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The crinkly walls were lined with books. Books of old, new, legends, truth, all classified by a Dewey Decimal key that appeared too blurry to concern for now. Thick and thin vines shifted into shelves, the original smell of a red iron now identical to the scent of Daddy’s morning coffee and Mummy’s perfume. Ralph could smell the fresh and weathered papers in the library, muffins from across the hall that were almost finished.
He looked down to himself to see his pajamas and smelled the warm, clean, soft fabric. Indulging into his thoughts, he dragged his loose shirt towards his nose and inhaled. Even once overflowed with excessive oxygen and incense, he continued to breathe all the fibers in and out, refreshing his system. This act resulted in a slight dizzy feeling, his balance almost giving out on him. He regained his stance on his shrunken body, the scent still flooding his mind. Just as intended.
His feet were bare, yet not overly cold on the hardwood floor. He could still almost feel each groove between the tiles, the ridges that shadowed underneath him.
Rays of light had flooded the room. It appeared a dusty yellow-pink, but faint blues and greens were still present. The majority of diverse colors lay behind him, to which he turned. There, he set his eyes upon the most vivid area of the house; the altar.
On a pillar was the Bible, opened to Leviticus. A long batch of rules that were blurry nearly all over. Ralph put his index finger to the singular vivid area of the inked paper, embracing the subtle folds and crinkles he could almost feel. He chose to do so with closed eyes. He couldn’t hold back from feeling the thin sheets, but he could follow the trace blindly. It’s easy to learn a sin or lesson by heart, he’s been taught so at a young age. It was up to him to learn to feel it by heart as well.
As he flipped through the great book, not quite sure where his hopes lied, he caught sight of the stained glass window directly in front of him. It was of Jesus Christ on the cross. There were red triangles on the appearingly peachy skin of the savior, trickling from his palms where nails must have been laid. The background was a somber blue with the occasional white speck or tile. He always felt a strange unsettling feeling towards the window, perhaps a distant pity. He named it faith. Only something divine as what he knows of God could ever muster up such emotion inside of him.
“Ralph,” called a voice he knew was his father, “your mother made breakfast, come.”
Ralph smiled and dashed to the dining room. Before leaving the library completely, he turned back to close the Lord’s book. He had opened it to a chapter in Matthew, one of the specific pages he often turned to, likely more than the previous passage. Both of which he always daydreamed during the lessons of.
Love thy neighbor.
Ralph could clearly think up a million ways to contradict this, of why he’s been told to contradict this, of why it’s wrong and mandatorily right to contradict this. So he chose to think of the rest of the surroundings. The smell of freshly toasted bread and jam began to waft through the air, alerting him of his reading time nearing an end.
He closed the holy book, accidentally creating an audible clasp, vague and quiet enough to burn his ears.
“Ralph, are you coming?” asked his mother.
“Yes, sorry, Mummy!” he replied.
The boy darted out of the library, anxious to see his mother and father’s faces. The hallway was much more blurry than the previous room, but such may be on account of his speed. A silhouette of a woman with a glistening thread and shape around her neck appeared. There was also a man with padded shoulders and a hat in his hands by the table.
"Morning,” said the young boy with a grin and squint.
“Your mum made breakfast, come to the table,” spoke a richer, huffier voice that must be his father. Ralph didn’t move, only able to smile. His dad’s face was too blurry to comprehend, as well as his mum’s, but it was close enough to how he thinks he remembered. “Come here, Ra–”
“–lph, come back, are you here? Ralph!”
A figure was standing in front of Ralph, snapping his index and thumb together into the other's ear until Ralph flinched slightly and locked eyes with him. The figure had overgrown black hair, nearing to their shoulders. It was quite tangled and more textured than most hair, yet there was still a small shine to it. Their skin was a deep amber, sun-kissed by the Lord who urged Ralph not to notice these features with pleasure.
“Simon,” said Ralph. He wasn’t necessarily blind when he was snapped out of his hallucination, but it was taking quite a moment for him to process everything.
