John 8:32

1 - Luke 8:17

For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open.

Sunday morning. Church.

Damien didn't get why they had to go to church on Sundays after going to chapel every day that week in school. Yeah, whatever, it was the Grand Most Important Sabbath Day and whatever. But if there was a God, Damien didn't think he cared what day people worshipped him. Attention was attention. If he were God he wouldn't care what day.

The one nice thing about Sunday mass was that they didn't have to be in uniform. Damien didn't look good in the green jackets that were essential to the uniform of Saint Augustine Preparatory School. It was a nice green — but Damien looked terrible in it. He often ditched the jacket, much to the chagrin of the administration.

Black was far more his color.

Damien took Sunday's as an opportunity to catch the gaze of anybody and everybody he could. No uniform meant earrings, which meant flash, and being clad in all black didn't exactly leave him looking very subtle.

Truthfully, he didn't care about catching anyone's eye except for one person.

Spencer Morris. The pastor's son. Stuck up, prissy, and really bad at hiding his emotions.

Damien saw him staring as he strolled into the worship hall, carefully aloof, every aspect of his appearance perfectly placed. Hair pristinely messy, bleached silver bangs falling just over his eyes. Damien looked good. He always looked good, but especially now.

Spencer was staring. On his knees, praying the rosary, but staring nonetheless.

Damien always thought that the bastard probably liked to be choked with that damn thing. It made him laugh every time the thought surfaced.

Damien took a seat in the pew in front of Spencer, leaning back against the bench. He laughed as he (not so) accidentally bumped Spencer's arm with his elbow.

"What do you want, Yates."

Spencer bristled, opening one eye to look over towards Damien.

"Oh nothing," Damien hummed, "I'm just stretching, Mr. Morris"

"Ugh, shut up," Spencer groaned, squeezing his eyes shut once more to resume focus on his prayer. Or at least, seem like he was doing so.

"I'm all good, thanks," Damien hummed, and Spencer breathed a shaky breath like he was trying to resist punching him in the face.

"You really shouldn't hold so much anger in your heart," Damien mocked, "It's not very Christlike, Mr. Morris."

"Shut up, Yates," Spencer grumbled, teeth clenched and eyes shut tightly, "I'm trying to pray this damned rosary."

"Oh, Mr. Morris, I'd watch your language."

"God doesn't say shit about swearing," Spencer grit his teeth, and Damien decided it was time to lay off. If he wanted to get what he wanted later, that was.

Damien might have attended a Catholic school, but he was far from religious. He was there for the academics and the room and board. His parents were filthy rich, and always away on mission trips, so here he went. It was just a plus that he didn't have to live at home and have to be taken care of by his sister. She was only in college, after all. Damien liked his sister, which was exactly why he didn't want to be all up in her space.

Spencer, on the other hand, was the pastor's son. That alone should have been self-explanatory. He annotated his Bible. Damien had watched him during Bible Study. He had color-coded pens and everything. It was fun to fuck with him about it. Spencer was too easy to piss off.