Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

My lover called me Judas.

And I am only Judas Iscariot.

He was the Son of God.

"God is faithful; He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear." 1 Corinthians 10:13.

There's no telling how long Olivier has been sitting, reading that verse over and over. The candle had begun to dim and his eyes have begun to blur, switching in and out of focus.

"He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear."

Olivier can bear this. He will not succumb to temptation. He was raised by the church to be strong, no matter how fervent whatever feelings he had were. 

A speck of fire flew on a gust of wind, landing on that page, leaving a scorch mark that Olivier made quick to pat out. 

The candle flickers for the last time before going out. It must be late now. Olivier gets up and goes to his sleeping quarters.

"Dieu aime chacun de nous comme s'il n'y avait qu'un seul d'entre nous," a teacher had once told him.

God loves each of us as if there were only one of us.

Why, then, must he feel this way? If God truly loves him so much, why would he put him through this?

This does not seem to be the works of a kind God. But God gives his hardest challenges to his strongest soldiers. Olivier is a soldier.

"Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am becoming as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal . . ."

The teacher's voice as he reads this cuts through the entire room, leaving the wanted effect. The students feel as if the words are important, more important than they really are.

Olivier sits in a classroom with about a dozen other students. This is his favorite class with his favorite teacher. The fact that he shares this period with Roland was not a factor in this decision.

Today, they are reading Corinthians 13.

". . . But then I shall know even as also I am known," the teacher continues on. "And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three: but the greatest of these is love."

The greatest of these is love, yet he's heard the exact opposite of that. Maybe that's just the way it's supposed to be. Everything contradicts each other, and you just have to do it all somehow.

Olivier catches Roland's eyes. Roland is smiling and he looks like he might just float up to the sky and sit on the sun.

Oliver wants to come with him.

There are three.

But you say less than three.

. . . And who is going to watch us as we leave?

Olivier finds himself in the library once again, except this time accompanied by his dear friend, Roland. 

Under candlelight, Roland's hair looks like rays from the sun, as if God had put them there himself. For all Olivier knows, God has. Roland is an angel He has blessed him with. Awfully cruel of God, though, to put him through this.

Roland deeply exhales and Olivier is reminded of their proximity. He can feel his breath against his skin. They were only this close to be in the area where the candle lit up enough to read the text. There was no other reason and there would never be such. It wasn't allowed.

Roland's eyes held the same, naive, familiar sincerity that simultaneously exasperates and leaves Olivier flustered under the attention.

Olivier should die now, while he is still righteous. It's better to go to heaven wondering what would've happened than hell full of regret, or at least, that's what the teachers say.

"What's the point of this, mon ange?" Roland asks, his voice dropped down to a whisper. 

The pet name makes Olivier sigh, as it has the time before, and the time before that, and the time before that, and so on. Olivier was so far from an angel. Angels don't even begin to give in to temptation like this. Nonetheless, Roland was persistent.

Roland had started calling him that on a night where it was exactly what he needed. Olivier had been sitting in the gardens, staring at one of the many angel statues the church had sculpted. The angels didn't look like that, he thought.

His eyes started watering even though there wasn't anything particularly sad. But, if the church got something as simple as this wrong, what else could be wrong? Could he be wrong about such obvious things himself?

And maybe that's the whole reason why he's crying. Maybe there's something else, but Olivier would never admit it, and no one would ever ask him to.

The sound of footsteps and heavy breathing appeared all too suddenly and Olivier quickly brought his sleeve up to wipe his eyes. 

He knew it was just Roland. All the more reason not to be seen crying. But Roland knew. He always seemed to.

"There you are, Olivier," Roland had said. "This is a beautiful statue. I love angels."

Olivier looked up at him. Roland's gaze was laced with understanding and sympathy. He extended his hand and helped him up. Only, he didn't let go. He grabbed Olivier's back and wrapped his arms around him forcefully. The same force that holds so much tenderness at the same time. He hoped that Roland only embraced him like that. 

And then he hoped to never think that way again.

"You're my angel," Roland said at that moment and Olivier really believed it, but that was only once. He hasn't believed it since and wouldn't dare to even think like that.

Now whenever they share these all-too-close moments like this, Roland would say it again. He had to know how it affected him. How it hurts to be constantly reminded of what you're not allowed to have.

And back in the present, Roland looks at him with the same gentleness he has since that day.

"You work yourself to death everyday already, dear. Do you need to force yourself to suffer more?"

Roland's voice was soft, but his words hold that very odd sense of firmness. He always means what he says. If only life could be that easy for Olivier.

"When you are engrossed in professional work, the life of your soul will improve."

Was it unfair of Olivier to bring what the saints had said into this? Probably, but it's the only way to shut Roland up. Olivier had always worked hard, not everyone can get by with pure charm.

