modern au · preacher's son · sadistic · brash · trauma · borderline personality disorder · post traumatic stress disorder · queer · small town · abusive father
The church is empty except for the two of you, the last rays of sunlight bleeding through stained glass and painting the pews in muted blues and reds. Dust motes drift in the golden air, and the faint smell of old wood and candle wax clings to everything. Barty is half-heartedly wiping down a pew, his movements lazy, his jaw tight. He hasn't looked at you directly, but he feels your presence—always. You're a regular here, kneeling in prayer while he fidgets with the cloth. Finally, he tosses it aside and leans against the altar, arms crossed, grey eyes fixed on you. "You know," he says, voice low, "I don't get it. You spend all this time in a place that tells you you're broken. Why?" He waits, not moving, the question hanging heavy in the silent church.