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Jack stood and waited calmly as the rest of the cathedral choir followed behind him; Jack placed at the front due to his position as head of the choir, Maurice and Roger scrambling behind him like imbeciles in an assembly line. In a matter of days, the choir was to sing a soul-stirring piece for a gospel group and has been practicing non-stop.
The church was full of sophisticated and elegantly designed cathedrals in which the craftsmanship was magnificent, giving off a look of pure Christian beauty and pride. The choir walked up the nave and stood in a fine-line formation in front of the altar, dressed in formal uniforms and togs that cupped their necks tightly. On music stands laid sheets of chorus music on Bible-thin paper as the grand organ began to hum for their rehearsal. The boys had been practicing without fail for the upcoming performance; rehearsals being unmatched.
Bright, golden light shined through the heavenly stained glass windows; casting an entire color wheel of pigments on Jack’s sharp face, defined with concentrated gaze, and made his blonde hair glow more than usual. Simon’s eyes were trapped on him, lip trembling in-between the song lyrics before lingering on the confession booth; heart heavy with the guilt of love. The music notes and lyrics written in fine print on the sheets before them was long forgotten to Simon, mind sabotaging him with fragments of Jack instead.
Similarly, Jack could get lost in Simon’s eyes, bath in the luscious blue color of them and admire them like the deep Mediterranean Sea, but he refused to show it in front of the others and pretend he was infatuated with the organ past Simon instead. The boys stood on opposite ends of the line like a spectrum, but occasionally met each other’s eyes alongside all the other boys. Their deep-rooted feelings for each other were unspoken, but clear.
Nobody dared to mention it; all the adults and church officials thought Simon and Jack were just close friends in a masculine-bonding way, while the other choir boys didn’t bother due to looking up to Jack. But Jack and Simon themselves and God knew otherwise. They spoke about it once when Jack had found his secret diary, where he kept all his thoughts about Jack locked away like Pandora’s box.
The memories flooded Simon’s mind once more.
*
“You make such lovely writings about me,” Jack whispered, a mix of fascination and surprise as he flipped through the diary pages, reading what was written in neat handwriting. Endless stanzas and notes about him—written with such poetic and gentle wording—Jack didn’t think anyone could pick out every scrap and flaw that built him and talked so eloquently about them. A strange sense of vulnerability overcame Jack, running his pointer finger down the page and smuggling the graphite without meaning to.
Simon hovered nervously as he sat next to Jack on their uncomfortably stiff dorm beds; hands trying to take back the diary lightly. His cheeks were rosy with embarrassment, fingers trembling slightly at the sight of Jack reading all his personal thoughts. Even if Jack was evidently flattered and amused, Simon still found himself shaky and anxious. “They’re not comparable to how lovely you truly are, Jack…” Simon mumbles, treating the pages like they were worthless out of shame.
Simon tried to pull the diary back out of Jack's hands without ripping or breaking it, but the blonde's grip tightened a bit. “Please give it back, Jack. It’s—it’s just nonsense and selfish of me,” Simon flushed more, hands clammy with sweat and face red as a box of rubies. But Simon was soft-spoken, no hint of authority and simply begging. “No,” Jack pauses, brushing Simon’s hands off the cover of the diary and reading Simon’s name on it. “It's not selfish, I like it. Can I have it? I want to read it over,” Jack demands, but was so incredibly kind that Simon folded immediately.
“I suppose you can have it,” Simon muttered, knees touching Jack’s as he finally let go of the book. It felt like kilograms of boulders and confidentiality had been lifted up from his shoulders, watching as Jack stuck the diary in the space of his pocket. He got up from the rock-hard mattress of the bed—the church having endless amounts of hospitality but not enough to get them decent mattresses for their beds—and smirked that signature grin that only Jack could manage.
“I’ll make sure nobody sees it,” Jack reassures, patting his pocket lightly and looking over the other boy. He stared for a moment, smile softening until his face fell to vulnerability. “And… I feel the same way, Simon,” Jack forced the words out from where they were kept away in the privacy of his head and vocal cords. Simon lowers his head into his hands; almost subordinating himself in response but instead simply staring at the ground through the cracks of his fingers. He held his overwhelmingly crimson face, puddles of sweat from his palms transferring to his cheeks.
