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There was only another moment or so before sundown. The Sherriff already made his rounds through the small town and rang the bell that signaled the end of the day. He watched as families and strangers alike piled into buildings that all held the talismans. The last bits of daylight were beginning to give way for the monsters of the night.
Boyd, without even giving it any real thought, slipped into the church for the night instead of the police station. There was no reason or excuse behind it, though he knew that when Khatri asked he would make one up. In truth, Boyd simply could not handle another night of lying wide awake as the creatures tapped on the glass and smiled as they begged to come in. He couldn’t listen to their threats and their mockeries tonight. He simply couldn’t do it alone. The weight of the small town felt too great tonight.
He hoped the priest didn’t mind.
He doubted that he would. Khatri was such a warm man who was often Boyd’s guiding light. Boyd knew he had Kenny to take his place, but he felt secure in knowing that Khatri was also there to run things if something were to happen. If Boyd’s Parkinson’s finally caught up to him, or if god forbid one of those things got to him, at least Khatri would be around to be a firm yet empowering hand.
Boyd made his way to the church door, knocking twice before he entered and shut the door behind him. He looked outside to see the last ounce of daylight fade away into the terror of darkness.
“Father, by any chance would you have communion wine on you? It’s…. It’s been one of those days. I could use a drink, and I think it would be good to spend a night breaking bread together.”
Khatri looked up from where he stood at the pulpit. He wasn’t surprised to see Boyd slip into the little church. The Sheriff came to visit him whenever he wanted company, or got too lonely. But never at this time. Never at dusk.
The Father smiled, soft and tired, and gestured to the rows of pews. Boyd could take a seat anywhere he wished.
“Indeed I do, Sheriff,” Khatri hummed, reaching down inside of the pulpit’s little cubby and bringing out a dusty bottle of communion wine. There was only a little left. He saved it for special church occasions, but he could spare some tonight for his troubled friend. Good alcohol was rare to come by in this town.
He sat where Boyd was, letting out a sigh. His knees had started to ache when he sat down. He was getting old. They both were. Khatri opened the bottle and passed it to Boyd. An offering strangely holier and more intimate than any of his communions.
“Penny for your thoughts, Boyd? We can do a confessional if you’d like.” Khatri’s offer was dry, yet genuine. He knew he was the only one Boyd had to talk to when the weight of the town got too heavy.
Boyd picked the pew in the front left side so nothing would obstruct his view of God.
He leaned back in the pew and exhaled as he finally relaxed is always tense body. He dropped his shaky hand in the space between them. He used his other hand to take the bottle and take a swig of it. He handed it back to Khatri after.
He looked over at Father Khatri and then at the cross nailed to the wall. He looked back at Khatri. He sighed again.
“I don’t need that. I don’t need the confessional. I just need you.” He took a breath, “We’ve known each other a long time. I just need my friend right now, not a confessional and an instruction to do a hundred Hail Mary’s.”
“You know how lax I am when it comes to you. I wouldn’t make you do a hundred Hail Mary’s, I’d make you do at least fifty,” Khatri hummed, still keeping his humor. That and his faith were the only things that remained in this decrepit place. But the levity faded when Boyd expressed exactly what was on his mind. Khatri sobered and placed the bottle between them. He too glanced at the cross on the wall.
Boyd slumped in the pew as he stared out at the cross. He wondered if God was watching them both now. Was he watching as Boyd lost sleep, wondering if what was left of his family would make it through another night. He wondered if god listened to Khatri’s sermons about keeping faith and hope in the midst of hell itself.
Surely he wasn’t watching now, or ever, for that matter. God was meant to be benevolent and forgiving. He was a fair god. If god were watching, he’d do something, anything at all, to make this place more bearable. He’d have never started the clock on Boyd’s Parkinson’s. If god were watching, he’d let them go home, or at the very least, he’d show them a hint towards how they could get home.
Boyd never got those things. He had no proof of god and didn’t hear his voice like Khatri had so long ago. God was not watching. God didn’t care about his creations. He left them to die here in this strange land. Boyd, despite sitting in the house of God and drinking the holy blood of Christ, had long since lost faith. He buried Faith when he buried his wife.
But Khatri believed, and who was he to deny him that? Who was he to deny anyone a small sliver of hope in such a dim world they stumbled into by chance.
