[Content warning: (Internalized) homophobia, possible abuse of power/religious authority]

[Seriously, I'm sorry...]


He was not dozing. He was not dozing in the confessional. Absolutely not. He was praying for the sins of this town and for his own. His fingers were on the beads of his rosary after all. But they weren't moving from bead to bead anymore. He was resting his head against the wooden board behind him and had closed his eyes prayerfully. He hadn't opened them for a while. His head was slumping to the side and the rosary was slowly slipping from his increasingly loose grasp.