"Anyone who enters God's rest also rests from their works, just as God did from his. Let us, therefore, make every effort to enter that rest," Roland quotes.

Roland backed himself into his own wall with that one. 

Olivier finishes the verse, "So that no one will perish by following their example of disobedience."

Olivier knows that rest is important. He was brought up learning of the Sabbath, but work to prevent sins is not the same work others do. It's different. It doesn't deserve rest. And that's what that verse says, even the Bible recognizes it. 

Roland leans slightly closer to Olivier. It wouldn't even be noticeable if Olivier wasn't so hyper-aware of every sound and movement going on.

Roland sighs. "Disobedience? Is that what you call this?"

'This'. There isn't a real 'this', yet they both know what he means. They both know what is going on and somehow only Olivier is concerned about it.

"Love does no harm to a neighbor. Therefore, love is the fulfillment of the law," Roland finishes.

They were trekking into more dangerous territory now. Love has never been one of the big topics of discussion for Olivier. He always thought it would be distracting and he'd never met a girl he wanted to be with, anyways. And that is still true.

Roland is no girl.

"Love does not rejoice at wrongdoings, but rejoices with the truth," Oliver finds himself responding.

There's not much of a point in arguing anymore. Olivier isn't even sure that he's right. The church has told them that it's wrong, but they've been mistaken before. Like about the angel, like many other things.

"Wrongdoings? Olivier." Roland's voice was sterner now but held a sense of pity as well. Olivier didn't need anyone's pity. Especially Roland's. It was probably wrong to blame Roland for everything he was feeling, but it was so much scarier to blame himself (though he seems to end up doing it, anyways).

"The acts of the obvious: sexual immorality, impurity, and debauchery. Those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God."

"And what does this fall under?" Roland asks. "How could love be impure? Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things. They teach the wrong things, mon ange."

They teach the wrong things. It was something Olivier had thought before and it was something Roland has said before; in one of their first conversations, even.

Olivier had asked him what he thought about the church.

Roland shrugged. "It's okay. I think that people get too caught up in what people have always said rather than what is actually written. They teach the wrong things sometimes."

That had struck Olivier as a weird thing to say. It made him think, and that was a bad thing, his teachers had said. We should trust in God. No one else. Don't overthink it. Don't think of it at all.

But now, that seemed the weirder thing to say. Don't think about it at all? How can unquestioned, blind faith be faith at all? Maybe they did teach the wrong things.

But how could anyone accept that the things they've been told their whole life aren't true?

"Why?" Olivier asks now, in the present. And at this point he isn't even sure what he's saying why to. Why do they lie? Why does Roland stay? Why him?

"God is good, but they don't say 'religion of blood' without reason."

Emotions come over Olivier all too fast and he doesn't know what he's doing but he's getting closer to Roland and he's pulling him in, and the space between them closes and their lips meet. Roland doesn't seem to be surprised, but Olivier is, despite being the one who initiated it.

Roland attempts to deepen the kiss which is met with Olivier pulling back, scared at what he had just done. He shouldn't be doing this. What in the name of heaven has come over him? He needs to stop.

But Roland is looking at him like he had put the stars in the sky, and Olivier can't believe that. He can't believe that he wants to believe that.

"I'm sorry. Roland, that was," Olivier tries to say before getting cut off.

"No apologies needed, my dear," Roland says, his eyes still shining and his words silently pleading for more. Olivier understands his feeling.

Roland brings his hand up to Olivier's jaw and caresses his hand over it, his other hand snaking around Olivier's waist to pull him closer. They shouldn't be doing this, but Roland makes rules feel so far away, like he is the face of justice himself.

Roland's eyes search his own for a sign of permission and Olivier throws away everything he has ever learned away as grabs Roland's face and kisses him again.

It's alright. Two is a coincidence, three is a pattern. But Olivier might want to do this again. More than three times.

This time, when Roland tries to guide his tongue into Olivier's mouth, he lets him. And he's glad he did.

I want you to erase me.

This is a kindness. A kindness you tell me. A kindness I do not deserve.

"Then saith he unto them, My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with me . . ."

Olivier has been uncharacteristically uninterested in today's Bible study. He instead, is more focused on the folded up piece of paper Roland has passed him.

He glances at Roland to see him staring at him. Roland nods at him in encouragement to open it, read it. He looks almost nervous. This concerns Olivier.

The concern he feels transforms to mild flusterness as he reads what it says:

And Olivier cometh unto I, and findeth I at the pond behind the garden after curfew, and saith unto Olivier, What, could ye stay with me one hour?

Watch and pray, that ye give into this temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.

Sincerely, Your Dearest

He feels a smile on his face despite himself and glances once again at Roland.

It seems that Roland has found a way to pay attention to the scriptures and fluster him simultaneously. This would be mildly distressing if Olivier wasn't so busy being nervously excited. 

