Archive of Our Own

Luis Antonio Tagle is cursed.

Or, at least, that’s what he believes himself to be. What else would he call himself if there is something completely and utterly wrong with how he came to be?

The thought first came to him when he was a child, a few years after his seventh birthday when he saw it for the first time.

“‘Nay,” he calls out to his mother as he enters the kitchen, still rubbing his eyes with a hand and yawning as a sign that he’d just woken up. “‘Nayyy…”

“Oh, good morning, ‘nak,” his mother greets in return. “Is there a problem? Are you hurt?” she asks, having noticed the slight distress in his tone.

“What’s this?” he asks, then holds out his hand, palm facing down where he can clearly see the bright red string tied around the ring finger of his left hand. It stretches out past the room, beyond their house as it phases through the wall in front of him.

His mother, much to his own confusion, looks more confused than he is. “What’s what?”

“This,” he answers, using his other hand to point at the knot. He can feel it slightly digging around his skin, so he takes the end poking out and tries to untie it for the second time (first when he’d just woken up), but like his previous attempt, he finds that he cannot. “I can’t take it off,” he says with a pout.

His mother stares at him for what seemed like a minute. “What are you talking about?”

The frustration slowly comes to him. “This!” He repeats, taking the long end in his fist and tugging on it without feeling any force against it. “Why did you tie this on me and how do I take it off?!”

“Chito, it is not appropriate to yell.”

“Then take it off!”

“That is enough!” his mother firmly says. “Enough of your jokes already, Luis. It is so early.”

“But I am not…” he says with a shaky voice that becomes quieter by the end. And, as every child that is confused and scared, he cries. He remembers his mother consoling him then, but to console him does not necessarily equate to believing.

He asks his father too, but he has only thought that this is simply just one of his games.

Chito is a liar, then, among other things he is still yet to discover. And, naturally, he thinks that there is something wrong with him.

ꨄ︎

Life doesn’t stop just because you think that something is wrong with you.

He grows up and does not bring it up again, not when he finally accepts that it is only visible to him.

The other strings come shortly after, seemingly seeing more and more as the years pass. It starts with his parents, their strings not connected (but he sees anyway how their hands meet in love). He sees his younger brother’s a while later with his string stretching out beyond as well.

(He had tried following his string, of course, but it seemed endless. He cannot see the end of it no matter how far — which, by then, is not too far — he goes.)

He sees the first cut string from one of his aunts. The string is already a short stub still tied to her right ring finger. He remembers that her husband died a year before. With no one to tell him about his visions, he naturally makes up explanations for himself, and that’s how he’s come to the conclusion that cut strings means the death of one’s other half. And, oh, how cruel it is — to have met your other half and lose them.

Or to have never met your other half at all before the string is cut.

(His own string still stretches out beyond what he can see and he fears for the day that it’ll turn into a stub too.)

He finds it a bit foolish to even have these types of connections if they aren’t set in stone. People still find someone else while their strings stretch out to another, and that doesn’t stop them. Even with his vision, he cannot change fate. It is like he is only given this simply to observe.

He’s about eighteen when he starts seeing strangers’ strings. He meets someone and hopes foolishly that their strings be connected. But it is within the walls of the seminary, and the strings lighting up the place where they are supposed to give their devotions to God alone.

Perhaps it is a curse, or it is a punishment, and the notion strengthens upon this realization that he is not normal in more ways than one. It helped that they are not connected, but it would have been better for him to not have any reason to think of that at all.

It is odd to see the strings on fellow seminarians, but he soon comes to the acceptance that every person has them. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. Not to him, not to anyone else in that place.

The strings dance around him and everyone else, but it is only his own he can touch and hold. Despite it, it never tangles, and it merely phases through just like the other strings if he’s not holding it in between his hands. Whenever he tugs on it, he isn’t met with resistance.

And throughout those years, he’s never gotten an answer. They’re all mere legends, old folklore and hearsays without any legitimate proof. He is proof it exists, but he cannot seem to find anything else. He wonders if he’s the first then, and it doesn’t even sound too farfetched.

Or, have the others before him also experienced what he has? No one to talk to about his supposed condition, something beyond what any science can explain. He’ll be labelled as a madman, and perhaps that has been what others who’ve shared his vision thought so as well.

And, with no other reasonable explanation, this must surely be divine.

Of course, it isn’t the entire reason why he entered the seminary, as the thought came after. But maybe, a small part of him also hoped he’d be able to find his answers here.

On both accounts, on science and divine, he has never truly gotten an answer. Maybe he is cursed.

There is no other way to put it.

So, the only thing he can do now is stay.

ꨄ︎

When you’ve lived with something your whole life, you start to get used to it.

As time passed by, the strings just became another part of his life. It is strange, of course, to be in his position with vows before the Lord while still knowing that you are flawed, that there is someone on the other side of the country or the world that is connected to you in ways you still cannot even begin to comprehend. The guilt sometimes comes to him, as there have been many reasons and opportunities for him to have left long ago, but guilt doesn’t change the decisions already made.

He finds some sort of solace in it in weddings, realizing it is a bit rare for a bride and a groom’s strings to be connected — yet, they still chose each other. And, if he weds a couple that is connected, he finds his own joy in that, too.

As he watches while their strings dance around them as they seal their love with a kiss in such a way that the lines blur and even if they are not connected they still appear to be, he stares at his own string stretching out from beyond the church doors.

At these times, it is better not to think of it at all. He knows that, and yet, he still can’t help but wonder. It is unavoidable.

But there is still nothing he can do.

As usual, he goes to confession, and he keeps it vague. He then wonders if it will suffice.

ꨄ︎

“A new Filipino saint,” the priest approaching him starts as he makes his way beside him. Chito smiles in return and takes a single step sideways over to make room. “You must be proud?”

“He’s another saint that just happens to be a Filipino,” he replies, and with a slight chuckle, he follows, “but yes, I am happy.”

The priest smiles in return. “I’ve read up a few things about him. It is interesting how he came to be…”

His voice trails off as Chito lets him speak, but all noise fades away altogether as he feels a slight sensation on his finger — his left ring finger, the one with the string. It has slightly loosened up, and he would know, because he’s lived with it for more than fifty years and it has always been the same.

At the very moment he looks at his hand, he then sees it: the string shortening into a small length as someone passes by in front of him.

And the other end is tied to another finger.

No.

He sucks in a sharp breath a bit too harshly that he chokes on nothing. He unintentionally coughs and immediately regrets it when the attention of everyone around them is suddenly shifted on him, including the person he hasn’t even seen the face of yet. He covers his mouth in an attempt to lessen the volume of the coughs, but people have already looked, making him flush in embarrassment.

“Are you okay, Father?” Voices finally cut through the silence, a few people around him asking the same question. His eyes still remain downcast, stuck on the string on his finger and on the person a few steps away from him. He can see the string grow smaller again as the other end approaches, seeing that the hand lies at the end of a white cassock, and he wants to yell, no, please, stay away.

But he cannot do that, and he cannot control his own eyes, so he finally, finally, looks up.

