lex

You should’ve known it wouldn’t work out with a guy named Cigarette Steve.

You can’t seriously have thought you’d marry him? He’s got chip bags on the floor of his car and a dangerous attraction to female Twitch Streamers. 

So here you are, kicked out of the apartment after Cigarette Steve decided to throw it all away for a night with a stripper who didn’t even like him back.

You’re in your car blasting Olivia Rodrigo as you drive back to your parent’s new house. You only ever visited for Holidays or special occasions or random breakdowns when you were sure your life was over, but now you’re staying, at least for a while. 

You pass scenery that the average foreigner would never guess was in New York and breathe in the fresh small town air. Chimney Rock was a quaint little place, not Pinterest perfect or anything, but it was cozy enough. Though, there was always an air of unease. Maybe it was just because it felt so traditional, like you always felt the judging stares of neighbours passing by. 

You pull up to your parents house and they greet you with hugs and comments about how you’re getting fatter. They’re getting too old to carry things, so it’s up to you to carry your bags up to the guest room. 

The gaudy bedsheets and oddly coloured curtains already have you feeling out of place, there are no old stuffed animals or movie posters, just a room made by your parents. That kind of sums up your relationship with them. They love you, they made you, but they don’t know you. 

How do you know this, you ask? Because here on your very first day at Chimney Rock, they take you to Our Lady of Perpetual Grace. 

You had been here a couple of times over the past few years for Easter, New Years, and Christmas, you recall horrible discriminatory sermons from Father John Wicks that led you to straight up walking out of the church in front of everyone. 

Your parents assure you it’ll be different this time,

“Father Jud is a real nice guy, you’d love him.” Your mother assures you as you walk on uneven rocky paths. 

“He’s a real upstanding man.” Your father chimes in. “Real fighter, he is. Straighten that church right up!”

You don’t know how nice and upstanding a guy would have to be to get you to actually want to attend mass, but you follow anyways. 

You don’t believe them, but you don’t have a choice. 

You sit as close to the church doors as you can, so nobody will notice if you have to make a run for it again. 

It’s the same boring routine, you pretend to know what words to say and how to sing the songs, but in reality you’re just following everyone else. If you were still 13, you’d probably be in tears by now, but you’ve grown. 

You’re glad there’s no more yelling so intense it breaks your eardrums as well as your heart, but it doesn’t feel much better. It’s still Church. 

When it’s time to pray in silence, the priest informs you all to ask for something you want, something you need. 

You shut your rolling eyes and pray. 

“God, send me someone I can talk to. 

Someone who wants to be around me, 

someone I love, and who loves me.”

You seem to make eye contact with the priest. He’s handsome, he gives a small smile seeing a new person appear, but he doesn’t point you out. 

He has a soft energy about him, contrasting the powerful energy of being in a big church. 

He does seem nice, but he’s still… a priest. 

You just don’t feel welcome here.

You doubt you ever will.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

“This is Father Jud, Father Jud, this is our child!” Your mother introduces you two at dinner and you shake hands. 

He’s a little bit older than you, maybe ten or so years, but he’s definitely younger than how you imagine the stereotypical priest.

“Very nice to meet you.” He greets you with a smile. “I saw you at mass earlier, always happy to see a new face.”

You nod. You already know how this dinner is going to go. Parents will talk about you but won’t ask you a single question, you’ll sit awkwardly trying to input your voice as they interrupt you Every. Single. Time. 

You won’t get to talk to Father Jud and you’ll never see him again other than the masses you’re forcefully dragged to. 

“I didn’t realise you were allowed out of your little…” Your mother moves her hands around her neck, talking about his priest dog collar. 

“Well, I hope I haven’t disappointed you.”

“Oh, not at all! You could never, Jud.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Everyone laughs, even you surprisingly.

“Is attendance good at the parish?” Your father asks. “We only ever seem to find the time to go once a month.”

“That’s why you’re my most loyal customers.” Jud jokes.

“Well you’re soon to have a third, cause our baby here could surely use some holy love.”

You grip your fork tightly with a fake plastered smile on your face. Some love is the last thing you need, especially if it’s “holy”.

“Y’know, our baby here used to chew on the holy communion like it was a snack every time they took it.” Your dad guffaws. “When we told them they weren’t supposed to, they cried and asked if they were going to hell!”

Jud shakes his head with a smile.

“I’m sure God can forgive such a sin.”

“Oh, they were the most dramatic teenager.” Your mother adds. “Used to cry every time it was time to go to Church, we had to take away their phone just to get them to go.”

So, not much of a difference now, huh?

“I find people have an easier time finding the desire to come to church when it’s on their own accord.” Jud says.

That’s surprising.

“Well, they never would’ve gone if we didn’t make them.”

“Sometimes I think being forced to go is what makes people hate it.” Jud admits. “When you’re young, you don't exactly have the vocabulary to separate the church from the people dragging you there.”

Your father nods thoughtfully.

“That's probably true. Though I can't say I was any better. I only started going regularly when I was older.”

“Oh, you had your rebellious years too?” Jud asks.

“Absolutely. Mother here would probably say I’m still having them.”

“I would,” your mother says, laughing.

Jud grins. “I've been told I have a rebellious streak myself.”

“Really?” Your father asks. “You don't seem the type.”

“That's because I learned to hide it.”

He pulls down his collar and reveals a neck tattoo.

Tatted priest. Huh.

Your mother laughs. “Well, you certainly seem to have your head on straight. How long have you been with the parish now?”

“Almost two years.”

“Two years? My goodness. Doesn't feel that long.”

“It doesn't, honestly. Though I've learned a lot.”

“About religion?”

“About people, mostly.”

Your father nods.

“I imagine you have to.”

“You'd be surprised how much of the job has nothing to do with sermons.”

“Such as?”

“Listening. Helping people move furniture. Fixing things that aren't technically my responsibility.”

Your mother laughs.

“Sounds like you've become the town handyman.”

“That's what I tell people. I'm a priest when they need prayers, a plumber when they need a sink fixed.”

“And which one are you better at?”

Jud pauses.

“Definitely the prayers.”