“What is the point of all this?” Boyd finally began as he ripped his head away from the cross and back over to Khatri, “I mean, all of it. Why us? Anybody could’ve found that tree, but it was us. Why did *we* have to find the tree? What is the motive? What purpose does it serve to have us specifically here?”
Khatri chuckled, the sound as dusty and worn as his church. He took his own swig of communion wine, careless of how much he drank. If there ever was a special occasion, this was it. Religious or not, his friendship with Boyd was precious enough to spare a few holy drops of the saviour’s blood.
“Do you want a broad theological opinion, or my own?” Khatri asked him, knowing what the answer was going to be. Boyd always favored a more personal perspective on things, and he was no longer a believer in God. It was easy to spot the people here that had lost their faith, and Boyd’s weariness shone through like a beacon.
Plus, he never came to Sunday service.
The second the bottle was laid out between them Boyd reached for the bottle. His hand was unsteady as he felt the empty space of the pew for the bottle, shaking with every motion he made. He didn’t want to break away his vision from Khatri.
In danger the priest was his hope. He was the guiding light in the eternal darkness of this place. He was so grateful to have him and his company. To share the man’s mind was a gift. On hard nights like this he realized how often he took the man’s companionship for granted.
“I need as many opinions as I can get right around now. Give me both. I wanna hear your thoughts and God’s on this bullshit.”
His shaking hand only stopped when it accidentally grazed Khatri’s. He quickly snatched up the bottle and took a large swig after the brief encounter to make it look more casual. He wanted no attention on the touch or on the fact that the priest somehow seemed to ease his shaking hand with a brief and accidental touch.
He set down the wine next to Khatri to signal that he was done with it. He wanted to leave some wine for the Father and his congregation.
Boyd’s gaze wandered over to the windows, which he could see the creatures walking past. It never got easier seeing them every night.
“Anything helps right around now.”
Their hands brushed, a shock of heat rushing up the Father’s spine. He was used to casual touches from Boyd, and yet this accidental one felt…intimate.
Khatri pushed that out of his mind. Boyd needed a confidante. A friend. If he had needed something or someone else to ease his loneliness in other ways, he wouldn’t come to the local priest. He ignored the guilt that settled low in his stomach and heart. He was still unlearning certain things, even after all this time.
Whispering filled their ears, and the sounds of the smiling creatures gently tapping at the windows. Khatri normally went down to the basement when this started to happen, and so he got up and gestured for Boyd to come with him. He didn’t start talking until he had lit the lamp and was walking down the stairs.
“God has a purpose for every one of us. Our own unique paths that we can choose to follow. Every life has its trials. It may seem unfair. And in some cases, it is. I’m not going to say that God never gives you more than you can handle, because that’s complete bullshit,” Khatri smiled ruefully, “This place is proof of that. It’s too much for any person to handle. But…”
He trailed off, finding a dusty place to sit. He patted the spot next to him.
“What you’ve done for the people here…it’s nothing short of a miracle, Boyd. You’ve saved so many lives. All of our lives. We were so scared, barely even people, hiding in the dark. With your talismans, we’re civilized again. *When one rules justly over men,
ruling in the fear of God, he dawns on them like the morning light, like the sun shining forth on a cloudless morning, like rain that makes grass to sprout from the earth.*”
Khatri quoted easily from the book of Psalms.
“You were our light in the darkness. Our salvation. And I believe that that wasn’t an accident.” He smiled softly in the dim light, gaze fond and warm. It skittered away again, to the darker corners of the room, and his smile faded.
“As for what *I* think…It changes, day to day. I think it must for everybody. No one has a concrete working theory that completely explains it all. How could they? There’s so much we don’t know about this world and the next. Maybe we’re all just…unlucky. The most unlucky people in the whole universe. Maybe God and his divine plans have nothing to do with this. He told me to drive, and I drove, and I ended up here, I still don’t know why. Some days…I even curse Him for letting me end up in this Hell. I don’t want to believe that this was what God wanted for me. Because that would mean that my God is a cruel God, and I’m not sure I’d be able to live with that. Or die with it. So some days I think that it’s Satan. The voice I heard, telling me to drive…Maybe I was tricked. Maybe we all were. Maybe something drew us to the place. Maybe…we’re all lost. In our own ways. And lost things end up…here.”
Khatri shrugged. He wanted to reach out and hold Boyd’s shaking hand. He didn’t.