“Are you alright? Someone fetch him water, please.”

Chito loses his voice altogether.

In front of him is another priest, a concerned look flashed across his face as he holds up a hand possibly to offer as support. But Chito also cannot move.

The string is clear between them. Despite the crowd, despite a few people closing in on them — which, in turn, has been told off by the priest he’d just been conversing with to make some space — and their own strings circling around them, he can see it as clear as day.

He is tied to another, to a man, to a priest.

How cruel is it for it to end up this way? The one thing that he has chosen for himself to possibly atone for the mistake he was born with is the very decision that led him to meet the reason for it.

This is supposed to be his salvation, and yet it is what is bringing him closer to foolishness.

What has he done in his previous life, then, for God to punish him as such? Or is this just a cruel game in which he’s the one chosen to be the pawn? (He would have to confess this later on, but even that, he cannot bring himself to even think about.)

Chito is cursed. There is no other way to put it. He believes that now more than ever.

“You’ve grown pale, Father. I think you should sit—”

“No,” he says a bit harsher than intended, flinching at the touch that didn’t even reach him. The priest of whom he doesn’t know the name of yet looks taken aback, slowly taking back his hand — the hand with the string. It is tied on his ring finger, but on the right hand, mirroring his own. Quieter, while avoiding the priest’s eyes, he says, “I am fine, thank you.”

“Are you sure? It is already a bit cold, but maybe it’s the crowd that—”

“I’m fine, Father,” he repeats, a bit more firm this time, causing an unreadable expression to flash across his face.

Still, he only nods, and takes a step back. “I do pray for your wellbeing, Father,” he says before slightly bowing and walking away. Chito watches as the string stretches out again, staring at it with intent and hopes that his eyes are deceiving him but no.

He cannot be wrong about this. It is like a path has opened up and his string — their string — shines brighter than the others’.

His left hand reaches out to touch his string. He tugs on it, and it is still not met with resistance. The only difference now is that he can see who it is connected to. And now, he tries to untie it again while still looking at the stranger walking further away.

Like any other attempts for the past few decades, it does not loosen. The string feels tight again on his finger, the threads and the knot digging in his skin.

My God, what have I done to deserve this? Please free me of this burden, and tell me how I can truly atone for it.

He walks away before anyone else can ask about what had happened.

• • •

Chito doesn’t know how many curses he’s already said in his head the entire day, which is not helpful if he wants to confess all of it. Not only was he embarrassingly out of it the entire mass, the string stretches out for only a few pews in between them. He resists the urge to follow it every time, knowing that the person is so near.

He manages to get through the mass without making a complete fool of himself, but…

“Oh! Hello, Father! How are you feeling?”

He stands frozen with a hand on his chair when he hears the voice. Slowly, he looks up to see the familiar face in the same damn table with a seat in between them.

That’s another curse he’s said in his head that adds to the count.

He smiles, a bit strained, before answering in a low voice, “I am feeling alright.” He takes his seat and does not look at him again.

Luckily, someone sits in between them before the stranger who he still doesn’t know the name of (which he would like to keep that way) strikes up a conversation.

He manages to avoid him the rest of the afternoon and wonders — hopes, that this will be the first and last time they will have ever met.

(Though, a part of him also thinks that now, after learning that there is someone at the other end of his string, he cannot simply let this go.)

ꨄ︎

When he gets appointed as a Cardinal, the guilt almost eats him alive. He wants to refuse, wants to retire, anything to leave this place because he cannot bear the thought of holding and being trusted with such a crucial position in the church and yet, he is already tied.

They all are tied, even the Holy Father, but Chito is different. He is different in a way that he knows who he is tied to.

And he is tied to a man.

None of the others can do anything as they remain blissfully ignorant of the connections all around them. But him? He doesn’t know what to do with it, and that is the worst part of it all.

He isn’t that stupid, of course. He knows what these strings are.

They are connections of the soul.

And every soul is connected. It is just a matter of fate and destiny if they shall meet.

For Chito, he knows it’d be better if they remained unknown, because he would then carry this for as long as he shall live.

His hands fiddle on his string as red as his new cassock as he sees a familiar face approach.

He knows of his name now. Robert Francis Prevost, Superior General of the Order of St. Augustine.

“Your Eminence,” he greets with a smile as he holds out a hand. His right hand. Chito’s breath hitches ever so slightly as he takes his hand in his own, the one devoid of the string. He pushes everything down and tries to put on a mask which is seemingly impossible after Chito has realized that their hands fit perfectly together.

Unconsciously, he also raises his other hand. The string in between them shortens to the point that it is nearly non-existent save for the knot on both of their fingers. Chito’s hands linger for more than he allowed himself to, and his mind is screaming, enough, enough, enough.

But the string is there, and this is the closest they have ever gotten. Unlike before in which it stretches out over the horizon beyond what he can see.

His mind floats elsewhere as Robert speaks, and he doesn’t remember the words he’s said himself.

He eventually does remember himself and lets go.

This is stupid, Chito thinks. This is ridiculous.

Why is this happening? And why is it happening to me?

He pushes the thoughts far back where he cannot reach it, hoping it would not surface again. (He knows, of course, that that is nothing but foolish, foolish hopes.)

ꨄ︎

What he once thought would be a one — two time meeting ended up being three. He starts to accept that maybe, it is inevitable, but the problem lies with the fact that he doesn’t want to accept it.

He doesn’t want it to be like this.

But it seems that it is already fate deciding for them to keep meeting, as if the string keeps pulling them closer.

Naturally, the Prior General of the order of the museum and seminary they’re blessing would be present, but he idiotically thought that God would spare him the struggle and they would not meet. He is not too generous, though, and God doesn’t simply go around answering very specific and selfish requests.

Chito pretends not to know nor recognize Robert, which is already proven to be difficult as he cannot help but keep staring at the string that connects them both. He watches across the room as Robert raises his hand with the string to scratch his jaw as he’s talking with his brothers, watches as he laughs and covers his mouth with the same closed fist. He feels his own heart clench in his chest.

This is no dream, not his eyes playing tricks on him, not an illusion that he’s waiting to shatter.

Robert’s eyes meet his across the room and his smile turns into something softer — something that Chito loathes that he is even able to see — and he slightly waves. Chito’s breath hitches before averting his eyes, and not even five seconds later, he walks away, pretending he never saw Robert at all.

God isn’t also that merciful. When he finds himself in the fountain in the middle of the garden, he is only granted a few minutes of silence before hearing footsteps that drag along the gravel approach. He turns, readying the excuse in his mouth that he is only getting some fresh air and will be returning inside soon, but his voice gets stuck in his throat upon seeing who it is.

Because of course it is him who will follow.

“Your Eminence,” Robert greets with a smile on his face. “Is everything alright?”

He swallows, dryly answering with a simple, “Yes,” as he’s already looking for a way to escape without looking rude. In the realization that he simply cannot do that, he looks back at the person standing in front of him and forcibly smiles. “Just found it a bit… stuffy in there.”