Your father laughs.

“Good answer.”

“Though I've gotten better at plumbing.”

“That's good. Our kitchen sink has been making a horrible noise.”

“Please don't tell me that.”

“I'm serious.”

“I'll pretend I didn't hear you.”

The three of them laugh, and for a moment, dinner feels strangely easy.

The conversation moves on and you eat your spaghetti. 

You can’t help but think how funny it is that nobody’s asked you a single question for more that 45 minu–

“So how are you finding the town?” Jud asks you.

Suddenly everyone’s eyes are on you, you’re startled by the attention.

“It’s… it’s certainly where my parents live.” You reply with awkward laughter. 

Your parents don’t laugh, but Jud does. 

"You don't actually like it here, do you?" He smiles, like he’s not even offended.

"It’s quaint." You joke.

"That's not what I asked."

Oh. 

“I want to like it.” You say more honestly. “I have to eventually, right?”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You promptly excuse yourself from the dinner to get some fresh air… inside your room. 

You’re sitting on your bed, staring into nothingness when a knock comes to the door. 

“Can I come in?” Jud asks as he opens the door. 

“Sorry, it’s just, I figured your parents wanted some privacy. They’ve been eyeing each other the whole time.”

You laugh. “What? Your parents don’t eye fuck at the dinner table in front of strangers?”

He shakes his head. “No, my parents are divorced, actually.”

Ouch. That shuts you up.

Jud finds a chair by the door to sit on.

“You didn’t like the sermon.” He points out.

How the hell?

“I’m sorry, I make mean faces when I’m constipated.” You joke.

“What did you dislike?” He asks, seeing right through you.

You want to make another joke again, but he looks at you for a real answer. 

You pinch your elbow nervously. “The ‘forgiving people without limits’ part. I’m not too eager.”

The room goes silent as Jud carefully nods at your words.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I’m not trying to insult your church or anything–”

“I’m a big boy, you don’t have to protect my feelings.” He teases.

You look at him.

“Sorry, it’s just…” You look up at the ceiling to find the right words. “I spent years hearing that there was something wrong with me. Then people told me God loved me anyway, like that was supposed to make the first part better.”

“I understand why it wouldn’t”

Does he?

You tilt your head in doubt. “Do you?”

“No. Not completely. But I can imagine.”

Somehow the honesty makes you feel a little better.

“So you’re a cool tatted up priest? Was this always the dream?”

“Fuck no.” He chuckles.

A cool tatted up sweary priest.

“I was a boxer originally.”

“Boxer?”

“Boxer. I unfortunately kept my fighting instincts into the religious world and punched a fellow deacon. That’s why I was sent here.”

A cool scary tatted up sweary priest. 

“Is this your calling?”

He ponders. “What is a calling really? I believe I was sent here to help others feel the love of God, but I don’t know if that’s a calling. It’s just… the truth.”

You find him interesting. He doesn’t talk how you’d expect a priest to, he’s youthful and empathetic but not in a demeaning or tryhard way, he just… is.

“What about you, what’s your calling?”

You let out a sigh.

“To love.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You do get curious and you do attend mass the next day. Maybe a guy really can be nice enough to get you to go.

Jud approaches you when the mass has finished, eager to talk to you again.

“Your parents were right, I do have another regular on my hands.” He smiles. 

“Don’t expect this to be a normal thing, I just wanted to see you in your… prime habitat.”

Jud laughs, but something catches his eye. 

He points to your torso. 

“You have a tattoo on your waist.”

You instinctively pull down your shirt.

“Oh, sorry, should I not have-”

“No, it’s fine.” You sigh. “You’re not the one who made me get a matching tattoo with my ex.”

Jud frowns.

“What?” You ask, worried you’ve ruined the mood.

“You have a habit.”

“What?”

“You make jokes when you’re uncomfortable.”

Jesus, is this guy some kind of psychoanalyst?

“I just noticed it last night.” He shrugs.

You blink at him. It’s like he read your mind.

“Yeah, sorry. Bad habit.”

“It’s only natural.” He states plainly.

“You say that like you know me.”

“I don't.”

“Could've fooled me.”

He smiles at that, and you find yourself smiling too.

For a second, neither of you says anything.

You glance toward the church doors, suddenly aware that you're still standing there.

Jud follows your gaze.

“Wanna grab a drink?”

You look back at him.

“Is that a priest-approved activity?”

“Depends what you're drinking.”

You laugh.

“Coffee?”

“Coffee.”

“Fine.”

And for some reason, you’re already looking forward to it.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

“So why’d you want to become a priest?” You ask, swirling a coffee cup in your hand. 

“I’m young, dumb, and full of Christ.” He opens his arms widely to make a dramatic gesture.

You roll your eyes. 

“Aren’t you like 30?”

“I’m still in my prime.”

“You have the job of an old man.”

“I worship the oldest man in history.”

Touche.

“He’s able to keep up with you so well it’s fascinating.”

“Are you talking about me?” Jud points to himself. “I’m flattered. This old man still can keep up. He’s got game.”

Wait, fuck, did you say that out loud?

Being around Jud is confusing, he keeps breaking your train of thought, like the only thing you’re able to think around him is what you’re about to say instead of how little fun you’re having.

“What about you, what’s your work?” He asks, genuinely interested.

You bow your head shamefully. “I’m unemployed at the moment. Mostly just doing favours for my friends for money.”

He nods understandingly. “Nothing to be ashamed of, God gives everyone their own timeline.”

The mention of God sends a pang through your head. 

“I don’t know if I really… believe in all of this anymore.” You admit, something about walking next to a priest gives you the urge to be honest, you guess.

“Yet you came today.”

“I don’t know why.”

“Me neither.”

“Aren’t you a priest?”

“Doesn’t mean I have all the answers.”

You let out a small laugh.

“That's probably the least priest-like thing you've ever said.”

“I'm full of surprises and predictabilities.”

You look back to the ground.

“I used to believe.”

Jud waits.

You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve.

“When I was little, I thought God was just... there. Like the sun. You didn't have to question it. He was there, He loved you, you went to church, you prayed, and everything made sense.”

