Sacre Coeur

[blueeyeddevil]

Wes Harlow

Really, the trouble with crying was that once you started, everything else in your life worth crying about suddenly leaped to the forefront of your mind and made it nearly impossible to stop crying. Wes had never been the kind of guy that shunned other guys for crying and he didn't care if someone saw him crying. If you felt something, you should be able to express it, regardless of your gender.

Still that didn't mean he particularly relished a good cry. Wes hurried to get a hold of himself before one of the priests took notice and tried to convince him that joining the church would heal whatever hurt he had. Wes had nothing against the church and actually believed in a higher power...he just wasn't sure about the whole church institution.

He sat there using the sleeve of his flannel shirt to wipe his tears away. He tried to be discreet about it and get himself under control, but obviously someone had taken notice. A guy pretty close to his age with red hair casually approached him, handing him a tissue from inside the breast pocket of his jacket. “Excuse me,” he said, bending low to him. “You look like you could use this.”

For a brief moment Wes wondered if perhaps this young man was someone the church had sent over to talk to him. Then he noticed the small, tell tale signs that he had been crying too. His eyes were just a bit red, his cheeks wet, and he was sniffling just a bit. Whoever he was, he was hurting to and Wes felt his heart go out to the young man.

He smiled gratefully and took the tissue." Thank you...glad one of us came prepared," he said quietly with a small laugh, dabbing his eyes. He gave a little sniffle himself before clearing his throat and looking back up at the guy with a tiny grin. "I knew there was a reason I didn't like churches...too stuffy. Makes my allergies act up," he said, joking slightly. He knew the guy wouldn't buy it. "Must be getting to you too," he said in a softer, more sympathetic voice.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Kenneth Dahl

The man looked up at Kenneth once more with red, tear-stained eyes and watching him, Kenneth felt his already throbbing heart burn with anguish at the sight of this man’s own agony.

“Everyone is fighting their own battles. Be a pleasant person,” Kenneth’s father was often heard to say, and Kenneth lived by this. He tried to smile at everyone he saw and attempted to hold doors for anyone who looked like—or didn’t look like—they needed help. When Kenneth forgot, he shrugged it off. But what if he never forgot? What if he had never approached this openly weeping man? The man would have naught but his sleeve to wipe his tears and only God’s apparently omnipresent ears for company.

The man accepted Kenneth’s Kleenex offering graciously and averted his eyes. ”Thank you...glad one of us came prepared," he said with a humourless laugh while he discreetly dabbed his eyes. "I knew there was a reason I didn't like churches...too stuffy. Makes my allergies act up." It was a manly excuse, expected by someone who was taught by society that crying in public places—even churches-- was wrong if you had an X and a Y chromosome. Kenneth offered a half smile. Maybe this time his smiling at everyone rule would actually make an impact. "Must be getting to you too."

Kenneth let out a puff of air that stood in the stead of a laugh. “It’s not the church, mate. I can tell you that much.” He slid silently into the wooden pew. He looked up at the man on the cross before him. He had died for his sins and for the sins of the man who sat next to him, too. He knew that. It had been ingrained into him from his earliest days at the orphanage. But when he died, did he know he was dying to save the souls of gays, too? If he did, why were the gays so persecuted throughout thousands years of history? If he didn’t, what did that mean for the fate of Timothy’s soul? What did that mean for Kenneth’s?

“You know,” he said at long last. “I never understood the whole praying thing. I mean, I can understand the concept, but not so much the act of it. I don’t really understand how to. Does that make any sense?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Wes Harlow

Wes knew the impression most people had of his generation. Most saw the "young people" as nothing more than selfish, egotistical little brats who thought of no one except themselves. Wes had always hated that, so he was grateful when every so often someone his age would kind of break that mold. It was simple acts of kindness such as the man in front of him offering him a tissue that could go a long way. It was the offer, but also what it stood for. The guy wasn't making fun of him for being a male over the age of 5 and was crying, but instead offered a small show of sympathy.

Wes accepted the kindness gratefully and made a joking excuse about about the church being too stuffy and making his allergies act up. He noticed this man also had telltale red rimmed eyes and suggested maybe his allergies were acting up too. It was his own small act of kindness, giving the guy a possible out if he was embarrassed or he preferred not to talk about it.

The man gave a small sound that was somewhat a laugh. “It’s not the church, mate. I can tell you that much.” he said and Wes smiled lightly.

The man took a seat on the pew and gaze up thoughtfully at the large crucifix displayed at the front of the church, under which the parishioners were still deep in prayer. “You know,” he said after a long moment. “I never understood the whole praying thing. I mean, I can understand the concept, but not so much the act of it. I don’t really understand how to. Does that make any sense?”

