I had never wished to hold anyone's hand so much.

I had never wanted to comfort anyone so much.

My heart tried to claw its way out of my rib cage to tear down the screen between us, and take the man on the other side of it into its arms. Or, better still, dig its way into the man's chest to hug his heart directly.

He cried. He cried and cried and cried. And there was nothing I could do, as I was forbidden to find out about the man's identity as we were in the confessional.

So I did what I was trained to do; I remained quiet. I let him cry until he was done.

And then, he said something that would make my stomach swallow my heart.

"I'm addicted."

No...

A million thoughts occupied my brain at that point. Wasn't it amazing how much you could fit inside your head at one point? It never ceases to amaze me. So many things fought for the place in the front of my mind, but the main thing was this: How could the man and I have a future when he was addicted?

And that thought made me deeply ashamed. I didn't even know the man. And he needed help. The fact that I had such an egoistic thought went against everything that God had ever taught me.

"I'm sorry", I said, more to apologise for my intrusive thoughts than for his addiction. "Please, continue if you wish."

"I started using to cope", the man said, his voice thick from crying. "I started using to cope with work. I'm a children's oncologist", he said and I couldn't help but feel some pride in his voice.

"Child cancer?" I asked.

"Yes. I thought, if anyone can deal with the hardships it entails, it's me. Well, turns out I can't. It started innocently enough. But now..."

I heard him hide his face in his hands

"But now?" I said softly, repeating the final thing a believer said a small encouragement I sometimes used to push them into the right direction.

Or the wrong direction, I thought, contemplating my previous awakening when it came to what the remission of sins actually meant, which was loss of communication.

"It's heroin", he said, and I felt my soul being swallowed by my stomach just as my heart had, so that both of them were locked in a prison of flesh. It made me feel cold, somehow.

"God..." I couldn't help but say.

"I don't even believe in God!" the man exclaimed. "I just don't know where to turn to get help! I'm scared to go to healthcare because what if they put me in jail!? All my friends have left me! And I don't want to be a burden to my family."

The man snivelled, crying softly. My heart ached. My hand twitched out of desire to take his.

Then, I made a decision.

"You'll never be a burden to me", I said; my decision was that I meant it.

The man was quiet for a while, just snivelling for a bit. I was afraid he thought I had crossed a line but then, he spoke.

"You really mean that?"

My heart melted. If I had had any doubt that I really meant that I said, all that disappeared then.

"Yes", I said.

I was suddenly desperate to know.

"What's your age?", I asked.

The man was quiet, hesitating.

And I realised I was terrified of the answer. What if he was old? Even if his voice was young? Or worse, what if he was underaged? 

"Thirty", he finally said.

And my heart took a leap.

Thirty... Five years my junior. The same age as my little brother.

"Thank you for telling me", I said.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

I was fully prepared he would ask me the same.

He didn't.

"Do you... Like me any less?"

I smiled.

"No", I said, somewhat surprised how easy the question was to answer. I was more worried, yes. But that had nothing to do with how much I liked him.

"Just so you know... I've never come to your cathedral affected."

I contemplated this display of respect.

"I appreciate that", I began. "However... And this is important! So listen! I want you to always feel comfortable coming to me, do you understand? No matter what you believe in or what's in your blood, you're always welcome to God's house, and..." I swallowed

"And what, Father?" the man whispered.

"And me", I murmured back.

He was quiet for a while.

"Is this... How you usually do confessions?" he then asked.

I smiled again.

"No."

"What makes me different?" he asked.

I was taken aback. I honestly didn't know what it was. It was just a deep connection I felt to the man.

"It feels like my soul knows your soul", I said softly. "I'm sorry if it sounds wrong."

"I like it", he whispered. "And I feel it, too. I trust you."

I sighed. I liked it, too. God knew I liked it, too.

Suddenly, the man stood up to leave, and I realised I would miss him. A lot.

"Please!" I burst out, and the man stopped in his tracks. I bit my lip. "Take care."

Never before had I said anything like it to someone who had come to sit in my confessional. Never before had I been so personal.

"You too", the man said softly.

Then, he left.

That night, as I had locked the cathedral doors, I prayed.

Still in my priest robe, I walked along the main aisle until I came to the third aisle to the left. I turned and walked in along beautiful paintings and statues and clothes from past days, all behind fences or glass walls.

I walked to the crucifix at the very end, one of the least detailed ones of the cathedral. I felt connected to it in its simplicity as it stood on the altar behind red velvet ropes to prevent tourists from coming too close.

Well, I wasn't a tourist, so I walked past the red velvet until I sat at the very edge of the altar, on the hard wooden floor, looking at the face of the son of the God I had chosen to believe in.

Dear God, I prayed in my mind. Please, watch over the man. Give him strength to first and foremost survive, and then to find his health. Please, give me the strength and clarity to see my role in providing comfort in his life. And take care of the children with cancer who are not getting to meet the man as their doctor as a result of his addiction. Please, forgive him. And help him. help him forgive himself. If it's between me and him, choose him.

"Amen..."

When I came to my little room, I saw I had a text from Izuna, the first sign from him since...

Izuna <3: I miss you.

That night, I cried myself to sleep.