Simon was colored bashful; he almost fainted at those precious words from Jack, feeling terribly lightheaded and dizzy in the moment even if he was seated. Simon acted like the words were something sacred—holy teachings or praises, and he could hardly respond back to Merridew. All Simon could manage was a meek phrase, hardly audible: “Alright…I’m so glad.”
*
After the rehearsal was finished, filled with criticism and praise from the conductor like they were a professional orchestra instead of adolescent choir boys, dinner was served out of the Christian goodness of the pastor’s heart. A feast was set out on a grande banquet table; lined with delicate lace cloth and filled with endless amounts of bread, meat, fresh produce—and other delicacies that reflected communion.
The boys were feral and full of excitement at such a big, exquisite meal laid out just for them in honor of their rapidly-approaching performance. Simon was going to pull out his chair and sit along the other boys, but noticed the enticing eye that Jack gave him; looking at Simon so precisely through his lashes. It was a look that only Simon seemed to understand, considering only he knew such a hidden side of Jack. That side where he was undeniably sweet, sensitive, careful, and beautifully obedient towards Simon and Simon alone.
That side of Jack that wasn’t covered by a facade of arrogance and bravado; protected by armor and barriers that Jack put up himself. But his armor just wasn’t tough enough to withstand Simon, and it made something warm flutter and sizzle inside him. Simon gave a small, barely out-of-the-ordinary nod towards Jack in response, politely pushing his chair back in and declining any of the extravagant food given to him.
Instead, Simon grabbed a simple wafer—imprinted with projected images of Jesus, Virgin Mary, and other intricate symbols and figures. He watched as Jack pushed in his own chair, adjusting his obsidian-colored choir tog with a simple “I’m tired, I’m going to go lay down.” That nobody questioned. Simon put the wafer to his lips as he watched, the thin wheat flour melting and dissolving on his tongue immediately.
It was flavorless and apathetic in taste, but Simon took it as more of a distraction from Jack's handsome face staring at him than any real nutritional need. Jack walked down the nave, shooting Simon another glance like he expected him to follow. And of course, he placed the rest of the thin wafer in his mouth and followed after him. Not a single word was exchanged as they walked side-by-side—shoulders nearly touching and eyes turning gaily as soon as they were out of view and in the hallway of the dorms.
Simon, hesitating for a moment before reaching out and clasping Jack's hand with both of his own; cradling them like he would a baby bird. It felt so hot that his skin nearly burned in metaphor, tracing small circles into the back of Jack’s hand with his nail. Jack stopped, looking down at the sudden grasp but not pulling away. The diary still laid heavy in the pocket of his shorts, weight like a dumbbell now that their relationship had advanced more.
“You sounded magnificent today, Jack,” Simon whispered, as if all the statues of the crucified Jesus Christ were eavesdropping on them. Jack nimbly caressed Simon’s hand back once he was sure nobody was watching—only the leering eyes of statues and crosses implanted on the walls. “Must’ve been because I read your diary while getting ready before the rehearsal,” Jack admits, in a strangely queer tone that he wouldn’t have used with anyone else but Simon.
Simon’s breath hitched, putting his head down once more. A mix of shame and shyness hit him at the reminder that Jack had it, pleading guilty to reading it over and over like it was a paper dictating his rights. Jack noticed it, replaying it in his mind for a moment with a flat stare before pulling his hand away from Simon’s feathery-light touch; instead moving to undo his choir tog.
“Here, you can have it,” Jack mutters, balling and folding up the silky fabric before holding it out to Simon. It wasn't a freshly clean or spare one; but Jack’s specifically. The one that his scent and body heat clung to, that he wore for days on end and sweated in. “Since you let me keep your diary,” Jack explains plainly, shrugging off the intimacy of it. He glanced down at the rectangular shape protruding from his short pocket, diary kept safely and securely in there.
