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It was obvious.
Jack’s fondness for Maurice.
Maurice’s fondness for Jack.
A quiet understanding drifted through their academy, lingering unspoken among the children. As though they all believed that if nobody acknowledged it aloud, it might somehow soften the wrongness of it, maybe even prevent it from becoming real.
For a while, it worked. Because obviousness was not the same as acceptance. Just because everybody could see it, didn’t mean Jack had to act on it.
For he wasn’t a sinner.
At 12 years old, the boys had known each other for a couple of years, having grown up as roommates within the walls of their academy.
Jack was positive he could relay every day he’d ever spent with Maurice in very precise detail. So what? He had a good memory. He was intelligent. This was normal. This was just…the mind of someone who acknowledged everything. Not the mind of a sinner.
He wasn’t a sinner.
Sure, sometimes he would forget the words that came from Roger’s mouth just days ago. Yeah, sometimes he’d miss a note in their choir, or a question on their homework. This didn’t make Maurice special though.
There were days where he hadn’t listened to the boy at all either. Days where he’d been too busy staring at the other’s green eyes, the ones that may as well be the colour of the sun with the way they lit up, or the excited smile that breached his lips. Sometimes it would be the feeling of knots forming in his stomach that distracted him, the fast beating in his heart and the eternal feeling of dread that loomed over his mind that made it impossible to hear him.
See? Maurice wasn’t given different treatment. Jack didn’t like him more than the others.
Brothership. That’s what the church would call it.
That’s what it was.
At 13, it became much harder to deny. But also much, much more difficult to accept.
With every affectionate touch of the hand, every shy smile cast his way, or comforting hand on the shoulder, came an even more sickening feeling. The wrongfulness written in the Bible overweighed the rightfulness he felt.
It was facts over feeling. God over Maurice. Being a saint over being a sinner.
Jack wasn’t a sinner.
But then why wouldn’t that night leave his mind?
It was a Friday evening in the middle of Spring.
Their classes had long since finished up for the week, now hours behind them. But, of-course the boys took it upon themselves to study in preparation for the upcoming Monday, despite Maurice’s original denial.
At some point they must’ve shifted from the desks to Maurice’s bed, for Jack’s bed was off limits to anyone who hadn’t changed out of their uniform into clean clothes. They’d only ended up there because the chairs were hurting the brunette’s back, who insisted that if they didn’t work somewhere more comfortable, he was going to stop.
By the time the sun had completely gone down, sky turning a dark blue and the moonlight casting stripes across the wood flooring, they were both slumped against the headboard.
“The words are starting to look the same,” groaned Maurice with a vague gesture to the stack of papers on the bed. “I’m tired.”
Jack glanced at the boy’s face, feeling his cheeks heat up as he quickly readjusted them to stare at the sheets. “We can study more tomorrow.” He said simply. “It’s not like we’ll get much done in the darkness.”
“You could always turn on a light — please don’t do that. I really don’t want to continue.”
The blond smiled a bit, shaking his head with familiar fondness. “I’m much too exhausted to get up and flip the switch, you needn’t worry.”
Suddenly, Maurice slid down the headboard until his body was laying down with a head to the pillow. “So,” he said, resting an arm above his head with a playful look at his friend, “should I expect you to sleep here tonight?”
“I always sleep here,” deadpanned Jack.
The brunette waved him off with a half-scoff, half-laugh, “you know that’s not what I meant! I’m talking about my bed.”
Jack shifted slightly, casting the younger boy a glare. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you said you’re too exhausted to get up.”
“I’m still in my uniform, as are you.”
“I don’t mind.”
Silence.
“Come on, Jack!” Whined Maurice. “It’ll be fun. We never get to experience sleepovers because we sleep in the same room every night, so imagine this as one. Many stay in the same bed during them, so we can pretend. Don’t you want to have an integral childhood memory?”
The taller boy hesitated.
The logic was stupid and flawed.
Yet he soon found himself lowering down onto the mattress.
“Hi,” grinned Maurice, head turned to stare at the other boy as he remained on his back.
“Hello.”
Suddenly, the shorter boy leaned onto his side, hands reaching for the collar of Jack’s shirt.
For a mere second, their hands crashed with each other as the blond tried waving them away. “What are you doing?!” He spat.
“Don’t be so cruel,” gritted Maurice, fingers finding Jack’s tie despite the initial fight. “I’m only fixing your tie for you. At the very least we can make our uniforms more comfortable. Seeing as we’ll be sleeping in them.”
It was then that the room felt increasingly warm, making the blond wish he could remove his entire uniform to escape the heat. Since when was it this hot? Surely someone had turned up the temperature.
“There,” the boy smiled, bringing Jack back to the situation at hand. “All done.”
With that, Maurice tossed the tie onto the ground.
