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Chapter Text

Lawrence massaged his forehead. The pain behind his eyes had returned, more blinding even than before. “Who knows about this, apart from O’Malley?”

“Only yourself.”

They sat in silence. Benítez said, “Of course, we are forgetting: there is one other who knows this secret.”

Lawrence looked at him in alarm. “Who?”

“God.”

The two emerged from the Room of Tears in the late afternoon, with Benítez being greeted by a round of cheers and applause as he made his way to the altar of the Sistine Chapel. 

This secret, Lawrence realized, did not fundamentally change who he believed Benítez to be. As he watched the new Pope greet each Cardinal Elector individually with an embrace and a message of support, rather than receiving the traditional pledges of allegiance in the papal throne, he felt a sense of relief. Lawrence knew that despite everything, they had chosen the right man. 

That evening, Lawrence stood, partially hidden by the grandeur of the announcement to come, on the balcony of St. Peter as Cardinal Santini spoke into the microphone to the crowd of a quarter million: “ Habemus Papam !”

Benítez stepped through the curtains, his head bowed in humble submission, greeted by the sound of thousands of voices raised in celebration at the sight of the new Pope. 

As Pope Innocent XIV gave the Urbi and Orbi to the crowd gathered in St. Peter's Square, Lawrence attempted to blink away the bright spots that had begun to plague his vision. The crowd was unbearably loud, and the flood lights illuminating the balcony made Lawrence feel like he was staring directly into the sun. This was a joyous occasion for the Universal Church, and Lawrence kicked himself mentally for the thought that he could not wait for it to end. The migraine that had been building behind his eyes since the beginning of the Conclave was almost at a point where it could no longer be ignored, and he prayed that he would be able to make it until the end of the speech without incident. He took a deep breath and tried to fight the nausea that was taking over his body. 

From where Bellini was standing, Lawrence looked like he was seconds away from keeling over. Every time the crowd cheered, he noticed that Lawrence winced, occasionally closing his eyes and taking long, drawn out deep breaths. He was swaying on his feet, and looked, overall, like a man who was about to pass out. Bellini had known Lawrence for decades, and he was aware that Lawrence often worked until he dropped, neglecting his physical health as though ignoring his body would simply make it go away. The Conclave had been a stressful and exhausting exercise, but Lawrence, as Dean, had been under a substantial amount of pressure as the one managing the election. Instead of watching the Pope, Bellini kept his eyes fixed on Lawrence, worried that if he looked away for a second, the other man would collapse under the watchful eye of hundreds of television cameras, the embarrassment of which he knew would likely kill Lawrence on its own. 

As Lawrence awaited the end of Innocent XIV’s first papal address, he focused on remaining upright. Lawrence was prematurely mortified at the thought of passing out from the white hot pain behind his eyes and having it immortalized for all time, from every angle, on every television broadcast and social media website. He thought momentarily that if he were to pass out on this balcony, he hoped that the Lord would also call him home as he did, as he was certain he would never be able to move on from the embarrassment. Lawrence shook his head in disgust at the thought, and asked God to forgive him for the weakness he had just displayed. Even the slightest shake of his head had managed to put the pain into overdrive, and he tasted bile as it began to rise in his throat. The crowd cheered loudly, and Lawrence realized that Benítez had turned around. Mercifully, the speech was over, and though Lawrence had not heard a word of it through the pain and the sound of a waterfall rushing in his ears, he quickly composed himself, feeling the eyes of the Pope on him. 

“How was it?” asked Benítez as he waved away the hands of the Cardinals beside him who were attempting to help him down from the top step of the balcony. 

It would have been a lot better if I had actually heard it , thought Lawrence. “Wonderful, your Holiness.” he replied, noticing how Benítez flinched at the words “your Holiness”. 

Benítez motioned for Lawrence and Bellini to follow him as he stepped through the curtain, “I wanted to make sure that I communicated to the crowd that the Church will move forward with a sense of unity, despite these dark times. Did I do that? I’ve never spoken in front of so many people before, and I think I must have blacked out a little up there…” Benítez said with a shy smile. 

