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who is god anyway?
barth never believes. he never believed in god the moment they took his mother's health away—letting her painfully wither on the bed, no longer the prettiest flower she ever was. ruthlessly stealing the blinding spark of vitality from her bright eyes, now a sea of agony and hopelessness. without an ounce of mercy or reasoning because why her and not me?
bitter pills and sharp needles and frequent visits to the hospital, yet she's still suffering. she's dying. crimson blotches on her white gown and faint sobs hidden behind closed doors, but she's still praying—she's still hoping.
barth can't. he won't.
there's no point in believing—there's no reason to search for answers from god because they'll never listen. no matter how desperately barth was pliant on his knees, faithful as a foolish devout, bruising the rough skin, hands clasping so tight they were ivory, god wouldn't care.
barth was never god's favourite—and so be it. god won't be in barth's favour too.
so barth grits his teeth and clenches his fist into a tight ball when this church boy—tanrak—stares at him with those eyes—a smouldering gaze full of questions and confusion. it plays with barth's head like a sick, twisted game and leaves a permanent scar on his pounding heart, still bleeding.
don't look at me like that, he wishes to say. don't look at me like i'm a sinner, barth wants to scream.
because he isn't a sinner—barth is just never a forgiver.
"what are you looking at?" barth asks, accidentally swallowing heaps of the pouring water as his attention lasers on tanrak—who has now turned pale.
"n-nothing," tanrak stammers, immediately looking away.
but barth notices the lingering gaze on his back, a gnawing hunger that nothing could ever satisfy. those eyes follow the movement of his hands around his chest, lathering the soap, rinsing his body clean, going down south, drying every part with the towel.
tanrak keeps looking. studying barth almost, until he's biting his lower lip and shaking his head, halting the blasphemous reverie.
but barth doesn't say. he can't figure out the what-ifs. it's downright impossible. it can't be. it can't be tanrak. tanrak couldn't be one of them—like he is.
"tell me, honestly, what has god ever given you?"
tanrak takes a long time to answer. he ponders, eyes wandering around the intimate space of their dorm room, taking in the quietness of this bleak night, relishing the harmony of the drizzle against the dusty windows from the world beyond.
the distance between them ceases. knee to knee. shoulder to shoulder. and barth catches the hushed skip of his thundering heartbeat, gulping the sour lump in his throat as tanrak meets his gaze, smiling.
"if you believe, you'll know. if you don't know, your faith isn't strong enough yet."
something in barth shatters. cracks. crumbles. but it's so unnoticed because tanrak's smile captivates him, almost allures barth in this realm of borrowed reality, alluding him to a universe where he was never a wrongdoer for contemplating god—for despising them—because tanrak's words soothed him—healed all those broken pieces. oh.
he didn't need salvation, never because of his wavering faith, never because he chose to leave this hell-hole. it was what's best. but tanrak proved him wrong once again.
there's this childlike cheekiness in tanrak that has barth seeing shapes of hearts and diamonds. almost so innocent, like a blank white canvas with no blemishes, nothing to ever stain tanrak dirty. with those big curious eyes and glossy lips, talking sermons and assuring promises, it makes barth so fond of tanrak, so enamoured by his kindness. he's soft and calm, smooth around the edges, bright pink and vibrant gold, and barth never gets this feeling from worshipping god, but why him? why tanrak, of all people, not even the father?
the fond smile on his face mimics the gentle grin of his mother's, and barth is never the same after this moment. never will.
he can't forgive himself for falling.
at the church, when tanrak's gaze befalls him amid the crowd, as if he was searching for him all along, barth finds himself seeking a different kind of light, a glimmer that reflects the fire in his heart, burning so slowly for the other. and he doesn't know what to do.
barth doesn't know what to do with his hands and fingers and legs and eyes and lips—they crave tanrak in a manner of remembering the sweet taste of pomegranate on his tongue, but oh-so-sacred, he could only have a morsel of it. once or twice, if he's ever good enough—if he's obedient to the rules. yet it's puzzling to barth—he has never tasted tanrak. but he wants him. he needs him.
little crescents loiter on the skin of his hands, deeper and deeper until they blare scarlet. barth steals a sharp breath of air as tanrak smiles at him again, pride and joy evident on his face. the robe he wears is never a burden. will always be his sole purpose in life—to be in heaven, to reunite with his deceased parents.
