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Louis slams the small door shut with a loud smack!, the wooden structure reverberating with the force of it. He drops unceremoniously on his knees with a huff, grumbling indeterminate curse words under his breath. Without preamble, Louis runs a hand through his hair and begins to spill.
“Mate, I’ve had the absolute worst day and-oh, shit, you’re not supposed to call a priest mate, are you?” He sighs, rolling his eyes even though no one can see. “Great, and now I’ve cocked this up as well, fantastic.”
Louis was on the verge of panic when he ran out of his flat and away from anyone who could help him. He rushed through town, looking for anything to take his mind off things, when he saw the chapel. For someone who’s not particularly religious, he was drawn to the church doors like a moth to a flame. And that’s how he finds himself in this confession box, ready to rant until his voice is numb.
“You can call me whatever you feel is right,” the voice on the other side of the cross-patterned screen reassures him. The inside of the box is dark and small, which would normally induce claustrophobia and slight nausea in Louis, but right now he finds that he prefers the feeling of being shut away. Just for a little while. At least this way he can’t destroy any other part of his life.
“Alright,” Louis mutters, a tad uneasy now that he actually has confirmation someone is on the other side. “Do you think maybe I can just talk and you don’t say anything? No offense, but this felt easier when it was more of a shouting into the void type of thing, you know?”
There’s no response. And, oh God, maybe the priest is following his instructions but what if he like, had a stroke or something and Louis just sits in this box talking to someone who is dying on the other side?
Maybe you’re not supposed to use phrases like “Oh, God” when you’re in a confessional box. Even if it’s just in your head.
“Um…hello?” He asks hesitantly.
“You told me not to say anything!” An indignant voice cries, sounding tinny in the little space they’re in.
“Right, I suppose I did,” Louis says. “Just making sure you’re alright.”
“I’m perfectly alright. Please proceed,” the man tells him, voice much deeper and soothing now that they’re settled.
Louis sighs again. “Ok, so…I don’t even know where to start, you know? Today was so massively fucked up and I just needed to get away from everything for a little while.” There’s a silence in the box while Louis tries to organise his thoughts.
“Oh, and I tend to swear quite a lot,” Louis says, unapologetic in his honesty. “I know it’s not, like, holy or anything, but it makes me feel better.”
A light hum comes through the patterned screen, but nothing else.
“So, I guess it started when I went to sleep last night,” Louis begins. “I had this terrible nightmare, which I don’t normally have. I was on this ship and we were lost in this really rough sea and I couldn’t find an anchor and I didn’t know where I was going and I just knew I was going to die. Anyway, that doesn’t really matter, does it?”
He shakes his head as though he’s agreeing with himself that the details are unimportant. “Right. So I guess I knocked my phone off my bed because I was moving around a lot. And it landed on the tile floor and smashed completely so it didn’t turn on this morning and I was really fucking late to my lecture,” he pauses, taking a beat before he starts up again. “I’m quite late as it is, but it was really important that I was on time today. We’re doing presentations about our projects and I was meant to present first today. I’m studying English, by the way,” he adds.
The box is silent.
“And I worked really fucking hard on this presentation because I’m not a really good student, you know? I suppose I could study harder, but it’s like, impossible for me to focus on just reading or writing. Can’t seem to slow my brain down, I guess.”
Louis readjusts, his knees getting uncomfortable against the worn-down bench he’s kneeling on. The priest wouldn’t like, know, if he just readjusted himself in the box, right? He’s smaller than he cares to admit; he can probably switch positions.
“So I worked really hard on this presentation, adding music and video and making it look great, because talking in front of people is something I can actually do,” he continues, aiming to keep his voice steady as he (quite acrobatically, in his opinion) contorts himself to a sitting position, knees hunched as he rests on his bum. Of course, before he can get settled, he accidentally loses balance and his foot kicks out, connecting to the wooden wall with a loud thump.
“What was that?” The priest asks, startled. “Oh no, I’m not meant to talk, am I? Sorry!”
“That was…that was me, being an absolute arse again,” Louis explains with a heavy sigh. “Don’t worry about it.”
He interprets the subsequent silence as encouragement and picks up where he left off.
“You might be wondering why I’m studying English when I just told you I’m not even smart enough to fucking study, but I do like to read. And I really want to be a drama teacher, and to teach drama you really need to understand literature and know how to interpret it. Anyone can read but it takes more to actually understand the reasoning behind the words and figure out how it’s meant to be acted,” Louis tells the priest. Then he stops, his brain catching up to what he just said.
“That sounds so stupid, oh my God.” He sighs, tugging on his fringe and wondering if he should just get up and leave before he makes this day even worse.
“It’s not stupid. You’re not stupid,” the soft but firm voice answers, steady and comforting.