Jack wasn’t sure why he said it, he just remembered the words tumbling out of his mouth. “Want me to help with yours?”
“Sure. If you’d like.”
“I’m only doing this because you did it for me,” the blond lied, hands fumbling with the knot at the collar.
Maurice only smiled.
By the time the tie had been removed, joining Jack’s on the ground, the boys were laying down again. This time both facing the other.
Maurice had his head propped up on his hand, body facing the other’s.
Jack lay with his cheek against his palm overtop the pillow, blue eyes looking up to meet the green ones. His blue shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the top to show off his collarbones, and he was unsure if this was his doing, too embarrassed to ask.
“Are you just going to stare at me, or are you going to go to sleep,” grumbled the taller boy.
“You were also looking,” Maurice pointed out. But he removed his head from his hand nonetheless, resting it against the pillow instead.
This left their faces mere inches apart.
Slowly, the younger let his hand come out to card through the other’s blond hair, freeing the strands from the gel’s hold, and making the boy look less put together. More like the real Jack.
Jack didn’t speak, eyes locked on Maurice’s focused face.
When he pulled back, he grinned. “You use too much gel.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious, are you using the entire jar?” He laughed.
Jack flicked his forehead, eliciting in a quick “ouch!”
But it wasn’t painful. Jack would never harm him.
“That didn’t even hurt.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I did it lightly.”
“Gone soft on me, Merridew?”
Jack tensed, analyzing every detail on Maurice’s face under the moonlight. The clock ticked faintly in the background, accompanied by the distant sound of spring wind brushing through the trees outside.
“Maybe,” he whispered before thinking.
Maurice stilled, face softening at the words. “Oh.”
“We spend every day together,” Jack defended as his hand reached out to lightly graze Maurice’s cheek, then pulled back as though he'd touched a flame. “Of-course I’m going to become…soft for you. You’re special.”
“Hah?” Maurice laughed weakly through a gulp, voice cracking.
The sound lingered.
Jack couldn't stop staring.
The room had gone strangely quiet. Not actually quiet, the clock still ticked, the wind still moved outside, but every sound felt distant. All he could focus on was Maurice.
The loosened collar.
The messy brown hair.
The fact that they were sharing a pillow's worth of space.
His stomach twisted.
Suddenly, every moment from the evening replayed itself in his head. Maurice pulling off his tie. Maurice fixing his collar. Maurice's fingers in his hair. The way he'd wanted the moment to continue.
The warmth he'd blamed on the room.
The thought made his chest tighten.
No.
His father had always warned him about temptation. About letting affection become something improper. Jack had never paid much attention to those conversations before, he'd assumed they were meant for other people.
Not him.
Certainly not Maurice.
Yet when he imagined Father Daniels opening the dormitory door right now, finding them lying inches apart in the darkness, Jack felt a jolt of shame shoot through him.
Not because they were doing anything wrong.
Because he knew it would look wrong.
And worse? He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to move away.
The realization hit him like cold water.
His hand, which had almost drifted back toward Maurice's face, clenched tightly in the blankets instead.
This wasn't friendship.
Friends didn't stare at each other like this.
Friends didn't feel disappointed when a conversation ended.
Friends didn't wish the distance between them was smaller.
His pulse began hammering.
No.
No, no, no.
“I’m going back to my bed,” he spewed out, sitting up in a hurry.
“What?” Maurice asked, scrambling to sit up too, confusion evident in his wide green eyes. “Why?”
Jack got out of the bed, picking up his tie in one swift motion. “Because you’re being weird, Maurice! Stop!”
The brunette reached out, grabbing Jack’s wrist only to be shoved off. “I’m sorry — I’m confused!” He cried out, face distressed.
“Just don’t touch me anymore! You’re acting like…” His voice trailed off.
Maurice didn’t need him to finish it to know.
The blond looked at the ceiling for strength for a moment before rewording the slur he’d planned to use. “Like the Cambourne boy.”
His friend didn’t speak. He just furrowed his eyebrows and turned over in the bed, glueing his eyes to the wall.
Jack changed in silence, trying to ignore the repressed cry coming from Maurice’s side. When he finally got in his own bed, he looked over at Maurice who was curled up, causing a pang to go through his heart.
He’d done the right thing though, hadn’t he?
God would have been disappointed if he’d gone any further.
Yet, somehow, he felt as though disappointing Maurice hurt more.
They didn’t speak for a few days after that. Not until Roger, who was clueless to the why, forced them to.
They then found themselves back in their usual friendship, but the tension never went anyway.
By 14, things only got worse.
Weirder.
Their days in front of others were spent with casual friendship full of jokes. Then, at night, Jack would let Maurice be more affectionate.