“And then?”

“And then I grew up.”

Jud nods slowly.

“That's usually when things get complicated.”

You smile bitterly.

“That's one word for it.”

There's a pause.

“I don't understand how I'm supposed to believe in a God who loves everyone when I've spent so much of my life being told there's something wrong with me.”

Jud doesn't interrupt.

That makes it easier.

“People told me God loved me,” you continue. “But they always said it like there was a catch. Like He loved me despite who I was.”

Your voice gets quieter.

“I don't want to be loved despite something.”

Jud looks at you.

“You shouldn't.”

You blink.

You weren't expecting that.

“You agree?”

“I think everyone deserves to be loved without having to apologize for existing.”

You study his face.

“Does your church agree with that?”

He takes a breath.

“I can't speak for everyone who goes to church.”

“That wasn't what I asked.”

“I know.”

You wait.

Jud looks down at his hands.

“I've spent a lot of time thinking about what I believe and what I've been taught to believe. Sometimes they're the same thing. Sometimes they're not.”

That surprises you.

“You're allowed to say that?”

“I'm saying it.”

You laugh quietly.

“Fair enough.”

He smiles.

“You don't have to force yourself to believe something just because you're talking to a priest.”

“Then why am I here?”

Jud looks at you.

“You tell me.”

You stare at the sky.

“I don't know.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I don't.” He relents. “Maybe that's okay.”

You shake your head.

“I prayed once.”

“When?”

“Right when I moved here.”

Jud waits.

“I asked God to send me someone.”

His expression changes, just slightly.

“Someone?”

“Someone to love.”

Neither of you speaks for a moment.

You immediately regret saying it.

“That sounds pathetic.”

“No.”

“Lonely, then.”

“Maybe.”

You look at him.

“I thought maybe if I asked for something simple enough, God would actually listen.”

“And did He?”

You laugh under your breath.

“I don't know.”

Jud smiles faintly.

“Neither do I.”

You look at him for a long moment.

For once, you don't make a joke.

You don't try to change the subject.

You just stroll alongside him on the quiet street, not quite believing and not quite disbelieving.

And somehow, that feels like enough.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

“There are other pews you know?” Jud approaches you with his hands in his pocket. 

You look around and realise you’re sitting at the pew nearest the door again. 

“I know.”

“You like this one, then?”

“I like being able to leave quickly.”

He gives you a look.

“You always have an exit plan?”

“Usually.”

“You don’t need one here.” He says, sliding into the seat next to you.

You know what he means. He wants you to be safe here.

You don’t change your seating, but you do think about him every time you pick it.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

“Two chocolate croissants, one medium matcha latte, one black coffee, and one chocolate chip cookie, please.” Jud tells the man at the cafe counter. 

You’re slightly stunned as you look at him.

“How did you know what I was going to order?”

He shrugs as he finds his place in his seat. 

“We’ve been talking for a while, I just… remembered.”

Gosh, he makes it sound like you two are dating.

“Ah, so I’m memorable is what you’re saying.”

“You definitely are.” He laughs, taking a bite of his croissant. “In more ways than one.”

Heat rises to your cheeks and you try to come up with something to get mad at him for.

“Hey! Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“If the shoe fits.”

“You’re a very mean priest aren’t you? I’m praying to your manager and telling him what you did to me.”

“He’ll forgive me.”

“Damn it.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

“What makes you believe you’re not worth loving by God?” Jud asks you as you two sit on the pew by the door.

Wow, he really hits you with the heavy ones immediately, doesn’t he?

“Probably the fact that I’m queer.” You don’t even hesitate, even if your voice sounds slightly wobbly.

“People don’t seem to take too kindly to that, and their reasoning is usually…” You point upwards. “The big guy.”

Jud nods silently.

“Do you think I’m going to hell?” You ask, seeking a genuine answer.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I know.”

“So what do you think?”

“I think you’re trying to get a simple answer out of a complicated question.”

“So it’s not simple?”

“It’s not simple because you’re a whole human being full of both sins and miracles.”

You go silent. 

“I hate this place.”

“Okay.” He responds. 

You turn to look at him and scoff. 

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“Would you like me to defend it?”

“No.”

“Then I’m just listening.”

Your eyes start to sting and before you know it, you’re crying.

“I spent so long asking God why he made me like this.”

“May I touch you?”

You nod.

Jud pulls you in and rubs your back.

“What answer did you get?”

You sob a little harder. 

“I got nothing.”

“You’re allowed to be angry about that.”

You heave, the sound disgusting coming out of your mouth. 

“People have used this place to hurt people like me.”

“I know.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

He takes a minute to think.

“No.”

“Then why stay?”

He lifts your head up to look at you. 

“Because I don’t think what people have done in God’s name gets to be the only thing that belongs to God.

You don’t necessarily agree.

But you understand.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You head to the same diner you always do after Church.

The waitress already knows your order.

“Let me guess, waffles for you and pancakes for Father Jud?”

You place your menu down in shock.

“Wha- hey, I do not get the same thing every time!”

Jud snickers behind his menu. 

“You definitely do.”

You slap his wrist. 

“Don’t encourage her!”

The waitress leaves to tell the cook your order. 

Jud places his menu down like he knows something is on your mind. 

“What’s going on?”

You roll your eyes. 

“Seriously, are you psychic?”

“No.”

“Then how do you keep doing that?”

“You’re not as hard to read as you think. All I have to do is pay attention.”

Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. 

“My parents have been arguing about moving. My dad wants to move to take care of my grandma, my mom says all their friends live here. I’m not on either one’s side.”

Jud nods, a familiar sight. 

“I’m sorry about that, if you need somewhere to stay when it gets loud, the church is always open for you.”

He’s treating you like you’re some kind of special child, honestly you don’t know whether you’re embarrassed or in love. 

“Where did you just go?”

You blink. 

“What?”

“You just… went somewhere. It’s like you disappeared.”

What the fuck is he talking about?

“There, you just did it again? Are you thinking about something?”

He’s making you nervous now.

“Hi, people in your head! It’s Father Jud.”

“Okay, okay, stop that, I’ll stop… disappearing.”

