TORPEDO ✓

c on both sides like chanel

DORIAN IS RIGHT HERE, SITTING in the front pew of mahogany furniture reeking of leather shoes and anachronism; he is wearing a red-striped flannel top, looking like an oblong peppermint lollipop, and chinos pants. His hands are obediently placed on his thighs and his nose cocked towards the pulpit.

"You look one funny thing about love, my people? Love is tenacious just as it is unforgiving. Love is like that Spotify ad that pops up unless you pay what is due. It will keep rearing its ugly head until you confront it head-on."

"Interesting metaphor for a bishop pushing 60," Dorian mentally comments as he absorbs the discomfort of the stiff seat sinking into his bones.

He becomes more aware of the one long lint sticking out of the bishop's robe and waiting to be pulled out; more aware of the fact that he is sandwiched between two huge aunties with frilly hats towering like Star Wars' UFOs; more aware of the ominous feeling but also of tranquility that he came all the way with his mom to seek in this church.

Dorian decides he likes feeling this way. Maybe a church of all places isn't where he is supposed to be. The thirst for new experiences has exactly been what has led his life to this point but it might be the only thing that can put him back into place.

"Love does not take account of the wrongs," says Bishop Matthews. To which Dorian scoffs, quietly but loud enough to earn the stink eye from the busty aunty on his right.

Don't get him wrong. He is far from being indicted into this lifestyle. But maybe this new environment is what he needs right now. Casting a glance at his mother who is coincidentally doing the same to him, Dorian receives her outstretched hand and returns the loving squeeze.

Her eyes are crinkled at the edges; premature crow's feet due to stress herself, her son and life in general has put her ass through, and she smiles at him.

"Well, that was cringey," Dorian thinks as he turns back to the pastor who looks like he is low-key convulsing on his words. Every gesticulation is seasoned with so much passion that Dorian has to wonder if he really enjoys doing this; spreading sugarcoated lies about his definition of "love".

Dorian casts his eyes to his hands, he holds them out to stare them down. His oculi lick the lines down to the moulting parts of his fingertips. What is his own definition of love?

He almost curses out loud when the image of a someone he can barely stand to think about appears right on the seat of his mind; which makes Dorian wonder even more deeply, is that boy his definition of love?

"Whatever draws you to the other person, hold it tight and dear. There is always one thing that draws everyone to everyone. I for one, believe we are destined to meet that other person. We are starcrossed, as superstitious as that sounds. Of course, as long as that union is consecrated by our Lord Jesus Christ."

That basically ends the sermon, much to Dorian's delight and he is on his feet faster than the choristers who belts out notes to usher the bishop away from the pulpit.

Well, he almost did before his mother pulls him back down, smack on his butt into the seat and in that very moment, he realizes he is doomed to sit this one out for the rest of the Friday service.

Some boring moments later, the service ends, everyone is dispersing to their various destinations but Mercy decides she has more in store for her son.

"Let's go see the bishop," she announces, her hand tight around Dorian's arm.

His answer was lightning fast. "The fuck, no?"

She smacks the back of his head in the church. "You might have won my heart by suddenly waking up this morning and deciding to follow me to church."