Everytime it would end with Jack on his knees praying to God while the other watched from behind with his head bowed in shame.
Sometimes he made Maurice join in.
But nothing changed. It was just the same rhythm of affection followed by guilt, leaving Maurice wondering where they stood.
It never crossed the line of no return though. They never kissed. They never said ‘I love you.’
And they weren’t dating.
Because that would be too sinful. Too unforgivable. Even Maurice knew that it was dangerous. This didn’t stem from the Lord always, he was just as aware that they lived in a world where their kind of people weren’t treated the best.
Was it their kind? Maybe it was only Maurice’s.
One night, Maurice did try to cross a line.
They had been sitting together on his bed for some time, Jack absentmindedly tracing the creases of Maurice’s palm, his fingertips gliding carefully over each line as though attempting to decipher something hidden within them, his attention fixed so completely upon the task that he scarcely seemed aware he was doing it at all.
Maurice paid little attention to the touch itself.
Instead, he found himself watching the way loose strands of blond hair had fallen across Jack’s forehead, catching against his lashes and shadowing those ocean-blue eyes that remained lowered in concentration, studying Maurice’s hand with a seriousness that felt almost unbearable to witness. Even the slight parting of his lips, unconscious and entirely innocent, seemed capable of holding his attention.
“Jack,” he said at last, his voice strained by something he could no longer keep contained.
“Hm?” the older boy murmured, still not looking up.
Maurice thought they had already crossed every boundary worth crossing.
He didn’t understand that there were degrees to this, that there were lines Jack would allow himself to approach and others he could not bear to step over, nor did he understand the silent war that occupied the boy’s mind, because Jack spoke of it to nobody.
Maurice knew, to some extent, that guilt lingered there. He knew faith haunted him. Yet he believed, perhaps foolishly, that Jack was beginning to make peace with it. Why else would he permit the closeness between them, the lingering touches, the quiet moments that stretched long past friendship into something neither of them ever named?
What Maurice failed to understand was that Jack had found a compromise with himself, a careful balance that allowed him to indulge his desires just enough to survive them while still believing forgiveness remained within reach. He didn’t understand that, for all the affection Jack carried for him, for all the longing he buried beneath restraint and prayer, there was still something he loved more.
“I love you,” Maurice said.
Jack faltered, fingers stilling against his palm. His eyebrows furrowed together as he finally met his gaze. “What?”
“I love you.”
“Don’t say that.”
God.
That was who Jack loved more.
Maurice felt his heart break a little, and he wasn’t sure who for. “Why?...”
“You know why, Mauri!” Hissed the blond, pulling back completely now.
They stared at each other with wild eyes, ragged breathing and pounding hearts.
“Don’t you love me?”
“Of-course,” spat Jack.
Maurice felt his pulse quicken.
“As a friend. I’ve known you a long time, Maurice. I’m obviously going to love you. But it’s not like…” he gestured vaguely, “that.”
“Why?” Pressed the brunette. “Why isn’t it like that? You treat me like your boyfriend.”
“Don’t be stupid, Maurice. When have I ever done something like that outside of our room?”
Maurice thought.
Jack was right.
In public, he’d be shoved off of him or given a weird look if he said something far too kind.
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly.”
In his head, Jack pictured God smiling down at him. Proud of him.
In his heart, he felt the pang of discomfort at the tears welling in Maurice’s eyes.
At 15, not much changed.
Their unconventional friendship continued.
Jack still refused to say romantic things aloud, but found solace in the other speaking them. They still held hands under the lunch tables and leaned on each other. Still lay in the same bed and studied together.
They still attended every church sermon. Jack still prayed. He still wanted to please the Lord, and his father.
He still hurt Maurice.
But, overtime, Jack began noticing something strange.
The guilt remained. Yet the certainty disappeared. For years he had treated the two as though they were one and the same.
Guilt meant he was wrong. Discomfort meant God disapproved. Fear meant he was straying from the path intended for him. Yet if that were true, then why did every prayer leave him with more questions than answers?
At first, he ignored them.
Then he buried them.
Then he begged God to take them away.
But the questions lingered.
Growing larger. Growing louder. Growing impossible to silence.
The strangest part was that they never appeared when Maurice was absent.
Only after. Only when Jack had pushed him away. Only when he had watched that familiar hurt settle across the brunette's face.
The guilt never arrived after affection.
It arrived after cruelty. Rejection. After making Maurice feel ashamed for caring about him.
That realization haunted him.
Because it was backwards. Wasn't it?
Shouldn't God have rewarded him for resisting temptation? Shouldn't righteousness have felt righteous?
Instead, every act of denial left him feeling hollow.
Like he had failed something far more important than himself.
One afternoon, while kneeling in prayer, Jack found himself unable to focus.
His thoughts drifted. As they always did.