Jud smiles and takes a sip of his coffee. 

“You don’t need to disappear when you’re with me. I’m listening to you.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You nod off to dreamland during a particularly long sermon. 

It’s not Jud’s fault, you’re sure he’s saying something very interesting and relevant to the Catholics, but it’s not hitting you.

Your sleep schedule has been horrible since moving and you fell asleep at 5 AM last night.

You told yourself you’d only close your eyes for a few seconds, but you’re woken up to the sound of Jud’s gentle voice tapping you awake.

You sit up quickly, realising the seats next to you are empty and it’s just you and Jud inside. 

“Enjoy the homily?” He teases.

You blink, rubbing your eyes.

“I heard most of it.”

“You were asleep.”

“I was just resting my eyes.”

“For 20 minutes?”

“I was praying.”

“That’ll be the day.” He laughs.

Something about his laugh flatters you, like you’ve impressed him. 

You smile despite yourself.

“Was it that bad?” He asks, a playful smile on his face.

“The sermon?” You pinch your fingers. “Yeah, but just for me.”

He pouts, looking down at the seat.

“I thought it was pretty good…”

“Well, yeah, because you made it.”

“Am I not allowed to approve of myself?”

You roll your eyes at him.

You get up and stretch.

The church is empty and getting darker, with just the afternoon light pouring through the windows.

You should probably go back home, but instead you sit back down. 

Jud notices. 

“You’re staying?”

“Maybe.”

He doesn’t ask why. 

Instead he gets up and follows his daily routine. 

He blows out the candles, makes sure everything is in place, and begins to turn off the lights. 

You've watched him do it enough times now that you know the order.

The lights above the pews first.

Then the ones near the entrance.

Then the smaller lamps along the walls.

You don't know when this became a routine.

At first, you stayed because you didn't want to go home yet.

Then you stayed because you liked talking to him.

Eventually, you just started staying.

Jud reaches the last row.

“You know, you don't actually have to wait for me to close up.”

“I know.”

“You could go home.”

“I know.”

He gives you a look.

“Then why are you still here? Don’t you hate this place.”

You shrug. Honestly, you’re not quite sure yourself.

“It's quiet.”

Jud looks around the empty building. 

“I suppose it is.”

You swing your legs. “Don't you ever get tired of doing this?”

“Closing the church?”

“Everything.”

He thinks about it.

“Sometimes.”

“What do you do when you get tired?”

“Keep going.”

“Cause that sounds healthy.”

He laughs.

“It's a work in progress.”

You watch him turn off another light.

“You've been doing this every night?”

“Most nights.”

“That's kind of sad.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone leaves and you're the one who has to turn all the lights off.”

Jud smiles faintly.

“Someone has to.”

You look around.

“I guess I could help.”

“You could.”

“Would that be sacrilegious?”

“Probably not.”

“Aww.”

You get up.

Jud hands you the keys to one of the side rooms.

“Don't lock yourself in.”

“No promises.”

He shakes his head with a smile.

You walk together through the church, switching off the remaining lights.

Eventually, you're standing in almost complete darkness, illuminated only by the faint light coming through the stained-glass windows.

You look at Jud.

“It's prettier like this.”

He follows your gaze.

“Yeah.”

There's something peaceful about being here after everyone else has gone.

No expectations. No questions. No pretending.

Just the two of you.

You sit back down in the pew.

Jud hesitates before sitting beside you.

“You know,” he says, “you're here a lot for someone who doesn't believe.”

You smile.

“I never said I didn't believe.”

“You said you weren't sure.”

“I'm still not.”

He nods.

“That's fair.”

You look toward the altar.

“Maybe I just like the quiet.”

Jud looks at you.

“Maybe.”

Neither of you says anything else.

Eventually, he stands.

“Come on.”

“Where?”

“I have to lock the doors.”

You follow him.

And somehow, without either of you acknowledging it, this becomes your routine.

Mass.

The empty pews.

Jud turning off the lights.

You waiting for him.

Every night, the same quiet walk to the doors.

And every night, you stay just a little longer than you need to.

And you realise… this is what you prayed for.

You asked for God to send you someone to be there for you, and he sent Jud.

God really did answer.

And it scares you.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The realisation comes to you on a quiet day in your room after a long day spent with Jud.

You’re so happy and yet so disappointed.

You get this feeling in your heart that you already miss him, you already miss this day.

And that’s how you realise it.

You’re in love.

With a priest.

You suppose you didn’t specify that you wanted to be with the person you loved, but you thought it would be implied.

Maybe this is just the loneliness talking, maybe you’re just so excited to have a friend in this small town where everyone else seems to treat you like you’re dirt under their shoe.

Maybe it’s just a silly crush on the first person to be nice to you.

Limerence.

Transference.

Boredom. 

Maybe nobody has to know. 

But maybe someone already does know.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

After Mass ends, Jud goes to talk to some of the other regular attendees who have feedback for his latest sermon.

You can't help but stare. He's positively magnetic.

There's something different about seeing him like this, surrounded by people who know him. He remembers everyone's names. Asks about someone's mother. Laughs at an old man's joke even though you've heard it three times now.

Then, as Jud speaks with a nine-year-old boy near the front pews, he looks across the church.

At you.

And smiles.

It's brief. Barely anything.

But it makes your stomach flip.

You smile back.

None of you acknowledge it later. It was just something to treasure in the moment.

You turn back to the statue of Jesus and get back on your knees.

God, please stop making me love him.

Is what you want to say.

But you think about it.

He's a great guy.

He's probably the only person who causes you to break your routine and start something new. The only person who recognizes you. The only person who can tell when you're lying, even when you think you've made the lie convincing.

It scares you.

But it's... nice.

You don't want to stop loving him.

You just want it to stop being hard.

And that's not how life works.

You close your eyes.

Behind you, the church slowly empties.

Jud says goodbye to the last few people before finally reaching the doors. He should leave.

Instead, he stops.

You're still there.

Kneeling.

Head bowed.

He watches you for a moment longer than he should.

He wonders what you're praying about.

Then, almost immediately, he realizes he probably already knows.