Robert takes a few steps closer and stands at his left and Chito tries his best to not run away. He remains frozen where he’s standing, watching as the other man stands beside him and slightly leans behind on the fountain. The water behind them is continuously flowing, its sounds as it splashes being the only noise that fills the air with both of their silence.

Chito clears his throat and stands beside him, looking in the same direction while slightly sitting on the fountain as well. In between them, Chito glances at their hands, the distance small and the string short — what would happen if he were to hold it, pull the other man’s hands closer so Chito can know what it feels like to hold who is at the other end?

But he is reminded once again of their circumstances, on why they are here in the first place.

It is their vocation that brought them together, and it is that very vocation that he cannot act upon it.

“Your Eminence, if I may ask a question…”

He wants to tell him to drop the formalities as he is still not used to it, and that occasionally, there is still the guilt clawing away in his chest. But the very reason for that guilt is the one that is calling him by his title now — it’d be too intimate, too personal, if he were to ask of it.

Chito merely hums as a response, letting him speak.

“Have I done something wrong?”

That catches him off guard. He turns to Robert in surprise. “What?”

An awkward smile appears on his lips. “Well… I may just be overthinking this, or I may have misinterpreted it, but I just couldn’t keep it to myself anymore, so I have to apologize. But, well—” As he’s speaking rather animatedly while flailing his arms around, Chito stares at him and feels the embarrassment creep up his cheeks. “—I just thought there was a problem. Since you seem to go out of your way to avoid… me.” He winces at the end of it, and Chito can see the slight redness of his cheeks as well.

Chito’s mouth now hangs open that a fly may very well enter, but no words come to him at that moment.

“I must apologize if I am just misunderstanding—”

“No, you’re—” He cuts off at the wrong time and winces at himself. “I — I mean, no, I am not — there’s nothing wrong with—” He huffs, now also panicking with everything that has been said to him running in his head.

Is that how he came across?

Apparently, because he’s just been told that.

“I’m sorry,” he ends up saying. “It is nothing you have done, Father.”

It is only me.

It seems that Robert wants to ask more but doesn’t know how to word it out. Chito does not like the fact that he is able to understand him like this despite having only met a handful of times. He clears his throat and avoids Robert’s face again, but his gaze lands on their hands. He settles on looking at the gravel pathway they’re standing on. “I apologize that it has come off that way to you, but I must assure you, it is not you. I just… have difficulty when it comes to people.”

It is a half-lie, half-truth. Throughout the years, he has been known within small circles as someone who is very social, very outgoing and approachable and all those characteristics that made him some sort of a people-person. It is more of a facade, though, given that he cannot spend a few hours with someone without the guilt creeping up on him with the knowledge of his vision. He does not like that he has to lie, but it is all he’s come to know, now.

Robert hums. They return to their positions a few minutes ago, side by side, leaning back on the fountain, their hands with the string resting near each other and the red thread bright on their skin.

Somehow, Chito feels a slight burn. He takes his hands away and places it on his lap.

“I must apologize then as well, for immediately jumping to that conclusion,” Robert lightheartedly says.

Chito shakes his head. “It is not you,” he whispers, repeats the statement again because it is the truth. He has done nothing wrong and Chito has inflicted this upon himself. He shakes his head and slightly laughs to himself. To make up for his mistake, he steers the conversation away, striking up a small conversation to ease the other man’s worries. “How are you finding the place?”

He sees Robert smile — a soft, familiar smile that makes his eyes slightly crinkle at the sides. He feels his own heartbeat quicken, so he turns his head to the other side and pretends to look at the scenery that surrounds them. “It is a beautiful place,” he answers. “I’m sure the others also agree.”

“You have been here before, right?”

“In Manila?”

“In the country.”

“Ah, yes. Lovely people, lovely places,” he answers with a small laugh. “I wish to travel more in this country. There is still so much I haven’t seen.”

A smile makes its way to Chito’s face, and, without thinking about it, he says, “I would love to show you around, if both our times permits it.”

He only realizes his words after it comes out of his mouth, feeling heat rise to his face upon the mistake, but he also doesn’t correct himself. Not when Robert answers, “I would love that.”

He is saved when a younger priest passes by the entrance to the garden and spots them, waving a hand over, and Chito immediately takes the opportunity to stop whatever this is. He straightens up. “Excuse me, Father, but I think we are needed.”

In the corner of his eye, he sees Robert also stand and slightly dusts his behind with his hand before looking at Chito with a smile. The latter immediately avoids his eyes. “Of course,” his voice says. “Thank you for your time, Eminence. It is nice to have finally talked to you.”

Against his better judgment, he turns to him and returns the smile, ignoring the pounding in his chest as he meets the other’s eyes. “And thank you for bringing it up.” Then, he jokes, “At least now I know how I look to other people. I should really work on that.”

He is rewarded with a laugh — and God, even the way he laughs is enough to send a jolt down his spine. His breath hitches and he looks away before he can think about any more of that. Briefly, he glances and only nods with a forced smile before walking away.

Behind him, he hears Robert follow.

ꨄ︎

The seasons come and go and Chito now spends more time in Rome than in his country, though he never misses an opportunity to always come home. Things stayed the same — a routine he’s already grown accustomed to, a life that he never expected himself to ever live.

The only difference now is…

“Chito?”

He looks up from his desk and sees Robert standing by the doorway, waiting with his bag in his hand and that same, familiar smile on his face. Chito glances at the clock on the wall to his right and feels his heart skip a beat. “Oh God, I am so sorry. I didn’t notice the time,” he says in a panic and hurriedly stands up to fix his desk and get the things he needs before they leave.

“Chito — hey, it’s fine,” Robert immediately says as he strides up to his table. “I can wait a few more minutes. It’s just lunch.”

He slows down, and feels his heart skip another beat upon hearing those words and upon seeing the string shorten again between them. Over the years, he’s gotten a bit used to it.

Though that doesn’t mean he ever will.

Initially refusing to look up and make things worse for himself, he finishes cleaning up and shoving everything in his bag and hopes he hasn’t missed anything. Only then does he turn to look at Robert, patiently waiting for him while looking around his office. He seems to have noticed Chito’s eyes on him because he looks back, meeting Chito’s own eyes. He smiles again. “Let’s go?”

He can only nod as a response.

The man had been patiently insistent on his unsaid yet evident desire for the two of them to become friends, and Chito did not want to yet again be asked if he does not like him, so he caves. It’s not that hard anyway, especially when Robert is like this — sincere, kind, easy.

And that makes it hard for Chito. Especially now, as they’re walking side-by-side to go to a new restaurant that just opened around the area that Robert invited him to have a working lunch in for something they’re working on together, and the string hanging in between them is even brighter than the red in their clothes. A reminder, again and again, that it is their devotion to God that comes first before anything else.

The string is nothing but a vision he’s been given — there is nothing else to it apart from the notion he’s convincing himself to believe that this is simply for them to have always crossed paths, to become as close as they are now.

For Robert to eventually find himself under Chito’s guidance, even unintentionally.