Wes thought it over for a moment and nodded in agreement. "I get where you're coming from," he finally said. "Honestly, its the opposite for me. I get the act...it's just kind of like talking to someone over the phone. Only you aren't sure if they are still listening because they don't say anything, but you keep talking anyway. But that's why I don't understand the concept," he admitted. "I mean, how do we even know He is listening...how do we know He hasn't hung up, so to speak."

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Kenneth Dahl

There were short stretches of heavy silence between the two men and Kenneth could feel those stagnant moments strangulating him slowly. If he actually died from them, how fitting it would be that he was in a church.

At last, the spoke. "I get where you're coming from." And Kenneth smiled at the affirmation. Since moving to Paris, any reassurance he received as fished for, begged for, and even flat out asked for. And rarely did he actually obtain it. "Honestly, its the opposite for me. I get the act...it's just kind of like talking to someone over the phone. Only you aren't sure if they are still listening because they don't say anything, but you keep talking anyway. But that's why I don't understand the concept. I mean, how do we even know He is listening...how do we know He hasn't hung up, so to speak."

Kenneth nodded. Talking to an unseen force was quite a bit like talking to oneself. And with billions of religion-abiding citizens of the world, surely God was hearing several hymns and pleas and apologies at one time. How could God possibly hear them all? How did He pick which ones He listened to, which wishes he granted? How did one know hasn’t hung up, so to speak.

Kenneth laughed at the choice of words. “Hung up”. Here he was, using that word just moments after uttering silent prayers to a man who died with a noose around his neck. It was a dry, humorless laugh that slipped from Kenneth’s mouth. Quickly, his hands clasped together to cover his lips.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I mean, I agree with you. Sorry.” He looked down at his nails, absently examining the dirt beneath them. After a moment more, he looked back up at the man beside him. “If you’re so allergic to the stuffiness of the church, why are you here, may I ask?” Kenneth understood if it was personal. If someone—some stranger-- were to ask him why he was here, Kenneth would no doubt lose it. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me. I get it, mate.” And, boy, did he ever.

[blueeyeddevil]

Wes Harlow

Back when he'd been touring with Radio Remedy he probably would have laughed at the idea that some day he'd be sitting in a church in Paris and discussing the concept behind prayer with some stranger. But that was exactly what he was doing now. It was an interesting conversation too. Deep, at least in a young adult sort of way. It was just strange to him to be having this conversation with someone he had never met before.

He was glad when the other man seemed to at least understand what he was getting at with his rather odd analogy about phone conversations. Suddenly the other man let another choked sort of laugh and quickly moved to cover his mouth with his hand. “Sorry. I mean, I agree with you. Sorry.” he said glancing down at his nails. Slowly he looked back up. “If you’re so allergic to the stuffiness of the church, why are you here, may I ask? I mean, you don’t have to tell me. I get it, mate.”

Wes thought about it for a moment. He debated on if it was even right for him to tell a stranger when really this was Amorette's problem to talk about if she wanted. Slowly he looked back at the young man with the red hair. He seemed like a genuinely nice kind of guy...one who wouldn't necessarily judge. And he didn't know him...he doubted he knew Amorette. He didn't see too much harm in trying and who knew; perhaps God had sent this guy along so Wes would have someone to talk to be able to get all this off his chest.

"No, it's fine..." he said. "You have to understand, though, this isn't really about me. I came here for my girlfriend." Wes' green eyes glance back up towards the front of the church where he had prayed moments before. He let out a heavy sigh that sounded loud in the quiet church. "She takes all this medication and she got a bad mix or something. It messed with her emotions really bad and she ended up..." Wes swallowed hard. "She ended up trying to commit suicide. I found her in the bathroom just covered in blood and completely out of it. She's doing better now, more stable. I guess I came here trying to ask God to make her okay. I don't know what would happen if she tried it again. She's all I really have left."

He let out another long sigh, shaking his head and dabbing at his eyes again with the crumbled tissue. "Think that's enough on that for now," he said with a choked laugh before looking back at the guy. "What about you? If it isn't the church, what is it that made you bring tissues? ...Like you said, you don't have to say if you don't want to."

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Kenneth Dahl

“No, it’s fine,” the man complied with a sigh. "You have to understand, though, this isn't really about me. I came here for my girlfriend." Already, Kenneth could feel something twist in his gut with uncomfortable familiarity. How ironic. He was here for his boyfriend. There was another precious moment of fragile silence between them, but Kenneth didn’t mind. What the man had to say was probably difficult—Kenneth knew he would have trouble with it himself—and time to breathe was well deserved. Especially in a place like this where the sanctity was palpable.