Louis hesitates, mulling over how to answer that as he chews on his bottom lip, but he’s interrupted before he even begins.
“Erm, right,” the priest mumbles. “No talking. Shutting up now, sorry.”
Louis laughs despite himself, a small scoff escaping from between his lips.
“I have to say,” Louis starts, “I didn’t think priests could really use the phrase ‘shutting up.’ But no judgment, right?”
“Right,” he hears in response. “Oh, crap.”
Louis laughs for real this time, a sharp staccato in the enclosed space they’re in.
“Alright, so moving on,” he announces. “I got to class about a half hour late, and my professor wouldn’t let me present because I’d missed my time. I worked so hard on this stupid project and I didn’t even get to present it and now my grade is actually going to be abysmal. Like, could probably get chucked out of uni bad.”
Louis exhales, scratching his leg absentmindedly. “So that sucked. And then I go back to my room and my roommate, Liam, jumps like a fucking deer in the headlights when I walk in. Liam and I get on pretty well, so it’s not like, normal, for him to look scared when I come home. So I asked him what’s the matter, and he starts stammering about how it was an accident and he didn’t mean to. And I look down to see that he spilled his cup of tea all over my laptop. Like, all over. The keyboard, the screen, everything. And I didn’t even know what to do that at point, so I didn’t even answer, just grabbed my skateboard and my bag and left.
“So naturally, I’m skateboarding down the street and that’s when I see my massive wanker of an ex-boyfriend, Tom, with this other bloke. And like, I’m not still into him or anything, we only dated for two months and he was a giant twat.”
Louis stops short, realising that he maybe shouldn’t be spouting off about his homosexuality to a priest, of all people.
“Um…”
“There’s nothing wrong with being gay, if that’s what you’re worried about,” the priest answers. “Absolutely nothing. God loves everyone, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Well, it’s nice to know you won’t be damning me to eternal hellfire or whatever,” Louis remarks, before mentally kicking himself for being so flippant to a kind-hearted stranger who’s been nothing but nice and helpful while he tells him all about his crappy day.
“And, um, thank you for that,” he adds, voice so quiet it’s a nearly whisper.
“Please, go on,” Louis hears. So he does.
“So I see Tom pointing at me with this other guy, and naturally that’s when I skate over a rock and go flying. And I land on my wrist, which really fucking hurts, and I also rip my favorite jeans. And all these people are laughing at me so much that I just want to die, really.”
Louis swallows thickly, anger and humiliation bubbling in his throat as he delves deeper into what is quite possibly the worst day of his life.
“And someone reaches down to help me up and asks if I’m alright, so what do I do? I snap and tell him to fuck off. Really meanly, I might add. And that’s before I look up and see that it’s this boy who lives in my halls, Niall, who would never hurt a fly. And I just told him to go fuck himself so he looks upset and I feel like even more of a dick than Tom, who’s laughing his arse off with his new fucking boyfriend!”
Louis’ voice is rising now, higher and faster as he rushes to get through this story, knowing the worst is yet to come.
“So now I don’t have a phone, a laptop, a decent pair of jeans and I insulted the nicest person on the planet. And I don’t have a lot of money, or any money, really. I got sacked from my last job two weeks ago and I haven’t found anything else yet.”
Louis can feel his face heating as he gets to the next, and final part, of this awful story.
“So I walk back to my flat and take Liam’s phone, without even asking, to call my mum, because I know she’ll panic if she tries to ring me and my phone is still broken. And that’s when she mentions the twins’ birthday party this weekend, and I realise I won’t fucking be able to go or bring them the cupcakes and presents I promised them.”
Louis realises the priest doesn’t know his family and that it would be wise to explain the army of siblings he has, at least briefly.
“I have six younger siblings, and the four youngest are two sets of twins. The older twins, Daisy and Phoebe, turn thirteen this weekend but I won’t be able to pay for a train ticket to get to their party, because I somehow have to buy a new phone, a new laptop, and a new pair of jeans.”
"But I couldn’t tell my mum why I can’t go because then she’ll try to pay for at least one thing, and she can’t afford that,” Louis tacks on, blinking back tears as the disappointment in his mum’s voice echoes in his head.
“The youngest twins are only babies, she can’t spend her time and money worrying about me. So I told her something came up, which sounded like bullshit to me, let alone her, and I didn’t have anything to say when she asked what could be more important than my sisters, because nothing is, really.”
He exhales sharply, squeezing his eyes shut as he goes on.
“So she puts Phoebe on the phone and her little voice gets so upset when I tell her I won’t be able to attend her birthday party, and, uh…”
And that’s when Louis finally breaks. Tears are pouring down his face, hot and thick as he swallows again, trying to catch his breath so he can finish the story.