Simon was kneeling in front of Ralph, snapping his index and thumb towards the blond’s left ear. He persisted until Ralph flinched up from his sandy makeshift bed and locked eyes with him. Ralph’s face grew warm.
“Simon,” murmured Ralph, still attempting to grasp his surroundings. “Hullo.”
The two stood in a heavy silence, eyes still locked on each other’s. The air's taste of iron and fruit had regained into Ralph’s senses, bringing his body a brief nauseousness as if he were adjusting for the first time. He almost didn’t notice Simon’s hand on his shoulder, not until the boy backed away. The tips of his fingers still hovered over the woken boy’s collarbone, not touching, merely providing a distant comfort.
“Uhm,” Simon spoke with a gentle tone, “are you alright? You’re usually the first to wake up, and you haven't come out yet.”
Ralph blinked in response.
Simon replied, “I went to check up on you and you were… in your head, I think. Are you still there? In your head?”
Ralph was still too stunned to speak at first, still taking in reality. No books, no breakfast, however the verses atop the soft paper still lingered on his fingertips. Finally the full situation dawned on him after a moment or so.
“Yeah, stuck in my head, I guess.”
Simon looked into Ralph’s eyes, darting between the left and right, as if consulting whether to speak once more at all. The boys had very different eyes. Ralph's were a light blue, reminiscent of holy water splashed onto infants before they could protest through more than cries, though the specks of green could be compared to the ocean near the sand. The other had dark brown, nearly black, irises that resembled the soil which would absorb all drips of water, blessed or unblessed.
“Is it like my fainting, maybe? Like losing touch with reality?”
Ralph felt an ache in his chest that was a bit more prominent than before. A mix of sympathy and a comfort of being understood.
“Yes, nearly like you described it,” said the blond with a faint smile. “Except my head hurts a bit, everything feels sore, like I’m re-adjusting to the island for the first time again. Or are your faints like that too?”
Simon tilted his head, as if asking Ralph if it was a suitable time to share. He’d never had the opportunity to describe his episodes, much less the pain. Ralph nodded and gave a smile that was quickly returned.
“In a sort of way,” replied the dark haired boy. “I’ve begun picking up patterns before it happens. Usually my head and legs go dizzy, and I sometimes see things that aren’t real, kind of like you did. Then I just fall asleep and wake up sore all over.”
Ralph hearkened Simon’s struggles. His hand floated over the amber skinned boy’s, which was still hovering near Ralph’s shoulder. Still, Ralph's hand refrained from touching Simon's hand, as did Simon's hand avoid even brushing Ralph's shoulder, despite the proximity.
He enjoyed the way Simon's few moles and specks would shift across his face as his jaw moved up and down. The way his cupid’s bow would sometimes spread or bunch. He began to rub the finger tips on his free hand to distract from the sight.
“Suppose that’s it,” finished Simon. “I know I’m batty for it all, but it is what it is.”
Ralph’s once gentle expression scrunched up. “Sucks to that, you’re not batty and you can’t control it, and I… shite, I’m sorry I’ve called you batty before and let people call you that and… I’m so sorry, but you’re not batty, I know that now and you should know it too.”
Simon smiled, sending another small pang to Ralph’s chest and fingertips.
“It's alright, I forgive you,” said Simon.
Ralph looked to his feet in humility. “You shouldn’t. I was mean.”
“You did mean things, but that doesn't make you mean. And forgive and don’t forget, right?” Simon's words had shocked Ralph. The blond looked to the other boy, who despite Ralph’s horrible past behavior, was smiling. His dark brown eyes were crinkled up and offering a second chance. Ralph's face flushed with pink and the same expression as Simon's.
“… Yeah. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
They had stood there for nearly a minute, up until they couldn’t stand to look at the other without their knees wobbling, so the two sat down. They ensured to sit further away than their previous positions. The emotional closeness that couldn't be shaken off was already too dirty, therefore a near brush of the skin must be adjacent to a burning chip of wood.
“Y’know how I disappear sometimes? ‘Specially after I faint?” asked Simon. Ralph nodded in response, and Simon continued. “It’s because I found this nice place to relax by myself. Would you like to come?"
