The sun had barely risen when Michael entered the chapel, the morning light spilling through the tall stained-glass windows. The air smelled faintly of incense, and the soft creak of the wooden pews echoed as he walked toward the front.
He slid into a pew near the back, careful to leave a noticeable distance from the usual place Lucas liked to sit. His hands fiddled with the edge of his prayer book as his mind replayed the events of the past evening.
The memory of the bathroom encounter was impossible to shake. Lucas's closeness, the almost-kiss… it had left a warmth in his chest and a panic in his mind all at once. Michael swallowed hard, his palms damp with nervous sweat.
He had told himself he would ignore it. He had to.
He can't get involved.
Not again.
He won't end up like before.
The thoughts dragged him back to memories of secondary school — the boys who had shown him affection, only to leave him coldly, without explanation. The fear of being abandoned, of being judged, clawed at him.
Across the chapel, Lucas was already seated in his usual spot, kneeling silently in prayer. His presence was calm, familiar, and achingly close. Michael felt his heart tighten.
He looked away quickly, focusing on the carved wooden crucifix at the altar. The image of Jesus Christ seemed to watch him patiently, as though expecting him to find the courage he lacked.
Over the next few days, Michael began avoiding Lucas subtly.
In the corridors, he took different routes to class.
In the refectory, he picked seats as far away as possible.
Even in study hall, he buried his nose in books and avoided making eye contact.
Lucas noticed immediately.
"Are you ignoring me?" he asked softly one afternoon, walking beside Michael after philosophy class.
Michael stiffened. "I'm… busy."
Lucas frowned but said nothing more. He didn't press, didn't make a scene. He simply followed, giving Michael space while keeping a quiet presence nearby.
Still, the small, accidental moments persisted.
While passing in the hallway, their shoulders brushed lightly. Michael's chest tightened, and he quickly glanced away.
During choir practice, Michael caught Lucas watching him, a soft smile playing on his lips. Michael's hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his sheet music.
Even while serving mass, Lucas's eyes seemed to find him repeatedly, lingering longer than necessary. His friends started noticing. A whisper here, a sideways glance there.
Michael's stomach churned. He couldn't deny the pull, and yet fear anchored him firmly in place.
One evening, Michael stayed behind in the chapel after prayers. He knelt at the pew, bowing his head.
"I don't know what I'm feeling," he whispered to Jesus Christ. "Please… guide me."
He prayed for strength, clarity, and courage — praying that he would not be hurt again. He thought about Lucas and the almost-kiss from the bathroom. The memory made his chest ache.
As he rose to leave, he caught sight of Lucas standing near the back doorway, his gaze following Michael quietly. Lucas's expression was gentle, unreadable, yet full of warmth.
Michael's heart raced. He felt drawn to him, pulled in a way he couldn't name. Panic rose, and he quickly turned away, pretending to check the pews and hymnals.
Lucas remained there for a moment, watching him leave silently, then stepped out of the chapel, letting Michael have his space.
The next day, during choir practice, Michael's internal tension made him more aware than ever of Lucas's voice. Lucas sang a soaring note, clear and confident, filling the chapel with warmth. Michael found himself staring, mesmerized by the way the sunlight hit the high windows and glimmered off Lucas's hair.
He quickly looked away, realizing he had been caught. Some of the other seminarians noticed too, whispering quietly to one another. But Lucas didn't notice. Or maybe he did, and simply smiled faintly before continuing his part.
Michael's chest tightened. He tried to focus on his own notes, but the memory of the bathroom, the touch, the look, and now the voice, all combined into a storm he could neither deny nor control.
Later that evening, Michael stood alone in the dormitory corridor, leaning against the wall beneath a small crucifix.
He could still feel the weight of Lucas's gaze from the chapel. The almost-kiss, the warmth of the bathroom encounter, the quiet glances during choir — all of it crowded his mind.
He pressed his hand to his chest.
I can't… he whispered. I can't let this happen.
And yet, even as he walked to his room, he could not shake the question burning inside:
"Why does he make my heart feel like this?"