He gladly followed Khatri into the basement and away from the tapping sounds. He watched their backs as they walked, the voices still whispering and begging as he took each step. They were even more unnerving when he turned his back. They often became angrier and tried to pull on his aching heart in hopes that anger would open the door for them. While it never worked, they still tried. Tonight was no different.
At least tonight, there was a basement to disappear to.
Boyd followed Khatri’s guidance, finding a dusty spot in the dimly lit basement and sitting next to him. He couldn’t help but notice that there was no cross here. There was no symbol of God to watch over them in the basement. At least here, his watchful eye couldn’t reach them. Under the slim chance that God kept his eye on this living hell, the two men had found a small corner of their small world beyond that eye.
He looked around the dimly lit basement, taking it in as Khatri spoke. And while his ears hung onto every word, his eyes wouldn’t meet his. Instead, he found curiosity in this piece of the man’s world that was still somewhat unfamiliar to him. They rarely went to the basement for any reason, and they never found their way down here long enough to commit the room to memory. He tried to commit it to memory now as he listened to every word the good priest said.
He spoke on behalf of God first, telling Boyd that there was a purpose behind it all. He spared Boyd of the cliché statements most priests would’ve gladly told him. He didn’t tell Boyd that this nightmare was given to him because he could handle it. He even went as far as to acknowledge the stupidity of the statement, given the context. There was an understanding instead that Boyd should’ve never endured what he had at all. It felt reassuring that someone recognized that he was in way over his head.
He spoke of Boyd’s accomplishments to soften the blow of what was to come. He knew that the second he mentioned the Talismans and how Boyd had borderline saved this place. He even used the scripture that Boyd had fallen away from to tell him that. Told him that his work was a miracle.
Then came Rudra Khatri, the man and not the preacher. And what came out of his mouth was not as uplifting as the word of God. He hadn’t expected it to be. He was glad to know that this place was waning on him the way it waned on Boyd. It was good to know that someone else cursed the lord for being in this godforsaken place. And while Khatri was the voice of light and reason in this dark town, Boyd finally saw how dim that light really was. The light was dim for them both, and there was comfort in knowing that. They were old and they were tired. Their bones ached, and their minds were slowly fading with age and stress. Their bodies were slowly breaking down. But at least they were not alone. The weight was crushing them, but at least they were being crushed together. There was some consolation in that fact.
“Satan, that would be a real treat.” Boyd commented as he took Khatri’s hand.
There was some form of gut feeling, an instinct telling him to take it. He didn’t know why, but he felt in his body that he needed to. And when he brought his subtly shaking hand to Khatri’s, there was a sense of ease that washed over him. His hand, which had spells of constant shaking, had stopped again. He immediately felt safe, like the horrors that lurked at the windows above would never reach them as long as they were together. There was no need for a Talisman, they would protect each other. They’d keep each other safe. They always had from the beginning, and with theirs hands intertwined he felt as they would continue to do so for the rest of time.
He didn’t pull away this time. He wouldn’t. He refused. He chose to stay where his hand didn’t shake and his soul felt safest. He was an old man who grew years older by the day under the stress of this town. He would take comfort wherever he could find it. And if that was with his hand intertwined with his best friend’s then so be it. If he found his peace in Khatri while Khatri turned to God for peace, then so be it. Beggars could not be choosers after all.
Boyd's hand slipped into his own, and Khatri froze. His eyes went wide, and suddenly, he was just a child again, no more than twelve or thirteen, crushing on a boy from his church. His hands, which were of a man, seemed smaller somehow. Softer. Khatri had sat next to him during service, in the back row of pews -- yearning, wanting, waiting. And he had held the other boy's hand. He had been so scared then, and he was so scared now. As though God would strike him down for his transgressions. For his sins.
Their hands had remained locked in a vice grip as the pastor preached and the service stretched on and on without end, electric and terrifying.
They had never spoken to each other again after that. Khatri never turned to look at him to share a furtive glance, and there were no eyes glued to the back of his head. He couldn't even remember the boy's name.
When he was sixteen, he went to a church retreat. One of the boys had snuck in alcohol, and they had gotten drunk, and Khatri had wandered off alone. An older boy trailed him, pinned him to a tree, and with eyes so wide and scared, had kissed him and told him never to tell. He had run off into the night, leaving Khatri with the memory of cheap beer on his tongue and soft lips pressed against his. It had been his very first kiss, quiet and ashamed, in the dark of the night.