His chest tightens.

He tells himself not to think about it.

Not to imagine what it would be like if circumstances were different.

Not to remember the way you smiled at him across the church.

Not to think about how, lately, he finds himself looking for you before Mass has even begun.

He knows this isn't supposed to happen.

He knows what he is supposed to do.

And yet, standing in the doorway, watching you pray, Jud has the awful realization that he has started praying for you too.

Not for you to find someone else.

Not for you to stop loving him.

For you to be happy.

Even if that happiness eventually takes you somewhere far away from him.

Jud finally looks away.

Because loving you is one thing.

Letting you see just how much he does is another.

And neither of you knows it yet, but you're already falling in love with each other.

Which is precisely why this is going to hurt.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You two are sitting on a bench laughing about something or other.

Jud’s breathing slows as he just smiles at you.

“I’m having a lot of fun with you.”

You nod.

“These past couple of months have been the best of my life.”

“The town can’t be that great.” He jokes

“It really isn’t.” You laugh. “It’s all you.”

You say it before you can catch yourself, and there’s a silence.

Jud gives you a sad smile.

He knows.

And you know he knows.

“You know I can’t give you what you want.” He lowers his gaze guiltily. 

“I-I didn’t ask for anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

That’s when you realize he’s staring at your lips.

For a second, neither of you moves.

His eyes flick back up to yours.

You wonder if he's going to say something.

You wonder if you're going to.

Instead, Jud takes a slow breath and looks away.

“I'm sorry.”

You swallow.

“Don't be.”

He gives you another sad smile.

And somehow, that hurts more than if he'd rejected you outright.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Jud starts distancing himself from you. 

It’s not obvious to anyone else. 

But you see it.

It’s the way he doesn’t talk to you when he’s closing up the church.

It’s the way he stops asking you to get a drink after the mass.

It’s the way he stops looking at you to smile in the middle of the sermon.

It’s not cruel, it’s not cold, which is what makes it hurt so much more.

You’re sitting at the pew again as he turns off all the lights. You stare into your lap. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’m trying to do the right thing.” He shakily admits. 

Neither of you look at each other.

“For who?” You whisper out.

He doesn’t answer, because he knows you know it.

“If you actually believe in all of this, why do you care about me? I’m just some person who only prays when they need something and complains about God and church every waking moment.”

“Because you’re you.”

“I’m not taking that as an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

“Even if I’m angry at your church?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I don’t believe anything you preach?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I never will?” Jud finally turns to look at you. 

“Yes.”

You realise his love isn’t conditional. You’re stupid to think it ever was. He doesn’t want you to become more like him, he doesn’t want to fix you or make you believe, 

He just wants you. 

“Do you think God would be angry at me for loving someone like you?” You ask.

Jud is quiet.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” You say regretfully.

Jud turns off the final light.

“I don’t think God is scared of love.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You and Jud don’t go out, instead, you take a slow walk together on the short path to your house.

“Do you think this is one of those… tests… God gives? Is that how this is explained in your head?” You ask.

Jud keeps his eyes on the snowy ground and shrugs.

“I don’t know.”

“I just… I don’t understand why God would put you in my life if I’m not supposed to love you.” You say, you have to admit it comes out whiny, and tearfully, but it’s what’s been playing in your head.

Jud struggles to find an answer.

He doesn’t want to tell you your feelings are meaningless and make you feel small.

He doesn’t want to tell you that there’s some reason for it and make you annoyed.

He doesn’t want to tell you he doesn’t feel the same.

Because that would be a lie.

“Maybe you’re not supposed to understand it yet.”

“That’s convenient.”

Jud can’t form a smile or a frown, his face is simply blank as you approach the fence of your house.

“I know.”

You stop walking.

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

Snow crunches beneath your shoes.

You look at him, waiting for something more.

He wants to give you something more.

He wants to tell you that he thinks about you more than he should. That he looks forward to seeing you every morning. That sometimes he catches himself wondering what his life would look like if things were different.

But he can't.

So he simply looks at you.

“I wish I could make this easier for you.”

You wipe your cheek with the sleeve of your coat.

“I don't think you can.”

“I know.”

And somehow, hearing him say it twice hurts more than anything else.

“Well, this is me.” You say completely unenthusiastically as you read the entrance gate. 

“See you soon?”

“Maybe.”

“I love you.” He says. He tries to say it like a casual greeting but you both know it’s not what this is.

You look at your footsteps on the ground to avoid his gaze.

“I know.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You keep going to church.

For a while, you tell yourself it will get easier.

It doesn't.

You both know you love each other, and you're unable to do anything about it.

You sit at Mass feeling lonelier than ever.

You stare at Jud talking to other people like a jealous partner, though you know you're not dating. You watch him laugh with parishioners, shake hands, ask about someone's mother, listen to someone's problems.

You wonder if he looks at them the way he looks at you.

Then you hate yourself for wondering.

Every conversation between you two feels like a test.

How long can you sit beside him without thinking about kissing him?

How long can he look at you without looking away?

How many times can you say I love you without actually saying it?

It feels like you're playing games with God.

And you're tired.

You're tired of wondering if every nice thing Jud says has another meaning.

You're tired of wondering whether you're imagining the way his voice changes when he's talking to you.

You're tired of feeling guilty for loving someone who has never once made you feel guilty for being yourself.

It hurts when he leaves.

And it hurts when he stays.

It hurts when he smiles at you.

It hurts when he doesn't.

It hurts.

And eventually, you realize that.

Maybe being around him isn't such a good idea.

Maybe this isn't some grand test of faith.

Maybe you're simply two people who found each other at the wrong time.

Maybe loving someone doesn't mean you're supposed to keep them.

So you decide to leave.

Not the town.

Not your faith, exactly.

Just this.

You ask Jud to meet you somewhere away from the church.

A random bench about a kilometer down the road.

It's cold.

The sky is gray, and patches of snow have gathered beneath the trees.

Jud arrives a few minutes later.

He looks at you.

He already knows something is wrong.

“I think I'm leaving.”

His face falls.

Not dramatically.

Just enough for you to notice.

