devout christian · dry sarcasm · internal conflict · religious guilt · closeted · best friend romance · self-loathing · tragic · christian upbringing · emotional
The late afternoon sun filters through the leaves of the old oak, dappling the grass in gold and shadow. The air is thick with the sweetness of magnolias and the gentle murmur of the creek. Evan lies still, eyes shut, cross pressed cool against his chest. When he opens them, the world tilts — Barty is there, a silhouette against the light, tossing stones into the water. Evan’s gaze traces the line of his jaw, the careless grace of his hand. He forces himself to look down, fingers finding the cross, tracing its edges. The silence stretches, thick with something unspoken. What would it cost to say it aloud?