It is fate. It has always been fate.

He stares at Robert as he’s ordering for the two of them. His own fingers tap against the table and he follows the sight of the red knot on his finger towards the other end right in front of him.

Chito thinks that never going to get used to it.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Hmm?” The absent-minded response is immediate, and upon processing the question, he can only smile. “Oh, yes. I just — I guess I’m just hungry?" He awkwardly chuckles. “I haven’t really eaten breakfast.”

“Really?” Robert returns, surprised. “Someone really ought to check on you once in a while. Can’t have you skipping meals now.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

“Should I be concerned?”

He shakes his head in amusement. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I think I should, now that you’ve mentioned it to me.”

Conversations have always flown easy between them too, too comfortable now that Chito doesn’t even remember the time anymore where he’d been avoiding him like the plague. It is nothing but a distant memory now — the times where he did not know.

But he still tries to keep a distance, because just when he allows himself to just have this, the guilt comes back and creeps along the walls of his mind and reminds him of the very circumstances that brought them together in the first place. He slowly retreats his hand and places it under the table and on his lap. Smiling rather forcibly now, he changes the topic, “What’s the progress on your end?”

Robert beams and obliges.

Foolishly, Chito once thought that maybe the string was just for this, a friendship that was always meant to happen. Now, as he listens and watches as the other man — the man tied to him — talk so animatedly in a way he’s already memorized, noticing every little facial quip he’s come to know over the years, and with that bright smile he finds himself looking forward to seeing, he knows that the thought is a lie.

Once, he also thought that it is merely the vision and knowledge of the string that makes him feel all these forbidden and sinful emotions.

“But enough of that for a while,” Robert cuts himself off as the food is placed on their table. “We need to eat, most especially you.”

Though he knows that it is a lie, too.

ꨄ︎

(The news comes so suddenly and unexpectedly, though at the same time, it has only been a matter of time until it happens. The church bells ring eighty-eight times and echo throughout the Vatican, and Catholics all over the world go into mourning — but perhaps not more than those the late Pontiff held close, and those who also held him close in return.)

ꨄ︎

“Remind me again how this works?”

Chito cannot help but smile. “Bob, you’ll be fine. It’s not rocket science — though I feel like you’re capable of that, too.”

He receives an elbow in return. “I’m serious.”

“And so am I! It’s just a conclave.”

Beside him, Robert sighs. “I know. I guess I’m just… I’m still not used to it?” he slightly laughs. “I’m still relatively new to all of this. I never expected to even be…” A sigh leaves his lips, and Chito understands. “I still have so much to prove.”

“You’ve already proven plenty. It’s alright. I’ll be here, remember?”

Robert smiles at him, and Chito feels his heart almost pop out of his chest. Not now. Not now. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t answer, his sole focus on his own heartbeat betraying him at the worst time.

And it is only supposed to be like that — Robert, nervous and new and a bit unsure; Chito, at the edge of his seat knowing he’s a papabile but still knowing it is practically impossible for him to ever be elected.

But now…

Prevost, Prevost, Prevost.

He turns to his seatmate who has already stopped counting the votes once he sat back down after reading his own name repeatedly aloud, knowing that it is getting closer and closer to the required number of votes — after realizing that this very well may be it. Robert’s pen hovers over the paper, and Chito sees how his grip on it tightens and how he has this distant and panicked look in his eyes as he stares down.

And on the hand holding the pen is the string that’s in between them, with Chito’s left hand on the table, and the red ever so mocking, ever so cruel.

But both of them cannot panic now. Chito feels as if he doesn’t even have the right to panic, at least not more than whatever Robert must be feeling now.

Without really much thought (because it seems to be second nature now, to always reach out, to help), he digs into his pocket and feels the soft crinkling of the plastic wrapper. He takes it out and encloses it in his left hand so as to make it more discreet, and with two fingers, he gently tugs on a small piece of fabric on Robert’s clothing.

Robert snaps his head towards him as if awoken from a trance. Only then can Chito see the extent of the fear in his eyes. Chito subtly glances downwards, and when Robert dips his head to look, he opens his hand and reveals the candy on his palm.

A small and quiet breath of laughter escapes Robert’s mouth and Chito wants nothing more but to hear it again and again and again. But that seems more and more like a far-off dream now. Robert takes the candy from his hand, their string shortening into almost nothing as Chito feels his fingers on his palm. Chito’s breath hitches, and he immediately takes back his hand before hiding it once again underneath the table and above his lap. His other hand fiddles with the knot.

“Thank you,” Robert whispers.

He also slides his glass of water towards his seatmate upon seeing Robert’s own glass empty. “Drink,” he softly says, and that, he obliges to.

Chito does not dare ask how Robert is feeling right now knowing fully well how he is, noticing every little thing from his face down to his hands fiddling with each other and the shaking of his legs.

Unconsciously, Chito rests a hand on Robert’s leg to make it stop bouncing up and down — a habit he’s gotten used to over the years as his mother always does it to him. Robert stops, and he turns to him in surprise which makes Chito realize what he’s done. He takes his hand back and avoids his gaze as he whispers a small, “Sorry.”

At the corner of his eye, he sees Robert smile. He repeats a soft, “Thank you.”

The string in between them remains, as it always has, and it does not change, not tightening nor loosening, even as the votes finally reach the required majority and Robert’s fate is sealed; even as he is asked if he accepts, and he does; even as he is asked what name he shall be taking; even as he scribbled down the words in Chito’s prayer book to which he writes back a small, ‘I will’; even as he signed his own book and gave it to Chito; even as he is ushered to the Room of Tears, leaving behind Chito sitting in the sea of red both from their vestments and the strings connecting them to someone who will never know that they are tied to already-devoted men.

The string stretches out more and more as the distance between them grows, but it remains. Of course it remains.

Why would it change, anyway? This is both of their fates sealed — Robert, tied to God, and Chito, tied to him.

ꨄ︎

“Your Holiness,” he remembers once, a whole lifetime ago. It had been an impulsive decision on his part to even begin to ask it, but by the time he’d realized what he said, the words had already left his mouth. “Do you think people are connected, in a way?”

The older man looked up at him. “I do believe that people are connected. That’s the way of our world.”

“No, I mean — yes, we are, but…” He huffed out a breath. “I meant how someone is always destined for another.”

Chito glanced at the string on his finger, stretching out across Rome to someone he now knows. He also looked at the string on the Holy Father’s finger, now merely a stub. Perhaps fate had been kind to him in that regard.

“There is a legend,” he continued, “and I just thought — wondered, if—” he promptly cut himself off and shook his head. “Never mind. I apologize for taking your time.”

He got up to leave, Francis still not saying anything, but just as he’s about to head to the door, he heard the voice behind him. “I do know of that legend. Well, there are countless legends,” he started with a small chuckle, and Chito turned back to face him, “all talking about how one person is destined for another. Another half — or, maybe, a complement. Perhaps it is in our very nature to find that presumed other half.”

But what about people like us?

He cannot ask that, so he waited for Francis to continue.