Nausea, heavy and oppressive, rose into Khatri's stomach and tried to crawl up his throat. He swallowed it down and tried to breathe. It had taken time to understand that people used God's word to say all sorts of things, and that some of those things that had seemed to be so wrong weren't wrong at all. But there had been too many years of fear and shame for Khatri to be rid of his own self-hatred. He had not acknowledged his feelings for Boyd. He had kept them hidden, tucked them away in the back of his mind where they belonged. There was too much to focus on for those feelings to be relevant to either of them. But now, as the air was choked with mildew and dust, those feelings emerged like a stab through the heart. They were alone now. It was nighttime. Under the cover of darkness, Khatri could accept what he didn't dare show in the daylight.
Rudra Khatri was in love with Boyd Stevens. He had been for a long while.
“Even if God, or even Satan, is cruel enough to bring us here, then all we can do is make the most of it right? We have to make Eden in Tartarus then.” Boyd added as he slid Khatri’s hand closer to him, “But if we were all lost when we came here, regardless of who decided us lost enough to come here, then I’m grateful that you found me that night. You bring a sense of direction when I can’t seem to see the path myself. I’ll always appreciate that.”
He sighed, the sound old and weary and pained. He did not let go of Boyd's hand. Instead, he held to it tighter, a silent gesture that whatever this was between them was okay. If it was just a friend thing, that was okay. If it was more...they would cross that bridge if they ever came to it. Khatri was simply content to be with Boyd in whatever capacity his friend would allow.
"You're mixing up your mythologies," He hummed, lips quirking up once more to form a teasing smile, "You're thinking of Elysium, if you want to go Greek. The utopia of Hades, respite for the righteous. And I'm glad I can offer that to you. That's what I'm here for. To provide comfort where comfort is scarce."
“I did?” Boyd replied as he looked down at their hands, “It’s…. Been a while since I read the Bible. I just….. Never found the time with everything going on around here.”
He felt the grip of their hands, so tightly knit together as if they were always meant to be this way. Clearly Khatri thought that way since he held Boyd’s hand so tight. He could feel as the grip on his fingers grow so tight that he could feel the pulsing of the veins within them. His heart pounded in sync with the pulsing feeling, the thumping sound growing louder and louder with every breath. He wasn’t sure if Khatri could hear or feel the way his heart pounded, but he didn’t dare to ask. But even as his heart pounded with a feeling he hadn’t had in a long time he felt at peace. It felt right that he was the only one who brought the pounding in his heart.
He found himself once again dwelling on the fact that the basement had no cross displayed on any walls. There wasn’t even the presence of a painting depicting scenes from the good book or even a mass-produced picture of God’s one and only son. There was no sign of religion anywhere in the basement of the church.
Despite the tapping sound from the monsters at the floor above and the symbol of God’s watchful eye over the town, the dimly lit room felt as if they were entirely alone.
It brought an atmosphere of intimacy in the absence of others. Dim lights barely shining on their faces, the deep conversation about the purpose in their lives and the meaning behind it, their hands so tightly knit together. It made sin feel so much more attainable.
God was not watching. This basement was beyond God’s reach. Any sins committed would be veiled from God and his cruel form of “mercy”.
If he was going to live in this place knowing that he could die at any night, then he would rather not have regrets in case that night comes. He didn’t want to regret not doing something. He didn’t want to regret not holding loved ones close before he died. He didn’t want anything to go said- or rather unshown. Boyd wasn’t a man of words. He’d rather show instead of saying what he felt. He wanted to make his feelings known through action.
God was not watching them now. If he did watch them ever, his eye was turned from them now. What God didn’t know wouldn’t need forgiveness.
And suddenly Boyd was a teenager in Abby’s basement for the first time. There was only the dim glow of her old TV and a warm lamp as they both made their pact to get engaged when they both went off into their respective branches of the military. They were only friends then, and perhaps that was all they ever were even when they wore the matching gold rings. But when she grabbed his hand and asked him to agree to that pact out of fear that she would be alone once she got through her basic training. At least with the rings they would always have someone. It was a pact made in friendship and fear of the future, never in love.
