Felix wakes without the familiar pull of pain and discomfort around his waist. No—the skin still stings unpleasantly, but nowhere near as brutally as yesterday. He hurriedly unfastens his cassock, then his shirt, and sees that the harsh belt is gone, and every chafed wound has been treated and covered with neat strips of plaster. A shiver runs over his skin, followed by a sharp jolt of dread at the thought that he hadn’t even stirred while someone handled his unconscious body… God knows what else could have been done to him. The thought is terrifying.

  He finishes dressing as he walks downstairs, and only when he reaches the stairwell does he catch the pleasant smell of something frying.

  “Good morni—” But he doesn’t finish, freezing in stunned disbelief.

  Elias, standing in the kitchen in nothing but an apron and underwear, turns around—and instantly breaks into a radiant, irresistible smile.

  Felix gasps and looks away, covering his mouth with a hand. He expected anything, truly anything but this. Honestly, a kitchen fire would have suited him better than this.

  “Good Lord, why are you undressed?!”

  “Because I finally get to see you outside the church!”

  His voice sounds unexpectedly close, forcing Felix to turn. Elias is suddenly right beside him, leaning against the counter. Molly’s white apron does nothing to hide his broad chest, though it frames his waist beautifully. Felix stares far too openly, as if his body has slipped out of his command. His gaze drifts from the sculpted shoulders downward. Now the apron begins to irritate him—too much fabric, too much left to imagination, obstructing what he wants to admire.

  Felix mentally slaps himself and forces his eyes back onto Elias’s face. Maintaining composure feels nearly impossible, but he tries.

  “And still—why are you like this? Mornings are cold, you’ll catch a chill.”

  “I went for a run and showered afterward,” Elias says with a casual shrug—though his real delight lies elsewhere. “But why are you worried about my health? Do you care about me, Father Felix?”

  “Of course I care,” Felix answers, thoughtlessly at first, then rushes to clarify. “Mrs. Huber asked me to keep an eye on you. It would be unfortunate if you fell ill.”

  “And if I did fall ill, would you take care of me?”

  “If Mrs. Huber asked me, then—”

  “You know, for a gay man you think an awful lot about women.”

  Elias’s mood sours instantly. He clicks his tongue in disappointment and turns away, leaving Felix in confused guilt. The priest doesn’t manage a single word before Elias sets a plate on the table—a traditional breakfast: a fresh roll (he must have run to the bakery), a soft-boiled egg, and crisp sausages.

  “By the way—how are you feeling?”

  “Fine, thank you.” Felix nods coolly and sits, unable to tear his gaze from the plate. He discreetly pinches his wrist—expectedly, he doesn’t wake up—and this only unsettles him more.

  “Did you undress me last night?”

  Elias, having just taken a sip of coffee, chokes violently. He stares at the frowning priest, then bursts into completely unrestrained, honest laughter.

  “Father Felix,” he says, trying to calm himself, “what kind of intimate questions are these? Were you hoping I did?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “What?” Felix flushes despite himself and rushes to explain. “Nonsense, absolutely not! I asked because my belt is gone.”

  “Aaah, you mean that slow method of self-execution… I threw it out.”

  He quickly tries to shift the topic, as if avoiding conflict.

  “Eat, please. I’ll be upset otherwise—I put effort into this.”

  Felix genuinely tries to. Hunger clouds his mind, but nerves make swallowing nearly impossible. Everything feels wrong—no, unfamiliar. For the first time, he senses he is losing control of the situation entirely: someone else has tended his body, there is no self-inflicted pain, no judgement, someone has made him breakfast not out of marital duty but genuine desire, and Elias is beside him, watching him with a smile that doesn’t feel like a joke.

  The awful sensation of weakness—of vulnerability—makes him want to hide, and he hates that. The first bite barely makes it down his throat.

  After breakfast, Felix prepares for Mass. The only difference from any other morning is Elias’s unwavering gaze. The young man sits at the table—thankfully already wearing pants instead of just an apron—leaning back with one leg crossed over the other, watching Felix’s every movement with predatory ease. It feels like he’s hunting… and Felix is the prey.

  He tries to dismiss the thought, takes a slow breath to steady himself, and unwraps the layers of bandages around his hands, exposing the burns. Only then does Elias look away sharply, as if the sight genuinely unsettles him. Felix can’t blame him, but the silence grows heavy.

  “Where will you go now?” Felix asks quietly, disinfecting the wounds again.

  “I don’t know…” Elias drawls, tapping a lighter between his fingers and staring out the window. “To work. I just haven’t decided yet—my place or yours, Padre.”