“So, to answer your question, yes, I do believe that as well. But it is in our choices that determine if we are going to follow that path, or follow another. There is nothing wrong with one or the other.”

It seemed like Francis knew more about Chito’s question than what he’d said. His cheeks heated up in slight embarrassment.

“God made companionship happen, after all.”

And what about for people like me?

He cannot ask that as well, so he merely nodded, uttering a small, “Thank you, Your Holiness,” and turning to leave.

Every footstep felt heavy, his hand feeling like it weighs a thousand more. He raised his hand, palm up, palm down, and wrapped his hand around the string. He tugged on it, and it did not budge.

On the other end, he wondered if he had felt it.

It was a foolish, foolish thought. It didn’t matter then, and it certainly does not matter now.

ꨄ︎

The walk towards the Room of Tears feels heavier with every step, the memory of the note imprinted in his mind.

Please come find me before I face everyone else.

I will.

He’s waited a few minutes before standing up to go to where the new Holy Father is. Not just Robert now — Pope Leo, the fourteenth of the name. He wraps the string around his hand and he clenches his fist until his knuckles grow white. He wants — no, he needs to cut it. It cannot be like this.

He knocks on the door three times, steps back, and waits.

It is Msgr. Ravelli who opens the door, and it seems that he has already been expecting the Cardinal. He lets Chito in, and without saying a word, leaves and closes the door behind him.

In front of him now is Robert — no, the Holy Father, he needs to remind himself again and again — now merely in his clerical shirt and pants, and he isn’t even wearing his shoes, only his socks.

So, perhaps it is still not the Holy Father he’s facing now. Maybe it isn’t quite Cardinal Prevost, either.

It’s just him.

“You called for me?” Chito starts, surprising even himself that his voice did not show any signs of his own burden. But his burdens do not matter — not when Robert is standing in front of him now, looking the most vulnerable Chito has ever seen him throughout the years of knowing each other.

And, after merely a second of silence, the tears start welling up in Robert’s eyes. Chito’s breath hitches and he does not wait a second more to stride over to him and make him sit on the nearest chair, and he does not hesitate in wrapping his arms around the other man, now with his shoulders shaking and small sobs leaving his mouth. He’s trying to keep it quiet, but Chito can hear every little noise in this quiet room and it breaks his heart even more. Robert’s hands wrap around Chito’s waist, the latter still standing up with his body pressed on the former.

His hand gently caresses Robert’s head, and he merely lets him cry.

Chito understands it, of course. The burden and weight of millions now passed onto him to carry. This is not the outcome either of them expected, but God still moves in mysterious ways. He cannot claim to fully know what is going on in Robert’s head now, but his cries are enough for him to comprehend as much.

When he wills himself to stop, he gently pushes Chito away, and the latter takes it as a sign to take another chair and sit in front of him. His eyes are swollen, his lip pursed together. “I must apologize—”

“No, Bob—” The nickname comes to him easily that it almost makes him flinch upon hearing it from his own voice. “Er, I mean, Your Holi—”

“No. Please. Just keep calling me that,” he quickly cuts off, practically pleads, for the request. “Even for a short while, I am still me.”

Chito can feel his chest constrict. “Alright,” he quietly says with a nod. “But you do not have to apologize for anything. You are only human, Bob. If the Lord had shed tears over his fate, you can too.”

“But he is still the Lord,” he softly says, his eyes downcast. “I am nothing but a sinner.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“It should be you here. I’m not—”

“And you think of me less of a sinner?” he cuts off, incredulous. And at that moment, with both their hands on their laps, the string hanging in the middle, Chito does a selfish act: he takes Robert’s hands in his, gently, carefully.

He tries to ignore it as he says, “Bob, you have been chosen in a room full of men like us, called by the power of God to choose someone like you to be His voice. Do not think of yourself unworthy. I know you aren’t.”

I know you aren’t, because I know you.

He shakes his head to ward off the thoughts he does not want to say. “I am more unworthy. There are a lot of things you still don’t know.”

Like now, how the string floats around their hands as if it knew that its owners touched, glowing a bit brighter, feeling a bit warmer. But again, it is nothing but a cruel reminder or what brought them here.

He resists the urge, then, to say everything. To reveal the very secret he’s been keeping for years and decades. To ask his other half — his complement, about what it could have meant.

But every decision, every path taken — it has led them both here. The string means nothing now.

So, he merely takes his hand back, his mind and heart playing tricks on him as he thinks that Robert’s hands held onto it tighter for a split second before he also lets go.

It is a mistake for Chito to have even come here.

“You have been one of the constant things throughout my time here. Would it be selfish if I asked you to stay by my side?”

And perhaps that is the final nail to the coffin, or even his own cross, because he cannot agree to staying without lying. It is not selfish, of course. It is cruel — but it is not Robert he blames.

Oh, it has always been meant to be like this. He should’ve walked away the very second he first met him in the church, back when they didn’t even know each other’s names. And yet, he’s still here, like a moth to the flame following the light knowing very well that it is going to be the cause of his demise.

“No,” he answers. “Of course it isn’t.”

“Will you, then?”

I am in love with you. That is the truth. And for that, I cannot stay. I cannot bring myself to tie you down with me.

It was always meant to be this way. He is getting punished — the inevitable pull of destiny bringing them together but not allowing them to ever meet in between.

He cannot tell the truth. Not ever. So, he merely says, “Yes.”

Chito leaves him be after a while, knowing there is still much to prepare. He keeps his tears to himself. He is unworthy of it.

When Robert does exit the balcony, Chito remains inside. He cannot bring himself to see the vision of their string stretching out into something that is finite, something within their reach, and yet not all the same.

ꨄ︎

The question — a small request that Robert asks of him comes unexpectedly. Of all the ways he thinks a conversation with the new Holy father could go, this is not even on the list. He sits there, frozen in his seat as he tries to process what was just asked: Will you be the one to present to me the Fisherman’s Ring?

“Why me?” he asks after a minute or even two. It’s the only thing he can even say by then, the only thought that comes to his mind at that moment. What else can he even say?

“Because you’re the one who knows me.”

Oh. What a cruel sentiment it was. Chito laughs in disbelief and hides his hands behind his back. He fiddles with the string ties around his finger and tries not to glance on who it’s connected to. “I am in no position to be the one to give it to you.”

“And I am within the authority to have you do it.” His smile grows softer, as if he knows the effect it has on Chito to render him unable to say no. “I know it is selfish—”

“Of course not,” he answers immediately like it’s already second nature to correct his self-doubts.

“—but I still want to make some decisions myself,” he slowly says, not acknowledging what Chito had said. “I guess this is also a way to show that there are still things I can have. A way to show that I am still a person that can think for himself.”

Decisions, decisions, decisions. It always somehow goes back there, a mocking reminder that it is the very thing that has brought him here.

“Am I asking for too much?”

Yes. “No,” he lies, but the sentiment is not because of Robert, no. It is because of himself, how this is everything that he may hope for. But what he wants does not necessarily equate to what is right. “No, not at all, Your Holiness.”

