Ship/Member: seokmin/jeonghan; jeonghan/josh Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: confessions, religious guilt, rancid undertones Permission to remix: yes
***
- There was someone, once. We did everything together, always. I didn't know where he started and I began.
- And who was that someone, to you? A brother? A friend?
- Ah, ah, Father. Surely you can't expect me to give up my secrets as easily as that?
*
Seokmin keeps track of the regulars. Some he recognizes from the congregation, some have simply made a habit of walking in off the street. Lapsed Catholics, or members of other congregations. Despite the loops they go through to preserve their anonymity, the sins they confess are not any more shocking than the sins of his own church family. Most sins are not.
The longer he's worked, the more mundane the secrets they whisper to him, voices clouded with shame, have become. Trivial, useless things. Jealousy, envy, greed. Even if Seokmin weren't sworn to silence, hardly any would bear repeating.
Seokmin tells them to pray, usually. Pray for forgiveness, pray for grace. Pray for peace within themselves, for strength enough that the Lord may help them carry on. The words flow from his tongue almost of their own volition. He does not question their wisdom.
*
- We used to play games with each other, sometimes.
- Games? What kind of games?
- Oh, you know. Who could jump the highest, run the fastest. Who could go the farthest. I always won, of course. I never flinched.
- Where did you go?
- You're delightful, you know that? So straightforward, like a child.
*
The man only comes on Tuesdays. Not every Tuesday, but never on any other day. He lets himself into the booth very quietly, and then he begins to speak.
He always starts in the middle, as though he's carrying on a conversation started earlier in the day. Seokmin struggles to piece together the parts of what he's saying, more than with any other penitent.
Seokmin enjoys it, generally, as much as it is appropriate for him to do so. It is only a matter of finding the source of the discomfort, and digging out the rotten core of the wound. He imagines doctors must feel a similar sense of satisfaction, once they've removed the source of their patient's pain.
Try as Seokmin might, he cannot find the source of this man's wound.
*
- I had to search how to do it, you know. Confession. This was his game, not mine.
- Is that all this is to you? A game?
- Does it bother you, Father? That I might disrespect your calling?
- Of course not. My calling is my own.
*
Seokmin knows what the man looks like.
He should pretend that he doesn’t, that the man’s appearance has no effect on the way Seokmin thinks of him. It doesn’t matter in the eyes of the Lord.
But Seokmin possesses none of the divine within him; he is only a man.
He knows the man is beautiful. He wishes he didn’t.
*
- Do you know where he’s gone? Your friend?
- Of course I do.
- Why don’t you follow him?
- I will, soon enough.
*
A shiver runs down Seokmin’s spine as he watches him leave. There is something wrong, he knows. With the man. With him. Something unsettled.
He kneels to pray, but finds none of the comfort the action usually brings him.
What is it he tells his congregants to pray for?
Forgiveness and grace. Peace and strength.
*
- Would you follow me, Father? Where I’m going?
*
There are bruises on Seokmin’s knees. Try as he might, he cannot make himself say no.
[FILL] my savior, come to rescue me
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: confessions, religious guilt, rancid undertones
Permission to remix: yes
***
- There was someone, once. We did everything together, always. I didn't know where he started and I began.
- And who was that someone, to you? A brother? A friend?
- Ah, ah, Father. Surely you can't expect me to give up my secrets as easily as that?
*
Seokmin keeps track of the regulars. Some he recognizes from the congregation, some have simply made a habit of walking in off the street. Lapsed Catholics, or members of other congregations. Despite the loops they go through to preserve their anonymity, the sins they confess are not any more shocking than the sins of his own church family. Most sins are not.
The longer he's worked, the more mundane the secrets they whisper to him, voices clouded with shame, have become. Trivial, useless things. Jealousy, envy, greed. Even if Seokmin weren't sworn to silence, hardly any would bear repeating.
Seokmin tells them to pray, usually. Pray for forgiveness, pray for grace. Pray for peace within themselves, for strength enough that the Lord may help them carry on. The words flow from his tongue almost of their own volition. He does not question their wisdom.
*
- We used to play games with each other, sometimes.
- Games? What kind of games?
- Oh, you know. Who could jump the highest, run the fastest. Who could go the farthest. I always won, of course. I never flinched.
- Where did you go?
- You're delightful, you know that? So straightforward, like a child.
*
The man only comes on Tuesdays. Not every Tuesday, but never on any other day. He lets himself into the booth very quietly, and then he begins to speak.
He always starts in the middle, as though he's carrying on a conversation started earlier in the day. Seokmin struggles to piece together the parts of what he's saying, more than with any other penitent.
Seokmin enjoys it, generally, as much as it is appropriate for him to do so. It is only a matter of finding the source of the discomfort, and digging out the rotten core of the wound. He imagines doctors must feel a similar sense of satisfaction, once they've removed the source of their patient's pain.
Try as Seokmin might, he cannot find the source of this man's wound.
*
- I had to search how to do it, you know. Confession. This was his game, not mine.
- Is that all this is to you? A game?
- Does it bother you, Father? That I might disrespect your calling?
- Of course not. My calling is my own.
*
Seokmin knows what the man looks like.
He should pretend that he doesn’t, that the man’s appearance has no effect on the way Seokmin thinks of him. It doesn’t matter in the eyes of the Lord.
But Seokmin possesses none of the divine within him; he is only a man.
He knows the man is beautiful. He wishes he didn’t.
*
- Do you know where he’s gone? Your friend?
- Of course I do.
- Why don’t you follow him?
- I will, soon enough.
*
A shiver runs down Seokmin’s spine as he watches him leave. There is something wrong, he knows. With the man. With him. Something unsettled.
He kneels to pray, but finds none of the comfort the action usually brings him.
What is it he tells his congregants to pray for?
Forgiveness and grace. Peace and strength.
*
- Would you follow me, Father? Where I’m going?
*
There are bruises on Seokmin’s knees. Try as he might, he cannot make himself say no.