  “Don’t come to the church,” Felix shudders at the idea of enduring this during service as well. “I won’t be waiting for you there.”

  “You’re cruel.”

  “You of all people shouldn’t say that,” Felix sighs, wrapping the bandage around his hand. “I’m not cruel. I’m righteous.”

  Elias jerks to his feet, the chair crashing onto the floor. In two strides he crosses the room and seizes Felix’s wrist. His blood freezes. He knew he shouldn’t have provoked him. He knew exactly where this could lead. But perhaps, because Elias had the advantage in strength, Felix wanted at least verbal power over him. The consequences, however, throb painfully through his arm…

  “You should be careful, Father Felix,” Elias says, baring his teeth in a predatory smile. “Your righteousness might just burn you alive.”

  But his grip suddenly softens. He takes the roll of bandages from Felix’s hand and begins wrapping the burns on his left arm. The contrast is dizzying.

  “I won’t come—if you agree to go somewhere with me.”

  “Tell me where first,” Felix says, trying not to pull away. Admitting it feels humiliating, but the care is… too pleasant to reject.

  “I want to show you where I live.”

  Finishing the bandage, Elias lets go of his hand and smiles.

  “You know nothing about me. Isn’t that insulting?”

  “I don’t want to know anything about you,” Felix cuts him off sharply, turning away. “Goodbye, Elias.”

  Elias watches him for a long moment, calling out only as Felix reaches the door.

  “Hey, Father Felix!”

  He smiles far too brightly.

  “I’ll miss you!”

  Felix says nothing. But just before he shuts the door, he throws back:

  “Miss.”

  And leaves Elias alone.

  He still had the Holy Mass to conduct, and canceling was impossible. And yet—for some reason—today he didn’t want to leave home at all. As if the walls, which had never known warmth before, were reluctant to lose the heat Elias had brought into them. A maddening contradiction: freedom, acceptance, and that unbearable weakness—all at once. It drives Felix insane, and he can’t do anything about it. He wants to return home as soon as possible, yet refuses to admit why.

  The day pulls itself along through routine and briefly pauses in Katherina’s classroom. She pours black tea into two delicate porcelain cups once gifted by her students, while he stares at the bandages on his left palm, head propped on his fist.

  “Are you feeling better?” she asks gently, sitting across from him.

  “Yes… I think so,” Felix answers absently. Then, exhaling, he finally meets her eyes. “Remember the parishioner I told you about? We shared a roof last night.”

  “Does Molly know?”

  Katherina is a woman of few visible emotions, but now a faint crease settles between her brows.

  “No. We argued,” Felix sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “And there was nothing to know. Nothing happened. The rain was too heavy—I couldn’t leave him outside…”

  “You’re right,” she concedes, though she shakes her head disapprovingly. “But make peace with your wife. Felix, I shouldn’t need to remind you of God’s laws.”

  “And don’t remind me.”

  He takes a long swallow of tea and closes his eyes.

  “Bitterer than death, for the heart is a snare, and the hands—bands…”

  He quotes Scripture quietly, incompletely, finally letting himself relax and talk with his friend about something ordinary, as if nothing dangerous hangs over him, as if for a brief moment everything is fine.

  He leaves the church grounds by evening, when only the fading sun colors the sky soft pink. Light glints off windows, scattering playful reflections onto the road. If he had the mood, it might even lift his spirits. But not today.

  Felix steps onto the porch, adjusting the sleeves of his cassock, and freezes.

  A black car stands in front of the church—one of those sleek ones you only ever see in big cities, never here. Felix never paid much attention to his parishioners’ vehicles, but lately this one had become a sign, a symbol. Because beside it—leaning casually against the bumper—stood Elias.

  Just as he does now.

  In his leather jacket and narrow jeans, he leans against the car, smoking, staring into the distance with an unfocused gaze. A soft breeze plays with his wavy hair, and he keeps tucking the stray strands behind his ear, brushing the dangling earring.

  And he’s beautiful. Devastatingly so. Especially in the sunset light—his sculpted cheekbones sharpened by shadow, and his lips, heart-shaped, releasing thin clouds of smoke.

  Elias doesn’t notice him at first. He turns slowly, and his face warms with that familiar smile—mischievous and bright—as he flicks the cigarette onto the road, where several butts already lie, proof of how long he’d waited. He steps on it, extinguishing it, and does nothing more—not even a wave. He simply waits for Felix to come to him.

  When Felix finally does, Elias takes a step toward him.

  “You’re late today.”

  “Did you miss me?”

  “I did.”