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Chenle spent his life being surrounded by normal people.
Is what he had been taught to call them.
Pink for girls and blue for boys. You know, the normal.
What is normal for him was on sunday mornings in stiff clothes and wooden pews, knees pressed together, hands folded as if God cared more about posture than honesty.
Chenle wasn’t as religious as his mom was. He didn’t pray before every meal (he sometimes forgets about it) or know all the verses by heart. But he believed.
He believed in the words, even if he didn’t always understand them. He believed that He was good. That He was watching. That He had rules, and breaking them meant something bad would happen eventually.
That’s why he learned not to question things.
Because you don’t question why certain thoughts followed him into church and stayed there. You don’t question what is right or wrong, you just have to follow.
You just bow your head and hope God can’t hear your heart beating too fast.
As Chenle grew up, he became somewhat of a familiar face in their local church. That handsome young man going to Sunday mass at nine in the morning with his mom. The kind the older ladies smiled at a little too long.
They always asked him the same thing.
Do you have a girlfriend yet?
And Chenle would laugh it off, shake his head, say no. Somehow always a no. He never really knew how to explain why, because he didn’t fully understand it himself. People would gush anyway—say he was a catch, that girls must be lining up, that he’d make some lucky girl very happy one day.
He nodded, smiled, accepted the compliments like they were meant for someone else.
Sometimes someone would joke, You’re not gay, are you? said with a laugh, like it was impossible, like it was ridiculous. And he would laugh along, like it really was so fucking hilarious.
And it wasn’t like he hated the queers. He told himself that a lot. He wasn’t that kind of person. He just believed there were rules. Lines you weren’t supposed to cross. Things that were wrong even if you didn’t want them to be.
So whenever he saw two men holding hands on the street or heard people talk about being proud of being gay, something tight twisted in his chest. Not anger. Just fear. Discomfort? A quiet voice in his head saying that’s not right, because that was what he had been taught.
Man is for a woman, not another man.
That’s why it felt wrong when he noticed him.
It was another Sunday. Same mass, same pews, same rhythm Chenle could follow with his eyes closed. He almost didn’t see the new face at first—because there usually weren’t any. Everyone there had been there forever, like the church just recycled the same people every week.
But then he looked up.
The boy was sitting a few rows ahead, next to an elderly woman Chenle didn’t recognize either. His posture was awkward, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands, like he was afraid of doing something wrong. He didn’t sing. Didn’t kneel at the right times. He kept leaning in to whisper to his(?) grandma, who patted his arm like she was just grateful he showed up at all.
Chenle stared longer than he should’ve.
The boy had dark hair that fell into his eyes and this quiet, almost bored expression, like church wasn’t a place he belonged to—and he wasn’t pretending it was. He looked out of place in a way Chenle had never allowed himself to be.
They ended up standing next to each other after mass, both kind of stuck near the exit as people slowly filtered out.
“Is it always this long?” The unfamiliar face man asked, voice low, like he was worried the walls might hear him.
Chenle almost laughed. “Yeah. You get used to it.
He hummed. “I don’t think I will.”
Chenle glanced at him, caught the small smile tugging at his lips. “First time?”
“Last time,” He said easily, then nodded toward an elderly woman chatting with someone near the front.
“Unless she asks again.”
And apparently she did. Because after 3 weeks (yes, he counted), he appeared on the same row where they sat last time.
Chenle noticed immediately. The same awkward out of place posture he has.
Chenle never wanted the mass to end already.
But he pushed those urges down, they were wrong and sinful.
And for the first time, Chenle did not pay attention to the homily or whatever was spoken infront. His mind drifts on how he will get to know his name.
When it finally ended Chenle stayed back a little so that he could walk out with him again. Before Chenle could start the conversation, he beats him to it.
“Hey!”
Chenle looked up and there he was, standing in front of him as he smiled. “I don’t know if you remember me but we saw each other a few weeks ago here.” He spoke as he let his grandma walk ahead of them, she usually talks with the other old ladies after the mass.
“Of course I remember!” Chenle said a little too enthusiastically, he clenched his fist subtly as he added but this time a little more calmly, ”As I said, we rarely see new faces”.
Jisung laughed as he scratched the back of neck, “I didn’t quite catch your name last time”, his voice small but firm.