Ralph could feel himself burn, from his cheeks to his fingertips to his chest to hell. He chose to hope the burning is nothing but a passing warm breeze. The walls of the hut did contain many holes, no wonder wind had entered.
“You mean… of course, yes, sure. But there may be work I have to do.”
“I think some littluns are actually attempting to build a couple shelters. Even if it doesn’t work out, everyone is resting today. You can do the same, and it doesn’t have to be on your own in your head.”
Ralph smiled shyly. He didn’t know how to speak correctly at the moment, so he nodded hoping Simon would understand. Simon smiled back in the same manner.
“Come follow.”
The pair had been walking for only a few minutes. They had gotten a few confused glances from other boys, some indiscernible whispers as well, but the pair chose to assume that the others were perplexed on their friendship or desired location. Neither spoke to each other during the stroll, the only noises to break the silence were their steps against the hot sand along with the chatter of other children in the distance, and sometimes the occasional insect.
They'd finally arrived at a dead end. Ralph came to a halt, but Simon continued to walk. Noticing Ralph had stopped following him, Simon turned back.
"Aren't you coming?" asked Simon.
“Is this not it?” Ralph replied in confusion.
Simon shook his head. "Sorry, guess I forgot this was your first time here. We go through the creepers."
Ralph's face turned a bit pink, embarrassed his mind wasn't fully on track. "But wouldn't we get lots of splinters and stuff?" he asked.
Simon paused, thoughts circling back to him. "Yes, actually, I got a couple splinters the first time I came cause I couldn't get in right. I also always get loads of branches and leaves in my hair. If you want I can try to help you through."
He held out a hand toward Ralph. Ralph stood for a moment unsure, his face growing more pink. He put his fingertips against Simon’s and both felt simultaneously unsteady and at more peace. They slowly interlocked their fingers, as slowly as one would walk down to hell by what must be a vile choice. And yet the warmth of their hands against one another wasn’t quite like burning.
“Come on,” said Simon once the two had both been adjusted to the new feeling. He gently pulled Ralph behind him through the creepers.
It was dark. Seemingly all light had been cut off once inside the branches. It was thicker and more humid than Ralph had expected. A part of him wanted to sever his hand from Simon's and dart back to where they began. But the light was so close, irresistibly motivating him to continue. Even Simon helped pull him towards it, gentle enough to let go if desired, soft enough to stay.
There were bugs in the creepers, too. Some bit the boys, leaving pink bumps that either ached or itches. Other insects chirped harshly towards them, bringing their ears more pain than the growing scabs. The buzzing flies sometimes swarmed around them as if to taunt, whispering wordless deceit.
Finally, Ralph saw the light pore into his eyes and soon against Simon's skin, which almost seemed to glow in the sunlight. Ralph smiled and tightened his grip onto the other's hand. He only needed to walk a couple more steps to bask in the same light as Simon. And so he did.
They two looked at each other with pink smiley faces until Simon's knees wobbled and he fell. Ralph was worried he had suffered from another one of his fainting spells, but was quickly proven wrong when he heard the joyous laughs erupting from the dark haired boy. Simon squeezed Ralph's hand, which was still in his since before the creepers, and pulled him down to lay by him. Ralph made the same joyous sound from his chest, and the two laid there in their giggles for minutes.
The gleeful moment was momentarily broken when Ralph rolled to face Simon better, for he had landed on the most scathed side of his arm. He inhaled sharply when a small chip of wood was pushed deeper into his skin by the ground.
"Bloody hell," the blond whisper-yelled to himself. Simon grew concerned.
“Oh, Ralph, are you alright?” said Simon.
Ralph nodded. "I just laid on one of the splinters I got, is all."
Simon's expression turned sour listening to the blond's pain. He nodded solemnly and replied, "I got a few my first time through the creepers too, I know they hurt terribly."
Eyes locked onto Ralph's small injury, he let go of Ralph's hand and trailed both of his own hands up to Ralph's arm, gently holding it. He traced the area around the splinter with his index, not too nearby.
