xx Paris, France - 1963 xx

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Levanter Chapel

09:30

The church was a cynic. Gaslighting the uninterested into the belief of inevitable damnation if they did as much as ponder on the idea of indiscretion.

The church was a pistol. Instilling fear in the minds of the weak so that they would mindlessly hold the barrel to their chest rather than their head. Ensuring that failure to align with expectations would aim the piercing toward the task of flawing the foundation of their fate.

Ensuring a greater obligation of living with the consequences of their disobedience if they tried to escape, as a headshot is all it would take.

But regularly, the outlined perception would abide in the consciousness of victims of the church's deceitful standards, or those who simply never allowed themselves to succumb to the judgmental frame of its entrance.

Never the child of an elder in the congregation. And rarely ever a regular member of Sunday service. Because they were part of the class with the scathing description. Hampering the future of the majority, in hopes of making up for the limitation of opportunities for their minority.

So of course the Preacher's son could tell none of the mental cases threatening his sanity. Not when his father was such a reputable man in society. Not when nineteen years of expectation had groomed him into the youngster who stood on the alter today.

His robe was white, much like the representation of the spirit that Father Lee recited each week, a well-kept bible in his hands, and a polite lift rounding up either corner of his lips.

And Felix never truly enjoyed public attention. Too many eyes on his frame, judging, waiting for his slightest error to quench their carnal-like thirst for the figurative crucifixion of a brethren. So his eyes were fixated on his father's side, a man with a looser outfit, a thin, black scarf hugging his collar, down to the distance of his hips. His eyes were shut, hands opened and head bowed whilst he recited some prayer that Felix had honestly heard too much off.

Yet still, Felix didn't seek to complain for the time being. Not whilst standing on the altar, for he feared the wrath of the maker against his unspoken rebellion, in the form of a short speech of his childhood from his father to the congregation.

"A mischievous boy," the man would say whenever the itch of recall on his tongue grew irresistible, "But he'd always score the best grades. Studying was never a problem."

Felix sighed. Just the recollection was irritating.

"The only problem was that my wife and I suspected that he fancied young boys of his age at the time."

It took a minute or two for Felix's subconsciousness to digest the realistic sound of that line. It wasn't his mind replaying the repeated memory anymore. So Felix sucked his teeth, humiliated, closing his eyes and strolling further back on the stage for his seat.

He didn't care if it appeared unmannerly.

"But we prayed that spirit out of him," Father Lee boasted, mildly tobacco-stained teeth on proud display with his grin when the small crowd clapped. "All that we're called to do is believe."

Believe in what exactly?

Believe in the current church's values against basic human rights? Believe in and adhere to the rules written in parables, translated from scrolls that Felix had an honest issue believing ever existed?

Or believe in the God, whom Felix sincerely believed in, who's name they tarnished with the desires of their hard hearts upon infiltration? Was that the form of belief that Felix's father was rambling about, whether from training and ignorance or blatant cruelty?

Felix rolled his eyes. He didn't believe in shit if that was the case. And he didn't plan on doing so anywhere in the foreseeable future; quite contrary to the representation of a emblematic halo hovering the blonde strands on his head.

An angel, he flared in local eyes. One purified from the potential infection of homosexuality in his past, primmed and shined into an unerring, model young man, perhaps in line to take over the church after his father.

But what egregious acumen, they upheld. For it was a cracked halo that stood on Felix's head. And he himself was aware of the fault, unwilling to fix it.

It wasn't worth it.

Not if it'd land him at the door of the same portal of enmeshing belief that bewitched the logical mindset of his brethren.

+ + + + +

70 rue de Chronosaurus

19:00

The average individual of that time would deem it a pleasure to talk of their childhood mate. They'd go on about the adventures at which they partook, tales of the disregard toward their parent's direction to abstain from the unkempt streets, to simply galavant. Having fun.

The closest thing that Felix had to a best friend was his little sister, Louise, face adorned with golden spots just like his - passed down from their grandmother - and big, rosy cheeks to emphasize the innocence of her ten-year-old age.

There was also this Peter, Jisung, triple-named young man who resided a few blocks away. But they weren't that close; not anymore. Although, Jisung's parents and the Lees occasionally bonded over religious interests, as well as supporting opinions on the government that neither favored.

But despite the elusive sadness that that fact would bring, Felix always took pleasure in his father's rants about his younger mate.

They lived in Australia before moving to France for a reason that Felix was too immature to understand at the time. There, Louise was birthed, and the urge to move back to their home country grew lesser and lesser; nonexistent.

Felix's father described the pal in question to be brave and strong. Determined. That go-getting kind of spirit, he said abided within his old Chan Bang's skin. Christopher, for long, but apparently, he didn't enjoy being called by that government name.

Father Lee complained that he missed the little-brother-like figure, sulking at the dinner table. The surrounding family chuckled unanimously at his expressions.

"I just feel despaired because another summer has begun," he sipped on the warm milk that his wife had heated earlier in the evening, enjoying it. "Through all the years here in France, I've never met one like Chan yet, to be honest. Calling over there isn't always convenient, so we write letters. But seldom these days."

"Why don't you visit him this summer, dad?" Felix asked, biting into his bread. "If it's too expensive, there'd be no need to take us with you, but you'd see your friend. You seem to miss him more than you know it."

Pouting at her elder brother's suggestion to go on a vacation without their company, Louise looked away, still respectful.