Olivier clandestinely walks to the garden and to the pond from there. The past few days, he has let himself free of the concerns he felt before, and he is glad he did. He wouldn't be able to truly grasp the exhilaration of this, then, if he was just worrying.

He was sneaking out past curfew to a place where students were not permitted to go, to meet up with his friend (lover? He really doesn't know).

A small part of him fears that Roland is picking away at his carefully built up dedication and faith. But, if just one person could destroy it so easily, was it ever that strong in the first place?

As he nears the pond, he catches a glimpse of golden hair and it looks like a golden dove sent from heaven, and it's Roland, and he doesn't know which would be better, but he thinks that Roland is.

"Roland?" Olivier whisper shouts as he walks to the edge of the pond where Roland is standing. Roland is a shooting star, a singing canary, a sparkling wave, an angel. And Olivier is a meteor heading straight for Earth, a vulture, a tsunami, a falling angel. And he regrets being born and he regrets standing here next to Roland, but he's all too happy to leave.

"Mon ange," Roland says fondly, like he's been saying it for ages and could keep on for the rest of humanity. 

Roland walks up to him and wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. Olivier wishes they could be even closer, to merge their souls and become one.

Olivier recipriatingly throws his arms around Roland's waist.

"I almost thought you weren't going to show up," Roland whispers, his face pressed against the crook of his neck. This makes Olivier feel guilty. Roland shouldn't have to doubt him like that, Olivier will always show up for him.

"I will come for you every time, mon agneau," Olivier says, pulling back to look Roland in his eyes.

Roland smiles at that, and his smile is strong and happy. Olivier has never been too big on pet names or affection but he knows that Roland is. And he will do anything he can to make sure Roland is okay and happy.

What would he do if he wasn't?

I expect there will be a morning when you walk up to this very gate

While I am sitting here.

I know this.

I know you less each time I see you.

Now, Olivier sits in the window sill, looking out onto the garden. He rolls the sharpened end of his crucifix necklace over his thumb, pressing down harder each time until the pain flares, and it pricks him. A small bead of blood appears in the middle of the cut and Olivier smoothes his index finger over it. His thumb is stained red with blood.

The crucifix lays against his shirt again. It's safe there.

And Olivier doesn't know if he's protecting it or himself. 

Roland has been so kind to him, but it's a kindness he doesn't deserve. It's becoming harder to know what's wrong and what's right.

His morality comes from God, but he's not even sure what God said anymore. What's really written down, what they just say. But the teachers tell him they're right, and Roland says he might be wrong.

It's easier to trust someone who says they know they're right than someone who accepts their ignorance.

So, Olivier needs to believe the teachers. He needs to believe the teachers so he can go back to being a dedicated, good young man. So he can deserve respect and the love of God.

Whatever he has going on with Roland does not deserve the love of God.

Love can most certainly be impure. Love can be impure and his love is.

He is not favored by God.

The guilt has consumed Olivier. What he has done is wrong. He needs to repent and be forgiven so he can be strong again. So he can be the hard-working, favorite child of God he always was.

So, he walks to the confession booth, full of sorrow, and pulls open the door. It creaks while it opens, as if remembering every hand that has touched it and every sin it has heard.

Over the years, it has heard much from Olivier.

He silently sits down.

"Father?" he asks.

"Yes, my son," the priest answers.

Olivier breathes out. His breath is shaky and unsure. It does not sound like Olivier, more like the breath of someone else. Someone who messes up constantly. But lately, Olivier has started to be that person.

"I have sinned, father."

"There is no sin that He will not forgive, child. Confess and you will be forgiven."

The priest's voice is loud and firm, it commands respect, and Olivier has nothing but respect to give.

So, he confesses his sin. The priest stays silent for some time after. This scares Olivier.

"You are forgiven, child. The man who led you astray, however, will have to do more than simply pray for repentance," the priest finally says.

This scares Olivier as well. He doesn't want any harm to go Roland's way, but this is for his own good.

"I understand, Father. Can I be of help in any way?"

And so the priest tells him how he can "help" and it's starting to sound more like hurting Roland than helping him, but there's no way the priest is wrong about this. Priests aren't wrong. They are holy.

Olivier knows this.

i'm literally the priest's favorite sacrificial lamb because i am so docile and sweet and i hold very still when they put the rope around my neck

and i trot along so happily while they lead me to the altar and they do not even have to tie me down because i lie so very still and only bleat once or twice in my lovely lamb voice and when the knife comes down it cuts through me like butter

and i offer no resistance and i bleed so prettily all over my new white wool and my guts all unspool like the most beautiful shining yarn and my eyes are animal and dumb and hold no accusation

and every time i die i come right back as another little lamb because the priest loves me so so much and he always chooses me for the sacrifice every time and he always places one hand on my small and twitching nose to calm me while he lifts the knife

and he doesn't do it for the other lambs only me because i'm his favorite