“Okay.”

You look down at your hands.

“I don't mean the town.”

“I know.”

“I mean... church.”

He nods slowly.

You swallow.

“I don't think I can keep doing this.”

Jud sits beside you.

Neither of you speaks for a while.

“I thought maybe if I stayed, eventually I'd figure it out,” you say. “Like maybe I'd wake up one morning and everything would suddenly make sense.”

“Did it?”

“No.”

A small laugh escapes you.

“Actually, I think I understand less now.”

Jud smiles faintly.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.”

“I don't want you to leave because of me.”

“It's not just because of you.”

You look at him.

“But it is a little because of you.”

He accepts that.

“I know.”

You take a breath.

“I love you.”

The words sit between you.

They don't feel frightening anymore.

They don't feel like a confession that might change everything.

They feel like the simplest truth you've ever said.

Jud looks down.

His eyes are wet.

“I love you too.”

And just like everything else he preaches, you can’t believe it.

You laugh quietly through your tears.

“That's so unfair.”

“I know.”

“You're supposed to tell me you don't love me.”

“I couldn't lie to you.”

“You could've.”

“That’s a sin.”

“But you didn't.”

“No.”

You look out at the road.

“You know, a year ago, I would've hated you for this.”

Jud turns toward you.

“For what?”

“For choosing God.”

He doesn't defend himself.

He doesn't need to.

You continue.

“I would've thought you were choosing something that didn't love me over me.”

Jud's expression softens.

“But I don't think that anymore.”

“You don't?”

“No.”

You take a breath.

“I still don't agree with everything the Church says. I still have a lot of problems with religion. I'm probably always going to.”

“I know.”

“But I've realized something.”

“What?”

“Not everyone who believes is cruel.”

Jud looks at you.

“The people who hurt me... they didn't see me.”

Your voice cracks.

“They saw something they were afraid of. Something they didn't understand. And they decided that meant I was wrong.”

You wipe your cheek.

“But you saw me.”

Jud's eyes fill with tears.

“You're probably the first person who ever really did.”

He looks away for a moment, overwhelmed.

“And that's why I can't hate you.”

“You shouldn't.”

“I know.”

You laugh softly.

“See? You're always telling me what I should and shouldn't do.”

“I've noticed.”

You both laugh.

It's small.

Sad.

But real.

You lean back against the bench.

“I don't think I'm ever going to stop loving you.”

Jud looks at you.

“You might.”

“Maybe.”

A pause.

“But I don't want to right now.”

“You don't have to.”

There's something strangely comforting about that.

For once, nobody is asking you to get over it.

Nobody is telling you your feelings are wrong.

You're simply allowed to love him.

Even if you can't have him.

You look at him one last time.

“I wish we'd met somewhere else.”

Jud smiles sadly.

“Me too.”

“Different town.”

“Different circumstances.”

“Different life.”

He nods.

“Maybe.”

You look down.

“Do you ever think about that?”

He doesn't answer immediately.

Then “More than I should.”

You smile.

“That makes two of us.”

The wind picks up.

Jud reaches for your hand.

You let him.

His hand is warm against yours despite the cold.

Neither of you says anything.

You just sit there holding hands, knowing this is probably the last time you'll get to.

Eventually, you stand.

Jud stands too.

You don't hug.

You don't kiss.

You don't do anything that would make leaving harder than it already is.

You just look at each other.

“I love you.”

Jud's eyes close for a moment.

He squeezes your hand.

“I know.”

You wait.

Some part of you hopes he'll say it again.

Instead, he looks at you with the same sad, gentle expression he's worn every time he's tried to protect you from something you didn't want to hear.

And then he says the only thing he can.

“It'll pass.”

Your heart sinks.

But this time, you don't argue.

Because you know what he means.

He's not saying your love isn't real.

He's not saying you shouldn't have loved him.

He's saying that one day, you will be able to remember him without it hurting this much.

Maybe he's right.

Maybe he's wrong.

You don't know.

But you finally understand that loving Jud doesn't mean you have to stay.

And Jud loving you doesn't mean he has to abandon everything he's chosen to be.

Sometimes two people can love each other completely and still have to walk in different directions.

So you let go of his hand.

And you walk home.

For the first time since you moved to this town, you don't feel like you're running away from anything.

You're simply leaving something behind.

Something beautiful.

Something impossible.

Something you'll probably carry with you for the rest of your life.

And as the church bells ring you don’t pray for God to give you something new. 

The last time you had stepped inside a church had been for your grandmother’s funeral, nearly six years ago. That late spring afternoon, however, something drew you through the heavy wooden doors of Our Lady of Perpetual Grace.

You never imagined your life would change forever.

The new parish priest was arranging fresh flowers on the side altar when you entered. He was remarkably tall and slim, yet broad-shouldered, the black clerical shirt hugging his frame with quiet authority, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. As he turned, you noticed the dark ink of a tattoo curving along the side of his neck before disappearing beneath the crisp white collar, an unexpected edge of rebellion against the solemnity of his clothes.

Despite his height, there was nothing imposing about him. He carried himself with a gentle, understated strength that made the space around him feel safe. His eyes were a warm, soft blue with the faintest golden ring around each pupil, catching the afternoon light like hidden embers. His dark, wavy hair framed a striking face with a strong, distinctive nose.

But it wasn’t only his appearance that left you breathless. It was his voice, low, warm, and impossibly gentle, that wrapped around you like a blanket. 

From that day on, you kept returning. What began as quiet pastoral conversations slowly deepened into something far more personal. You shared tea in the sacristy, talked about music, doubts, and fears. He listened with an honesty that seemed to cost him something. And still, he kept that invisible line firmly in place.

At night you dreamed of tracing the tattoo hidden beneath his collar, of those careful hands on your skin. You woke up aching with guilt, knowing how wrong it was. He had given his life to God. And yet you couldn’t stop wanting him.

And sometimes you dared to suspect you weren’t the only one fighting these feelings, that the tension you felt wasn’t entirely one-sided. Because sometimes, when he thought you weren’t looking, his warm blue eyes would drift to your lips. Or his fingers would linger a second too long when handing you something. 