The various chips of wood puncturing his skin were far from pleasant, but Ralph had primarily believed he could stand it. He was brave, just as Jack and all the boys on the island ought to be. Even if it were just for the little things, cowardice might as well be a sin. What would his father say?
“I’ll help take it all out," Simon interrupted his thoughts. He must've moved himself while Ralph had been thinking, for the blond found himself gazing up to Simon. The amber boy's legs were crossed together, his top half gradually leaned down to better meet Ralph's eyes. "Can you sit up?”
Before he could say he felt just fine, or at least sit on his own accord, Simon gingerly scooped him from under his armpits and placed him into a sitting position. Ralph would've swayed backwards towards the ground during the transition if not for Simon's hold. He'd expected Simon to fully remove his hands, but he only shifted them towards the prominently injured limb which Ralph had earlier leaned on.
Butterflies danced about like in a fashion Ralph saw a resemblance to the fairies he'd seen in the books of some of his effeminate relatives. Labyrinthine, patterned wings were blurred by distance but could somehow be touched, for the feeling had traveled from the air he breathed into his esophagus, and finally settling in his stomach. The sudden ill sensation would've made him get up and run from the blissful fields, but he looked back toward Simon. The butterflies only flew faster in his abdomen, but he no longer felt ill was an accurate classification for such a thing.
Simon first removed the chips from the arm already in his grasp. He maintained his gentle touch, but occasionally had to resort to using a fingernail to pluck the full splinter out. All Ralph could do was pray he wasn’t trembling and that his face hadn’t turned the crimson of the devil.
And yet Simon’s gentle, shaking fingertips against his limbs, removing any trace of the treacherous creepers, had somehow soothed him more than the stress affected him. He looked into Simon's eyes, which were too focused on carefully removing any splinters and sometimes washing off dirt to notice Ralph's gaze. The dark eyed boy's expression was filled with a state Ralph somehow felt he understood.
Simon completed the de-splintering of all of Ralph’s limbs after roughly ten minutes. Ralph wasn’t sure if that was accurate, considering he could barely think to keep track of time at the moment, but he decided not to make the time pass another concern of his.
“Thanks,” said Ralph, breaking the silence, “Y’know, you don’t have to.”
“It's no problem, really,” replied Simon with a shy look. He unconsciously stroked Ralph's arm in a similar manner to the first day they arrived. Only, rather than erupting in laughter, Ralph let out a content sigh. He looked to Simon carefully, taking in his expression. The boy appeared simultaneously relaxed and unsettled, the same way as when he de-splintered Ralph.
“Simon," the blond started, "you look a bit funny, what's the matter?”
Simon tilted his head. Not necessarily in confusion, but as if he was attempting to understand his own potential answer. "I just look funny most of the time."
Ralph scoffed. "You don't look funny, I shouldn't have said it like that. And you never look funny. You look down. So are you feeling down?"
Simon took a brief pause, as he usually did before answering a question. He rarely spoke without contemplation beforehand, a trait Ralph always viewed as a good sign. "I think I feel guilty for helping you. Which is silly, because I always feel good when helping people. It's what I'm supposed to do. But this time I think I did something I shouldn't have."
After a few moments of contemplation, Ralph replied, “Well, then maybe I can help you too. Then we'd both be doing something wrong, together."
"I'm not sure that's how it works," Simon replied with the same crinkle of the eyes, mirroring what would be a chuckle or even a grin for most.
"Well, sucks to that, it's how it works now. Since you took out chips and stuff from my skin, maybe I could do it for your hair?" Ralph had been smiling until he realized it was likely inappropriate to do something so feminine, especially on an island like this. He wondered if this is what Simon had been describing, but he distanced himself from the thought through a meager explanation. "N-not like a girl, just because I can get all the leaves and stuff from my hair out easily in the water when I swim. But your hair is more textured, right, and you have to go through the creepers a lot, and you don't swim as often, and I'm sure it must be hard to get it all out, but since you helped me, maybe I can help you. Then we'd be even and both be wrong and both be helpful. Would that make you feel better?”
