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Most days Yushi can't seem to do anything right.
He'd rather blame this incompetence on late May's heat. On the fact that his hands get clammy much faster than usual thus making it difficult to gather his thoughts to help around the seminar; on the fact that the shorts he wears to fight the heat make his knees bruise easily when kneeling for prayer, thus becoming a jarring task.
The funny thing is, everyone knows Yushi. They know the excuses he makes up are fragile, an attempt to regain his autonomy. Even more amusing, nobody dares to do anything about it.
It is mainly because most young seminarians need this je nais se quois in their lives preparing for seclusion. They need some sort of outside stimuli– need to taste what it feels to be led astray and then, based on that, choose if they'd rather live in prayer or rot in it.
So, to cope with this uncertainty, Yushi simply watches.
He sits down near the trees inside the seminar, journal and rosary within reaching distance, as his eyes dance carefully around every single person. He likes seeing Sister Chi arranging the bird feeders, relishes on watching how Father Asakura sits by the turtle pond every evening to write letters. Likes seeing the volunteers scramble around the yard, ignoring their tasks just as Yushi is.
It was like that how he first found him.
White tank top smeared in red paint, mat of bleached blonde hair sticking to his forehead. By his feet, a bucket of paint and a comically small brush. On his face, a mixture of natural blush, the remnants of sunscreen and droplets of paint.
He'd looked, for the lack of a better word, an absolute wreck.
Thinking back on it, maybe that was why Yushi felt so drawn to him. Something about the innate need within a church boy's heart to help.
To be useful.
Which is why Yushi thought nothing of it the first time– he stood up, confidently walked towards the stranger (a volunteer, he presumed), and handed him a small handkerchief sized towel. It was supposed to be a brief interaction, without the need to exchange a single word nor nothing else but a glance.
The stranger, however, was more than ecstatic with the sudden interruption.
Yushi recalls how the blonde's hands felt wrapping around his own, how his accent sounded foreign in a way Yushi wasn’t properly accustomed to. But neither of those things were the reason why he was painfully overthinking the interaction, no.
It was because of his eyes– that gentle gaze that swallowed him whole, that stared as if Yushi was a primordial being; the patron saint of red bucket paints, or whatever.
And that was scary.
It made no sense, it was–
“I still don’t understand why you’re so hung up on that.” Ryo murmured, tilting his head forward as Riku led the supper time prayer. “A guy needed help and you, well, helped. What’s so magical about that?”
“It’s magical because Yushi didn’t know blondes existed, duh!”
Ryo smacks Sakuya on the shoulder. “He was not a natural blonde, idiot! You could see the black roots on the back of his head, like a–”
“You didn’t see him,” Yushi’s voice is barely above a whisper, quiet enough to not raise alarm as prayer ends. The dining hall explodes in sound after that, and Yushi relaxes ever so slightly. He takes the chopsticks with care and stares at the aburasoba prepared by Ms. Fujinaga with a slight grimace. “And it wasn’t magical, either. It was just–”
“Stupid?” Ryo interrupts.
“Beautiful?” Sakuya adds, mockery slipping through his lips as he eats.
“Weird,” Yushi deadpans. “Volunteers aren’t usually that happy to be here.”
It wasn’t the happiness in the stranger’s voice what had Yushi like that, of course; but he wasn’t confident enough in his feelings to call it anything other than what it was– an oddity.
The kind of celestial pause people only ever narrate in the weird novels Riku likes to read before bed time, the kind of interruption in a usual routine that leaves you marred in a way that should definitely be studied by psychology’s greatest minds.
But, even with whatever amount of metaphors Yushi can come up with, the situation still weighs his mind down with enough force that makes him unable to remember what the stranger had said to him (Yushi does recall seeing his lips move for a while before taking the towel, before going back to painting the wall), not even if he’d told him his name.
As the rest of seminarians and staff eat away their minds, Yushi can only hope the feeling stays hidden within his chest.
But most of the time, hope isn’t enough.
The interaction stays with him for days.
It gets to the point where over-analysing the micro expressions the blonde was wearing becomes the highlight of Yushi's day (that slight scrunch on his nose when accepting the towel– was it born out of gratitude? Disgust? And the way he'd turn around after pocketing the fabric, could it count as premeditated robbery?) to the point his daily activities can no longer run smoothly.
Again.
Father Asakura had asked about it, briefly. Yushi didn’t have the heart (see also: guts) to tell him he'd been lost in the clouds over a random interaction with an equally random guy, so he'd blamed his attitude and distraction on an entirely different thing.
Crisis of faith.
Which is how Yushi now found himself in a solitary confinement room.