Simon stares at the cloak, hesitating and fingers twitching as he reaches out but doesn't quite dare to touch it yet. Jack’s cloak... Worn by him every day—smelling of his body wash and faintly of the chapel incense, and something more complex that marked Jack’s presence on it. Simon’s pale cheeks flush pink, already-bright eyes even more wide and glassy—not from fainting this time, but from a virgin and sincere loving emotion he can't name properly. One that was complicated, making him guilty and shameful but also fluffy and divine inside.
"Yours?" Simon whispers hoarsely, fear of someone overhearing still hung over them like chum. "You're giving me… your cloak? Are you sure?” He finally picks it up from Jack’s offering hands, with trembling hands, hugging it to his chest like a child clutching a stuffed animal—like this single piece of fabric means more than anything else in the world and could stop wars or help world hunger.
“Yeah. It’s not torn or stained or anything, don’t worry. I'm just getting a new one for the upcoming concert anyway. Because I’m head of the choir and all the eyes will be on me—of course! So you can have that one.” Jack says pridefully, smirking slightly. He always seemed to take the chance to boast, but then noticed the look on Simon’s face and how he looked like he was going to faint again from the affection and generosity from Jack.
Jack's cheeks flared up like sunburns, the red contrasting gradually with his golden hair. “Don’t faint again, Simon…” he mutters, hiding his red face as he turns away and takes a few wide strides further down the dorm hallway; as if leaving Simon in the dust. Jack usually saw himself so haughtily, expecting everyone to follow behind him and lower themselves to him. But with Simon… he saw eye-to-eye, and let Simon follow beside him instead.
Simon nods rapidly, still cradling the cloak like it's a newborn lamb. He presses his face into the fabric without thinking—feeling the silk fabric against his cheek like a diversively expensive pillow. It was surely much softer and comfortable than the pillows that the church gave for the dormitory beds. Simon’s heart thuds so loud he can hear it in his own ears, feeling the blood pulsing through his veins and swears everyone can hear it; even though they're alone and hidden away from everyone right now.
"Thank you, Jack,” Simon murmurs again, slurring his words a bit due to his voice being meek and trembling. "I’ll—I’ll use it… as a replacement for the dorm pillows. Every night, they're very uncomfortable," Simon plans, taking small steps behind Jack; eyes trailing down the formal uniform that was revealed now that the choir tog wasn’t draped all over him. The words slip out before he can stop them, far too honest.
Simon quickly carefully folds up the cloak into a smaller piece instead of holding it anymore, knowing he would drown in its size if he wore it due to being much skinnier than Jack. And places it inside one of the pockets of his own formal attire until he would be able to take it out later in the secure cover of their dorm.
Jack certainly didn’t need to hear that, what should’ve been kept as some dirty, grimy secret. But it made him more diffident and his face more florid than before, which irritated Jack. But not irritated at Simon for admitting something so innocently adorable—never irritated at Simon—but rather himself for turning so pathetically and ridiculously vulnerable.
“Do whatever you want with it, Simon.”
*
Later on, lights out was called and the choirboys were forced to resign back to their dorms and let sleep take them. After all, the lot of them were mostly studded from the provided feast and no longer famished. Jack and Simon’s shared dorm was completely dark other than the lit candle near the window; giving off a cozy and pleasant light and filled the air with a sandalwood smell.
Jack laid on his back on his bed, reading through Simon’s diary once more and being careful not to rustle the paper as he flipped through the pages. It seemed to soothe him and fill him with cloyingly sweet thoughts before he made any attempt to go to sleep. Meanwhile, on the other side of the room where Simon laid on his bed, he stayed true to his blabbering confession earlier.
He laid on his side, the old bed pillow stuffed between his thighs for comfort and proper posture, while Jack’s balled-up cloak was being used as a pillow for his head. Simon curled up, staring at Jack across the room as he nuzzled the side of his face into the tog. The act of Jack reading his private writings was still humiliating to Simon; considering he thought his diary was terrible and flat-out rubbish. But now that humiliation was silenced by the rolled-up black tog he was currently using as a pillow.
Both boys couldn’t help but lock eyes once more; sweet dreams for both of them.