Secret
Tim wipes dust from the pews and straightens the Bibles, sweeps up scattered paper and picks up dropped change. His fellow parishioners, mostly older people, praise him, telling him that he is such a good boy, helping Father Todd, it’s so nice of him, his parents would be so proud of him if they could see him now, yes they would. Tim is such a good little Christian boy.
But these people do not know why Tim hovers, waiting for Jason (he had stopped being Father Todd to Tim a long time ago). He cleans because, otherwise, how could he stay away from Jason, so close by, but untouchable while people are here to witness? No. These people do not know-cannot understand-why Tim busies himself, keeping away from Jason until all of them are gone.
This is a recent development, this oddly strained hovering, only a week started, and none of these parishioners (these good, kind, God-loving people) know that Jason takes Tim home every night, singing him hymns to sleep. Since this relationship began eight days prior, after Tim’s confession, he has stopped asking for forgiveness. Tim does not need it, even if he believed God would give it. Tim regrets nothing. He doubts he ever will.
The last of Jason’s flock leaves, the evening mass over and the meetings done. Jason slowly makes his way over to Tim (Tim can see it out of the corner of his eye) as he lights two candles in memory of his parents, who had so often frequented this church.
“I’m sorry,” Jason says, standing next to him. Tim can feel Jason’s eyes on him. A smile ghosts over his lips.
“What for?"
“For keeping us a secret.” Tim starts, turning his head to see Jason gazing at the candles, the light flickering in his eyes and a frown scarring his forehead with a wrinkle. Tim cannot help but snort, taking Jason’s hand in his own.
“I don’t mind,” Tim shrugs. Jason lightly drags his thumb across the top of Tim’s hand. “If you didn’t keep us a secret, what would happen to your church?” A hum rumbles in Jason’s throat, discontented.
“I don’t want you to think that I-“ Jason stops, glances at Tim then looks away. “I don’t want you to think that I’m ashamed, or that I regret you, or-“
Tim tugs on his hands gently. “I don’t think either of those things. Don’t worry. I understand.”
“I wish you didn’t have to,” Jason murmurs, bringing Tim close, then nudging him toward the exit. “Let’s go home. I want you to understand how much I love you, instead of why we don’t tell about us.”
They hold hands on the way to Jason’s modest apartment (Tim has cleaned it and made it organized). And in there, Tim feels loved. Loved and worshipped and so very happy. He truly doesn’t mind their secretive relationship. All Tim needs to understand is what Jason’s hands tell his skin. All he needs to feel is what Jason whispers in his ear.
Before sleep takes them both, Jason curls his body around Tim, holding him close.
“Pie Jesu,” Jason sings, his voice reverberating through Tim and expanding outward, reaching towards the Heaven where the God who may or may not love them lives. “Pie Jesu,” and Jason keeps singing, about the One who takes away the sins of the world. “Dona eis requiem.” Grant them peace.
Jason’s voice is strong and warm and beautiful, made for hymn singing (and Tim has always known this, listening for Jason’s voice when hymns were sung). Tim is cradled to sleep on the wings of Jason’s voice, a mumbled, “I love you” tumbling out of his mouth before slumber hugs him tightly. (Slumber has an embrace as warm as Jason’s.)
I love you too, Jason’s voice leaks in. Even among the secret and the sin, Tim smiles in his sleep.