And of course Boyd had loved Abby. He married her after all. But their marriage was always a more platonic commitment than either of them cared to admit. They both had their own reservations about their “attractions” to each other. They weren’t entirely honest with themselves enough for either of them to admit that there was a hint of lavender in their gold rings.
And while it did eventually blossom into something much more complex and real after Ellis was born, it never felt like this. The love he felt for his wife never brought him butterflies. What he felt for her was calmer, more subtle than the burning feelings he had now. They never made him so eager to reach his hand out and lay his calloused and dirty hands on skin that didn’t share his damage. They didn’t seem to make him forget about every ache in his bones. They never made his heart pound the way it did just from that simple feeling of hands tightly intertwined. They never brought him into a church for a god he had no faith in at sunset. They never silenced fear the way Khatri seemed to silence it.
They never made this hell feel bearable. The first night, when the man threw himself at their car the night they arrived was when the first butterfly formed. Every moment after they multiplied, threatening to choke him. Every night when they waited for morning in different holes in the ground he found himself wondering if he’d live long enough to see Khatri in the sunlight long before he worried about himself. All their small interactions were cherished and valued in a way he never thought possible. There was no denying that his priorities shifted when he met the preacher. They shifted the second they locked eyes, like it was fate.
Perhaps Boyd was sent to this place for him. Maybe Khatri was saved by the voice of god so he would cross Boyd’s path. Would it be so wrong to believe that the reason for being in this awful place was to be in hell together, with their hands forever held tight?
Without any thought at all, Boyd freed the hand that Khatri held for dear life and replaced it with the other hand. With his newly free hand he slid his arm around the priest’s body and found his waist. He slid the man closer, closing any gaps between their old bodies. He felt the warmth of their bodies pressed together in darkness for a moment before he moved his arm to wrap around Khatri like teens often did at movies together. And while there was no movie, the gesture was still there. The implications were the same. It said the same thing that words would’ve.
“Eden out of Hell. Elysium out of Tartarus. Same thing.” He added, “point is we gotta make the most out of what we got. Light a torch in the tunnel. Appreciate the beauty in front of us while it’s still there. Tomorrow isn’t exactly guaranteed here. We gotta make the most of the moment.”
He looked over at Khatri for a moment, then down at their intertwined hands. Then he looked back up at Khatri, specifically at his lips. Then his eyes. Boyd wasn’t a man who did well with words. He wasn’t charming by any means. He just hoped that, at the very least, Khatri understood what he was trying his best to say.
“Well, you won’t have any time now. There isn’t any Bible in town.” Khatri said. Boyd was squeezing his hand hard enough that he could feel his own pulse, quick and stuttering, against the other man’s skin. Or perhaps it was Boyd’s pulse, just as rapid as his own. It was a bit ridiculous. Two old men acting like frightened teenagers, terrified to do anything besides holding hands.
He wondered exactly what this was for the other man. Transference, maybe. Loneliness. Khatri had seen the personal hell Boyd had gone through when Abby had died, and how much he had tried to hide it from everyone. Khatri had made sure he hadn’t isolated himself. He’d been there, as a friend, as a leader, as another point of guidance for the people of the town when the burden on Boyd’s shoulders got too great. It made sense, then, that this was how they would end up. If Khatri were a different person, he would have felt used. Scraped raw from the inside out, resentful of having to give this love to a man who didn’t love him back. A man who was still mourning his wife. But he felt none of those things. He was gentle and giving by nature, and all he felt was a heavy melancholy deep in his chest.
But then, Boyd moved him closer. An arm, warm and protective, wrapped around him as Boyd’s other hand found his own again. They were pressed up against each other now, no space in between their bodies, and Khatri’s heart was in his throat. And oh, he had misread this, hadn’t he. This was not him being used. This was him being *wanted*.
And Khatri didn’t know what to do with that.
There was an instinctive urge to recoil. To push Boyd away, to brush him off, to deny whatever this was between them. Khatri was afraid of the intimacy. It was so soft and new and fragile. Breakable. If he wanted to, he could shatter it into a million pieces right here and now, and it would end. They would never do this again.
To love was not a sin. Boyd’s arm wrapped around his waist and their fingers laced together was not a sin. The way Boyd was looking at him, at his lips, was not a sin. And if Khatri decided to press their mouths together like they both wanted, that would not be a sin either.
“I supposed that we do.” Khatri murmured. Their faces were so close that he could feel the heat of Boyd’s breath on his face. Khatri’s free hand reached up to cup the man’s cheek, his beard scratchy against his palm.