“Absolutely, your Holiness. I could not have imagined a better message, your vision for the future was clear.” replied Bellini, sneaking a worried glance at Lawrence, who was walking on the other side of the Pope with the same contorted expression from earlier back on his face. 

“Thank you, your Eminences, you have been most helpful to me this evening. I shall continue to need your advice and counsel” answered Benítez, who then lowered his voice, “Cardinal Lawrence, I meant what I said earlier about you continuing as Dean, and Cardinal Bellini, I would like you to be my Secretary of State.”

“I would be honoured, your Holiness” replied Bellini, looking again at Lawrence, who appeared not to have heard any of the conversation that had just taken place. Bellini cleared his throat in hopes of indicating to Lawrence that it was his turn to speak. The noise broke Lawrence out of the trance he seemed to be in, and he let out a small “I’m sorry?”

“I would like you to continue as Dean of the College.” Benítez repeated.

Lawrence sucked in a fast breath of air. He was on the verge of tears, disastrously nauseous, and had blind spots in his vision. He felt as though he was barely conscious, but at the same time, felt a pang of disappointment in himself for having made Benítez repeat himself. “Of course, but I would again repeat my first piece of advice of not making promises of office too hastily, your Holiness.” he said, attempting to force a smile to make the last part of the sentence come off as playful. 

“I need you, Thomas. The position is yours.” Benítez replied softly, his dark eyes studying Lawrence with an emotion that only God Himself would have been able to decipher. 

“Ah.” There was no escape from his position as Dean of the College of Cardinals, Lawrence thought. Two Popes had now refused to let him go, and he wondered why God was so determined to have him remain a manger. He felt the tears that had been threatening to come out begin to form in his eyes, both from the pain, and from the absurdity of the situation he found himself in. “Well, who am I to deny the wishes of his Holiness? I will stay if that is what you require.”

Benítez breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, I do not know if I would be able to handle this without you or Cardinal Bellini” he smiled warmly, “You should both return home to rest, I have been told that I have other duties to attend to this evening, but I will see you both tomorrow.”

Lawrence and Bellini bowed in recognition, thanking him for his kindness. Bellini quickly confirmed the schedule for the next day, and then the Pope bid them both a goodnight before being whisked away to some other task. 

As soon as Benítez was out of sight, Lawrence began making a beeline to leave St. Peters’ Basilica. Now that the Conclave had ended, he could return to his apartment in the Palace of The Holy Office, and he had already moved his few belongings back into it earlier in the day after their seclusion had ended. He lived only 5 minutes away from the Basilica, but made it only 10 seconds before Bellini stopped him in his tracks. 

“Are you alright?” Bellini gripped Lawrence’s elbow to stop him from going any further, his eyes wide with concern. 

Lawrence was not alright. Lawrence wished that God would strike him down right there and end his suffering. The pain behind his eyes was unbearable, and he guessed that he only had a few minutes of composure left before he would no longer be able to speak in coherent sentences. Every sound and smell within the Basilica caused his head to throb violently, and he needed nothing more than to escape to a dark room. “Of course I am.” 

“I’m not sure I believe you, Thomas, I thought you were going to pass out on the balcony.” Bellini responded, still holding on to his elbow, as though he was terrified that the other man was going to run away from him, “You didn’t hear his Holiness ask you to stay on as Dean! Did you even hear his speech?”

“I’m fine, just a little bit tired from the Conclave. It’s nothing for you to worry about, my dear Aldo.” Lawrence replied, putting all of his remaining energy into plastering a reassuring look onto his face. He needed to get out of St. Peters’ immediately. 

Bellini reluctantly let go of his elbow. “Are you lying to me?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” God, forgive me , thought Lawrence. He would confess his sins tomorrow, but today, he could not be the reason that Aldo worried. He knew he had caused the man enough trouble during the Conclave, as well as a lifetime of worrying throughout their entire friendship. 