Ralph’s face had blushed when elaborating, likely more than necessary, and Simon just shook his head, turning his gaze downwards. "I don't think you understand, we're not meant to help each other, I'm…" Simon paused for a moment too long. At first, he appeared to be deprived of hope and ridden with whatever feeling he had been experiencing while plucking out shards of wood from Ralph's limbs. But then his expression turned into something brighter.
"Simon? You there?" asked Ralph, confused at the sudden stop.
"Yeah," replied Simon in the fast rate again, "sorry. I just feel like we're not supposed to. I don't think it's what my father would've wanted."
Ralph tilted his head, empathy welling into his chest. "Maybe my father wouldn't either, but sucks to them both—"
"No, Ralph," interrupted Simon. He never interrupted people, this would be the first time Ralph had heard him do so. "He's wonderful, truly, but with goodness comes a gray area. And it's hard for me to tell if helping you would be in that gray or good area."
Ralph could feel his face turn red from Simon's odd rambling, but he felt more confusion than the emotion responsible for that. Simon has always been quite soft-spoken. It was new to hear him speak his thoughts aloud in this way, but it felt enjoyable in a sense. He just wished he could hear Simon talk more about happier subjects so he wouldn't have to see the boy so upset.
Nodding, the blond replied, "Well, doesn't he want you to help him? To help others?"
"Of course," Simon replied.
"Then he wouldn't be angry if you helped me. Not saying you have to, of course, but he's not even here. It's ok to break the rules when they're that small, especially when it's not something that bad."
Simon's gaze returned back up to Ralph's. The amber skinned boy smiled, his face warming up. "I think you're right. And you don't think I'd be burned up or cursed or get sick if I…?" He began to trail off.
"What? Simon, you're not getting anything bad for anything, you're more than perfect, and if anyone gives you any shite, then they're shite."
"Even God?"
"Huh?" The blond was dumbfounded by the connection of this situation to God. Simon was the kindest of saints to Ralph, why would such a boy be concerned about angering Him?
"I thought you also… nevermind, right, sorry, I'm rambling about nothing now," answered Simon.
"No, you're ok, you're ok. And so… does that mean I can fix up your hair? You can still talk and ramble while I do it, I like hearing you speak more." Ralph felt his face grow warm from the confession. Simon gave him the same look of empathy Ralph had when Simon appeared guilty just earlier.
Simon seemed to hesitate again, but he nodded with a slight smile. "Yeah, alright. I might not say much because my throat got a bit dry. I guess I'm not used to talking so much. Probably won't speak much during it unless you speak first."
"Okay," Ralph said with a bashful smile.
Ralph scooted behind Simon and gently laid him down by his shoulders, the head of tangled black hair softly on Ralph’s crossed lap. Ralph's cheeks had turned pink for likely the umpteenth time, triggered by Simon's black doe eyes darting at and away from him. The hair spread to the ground and Ralph's stomach, tickling any patches of bare skin whenever altered by the breeze.
Ralph inhaled, unconsciously picking his fingernails on one hand. Exhaling, he placed his hands gently into Simon's mildly textured hair. With a closer and more affectionate look, it was no longer comparable to a bird’s nest. At least, it’s not comparable now that Ralph could observe more closely, along with the amber sun-kissed face and oak tree eyes gazing towards him. The thick strands created a dark flower, branches and leaves tangled in like thorns, curly textured strands shaped as intricate petals. The pollen was Simon himself, luring insects and critters of all kinds to bask in his growth.
Remembering how his mother brushed her hair before ceremonies, from the tips to the scalp, Ralph began at the bottom of Simon’s hair, removing any leaves and twigs in sight, and moved up to near his head. Once near the boy’s head, his hands had unintentionally lingered for a while. He may have also made sure to even remove any specks of dirt to elongate any time on this stage of the hair cleaning. By now, Simon's eyes had been dabbled closed. Ralph felt a butterfly's fluttering wings inside him when witnessing the meager event. The amber boy's blindness allowed his observations to lie more on Simon himself than his hair.
Simon's nose was softly hooked, ridges engraved on the top of it. His amber skin had been saturated to begin with, and has only deepened from being kissed by the sun every day on the island. There were paler splotches on his shoulders that must've been from when the boys still held the humanity and temperature-regulation to wear shirts. Every mole, every bump, Ralph was in delicate awe of.