“Oh,” was the only response Chenle could say at that moment.
“I-im Chenle”
He actually wants to kill himself cause why the fuck would his voice crack now.
Jisung gave him a small smile, “Im Jisung.”
And that was the start of their friendship? If you can call it that.
Jisung became a regular attendee of the church—with or without his grandma. He usually sits beside Chenle now, distracting him from whatever the priest was on. If this was the old Chenle, he would try to shut him up and actually tell him to listen but he somehow can’t.
He doesn’t know why but he likes to hear Jisungs voice.
He doesn’t know when it changed—or why it feels different—but he finds himself waiting for those whispers now. Waiting for that voice.
That deep and soft—if you can make a contrast between that—voice that he can’t seem to get over with.
He even sometimes dreams about Jisung.
They said if you dream about said person, you miss them. So that was the conclusion Chenle could bring himself to accept as he only saw the latter on Sundays.
They go to different universities, different friends, different environments but in those days he got to know Jisung, he felt like he knew him better than anyone.
He knows that sounds dramatic but it’s acceptable. In a way.
Jisung looked for him the moment he entered the church.
Jisung saved him a seat.
And Chenle goes to church earlier than usual because maybe Jisung came early too.
It was not long when Chenle started to suspect his own feelings.
Especially when this pretty young girl around their age came to Jisung last sunday. Which in result took away Chenles precious time to talk with him.
He told himself it was irritation, nothing more, just annoyance at the interruption, at the disruption of habit, but the tightness in his chest and the sharp, unreasonable thought of “Why is she talking to him like that?” lingered longer than it should have, and he hated how aware he was of the way Jisung brushed his hair back while listening to her, (Chenle found this very behavior of Jisung hot but he wont ever say that).
But Chenle was not gay.
He had never looked at boys that way. Never questioned himself before. He liked girls. He had liked girls. This—whatever this was—didn’t fit anywhere in the version of himself he understood.
So he did the most logical thing he could think of.
He searched it up on Google.
“How to know if you’re gay.”
His palms were sweating. His eyes burned on his laptop as it loaded slowly due to his poor internet connection.
When the articles popped up, he slightly jumped. He felt…wrong. He was not gay, he couldn’t be, he kept telling himself that.
So he clicked the first one he saw. “Am I Gay?” the bold and big word displayed on his screen. He slowly read the paragraphs, word for word.
Have you ever had feelings for a same-gender close friend?
Does he? He doesn’t really know what he feels towards Jisung.
When someone asks you who you’re crushing on, who do you picture?
Jisungs smile then flashed inside his head. His heart started to beat faster, he quickly read the other questions on the site.
Has anyone ever asked you if you were gay?
Well it was usually just jokes when people tell him that, right? Or were they fucking serious?
He had enough, these dumb questions online were not reliable at all. Anyone could make these, he can’t be gay.
He shut the laptop a little too hard, the sound echoing in his quiet room, and ran both hands through his hair as if he could physically pull the thoughts out of his head, telling himself this was ridiculous, that he was overthinking, that a few moments of jealousy and a couple of dreams did not suddenly rewrite his entire sexuality.
Why did he care so much?
Chenle pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw colors burst behind them, breathing uneven, trying to ground himself in something solid—rules, beliefs, anything that could hold firmer than these “gay” thoughts.
He was not gay and he would never be.
Not because he examined the possibility and understood it—but because he was scared of what it would mean if he was. Scared of disappointing his family. Scared of being looked at differently. Scared of sitting in the same pew and feeling like a fraud beneath stained glass windows.
Scared that God would look at him differently too.
For the first time, Chenle did not want to go to church. He was scared to see Jisung. He was scared that whatever his feelings were it would deepen.
But he can’t disappoint his mom. He always—no doubt—went with her every single Sunday for all his life. So he went.
He sat down on his usual spot, his mom sitting down on her usual spot next to her old church friends.
Chenle closed his and he prayed. He prayed that Jisung would skip today. He prayed that he won't have to face Jisung and his feelings.
But before he could even finish his prayer, a warm and heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He jumped from the sudden contact. Shit, its him. Chenle opened his eyes to see Jisung smiling at him apologetically.
“Sorry,” he took the seat next to him. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” He was wearing this black polo shirt that looked absolutely gorgeous on him. His hair well done and still a little bit damp, and he smelled so fucking good.
