Chapter Text
Simon was singing, the words to Agnus Dei coming out of his mouth like a reflex, but his mind wasn’t on the song at all. He was distracted by the boy at the other end of the choir who kept glancing at him.
Jack Merridew was chapter chorister, head boy and one of the few boys in the choir who could sing a perfect C#. Simon was batty, queer and an outcast. Somehow, Jack had taken a liking to him.
Simon felt that he was being watched by two pairs of eyes. Jack’s piercing blue eyes that kept darting to him when the organist wasn’t looking, and the statue of Jesus on the cross that hung from the church wall. The statue’s eyes were shut, but Simon felt them boring into his skin, reading his sinful thoughts.
He had been thinking about Jack’s hands. They were pale, freckled and his fingers were long and thin. His fingernails were always trimmed neatly. Even the bone of his wrist was elegant. He imagined Jack’s fingers intertwined with his, or stroking his hair. The warm feeling in his stomach that these images invoked was not nearly worth it for the shame that washed over him when he realised that not only was he thinking impurely about a boy, but he was doing it in a church.
He felt nauseous. The priest had told him months ago that God sees everything. Simon asked if that meant God knew what he was thinking about; the priest said He did. Since then, he’d been even more on edge than usual. He refused to look at the older boys as they filed out of the hall after physical training with their shirts sticking to their shoulders, he didn’t allow himself to get too close to any of the other boys (they didn’t want to touch him anyway, for fear of catching his “disease”), he changed in the toilets so that he didn’t have to be in the same room with his classmates as they undressed.
For the past two weeks it had been difficult, and it was all Jack Merridew’s fault. Whenever he and Simon were alone together — which, coincidentally or not, seemed to be happening a lot recently - Jack would talk to him. Honest, not teasing. They would discuss the choir, lessons, the boys in their class, God. Regular, dull topics, but even that was unusual for Simon, because people rarely spoke regularly to him. Especially not people like Jack.
Jack touched Simon, too. Not in any unclean ways, just the normal ways boys touch their friends — a hand on his shoulder, ruffling his hair — but when a clean boy touches an unclean sinner the touch becomes filthy. Simon liked it so much. He wished Jack would stop.
The staring had started a few days before. Simon caught Jack doing it in the dorm room as Simon did his homework, in the courtyard when Jack was with his friends and Simon was going for a walk on his own, and now at choir practice. The most intimidating thing was that even when Simon looked back, Jack’s eyes didn’t leave his.
Simon kept his eyes locked on the church doors, in between Jack’s handsome, watchful face and Jesus on the crucifix.
The song ended and the choir boys headed back to their dorms. This year, Simon shared a dorm room with Jack, Maurice, Bill, and Robert, all fellow choristers. They were all close friends with Jack, too. In fact, Jack was friends with all of the choir. He only decided to keep his friendship with Simon hidden, and Simon understood. If he were Jack, he wouldn’t have wanted people to see him hanging around with a pansy either.
Jack didn’t look up as Simon made his way to the bathroom to change. He was joking around with Maurice about something stupid, a much louder person than the thoughtful boy Simon saw when they were alone. He didn’t glance at Simon for the rest of the evening, let alone stare at him, which Simon was thankful for.
Simon was always reluctant to go to bed. His dreams were sin. He had some level of control over his thoughts, but he couldn’t stop dreams no matter how hard he tried. He delayed going to sleep as long as he could every night, reading his bible under the covers and hoping it would somehow influence his mind into dreaming about Jesus and Mary instead of boys. It had not yet worked.
That particular night he was awake until past midnight, covers over his head, silently mouthing verses to himself over and over. He’d finished Exodus last week, now he was into Leviticus. The duvet was making him sweat through his pyjamas, but he didn’t care. He squinted to make out the words. Thou shalt not with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.
He heard footsteps and froze. Being up this long after lights out was strictly forbidden; if a prefect or a teacher discovered him, he’d be at risk of a caning. He listened for a minute, bible clutched to his chest. No more noise. He went back to reading. If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.