“Chito…”

He winces. There goes that silent request again for everything to remain the same — but it can never be the same anymore. Not when Robert is tied with a new responsibility and Chito is tied down with the knowledge that he is in love with him. How they’re both literally tied to each other. He cannot say anything else, so he only shakes his head.

Quieter, Robert says, “I will not blame you if you refuse.”

Without thinking, his mouth automatically says, “No.”

“What?” he returns in surprise.

“I—” Chito swallows his pride — the lump in his throat that feels like a stone sinking down the pits of his stomach. “I would be honored to do it.”

The small sigh of relief and the smile that blossoms on Robert’s face simultaneously sends a sense of fulfillment and dread that courses through his veins. And, of course, the guilt. It never seems to go away these days. “It means a lot to me, Chito,” he softly says.

And again, he could not say anything, so he merely nods, ignoring the pit in his stomach and the string that feels like it is now wrapped around his neck. It is his own demise now. There is no changing fate, no matter how much he wants it to.

ꨄ︎

“Beatissime Pater,” he begins, surprising even himself that his voice is neither hoarse nor shaking, unlike his hands that are also now sweating. “Episcopus et Pastor animarum nostranum Christus…”

His hand is on the book as his fingers trace the sentences.

“…vim et suavitatem largiatur tuo ministerio omnes in Christum credentes in unitatis communione servandi,” he finishes, and he looks up to see Robert — Pope Leo XIV — softly smiling at him. His breath hitches before he avoids his eyes and makes his way up to where he will be fulfilling his duty, only focusing on the stairs and nothing else.

Standing in front of the new Holy Father now, he feels his heart practically almost popping out of his chest too dangerously for someone at his age. He thinks to himself that he just needs to finish this, and it’ll be over.

He takes the ring from the box, and it has been a mistake. It is the only way to do it, of course, but this whole thing — him agreeing to do this, him standing here now — it is a mistake. He’s really dug his own grave this time, because as he takes the ring, the string that he’s been avoiding looking at comes into view, bright under the sun and clear who it stretches out to with the short distance in between them.

With shaking hands, he takes Robert’s hand in his. His left supports Robert’s right hand from underneath, and for a moment, the string wraps around their hands as Chito slips on the ring.

And God, how cruel it is.

All the weddings he’s attended and presided over, all the couples he’s seen as they slip on the ring on their partner and cover the string as a small promise and devotion — it had all been preparation for this very moment. It has been a reminder for him to understand that this is their fate: devotion above destiny.

Robert takes both of Chito’s hands in his in a firm yet soft grasp. “Thank you for doing this,” he whispers only for them to hear. Chito almost breaks then and there, but he holds his head up high and smiles in return, hoping it doesn’t look forced.

“Of course, Your Holiness.”

Robert looks like he wants to protest the title again, but Chito sets the reminder for both of them, too. He is the Holy Father now, sealed with the ceremony that officially made him Peter’s successor.

Even more so cruelly, as Chito pulls his hand back, he feels Robert’s hand follow for a brief moment — a split second in which he wants to hold on longer. But Chito cannot have that. He can at least give himself the remaining dignity he has left in his body to at least spare Robert of the sin. He cannot drag him along by their string.

Returning to his seat, he tries not to stare. But what else can he do? He is standing in the midst of a sea of red, a vision he’s already used to. But there is one thing he knows he can never accept.

Chito lived his life with the acceptance of not being able to see who’s tied to the other side of his string, but now, he doesn’t know whether he’d prefer that, or this:

Knowing who is at the end of it, but watching as the man now stands in front of millions as he waves to greet his new flock after the events that sealed his fate. Both of their fates. Stretching out from his hand and towards the altar, he sees a glimpse of the red knot tied around the Holy Father’s finger underneath the Fisherman’s Ring he, himself slipped on.

He understands now.

Robert, despite the string that keeps pulling them closer and tying them in ways that is inevitable, has never been his.

ꨄ︎

The decision is impulsive. It is reckless, and maybe even foolish, but he cannot think of the consequences of it now. He marches towards the Holy Father’s office with an envelope in his hand that is almost wrinkling with his tight grasp on it.

Taking a deep breath, he knocks, and he is let in in a matter of seconds.

“Eminence,” Robert greets with a smile. The title comes since there is another in the room, but after a nod from the Holy Father, it takes less than a minute to leave them alone. Again, he greets, “Chito, you’re right on time. I was a bit worried after you asked to have an audience, it was so sudden and—”

Before he can even finish, Chito has already taken long strides across the room until he’s in front of Robert’s desk. There, he practically slams down the envelope on his table. Courtesy be damned, he needs to be out of there now.

Robert looks at him in surprise with his smile slowly fading away from his face. “What is—”

“Apologies, Your Holiness,” he still has the decency to say, “for the informality of it all, and for the suddenness that it may — that it is unprofessional.” He takes a deep breath. “But I wish to step down from my positions.”

It has taken him exactly twelve days to come to this decision. It is still not enough, but he had to do it. He needs to do it. The burden is now being too heavy to carry, the guilt of sinful and selfish thoughts weighing him down:

They are connected, their souls are made for each other. Maybe they can defy what is taught and be able to follow what is destined.

But again, and again, it is mere stupidity. What good will fate and destiny do if there is already devotion that preceded it?

“I’m sorry?” are the only words that come out of his mouth then. Chito almost laughs. “Chito — Eminence. What is this? Has something happened?”

“Yes,” he dares not lie, but he also does not dare say more.

Robert’s face is nothing short of confused, and he seems to want to ask a thousand questions but does not know where to even begin. Chito cannot blame him. He surprised even himself with this decision, but it had been inevitable. He should’ve done this years ago when he first saw the other end of the string.

His conscience speaks more than his pride now, leading him to the decision — maybe it helped that your heart followed another path, but what can I do when mine wants to follow you?

It is precisely the very reason he’s come to this now: standing in front of the Holy Father who Chito wants nothing more than to pull closer to him and tell him the truth, to reveal himself and be hated, so as long as he shall get away.

“Yes, Your Holiness,” he repeats. “And for that, I wish to resign.”

“I don’t understand,” he only says in barely above a whisper, and Chito knows then that they are not speaking now as the Holy Father and a Cardinal, but rather as Robert Prevost and Chito Tagle. “Is this why you’ve… pardon if I may be wrong, but you’ve been, uhm, distant, the past few days following the inaugural mass.”

Chito internally flinches. “I wasn’t—”

“Do not think I have not noticed. You know I don’t like it when people lie to me,” he cuts off, his voice now being more authoritative that it makes Chito instinctively take a step back. Robert’s face falls again upon the realization, and more quietly, he asks, “Have I done something wrong?”

Of course not, he wants to say. It is me. It is only me. What comes out of his mouth, though, is a sharp, “Yes.”

Robert is, naturally, taken aback, but Chito doesn’t retract his statement. He is not thinking rationally now, he knows, but the only thing in his mind right now is how to finally free himself of the shackles that have been placed on his own skin.