Simon breathed calmly, releasing a feathery sigh. The blond's muscles released all tension from the sight, from the feeling of Simon slightly rising and lowering on his lap. Ralph's thumbs occasionally slipped onto Simon’s forehead and once his cheek while nearing the part where the left and right sides of Simon's hair separated. Ralph could feel the warmth of the amber boy's face, although he felt that he himself was the only burning one. He paused for a moment, becoming tense, but all was well again at feeling Simon scoot his head a bit closer. The blond couldn't pinpoint why it calmed him down, but he appreciated seeing Simon in such a state and continued his work on de-tangling.
Contrasting their ataraxia, a vile fly buzzed by and halted near the two. Then another. Three now. They were bothersome enough to distract Ralph from his dear friend’s hair. One was in Ralph’s ear, the other two swarmed around Simon’s head, whose face gave an expression of discomfort yet still not moving up from Ralph.
Ralph swatted the six legged eidolon away from his own ear, still keeping one hand in the dark flowery strands. Soon noticing Simon quite literally refusing to hurt a fly, he bashed the insects away from the kind boy. But the little beast in his ear still buzzed. He looked to the side, yet it had gone invisible. It must've flown off, leaving its wretched noise behind.
The fly gave the same feeling of the window.
Something stung. It may have been his taunted ears or hands. All he could process was that something was wrong.
“Ralph.”
Simon was sitting back up now, smooth and gentle hands on Ralph’s shoulders, fingernails slightly digging in. His face was etched with concern and empathy. Ralph’s chest ached to see his friend in a state.
Ralph began to attempt an explanation, but he could only manage to sputter out a few meager words that were legible. “Sorry, I—the flies—my brain—“
Before Ralph could finish his incomprehensible verbal episode, he felt arms around himself and a soft weight on his shoulder, near his neck. Simon was hugging him, and Ralph hugged back after a few moments of processing. The ache in his chest deepened, yet this time there was a brighter feeling there too. Ralph felt that despite the loveliness of it all, he was unjust.
“Don’t be sorry, I’m happy you’re safe,” Simon said softly into his ear, fingers tucking back a strand of Ralph’s hair, as if to give the comfort he received moments earlier. “What made you go out like that?”
“The flies,” replied Ralph truthfully. As much as he wanted to protect Simon from his personal burdens, he so selfishly yearned for Simon to soothe him. He wanted Simon to grasp and caress his crumbling hands so they'd burst into flames alongside one another.
“They reminded me of this window back home. The feeling it gave me more than the window itself. It’s like the flies were shaming me, the same way the window did.”
Simon hummed thoughtfully as he affectionately rubbed Ralph’s back. Ralph's breathing was still quickly paced, but it was calm enough to deeply absorb the oxygen without panic. The moment gave a tingly and warm sensation Ralph wished for more of, but it was still difficult to place whether Simon’s presence soothed away the harsh thoughts or was only encouraging them more. Even if the latter, Ralph gave into temptation. He allowed the other boy to hold him, to embrace him with affection so great it silenced any internal claims that he was undeserving of such love— such acceptance.
“Why'd the bugs remind you of a window?” Simon asked quietly, his hands pursuing its brush of the skin of Ralph’s back, up and down.
“It was a stained glass portrait of Jesus. His crucifixion,” Ralph replied. “It always made me feel guilty for some reason. Like I had something to live up to. And the flies… they didn't give me the same guilt, but it was sort of connected to the guilt I had about the glass. The flies gave more shame than guilt, really. I… I don’t know, they just both made me feel bad for things I can’t explain.”
Ralph felt Simon’s head nodding against his shoulder. He wanted to cut off his own circulation and choke to avoid breathing into Simon. Despite the righteous voices telling Ralph to let go, he dug his head into the crevice of Simon's neck and did not halt his breathing.
