insist on the right answers, even when the older kids thought they were smarter than him. He wanted him to feel, even if he hated it, what it was like to be alive. 

Baku didn’t know what came over him, his body moving without him. He swung his hand back and punched Baekjin across the face. 

Baekjin stumbled back from the impact, but he barely felt the pain. He looked at Baku, eyes wide not out of betrayal, but curiosity. Why didn’t it hurt? 

Baku grabbed him by the collar, shaking him back and forth, like he was trying to wake him up. 

“COME ON!” He yelled into his blank expression. 

He shoved Baekjin backwards, letting him stumble. 

“Fight back!” His voice broke, shaky steps walking towards Baekjin to jab him across the chest. 

Baekjin let out a sharp exhale, but nothing more. 

“FIGHT BACK!” Baku was losing his mind, shoving Baekjin’s shoulder, kicking his foot, his actions childish. It reminded Baekjin of how they used to play fight, only making him smile softly. 

Baku couldn’t take it. He hated how his body had failed him. He hated how his strength was always proportional to his anger, and he hated even more because Baekjin was never the one he blamed. 

He tried one more time, a sharp kick to Baekjin’s leg. 

Baekjin doubled down, pretending to fall. 

This only made Baku snarl. He was on him in seconds, landing punches onto his chest, right between his ribs, like he was trying to get to his heart. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Baku’s voice was choking on sobs, eyes glassy as he blocked the glare of the midday sun. 

His hand trembled, landing weakly on Baekjin’s chest. 

“W-why are you just lying there?” 

Tears fell onto Baekjin’s cold skin as Baku grabbed his pale fist, balled it and shoved it onto his own chest. 

He moved with more aggression than he had this whole time, forcing Baekjin to punch him. Again. Again. Till broken sobs escaped his lips, until a bruise had bloomed across his skin. 

“Fight… back…” he begged, hands wrapped tenderly around Baekjin’s wrist. “Come on, Baekjin-ah…” 

He landed one more punch, bringing the hand up to his face. He dragged it back, not even scared of the sharp pain, smiling bitterly through the tears. 

Only then did Baekjin finally resist. He held himself steady, acting against Baku’s grip, pulling his fist to make contact with his cheek. 

Baku screamed, something incoherent about this not being what he meant. He kept trying, tugging with what was left of his strength. 

“Baekjin-ah,” he sobbed, his fingers falling apart, his body thrashing forward, burying his face against his chest. He was a mess, snot and tears spilling onto Baekjin’s Sunday best. His hands twisted in the perfectly lined fabric, begging to still feel a beating heart under them. 

Only God can deal vengeance—Baekjin had repeated that phrase many times. But what were people to do till He finally did? Just suffer? Just wait? 

Baku never thought he’d see the day he begged for Baekjin’s violent nature, for his sharp tongue and even sharper knuckles. 

Maybe it was because he knew deep down, this was his fault. He had turned Baekjin into the corpse-like-saint lying below him, stoic and placid like their marble statues. Maybe if he had looked into Baekjin’s eyes instead, said he understood where the anger was coming from, that it wasn’t right to hurt but it wasn’t wrong to feel. Maybe he shouldn’t have let him wander off that night, and even if his dad would have beat his ass, maybe he should have chased him down, snuck him into his bedroom and let him share the rest of the story. 

He taught Baekjin how to hurt. He taught Baekjin not to hurt. But he had never taught him how to keep himself from pain. 

A tear fell off the corner of Baekjin’s ever unreadable eyes. Baku didn’t know who it came from, but a hand cradled his back, soft and gentle. 

Baku sobbed harder, to him Baekjin’s sweetness was only proof of how far gone he was, of how little self respect he had left. How the Baekjin he had loved was nothing more than a shell of his old self. 

And yet he stayed, cradling in his arms a body that had forgotten how to protect itself. 

He held him tighter anyways. 

“For dust you are and to dust you will return.” - Genesis 3:19