The funny thing about such practice is that it's not particularly frowned upon, it is simply considered a radically old fashioned way of disciplining seminarians and inquirers alike. Even still, the majority of priests find that most young people need the presence of others in order to properly digest and understand (to their own simplistic merits) the teachings of the Lord.
But this was no ‘I do not understand this psalm’ kind of situation. Or, at least, that's what Father Asakura believed.
“This is just a precaution,” he'd muttered. “The outside world can become a nuisance to understanding yourself, and distractions are the last thing you need before making a decision about your faith– your future.”
It wasn’t until Father Asakura had opened the door to the farthest room inside the nun's (not the priest's, no) quarters, that Yushi finally understood he was in deep shit.
The room is completely stripped of most things. It has a spring mattress resting atop a silver bedding, a pair of blankets, a gold-rimmed bible and a begrudgingly tiny window.
“Back when I was your age, I spent a few months here.” Asakura Jo wasn't a particularly old priest, but he was strict. Under that facade of gentleness a stern man lays dormant. “My problem was far worse than yours is– which is why you're only spending three nights here, Tokuno.”
Damned be Yushi's innate weakness of denying accusations, of not explaining himself.
“But what about food, and–?”
“I am not an unorthodox priest,” Yushi suppresses a frown at that. “I will have people feed you and check in on you. The only thing I want is for you to think without the need of disrupting your duties.”
In here, Yushi's only duty would be to think. But not about his faith.
“And, in case this doesn't tame the storm within you, we can always pray the doubts away.” With that, Father Asakura closed the door.
There is something else about solitary confinement they don't tell you about when you first sign up to it; it doesn't matter how comfortable you believe you are with loneliness, it being forced upon you changes how your brain processes it.
The first few hours are okay. Yushi sits on the bed, naps his worries away and even goes ahead to begin reading the bible again.
It's night time which makes everything go to shit.
With hands tangled in between his hair, body wobbling back and forth and sweat dripping down his back is how Yushi begins to truly digest the situation. And not just the blonde stranger situation; all of it.
When did everything begin to go wrong?
It surely hadn't been this jarring since the beginning– living inside the seminary, that is. Sure, he was appealing to his grandmother's wishes by being here, but Yushi liked the idea of studying in a seminar.
Becoming a priest had been his dream.
But can it be considered a dream if the roots of it had been implanted onto him? Could Yushi survive a lifetime of nothing when his heart soars for everything?
As Sakuya would say on particularly slow days, when the seminarians had a few hours to spare and his mother’s dropped him off inside the church so that she can finally relax– it is very humane to want something you don't understand (albeit Sakuya himself was quoting a videogame the time he muttered such words), and right now Yushi wants. . .
What does he want?
Freedom? Sure, these religious shackles had been placed onto him by mutual accord, but he wasn’t particularly a prisoner. The seminar and all the staff within it was kind to him, they fed him, taught him everything there was to know. Here, Yushi found accompaniment he never thought he needed; he found friends who would support him even in the worst moments of his teen years.
Why would he want to leave, when the whole crisis of faith thing was blurted out in a moment of weakness?
Or had it?
If not freedom then, understanding? The bible teaches him a lot of things– to be caring of your neighbours, to understand needs and why they exist. Truth be told, however, he doesn’t get it; he can't comprehend the pressing longing he has for knowledge. For more. His peers in the seminar (mostly Riku) try their best to understand what he means when he mutters he wants more, but they never fully get it.
Not even Sakuya nor Ryo, who aren't shackled to this place in the same way he is, understand that innate need to be seen, heard, understood on a molecular level. They live freely.
The outside world understands– it understands things in a better way than this place; it understands far better than God will ever get to.
But that's not fair, is it?
“Are you okay?”
Yushi hadn't even realised someone unlocked the door to his barren room until a soft pair of hands rested atop his shoulders.
He also hadn't noted the fact that his cheeks were stained with tears.
“Do I need to call Jo over?”
That is the second time Yushi sees him.
From this up close, those confusing eyes look dazzling. He even realises, despite the lack of proper lighting, that they are two shades lighter than your average brown. That his lashes are long. That–
“Who are you?” Yushi croaks, voice uncharacteristically coarse.
The stranger smiles. It's the sort of gesture that seems born out of embarrassment, but Yushi finds it makes the stranger look radiant.
Whatever that means.
The blonde gestures with his eyes to the lone tray of food that rests beside him on the floor, a particularly saturated shade of pink coating the entirety of his face in milliseconds.
“Sion,” he says, with a scrunch of his nose. Yushi feels the pit of his stomach drop; the feeling similar to when the news showcases a gruesome act of violence. “Jo asked me to bring you food before I left, but when you didn’t answer the door, I got scared and. . .”