Everything changed one golden afternoon in the parish garden. You were talking about wildflowers when Jud bent down, plucked a small delicate white bloom, and tucked it gently behind your ear. His fingertips brushed your cheek. Your gazes locked and the tension finally became unbearable. You moved first, rose onto your tiptoes, heart hammering, and kissed him.

The kiss was soft, trembling, almost reverent, just the barest brush of lips. Jud froze for a second, then let out a shaky breath against your mouth. For one endless moment you stayed there, foreheads touching. Then he pulled back sharply, eyes closed, jaw tight.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice raw. “I can’t…”

You both tried to go back to normal after that. The careful distance and polite silences that followed only made the air between you thicker and more unbearable.

Until that afternoon in the parish office.

You had gone there determined to speak honestly, to address the growing tension and the painful space that had formed between you since that chaste kiss in the garden. You wanted to apologize, to find a way to salvage whatever fragile thing remained between you.

The moment the door clicked shut, the words tumbled out of you in a rush, your voice breaking.

“I’m so sorry, Jud… Father. I feel I ruined everything. I never should have kissed you. I didn’t mean to put you in this position. I-”

Your eyes filled with tears. You couldn’t even finish the sentence. Jud stood slowly from behind the desk, his expression a storm of pain, relief, and something far deeper. He crossed the room in two strides and cupped your face with both hands, thumbs gently wiping away the tears that had begun to fall.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he breathed, voice hoarse.

And then he kissed you. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, hungry, months of tightly held restraint finally snapping. Your tongues met, deep and needy. A soft, broken sound escaped your throat as his hands slid into your hair. Your own hand moved with shaky boldness then, finding the zipper of his black pants and slipping inside.

When your fingers brushed against him, Jud let out a quiet, guttural groan right against your ear, low and raw, vibrating through you. He stilled for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, entire body trembling with the effort to hold back.

“We shouldn’t…” he breathed, voice strained, even as his hips twitched helplessly toward your touch.

Even now, with your hand slipping inside his clothes and his body pressed hard against yours, Jud was still fighting. Still trying to hold back. The tension in every muscle, the way his breath shook, the soft, stifled sounds he made against your ear… it was the most intoxicating thing you had ever experienced.

You leaned in closer, lips brushing his ear.

“Don’t fight it, Jud,” you whispered softly. “Please. Don’t fight me.”

Another low, stifled moan escaped him as he struggled, still trying, even now, to cling to the last threads of his restraint while your hand continued its slow, deliberate exploration.

And that desperate, beautiful internal war was what undid you completely.

Your fingers continued their unhurried, teasing caress, stroking him through the fabric before slipping fully inside. Jud’s breath fractured against your ear. A quiet, strained groan escaped him as his hips jerked forward into your touch.

He was losing the battle.

With a sudden, uncharacteristic surge of desperation, he walked you backward until your hips met the edge of his desk. In one swift motion, his arm swept across the surface, papers, books, and a small wooden cross clattering to the floor. The sound made you laugh softly against his lips, surprised by this side of him.

“Jud…” you whispered, amused and unbearably turned on by his loss of control. The calm, composed Father Duplenticy who always moved with such quiet restraint had vanished.

He lifted you onto the now-cleared desk as if you weighed nothing, stepping between your spread legs. You didn’t waste time. Your hands moved to his clerical collar, unfastening it with trembling fingers and letting it fall aside. Then you worked on the buttons of his black shirt, pushing it open to reveal the lean, toned chest beneath, adorned by a constellation of freckles.

Your breath caught.

There, along his ribs on the left side, was another tattoo, elegant Latin words inked in beautiful script. You traced them slowly with your fingertips as your other hand wrapped fully around his hardness again, stroking him with firm, languid movements.

Jud shuddered violently at your touch, a low moan rumbling in his chest.

“What does it say?” you whispered, lips brushing his jaw while your hand continued its teasing rhythm.

“‘Miserere mei, Deus…’” he breathed, voice rough. “Have mercy on me, O’ God…”

The contrast of the sacred words on his skin while your hand pumped his length was almost too much. You felt him throb against your palm, his body crowding yours with desperate need.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against your mouth, even as his hands pushed your shirt up, palms sliding reverently over your skin. “Please… tell me to stop.”

But you didn’t. Instead, you tugged at your own shirt and Jud helped you pull it over your head, tossing it aside. His gaze dropped immediately to your bare breasts, dark hunger flashing in those warm blue eyes. He leaned down then and captured one nipple in his mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder, while his hand kneaded the other breast with barely restrained need. The warm, velvet heat of his tongue combined with the teasing scrape of his teeth drew a deep moan from your throat. Before it could fully escape, he abandoned your breast and claimed your mouth, drinking in the sound. 

“Don’t stop,” you whispered against his lips. “Don’t fight this, Jud. Let go.”

A shudder ran through his entire frame. For a moment he simply rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard, visibly wrestling with himself. Then something in him finally gave way. He kissed you again, hungrier this time, while his hands made quick work of your pants, tugging them down along with your underwear until they caught around one ankle. The cool air hit your heated skin for only a second before his body pressed forward, hot and hard against you, rubbing slowly against your wetness. Jud’s hands gripped your thighs hard, trembling with the effort to hold back.

“You need to tell me to stop,” he rasped again, eyes dark with conflict even as his hips twitched forward. “Please…”

Even now, even with you spread open on his desk, he was still trying to be careful. Still trying to be good.

As a response, you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him in. The first slow push drew a broken moan from both of you. He was thick, stretching you deliciously, and the sound he made, low, quiet, almost reverent, was one of the most erotic things you’d ever heard. His hands gripped the edge of the desk on either side of your hips, knuckles white, as he fought the urge to thrust hard.

“God… forgive me,” he breathed, voice wrecked, lips brushing your ear. Still trying to maintain some semblance of control.

But you didn’t want control. You wanted him.

You cupped his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones, and whispered again, soft and coaxing:

“Be the man right now. Not the priest. Don’t fight it, Jud…  Feel me. I want all of you.”

