Me and my little brother were different in many ways.

I was extroverted, social, always open to chatting to strangers. I hated conflict, and avoided it at all costs.

Tobirama, five years younger than me, making him thirty, was introverted, needing time on his own often. When we grew up, he always kept his door closed and was always awfully quiet behind that door. He was sharp as a razor and had graduated top of his class. Now, he had a highly regarded job in a big IT company. He hated small-talk, even with me, and he was quite venomous towards those he didn't know.

I loved him. I loved him so much.

He'd had a hard time accepting that I wanted to become a Catholic priest. Our parents had been non-religious, but even they had been okay with my choice of path. Tobirama, however, had not been. When I was twenty and made my choice, Tobirama had screamed at me at home. For half a year, he didn't want to talk to me, but finally, he opened up for a channel of communication between us again. For that, I was forever grateful.

We had a good relationship now, a soft brotherhood. He even visited me in my cathedral sometimes. He would still tease me about my priesthood, but with warmth in his voice, and it always made me smile because I knew he only dared to speak to me like that because he truly loved me.

He came to me the morning of the day when he would come to my cathedral for the first time. It was a Sunday, and I had just finished the two-hour Sunday worship service when I noticed him in the back, standing with his arms crossed. I smiled when I saw him, and he smiled when he saw me. We didn't let each other go with our eyes as we approached each other through the Sunday church goers who were now leaving, leaving space for tourists.

"You look good", I said, which was true; tall and skinny, with his blue shirt adorably tucked into his trousers and the silver rim of his round glasses matching his ragged silver hair, he had a nerdy good looks about him. The ladies were mad about him, but he didn't notice. He only had eyes for his husband Izuna, an outgoing, precious little thing who worshipped the very ground my brother walked on. I loved them Izuna not as fiercely as I loved my brother, but it was close.

"You look awful in that thing", he responded, eying my priest robe up and down, one eyebrow raised, still smiling.

I ignored him.

"How is Izuna?"

He got a dream-like expression on his pale face and looked somewhere above and beyond me.

"Fantastic", he said.

My heart swelled. Tobirama was a closed man, keeping mostly to himself. He rarely talked about his feelings with me. But when it came to his husband, he couldn't hide a soft side within him. He twisted his golden wedding band around his slender finger.

But there was also something else. Jealousy. Not about Izuna per se, but about the great love between them. I had sworn my life to the Catholic church. I could never allow myself to fall in love with anyone. I looked at my beloved little brother.

You don't know how lucky you are.

That was not true. He knew. Tobirama definitely knew how lucky he was. 

And so did Izuna.

Tobirama snapped out of his dream-like state, and so did I.

"How do you feel?" Tobirama asked.

I frowned. 

"About what?"

"In general", Tobirama answered. "Can a man not ask his big brother how he is?"

The cathedral was almost empty now save for a few tourists. It was low-season now. In summers, the cathedral would be full on a Sunday lunch.

"Lonely", I said.

Because even if Tobirama was never open with me, I was always open with him.

Even so, this seemed to take him by surprise.

"I didn't know", he said.

I smiled sadly. I had never really talked about this with him. 

"I have God." Tobirama snorted, but didn't say anything. "I can speak to Them. But lately... I feel like that is not enough."

Tobirama crossed his arms.

"What are you going to do about it?" he asked, a bit challenging.

I sighed.

"What can I do?" I asked.

"Leave", he said.

"I've vowed my life to God."

"You can change your mind."

"I vowed, Tobirama", I said, a bit more harshly.

At this, Tobirama softened.

"Sorry", he said. "It's just... I love you. I don't like to see you suffer. Is there anything I can do for you?"

He was like that. A man of few words. I couldn't blame him for it, seeing it was his personality, but suddenly, I couldn't help but long for someone to have a proper talk to.

I thought for a bit.

"Will you buy me coffee?"

He did.

I loved him.

It was a rainy evening, that Sunday one.

I had just finished taking the confessions which I did a few times a week, and was walking around my cathedral to blow out all candles. 

It was a sad part of the day, making me feel even more lonely than I usually did, but it gave me time to contemplate what I had heard people confess.

I smiled. Today had been heavy, with some serious confessions. But even so, I smiled now. It was a privilege, an honour, people trusting me enough to confess their deepest sins to me. A husband who kept having fantasies about a man at work. A boss who'd chosen a white man for a job over a person of colour, even if the person of colour was more qualified, due to his own prejudices. And even more terrible things. But I believed that the main reason people came was not to have their sins removed, but to get someone to talk to. By confessing to me, I hoped that the people would plant a seed within them that would entail change, and growth, and more love in their lives.

More than I would ever have.

The final candle I had to blow out was inside the confessional. I sometimes lit one on my side of the screen to provide myself some comfort. I went into the dark little box-like room, sat down on the bench, and blew it.

And it was when I blew out the last candle that I felt it; the most eerie sensation within me. 

It was as if I, when I blew that final candle, lit a candle within me. Or, someone lit a candle within me. Maybe God. Maybe someone I didn't know yet. Maybe someone I would never know...

The rain increased then, hammering against the coloured windows, painted black by the absence of sun, so vigorously I was afraid they would break.

And then, I heard the cathedral doors open.

I was taken aback. Fear, was the first word that went through my mind. But no, that wasn't it. Something else within me overtook that fear, a sense of steadiness, a sense of being grounded.

Someone needs me. 

And the man, because I heard from the voice that it was a man, broke down crying.

The main doors were far away from the main altar, where the confessional lay, but I still heard him. I frowned. His crying echoed along the cathedral walls, amplifying. He was heart-broken, I could hear. Well and truly heart-broken. But not by love, no; this went beyond that. 

I sat in the darkness, took this new situation in. 

"Come", I said, my voice carried along the stone floors.

And his crying softened.

I heard him stand up, close the cathedral doors, shutting the storm out of my cathedral, but not out of his heart, because he kept crying softly. He seemed to hesitate for a bit, then started walking slowly towards the confessional, and to me. Of course, I couldn't see him, seeing there was a curtain in the way, but I heard his shoes. The curtain of the opening to the right of me rustled as the man went in, and the bench creaked a little as he sat down.

He broke down again. He cried and cried and cried. He bent forwards, the weight of sitting up being too much on his already burdened shoulders. I had turned my head slightly to my right, to the screen separating us, and for the first time, I wished I could see the hint of a shadow of the man.

But I couldn't.

I closed my eyes, focussed on his voice. Young. The man was young. Wasn't it amazing how you could estimate someone's age by their voice? I could still discern a darkness in his voice, only by hearing him cry. 

And that darkness was all I got, like dark honey poured over my soul.

His crying slowly died down.

Then, the man stood up and left without having made a confession, and left.

I hadn't seen any part of him.