♡ A story about learning to love, learning to hurt, learning to 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘥 ― and most importantly, learning to be human. ♡
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 4x
Marino Hills, California in the mid-2000s is hypersensitive to the idea of change. It clings desperately t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❥ ❥ ❥
THE FALL OF 2006 Finding God
❥ ❥ ❥
"I noticed that you haven't been writing in your Desire Journal. It's been quite some time now."
Pastor Keyes is always so professional, poised, sitting in John Han's study with perfect posture, hands folded over each other. His wedding ring is always upright, showing a cross insignia embedded into sterling silver. Jisung looks at it and thinks of the woman in the sundress cradling her newborn.
They must be happy. It seems like Pastor Keyes has everything in control.
By the time they've had their fifth meeting, it's already the beginning of November, and they've hardly made progress. Pastor Keyes climbs the slope easily, preaching Bible verses and concepts of future into Jisung's mind. When Jisung attempts to climb, the slope becomes frictionless, sticking him to the bottom.
Still, Pastor Keyes is always so professional, so patient. Jisung begins to feel bad.
"I–I've just had a lot on my mind," Jisung responds, unsure of himself. The Desire Journal sits in his lap, taunting him almost. "I haven't had time for...um...desires."
It's ironic. Since Minho's birthday, the hickey has darkened to a deep crimson. It refuses to budge behind the concealer on his neck.
"I see," Pastor Keyes hums, jotting something down in his notepad. "Are you lying to me Jisung? Remember, openness is key to healing."
Jisung stifles a scoff. Every time he enters his father's study, Desire Journal in hand and Leviticus 20:13 half memorized, he feels so open. Like an orange without its protective skin, left to sit several days in the summer sun, oozing stale juices and being snacked on by the insects. Left to sour. Left to become filthy. Left to explain its sourness without a mouth; left to clean itself without a washing.
"W–What makes you a–ask that?" Jisung stammers. He places a finger to his neck, instinctively, and feels that Felix's concealer is still there. Thank God.
"Your leg is bouncing rather suspiciously," Pastor Keyes comments, narrow eyes darting to Jisung's thighs. "It appears to be a nervous habit...as if you have something to hide."
Hide? Jisung doesn't have anything to hide. Other than the hickey that rests behind drugstore makeup, just beneath the pad of his index finger. Other than the boyfriend that fills his brain up with pink cotton candy swirl and caramelized honey. Other than the time ticking away until Leon exposes a platonic picture (and many more non-platonic ones in the vault).
If exceptions are made, Jisung has nothing to hide.
"Jisung, you've gone silent," Pastor Keyes says. As if Jisung doesn't know. "This is a safe space to share what's on your mind, judgment free."