He kissed him then, their lips coming together at last. It was light. Chaste. Khatri was unpracticed, unused to the feeling. His eyes fluttered closed and he felt sick and exhilarated and warm all over, a thrill running up his spine. He pulled away with a shaky breath, eyes coming back open to gauge Boyd’s reaction. There was an open fear in Khatri’s eyes, something so vulnerable and in need of soothing. And only Boyd could fulfil that ache inside of his chest.
Khatri kissed him. The priest in the town from hell had kissed him. Rudra Khatri, the good priest and even better man, had kissed him.
And as much as he told himself he wanted this, and as much as he ached for it all this time, he hadn’t expected the same aching to be mirrored in return. He never expected feelings to be reciprocated under any circumstances. Khatri was a goddamn priest. While he never asked what branch of Christianity, he always assumed that Khatri’s lack of advances meant he came from one that required celibacy. He assumed Khatri couldn’t have romantic ties and that he had married himself to god. He expected that there was no room in Khatri’s heart for Boyd given his religious standings. But clearly, after Khatri kissed him, Boyd was proven wrong.
And while it wasn’t unwelcome, it was still unexpected.
And at first Boyd didn’t kiss him back. He was too in shock to react to it at first. But once the initial shock wore off, he held Khatri tighter in his arm as he kissed the priest. He held Khatri’s hand tighter as they finally collided. The tapping of monsters on the windows faded away and even the horror that came with darkness felt light and warm. He had left home so long ago, but he could feel the small glimmers of it in the man’s presence. He held all that mattered in his arm and held the last bits of heaven in his hand.
But when he pulled away from him, it shattered, like a shield splitting under the force of the arrow that hit it. The tip of the arrow, scraping the flesh above his heart, bled as he looked at the man who pulled away.
His eyes were wide with shock at what they had done. Something that Boyd would have never imagined would become reality. Pining and subtle yearning paid off. It was… surreal.
He turned away as a realization hit him. The contact, something they have denied each other and themselves for so long, was finally thrust upon them after so long of waiting. And with the emotion that came with contact there was always danger to accompany it. The place they were trapped in did not allow safety in human bonds. It demands survival in isolation. Families are targets, slaughtered by slipping through the windows when parents aren’t watching their daughters. Lovers were almost always torn apart in the night by the creatures that lurked upstairs. And those they couldn’t reach, they still managed to tear apart with paranoia. While in the moment, it seemed as though nothing could touch them as long as they stuck together, they both knew better than anyone that it was always a fleeting moment, and night always came in the end, regardless of who they confided in.
It was always that way, especially with Boyd. He was triple the target. The creatures from the woods knew that by taking him out, the whole concept of civilization in this hell would fall apart. They always wanted to break him. They almost did when he lost Abby, his best friend, his wife. They took his son without him dying too. By connecting with Khatri the way that they had, he put them both at risk. Rudra Khatri would become a target. Boyd and his already fleeting spirit could be broken. If nothing else, their hands held so tightly together put them in danger of the monsters.
And then there were more mundane fears that have been elevated, given the nature of this odd town. What if this didn’t work? What if they put each other at risk only for them to break apart? What if, in holding each other close, they tear a void between them? What if whatever they have ends in heartbreak? Then Boyd would lose his best friend to his own actions, rather than losing him to the monsters that lurked each night. He’d have to mourn at a grave that didn’t exist and watch a shadow of happiness pass by in an already lonely town. He’d have to bear the weight of everyone’s lives on his own. If the weight of losing him didn’t crush him, the weight of their world without them together would.
What if he does something wrong?
This was new to him. What he felt was new. Having a hand to hold was an alien concept for so long. He only ever held Abby’s hand as she died from the bullet wounds he put in her. Despite how at home it made him feel, it still felt wrong to hold any hand that wasn’t attached to a body slowly fading away from life. What if that fact drove Khatri away? What if they fought because he was overwhelmed? What if he couldn’t be or become what he wanted? What then.
And what if they escape this place? What would happen to them then?
Boyd didn’t even want to think about that.
“Look I-” he began as he finally turned back to Khatri.