Suffocating. This is suffocating him.
Sion’s hands abandon Yushi’s shoulders, and as they make their way to the back of his own jeans, the tremble that overcomes them doesn’t go unnoticed. Yushi is about to open his mouth, excuse himself and urge Sion to please leave him alone; but then the blonde takes the same handkerchief Yushi had given to him a few days ago, and without a word, dries the salty paths tears had left on his face.
Does it still count as a touch even when the warmth of their skin is divided by a flimsy cotton fabric? Is it still supposed to feel like sticking your limbs inside a furnace?
Sion’s eyes shot open, eyebrows almost reached his hairline. “I washed the cloth! It’s not covered in my sweat anymore, really!”
A giggle.
Yushi’s eyes go wide for the millionth time in a span of a few minutes upon the realisation. He had never been one to laugh unprompted, even when facing the most uncomfortable situations life could throw at him. So then, why?
The blonde places the handkerchief (which, once Yushi properly recovers, realises it smells like pancakes) on top of the bed. His hands still tremble, yet it seems to be a natural occurrence taking into consideration how Sion keeps them visible all the time. Perhaps it's his own way of reassuring Yushi there are no ill intentions within his heart.
Silence drags for a beat too long.
“What time is it?” Yushi looks to the small window at the edge of the room. It is dark out, but that’s not enough of an indicator to him.
“Uh, eight o’clock? Probably?” Sion stands up to full height, yet his eyes never leave Yushi’s own. “I dunno– Time flies when you’re fooling around pretending to paint walls.”
Once again, Yushi catches himself making a weird expression, and by the scrunch of Sion’s nose and the way he looks away to laugh, Yushi can only guess he looks borderline ridiculous.
That same, uncharacteristic drop of his stomach happens again, but this time it hurts. He’d have to ask Riku about this once solitary’s over.
“Wait, you have no fucking clue what I’m talking about, right?” A nod, and Sion laughs again except this time it's louder, richer. “I told you the other day, but you looked so hazy; it makes sense you don't remember.”
“Sorry, I–”
“Nah, it's cool,” the blonde leans his back on the opposite wall. Left hand goes up to scratch his neck in another obviously nervous manner. “I'm making amends, I think it's called? Right? When you fuck something up and the priest asks you to do something in return?”
Yushi blinks.
What the fuck.
“Whatever, apparently bleaching my hair is clear evidence I’ve been worshipping Satan in secret or something, so my mum asked some priest to give me another chance.” The nonchalance Sion uses when narrating his story should definitely not be there, but Yushi is glad one of them finds this amusing. “That priest talked to Jo, and Jo asked me to paint the inner walls of the seminary as my very own amendment.”
The church isn’t supposed to do punishments, at the very least not in this modern world. Then again, Yushi wouldn’t be locked in solitary if the church truly had advanced nowadays, he supposes.
Still, it is very imminent that his face contorts in surprise.
“So you’re a volunteer.”
Sion scrunches up his nose. “I would never volunteer to step inside a church, but yeah. I guess.”
That garners another giggle out of Yushi.
The tears that had stained his cheeks mere minutes before were long forgotten. In its place was nothing he’d experienced before; some weird amalgamation of shock, giddiness and genuine concern.
A gasp.
“Not that the church sucks, or anything!” Sion flings his arms, lunges himself off the wall and crutches ever so slightly in front of Yushi. “It’s cool that you want to be a priest, or whatever the equivalent of a male nun– Is that a thing? Male nuns? Jesus fucking Christ, man, I am–”
There is a knock at the door, which is incredibly unnecessary taking into consideration it is fully flung open.
Sion looks to the door, that gummy smile falling off his face upon making eye contact with Father Asakura. He doesn’t look mad, but rather painfully intrigued.
“I take it Yushi’s food has been successfully delivered?”
“Huh? Yeah, I was just. . .” The blonde looks at the tray (that still rests on the floor by Yushi’s feet), his shoulders instantly falling. It takes a beat or two before he kneels, grabs the tray, and carefully places it on top of Yushi’s lap. “Waiting for the cold noodles to get, uh, room temp.”
Father Asakura gestures to the door with his right hand, but Sion doesn’t want to move.
Instead, he looks into Yushi’s eyes and smiles. Yushi gets that again– that feeling that his stomach is about to drop, roll, decompose and rot, all at the same time.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Ushi!” Sion gets up, and stares. The nickname bounces off the four walls of the room. “I am officially your delivery boy. Consider it another amendment of mine.”
Once he leaves, it feels like the room goes uncharacteristically cold.
“So, you’ve met Sion.” Yushi looks up again, Father Asakura eyeing him with deep care. “I thought a fresh face could help with broadening your horizons, but I deeply apologise if his crude way of speaking confuses you furthermore.”
“It’s fine,” Yushi answers particularly fast. “I don’t mind it, I think,”
But Asakura Jo has been next to Yushi for long enough to notice the slight tremble in his voice when he speaks something he isn’t supposed to.
“You have a couple nights left, I trust both Sion and this therapy will help guide your path.”
Right.
🕯️
The next three meals Yushi gets aren’t delivered by Sion, as a matter of fact, they are simply left outside the door.
Disappointment isn't the sort of emotion Yushi experiences in his daily life, so the pang in his heart soars all throughout his body like he believes a zombie virus would. It gnaws every corner of his mind, eats away all those protective layers he'd carefully curated the past nineteen years of his life.
It could always be worse, he tells himself after one of the nuns gets inside his room to remove the tray of his afternoon meal– he could’ve gone insane by himself after mere ten hours into his three night solitary confinement therapy.
He could’ve hallucinated a world in which the blonde guy didn’t exist.
That thought alone makes a shiver go down his spine.
He’d only met him for less than five minutes, but those inconspicuous three hundred seconds were enough to shake the decaying foundations within his very easily swayed heart. As a matter of fact, Yushi’s been running a complete set of possibilities as to why that happened, but all the conclusions he draws are completely and irrevocably stupid.
Sister Chi had rationalised a topic like this once (granted, nuns aren’t allowed to give sermons nor is Chi particularly easy to deal with, but desperate times call for equally desperate rationalising methods, Yushi supposes); she'd told the seminarians and inquirers that, sometimes, it's okay to feel like feelings will decompose you. That there are people that will definitely make you believe that religion isn't your way, and that was normal.
Nuns– or at least those with strong archetypes, would tell you they'd become inquirers because they wanted more control over themselves.
Priests– or those who dared talk about their seminar years, would tell you they'd chosen this path because it was easier to serve God than to serve men.
They'd both tell you having second thoughts is normal. That not everything will clear itself to you like the fourth coming of Christ. That it's normal to doubt.
It doesn’t feel so normal now.
Sprawled atop the shiny, marble flooring wearing the same set of clothes from the day before is how Yushi concentrates. Right hand toys with the beads of his rosary, as if gentle touch alone would be enough to reconnect with God– because that's another thing he's realised in the second-of-four days of solitary confinement.
He hasn't spoken to God in months.
Praying isn't the same as speaking to Him, at the very least not when Father Asakura forces every single seminary student to pray in latin (because, sure, let the new generation of priests be stuck-up). Talking to God wasn’t something you memorised without much care, it was supposed to be part of a ritual.
But even as he is now, with all the focus he can muster and the want to do something, Yushi doesn't dare to speak to God. It feels blasphemous, borderline illegal.
But still, he knows the pattern.
He has to try.
“Pater noster, qui es in caelis; Sanctificetur nomen tuum. . .”
“Are you summoning something? Because I can leave if–”
Two things happen.
Yushi sits up faster than humanely possible, his rosary flies all the way to the opposite side of the room. He also screams, high-pitched and eerily on tune.
And Sion? He doubles up, hysterically laughing to the point he ends up kneeling on the floor directly across Yushi.
“What is wrong with you?” Yushi screams again, slamming himself onto the floor to hide the embarrassment he feels.
Sion, the menace, keeps laughing.
“What was I supposed to do?” He bangs his fist against the floor, his words cut up by gaps for air and uncontrollable laughter. “You– you looked like a tiny human sacrifice! And the– the latin! What the fuck, Ushi? Who prays in latin?”
“I do! Everyone does!”
“You're lying, please tell me you're–”
But the words die inside his throat.
Sion keeps laughing his limbs off and Yushi swears he sees tears stream down his cheeks. He almost feels like he's watching a puppy have the time of its life in the park, waiting for their owner to realise that what it ultimately wants is attention, a belly rub, even a kiss on–
Yushi sits up again, nausea instantly kicking in. Something in his chest sparks. Sion mimics him, sits up and stares into his eyes for the longest three seconds of his life before doubling down in laughter once more.
“God, dude, I don't think I've laughed this hard, like, ever.”
“You think latin is funny?”
“No,” this time, Sion giggles. “You're the funny one.”
The spark ignites again, this time, it glows brighter.
Yushi rolls his eyes, but smiles. “It's my pronunciation, then? Sorry if my latin skills aren't on par with whoever you've heard before.”
“Why would I ever want to hear that from anybody but you?”
But the spark's brightness starts to get uncomfortable if you stare too long. It’s like a vicious cycle, though. The spark shines so brightly it pulls you in, and it gets to the point where you don’t even mind going absolutely blind, because missing such a sight would be the real loss.
Yushi fakes a cough, cheeks red. He seriously needs to speak to Riku.
“What are you even doing here?”
His dinner tray was picked up a few hours ago, and Yushi doesn’t need a clock to know it’s past ten o’clock by now.
“Ah, you know. . .” Red paint splattered hands thread through luscious blonde hair. “Painting takes time, and all.”
“But yesterday you said–” Yushi bites his cheeks. His church boy senses are flaring, but he knows best than to intrude. “Are you sleeping in the seminar, then?”
“Why? Want me to stay with you?”
Saying yes would be considered a great offense, but good grief does Yushi want to nod his head with desperation.
He doesn't understand the reason as to why he wants to have Sion close. Doesn’t even register the smirk on Sion’s face, nor the blush that overtakes both of their faces.
Sion sighs. “No, I actually was supposed to get back home like, four hours ago, but I said I’d see you today, and I meant it.”
“How does that correlate with anything?”
Yushi giggles, because of course he does. It only takes a few seconds more for Sion to speak again, though not before he properly sits on the floor.
“I finished painting today’s wall early, and wanted to use up all the extra time I had to talk to you, right? But when I asked around about where to find you, everybody looked at me weird.” Right, because everybody knows that he’s in solitary, why would anybody be looking for him? “So I maybe sneaked inside every building and every room I could that looked similar to this one until I found you, hopefully.”
What the fuck.
“You trespassed–”
“Pause! I’m not a criminal! It’s not my fault all these godforsaken buildings look the exact same.” Sion’s eyes widen, Yushi feels like he wants to die of laughter. It’s routine, at this point. “Anyway, I accidentally got inside the nun’s office or whatever and I had to help them clean up stuff as punishment. Only then did they offer to tell me where you were.”
“So you got punished? Because of me? Sion. . .”
A smile. “Oh, don’t look so sad. Would someone who was punished pull up with this?”
Like an apparition trick, Sion produces a bag of homemade powdered sugar cookies and places it on the floor, directly in the middle between him and Yushi. It’s such a small gesture, but Yushi’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.
“Sister Hitomi? I dunno, but she said you’d really appreciate these.” Expert hands pick up the bag and untie the knot, to which Sion only watches. “They gave me two portions, but I poured mine into yours. It’s my way of thanking you for the handkerchief.”
There are a couple things Yushi can’t live without, and at the very top of the list are sweets of any kind. Hadn’t Sion already been plaguing his thoughts, he’d definitely would’ve earned that privilege right now.
“You don’t need to thank me, you looked like you needed a towel that day.”
Sion snorts.
“And right now you look like you need sugar, carbs, and something nice to look at.” Yushi stops midbite to look at Sion. “Me. I’m the nice thing you can look at.”
Yushi tries his best to ignore Sion's comment, he really does; but it’s kind of hard to do so when those jarring, honeyed eyes stare at him earnestly. Perhaps he should’ve– put an end to those sorts of comments, for his own sake, but there are no such things as take backs in real life.
Sion stays there, comfortably talking to Yushi, who is happy to listen to anything he has to say. This time, Father Asakura doesn’t interrupt, instead, they find themselves accompanying the other (or rather, Sion accompanies Yushi) until the midnight bells ring.
For better or for worse, it doesn’t end there.
Sion appears again in Yushi’s solitary confinement room the other two days he has to stay in there– he always comes bearing sugary treats and neverending laughter. It is like that how Yushi learns Sion is korean, that he left the country three years ago alongside his younger brother and their mother; who found solace in religion after years of not knowing herself.
He also learns Sion is a couple years older, and that while he is an adult and could refuse all those absolutions his mother makes him take in the church– he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings.
Had Yushi been a completely different person (maybe if he was as open as Riku, or if he’d been a couple years younger, like Sakuya or Ryo) all this new knowledge would’ve meant absolutely nothing to him. But Yushi is cursed with a disease called weakness of the heart, so every new tidbit of information he learns about Sion makes the pit of his stomach drop a few centimeters more; makes him care in a way he definitely shouldn’t.
Makes him imagine scenarios in which he isn't trapped in the seminary, in which they're both in Tokyo, walking down the streets and relishing each other's company.
A universe in which they can be. . .
It doesn’t take long for him to realise this isn’t normal. That those thoughts are not normal. And what does Yushi do with the things he doesn’t understand?
He buries them in the back of his mind.
🕯️
“I don’t get it,” Riku mumbles as he takes a generous bite out of Yushi’s vanilla cake. “You didn’t have a crisis of faith, but now you do?”
They’re both sitting inside the altar room, on the last row of benches but still directly in front of the life sized statue of Jesus on the cross. The rainy season began a few days early, so neither of them had been prepared to be completely soaked on a Thursday at four in the afternoon.
“I wouldn’t call it a crisis of faith, necessarily.”
A snort. “Then what? A normal crisis?”
Yushi nods, as he takes another mouthful of cake.
“I thought you didn’t have those. Out of all of us, you’re the only one who hasn't fled at least once.” It’s not as simple as Riku puts it. Sure, most seminarians do find the need to sneak out for a day or two and choose what they want to do based on that and, sure, Yushi has never done anything like that. But it’s not the same, right? “Why now? Why over red paint, of all things?”
“Red paint isn’t the problem, it’s–”
“The bearer of it, whatever, semantics. Please elaborate.”
There are many things Tokuno Yushi, age nineteen, doesn't know how to do.
He doesn’t know how to drive, doesn’t remember the entirety of the crucifixion, doesn’t know Hail Mary in latin, doesn’t know the differences between coriander and parsley. All those pale in comparison to the one thing he really, definitely, should know how to navigate.
And that is how to properly speak his mind.
Truth is, even if it's been two days since he left solitary confinement, his brain's never been this much mush. He's had time to think about everything, has explored all the known routes he can as to how to properly call what he's feeling, but nothing quite hits the mark.
It sort of helps (he gaslights himself to think) that Sion is completely oblivious to what he makes Yushi feel. Someone as bright and outstanding as Sion had to, of course, have an effect on people– it's probably something he's grown used to by now, so Yushi doesn't take it personal just yet.
“Earth to Yushi?”
“Eh? Ah, right.”
Riku definitely has to know about this kind of stuff.
The amount of novels he's read have to count for something; that, and he's Yushi’s best friend. It shouldn't be scary for him to talk about anything.
And yet.
“Have you ever wanted something you know you can't have?”
Riku snorts. “Are you quoting that game Sakuya likes? What's it called– Dragon Age?”
“What? No!” Yushi's shoulders drop instantly. Perhaps he should've known Riku would react like this, even if it's slightly out of character. People always run away from Yushi’s emotions, it’s only natural Riku would, too. “Forget it.”
“Wait, you're serious.”
Riku closes the space between himself and Yushi on the bench. Soft, apologetic eyes searching for forgiveness in Yushi’s own.
“I thought– I mean, you never really mention needing things, much less wanting, so. . .”
That's different, he thinks to himself.
Seminary students are encouraged to seek enjoyment beside what the church gives them because, ultimately, that's the best filtering process they could ever have. But even with this in mind, Yushi's never allowed himself to be selfish– not like this, anyway.
Riku looks into his eyes, his voice a higher pitch. “I didn't mean to be an ass. Please? You yearn for things, is that it?"
A sigh.
“Yearning is too strong.” The word itself implies something that is borderline impossible to have, at its core; and despite it all, Yushi knows Sion isn’t out of reach. “Or too weak, rather?”
Riku keeps silent for a second.
“Are you sure you want it, whatever it is, then? Or do you desire it? They're very different things.”
“How. . .?”
Riku sits up straight. His eyes naturally fall on the altar, so Yushi follows suit.
“A want is sharp, like– imagine a cat.” Yushi lets out a snort, to which Riku playfully hits his leg. “It doesn’t really matter how you raise it, the cat will always be curious about the outside world. It will always want to leave.”
That's not it.
Yushi wants many things, but he wouldn't associate Sion with that.
Riku beams. “A want is like a prayer! Yeah! You can recite them all the time for the stupidest things ever, but you'll know when you utter it with seriousness.”
That does change things.
A want is something pure. Something so humane, so utterly normal that doesn't need you to understand where it stems from. But if a want is a prayer, then.
Yushi's head falls. “Is desire something like greed?”
Riku nods. “You can't manipulate desire. It doesn’t ask, it simply devours you.”
Thunder falls nearby, but Yushi doesn't jump. He doesn’t move.
It shouldn't be possible for Yushi (a man, a soon-to-be priest, a proud member of the choir and poster boy of the seminar) to desire things.
Much less to desire another person.
Even less so if the person he desires is another man.
But he doesn’t desire Sion like that. He desires him in the same way someone who is thirsty desires a glass of water– he desires him like a lost teenager desires divine intervention to decide their future.
No, that’s not it. Yushi desires Sion like an astronomer desires to find something new. It's the sort of feeling you get from one day to another, the kind of thing that keeps you going in your darkest times because you know you'll get to it, eventually.
It's something fleeting that is born out of barely anything, but something that consumes you. Devours you.