“Okay…” Bellini said skeptically, “Will you call me if you need anything?”

“Of course!” Lawrence responded through gritted teeth, his forced tone of voice piercing his ears. With that, he made his way out of the Basilica. He walked faster through the cloisters of the Vatican than his aging body had managed in years. Lawrence again tasted bile in his mouth as he finally made his way into the Palace of The Holy Office, and he fumbled frantically for his key in his pocket as he reached apartment no.2. 

Clumsily, he unlocked the door and nearly fell inside, immediately throwing off his biretta. Lawrence did not bother to turn any lights on, feeling his way around in the darkness as he rushed to the bathroom. As soon as he crossed the threshold into the bathroom, the bile that had been rising in his throat at last made its way up to his mouth. Lawrence fell to his knees in front of the toilet and emptied out the contents of his stomach. It happened rather quickly, because Lawrence had not eaten anything that day, and had also consumed a minimal amount of food the day prior. He knelt there, head still in the bowl of the toilet, tears stinging his eyes, and prayed that in the very least, the vomiting was over. Any relief he felt was short lived, though, because the piercing pain in his head had no intention of letting him rest, and brought with it an even more overwhelming feeling of nausea than before. He stayed in this position, for how long he did not know, dry heaving between sobs and wondering if this was how he died. 

My soul is weary with sorrow; strengthen me according to your word , he repeated to himself, over and over, as he tried to find the strength to stand up. He was still devastatingly nauseous, but the dry heaving had stopped, and he was certain that what he needed now was to get up off of the floor and into a more comfortable position to ride out the rest of the migraine. After what felt like an eternity, he pushed himself up, and almost fell over when he felt a sharp pain in his right eye upon doing so. If he had not known any better, he would have thought that someone had stabbed him in the eye, and was standing there sadistically twisting the knife. 

Using the walls for support, he guided himself into his bedroom, and collapsed on the bed. Lawrence was exhausted, and if he was being honest, he felt as though God was playing a sick trick on him, testing him by keeping him awake through this pain, more blinding than he had ever thought possible. Perhaps he was again being punished for having written his own name on the ballot during the Conclave? Or, for having written out his own speech as he waited for the voting to finish during the final ballot, knowing full well that he was not worthy of giving it? For which sin this punishment was to be endured, he was not sure, but he knew nevertheless that he deserved it. 

“ The one who endures to the end will be saved ” he whispered, his heart pounding in his chest as his head throbbed in unison with his heartbeat. This was not the first time this had happened to him, and it would not be the last, but despite this knowledge, he began to cry softly. The tears were in of themselves a form of torture, as every movement of his body only made the pain worse, and Lawrence felt as though this trial would never end. 

Bellini was happy to be back in his apartment in the Palace of The Holy Office now that the Conclave had concluded, and had hoped that the return to a familiar environment would grant him a reprieve from his insomnia. He realized quickly that this would not be the case, after tossing and turning in bed for hours until finally giving up when he caught a glimpse of his bedside table clock that read 2:00 AM. 

He got out of bed and made his way into his kitchen, turning on the tap and filling a glass of water before sitting down at the table to pray. A nagging thought at the back of his mind prevented him from giving his full attention to God, as he remembered how dreadfully unwell Thomas had looked when they parted ways earlier. He wondered if he should go check on the man, or if he was overthinking the entire thing. Surely it would be rude to knock on his door at this hour and wake him up, not only rude, but also entirely inconsiderate. On the other hand, he might not be asleep, and something terrible might have happened to him. Bellini felt a general sense of dread in his stomach, and prayed that God would guide his decision. 

After thinking and praying on the issue for a moment, he decided ultimately that it wouldn’t hurt to go check. After all, Thomas had his own difficulties with sleep, which made it likely that he would not be waking him, but rather providing a fellow sufferer with comfort. He changed into a sweater and sweatpants, and left his apartment, making his way over to no.2, where Thomas resided. 