That seemed to finally break the last of his restraint. His hips snapped forward, burying himself deep inside you in one smooth thrust. He stilled for a second, eyes shut tight, and then he set a slow, deep rhythm, each stroke dragging against that perfect spot inside you. The desk creaked beneath you. His silver cross swayed against his chest with every movement.

You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, moaning his name like a prayer. Every time he tried to hold back, to slow down, you whispered filthy-sweet encouragements against his ear until his control frayed completely.

A low, guttural sound tore from his throat, no longer quiet, no longer restrained. The calm, gentle man who had always held himself back was gone. In his place was raw hunger, months of suppressed desire finally unleashed.

He fucked you like a man who had been denied salvation for far too long: starving, desperate, and trembling with reverence. Utterly consumed by the taste of forbidden grace, like a fallen angel reclaiming Heaven through your flesh, as though your body were both his sweetest sin and his only true redemption.

One hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks as he set a relentless rhythm. Every deep stroke dragged against that perfect spot inside you, making you moan his name like a prayer. The Latin tattoo on his ribs moving with every flex of muscle as he took you on his desk.

Soon, his hips started to drive forward harder, deeper, the desk creaking beneath you with every powerful thrust.The sounds he made, those low, stifled groans right against your ear, were driving you wild. You could feel how much he was still fighting it, how every thrust came with a mix of pleasure and guilt and overwhelming need.

But he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

Not when you were moaning his name, not when your walls were fluttering around him, not when you were pulling him impossibly closer with your legs locked around his waist.

“Jud… right there... ” you gasped.

He angled his hips, hitting that spot again and again until your orgasm hit you without warning, shattering and devastating. You clenched hard around him, crying out against his neck. The feeling of you coming undone finally broke him completely and, with a deep broken moan that sounded almost like a sob, he buried himself deep once more and followed you over the edge, pulsing inside you as pleasure tore through him. His hips stuttered, pressing deep as he rode it out, trembling in your arms.

For a long moment the only sounds in the office were your ragged breathing and the faint creak of the desk.

Jud’s forehead rested against yours, eyes closed, body still shaking. His voice, when it finally came, was barely a whisper:

“What have we done…?”

But even as he said it, his arms wrapped around you tighter, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

You stayed like that for a long moment, still joined, breathing each other in, hearts hammering against one another. His arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, yours around his neck, fingers gently threading through the damp curls of his nape. The parish office felt smaller, warmer, as if the rest of the world had disappeared.

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then to the ink along his neck, feeling the way he shivered at the tenderness.

“Jud…” you murmured, voice gentle. “Had you… ever done this before?”

He was quiet for a long time. You felt his chest rise and fall against yours as he struggled with the answer. Finally, he pulled back just enough to look at you. Those warm blue eyes with their golden rings were full of vulnerability.

“Yes,” he admitted quietly. “A long time ago. Before the seminary. Before I… chose this path.” His thumb brushed slowly over your cheek. “It was different. Nothing like this. Nothing close to how I feel when I’m with you.”

He swallowed hard, resting his forehead against yours again.

“I thought I had left that part of me behind. I truly believed I could. But you…” His voice cracked slightly. “You walked into my church and everything I thought I knew started crumbling. Every time you smiled at me. Every time you trusted me with your pain. I tried so hard to fight it. To be what I promised God I would be.”

His hand slid down to rest over your heart, feeling its rhythm.

“And now I’ve broken every vow I ever made… and all I can think is how I still want more of you. How I don’t want to let you go, God forgive me.”

You tightened your arms around him, pulling him closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The Latin tattoo on his ribs pressed warm against your palm.

“Then don’t let me go,” you whispered against his lips. “At least not tonight.”

Jud let out a shaky breath, half laugh, half surrender, and kissed you again. This time it was slower, deeper, full of quiet emotion instead of desperate hunger. His hands roamed gently over your back, learning every curve as if he wanted to memorize you.

Never before had you seen Father Jud Duplenticy surrender so completely.  After all this time, you finally felt that he wasn’t fighting anymore.

He was simply yours.

Thanks for reading~💜 And special thanks to my bestieboo @quietly-kept for the wonderful moodboard

Taglist: @quietly-kept @yyiikes @dumb-blondeee

In front of the world, Jud Duplenticy was still the priest his parish had come to know and love. The man who listened, remembered the smallest details and every birthday of his regulars.

He was the soft-spoken man of the clergy whose sermons never felt out of touch, but always at the pulse of the times. The rare exception of a man who truly lived what he preached every Sunday.

But behind closed doors, in the rare, sacred hours between nightfall and sunrise, he was rewritten by your love. By the way you loved him so openly, it rewired parts of him he had thought he'd buried the day he made his vows.

Within the sanctuary of your arms, the man who stood tall for everyone, whose hands had held grief just as often as they had once held violence, traced your skin with nothing but reverence. Whispering the softest promises against it, the kind you knew he meant with every part of his heart.

But most importantly, he was finally allowed to simply exist. To just be Jud, without a title or all the expectations that came attached to it.

When nothing was left to say, he'd lie with his head in your lap while you read aloud from whatever book happened to be lying around. He rarely paid attention to the words themselves. Instead, he let the cadence of your voice carry him away like the tide, letting its gentle pull wash the weight from his shoulders.

When your voice filled the room like sunlight and your fingers drifted through his dark hair, he was certain it was the closest he'd ever come to heaven.

With nothing but your gentleness directed at him, his broad shoulders finally loosened. His mouth curved into the small, impossibly soft smile reserved only for you. And the mind that so often ran ahead of him, searching for burdens that weren't yet his to carry, finally fell quiet.

He couldn't remember how many times he'd thanked the Lord for sending you his way, and still none of it ever felt enough to hold the depth of his gratitude.

Here, at the altar of the life you'd built from the ruins of two people once terrified of love, he finally, truly rested.

For the first time since he'd learned far too young that love always seemed to demand a sacrifice, he discovered it didn't have to. With you, he never had to lay down the difficult parts of himself to be worthy of being held.

You loved all parts of him the same.

And that, he was certain, was his own quiet miracle.

Thanks for reading 🩶

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