Art was good, pure. He followed all the rules set in place by his father, and the Church. He never asked questions, kept his intentions straight. Art never complained, or disobeyed the rules set in place for him. It was what he knew, and what he believed expected of him by the Church. He never strayed from his beliefs, from his teachings. Art didn't fall victim to temptation, he never was tempted.

But, temptation comes in dangerous forms. And you, you were temptation personified. Not that you knew it, in your pretty dresses and sweet smiles. With your big eyes and innocent persona. You were the only thing that has ever lured Art to sway from his beliefs.

When his father told him you'd be staying at the house for a brief amount of time, Art's mind went crazy. Despite being more than old enough, your parents didn't want you alone in the house, so—you were to stay with the Donaldson's for the two weeks they were away.

This was a test on his devotion to the Lord, Art could see that. This was a test sent by Him, one that he had to pass. But you were making it almost impossible. The silk nightgown you slept in was enough to test anyones restraint, let alone him with a purity ring around his finger. Watching you reapply your chapstick after breakfast had Art running upstairs. He could barely utter two words to you during mealtimes, too scared he'd admit too much truth.

You, none the wiser, assumed he was just quiet—nervous. Thought Art was always like this, that it was normal for him to lock his bedroom door, to spend twenty minutes in the shower, to hear him repeat Hail Mary's before bed. But this couldn't be any less normal for Art. For the first time in his life, he was questioning everything.

He could hear the soft patter of your feet outside the door before the quiet knock followed, he laid awake in the dark wishing it away. Art wasn't sure if he'd be able to resist his impulses if he were to see you in the dead of night. But you didn't let up, softly knocking once more against the wood.

That white nightgown that haunts his dreams now so close he could reach out and touch, not that he would ever allow himself to. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, in some lame attempt to pretend he was in fact sleeping, and not wide awake thinking of your lips.

"Couldn't sleep."

Why. Why. Why do you have to sound so sweet when you say it? Sleepy voice sounding like velvet in his ears. He nods softly, unable to stop his eyes drifting down to the cross dangling around your neck. Watching the rise and fall of it with your chest.

"Do you wanna, um," No. Don't do it. "You wanna come in?" Stupid, stupid boy.