Immediately, Bellini noticed that the door to Thomas’s apartment was not closed. It was closed enough that someone walking by likely wouldn’t notice that it was open, but a closer look revealed that the door was unmistakably open just a crack. This was not normal, thought Bellini, Thomas was borderline obsessive about locking doors, and this door was not only unlocked, but slightly ajar. His mind instantly jumped to the worst case scenario, and he wasted no time pushing the door open and making his way inside, quickly locking the door behind him as he listened for any sign that Thomas was home. 

At first, he heard nothing, but as he tiptoed further inside, he began to hear the sound of quiet sobs coming from the bedroom. 

“Thomas?”

Lawrence had not been able to fall asleep, as he had expected, and had been lying in his bed sobbing off and on and wondering why the pain and the nausea would not end. Not only was his head about to explode, but now, he was apparently also going insane, because he could have sworn he had just heard Aldo’s voice whisper his name from outside the bedroom. He buried his head in his pillow and prayed that his sanity would soon return, repeating the words “ the one who endures to the end will be saved ” in his head. 

“Thomas?”

It was louder this time. Maybe he was dying, and God had sent Aldo’s voice to take him. He would accept his fate with open arms, he had not expected to live much longer, anyways. Lawrence should have been comforted by this thought, knowing that the pain would finally be over, but he could not stop crying, and with every sob he felt as though someone was using blunt force to hammer an object through his head. 

Suddenly, Lawrence felt a hand on his shoulder. He was not delirious enough to believe that the hand of God was truly on his shoulder to take him to his death, and so, he thought, this must actually be Aldo. Very quickly, Lawrence realized that he had not locked the door to his apartment when he had returned home, and in fact, he did not believe he had even closed the door. This situation horrified him, and it did even more so when he imagined how he must look; facedown in bed, sobbing, and still wearing his choir dress. He looked like a mess, and he could not even begin to think of a way to convince Aldo that everything was alright, because he was certain the scene spoke for itself. 

“Thomas?” Bellini whispered, kneeling next to Lawrence, who had not responded to him the first two times he had spoken his name. 

Lawrence wanted to say something like “Please don’t worry about me, dear Aldo, I’m just a ridiculous old man, and this is not for you to deal with”, but the only thing he could muster up in response was “Mmm?”

“Oh dear God, Thomas, are you okay?” Bellini said, far too loudly, and Lawrence let out a whimper of pain, “I’m sorry, what can I do to help you?” he whispered apologetically. 

“ ‘m fine.” Lawrence forced out, so quietly that he was not sure he had actually said it out loud. Please go away, give up, leave me, I don’t deserve your help , he thought. 

“Thomas, you are not fine, stop that!” Bellini whispered forcibly, “I am going to help you whether you admit to me you need it or not. What happened?”

“Migraine. Can’t help me.” Whispered Lawrence. It was the truth. There was nothing Aldo could do to help him, there was only suffering and waiting for it to end.

Bellini sighed, angry with himself. He knew Thomas got migraines with exhaustion and nervous strain. He knew that they were so bad that when they happened, Thomas was unable to leave his bed for a day or two, and he knew that none of the prescription strength painkillers and medications Thomas had tried in the past were capable of fully taking it away. He should have taken over the Conclave when Thomas asked him to, he should have seen this coming, because maybe he could have done something to prevent it from happening. “Do you have anything for it?”

“Bathroom cabinet, on the second shelf.” Lawrence replied, still in the same barely audible whisper from before. He knew he had Almotriptan in there, but it often did not work, and when it did, it only managed to take the pain down a few notches, rather than taking it away completely. Still, he thought, Aldo will have a breakdown if he can’t do something to try to help, making it worth trying what he knew would likely be futile, for Aldo’s sake more than his own. 

Bellini rushed to his feet and made his way into the bathroom, where he quickly rummaged through the cabinet until he found what he was looking for. Careful not to turn any lights on and shock Thomas’s nervous system, Bellini navigated his way through the apartment from memory, and found the kitchen, clumsily filling a glass of water. He moved frantically back to Thomas’s bedroom, as though he believed that if it took him any longer, the Dean of the College of Cardinals would cease to exist. 

“Here, can you sit?” Bellini asked once he returned to Lawrence’s side. The question was met with a groan, so Bellini tried “turn to your side?”

With a whimper, Lawrence maneuvered himself to face Bellini. As he looked at him, he almost began to cry again, feeling wretched for making him worry so much. Tears formed in his eyes, but he blinked them away, he would not make Aldo deal with his emotional pain too. 

“Put your tongue out” Bellini held out the pill, as looks of concern, compassion, and some mysterious third feeling crossed his face. 

Lawrence let out a small chuckle, “Communion?” he asked, before doing as he was told. 

“Blasphemy.” Bellini replied with a smile, placing the pill on his tongue, and awkwardly attempting to pour water into Lawrence’s mouth so that he could swallow it. 

“Thank you, dear Aldo.” Lawrence closed his eyes. The pain had not gone away, but curiously, Aldo’s presence seemed to have made it slightly more bearable. 

“Can I do anything else?”

Lawrence carefully thought over his response. God, did you send Aldo to save me? Would I be denying You by sending him away?  Was it right to ask him to stay, to suffer with him? Lawrence had felt for so long like he could no longer hear the voice of God, but he felt as though he had been sent a sign that He was still listening. 

“Stay.” Lawrence whispered, opening his eyes again to look at Aldo. 

Bellini nodded, and then made a face as though he had just noticed something, “Can I help you take that off?”

At first, Lawrence was not sure what he was referring to. He then remembered that he was still in full choir dress. Lawrence wondered how Aldo had not noticed before, when he had been so sure that the other man would have been taken aback by the pitiful scene in front of him. “Too much movement makes it worse.” 

“The mozzetta, at least?” Bellini asked. 

Lawrence let out a soft “mhm”. Aldo removed the pectoral cross from around his neck as gently as he could, and proceeded to delicately undo the buttons on the mozzetta. Carefully, he pulled it off of Lawrence, and went to lay it on a nearby chair. When he returned, he asked if he could try taking off the rochet, too, and Lawrence put the little energy he had into propping himself up slightly so that it could be removed. The movement made him nauseous, but Aldo was being so gentle and kind that he could not deny him. Finally, Aldo unbuttoned the first four buttons of Lawrence’s cassock, acknowledging that taking the entire garment off would be far too difficult, but wanting to make it easier for him to breathe. 

He then made his way to the other side of Lawrence’s bed, and carefully laid down next to him. Lawrence was curled on his side, and could not see Aldo’s face behind him, but heard him whisper “Can I try something?”

He nodded. He felt Aldo’s fingers on his head, and took a deep breath, expecting whatever this was to hurt. To Lawrence’s surprise, Aldo began slowly massaging his scalp, relieving some of the built up tension whose presence he had been unaware of. He breathed a small sigh of relief, and felt himself relaxing under Aldo’s touch. By some combination of the medication, the grace of God, and Aldo’s kindness, Lawrence felt the migraine ease enough that he thought he may actually be able to sleep through it. As he succumbed to his exhaustion, he thought only one thing: Bless you, my dear Aldo. 

A few minutes after Bellini had begun massaging Thomas’s scalp, he noticed that he had fallen asleep. Bellini smiled. He would not allow Thomas to neglect his physical well being into this state again, and he resolved to do whatever he could to look after the man who refused to look after himself. Bellini thanked God for guiding him to Thomas that night, and realized that his inability to fall asleep had been because God knew that Thomas needed him. With his hand still resting on Thomas’s head, Bellini quickly fell asleep, despite the impossibility of that task only a few hours before. 

Chapter Text

Lawrence woke suddenly, with a deep feeling of impending doom in the pit of his stomach. Behind his right eye he could feel the dull ache of a residual pain that always stuck around for a few days after the worst of a migraine had passed. Though he had just woken up, he felt exhausted. It was a kind of exhaustion that seemed to burrow itself deep into his bones, one that beckoned him to ignore his duties for the day and to go back to bed. The sun that shone through the curtains of his bedroom painted a pattern of bright streaks on the walls and on the floor, and Lawrence had to squint his unusually light sensitive eyes to read the time on his alarm clock.

11:06 AM . 

11:06 AM!  

He felt an all too familiar wave of nausea upon coming to the realization that he had overslept by more than four hours. It was the day after the announcement of the new Holy Father, and Lawrence, as Dean of the College of Cardinals, had essential duties to perform in order to assist the new Pope with settling into his responsibilities. It was true that Lawrence wanted nothing more than to be relieved of his position in the Vatican, but this was in no way how he wanted to do it. He had agreed to stay in his role as Dean a day earlier, and had explicitly said as much to Vincent, the Holy Father , Lawrence corrected. Now, he had managed to let him down by failing to even wake up on time. The room spun as Lawrence pushed himself up and swung his legs out from under the blankets and onto the floor. He gripped the mattress in an attempt to steady himself and to fight against the dizziness that made him feel like he was riding a carousel, before standing up and quickly gathering whatever mismatched outfit he could find on the floor of his bedroom, and making his way into the bathroom. 

Lawrence closed the bathroom door and turned the shower’s temperature valve to the hottest it could go. He looked down at himself and realized with a sigh that he was still wearing his cassock, which was now horribly wrinkled from being slept in. Once he had removed the cassock and the remainder of his clothes, Lawrence stepped into the shower and winced in pain as the scalding hot water flowed over his shoulders. He did not turn down the temperature, instead electing to stand under the water and take in the pain, hoping that it would calm his nerves and help him prepare himself to face his inevitable fate. He leaned his forehead against the shower tiles and prayed that Vincent (he knew that Vincent’s name was no longer his to speak, but could not bring himself to replace it with “Holy Father” again) would be gentle when he dismissed him and stripped him of his titles, knowing deep down that he did not deserve the kindness. 

When Lawrence finally stepped out of the shower and looked at his discarded cassock on the bathroom floor, he was met with a realization that made his stomach churn. He had gone to bed the previous night still wearing his full choir dress, and on the floor of the bathroom sat only his cassock. It was in that moment that Lawerence was reminded of what had happened in the hours after he had crawled into bed. His breath caught in his throat as he remembered that Aldo had been the one to take his vestments off, that Aldo had unbuttoned his cassock for him, brought him water and medication, and had laid in bed with him tenderly massaging his scalp. For a moment, Lawrence prayed that he had imagined the whole thing, and that this was simply his subconscious’s blasphemous attempt at blocking out the pain of the migraine he had endured. Lawrence’s hopes were rapidly crushed when he heard the sound of a chair being pushed against the floor in the kitchen, and when he unmistakably heard Aldo’s voice call out his name. What was he still doing in Lawrence’s apartment, in the middle of the day, on the first day of the new papacy? 

“Thomas?”

Lawrence bit down on his thumb to stifle a scream. This was an unacceptable situation to find himself in. He had told Aldo about his migraines in the past, but Aldo had never before witnessed one for himself, and Lawrence fought not to break into tears at how pitiful he must have looked to the other man. Not only did Aldo witness his pathetic show of weakness, but he was now also perfectly aware that Lawrence had severely overslept, and was about to be fired. As Lawrence considered the most efficient way to jump out of the bathroom window, he heard a knock on the door. 

“Thomas, I know you’re in there.”

He considered jumping out of the window anyways, but thought bitterly that the fall would not kill him, and he would instead have to deal with both a concerned Aldo, and the ridicule of the Curia, who would surely find out about it. 

“I’ll be ready in just a moment.” Lawrence replied, attempting desperately to hide the edginess that was no doubt present in his voice. 

As Lawrence wiped the moisture from the bathroom mirror, he gaped with mild horror at his scalded skin, his heavy and dark eyebags, and at the sickly thinness of his form. Lawrence thought to himself that he looked as he felt; ragged and damaged. He dried himself and dressed in the clothes he had brought with him, and then attempted, fruitlessly, to comb his wet hair into something more presentable. He did not know what kind of interaction awaited him on the other side of the bathroom door, and frankly, did not want to know. Lawrence reminisced for a moment on Aldo’s softness of the night before, feeling immense gratitude for the compassion of his brother cardinal, his friend, his… He dared not fill in the blank. He thought that surely Aldo had shown him compassion in the same way any other would have done, and that to assign any other emotion or motivation to it would be wholly inappropriate. His impure, sinful thoughts made him unworthy of the position he held, unworthy of his vows, and a disgrace before God. Lawrence put his hand in his pocket and found a rosary, gripping the beads as though they could save him from his desire, as though they could free him from the thoughts he had harboured about his friend since their first ever meeting all of those years ago. 

Aldo had massaged his scalp. Aldo had laid in bed with him until he fell asleep. Aldo had placed a pill on his tongue like it was the Body of Christ and had comforted him like Aldo himself was Lawrence’s deliverance. Surely this was not as Lawrence perceived it, and it could not be. This was the gentleness of a friend, and the care of a man of God who selflessly tended to his wounded flock. Lawrence could not allow himself to give into the temptation of his thoughts, which told him that Aldo was gentle and kind because he was his , because he cared for him as Thomas did Aldo. He could not stray from his vows, even in his own mind. He knew that Aldo did not, and could not, feel the same way about him, and he prepared himself to confront that reality when he opened the bathroom door to face Aldo. 

Lawrence looked down at the rosary in his hand and saw that the string holding the beads had pressed so firmly into his skin that it had begun to draw blood. He let go, tucked it back into his pocket, and wiped the blood on his pant leg. He took a deep breath and gripped the door handle. The one who endures to the end will be saved, he said to himself, finding that it had now taken a different meaning than the one it held last night. He would face Aldo, and then he would make his way to the Apostolic Palace and face Vincent, who would certainly dismiss him for his failure, before disappearing into the obscurity his sins justified. 

He opened the door and Aldo stood before him, a look of concern painted across his face. Though the sun’s rays did not usually shine through the window in the bathroom, they broke through, just this once, and illuminated Aldo’s face as though God wished to highlight his beauty only for Lawrence’s eyes. God said: let there be light, and there was light , Lawrence thought, remarking that it was as though the sun’s rays were trying to show him that there should be a halo above Aldo’s head. 

“Hello.” Bellini said, his voice low and even, like he believed Lawrence was a wild animal who might startle at too loud a noise, “For a second, I was worried that perhaps you had died in there…”

“My dear Aldo, what an appalling thought!” Lawrence replied. 

The relief he felt when he saw Aldo before him reassured him that he would be able to handle whatever punishment awaited him later in the day. He hoped that Aldo could be there with him, a grounding and comforting presence that would shield him, even slightly, from the embarrassment he was sure to experience. Still, he wondered, what was the man still doing here? Had Aldo left last night after he fell asleep? Did he meet with Vincent this morning, a meeting that Lawrence should have been present for, and come back to Lawrence’s apartment to bring him to the Apostolic Palace so that he could be dismissed? How fitting , Lawrence thought, for the man who occupies my thoughts and tempts me to break my vows to be the one to lead me to release from all of it in the end. 

“My apologies, Thomas, I’ve just been worried about you all morning while I waited for you to wake up, so I needed to make sure you were alright” Bellini said, sheepishly, like he was embarrassed by the statement. 

Lawrence repeated the words “while I waited for you to wake up” in his head. Waited, as in, he was waiting in the Apostolic Palace for him to turn up and do his job? Or, waiting, as in, Aldo had never left his apartment after the events of the night before? The first option, Lawrence thought, it had to be the first option. “I’m fine, Aldo. Though I am emotionally preparing myself to face Vin- the Holy Father… I am about to be dismissed from my position, after all.”

A look of confusion crossed Bellini’s face, who raised an eyebrow as he said, cautiously, “Why would the Holy Father dismiss you?”

“Is that not why you’re here right now? To force me to face my fate?” Lawrence responded, now equally confused.

“Your fate? What have you done to warrant dismissal?” 

Harboured impure and sinful thoughts about my closest friend since the day I met him , Lawrence thought to himself, thoughts that I continue to have at this very moment as you stand before me . “Well, I would assume it would be unacceptable, in the eyes of his Holiness, for the Dean of the College to fail to even show up to work on the very first day of his papacy, without any explanation, Aldo.” 

Bellini’s facial expression transitioned from one of confusion to one of understanding. He let out an exasperated sigh, and put his hand on Lawrence’s shoulder, “Oh God! Thomas, of course not! I let the Holy Father know this morning that you were unwell, and that you wouldn’t be able to perform your duties today.” 

“You- you what?” Not for the first time that day, Lawrence felt lightheaded. Some combination of Aldo’s hand on his shoulder and the fact that Aldo had told Vincent about his weakness made Lawrence want to collapse onto the floor. “Why would you tell him? Aldo, I-I would have endured it, no matter how exhausted I might be!”

“You shouldn’t have to!” Bellini responded, desperation breaking through his voice. His expression softened, “Thomas, I refuse to let you continue to neglect yourself. I don’t know how long you’ve been doing this, but I will not allow it to go on any longer.”

He looked at Aldo in shock, Aldo’s hand was still on his shoulder, and he had closed the distance between them as he spoke, their foreheads now almost touching. Lawrence could feel the heat of Aldo’s breath on his face as he whispered his next words, “I feel as though God calls me to you, He wants me to be here, with you, now and always.”

Lawrence felt hysterical. He looked at Aldo’s lips, and imagined what it would be like to kiss them. He began wondering if Aldo would taste like coffee, and sucked in a fast breath in an attempt to control himself. Lawrence told himself that he needed to back away, he was unsure of what he might do if they remained in this position any longer. He moved to take a step back, but Aldo’s other hand grabbed his forearm, and pulled him even closer than before. Their eyes met, a hunger in both of them that revealed decades of desire and repression threatening to come to the surface. 

He gasped, “Aldo-”

Aldo’s lips met his. Lawrence felt, for the first time in his life, release in a way that did not make him want to claw his skin off in shame. The kiss was clumsy and inexperienced, but above all else, Lawrence thought, it was human. The thought that his entire life had been spent in denial and repression of love and desire made him feel as though he had never truly lived until this moment, and he clung to Aldo like a lifeline. He thought of 1 John 4:8: Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love , and realized that this was what it was like to know God. This was what it felt like to experience divinity, to witness the beauty of God’s gift of life. Kissing Aldo felt as easy as breathing, and he found that they fit together as though they had been one since the dawn of Creation. 

When they pulled apart, Lawrence put his arms around Aldo and buried his face in the crook of his neck. Aldo’s hand reached up to gently stroke Lawrence’s hair, and he whispered softly, “I have always loved you, and I don’t care if it breaks my vows to say it.” 

Lawrence smiled, “My dear Aldo, as have I.” 

He had long tolerated the pain of believing that his love for Aldo was unrequited. He had, for years, punished himself for desiring, for faltering in his devotion to God. Lawrence had denied himself the most simple pleasures of life, believing that if he did, he may be freed from the betrayal of his sinful thoughts. Decades of believing that he was impure and unworthy could not be undone by a single kiss, but it could mark a new beginning, one where he was not a disgrace for the thoughts that he held inside. He felt that he could begin to live with renewed faith, with a new direction, knowing that Aldo would always be at his side, and that they would face whatever was to come next together. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things , Thomas thought, understanding finally that to endure was not to suffer, it was to persevere, knowing always that the one you love would be at your side.