"She takes all this medication and she got a bad mix or something. It messed with her emotions really bad and she ended up..." the man swallowed hard. "She ended up trying to commit suicide.” Kenneth felt for this man and the image of Timothy’s body slowly swaying to and fro from the ceiling of Starbucks flooded his mind. It wasn’t a real memory, for he never got to see Timothy after he received the traumatic news. But the mind had a funny way of filling in the blanks in all the worst, nightmarish ways possible. But as much empathy as Kenneth had for this man, a pang of jealousy shot through him. His girlfriend tried to commit suicide. ‘Tried’ did not mean ‘succeeded’ and she had attempted because her medicines got screwed up in her brain, not because she was in a relationship with someone her parents didn’t approve of. He felt his lip quiver. Was it really his fault that Timothy was dead?

“I found her in the bathroom just covered in blood and completely out of it. She's doing better now, more stable. I guess I came here trying to ask God to make her okay. I don't know what would happen if she tried it again. She's all I really have left."

Kenneth nodded to show he understood, but he could shake the feeling that this man and his girlfriend were lucky. Yes, it was terrible what they went through, and Kenneth didn’t mean to trivialize it in any way, but they didn’t get to the point of no return. He didn’t lose her forever and it wasn’t his fault.

The man went back to dabbing his eyes with the already overused tissue and Kenneth fished through his pocket to find another one. He pulled it out and brushed off the pocket lint, handing it over. "Think that's enough on that for now," the man admitted and Kenneth offered another comprehending nod. The soul could only take so much pouring at one time until it went dry. "What about you? If it isn't the church, what is it that made you bring tissues? ...Like you said, you don't have to say if you don't want to."

Kenneth hesitated a minute, but his mother’s words echoed through his head. It’s good to talk about it, Kenneth. It’s okay to be a little selfish now.” He took in a great, deep breath and looked to the man beside him.

“A year ago today,” Kenneth started, unsure if he should call Timothy his boyfriend at the risk of losing his confidant. “This guy I knew, my—my best friend. He tried to commit suicide, too.” He put a cautious hand on the other man’s shoulder. “But he succeeded.” He took in another shuttering breath. “No, no. I lied. He wasn’t just my friend. He… he was my boyfriend. And he hung himself because his parents didn’t want him with me because I’m a man…” It sounded so matter-of-fact, so detached and unemotional when he said it. “They called him an abomination to God and send me hate-mail weekly—still, even—telling me that I’m going to go to Hell and that God despises me. And so I’m here because I don’t want to believe them.”

Kenneth had stopped crying by now, his eyes dry now and depleted of any tears he had left. But getting that off his chest felt good and though the air around them felt heavy, inside, he felt much lighter.

[blueeyeddevil]

Wes Harlow

It was a strange fact of life that it was almost easier to talk to a stranger about the problems in your life than to people you knew. Logan was his best friend and he hadn't been able to bring himself to tell him about what had happened with Amorette. And yet here he was sharing it with this guys whose name he didn't even know. He supposed with strangers there was less of a chance of being judged and if you were judged it was much easier to walk away.

He was grateful to the man for listening so attentively. There was no judgement in his eyes, only a resigned looking understanding. He asked softly what had brought to the man to the church but offered, like he had, that he didn't have to say anything if he didn't want to. He certainly wasn't going to make him.

The was a brief pause and the man instead took a deep breath and began as if trying to get it out before changing his mind. “A year ago today,” he started out. “This guy I knew, my—my best friend. He tried to commit suicide, too.” Wes' eyes went to the hand on his shoulder and back to the other man. From the look on his face, Wes could already sense where this was going. “But he succeeded.” he concluded.

Wes drew in a soft breath, shaking his head sadly. Sadness for the other man hit him hard in the gut. It had been a miracle that Amorette survived her attempt, but at least she had. At least she got the second chance this man's best friend hadn't.

Suddenly, with a shaky breath, the other man seemed to think better of his words. “No, no. I lied. He wasn’t just my friend. He… he was my boyfriend. And he hung himself because his parents didn’t want him with me because I’m a man…” he corrected himself. “They called him an abomination to God and send me hate-mail weekly—still, even—telling me that I’m going to go to Hell and that God despises me. And so I’m here because I don’t want to believe them.”

Wes hit with even more emotions. A bit of surprise at the correction, hurt for the man that he'd felt the need to hide that even from a stranger, and sorrow that his relationship with the dead man was even closer than he'd let on. Finally there was anger at the boyfriend's parents. Honestly, what right did they have spreading that kind of judgement and utter ignorance around like that?!