Yushi gags.
Once, then twice.
Riku springs out of his seat, worry written all over his face, and powers through the rain in order to help Yushi back to his room– his actual one.
It's been three hours, he's just laying atop his bed.
You shouldn't be able to want something you've never tasted before. That's stupid. That's the whole point of wanting stuff as a concept, right?
But even if all the rational parts of Yushi scream and try to correct the delusional parts of himself, he still chooses to pretend he's gone mad. Any other explanation feels like he's cheating on the fundamental truths of the world.
The more Yushi thinks, the more he hates himself. The more he pictures Sion in his brain, the more he wants him, needs him close.
That night, Yushi falls asleep without eating supper. He doesn't care if Sion looks for him throughout the seminar.
But that's a lie.
He cares so, so much to the point he falls asleep with tears pooling in his eyes.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
🕯️
By the time Sion is almost done painting most of the seminar's inner walls, Yushi's been in and out of solitary confinement three different times.
The first two, he'd allowed Sion to visit. They'd sit side by side atop the bed, talking about everything and nothing or simply relishing each other's silence. Sometimes, Sion would bring with him extra things– a blanket (because the rain hasn't stopped, and the lone bedding Yushi has in this room isn't enough to keep him warm), traditional korean desserts, a cd player and a curated mixtape, flowers he found on the gardens.
Yushi doesn't have the heart to tell Sion to stop, and even if he did, he wouldn't ask that of him. Not when every item the blonde leaves behind makes him feel like he has a purpose.
Things do take a turn, however, once Sion decides to sleep in.
Even if Father Asakura had encouraged the detour, it still felt like something illegal. Or probably, maybe, that was just Yushi's feelings begging for mercy– feelings of what, exactly? Yushi himself doesn’t have an answer to that right now. Sure, he now properly understands that he wants Sion’s company to be a constant in his life, and understands that the human heart will always long for warmth and comfort, doesn’t matter who it is from.
What begins with phantom giggles on a thunderous night, ends with Sion ditching his little futon on the floor to sleep next to Yushi.
That is what spirals the third solitary session, and by then it's Riku who asks Sion to stop visiting.
And he does, for the most part.
Sure, Yushi would wake up sometimes and find letters waiting for him outside the door, beside his food, but that isn't technically a visit. It gnaws at his brain like it was, but it's not something you can compare, per say; and it’s also not something that makes Yushi particularly furious.
His reactions to such things are, however, always grand.
Yushi begins to keep a little stack of the letters Sion gives to him every time a meal gets delivered to his door, and at one point, said pile of letters becomes so grand it overtakes the place the bible occupied on the nightstand.
That is when Father Asakura began to grow wary of Yushi, sparing him more time than what he needed.
The day Yushi questioned it, the priest brushed it off as nothing but terminal curiosity– after all, no seminary student wants to spend his days locked in a barren room out of their own volition, but Yushi wasn’t an idiot. He knew Father Asakura was onto him, and the thought of being found terrified him.
But that was just the tip of the iceberg.
“Please, let me out!” Yushi screams between erratic sobs.
He’d woken up in the middle of the night, clothes completely soaked in sweat and skin scorching hot. Nightmares had always accompanied him, but nowadays the content of them felt targeted– felt like a punishment given to him by God. Usually, he’d picture himself as the target of beatings, as a vicious murderer or as a lamb being chased by a pack of hungry wolves.
But this time, he’d dreamt with Sion.
With small, calloused hands that caressed his face with the same volition a mother holds her first born. He’d pictured the blonde beside him, softness coating an otherwise angular face, as Yushi choked his name while praying.
“Please, I need– I want to get out!”
Sister Chi opens the door to Yushi’s solitary room, but he doesn’t waste any time thanking her before running away. Bare feet make contact with wet soil, with water pooling on the steps to the main building– to the church.
The heat in his body is almost as unbearable as the cold the night brings, but he powers through.
If Yushi closes his eyes and focuses enough, he can still feel dream-Sion's hands caressing his skin; his lips nesting on the crook of his neck.
He doesn’t know exactly how he ends up locking himself inside one of the big, confessional booths inside the main church, but the familiar scent of myrrh instantly brings the erratic beating of his heart (and body temperature, arousal and shock) down by a considerable notch.
Through tears, Yushi can't do much else but laugh at himself.
This was all God's fault. It had to be.
Hadn't Yushi's mother died when he was four years old, hadn't his grandmother taken him in, hadn't she commented on the passing that Yushi needed someone who guided him– Hadn’t Yushi experienced quiet aches in his heart since a young age and filled those with neverending volunteering shifts in the church and praying sessions, this wouldn't be happening.
