Earlier this morning/early afternoon

[named_silas]

He'd gone to mass, in this new town. He'd worn his robe, with the hood capped over ihs head so they ould not immediately see his pale complection. Scorn and startled looks, looks of shock and disbelief, or wonder and pity were as prominant in the holy church as anywhere, and he could not bear it. Not in the House of God. Not in the one place he

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[pale_narcissus]

Dorian meekly licked his ice cream cone as he considered the tall elaborate spires of the church above. I’ve encountered about five of these on this short walk and each one has been more charming than the last. Such magnificent artistry. And I bet it’s even more beautiful on the inside, with the sun streaming in through the stained glass windows. Almost makes me want to go in and repent.

He turned on his heels and began to stroll languidly down the sidewalk.

Almost.

The sight of the man in the cowled robe turning the far streetcorner caused him to halt mid-lick.

“Hey! You there!” He scurried quickly behind him and poked him gently in the back of the leg with his walking stick. “I know it’s you. No one else would be caught dead in brown wool after autumn. Turn around and talk to me.”

[named_silas]

His leg tensed involuntarily, and the cilice sliced into his thigh. He rubbed his left leg against the barbs as he exhaled and slowly turned. "Indeed, good sir, it is I." Heat flooded his loins, but the cilics appropriately disswayed the feelings that threatened t swell within him.

[pale_narcissus]

Dorian grinned mischievously.

“Good sir? I took you as a better judge of character then that. Where are you headed? It’s Sunday. Are you off to have a picnic with all the other monks and talk about all the fun things you aren’t allowed to do?”

[named_silas]

"I know of no other monks in this city." Silas said calmly. So very calmly. Dear Lord give me strength, he murmured within the confines of his mind.

[pale_narcissus]

As Silas’ spoke, Dorian looked into his eyes, noticing for the first time his fine white eyelashes, fluttering nervously like two frantic little feathers. He felt as if his heart was fluttering franticly in time with their movements.

Placing his fingers gently on Silas’ pale cheek he cooed “Well, I couldn’t imagine you getting involved in a scandal knowingly.”

He retracted his hand smoothed his hair self-consciously. “I however am a different story, but I left London for a similar reason. You seem quite troubled, my friend, but I assure you, whatever you did to feel so guilty, I probably do five times before breakfast every morning without a second thought. Not that you’d know by looking at me. So cheer up a bit, hmm? Will you give me a smile?”

[named_silas]

In an instant there was owlish blinking to accompany the fluttering o his eye lids. The warmth of Dorian's hand on his cheek, oh how he wanted to reach up and latch on. To hold ihs wrist, to hold his hand there in place. To lean into the touch, and seek comfort in this beautiful man.

"Have you ever killed a man, Dorian?" Silas asked, denying him the smile he asked for.

[pale_narcissus]

“I have,” he replied simply, with a shurg. “I’m sure your reasons were better than mine.”

The poor man seemed so tortured. Dorian hadn’t felt sympathy for anyone for nearly a century, but he had the sudden desire to comfort this man. Reaching over, he softly took the monk’s pale hand into his own and squeezed it slightly, hoping he would understand.

[named_silas]

"Most recently I killed a nun," Silas confided. He would not give Dorian any specific details. He could not. He had already said too much. But there was absolution in pain and prayer. He had repented. He would continue to repent. Daily, for as long as he lived.