kissing. next.

Foot after foot after foot on concrete. Mind wiped clean of the words that they'd read clearly on his face if he thought them too intently, if he let himself believe. He tried to think instead of other things. Of the sound of citizens in the distance. Of sleep that might come or might not. Of what tomorrow's lessons would take this time.

He was young and in the process of being trained, of sanctification if he got a passing grade. Only a few weeks into training and he felt his spine straighten at just the thought, as if the harsh line of cardinals was watching over him now. On stage, they stood shoulder-to-shoulder above the trainees, unflinching and godlike.

Bear witness.

He shook his head on impulse, trying to clear the thought. He was free of lessons for the day. He always tried to leave them behind, drop them at the foot of the concrete doorway as he stepped over.

Today had been different though; today, they weighed heavy.

It isn't difficult, the cardinals had said. All we ask is that you don't look away.

How simple it was, not to move. Neck locked, lock-step, all they had to do was watch. Devotion lived in one's ability to witness.

So bear witness, they'd commanded, voices monotone.

His hands started to tremble.

Bear witness rang in his ears; he had repeated it like a mantra throughout the entire lesson, pressing fingers into palms. The syllables found some kind of rhythm in his thoughts as he watched. The words became his focus while his mind reared back, his eyes fighting to close. He'd felt the ache of tendons in his neck, pulling against his will, or maybe the pull was his will. He could never begin to understand what he wanted while in that room, the cardinals lashing out in front of them.

Their hands were wet, sickening in the neon light. The red wash of them shot through with the cold glow made them look flayed open from fingertip to elbow, like exposed muscle ribboned with fat. And he himself had felt flayed, agonized, vulnerable. Fighting the tremble currently rippling through his fingers at the sight of (not his, not his, not his, someone else's, not his own—) blood on their hands.

(but wouldn't it be easier if it was your own?)

He kept walking.

It didn't matter. He'd borne witness, passed their test. Lesson over. A day done. Again.

His feet led him through the alleys and courtyards without needing to lift his eyes, the space inside these walls beyond memorized. He risked a glance down at his hands, flexing the fingers on his right to see if they would hold steady. The lines in his skin were almost entirely clean today— a small relief in itself— and he managed a few moments without a shake. He dropped his fist back down to his side, fingers starting to twitch in a familiar pattern. They did this when he got tired and his guard lowered, finding something comforting in the movement and the loose twist of fabric at his thigh. His eyes still ached, his bones heavy, but at least this brought a moment of peace—

A body rammed into his side, throwing him out of step. He tried to right himself quickly, but felt the scramble of his limbs, unwieldy in surprise. Turning, he saw Enoch, another boy from his lessons, face gripped in a reckless grin.

"Watch it, Tyler," he said, brushing off the shoulder of his threadbare shirt in false indignation. Tyler's eyes flicked from the shine of his teeth to the bumps of his knuckles, immediately slotting back into his own defensive stance. He wasn't much of a fighter, not in times like this.

"Sorry."

Enoch huffed a breath as he fell into step beside him. "God. Can't even pretend to push back a little?"

Tyler kept walking, tipping his chin up to meet the challenge in silence. He picked up the pace as well, wondering how Enoch had handled today's lesson. One boy among them had collapsed, and another had coughed his limited rations up onto the floor and was removed from the room. Enoch must've managed the watching, given his high spirits and the laugh in his voice.

Tyler could never help but be wary of this boy and the way he glowed. They'd been in lessons together for weeks, plucked from the rest of the citizens to serve their greater purpose. Or that's what they'd been told on day one of assignments. Tyler was immediately suspicious, hackles up, mind full of questions that he knew he couldn't voice. He'd looked around the room with brow furrowed at all the others chosen when his eyes caught on Enoch's. They were an icy blue sparkle, mischievous and alive. Matching the cardinals' challenge with a challenge of his own.

He'd given Tyler a flicker of a smile that day, clear across the room full of disciples. And Tyler remembered the way it felt like a tickle across his skin: how he'd wanted to understand it, and also run away. He felt the same now.

"How'd you do today?" Tyler asked, voice slightly rough from disuse.

He could hear the spit crackle of the boy's smile, lips slick against teeth as he spoke. "They got all my attention, just like they wanted."

Tyler felt his breathing go shallow. Enoch bumped into him lightly, shoulder brushing shoulder out of rhythm with their steps. Intentional.

"What about you, Tyyyler?" he asked, playful. His voice was rich no matter the situation. Tyler could feel its high resonance inside his skull. "Did you like it?"

The question forced a pause, clearing his head. He looked over at Enoch in momentary confusion, then back down to his feet. "Didn't know we had to like it. That wasn't part of the lesson."

Enoch exhaled a laugh, brash and defiant. "It's not in the books but... you can like things without permission, you know."

Tyler's thoughts produced another familiar smile, open-mouthed in delight. Instantly and eternally, a collection of images followed: gritty dust on skin, tired eyes, vein-bumped wrists, a rhythm like wingbeats in his chest.

Tyler shot an elbow out to catch Enoch's ribs, a little too hard for play. He was met with a pained huff, and he side-stepped away before the boy could recover and retaliate.

"Who are you trying to impress out here? Nobody else is watching. No one's giving you a grade."

Enoch's head ticked to the side, in tandem with his smile.

Tyler felt a buzz pick up inside him with the taunt, and the look. It had gone silent somewhere in the mire of the day; he hadn't even noticed when it left. But it returned, restless and awake, as the boys started to scrap in the middle of the courtyard. The fight was one of concrete burns rather than gouges, bruises instead of breaks. It was a tangle of knees and forearms and chests, muscle-on-muscle, warm through the thinned-out patches of their uniforms. Both fought to win as long as winning meant prolonging the fight.

They'd both won in lessons, today and everyday, their competition fierce but entirely unspoken. There was no place for this boyishness in the running to become a cardinal, to ascend to Bishop. But they both felt the fire all the same, and here, now, they had a place to put it. Into each other, in their shared air, broken up with exhales and barked laughs.

Tyler couldn't help it. He felt disgusted. He felt euphoric. He felt alive.

The whistles blew.

They fell off each other, pushing up from the ground. Tyler knew punishment was coming, or at the very least, attention. But for once, he couldn't manage to be afraid. Exhaustion and adrenaline flowed through his veins, the day's complete lack of precedence making him lose track of how to react to anything. There was no blueprint for the Cardinals' violence or the way Enoch's arm had felt pressed flat against his chest.

They were separated, reprimanded, escorted directly back to domiciles without food. But Tyler wasn't hungry, not like that. He allowed himself one final impulse, a glance cast back to the other boy. He turned the cheekbone he could already feel starting to bruise, offering a reckless half-smile. A confirmation, a thank you maybe, or fuck you.

Instead of Enoch, his look caught on a furrowed brow, head cocked slightly to the left. Caked in dust, eyes over-communicative in a language Tyler hadn't learned to translate, standing stock-still like stone.