God was supposed to be an aid.
The path to priesthood was supposed to make him feel full, not to make him question if his desire to be part of the church was born out of the necessity to outrun problems he could have in the future.
Maybe this was his punishment, though.
Liking Sion.
Wanting to have him close– longing for him like a street cat yearns for warmth.
“Are you seeking absolution?”
Yushi doesn't need to ask, to see, to know that the voice from the other side of the blind is Asakura Jo. It makes sense he found him here; for all Yushi knows, Sister Chi could've alerted him.
What now? Leaving as is isn't an option.
But he also knows the binds of the confessional priests have, and that outweighs the shame that eats away his limbs.
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” Yushi's head thuds against the back of the booth he's in.
Stray tears slowly begin to stream down his cheeks, though not out of sadness. He is upset, rather, because he can't quite understand why calling his own feelings a sin hurts so much.
“Take your time,” the priest offers, voice trembling. “How long has it been since your last confession?”
It's laughable, really, that he's asking such questions.
Yushi takes a deep breath, sobs escaping his lips. He doesn’t want to humour Father Asakura with the entire sermon, not when he feels like he's about to fall apart.
“I have feelings for someone,” is the best way he can put the turmoil he's feeling into words. It doesn’t quite capture the gravity of it all, but it's a good start.
“Feelings are a normal thing,” the priest coughs. “We are all human, after all.”
A scoff. “No. They're not normal. They make me want to throw myself off the window, they're–”
Shuddering breaths follow, and Yushi has to claw his damp pajama pants in order to not break into a sob right there.
“I want him.” Saying it aloud feels unreal. Blasphemous. “It's a want so strong, so desperate, it prays his name on its own.”
Father Asakura audibly sighs, and that is enough for Yushi to break down into uncontrollable sobs.
This is it, he thinks.
This is how he'll end up locked inside solitary confinement until the day he dies.
“Just cuss me out before opening the door and dragging me, please,” he begs so, so pathetically he physically recoils. “Please, Jo, just–”
“Every life is sacred,” Father Asakura finally mumbles. “I can't– would never throw you out simply because you. . .”
“Because I what? Because I want another man? Because–”
Silence.
Yushi keeps crying, every slight movement he makes ricochet his tears to the long sleeves of his shirt.
“Just forgive me,” he pleads, voice small. “Just do something, anything that will take my mind off him.”
This time, Jo is the one who sobs.
"Saying ten Hail Mary's isn't going to do you any good," Father Asakura murmured, voice slightly preoccupied.
And he was right. But Yushi didn't want him to be right (didn't want to admit that the problem he found himself in was bigger than himself– bigger than his faith), he knew that admitting it would lead him down onto a new path.
The kind of path people like him don't return from.
“I could try,” he says, because he has to. Because it's easier than accepting he's different. “Ten, twenty– I'll even whip myself in the back if it grants me absolution.”
“You already have the absolution,” Jo is quick to muster up. “Mine. His.”
He shifts in place, and Yushi can feel him search for his eyes through the screen that divides them.
“What you need is to forgive yourself for being human, Yushi.”
But that isn't enough. It never is.
Yushi wholeheartedly believed he rid himself of the right to call himself a human the moment he first set foot inside the seminar.
The natural laws of companionship and humanity no longer applied to him simply because he wouldn't need to follow them– because his heart was set on a path that stripped itself of the inconveniences of the heart.
Yushi didn’t need feelings. He didn't want them.
“I don't want to be human,” he says before he can properly process it. “I want to be divine. I want to be free. I want–”
Father Asakura opens the wooden door in front of Yushi. He kneels on the floor, right hand impatiently searching for Yushi’s own.
“Your freedom lies with him.”
But when the only thing you know is control, when you've never truly lived a life you can call your own, the concept of freedom scares you more than it makes you hopeful.
“What if he doesn’t want me?”
Father Asakura's eyes soften. The gleam that covers them isn't just from the tears pooling, but from the pain of a man who knows.
Yushi is too deep into his own misery to recognise that stare for what it is– a stare of a man who once, too, loved.
“The mere fact that he still waits for you after isolating yourself tells me enough. Because the riches of the poor are wanting things, even if you can't have them,” he says, like it's nothing. “But that won't matter anymore, because what awaits can be beautiful if you both desire it.”
🕯️
(Sakuya sits by the steps of the church, his knees and hands stained a deep shade of red.
“Have you seen Yushi?” Father Asakura asks.
Sakuya rolls his eyes. “Don't mention him in front of me again. He left with that blondie, Sonny? Sally? Whatever– they threw a tray of paint at me before running together. Why?”
A smile.
“No reason.”)