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Tanrak had chosen to wear a black patterned t-shirt that Barth had left in his room days ago. At first, it had been just to have something comfortable, but it soon turned into a twisted comfort. Now, sitting across from her, the shirt felt like armor that protected and wounded him at the same time.
The girl talked animatedly; Tanrak hoped her soft voice would penetrate the dull thud of his own thoughts. Tanrak forced a smile, nodding occasionally, but his mind was miles away; in the classroom, where Barth would lean over his desk toward him.
"Is something wrong, Tanrak?" she asked, interrupting her monologue.
Tanrak blinked, returning to the present.
"No, it’s nothing. I’m just... just a little tired."
"You seem distant," she gave him a worried look.
He sighed, hating himself for doing this to her. She wasn't to blame for his confusion, for his «forbidden» desire. She was sweet and kind, but every fiber of his being resisted feeling any attraction toward her.
"I’m sorry," he said, lowering his gaze. "I’ve had a lot on my mind lately."
She reached out and covered his hand on the concrete table. The contact was light, tentative.
"You can talk to me if you want."
Tanrak felt a lump in his throat. How could he explain to her that he was in love with a man? That with every breath he remembered him? That he wore his shirt just to feel like he was still close?
"I can’t," he whispered, his voice hitching.
"Why?"
"Because... because I don’t know how."
A silence fell between them. Tanrak wanted to flee, to disappear into the darkness, far from questioning stares and his own feelings. But he couldn't move.
"Maybe..." she leaned toward him. "Maybe you don’t need words right now."
Before Tanrak could process the warning, she closed the distance. The kiss was soft, charged with a sweet and «correct» expectation. It was the kind of kiss that fit into the plans those around him had mapped out for him.
Tanrak closed his eyes tight and forced himself to respond, trying to visualize the girl’s face, to convince his nervous system that this was what should happen, but the kiss felt like ash. While her lips were on Tanrak's, he could only think of Barth's warmth, of the way the air seemed to vibrate between them. Religious guilt mixed with a visceral physical rejection; it wasn't that she was bad, it was that his very body felt as if it were betraying its own truth.
And then, unconsciously, Tanrak focused on the subtle, almost imperceptible scent of Barth’s cologne still on the shirt. The scent he had associated with safety and comfort.
A memory assaulted his mind, vivid and painful. The first time he had kissed Barth. For the first time, Tanrak hadn't felt like he was fulfilling a duty, but rather claiming something that belonged to him by natural right.
He remembered how Barth’s hands, large and secure, had cradled his face as if it were something sacred, something far more sacred than any text Tanrak had memorized in church.
At first, it had been a clumsy and sweet kiss; then their lips moved with an urgency that had left him breathless, a passion that had consumed him entirely. He remembered the heat of his body against his own, the brush of his skin, the taste of salt and victory. He remembered how good it had felt... how natural and right it had felt.
But now, the memory felt like a betrayal. He was kissing someone else, and all he could think about was Barth.
He pulled away from her abruptly, his heart pumping fiercely in his chest. He felt sick; the scent of Barth’s cologne still lingered in his nose. He couldn't do it. He couldn't pretend he liked her; he couldn't force himself to feel something that wasn't there.
"Tanrak... are you okay?" she asked, her eyes wide with the surprise of the sudden rejection.
Tanrak couldn't answer. His expression showed his internal anguish, the desperation of wanting her to be Barth.
He felt physically ill, nauseous from the guilt and the rejection of the situation, unable to separate reality from memory. He had tried to force himself to love someone he didn't love, only to try to forget the man he wasn't supposed to love. And he had failed miserably.
"I’m sorry," he said, his voice trembling. "I’m so sorry."
Tanrak stood up, not daring to look her in the eye.
"I have to go." Tanrak didn't wait for a response. He stood up with erratic movements, his feet hitting the pavement with blind urgency. The night air, which should have been refreshing, felt suffocating.
Tanrak leaned against a wall and pressed a hand to his mouth, fighting the wave of nausea that was born not from his stomach, but from his soul. Every time he closed his eyes, her face blurred and was replaced by Barth’s, by the intensity of his gaze that always seemed to see through the layers of righteousness and devotion Tanrak used as a shield.
He felt the heat of tears finally overflowing and sliding down his cheeks. It wasn't just sadness; it was the terror of recognizing that the «holiness» he sought so much felt like a cell, while what he called «sin» was what made him feel alive.
. . ݁ ˖ 🧺 ٬٬ ࣪ ، 🧸 ، ࣪ ⊹ ֶָ
Crossing the threshold of the place he should call home, the silence of the building —that heavy silence, thick with incense and divine expectations— hit him; it gave him no comfort. His footsteps echoed in the hallways until he reached the door of the shared space, expecting to find other companions.
He entered and closed the door behind him, leaning his back against the cold wood. The room was almost dark.
But only Barth was there. He wasn't sleeping. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, watching the entrance with an intensity that made Tanrak’s stomach turn again.
"You’re early," Barth's voice was raspy, but he sounded relieved.
Tanrak stood frozen against the door, feeling the cold of the wood seep through the fabric of Barth’s shirt, that cotton armor that now felt like a confession of guilt.
Barth didn't move, but his eyes scanned Tanrak's disheveled figure: hair tossed by an unnatural wind, lips slightly swollen, and above all, that look of a cornered animal that Tanrak couldn't hide.
"How was the date, Tanrak?" Barth asked without malice.
Barth didn't ask with the cruelty of someone seeking a victory. There was no «I told you so». He watched him with an infinite patience that hurt Tanrak more than any disciplinary sermon.