With an inhale, Ralph's nostrils were gifted a wholesome scent. He was fully aware that everything including Simon likely reeked of waste, but his senses must've been accustomed enough to dim any smelly substances from making him gag. The black hair smelled faintly of fruit and lotus, as if his hair wasn't already comparable enough to a flower. There were also traces of warm sand that crept into Ralph's nose, just below the amount that would make him unbearably itchy.
“I sometimes have that too. Shame.” said the flower haired boy. “Maybe looking at the window encouraged what pastors have said instead of what Jesus and God and biblical people did. I think… that a lot of people try to mix up what actually hurts people so that they can hurt you. Did priests or preachers ever do something like that?”
"I- I don't know," replied the blond. His stomach began to churn with memories. "I've had a lot of confessions before. I've told them a lot of things about myself I was never even sure were true. I figured it'd be better to repent of what I may not have than to live with what I may have."
"And were any of the things you confessed hurting people?"
Ralph couldn't bring himself to reply.
"I don't think you're a sinner, Ralph."
“But I am, I can feel it, I…”
Ralph didn’t finish that statement. The aching in his chest felt like equivalent to blasphemy. It was difficult to calculate whether Simon's tightening embrace was cooling or encouraging the fiery immorality in his system. Regardless, his arms constricted around just as much as the other boy's did.
He loved Him. He loved him.
Just as Ralph was about to let go, to escape the sinful wrath the flies must have induced, or perhaps another test of shame the stained glass had granted him, Simon cupped his face, with fingertips and cheeks burning just as much as Ralph’s.
"You're not a sinner. Or… even if you're a sinner in the Bible or in church, or if what you do is a sin there, you're not hurting anyone. I thought I was a sinner like that too, but maybe we can both unlearn that.”
Ralph’s eyes welled up with only a single tear dripping down, which Simon loosened the embrace to swipe off. He almost stumbled when trying to reposition, but Ralph ensured to keep him in place. Even once Ralph’s cheek went dry, Simon continued to gently rub his thumb against a patch of the other boy's face. The gesture had ameliorated a patch of their shared fears, leaving them to grin and blush without a buzz in the ear.
“You won't tell the others about this all, right?” Simon asked. Despite the grin, a large portion of fear was still evident on his face. Ralph nodded, trembling arms holding Simon's trembling body closer. "I've been cursed, or… I've been given homosexual thoughts a-and feelings and things of that manner. And that's a sin in church. But loving is also…"
Simon couldn’t bring himself to continue and broke eye contact, yet still maintained his proximity to Ralph, just enough to where they could breathe the same air. The wafts of faint iron and droppings in the background were unideal, but the growing scents of the flowers, the grass, and each other seemed to provide harmony.
Attempting to abandon the trepidation for just a moment, Ralph tilted his face up towards Simon's cheek as if to give a peck, but still halted himself. He was unsure of his morality or even his thoughts in the moment.
“I think we're both like that.” Ralph was now shaking as much as Simon was in his confession. He tilted his head back into Simon's shoulder rather than his cheek, not wanting to face the boy. "But I still think it's wrong—"
“No, no, quiet,” Sion replied, gently pushing Ralph's head off his shoulder and placing his finger over the boy's pink lips. It took a moment for Ralph to realize he was imitating a hush gesture, and it made him smile a bit.
Simon placed his hand back down and looked to the side to contemplate for a moment. Whether on the correct wording or the morality of the two, Ralph couldn’t decipher.
He looked back towards Ralph. “We were taught the same. I’ve known for my whole life I’d be hung for thinking this, but there’s plenty in the Bible that contradicts. Jesus contradicts what so many pastors and popes taught, and yet he rose as the son of Christ, remember? Because… we're supposed to love thy neighbor, and… and…”
Seeing him having trouble, Ralph lifted his softly trembling hand to Simon’s and brought it to his own lap.
“Perhaps you're right… or perhaps he’s not real at all. Either way, we’d still be wrong.”
Simon paused.
“Maybe so, I never really debated… I feel a connection to Him, but I think faith should be up to each person. But assuming he’s real, why would he preach about love to reflect it between certain people, between…”
“People like us?”