“Alright, you want to know what’s wrong? I don’t want to be near you.” God, just saying the lie almost makes him throw up. But he keeps going. “Excommunicate me for all I care, I just need to get as far away from you as possible.”

Robert, much to Chito’s dismay and devastation, only looked hurt. Not angry, but hurt. Chito wishes he was angry — it would be easier for him then.

If this is what it takes, then let it be.

The string as red as his cardinal clothes cannot be a stain in the Pope’s pure white.

He cannot be the reason for it to happen.

“Chito,” he slowly starts, and if it weren’t for the table in between them which Chito is thankful for, Robert would’ve already reached out and Chito knows that it would be enough to have him kneeling before his feet asking for forgiveness. “What is the matter?”

And God, he is so patient, so gentle. Chito is not deserving of it. “I’ve already told you.”

“You are angry at something I do not understand. Please, help me understand.”

“I am angry at you.”

“That is not an answer nor an explanation, Chito.”

“What else do you even want to hear?!”

“What is it that I exactly did,” he calmly answers. “The things I’ve said or done to upset you. You know I — I would never do something to intentionally hurt you. So please, tell me, and let me atone for it.”

Chito stubbornly stays quiet, now avoiding his eyes because he knows that he cannot give an answer. He also knows that another word that’ll come out of Robert’s mouth will surely break him, so he merely purses his lips and stares off into the distance as he wills himself not to cry.

Finally, he repeats, “Tell me,” and finishes, “just please don’t leave.”

Chito’s head snaps back at him, and he now feels the teats cascade down his cheeks. In an instant, Robert is on his feet and goes around the table, but Chito holds up his hand. The hand with the string. “No,” Chito sharply says. “Don’t come near me.”

“Chito, what is—”

He steps back as Robert draws closer. “I don’t want you touching me!”

That makes Robert freeze in his tracks with his hands still reaching out. In between them, the red thread floats brightly in the air, knots on both their fingers except Robert’s is underneath his ring. Cruel reminders.

“Chito, what has gotten into you?!”

“I do not want you near me,” he says again, his voice strained with the sob threatening to escape from his throat. “What is so hard to understand about that?”

“You are not giving me anything to understand.”

“Just take it as it is, then.”

“I’m sorry, Chito, but I won’t. You know I won’t. Not until you tell me what’s wrong, not until you have given me a reason to—”

“I can see red strings!” he blurts out — finally yells out the secret he’s been keeping for almost his entire life. Robert stops and stares at him with wide eyes, possibly thinking that his words were the last thing he’d been expecting to hear. Chito wetly laughs, shaking his head as he backs into a wall. “It sounds stupid now that I say it out loud, but I…” He scoffs as he lifts his hand to stare at his own string again. With his other hand, he takes the thread in between his fingers and feels the warmth of it on his skin.

To Robert, he is merely looking at and touching nothing.

“There is an old legend,” he slowly starts in a resigned voice. “I didn’t even know about it until after I started to have these visions. But there is a legend that people are connected through these strings tied around their fingers. Apparently, I can see them. For some… fucked up reason, I just can. And I’ve lived my whole life getting used to it — the visions, and that I will never get an answer as to why. I just… I don’t understand.”

He lifts up his left hand and shows the back of his palm to Robert where the string is visible where the knot is tied. Obviously, Robert does not see it.

“Everyone has one, including me.” He brings his hand down. Boldly, he says, “Even you.” He shakes his head, finding the entire situation so absurd. “And it has been a burden I’ve been carrying all my life, knowing there is nothing I can do about it but look.” Forced laughter comes out of his mouth again. “I know I may look like I’m lying, or that I have finally lost it, because who’d believe this nonsense, right—?”

“Chito, it’s not—”

Robert stops speaking when Chito raises a hand to stop him. “Let me finish.” Deep breath in, and out. “Nobody knew because who else can I tell this to? My parents thought I was lying, which, I wouldn’t blame them, because of course I’d only been making it up despite having no knowledge about it. There are no records of it, no studies, no proof, no other experiences, so why is — why is this happening to me? What have I done? There is something wrong with me and I cannot even find the reasons for it.”

The Holy Father remains quiet. It is evident in his face that he is as confused as Chito is, and Chito cannot blame him. It is outright ridiculous, a folktale he has no way of proving. He vowed to himself to never say it out loud again — this is a mistake, a punishment, that has been given to him.

(But, at the same time, he wonders: he had been made wrong, but if God does not make mistakes, then what exactly is he?)

And now, it is in front of the holiest man on earth that he is speaking to this about. But he is not merely that. He is also a dear friend, and worse, the one connected to his soul. The man Chito is in love with, with or without the thread connecting them both. He knows that now. Falling in love with Robert had been inevitable. The string merely made their meeting possible.

“And I’ve only — I’ve lived my life accepting that I will never find out who I was connected to.” He needs to stop speaking now. For some reason, he finds himself unable to do so. “But I—” He weakly laughs. “I eventually did end up finding out. And it wouldn’t have been a big deal, I meet countless new people everyday, but the problem lies with the fact that I can see it. I can see the connection, and it is so wrong. And I… I just couldn’t do it anymore. It was better when the string stretched out over the horizon. At least then I knew I wasn’t making a mistake. At least I would know I wasn’t a mistake.”

After a few seconds or so, Robert softly, slowly asks, “Who are you connected to?”

He purses his lips and avoids Robert’s eyes. But, unconsciously, he fiddles with his own string, and his gaze lands on the hand of the person in front of him.

“Chito, who are you connected to?”

“You do not have to mock me.”

“Do you truly think that I value our friendship as something so insubstantial that I would be capable of such cruelty?” he incredulously asks. “I want to understand you, Chito. I cannot do that if you’re pushing me away.”

“You don’t have to understand me,” he says in a low voice. “I don’t need you to understand me. I am just telling you the truth now, and you don’t even have to believe it. But it’s all you will know.”

“Tell me then, about the string. Who are you tied to?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Chito—”

“You wouldn’t want to hear it—”

“I want to, Chito. It would not change anything—”

“It will once you find out that it’s you!” He unintentionally blurts out, and only realizes his words once it has already come out of his mouth. He looks back at Robert with wide eyes as his breath hitches in the realization. A small breath leaves Robert’s mouth. “No, I — that wasn’t what I—”

“Is it true?”

For some reason, he cannot lie. A simple ‘no’ won’t come out of his mouth no matter how hard he tries in that crucial second. “I apologize, Your Holiness—”

“Not now, Chito,” he cuts off and Chito can hear the slight desperation in his voice. “Is it, or is it not?”

He can only shake his head, but it isn’t an answer and rather more of an ‘I don’t want to answer’.

“I need you to tell me that it is not true and only then I will believe you.”

“What do you want, Robert?” he weakly asks as he finally meets the other’s eyes, something he was unable to do for the entire duration of their senseless argument rooted from Chito’s own selfish and reckless decisions that contradict his desire. His desires don’t matter, anyway. “What will you get from knowing?”

“Is knowing not enough?”