Chenle could not speak for a moment, too busy admiring this boy infront of him.
“Hey, you okay?” Jisungs worried voice drew him back, he nodded, finally finding his voice. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.”
Jisung looked at him longer, trying to read Chenle but the mass was already starting. He only gave a light hum and looked forward.
Chenle tried to calm his nerves down, chanting to behave himself throughout this hour.
Jisung was actually quiet the whole time. He did not for once disturb Chenle. But he was not listening to the priest either, he was in deep thought about something. Chenle caught onto that.
After it ended, Jisung was becoming more fidgety, fingers drumming lightly against his lap. Chenle didn’t know how to approach him, not wanting to overstep boundaries. Before he could ask what was wrong, Jisung spoke.
“Hey, um… Can we talk?”
Chenles face contorted to worry.
Oh fuck, did Jisung know his slight-maybe-crush on him and is now weirded out?!
“Yeah, of course.”
They walked out of the church, the sunlight hitting the stained glass, and Jisung led him down a quiet side street, away from the chatter of parishioners and the usual Sunday crowd.
The air was warm, a little heavy with the scent of nearby flowers, and Chenle’s chest raced at the proximity. His mind won't stop racing at the thought of someone thinking he’s umm… gay.
Which he is not.
The stopped near the small local park. It was midday so there were a lot of people there but they somehow found a small spot away from the others.
“Umm..” Jisung started. He could not even look at him in the eyes. “I just want to tell you,” he continued, the anticipation almost choking Chenle to death.
“I like you,”
Chenles whole world dropped.
Jisung likes him. Jisung is gay. Jisung is not normal.
His mind raced with thoughts, ugly horrible thoughts. Panic and guilt clawed at his chest, twisting it painfully. He felt trapped, this is wrong, so so wrong.
He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, not because of Jisung but himself.
He did not like how his heart was beating so fast. He did not like the sudden idea of possibly being with Jisung romantically because he was not allowed.
He was not gay.
“I-im not… im not gay”
Even coming out of his mouth for real seemed to be so fucking fake.
Jisung finally looked at him, his head moving so fast to meet his eyes. “What?” even Jisung couldn’t believe it.
“Im…” Chenle wanted to say more, explain his response but the shame and panic were stronger. He could not face him anymore, so he left.
He left without even saying sorry.
He tried to distract himself with anything he could think of.
He muted Jisungs number. He did not have it in himself to block him, it was just too cruel.
Jisung kept texting—small messages at first, then longer ones, apologizing, asking if he was okay, asking if he had done something wrong. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please don’t hate me. Can we talk when you’re ready?
Chenle didn’t reply.
Because if he did, he already succumbed to the temptation.
When Sunday came again, Chenle didn’t go to church. He told his mom he had a very bad stomachache, doubled over in the bathroom that morning to sell the story with enough discomfort that she didn’t question him. She fussed over him, patted his back, scolded him lightly for skipping mass, but he nodded numbly, forcing himself to believe that the lie was enough to protect him from what awaited at the church.
He laid on his bed, unmoving. He stared at the ceiling God knows how long until he heard a knock. It was faint, it could barely be audible but because the house was dead silent, it was clear someone was at the door.
Chenle sighed, thinking it was his mom who accidentally left something and came rushing back. He hurriedly went down the stairs, he knew his mom hated it when they got to church late.
He opened quickly, not even checking who was at the door.
And surprise-surprise, it was Jisung.
He looked like he ran here, under the hot 9 am sun. Sweating profusely, breathing deep and quick.
“Why didn’t you reply?” Jisung asked, voice breathless—not just from running.
Chenle felt his throat close up. This was exactly what he was trying to avoid. But how the fuck did he know where I live?
“What… how did you get here?” Chenle did not even answer him, too confused and surprised to even remember for a minute what happened last week.
Jisung blinked, still catching his breath. “You told me once,” he said between inhales. “When we were talking about jeepney routes? You said you live near the old bakery with the blue gate. I just… figured it out.”
Oh. He remembered?
And it came hitting on him now. A random Sunday conversation. A careless detail shared without thinking. He didn’t expect Jisung to remember. He didn’t expect him to care enough to.
The realization made his stomach twist.