“So my mum gets back on the phone and tells me I’ve made my sisters cry, and I can’t live with myself if I’ve made them cry. And I can’t even talk to my mum now because I feel like such shit, so I just hang up on her. I just hang up on my mum! In all my years of being a pretty difficult child, I have never done that before. And now mum’s mad at me and my sisters are upset and…and I don’t know, I just don’t want to do this anymore.”
Tears are dangling from his chin as he snorts and sniffles, words coming out faster and wobbly as he forces them out.
“I just…I want my mum and my bed and I really miss my best friend, Zayn, who dropped out of uni a few months ago. We haven’t even spoken since then, except for one stupid fight. And that’s unfair too, because Zayn is so smart and passed all of his classes without even going to half of them and he just threw the whole thing away, while I can barely make it and I’m trying so fucking hard.”
Louis exhales shakily and wipes his face, scrubbing a hand down from his fringe to his chin.
“And now I’m fucking crying in a confession box and I’m not even religious. Fuck.”
The two sit in silence for a beat, Louis sniffling and trying to readjust himself before he accidentally bumps the wrist he fell on onto the altar.
“FUCK,” he bellows, loud enough that he can somewhat make out the priest jump on the other side of the screen.
“Are you alright?” The concerned priest asks, worry lacing his voice.
“Just bumped my bad wrist is all,” Louis mumbles, resting his arm gently on his lap. “Fucking great.”
“Look, can I talk now?” The voice ventures into the darkness of the box, its hesitant nature a sharp contrast to Louis’ own angry and emotional display.
“By all means,” he invites drily, defeat flat on his tongue. It’s not like anything he hears can make today worse.
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” the priest tells him, point-blank. “Seriously. For starters, you’re not stupid. Some people aren’t meant to study at a desk, and that’s fine. It’s not stupid or dumb or worse than what anyone else does. Next time you have to read a book, take it to the student gym. Hop on an exercise bike and just bike while you read. It should help you slow down and concentrate. And membership is free for uni students, so it won’t cost you anything.”
Louis wants to argue, ready to point out that he’s lazy by nature and loathes exercise of any sort except football, but the priest might have a point.
“Next, you’re going to either email your professor or show up at his or her office and explain the situation,” the priest instructs. “If you already had the presentation done, it should easy to be prove. From how hard you worked on it, it sounds like you know your stuff.”
Louis doesn’t say anything back. As he listens to the priest’s advice, he can feel his breathing steady out and the pit in his stomach begin to unclench.
“And you’re going to text Niall or show up at his door and apologise. Tell him you had a bad day and you didn’t mean to take it out on him and he’ll forgive you. If you’re that worried about it, take him to a pub and all will be forgiven.”
Louis snorts at that, because pints and Niall are so symbiotic that even a priest knows. But…how would the priest know that?
“Wait,” Louis says, but the priest plows over him.
“You’re also going to get a doctor to look at your wrist, because if it hurts that bad from you brushing it against the wall then it’s definitely not anything good,” he lectures, strict and serious. “And then you’re going to call your mum and tell her all about your day and let her buy you a train ticket, because it means alot to you and your sisters and your mum that you’re at that birthday party. You might have younger siblings who need her, but you’re still her child, and you deserve her attention too. Your happiness, your whole family’s happiness, is worth more than the cost of one train ticket.”
Louis starts to protest but all he gets out is a, “bu-“ before he’s cut off again.
“And you’re going to go back to your flat and tell Liam all about your day, from start to finish. He’ll understand why you acted the way you did today and he’ll probably forgive you.”
The priest takes a deep breath and Louis swears he can see the glow of a phone from behind the screen.
“And then you two are going to go to the Apple store and ask for Nick. He’s going to try to help you out with the phone and the laptop. But before you do that, you should make sure your laptop is completely unplugged and leave it open with a fan on to try to dry it out for a few days.”
“How did you-“
“After you do all of that,” the priest continues, “you’re going to take a really hot shower and put on some comfortable clothes. And then you’re going to take the night off, because you’ve had a lot on your plate today and you need a night to rest. Ok?”
“I…ok,” Louis stammers, wanting to protest but unable to deny how good all of that sounds right now.
“Excellent,” the voice says, sounding pleased. Louis doesn’t need to see the priest to know he’s smiling.
He’s a little confused, because the most he expected was a prayer and maybe a “go forth in peace,” but he’s not complaining.
“Thanks a lot for all your help,” Louis says, spirits considerably uplifted as he moves to finagle himself out of his hunched position with one arm.
“Actually?” The voice asks, trepidation laced in the word.
“Yes?” Louis replies, groaning as he pushes himself back into a squatting position.
“I kind of feel like I have to tell you I’m not actually a priest,” the man says.
“You’re what?!” Louis squawks, falling back on his bum in surprise. “Ouch!”
“Seriously?” The man says, biting back annoyance. “Stop moving and keep your wrist still!”
