Chapter Text
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”
Nervousness was not something that was unknown to Ray. There had been times in his life where he had almost passed out before a show, gut filled with so much fear he felt the only thing he could do was scream. Those feelings, the stress, the sickening guilt, the fear was all coming back tenfold by being there.
His mother had said it would be a good idea to go visit the new priest who had been ordained not even a month ago. All of the people who went to the church in town said he was very kind, and very personable. He helped run the youth group, bringing in more young people than the church had seen in years.
Ray had not met him yet. He believed that this man could be too good to be true. No respectable young man would choose to come to a small New Jersey church, when he could go anywhere else in the world.
“It has been… uhm,” Ray paused. He didn’t know when the last time he had been at church. Long enough for Ray to forget who their previous priest was.
“Take your time. I am in no rush, Mr. Toro.” The Father spoke. His voice pointed at Ray with such interest. Not at all what was expected. He sounded young, younger than Ray could have imagined. A short distance between the two of them muffled the sound of the Father. Barely a few feet between them, blocked by the walls of the confessional.
“It has been a long time since my last confession I guess,” Ray muttered quietly to himself. “I just began a new job, here in Belleville. It is going okay so far, well, according to me. My family still thinks I should be off in New York.” Ray thought about what he said. The band had split due to “creative differences” as Frank put it. There was no bad blood, but now Ray had no income, and no outlet for his music. So, back to his hometown he went.
“What were you doing in New York?” The Father asked.
“Oh, I was in a band. We split though, they went back to their families, and I came back here. I miss them though, we had a lot of good times.”
“It seems to me that you don’t really have any sins to confess, Ray, just stories you want to share.” The Father said with a slight laugh. It was a nice laugh. Soft, and high pitched. It made Ray’s heart ache slightly.
“Oh! Right.” Ray had completely forgotten why he was there in the first place. The Father had that kind of soothing effect on Ray, a wave of understanding washing over him in the Father's presence.
When The Father asked about his confessions, the feeling in Rays’ gut came back. He didn’t want to tell the Father what his feelings were, or where they were coming from. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he should bring up the sinful fact that he would rather be loved by another man, than a woman.
Ray began to panic. His breathing getting shallow and echoing through the confessional booth.
“You know,” the Father started slowly, “the church is a sacred place. You can say what you want without any judgment, so long as I am here.”
He paused.
“Anything?” Ray asked.
“Yes.” Said the Father. “Anything.”
“Well,” Ray began, “for the past few years of my life, after leaving Belleville, I have been experiencing, thoughts. About other men.”
Ray heard the Father inhale quietly. His face began to feel hot and flushed as he continued.
“I know that within the church there are certain… Ideas against that. But, I feel happier knowing who I am. I am not ashamed of it.” Ray felt relieved. He finally told someone who wasn't apart of the band, or at a skeezy bar with dim lighting. It felt freeing.
“Ray,” The Father said quietly, “I am very happy that you feel comfortable with telling me that about yourself.” He shuffled with his hands, something clicking in them. A rosary. Red, with the small engravings worn away from being used for so long.
“Is that all you have to say? Really, Father? No telling me to repent or pray for my saving?” Ray asked confused. He thought that would have been the most basic answer.
The Father opened the door to his side of the confessional, and stepped out. He opened the door to Ray's side after a moment of heated hesitation. “I wouldn't do that to you, Ray. You don't deserve that. And please, don't call me Father.” He said, now facing him. He was extremely handsome, eyes a sharp hazel, a piercing gaze looking into Ray's soul. The white of his collar gleaming in the mild lighting of the church.
Ray knew, in that very moment, he was screwed. Unequivocally, and unabashedly, screwed.