barth looks at his quivering hands. and he gazes at tanrak anew. for the first time in years, barth prays, with a wounded heart, pleading remorsefully, that he won't turn tanrak into a monstrous sinner just like him.
sweat trails stick on tanrak's cold forehead, and barth wipes them dry with his palms. upon contact, barth burns himself into cinders, but he acts nonchalant. tanrak doesn't have to know about the profane lores in his heart.
barth has so many questions, but tanrak doesn't look like he needs answers. he only exists in the confinement of barth's room, floating like air, just wandering. but his presence is so dense, heavy with hurdles that replace the delight in his eyes, consuming the vibrancy of his kindred soul.
tanrak looks at him with determination and certainty, whispering, "kiss me."
barth stops tucking the naughty strands of tanrak's hair behind his reddening ears. life is now clutching onto his throat, sucking the air out of his lungs, turning barth blue and purple.
"what did you say?" because it can't be true—it can't—
"kiss me," tanrak repeats, now an octave louder. but the tremble of his hands, barth notices it all. so he grabs those hands, freezing to touch, intertwines their fingers together, shaking his head.
"what do you mean?" barth asks. he doesn't know. he doesn't understand what tanrak wants from him. barth doesn't know if tanrak is aware of how fatal everything is once their lips touch—once he has a taste of tanrak the way he fantasises every night—barth could never return. he could never find someone else. could never love anyone the way he loves tanrak.
tanrak is calm waters. he's blue, the limitless sky, a divinity. but there's a fire in his eyes now, of desperation, of sadness and helplessness and hopelessness and—
"you know what i meant," his voice is now icy cold, no longer laced with the summer sunlight and twinkling stars.
barth holds him by his shoulders, insisting on the fact that this isn't what tanrak needs and something must have happened to him while he was away, and he couldn't possibly want this—from barth—from a man—
"tanrak, i don't want you to regret it," i don't want you to regret choosing me.
like all those times when they accidentally touch, barth burns for him. brighter and brighter. better and better. he's set ablaze for tanrak. and when tanrak caresses his kneecap, drawing circles there, coaxing, imploring, repeating his words, i won't, as distance no longer confides them into two different worlds, barth loses himself in this sudden whirlwind of realisation.
he lets his lips graze tanrak's. a hello. an introduction. tanrak closes his eyes, faithfully waiting. and a good boy like tanrak deserves a massive reward.
barth kisses tanrak. he kisses tanrak like he's air and barth is a balloon, and he needs tanrak to respire life into him so that he won't deflate—he won't float away to somewhere elusive, not grounded in this domain where tanrak exists as the persona to his shadow, the mirror to his reflection.
barth kisses tanrak. takes in the mumbled moans and broken groans as they lie on the bed, becoming one. he kisses tanrak and grips the back of his head with a force so bountiful that tanrak escapes for a second, begging for mercy, beseeching clarity. barth follows the lustre of tanrak's swelling lips, the crimson of those cherry-kissed lips, smiling as tanrak pulls him in, tugging at his neck. more. please. please. please.
and barth kisses tanrak, so stupidly in love that his whole world convulses when their groins touch, and he sees nothing but tanrak and gold and red and white and only him—
and tanrak kisses him with tears eloping from his closed eyes, casting a trail of despair and lost virtues on his skin, finally tainted, but oh-so-beautiful.
tanrak is the ocean. he's the neverending waves.
and barth is the beach. he's the vast coarse sand.
when they sink into the water together, barth doesn't hear anything but tanrak's name, professing devotion and infatuation, smiling as barth claims his lips anew, another promise for this life and after.
"if god doesn't want us to love each other, then what's the point of having god in this world?"
tanrak's kisses are now emblems all over his sinful body. and barth comes clean with the holiness of it all. these colours of azure and wine and mahogany, they're the prettiest, all because of tanrak.
tanrak bestows a pledge against his lips, "of course, you can. if you believe."
barth can't help but smile. he rests his forehead against tanrak, the bedsheet rustling underneath his naked skin as he inches closer, saying, "of course, i believe." i believe in you more than anything.
and now, barth truthfully knows. tanrak is god—his god.