St. Peter's Church

8

The sun started to set, leaving a beautiful deep orange color in the sky. "Look how pretty that sunset is," Paul pointed out.

John looked over, nodding his head. "You'll see the prettiest sunsets in this neighborhood."

The sun set really quick, the sky turning dark fast. "John, I'm hungry," said Paul, "I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not. go downstairs and check the fridge. There's pastries and whatnot in there that Mimi brings home sometimes."

Paul opened the door and went into the hallway, not sure where he was going, as he had never been here before.

He turned the gas on one of the wall lamps slightly up, just enough to see the stairwell.

He found his way to the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out something that looked like fudge. His mouth was watering, and he quickly retreated back up the stairs.

In the hall, he ran into someone. "Oh, hello," said the figure, turning up the gas even more. "Are you one of John's friends?"

"Oh, yes. Sorry if I woke you," Paul answered. The voice was a woman close to her middle years, wearing thick glasses and her brown hair wound up. "No, you're alright. I'm John's aunt, Mimi."

"Paul," Paul responded, holding his free hand out for her to shake. They shook hands, and Mimi was visibly impressed with Paul's manners. "Don't stay up too late," she said, heading into the bathroom.

Paul retreated to John's room. "Ran into your aunt on the way back," he said, closing the door, "she's an alright lady."

"She tries," John said with a chuckle. Paul opened the fudge, immediately beginning to eat it. He took another swig of whiskey, as did John.

"Shit, I was already feeling a little tipsy," Paul admitted. "The fudge in your hands shows it," John said, laughing.

A few minutes passed, and even just that bit of alcohol was enough to make John a little more impulsive and confident.

"Macca... come here."

Paul drew closer, sitting nearer.

"What is it, John? Is something wrong?"

"Can I tell you something? It's been bothering me for a while."

"Of course, what is it?"

John could feel a lump in his throat, desperately trying not to cry. "You'd still want to be friends with me if I told you something that really bothered me, and would probably bother you?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Paul..."

"Yes?"

John swallowed, and tears started to form at his waterline, making his eyes shiny. "I think I might be a queer."

Paul was taken aback. "Why do you think so?"

"You mean you're not mad?"

"No, of course not."

"I get these weird feelings when I'm around you, Paul. I get them when I think of you, too. I don't want it to be true."

"You've got feelings for me?"

"I don't know; I wish I did know."

Paul took a moment to think, watching as John tried his hardest to hold back tears that were threatening to make themselves visible.

"I'm sorry, John..."

John had a feeling Paul was going to leave and never come back. The thought made him nauseous to his core.

"...I don't want you to feel this confusion. Even if it'll affect you for most of your life, because being that way isn't seen as normal. I want you to know for sure."

John's tears started to get a little less urgent, and he looked up at Paul. "What do you mean?"

Having a feeling that words wouldn't be enough, Paul's heart that was already racing started pounding faster, to the point where he could feel his heartbeat all over.

Closing his eyes, he leaned in.