Both of their faces grew warm again from the implication and they looked away from each other, unable to suppress a slight smile. "Yes, people with thoughts like that—"
"I think I have those thoughts towards you," interrupted Ralph. "I'd always been scared I was like that, even before the island, but I've never actually been so sure on having them until we became friends."
Regaining courage once more, the pair's eyes returned to each other once more. Simon's left hand cupped Ralph’s left cheek, the right on the back of his head. Ralph melted in, feeling a warmth different from burning. He placed both his hands round the sides of Simon's neck.
"Me too," replied Simon. Ralph heard a repeated ping in his chest along with the flapping butterflies in his abdomen.
Slowly, Ralph leaned his head closer to Simon's. "Are you al- is this alright?" Simon nodded, breathing at a quickened pace. His exhales ghosted against Ralph's mouth. The two leaned in and their lips met. Their heads remained in place, and it occurred to them both that neither knew a thing about kissing or anything "romantic". Especially not with one of the same sex assigned at birth.
Simon began to move his lips in attempt to imitate what he'd seen on television and with his parents. Ralph followed suit, and it all somewhat mirrored what they hoped was correct. As confidence grew, their teeth and noses bumped and clashed. It left them with sometimes an ache, sometimes a graceful warmth.
Ralph parted away first, opening eyes to look at Simon. His lover’s cheeks did not appear nearly as pink as his on account to his already deeper skin, yet felt just as warm against his hand. He leaned back in again, tilting his head a bit this time.
This deepened the kiss just a brush enough to not be considered a peck, allowing similar butterflies of the field to spread through them both. The earlier clashing had decreased, leaving only the bliss to be acknowledged. More and more butterfly wings fluttered in their bellies, gentle and quiet. Grateful to be acknowledged at last, not overshadowed by the cruel flies who continued to linger in the air.
Once parted from the lovely gesture, the lovers didn’t speak, yet the air was anything but silent. Flies buzzed in the distance, too far to be swatted away. The flapping of the butterflies’ wings and the soft breaths seemed to overshadow any oppressive buzzing for the boys, however.
“I don't know if we'll be able to repent,” admitted Ralph, shyly. "There's no holy water or priests here, there's no confessionals. What if we never get rescued? What if we die here? We won't be able to cleanse ourselves without doing something big, like praying until our knees hurt for years, and I don't want to pray like that again… I don't want to repent at all." He turned his head down in shame. Simon lifted a finger to tilt his lover’s chin back up.
“I know, I'm worried to," Simon said. "But I doubt God wouldn't condemn love, yes? And we both know we can't necessarily control… He'd want us to love one another, whether as friends or like this.”
Ralph couldn’t hold back a soft smile. “And what if He isn’t real? And the sin was just a sin to people?”
“I don’t know,” Simon said, taking a moment to continue. “I think He's, I feel connected to Him. But if you don’t, you can still be a good person. You don’t need a connection to a deity to be a good person, I’ll still… Well, we still care for each other, alright?”
Ralph nodded, his smile growing more. The flies had left by now. Not disappeared, but certainly absent. Ralph wrapped his arms around Simon, gently knocking them into the long grass with a laugh between the two. The softness of each other’s skin balanced the itchy texture of the grass and sand.
“And I think it is just a sin to people, not to Him,” added Simon. "I'm not sure why it is yet. I think it has something to do with power and being 'a man'. But if we're right, that means we're not sinners. We may have to keep things secret, though…" He left his thought unfinished.
“Speaking of keeping things from people," Ralph said, "should we be headed back soon? They already…” They already think Simon is batty and queer, associating their chief with that could bring uproar.
"I know, but I don't quite feel like going back," Simon told him. "I don't want to keep secrets yet."
Ralph would protest for the sake of his leadership, for the sake of any remaining faith he wished he had, but he found himself beside Simon, leaning on his side.
Simon laid his head against Ralph’s shoulder and nodded, repositioning his arm to around his back.
The two slept there together, the darkness of the night allowing them privacy from the watchful eyes of any insects. Perhaps some moths could witness the wholesome event, but the remaining of the life on the island was unaware of the affection being introduced.
Written by a human in Ellipsus.