#i havent written in forever excuse my rust

[simonlynch]

serenity.

ship; blind faith wc; 663 summary; the lord giveth, as much as the lord taketh. this was their burden to bear, in exchange for divinity.

The Father mutters their name. It feels strange as it rings in their ears. 

It's unfamiliar. Out of reach. 

And yet, their fingers brush against coarse skin, bristled with five o’clock shadow. Their name rolls off of his tongue again, so smooth. Naturally.

It was always going to go like this.

They cradle his face, thumbs tracing his lips, desperate to remember the sight of him and reconstructing the shadows of vague memories into something new, something only they could know. Hazy flashes of times long past morph in swirling color into his smile, the gentle warmth of him radiating their being and permeating every sense as it slowly pours back, from tucked away corners of their mind they are pulled to the forefront.

They lean closer, mouth barely gapped from his and feeling his breath, soothing and grounding, and they feel his forehead press against theirs.

He smells like lemon, and vanilla and cedar wood, though he tastes more strongly of the sweeter scents. 

He mutters their name again, pulls them from their intoxicating bliss and takes their hand. Their fingers intertwine with the thread-bare rosary wrapped in his grip and he begins to lead them from their shared seat on the creaking pew through the aisles, out into the compound.

The grounds fall quiet and still in their presence. The lake laps at the shore, and voices dampen in the cool eve air. Only God is watching.

A heavy pressure suddenly presses into their gut. They shudder, convincing themselves it is the chill of the water’s proximity.

His hand covers theirs against his forearm, reassuring and acknowledging. He slows their pace to a near-halt. 

They've counted these steps enough that the patter of paws doesn't startle them before the creature decides to weave its way between their legs. The Father's arms steady them when they stumble over it after, nails digging into the silk of his vest and when they're halfway to the ground, they release him for a second, reach down and barely catch a passing grasp at the canine's fur. 

Joseph pulls them up as it skitters away at his own growl, hands against their shoulders.

They feel his eyes scouring them, they needn’t see to know that much. With reassurance, he loosens grip and sighs relief, but they feel the weight of his sight heavy on their being still. 

They don't like when he stares. Not when they can't look back. 

It's unfair, the way he can read them, the way they fear his gaze -- those piercing eyes, so much more vivid a memory than the rest of him, things and parts of which they must remind themselves so frequently, with wandering hands -- as if their every fleeting thought and feeling is carved into their skin as much as he wears his own sins adorning. Somewhere he can read it, but they can't see to hide it.

Their head turns away, in shame of their selfishness. The depth of their scars burn, face flushed and chest tight. Envious are they of the way he can make them feel with so little effort. A mere touch, a hum, with presence alone could he exist, and spiraling are they sent into a devotion so deep and a reverence so faithful that it pains them to feel so much for someone whose worship they could never know, could never return. Not the way he could. Their heart aches with want, soul with humility.

Is it so bad to long for what you should have? To chase the taste of ecstasy, to come crashing after the high?

They remind themselves: The Lord giveth, as much as the Lord taketh. This was their burden to bear, in exchange for divinity. 

They bite their tongue before their next ask, lest their greed get the best of them, and settle for a simpler request.

“Joseph?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Don't let them take you from me.”

The pressured grip against their hand tightens.

“I won't.”