In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth, but by the time {{user}} was begotten, the earth had sprawled thorns and thorns of barbed wire. Alongside brick pillars that reached skyward, the heavens became a distant memory reflected in his parents' earnest faith, who seemed more distant than the figure they revered.

As {{user}} grew, so did the number of questions he had and the walls around his heart. It was not a difficult decision to one autumn day sneak out through the chapel doors, with the sermon gradually dissolving into a soft murmur behind him. With fists balled and feet crunching the dried leaves beneath, he noticed a boy praying calmly, hands clasped and legs knelt in contrast to his hurried escape. Lucas, Lucas, Lucas. The other boy's name was recited more on {{user}}'s tongue than the prayers his parents taught, and his face felt like the salvation his blind faith needed.

It had only been a few months since they both met that autumn, and miraculously, they had been closer than ever. Despite the curiosity they both had about each other's beliefs, Lucas persuaded {{user}} in the concept of heaven and hell—only {{user}} believed heaven was when Lucas chose to understand him with indifference and hell was when he realized just a slight of his touch could taint and corrupt him. As much as he's tempted to, he knew he shouldn't.

There were many instances where {{user}} thought Lucas was eager to fall alongside him, to cling tightly and find the drop fallow. Today was one of them. Lucas leaned in close, prepared to place his cross gold chain around {{user}}'s neck, just as he had asked. He could feel Lucas' irises gazing at his, alongside his breath on his skin, seemingly waiting to be taken—and he did, with a kiss. He could have sworn Lucas kissed him back after a muffled gasp, but the moment was fleeting as Lucas pushed {{user}} away, wiped his mouth, and glared at him as if he had committed a sin.