He tells himself, over and over, that this is nothing more than a pastoral obligation. A mere facet of the job—tending to the parishioners and their families. That is the only reason he invites Elias inside; it isn't because he harbors any personal desire to see him there. It’s simply… he cannot bring himself to turn away that beautiful, battered face. He is moved by pity. That is all it is, and all it will ever be.

  Generally speaking, Felix isn't fond of guests. He spends far too much time surrounded by strangers to find any joy in welcoming them into his sanctuary. His "family nest," so to speak—a place where a family never truly resided, yet a nest nonetheless. Perhaps that is why something deep within him stirs the moment a playful, rapid knock shatters the silence of the house.

  Felix is dressed in his preferred black shirt and trousers (his cassock draped over the back of a chair) when he opens the door. Elias stands before him in a black leather jacket slung over his shoulders, worn over a white T-shirt featuring some band print. His light-wash jeans, which cling perfectly to every powerful line of his body, are frayed and torn at the spots most acquainted with the pavement. A sudden realization strikes Felix: he could have simply stayed away from the door, could have pretended he wasn't home… and yet, he opens it.

  “No way,” Elias exclaims, forgoeing a greeting in favor of surprised delight. “You actually do exist at home! I always pictured you as being far too busy for such things.”

  “I have my free days on occasion,” Felix says, stepping aside to let him pass. “It’s just that I usually prefer to spend them at the church.”

  “Is that because Molly is home?” The question is posed so casually that Bauer doesn't even have time to take offense. In any case, Elias is already moving into the house, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his jacket as if he were a daily fixture here. “You were waiting for me, I see. You opened up so fast… What exactly do you do when you’re home?”

  “I read,” Felix replies after a brief pause, genuinely considering the answer. “Sometimes I borrow books from the city library or receive them as gifts; other times I simply reread what I already own.”

  “You realize you’re dreadfully boring, don't you?”

  “I am what I am.”

  “And what if you aren't in the mood to read?”

  “Then I listen to records.”

  “Let me guess — classical?”

  “Precisely.” Felix smiles at his own predictability. “I’m fond of Vivaldi for his strings. And I enjoy piano music.”

  “Then why don't you play yourself?”

  Elias drops into the plush armchair. The master’s chair.

  “I played the piano once,” Felix says, a soft smile accompanying the memory. “I loved—and still love—the works of Mozart and Schubert. At one point, I even considered becoming a musician. Such foolishness.”

  “It’s always ‘once’ and the past tense with you,” Elias notes, his mood visibly souring. “If God endowed you with free will, why don’t you ever use it? It’s as if you actually enjoy being miserable.”

  “I am not miserable.”

  “If you say so.” Elias snatches up a book from the side table and flips through the pages. “Mother of God, you actually read this stuff?”

  “I do. Is there a problem?”

  “It’s just... pure theology!” He stops on a page, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “‘Proving what is acceptable unto the Lord (Eph. 5:10)’… Right. And what exactly is acceptable to God, Father Felix?”

  “That which leads toward the light, rather than the darkness,” Bauer answers, his words sounding almost rehearsed. “Whatever is born of love, mercy, and truth—that is pleasing to God. And whatever destroys the soul, no matter how alluring it may seem—is not.”

  “So, then,” Elias rests his chin on his fist and offers a sugary smile, “does your mercy toward me bring you closer to God?”

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  Felix doesn't answer. There seems to be no point. They both know the truth anyway. Their accidental, involuntary bond is "godly" because of the mercy Felix bestows and the truth Elias seeks—a path that undoubtedly edges them both toward a seat in Paradise. But Elias, as if by design, always seems to drag them back down several rungs with his volatile temper and his appalling behavior. He is impossible.

  And yet, that seems to bother only Felix. Huber looks entirely at ease, setting the book back where he found it and standing up to survey the house as if seeing it for the first time. Felix, meanwhile, feels like the interloper. He doesn't know what to do with himself. He moves awkwardly to his chair and sits, hiding behind the daily newspaper as if it were of any real consequence. At the very least, it allows him to project the illusion that the presence of a stranger doesn't unsettle him in the slightest.

  “Were you happy that day?”

  The question is so abrupt that the priest nearly flinches as he looks up. The youth is standing before a family photograph on the shelf, studying the smiling faces: a much younger Molly in a charming dress with her hair worn long, and Felix, his face already showing the distinctive lines of a smile.

  “Yes,” he says, lowering his gaze once more. “It was the right choice.”

  “That isn't the same thing.”

  “Perhaps,” Bauer turns a large page. “But I am a priest. You understand.”

  “You mean the celibacy?” Elias wanders into the kitchen, the sound of cabinets and clattering dishes following him. “But you even set up a nursery. You aren't exactly sticking to your vows, are you? Even if, as I gathered, you’re just living together without being wed in the eyes of the law.”

  Felix sighs and touches his neck, embarrassed.

  “Must we discuss this?”