Simon hated these verses because they made him squirm and feel shame crawling beneath his skin, but he always went over them twice. If he burned the words into his brain enough, he wouldn’t need to be ashamed anymore.
Ye shall be holy: for I the LORD your God am holy… His reading was interrupted by a retching sound coming from somewhere in the room. No — the bathroom. One of the boys was getting sick.
Simon poked his head out from the covers, hair mussed, and looked around. Jack’s bed was empty.
He stood up and padded over to the bathroom as quietly as possible. The bathroom had a row of sinks, two showers and two toilet cubicles. One of the cubicle doors was open.
Jack knelt on the tiles, gripping the toilet seat with his head bent over the bowl. Simon came to crouch beside him.
“Jack,” he whispered, “are you being sick?”
“I think so.” Jack said, weak. He retched again but nothing came of it. “I haven’t been feeling well all day.”
“Ah.” Simon’s hand hovered over Jack’s back. Jack didn’t have a top on; Simon assumed he’d gotten too hot during the night and taken it off. Simon could see the outlines of his spine through his skin, his shoulder blades like angel’s wings, scattered with freckles. Even vomiting into a toilet in the middle of the night, Jack was a beautiful sight.
He heaved once more and this time, it came. He leaned against the wall, exhausted, wiping his mouth. Simon immediately averted his eyes from Jack’s bare chest.
“I’ll get you water.” Simon hurried to the sinks and returned with a glass.
“Drink up.” He tried to hand the water to Jack, but Jack’s shaky fingers slipped and almost dropped it. Simon had to hold the glass to his lips. He watched as the liquid wetted Jack’s pink lips. Some of it dribbled down his chin. Simon had to restrain himself from wiping it with his thumb.
“Can you help me up?” Jack gazed up at Simon as if he was a saint. “I feel awfully dizzy.”
“Alright.” Simon took hold of Jack’s wrists. Wrists were much less intimate than hands in his mind. Jack got to his knees, legs wobbling. He held onto Simon’s upper arm. Simon tried not to flinch away.
“Shall I take you to the nurse?”
“Not today.” Jack’s voice came out croaky. “Everyone’s asleep. Tomorrow morning, perhaps, if I don’t feel better.”
“Get some sleep now, then.” He led Jack to his bed. Jack climbed in, pulled the covers up to his chin, then immediately kicked them off.
“It’s hot.” He groaned.
“I know.” Simon sat on the chair beside Jack’s bed, holding the water to his mouth once more. He had only sat to reach better, but the moment he tried to stand, Jack grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t go.”
Simon was sitting again before he knew what he was doing.
“I can’t stay all night.” Simon shifted uncomfortably. His pyjamas were soaked with sweat from his earlier reading, rubbing against his skin, and his eyelids were heavy.
“Just until I fall asleep, then.” Jack begged. “Please. I don’t want to be alone.”
“Okay.” Simon gave in. Jack sighed and closed his eyes.
There was silence for a few minutes then, and Simon thought Jack was asleep. Just as he was about to tiptoe back to bed, he spoke.
“When I was little,” he began, eyes still shut, “my mother used to lie with me when I was sick, if I couldn’t sleep. I remember I found it very comforting.”
“That’s nice.” Simon’s voice was strained. He knew what Jack was about to ask.
“I’m probably too old for that now. But…” He opened his eyes a little. “Would you lie down with me, please, Simon? For a minute?”
“I… I…” Simon didn’t know what to say. Lying with another boy — the bible specifically told him not to do that, didn’t it? Thou shalt not with mankind, as with womankind. Being in bed with Jack, who was half-dressed and vulnerable, was surely a sin. “I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” Jack rubbed his eyes. “Is there something wrong with comforting your sick friend?”
There was something almost teasing in Jack’s voice. But he was right, wasn’t he? Jack was sick. It wasn’t a bad thing to do. If anything, it was a nice thing. It wasn’t like they would be kissing — Simon shuddered at the thought. No, it was only lying down.
“I suppose. No longer than a few minutes.” Simon climbed onto the bed and rested his head on the pillow, as far from Jack as he could manage without falling off. “Now, sleep.”
Jack smiled sleepily. “Thank you.”