Church boy | Haobin

3

Sunday mornings at Zhang Hao's house were always the same. He lay awake in bed, listening to the quiet hum of activity downstairs as his family prepared for church. The smell of breakfast drifted up the stairs, but the familiar scent did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest. His heart felt heavy, weighed down by guilt that had been eating at him for as long as he could remember.

By the time he went downstairs, his parents were already dressed in their Sunday best. His father, always immaculate in his suit and tie, stood at the door with his Bible tucked under his arm. His mother, in a neat dress and cardigan, smiled warmly at him. "Morning, Hao," she said softly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as he grabbed his jacket. "Ready for church?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, forcing a smile. "Ready."

But he wasn't. Zhang Hao had never felt ready for church, not really. He felt like a fraud every time he stepped through those doors, listening to his father's sermons about living a righteous, pious life. Today was no different. As they sat in the pews, he felt a familiar wave of guilt wash over him. His father's deep voice filled the room, leading them in prayer, and Zhang Hao bowed his head, but the words felt empty on his lips.

Jesus, forgive me. The words felt hollow. He knew he was hiding—hiding who he really was. And how could he stand in this sacred space, pretending to be someone he wasn't? The guilt gnawed at him, a constant ache in his chest. He could feel the weight of his family's expectations pressing down on him, suffocating him, especially as his father's sermon carried on about purity, faith, and being honest with God.

But how could Zhang Hao be honest with anyone, when he couldn't even be honest with himself?

---

Later that evening, after dinner, Zhang Hao sat at the edge of his bed, his phone clenched in his hand. He had already lied once today, but now he was about to do it again. His parents were in the living room, watching TV, and the house had settled into its usual quiet rhythm.

"Mom, Dad?" he called, walking into the room. His father looked up from his book, and his mother paused the TV. "I'm gonna go meet up with Jiwoong for a bit. I won't be too late."

His father nodded. "Be home by ten."

Zhang Hao nodded, the familiar sting of guilt creeping up his spine. He wasn't going to meet Jiwoong at all. Instead, he had called Ricky earlier and asked if he could pick him up and take him to the club where Ricky worked. His real goal was to see Hanbin again.

---

Ricky's car pulled up outside ten minutes later, and Zhang Hao hurried out of the house, making sure to close the door softly behind him. As he slid into the passenger seat, he felt a small sense of relief.

Ricky glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "Jiwoong, huh?"

Hao gave him a sheepish grin. "Yeah, well, they don't need to know everything."

Ricky chuckled. "Guess not. So, what's up? You seemed pretty eager to get out tonight."

Zhang Hao stared out the window, watching the familiar streets of his neighborhood slip by. "I don't know," he began slowly, "I guess I just... wanted to feel something different. You know?"

"Yeah, I get that," Ricky said, his tone more serious now. "Is this about Hanbin?"

Zhang Hao glanced at his brother, surprised by how easily he had seen through him. "Maybe," he admitted. "I just... I can't stop thinking about what he said the other night. I don't know what I'm doing, Ricky."

"You're young, man. It's okay to not have it all figured out. But just be careful with Hanbin, alright? He's not exactly a role model, remember?"

Zhang Hao nodded, but his mind was elsewhere, already thinking about seeing Hanbin again. Part of him knew Ricky was right, but another part was drawn to Hanbin's freedom, the way he lived without caring about what anyone else thought.