“I went to church,” Jisung continued, swallowing. “You weren’t there. Your mom said you weren’t feeling well.” His eyes searched Chenle’s face. “You don’t look sick.”
Chenle stiffened. “I am.”
“Chenle.” Jisung clearly knows he was lying.
“Why didn’t you reply to me?” Jisung asked again, quieter this time.
Chenle opened his mouth but nothing came out. Because what was he supposed to say? Sorry, I panicked because I might like you back? Sorry, I’m scared of what this means? Sorry, I’m terrified of myself?
Instead, he defaulted to the safest shield he had. “I told you,” he said, jaw tightening.
“I’m not gay.”
The words came out harsher than he intended.
“I didn’t say you were,” Jisung replied, voice steady but thin. “I said I like you.”
“That’s the same thing,” Chenle snapped, panic rising again. “Why would you even—why would you say that to me?”
The question hung between them, heavy and unfair.
Jisung’s breathing had finally slowed, but his hands were shaking now. “Because it’s true,” he said simply. “And I thought you deserved to know.”
Chenle felt cornered. The open doorway behind him felt like the only escape.
“This is wrong,” he muttered, more to himself than to Jisung. “You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—”
“Wrong?” Jisung echoed quietly.
Chenle hated that word the second it left his mouth, but he couldn’t take it back.
“Is it because I like boys?” Jisung asked, no filter just plain truth.
Chenle’s stomach dropped. “No— that’s not what I—” he started quickly, panic rising again. “I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he rushed out. “I just— I can’t—”
“You can’t what?” Jisung interrupted again. “Be seen with me? Have someone think you’re like me?”
“That’s not it!” Chenle snapped, frustration mixing with fear. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it,” Jisung shot back immediately. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you think there’s something wrong with me.”
The words hit harder than Chenle expected.
“That’s not what I think,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction.
“Then what is it?” Jisung demanded, stepping closer. “You ran. You ignored me all week. You lied to your mom. And now you’re telling me this is wrong.”
Chenle opened his mouth again, desperate to fix it, to untangle the mess he’d created.
“It’s not you,” he said quickly. “It’s just— I grew up differently. I can’t just— I’m not like you.”
The second it came out, he knew it sounded worse. Jisung let out a small, humorless laugh. “Not like me.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You keep saying that,” Jisung cut him off again, voice cracking slightly now despite his attempt to stay composed. “But you don’t hear yourself.”
Chenle’s chest felt tight, suffocating. He wasn’t trying to insult him. He wasn’t trying to make him feel small.
He was just scared.
But fear doesn’t translate well.
“Is it really that disgusting to you?” Jisung asked quietly.
Chenle could not speak, he was afraid he would say something wrong again.
“I’m Christian, and you know that” Chenle finally said, voice barely above a whisper, like admitting it explained everything. Like that alone should justify the panic in his eyes. “I can’t just… accept this. It’s a sin.”
The word landed between them like a slap.
Jisung stared at him.
“A sin,” he repeated. Chenle felt his chest cave in. “That’s just how I was raised,” he rushed out. “I didn’t make the rules. I didn’t choose this.”
“Neither did I,” Jisung shot back, voice trembling now. “You think I chose this?” Chenle did not respond.
“You think I woke up one day and decided it would be easier to like boys?” Jisung continued, words spilling out faster now, emotion cracking through. “You think I wanted to stand in front of you and risk losing you?”
Chenle swallowed hard.
“Is loving someone really a sin?” Jisung asked, and his voice broke on the last word.
That question hurt more than anything else. Because Chenle didn’t have an answer that didn’t sound cruel.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Jisung said, eyes glassy but refusing to let tears fall. “I didn’t hurt anyone. I didn’t lie to you. I told you the truth. And you’re looking at me like I committed a crime.”
“I’m not—” Chenle tried.
“You said it’s wrong,” Jisung cut in. “You said it like I’m something worthless.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Chenle whispered, but the damage was already done.
Jisung’s jaw tightened. “You know what hurts?” he said softly. “It’s not that you don’t like me back. I can handle that. It’s that you’re making it sound like there’s something broken about me for feeling this way.”
“I can’t go against God,” Chenle said weakly, like he was clinging to the only solid thing he had left.
Jisung’s expression shifted—disbelief.