To Maurice.
The realization came quietly. So quietly he nearly missed it.
If God truly despised this feeling...Why had He allowed it to survive?
Years. Years of prayers. Years of begging. Years of guilt.
Yet every morning Jack still woke up and loved Maurice.
Not less.
More.
For years he had asked himself whether he loved Maurice more than God. The question had been wrong from the start. Because love wasn't something divided into portions. Loving Maurice had never lessened his faith.
And God had never punished him. He’d punished himself.
Maurice's hand remained folded tightly within Jack's as they wandered along the winding paths that cut through the academy grounds, neither of them speaking much anymore.
The need for words seemed to have drifted away with the afternoon. Around them, spring lingered in its quiet perfection. The grass swayed in gentle waves beneath the evening breeze, lush and green beneath the fading gold of the sun. Tree branches stirred overhead, leaves whispering against one another as though exchanging secrets.
Somewhere beyond the area, birds called to one another before settling in for the night, their songs growing softer with each passing minute.
Everything felt strangely ordinary.
The world had not shifted beneath their feet. The sky had not cracked open. No divine voice had thundered from above to condemn them.
The day continued exactly as it always had.
Yet Maurice could feel the tension growing the closer they came to the old stone church.
Without meaning to, his gaze lifted toward it.
The building stood exactly where it always had, watching over the academy grounds like a silent guardian. Its glass windows caught the last rays of sunlight, scattering fragments of light across the stone walls. The cross atop the steeple cut a dark shape against the evening sky, sharp and unmistakable.
For years, it had been a place of comfort. But it had also been a place of fear.
Maurice felt Jack's hand loosen.
Not much.
Just enough.
Enough for Maurice to notice. Enough for his heart to sink.
The familiar dread arrived before he could stop it. There it is. He knew this feeling.
The guilt.
The panic.
The sudden remembering.
Jack had spent years carrying it. Years trying to bury pieces of himself beneath prayer and scripture and desperate promises. Maurice knew every expression that came before it. The hesitation. The silence. The way Jack's eyes always seemed to search for forgiveness before he'd even done anything wrong.
They came to a stop just outside the church grounds.
The bells were silent.
The evening service had long since ended.
Still, the building loomed before them.
Maurice swallowed.
He couldn't bear it. Not tonight. Not after everything. Not after finally hearing Jack say the things he'd spent so long keeping locked inside.
Before Jack could speak, Maurice tried to pull his hand away.
If rejection was coming, he would make it easier. He would spare them both the humiliation.
But Jack tightened his grip immediately.
"Mauri, stop," he said, hands fumbling like the night with the tie.
Now they stood in the open air with the entire sky above them.
"It's okay," Jack said quietly.
Maurice laughed once, though there was no humour in it.
"Yes," he replied. "I know that."
His voice faltered.
"But you don't."
The words hung between them.
"Oh, Maurice."
Jack said his name as though it hurt.
As though all the years spent denying it hurt.
Slowly, Jack lifted his free hand. His fingers brushed through Maurice's brown hair, pushing back strands the wind had blown across his forehead.
The sun sank lower, painting the stone walls gold.
Jack glanced toward the church entrance. Toward the cross and the scripture carved beside the doors.
Maurice followed his gaze.
His chest tightened. Because he understood.
The silence stretched.
Then Jack looked away from the church, turning back at him.
Not toward heaven.
Not toward the cross.
Toward Maurice.
With one step, Jack was inches away from his face. Close enough that Maurice could feel the warmth of him despite the cooling evening air.Then, before Maurice could think, before he could doubt, before fear could ruin another beautiful thing…Jack kissed him.
It was brief and almost hesitant.
But it was real.
Maurice's eyes widened in shock.
For a second he simply froze.
The church stood behind them. The cross watched overhead. The evening sky burned gold and rose around them.
And Jack kissed him anyway.
Not hidden behind locked dormitory doors.
Here. Where every fear had lived. The place of every horrible preaching that went against the very thing they were doing.
It was the ultimate form of acceptance.
Maurice's eyes slowly fluttered closed.
When they finally pulled apart, neither of them moved very far. The distance between them felt impossibly small.
Maurice simply stared.
The world seemed quieter than before. The birds had nearly fallen silent. The sun hovered at the edge of the horizon. Everything glowed.
Jack looked terrified, relieved, happy.
"Well," Maurice whispered.
Jack blinked.
"What?"
Maurice laughed a bit. "You picked quite a place for your first kiss."
For a heartbeat, Jack looked horrified.
Then he smiled.
“I love you, Maurice. I’ve been loving you,” he eventually confessed.
“I know, Jack,” the boy whispered. “I love you too.”
A pause.
“But I need you to know that you’re not the best kisser.”
Jack shoved him with a laugh.