Barth wasn't the «bad boy» that the rumors there tried to spread. He wasn't a rebel without a cause or someone seeking to corrupt Tanrak; he was, simply, a boy who had looked at the sky waiting for answers and had found only silence, someone who had lost faith in dogmas but found it in humanity, in the truth of feelings, and, above all, in his capacity to love. In fact, he loved Tanrak with a devotion that surpassed any psalm the other had ever memorized.
And seeing Tanrak there, trembling against the door, caused Barth’s heart to contract. There was no jealousy, only a deep and painful empathy. He knew Tanrak was trying to «cure» himself of him, trying to fit into a mold that was too small for him and would only end up breaking him.
"Tanrak," Barth spoke softly, standing up calmly, like someone approaching a wounded deer. "You don’t have to punish yourself for not being able to be who they want you to be."
Barth took a short step, closing the distance but respecting Tanrak’s personal space, not wanting to overwhelm him further; but the scent of cologne Tanrak had been chasing in the shirt’s fabric now emanated directly from the source, enveloping him in a reality he couldn't deny.
Tanrak buried his face in his hands, letting out a stifled sob. The weight of guilt, of religion, and of that empty kiss he still felt like a stain on his lips made him collapse. His knees gave out and he slid down the wood of the door until he was curled on the floor.
Barth knelt in front of him but didn't touch him immediately. He waited for Tanrak to seek his gaze, until Tanrak looked at him, finding eyes clouded by the terror of having «failed» before the divine, when in reality he was only being true to his own nature, to love.
Seeing him like that, broken over his own knees and wearing that black t-shirt that was a bit too big for him, made Barth feel a painful tug in his chest. It was a devastating need to protect him from his own judgment.
"I’ve tried..." Tanrak’s voice broke. "Barth, I’ve really tried, but I felt... I felt dirty. I felt as if I were lying to God and to myself."
"You aren't dirty, Tanrak. You’re just honest," Barth said, his gaze fixed on the other's, holding all that pain without blinking. "Forcing yourself to be someone you aren't... that is what’s making you sick. Not love."
Tanrak let out a plaintive groan and, letting himself be carried away by an instinct he could no longer repress, leaned forward, seeking Barth’s comfort like sunflowers seek the sun. His hands gripped Barth’s shirt tightly, burying his face in the crook of his neck.
Barth surrounded him with his arms immediately, wrapping him in a welcoming and solid hug that seemed to want to seal all the cracks through which Tanrak was falling apart. One of his hands went to Tanrak’s back, stroking him tenderly.
Tanrak clung tighter, inhaling deeply of Barth’s scent. In that embrace, the nausea began to subside. The cold he had felt since leaving the date was replaced by Barth’s searing heat.
"Why is it so easy with you?" Tanrak asked. "Why do I feel closer to something «sacred» when I’m like this with you than when I’m praying?"
Barth pulled back just a few centimeters to force Tanrak to look at him. He used his thumb to wipe away the tears still running down Tanrak’s cheeks.
"Maybe because love is the most sacred thing there is, Tanrak, and love escapes any attempt at comprehension," Barth replied with a sad and sweet smile. "It’s just this. Being here."
Tanrak closed his eyes, letting Barth’s peace invade him. His heart stopped galloping with fear and began to beat at the calm pace of the man in front of him. In that dark corner of the room, Tanrak finally stopped feeling overwhelmed.
"I feel like I’m breaking into pieces..." Tanrak sighed, exhausted by all the psychological anguish he carried. "They say it’s a sin to love each other..."
"Hate is also a sin."
"It is."
"And if we... if we don't go to heaven... at least our sin was love and theirs was hate," Barth’s voice was soft, compassionate.
Tanrak leaned toward Barth, enough to seek his lips with a painful urgency. When their mouths met, the contrast was devastating; where the kiss with the girl had been ash and duty, this was longing and freedom. Tanrak moaned mid—kiss, a sound that mixed relief and agony, as his hands moved up to grab Barth’s shoulders, pulling him closer, as if he wanted to merge with his existence.
Because Tanrak didn't know he was starving until he tasted Barth.
They separated gently, the silence of the room filling with the sound of their shallow breathing, as their noses brushed affectionately, an action performed with such naturalness.
"If I had two hearts, I would take all your sorrows and your troubles, to let them multiply in my weak body, and I would leave you only a heart full of joy," Barth murmured.
Tanrak’s lips trembled slightly as his eyes grew damp again at Barth’s sweet words.
"You can’t just say that..."
"I say it because it’s true. I’d rather carry a thousand winters if it means you can walk under the sun without fear."
"I feel greedy... as if I wanted to steal every ounce of that peace you give me and lock it away so no one else can touch it."
"I’ve never seen a greedy person give love, for love always sprouts from the hands of the generous. You are the most generous person I’ve known, Tanrak. Even when you try to tear yourself apart to fit what others want, you do it out of love for them, not selfishness."
Barth smiled, a small smile filled with sweet melancholy, and then took Tanrak’s hands, which were still trembling slightly, and placed a kiss on each palm, as if sealing a silent promise.
. . ݁ ˖ 🧺 ٬٬ ࣪ ، 🧸 ، ࣪ ⊹ ֶָ
Tanrak used to beg God to take away the feelings. The hunger, the desire, the love. He would sit in the confessional with tears sliding down his cheeks and his name on his lips, whispering that he couldn't stop thinking about Barth.
Now he doesn't pray for mercy. He prays for him. He prays that they both find forgiveness not for loving each other, but for the times they tried to stop.