Heavy Trigger Warning! Religious trauma? Internalized homophobia, external homophobia, Catholics being the worst. If you don't want to read, please don't. Save yourself. 

 Will walked through the halls of the large parish, letting its large architecture and sweeping arches comfort him. Much like the Lord, it was distant, but comforting. He stared at the flickering candles, trying desperately to forget the past day. He wanted to put it completely out of his mind. Just don't think about it.

In the distance, he could hear the Archdeacon and the monks walking throughout, chanting what he least wanted to hear.

"Confiteor deo," they intoned, "Omnipotenti."

The Confiteor. The confession.

"Beatae Mariae, Semper virgini."

The Virgin Mary. The pure. The ultimate love to Jesus Christ.

"Beato Michaeli archangelo."

The Archangel Michael. Champion of Justice. Healer of the Sick. He needed him right now. Will was sick. Very, very sick.

"Sanctis apostolis."

The apostles of the Lord. His closest followers. What they all strived to be.

"Omnibus sanctis."

And the Saints. The ones continuing the Lord's work even after his return to Heaven, even if it cost them their life. He needed each and every one of them right now.

Almost without thinking about it, he had ended up in a large empty room. He knew this room. With the large fireplace at the head, the crucifix above. People would come here to pray. To be close with God. To confess.

He shut the door behind him. A sign to everyone not to disturb. Don't come close. Others knew that. It was an unspoken rule around his parish. "If you see the doors closed, stay away. Let them have their time with God."

Will stood in the center of the room, looking towards the flickering fire.

"Beata Maria," he began, invoking the Virgin Mary, hoping to appeal to her, "you know I am a righteous man."

This much was true. When he could, he would be an acolyte. His father was. He was only sixteen, so had to wait nine years, but he would do it. He assisted as much as he could. He would help usher some days, or would get to be in the choir others. Helping lift the congression's voices to God.

Every day, before he slept, he took time to look through the Bible, to read the scripture. He listened to it. He prayed to God every night, to thank Him for all the good that had happened. He helped his family in the church. He did as much as he could.

"Of my virtue I am justly proud," he said, continuing.

He could be proud. He did a lot more than most kids his age, who seemed to be dragged here by their parents. He actually listened to the sermons, letting God's word wash over him. He would regularly attend the Bible study at his school, whenever it was held.

He could still hear the monks in the distance. The Father trembles. Will was sure he did.

He went on with his plea, "Beata Maria, you know I'm so much purer than the common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd."

He was. He unfortunately had to go to a public school because his parents could not afford a private school. He was very isolated. No one liked the weird Catholic kid that always had the Rosary around his neck, or in his hands, clutching at it, praying to God for strength. But that was ok. The Bible told them that they would be persecuted. But he would rest easy knowing that he alone accepted the truth. That the Lord God would return, and he would go to Heaven.

Then his prayer took a turn for the worse, Will begging, "Then tell me, Maria, why I see him dancing there?"

May the Lord damn him. That stupid [redacted] boy. Nico. Italian, by the sound of it.

Will was disgusted at his thoughts. He was better than petty curses. But that boy.

It happened at lunch. Will had been eating as he normally did, alone in the courtyard. He didn't care. Gave him time to study the Bible, marking it up, taking notes of particularly impactful verses to him. He was in the middle of highlighting a verse when he heard a small laugh.

He looked up to find a pale, dark haired boy standing in front of him. Will was… enthralled. You could have told him that this boy was an Archangel, or even God himself, and Will would have believed it.

"I- may I-" Will stuttered, "Why are you here?"

"I just wanted to know if you ever got tired of reading the same book over and over," he said with a laugh.

And that laugh. It sounded like a chorus of Angels, and Will wanted more. He wanted to make this boy laugh. Just to hear it again.

"Are you going to answer my question, or just gawk at me as though I'm the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"

He was. He would be. Forever.

"I read it because it's the only truth in this world. The only light of good. The Lord's book. The Lord's word."

"How do you know? How can you be really sure that it's true? That your God exists?" Nico asked, sliding onto the bench next to Will, nearly touching him.

Will didn't know how to react to that. To any of it. To Nico being so close, to him being so flippant about his faith.

"I know it's true because what are the chances that millions of people over thousands of years get it wrong?"

"About the same as every other religion in this world," Nico countered, smiling.

Will was at a loss.

"What do you want?"

"I told you! Also, I'm interested, because I hear different things from different people. What does that book of yours say about people like me?"

"People like you?" Will asked, confused.

Nico leaned closer to Will, about an inch away from his ear, "Gay."

Will recoiled from Nico, trying to get as far away as he could. There's no way that he was… he couldn't be…

"So what does it say?"

"That it's wrong. It's demonic, and a surefire way to get cast into Hell."

"Well, is that actually what it says, or is that what you interpret it to say?"

"I- no. Go away."

Nico raised an eyebrow.

"GO AWAY!" Will yelled, turning some heads in the courtyard.

"Try to deny it, but it's not possible. I can tell you are too. I mean, just look at yourself," Nico said with a wink, before turning and leaving.

Will looked down at his body, and the hairs raised on his arm, the quick beating of his heart, and yes, a bulge in his pants. He hated it. Nico couldn't be right. He couldn't be gay. It was wrong. It was evil. Demonic. Every single thing that he had just told Nico.

He had liked girls before! He was absolutely not gay!

But, if he was, and Nico was too, they could…

"Why his smoldering eyes still scorch my soul?" Will asked, snapping himself back to the present.

He could see Nico in his mind, his black eyes burned in there, like a demon's. Maybe he was a demon. Maybe Will was a demon.

"I feel him, I see him, the sun caught in his raven hair, is blazing in me out of all control!"

He was desperate. He wanted to have Nico in his arms, have his lips on his. It was terrible. He was terrible. He felt the desire raging through his body.

"Like fire," he cried, stretching his hands out to the fire, "hellfire, this fire in my skin."

It's how he felt. This desire, this insatiable lust for the boy was coursing through him.

"This burning desire is turning me to sin."

These feelings, these thoughts, they were against God's design for man. One man and one woman. That's how it should be. This… denied it. Destroyed every bit of it.

"It's not my fault," Will pleaded, turning desperate. Behind him, he could hear the monks chanting still.

"Mea culpa," they said. My fault.

"I'm not to blame."

"Mea culpa."

"It's the Italian, the witch who sent this flame."

"Mea maxima culpa." I have failed. He had failed.

"It's not my fault," he pleaded again, the chants of mea culpa still ringing. "If in God's plan, he made the Devil so much stronger than a man!"

"Mea maxima culpa."

He had done it. Said it. Blamed God. It couldn't be Will's fault. It simply couldn't. He had been obedient and subservient his entire life. This couldn't be Will's fault.

"Protect me, Maria, don't let this siren cast his spell, don't let his fire sear my flesh and bones," he begged, appealing to Mary once again.

"Destroy Di Angelo, and let him taste the fires of Hell," he cried, begging for him to get what was coming to him.

"Or else let him be mine and mine alone."

That could be the solution. Turn him to righteousness. The only solution.

"Hellfire, dark fire, now Nico it's your turn."

Nico would feel the fire of Hell. He would.

"Choose me or your pyre, be mine or you will BURN!" Will shouted.

If he was with him, he could fix him. Fix both of them. Fix everything about him. If he didn't…

"God have mercy on him," he whispered.

"Kyrie eleison," the monks intoned, backing what he said.

"God have mercy on me," Will begged.

"Kyrie eleison."

"But he will be mine."

A command. A wish.

"Or HE WILL BURN!"

A prayer.

Will collapsed onto the ground, arms outstretched, sobbing.