“You really think God would hate you for loving someone?” he asked.
Chenle’s breath caught. The question was too big for him to answer.
“I don’t know,” Chenle admitted, voice shaking. “I just know I’m not supposed to feel this.”
There it was.
Not supposed to feel this.
The truth slipped out, unintentionally and Jisung noticed.
His eyes softened for a second, “So you do feel something,” Jisung said quietly.
Chenle froze. He hadn’t meant to reveal that.
Panic surged back stronger than before, harsher now because hope had flickered across Jisung’s face—and Chenle couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t let him misunderstand. He couldn’t let this grow into something bigger than it already was.
“No,” Chenle said quickly, almost desperately. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever you think I feel—it doesn’t matter.”
Jisung’s expression slowly fell. “Why?”
“Because I’m not going to accept this,” Chenle said, forcing the words out even though they scraped painfully against his throat. “I can’t. I won’t.”
The air between them turned cold despite the heat of the morning sun.
“You deserve someone who can… who can do that,” Chenle continued, voice shaking despite his effort to sound firm. “Someone who won’t hesitate. Someone who won’t think it’s wrong every time you touch their hand. I’m not that person.”
Jisung stared at him like he was trying to see if this was another defense mechanism, another lie born from fear.
“We shouldn’t do this,” Chenle added, more quietly now. “We shouldn’t even be standing here talking about this.”
“Doing what?” Jisung asked, his voice no longer angry—just tired. “Liking each other?”
Chenle looked away.
“Yes.”
Nobody spoke after that, as if digesting all this shit that went down.
Then Jisung spoke.
“Okay.”
What?
Chenle looked at him, eyes wide as he stared at him. Jisung added, “I wont force you to a life you are not ready yet,” he looked at him.
“But don’t call it wrong,” he added, voice softer now but firmer than ever. “Don’t call me wrong just because you’re afraid.”
Chenle couldn’t breathe.
“I’m not ashamed of who I am,” Jisung continued. “It took me years to stop hating myself for it. Years to stop praying for it to go away. I won’t go back there just because you’re still there.”
That hit so fucking hard.
“And one day,” Jisung said, stepping back slowly, “when you finally stop running from yourself… I hope you remember that loving someone was never the sin.”
His lips pressed into a thin line.
“Denying yourself is.”
Chenle let a tear fall. Jisung was right, so god awfully right.
“Good luck, Chenle.” Jisung gave him a small smile. “I know you mean well,” then he left. Just like that.
Chenle was now alone.
Chenle closed the door slowly, the click echoing in the hallway. The house felt suffocating now. The same walls that had felt safe an hour ago now felt like they were pressing in on him.
Denying yourself is.
The words wouldn’t stop replaying.
He slid down against the door again, covering his face with both hands, shoulders shaking—not dramatically, not loudly—but enough to finally let the tears fall without restraint.
He finally found the answers he was looking for, for so long.
He was gay.
He was really gay. He was gay for Jisung.
A few hours later, Chenle found himself walking back to church.
Not because he felt better. Not because he changed his mind. But because he felt guilty.
The church doors were still open. Late mass hadn’t started yet. A few people lingered outside, but no one paid him much attention as he slipped inside. The air was cooler, quieter, heavy with incense and something familiar.
He didn’t sit in his usual spot.
He didn’t look for anyone.
He walked straight toward the confessional.
Each step felt heavy, like he was walking toward judgment instead of forgiveness.
When he knelt inside the small wooden booth and the screen slid open, his throat tightened.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” he began automatically, the words ingrained from childhood.
There was a pause.
“What is troubling you, my child?” the priest asked gently.
Chenle’s hands trembled against his knees. He stared at the wooden divider, at the small cross carved into it.
“I… I had impure thoughts,” he said, the words tasting bitter. “About another boy.”
Silence, the kind that felt endless.
“And I entertained them,” Chenle continued, voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t stop it soon enough. I let it grow.”
He swallowed hard.
“I think I wanted it.”
He then stopped, but was quick to change his mind.
“No, I wanted it”.
Maybe in another universe he was strong enough to face the criticism. That love was stronger than fear. That he wouldn't have to deal with this secret he will keep to his grave.
Maybe in that universe, he wouldn’t still be thinking about him, years later, wishing he had been just a little more braver.