“Seriously?” Louis echoes, sarcasm dripping in his tone. “Stop lecturing me and tell me who the fuck you are!”
“I’m Harry,” the man on the other side sighs. “And I’ve been stuck in this confessional for a few hours, so if you could be a pal and let me out, that would be a big help. Please, before I piss myself.”
Louis rolls his eyes and mutters “Jesus Christ,” before getting to his feet and stepping out of the confessional.
“How the fuck do you get yourself stuck in a priest’s confession box when you’re not even a priest?” He rants as he attempts to pull open the door to Harry’s side. “Shit. This really is stuck,” he tells Harry, grunting as he pulls on the door with all his might.
“Here, I’m going to try to push on it from the inside,” a muffled voice offers through the door. “On the count of three…”
Louis reaches three and pulls the door as Harry pushes. The door flings open, the force of it pushing Louis flat on the ground again.
“Bloody hell, my fucking bum,” he mumbles, wincing as he stands again.
“Oops,” Harry murmurs.
“Hi,” Louis says, taken aback by how utterly pretty Harry is.
“Wait, I know you!” Louis cries, taking in Harry’s bright green eyes and messy curls. “You’re in that garden club that planted all the flowers by the science hall!”
Harry grins sheepishly, laughing a bit as he nods his head. “That’s me. I know who you are, too. I saw you in Grease last term. You have a lovely voice.”
Louis blushes and Harry moves on.
“Sorry I tricked you into thinking I was a priest for an hour,” he mumbles, looking guilty as he fixes his eyes to the floor.
Louis laughs, blue eyes gleaming as he scans Harry from head to toe, down to the scuffed toes on his beat up Chelsea boots. “That’s quite alright. You actually give pretty good advice.”
Harry smiles wider this time, shifting his weight from one pigeon-toed foot to the other. “Glad to hear it.”
“But,” Louis starts, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a lopsided smile spreading across his face. “I have to ask. How the hell did you get yourself locked in a confessional box?”
“I was bringing the donations here!” Harry says. “I collected old clothes on campus for a few weeks and I’m donating them to the church rummage sale. And I actually volunteer here quite a bit,” he adds, pulling the crucifix necklace he wears from under his shirt to emphasise his point. “And, well, I saw the box open and I wanted to see what it was like from the other side. And then I got stuck.”
“I,” Louis starts, before snapping his mouth shut again. “You know what? I don’t even have anything to say to that.”
“I’m surprised,” Harry teases, dimple poking in his cheek. “You seemed full of words a few minutes ago.”
“Hey!” Louis yelps, furrowing his eyebrows and crinkling his delicate nose. “I thought it was your job to listen! You fucking conned me!”
“I’m only joking,” Harry giggles, holding up his palms in defense. “You know, for someone who thought you were speaking to a priest, you really did swear a lot.”
“Didn’t you say you were about to piss yourself?” Louis asks with irritation, lifting a singular eyebrow.
A look of panic crosses Harry’s face and he nods, scurrying off to the restroom. When he returns, he’s surprised to see Louis waiting for him, looking small in the large cathedral.
“Do you need some more advice?” Harry asks.
“No, I think you’ve settled that,” Louis says, smiling. “But I do need a cup of tea, and I was wondering if you would like to come with me?”
Harry beams, face lighting up as he runs a hand through his long mane of curls.
“I’d love to,” he tells Louis, smiling at the way Louis’ body visibly relaxes, shoulders dropping and eyes crinkling as he grins. “But,” Harry continues, taking Louis’ small hand in his, gingerly running his fingers along Louis’ swollen wrist. “We’re taking a detour to the A&E first.”
Louis fractured his wrist, but Harry’s there to draw silly doodles and write little poems on his cast. He’s there when Louis meets Nick, Harry’s friend from the campus radio station, and Nick writes an entire list of false claims that get Louis a new iPhone for free, courtesy of the Apple store where Nick works.
He’s there when Louis takes Niall, who’s actually one of Harry’s best friends, out for pints, Liam joining them with a new pair of jeans for Louis as an apology for making his laptop sticky but otherwise functional. He’s there when Louis gets on the train to Doncaster, sending him off with a box of cupcakes from the bakery he works at and a first kiss that leaves Louis’ mouth tingling for an entire train ride. He’s there in Louis’ bed, running his fingers through Louis’ fine hair when Louis gets lonely and homesick. He’s there when Louis bumps into Tom on the street, Harry’s long fingers securely intertwined with Louis’ smaller ones.
And he’s there when Louis walks across the stage at his graduation, a triumphant beam lighting his face brighter than the sun when he sees Harry in the audience, cheering like mad with Louis’ mum, stepdad, and all six of his sisters and brother.
Louis’ bad days are always better after that.