He was ready to tell them that this was a mistake, that what they did just now could not be repeated for the sake of both their lives and their sanity. But when he met Khatri’s gaze he saw the same amount of fear that he tried to hide from him. His eyes were wide with it. He looked so vulnerable, like he too was venturing towards something unfamiliar and foreign to him.
They were both afraid. They both cowered before each other in that fear that they shared towards this new fragile thing they held in their intertwined hands. They were very different, but they shared something so rare in this horrid place.
Something in Boyd’s gut told him that the sun was rising just over the church now. The creatures were most likely fleeing back into the woods from which they came now. The temporary warm blanket of safety and security was finally being thrown over the town again, veiling them all from what evil lurked within.
They were both afraid, just as they often were each night even without these new emotions arising. But with every dark night with these terrifying monsters and these wretched evils within the town, they could always trust that the sun would rise again.
They both were afraid. They would always be given this place. But they had the opportunity to let joy overpower fear. So few have that opportunity. They should take the risk and seize it while they still could.
“I… uh… think you should come to my place next time. It has a basement with a little less dust. I’ll run by the bar and get us something stronger and less religious.”
He didn’t let go of Khatri’s hand. He didn’t break his gaze. Now that he had someone so precious to him he knew he’d never let it go. He’d hold onto him for as long as he could, and they would cross each bridge that they feared together.
He gave Khatri a quick kiss, light and uncertain, but he was forced to pull away when he heard someone screaming in the street.
“I think I should- we should probably check that out. Wanna.. come with me… or do you wanna stay here another minute?”
Boyd's lips were dry and warm under Khatri's as he kissed him back. His arms wrapped tight around him, his fingers squeezed. They clung to each other, drowning sailors after a shipwreck. Khatri held on too long. He didn't hold on long enough. As soon as it was over, he wanted more. It was a breathless sort of want, a quiet and tender thing that lived in his chest. He would love Boyd forever if he could. If the man would let him. Up close or afar, as a friend or as a partner, Khatri would stand by Boyd's side and face the darkness of this wretched town together.
Every inhale and exhale was a shaky thing. They had parted, and Boyd was refusing to look at him, and Khatri found that he did not regret a single thing. He did not feel guilty about the stolen kiss. He felt alive for the first time in decades, soaring like some great bird on a gust of wind. His heart was imitating a bird too, fluttering frantically like his ribs were a cage which it desired to be free of.
Khatri was not in Boyd Stevens' mind, but he could smell guilt and fear on him like a bloodhound. What shape that guilt and fear took, Khatri was not at liberty to know. But he could speculate. There was so much to worry about. While Boyd didn't have years of religious shaming under his belt, that didn't mean that this wasn't a struggle. Coming to terms with orientation, afraid of what people might think. What they might say, even in this strange town where there were bigger things to worry about. And maybe that was it too. The town. It weighed so heavy on Boyd's mind and shoulders. He was the town's keeper. Its protector and savior. The shepherd of the flock. Khatri held his responsibilities, but he would not dare to compare his burden with Boyd's own. Maybe it would all be too much. The threat of losing the town and the threat of losing a partner once more to those things...It would break him.
He wanted so badly for those anxieties to disappear. For them to not matter. For Boyd to hold him and tell him that he would stay, in spite of everything and maybe because of it. Khatri wanted his love to be greater than his fear. The caged bird that was his heart sung out, an unfinished melody, an incomplete duet.
Khatri would beg, if he had to. On his knees, his hand in Boyd's. He would plead for his deliverance, for his understanding, for him to kiss him again. For him to do *anything* but turn his head away and tell him that this had been a mistake. A misunderstanding. And for one horrid moment, Khatri thought he would do just that. When Boyd turned to look at him with eyes that were just as afraid as Khatri's own.
And then...
Khatri could have cried with relief and sung Boyd's praise. He could have kissed him again. A choked little laugh escaped his throat, the noise ragged and wild, the last of his fears bleeding from him.
"Yes. Yeah. I would like that very much."
Boyd's lips were on his again, the kiss nothing but a chaste peck. It still set Khatri's nerves alight. The screaming was unwelcome. Unpleasant. It didn't belong in this new and fragile thing he and Boyd had created. But the town called for them both, and Khatri wasn't ready to leave the other man's side.
"I'll come with you." Khatri said, and those words carried more weight and meaning than he had meant them to.
Whether it was to the town outside or into the horrors beyond it, Khatri would always come with him. Wherever it led them, he'd follow.