Chito scoffs and briefly turns away, but eventually finds himself still facing the other man. “There is a reason I could not tell you.”

Robert steps closer, but there is nowhere else Chito can go. He just lets Robert close the distance in between them, the string growing shorter and shorter. “And there is a reason I wish to know.”

The air is suffocating and the walls seem to be closing around them. Chito cannot breathe as if the string is now surely tied around his neck, and it might as well have been. He looks straight into Robert’s eyes, now feeling completely resigned. “I cannot compromise you. I cannot tie you down like this — towards this sin I’ve been carrying since I was a child.” It is not merely the string he’s speaking of now, and he knows that Robert can understand it too.

“That is not only your decision to make.”

“But it is,” he says with a weak smile. “I am the one who can see the threads that connect everyone to another. I could’ve left, I could’ve stayed away but I didn’t. I still stayed with the knowledge that I am tied to a man, and that that man is you.”

Silence overtakes them with Chito’s confession and confirmation. Somehow, somehow, he feels his chest feel a bit lighter, how the truth is finally known by someone else. But there is still the weight — the guilt of the realization that he is sharing this burden with someone who, at any cost, shouldn’t have ever known. But they cannot turn back time now. He knows, and he knows.

After a while, Robert softly says, “Where is it tied?”

Chito sucks in a shaky breath, but he does not yield anymore. It is getting too tiring now — all the lying, most especially to someone he knows and loves. He raises his left hand with the palm facing down, and with his right, he wordlessly holds the knot on his ring finger.

“And mine?”

He turns his left hand upright, and Robert seems to understand. Of course he does, because when has he not? Robert lifts both his hands, unsure where the string is, and it causes a small, gentle laugh to come out of Chito’s mouth. Chito steps forward until they are within an arm’s reach, and he takes Robert’s right hand in his.

Oh, how familiar it is. The memory of him slipping the ring onto the Holy Father comes back to him all of a sudden, and it sends a jolt of pain to his chest.

Especially now, with the string underneath the ring. He cannot even see it. Reminders, cruel reminders. But, Robert then says, “Show me even if I cannot see.”

There is an unspoken permission in his words. The capability of either of them to understand even beyond words scares Chito — the implications of it. Or perhaps, it is only him that thinks so?

Still, he follows through what is being asked of him. Boldly, he lightly takes the Fisherman’s ring in between his fingers, and slowly slips it off.

Underneath is the red knot mirroring his own, the string now practically non-existent with their joint hands. Robert takes the ring and places it carelessly in his pocket. Maybe they will be cursed for this — truly, this time — but now, he finds himself unable to even think of anything else but the feel of their hands in each other’s grasp and the vision of the string that wraps around them. “I am sorry,” Chito whispers, “for saying all those words. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“I know.”

He is still looking down on Robert’s hands, his fingers softly caressing the other’s ring finger with the thread around it. “I just didn’t want to drag you along this foolishness. It is stupid. This means nothing…”

“Does it really?” he asks, prompting Chito to look up at him with his glassy eyes. “Mean nothing to you?”

He avoids his gaze and tries to take back his hands, but Robert is quicker in keeping them both in his grasp. “Bob…” he practically pleads. “Please don’t do this.”

“I want to know if it means nothing to you, because it means something to me.”

His head snaps back to look at him, but finds himself rendered speechless.

“I trust you more than I ever do with anyone else. I know that there are still things we do not quite understand in this world, and there are things that we may never know. But I do know now that I trust you, and I believe you—”

“Bob, please—”

“—and I would be happy to learn that I am tied to you, as you are to me. If this string is what will pull us down together, I would still not wish for it to be cut.”

Chito inhales another shaky breath, and the tears finally flow from his eyes before he shuts them tight in an attempt to stop them. Robert steps closer and, without hesitation, cups Chito’s face and caresses his cheeks with his thumbs.

“Oh, dearest…”

“You do not have to do this.”

“I want to,” he gently counters. “If God has made you for me, then who are we to deny our fate?”

An unexpected laugh comes from the back of his throat. “That’s blasphemy.”

“Is it really, if you’ve said so yourself that we are connected?”

“And you really believe me just like that?” he incredulously asks, even a bit amused.

“I do not have any reason not to believe you.”

“You cannot see it. There is no other proof apart from my word.”

“Then I shall take your word for it.” Robert removes his hands from Chito’s face and takes his hands again, and there, he places a soft kiss on his left ring finger — on the string itself, despite not even seeing it. It’s as if he will always know where it is.

As Robert lifts his head, Chito sadly says, “You are making a mistake, Robert,” but the selfish part of him wants to believe that this is anything but that. If God has made you for me, then who are we to deny our fate?

“Then it is my mistake to make.”

“Let us share the burden, then,” he finally wills himself to say. As Robert lifts his eyes once more to meet his own, they share a small smile.

After a pause, Robert quietly says, “I do not consider it as such, you know?”

“Hmm?”

“Us, a mistake. This, a burden. If God thinks so, then why has He given you the vision, and why did he connect us like this?”

He slightly laughs. “It’s what I’ve been asking myself, too.”

“Everything happens for a reason,” he softly continues. “Maybe the string just pulled us closer. But I still fell in love with you despite not seeing it.”

“You’re in love with me?” he stupidly asks, surprised with the boldness of his words and the suddenness in the manner of which he had spoken it.

Robert, much to Chito’s embarrassment, softly laughs. “It would be foolish of me not to be.”

“I think it is more foolish that you are.”

The weight is now gone from his chest and what replaces it is a certain lightness he hasn’t felt in decades — ever since he’s kept this secret to himself.

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you a fool too, or not?”

He smiles. “If I wasn’t, then I wouldn’t be here.”

“Then let us be fools together.”

Chito, with all the strength he has left and more he’s getting from Robert as he continues to hold him, ultimately says, “I love you.” A slow breath in, and out. “And it is not because of the knowledge that your soul is connected to mine, that we have this… thread that connects us. Maybe you’re right, that this is merely here to pull us closer and closer. But I think it always had been inevitable — for us to meet, for this to happen. For me to fall in love with you, too.” He smiles. “I just happened to see them.”

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Robert whispers, “you know that, right?”

He remains quiet. That is something he still cannot wrap his head around, but he knows he’ll eventually get there now.

“Chito…”

“I know,” he lies.

“It is not your fault, and it is not even a fault.” After a pause, he repeats his own words back to him, “You just… happened to see them.”

He slowly breathes out. “Okay.” Chito can answer him soon when he’s sure. He doesn’t want to lie, and Robert doesn’t want to hear lies, anyway. It seems though that the answer is enough for him, because he also smiles in return.

Wordlessly, Robert leans forward and rests his forehead on Chito’s, their eyes closed and their hands still connected. “Okay,” he whispers back. “You do not have to carry this alone anymore. I am here.”

They remain like that for a while, a thousand unspoken words still hanging in between them much like the string that only Chito can see.

Still, he now knows that Robert can feel it, too.

The thought comes to him then, that perhaps, he is not cursed at all.