"We don't have that kind of money now, Felix," the man sighed, looking at his wife, "and even if we do or did, I'm not going to spend it on that. At least not now," he chewed on some food, "mayhap next year. Or Christmas. Besides, I've still got outstanding responsibilities at the church, so definitely not now."

"I understand," Felix said, thinking over a question before asking, "But, I don't remember you mentioning... Is Chan a believer as well? I'm just curious."

"You know," Lee snickered, "Bang's never been one to take a liking to the Lord. He's younger than me by a few years, so I've always tried to advise him, positively. But Chan is stubborn," he scoffed at the memory, "fun and outgoing, but too damn stubborn."

"Like that Jisung boy for the Hans," the mother contributed, eyeing Felix from her lowered head, sending a message, "he comes to church almost every Sunday, yet is so promiscuous. I hear he even sleeps with men too."

Louise gasped. And Mr. Lee sighed, not pleased with his wife's decision to speak of such a 'disgrace' in front of the youngest.

"I know to be careful, mother," Felix looked down. They'd always blamed Jisung as the backbone of their son's momentary interest in the same sex. Watching how near to each other they stood. How their fingers entwined under circumstances that didn't even call for physical contact.

It hurt Felix to be practically forced apart from Jisung. Hurt in a way on the inside that Felix just couldn't put his finger on to describe as yet.

+ + + + +

70 rue de Chronosaurus

14:30

It was in moments like such that Felix's faith in Christ would spark brighter. Because he concluded that nothing else could account for such spontaneous answer to prayers; so surprising and at the most unexpected times.

He almost couldn't recognize the man standing at the doorframe. Two duffle bags of what was assumed to be clothes and other necessities by his side, a black fedora held up to his chest, brown bangs bouncing before his forehead, and a wide, dimpled smile stretching his cheeks.

Chan Bang. The thirty-two-year-old Australian that Felix's father could never keep quiet about. What a surprise.

And goodness gracious. Chan Bang was one handsome man. His eyes glistened, and his grin spread up further, to an extent that not even Felix thought possible for the moment; ear to ear.

"Felix, is this really you?" Chan sang, resisting every urge to engulf the slim youth with his arms. "You've grown so much! Last time I saw you, you were probably ten years old." His Aussie accent was thick, rolling the English off of his tongue in the form of a tape that Felix never wanted to stop playing. "You remember your English, right?"

"Of course, Mr. Bang," Felix smiled, shifting to let Chan in. "What a surprise to have you here. I know Dad will be more than happy to see you!"

"I know he will," Chan slid his grey trench coat off to hang it on the rack near the open door, carrying one of his pieces of luggage in whilst Felix took care of the other, closing the door behind. "Florian," he called as if it was his own home, marching up the steps to the second floor of the house.

He just assumed that Florian and his wife were upstairs, as Chan had only visited the family in France once; when they had just moved up. Even considered migrating, but the demands of learning a new language and adapting to the foreign norms didn't seem profitable to his lifestyle.

A manly yelp raked through the walls upstairs, and Felix laughed, standing in the same spot as before, aiming to savor every lingering particle of Chan Bang's assumingely expensive perfume that littered its glory within the short hallway.

More and more, every day, Felix was reminded of why he preferred men.

"Get yourself together," he mumbled when an amusing ruckus could be heard upstairs. His father sounded some form of incoherent expression, and Felix was confident of the tears trailing down and over his firm cheeks.

Even Louise's happy screams of, "Uncle Bang," could be heard, consistent, although she had never met the man in person before.

And then the two men marched downstairs, Louise behind and mother Lee carrying an empty glass from one of the bedrooms; probably Felix's, since her warm eyes folded a glare toward his humble stance.

"I can hardly believe my eyes," Florian blew his nose into a soiled rag, unsure of what to do with himself, Felix smiling at the accent hat flowed with his English. He just paced the floor, one hand on his waist and the other at his nape. "It's been years, Chan. I almost couldn't recognize you- Look at you."

"And look at you." Chan chuckled, soon walking over to Felix, closer to the door, starling the boy by pulling him closer to the gathering near the kitchen by his hand. "And look at Felix- all grown up now," he hugged his shoulder, "almost taller than me. How old 're you now, boy?"

"Nine- nineteen," Felix blushed at the gesture, praying that it was too dim for another to be made aware. "I'll be twenty in September."

"Ah, alright alright. I and your father go way back, you know," Chan hummed, deciding on the backstory in fear of welcoming a phase of awkward silence.

Instinctively, their legs guided them to the leather-dressed couches in the living room, enticing a relieved groan from Chan's mouth when he leaned his back. "Florian played a role in raising me, as a teenager. Our eight years apart is indeed an advantage," he chuckled, "I remember when he had you," he smiled at Felix from the single sofa, "and I remember receiving the letter of your birth, Louise."

The little girl just smiled, confused. She struggled to adopt the elementary basics of the English language for the time being, so Chan's heavy accent was of no aid to her limited ability to understand.

"Uhm... Notre père l'a élevé. Et il se souvient quand nous sommes nés," Felix nodded when his sister replied with a similar gesture, proud of his translation skill. Looking up from the giddy girl to briefly meet the gaze of each adult, Felix blushed profusely. All eyes were on him, admiring the considerate decision to equalize communication.

"That's impressive," Chan nodded, placing the opposite hand against the left side of his chest, circling it; white shirt creasing with the action.

"Thank you," Felix said, flattered, "but pardon my manners, Mr. Bang-"

"Chan is fine."

"Oh," he looked at his parents, they approved, "okay, Chan. What can we offer you?"

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