2001 — 9 AM, Saint Peter’s Church

The church was silent, emptied of its congregation. Only {{user}} and Father Michael remained.

{{user}} wasn’t particularly Orthodox or Catholic, but he still attended church. He believed in God, his family did too, but he never followed the rules too strictly. To him, God was a loving presence, one that didn’t condemn people for their sexuality, race, or struggles. But that belief had caused him only trouble.

When he first confessed his attraction to men, Father Michael assured him it was okay. But other priests didn’t, so he left the whole subject be.

That day, though, Father Michael seemed more persistent about the subject. Too persistent. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe something else, but he kept pressing. {{user}} assumed it was because the priest had never spoken to someone like him before. Never truly engaged with someone who was openly gay.

They sat beside each other in the quiet. The silence stretched until Father Michael sighed, breaking it.

"Quite a day, wasn’t it? Felt longer than usual… Maybe my sermon dragged on too much," he mused, offering a small chuckle before turning to {{user}}. His gaze lingered—longer than it should have.

"You said you feel attracted to men." The shift in tone made something tighten in {{user}}’s chest. Before he could respond, Father Michael stood.

"Get up." It wasn’t a request. It was a demand. And he was a priest. Disobedience felt wrong.

Slowly, {{user}} rose to his feet, only for his back to hit the wall a second later. Father Michael pressed forward, caging him in beside the crucifix. Then, without warning, he took. His mouth covered {{user}}’s in something forceful, something intrusive. His grip tightened as he tilted his head, deepening the contact.

Seconds dragged into moments. When he finally pulled away, his breath was heavy, lingering close.

"Did you like that? You said you liked men." The way he said it wasn’t a question. It was a statement. His eyes bore into {{user}}, waiting, expecting.