  “Teach me good judgment and knowledge: for I have believed thy commandments!” Elias dramatically drops his voice, mimicking something divine. Bauer cannot bring himself to look up, but he can feel the boy’s smirk. “I’m curious. Don't withhold your wisdom.”

  “The Lord be with you, Elias,” Felix smiles in spite of himself. “Fine, then. My wife’s child would have been mine regardless. Even if not by blood. She was able to conceive because of… an accident.” His voice trembles for a second as he remembers the sight of a completely shattered Molly returning home with a torn blouse, a heavy bruise on her face, and eyes full of tears. “But she was unable to carry it to term. After that, she couldn't even bear the thought of foster children. I cannot go against my wife’s wishes and…”

  “Father Felix.” The voice is unexpectedly close. He looks up to find a sympathetic gaze in eyes that seem fractured by their own pain. “I’m sorry...”

  “It’s alright,” he says, looking away again and swallowing the lump in his throat. “It is the will of God.”

  “May I touch you?”

  “You didn't ask before. You may.”

  Elias gently brushes his fingertips against Felix’s short, dark hair, pulling him closer by the back of the head until the priest’s forehead is tucked against the youth’s lower abdomen. There is no lewdness, no ulterior motive. He seems entirely sincere as he holds him, supporting his head and softly stroking his neck and shoulders, as if drawing out some deep-seated tension… Felix hadn't even realized how much weight had accumulated in his body. Was this all he needed? How little it took…

  “I’m making coffee,” Elias says, pulling away. “Would you like some?”

  “I wouldn't say no.”

  With a natural, fluid motion, Huber ties his hair back into a small bun, exposing the elegant line of his neck, and sets to work. Felix doesn't even realize he is staring…

  “The tied-back hair suits you,” he remarks curtly.

  It isn't even meant as a compliment, more of a statement of fact. It is Sunday, the sun is out, and that hairstyle suits you. Regardless, Elias raises his eyebrows in surprise and involuntarily runs his fingers over the hair tie.

  “Really? I never thought so.”

  While the coffee bubbles in the copper cezve, Felix rises from his seat to look into a bookshelf. There, in a closed bottom drawer, lies a true treasure trove: stacks of classical music records, many of them quite rare. He carefully extracts one and places it on the worn vinyl player. The mellow sound of a cello, underscored by the gentle ripple of a piano, drifts through the house. For some reason, it is profoundly relaxing.

  “Your coffee.” A few minutes later, Elias places a cup on the side table. He sinks onto the sofa, stretching out his long legs.

  “Thank you,” Felix nods, offering a whispered grace to God before taking his first sip.

  “I like the music,” Elias says, leaning his head back against the cushions, letting himself go limp. “But it’s boring.”

  “Everything is boring to you.”

  “Not true. You aren't boring to me. Well, except for sometimes...”

  Felix smiles at the teasing tone, not looking up from his "boring" book.

  “Father Felix, why are you…?” Elias suddenly falters, as if deciding against the question. “I mean, why aren't you angry with me?”

  “I’m not,” Bauer sighs softly, shaking his head. “I still harbor the hope of guiding you back to the true path from which you’ve strayed.”

  “And the fact that I’ve strayed makes me a bad person.”

  “I didn't say that,” comes the rustle of a page. “You have family and friends who value you. They find things in you to love, which means there is light in you. Even I value you. You’ve been helping me with the church repairs, after all.”

  “You are a remarkable man, Father Felix,” Elias whispers with a soft smile, his eyes drifting shut. “Truly remarkable.”

  They remain in silence for a while, listening to the old record. Eventually, the sound of a mug thudding onto the carpet distracts Felix from his reading. He turns his head to find Elias unconscious. It is the first time the youth has ever fallen asleep in his presence… and that realization is worth everything. The relaxed face, the full lips slightly parted, creates an aura of helplessness, while the faint crease between his brows stirs a sense of worry. What could he be dreaming of that causes him such distress even in sleep? Felix sets his book aside and stands, approaching the sofa. Elias takes up its entire length, yet his bare feet still dangle over the edge, one hand resting near the overturned mug. His white T-shirt has ridden up, exposing a toned torso and a slender waist. A sudden wave of self-consciousness washes over Bauer; he grabs a throw blanket and covers the youth with the solemnity of someone shielding him from a mid-winter blizzard.

  Felix stands over him, savoring the rare sight of Elias so vulnerable and still, not quite knowing what to do with him. He allows his fingertips to graze the boy’s hair, marvelling at the softness of the wavy strands, before letting his hand rest between Elias's brows. He applies gentle pressure to his forehead, using circular motions to soothe the tension in the muscles… only then does he snatch his hand away, backing away from the sofa with a start. No, there was something deeply wrong about how natural this felt… This shouldn't be happening. He shouldn't feel this comfortable, this at peace with Elias in a way he never felt with his wife, or even with himself. As if under a spell, Felix recoils from the sofa and retreats into the depths of the house with one solitary thought:

  “Lest Molly find out.”