Wes breathed out a soft curse before suddenly remembering he was in a church and covering his mouth. "I'm sorry, that really pisses me off," he said, pausing again. That was another curse, wasn't it? "People are so unbelievably blind sometimes. They aren't even taking any responsibility in their son's death, are they? Just dumping it all on you." Slowly he shook his head again and looked at the other man. His eyes softened a little as he placed a hand on the man's shoulder and gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "I know it probably doesn't make a difference, but I really am sorry about your boyfriend...don't believe his parents for a second."

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Kenneth Dahl

When the man beside him cursed, Kenneth jumped, suddenly aware that there was still another person with him and worried about what the one syllable meant. It was a word of many faces, and Kenneth worried what it could possibly mean today.

"I'm sorry,” the man said at last, and Kenneth let in a sigh of relief. “That really pisses me off. People are so unbelievably blind sometimes. They aren't even taking any responsibility in their son's death, are they? Just dumping it all on you." When the man touched his shoulder with a reassuring squeeze and soft eyes, Kenneth smiled faintly. "I know it probably doesn't make a difference, but I really am sorry about your boyfriend...don't believe his parents for a second."

“But it does make a difference,” Kenneth told him. “You don’t know it, but it does. No, you can’t stop the hatemail from coming, no you can’t bring Timothy back, but you stand as a reminder that not everyone is an *sshole.” Kenneth paused, looking around frantically. “I can’t say that here, can I?” He shook his head. “Anyway. You’ll get through this, mate, you and your girlfriend both. And you’ll be stronger for it in the end. Just be with her for every moment you can. Take nothing for granted. Because I know that if I could do it all over again, that’s the one thing I’d change.”

Kenneth looked back up at the crucifix above them, looking at the outstretched arms of the dying man and Kenneth couldn’t help but think that Jesus, in that moment, was trying to hug the world.

“I’m not much of a prayer-person, but maybe I can try…? What’s your girlfriend’s name if you don’t mind my asking? Maybe I can pray for her? It seems appropriate in a church, you know?” It was a small platitude, but perhaps it could do some small amount of healing.

[blueeyeddevil]

Wes Harlow

Somehow it just didn't feel like his words were enough for the man beside him. He'd not only suffered the loss of the man he loved, he was not being allowed to move on by closed minded people who refused to see that they were really the ones to blame for the death of their son, while the man beside him now had given him love when they did not. When someone suffered that much, was there anything that really could be said to make it better. Instead, despite knowing it probably made little difference, he offered his condolences.

“But it does make a difference,” he tried to assure him. “You don’t know it, but it does. No, you can’t stop the hatemail from coming, no you can’t bring Timothy back, but you stand as a reminder that not everyone is an *sshole.” There was a pause. “I can’t say that here, can I?” he said and Wes just smiled slightly. Hadn't he just said a worse word not two minutes ago? “Anyway. You’ll get through this, mate, you and your girlfriend both. And you’ll be stronger for it in the end. Just be with her for every moment you can. Take nothing for granted. Because I know that if I could do it all over again, that’s the one thing I’d change.”

Wes nodded and took a deep breath. "You're right...and thank you. I think that was something I really needed to hear," he admitted. It was a sad fact of life that sometimes people took the ones they loved for granted, but Amorette's suicide attempt had shaken him up. He hoped it wouldn't have to come to that again.

“I’m not much of a prayer-person, but maybe I can try…? What’s your girlfriend’s name if you don’t mind my asking? Maybe I can pray for her? It seems appropriate in a church, you know?” the man said kindly.

Wes smiled faintly. "I'd like that...her name is Amorette. And I hope you'll let me pray for...Timothy, was it? And for you too." He held out a hand, green eyes meeting those of the other man. "I'm Wes, by the way. Seems ridiculous not to introduce myself now."

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Kenneth Dahl

Kenneth was less than a novice at praying. The closest he had ever gotten was crying excited exclamations to the heavens in success or muttered grievances that took the Lord’s name in vain. Those hardly counted. But he could certainly try. When he was back in the safe privacy of his dorm room, he would get on his knees and pray that the man beside him never felt the agony of losing the one he loved, that he never had to get a call with the news of suicide hanging on the other line.

"I'd like that...her name is Amorette. And I hope you'll let me pray for...Timothy, was it? And for you too." The other man said. Kenneth mumbled what he thought to be an expression of gratitude. The other man stuck out a hand for an introductory handshake and Kenneth was taken aback. "I'm Wes, by the way. Seems ridiculous not to introduce myself now."

“Kenneth” he replied with an agreeing nod. “And thank you.”


OoC: Finally fin. Because I suck at staying on top of things. BiC: