Chapter Text
Oh god, why them?
Peter wasn't an idiot. He knew what the fluttering feeling in his stomach meant. What the goosebumps he felt on his skin meant. Why his breath caught in his throat whenever he looked into their eyes. It was love, a crush at the very least. It'd have been one thing if it were a nice Christian girl, a great thing even. He could take her to dinner with his parents, go to church with her, get married. It would be so perfect. But reality often isn't.
He’d never made a big deal about his faith, finding it more of a personal matter than something he had to advocate for. When Pepsi decided to stop attending church in her teenage years, he had never really thought much of it. His parents protested a little, but it’s not like they would’ve forced her to go or anything. Even still, the air of judgment hung around her empty seat in the pews from then on. Nevertheless, Peter was so nonchalant about his beliefs that pretty much none of his friends even knew he practised, all except for well…
Ever since their unexpected trip to Mexico, he and Harrod had been close friends. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of him when they first met, his ridiculously reckless antics certainly leaving a hell of a first impression. But over time, it became hard to resist being drawn in by his crazy schemes, which, with his generous allowance from his father, became even more elaborate and bombastic. It wasn’t, however, until a few weeks ago that he started to feel… differently about him.
He had stepped away for a moment, a problem which had long since been forgotten in the wake of this new crisis, troubled him. He sat down to pray in silence, closing his eyes to commune with the Lord. However, he suddenly heard a familiar voice from behind him:
“Woah, I didn’t know you were a Christian, Peter!”
Harrod had found him, seemingly noticing his absence and wondering where he had wandered off to. He had asked to join Peter in prayer, which he of course allowed, after all, it would've been unchristian to deny him. This was an action he’d soon come to regret, after he decided to rattle off a series of utterly benign, borderline sacrilegious questions that Peter found himself profusely apologising for. After he was done with his spiel, Peter hastily bundled him out of the room, apologising in prayer one last time before vowing to never mention his faith to Harrod again. However, in the coming days, the more he thought about the interaction, the more it amused him. The fact that even in the face of God themselves, he was still the same Harrod Jones was endearing, the sincere tone in which he asked the questions almost inspiring. Little did he know that this nagging feeling of admiration was the push that would start his descent, one that ended with the poor mouse head over heels for his open-hearted best friend.
A particular lowlight of this newfound lovesickness was Pepsi’s final concert of her tour, which was regrettably held at a local church. She had intended to play at a bigger venue a few miles away, but after it had flooded, their dad pulled a few strings and managed to secure the church as a venue, much to Pepsi’s chagrin. She channelled this anger into a spiteful and frankly childish display of faux satanism, cramming as much edgy, anti-religious imagery as she could into her set. Peter may not be an orthodox Christian exactly, but even he found it painfully embarrassing that she was trying this hard to offend the people graciously hosting her. But even in spite of this rather try-hard tantrum, Harrod’s signature optimism showed no sign of dissipating, watching the whole show intently, cheering her on while others sat in stunned silence. Something about this unwavering loyalty to his friends, a quiet rejection of the conformity usually seen within those walls. It felt… moving.
He shouldn’t feel this way, that much he knew. He was immature, messy, irresponsible and most importantly, another man. While not expressly forbidden in his church, the looks he had seen directed at some of the less conventional members of his congregation said a thousand words.
He had to conform, keep up appearances, lest he be branded a sinner by his peers. But, he couldn’t deny the raw power of his emotions. Something about that infectious energy that he always exuded, the light of naive optimism that shone in his eyes, his caring and compassionate heart of gold. It had taken over his every thought. And the worst part? Harrod was completely unaware of it, the subtle changes in Peter's demeanour going entirely unnoticed. This was truly his problem to solve, and his alone.
The thought of this forbidden feeling dying with him swirled around his brain, his mind agonising over the idea of a life lived with an asterisk of regret. But the alternative was to lose everything, his church, his family, maybe even his spot in-
Peter was done thinking; his eyelids felt like anchors as he slowly cracked them open, the light piercing his vision. He blinked away the water clouding his vision, the blurry brown blob in front of him coming into focus. He stared at the unfortunate source of his pining, chasing his tail with fervour. Peter wasn’t sure how long he’d been spaced out for, but it seemed short enough for Harrod to remain blissfully, painfully, unaware of his non-presence.
“Oof!” Harrod exclaimed as he ran into the wall, the goofy expression on his face unwavering. “You wanna get in on this, Peter?”
Lord, give him strength.