Chapter Text
There’s a Book of Mormon on the desktop and a dozen sheets of scribbled-on paper sprung about like a flock of pale white doves, and Kevin can’t stop staring at the motivational kitten poster stuck to the off-beige wall. If You Are On The Right Path It Will Always Be Uphill. What does that mean? How could you define a right path and surely surely sometimes the right path might be downhill or even just on flat, level ground, and is it always going to be a struggle –
“You’re probably wondering why I asked you here,” says Elder McKinley.
He’s chewing on the lid of a pen, a habit Kevin has always thought is a little gross. Blue biro. Kevin had been wondering that, but he’d just assumed that he’d probably done something wrong. He’s always doing that, putting his foot in it, taking a mistep to the wrong side of the line and screwing things up without even realising it. Unstoppable force Kevin Price against the world, never mind who got in his way, until it had all crashed and burned.
Kevin tilts his head to the side. “Uh, a little.”
“You’re not in any trouble,” Elder McKinley clarifies. “Depends on your definition of trouble, actually, maybe – but I don’t – you haven’t done anything wrong.” And he makes an odd wheezing noise like a kettle spouting steam. Ducks his head and maybe he’s laughing because his shoulders are shaking slightly but Kevin has no idea what’s funny. Maybe he’s missed a joke. When McKinley comes back up for air his cheeks are flushed red and he’s staring at Kevin, waiting for him to say something, anything.
“Oh,” Kevin manages, taking the prompt, “Oh, good.”
McKinley claps his hands together. “I just – I’m going to say it,” his expression is pinched, as though he’s holding his breath. “Elder Price. I’ve been having… gay thoughts. About you.”
Oh. Oh? Oh. Wow.
Kevin swallows. “Sorry?”
McKinley unclasps his hands, throws them up. “I know. I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to–” he’s making Kevin think of a wrung-out dishcloth. “Keep it from you any longer, I just felt so awful.” His face has gone red and blotchy, two twin points of pink high on his cheeks like a doll. “I thought you outta know. I know that we’re – moving away from the traditional and my SSA probably isn’t the end of the world but I felt terrible not telling you. Especially since we’re – I’d like to think we’re friends – and it’s a stressful position to put you in, and unfair, really, and don’t feel obliged to say anything at all, I just had to get it off my chest.”
It’s a tumble, a complete word-vomit, and it takes Kevin a solid fifteen seconds to process what the heck McKinley means by SSA (same sex attraction, pamplets, let us pray for those falling into temptation) and by the time that fifteen seconds is up McKinley is staring at him, waiting, expectant. His eyes are very wide and very shiny.
“Okay,” Kevin gets out eventually. He’s still processing. Gay thoughts? It feels foreign to him. The closest he’s ever come in his life to anything like this, someone spilling their heart out to them, was when he was sixteen and he got invited to a high school dance by the girl he sat next to in science. It had taken her best friend dragging him to the side on the night of the dance telling him you jerk she really really likes you and you’re more focused on the jello??? to realise why she’d invited him, and even then he couldn’t put together why she liked him. This is the exact same. Though a dozen times more awkward because he has to live with McKinley for almost another two years and he seems scared, like Kevin is about to punch him in the face or something. “That’s okay?”
McKinley looks almost indignant. “It’s okay?”
“I mean, I don’t mind,” Kevin shuffles awkwardly from one foot to the next. He wishes he’d been offered a chair when he’d stepped into the room – instead, he’s standing awkwardly, hands clasped behind his back like a choirboy. “It’s not the end of the world, like you said.”
“But I’m your district leader,” says McKinley. “And – I’m not stupid, Price, I know you were brought up with the same ideals I was. You must be disgusted.”
Kevin isn’t, not at all, not really. A guy liking him is no different, really, than a girl liking him. McKinley isn’t acting on it and he’s not going to, so why does it matter. “I’m not disgusted,” he says. “I don’t care.”
“Not at all?”
Kevin shrugs. “I mean, I didn’t expect it,” though when he thinks about it – McKinley leaning in, the gushy way he’d spoken about him when he and Arnold had first arrived, was I in it? – maybe it makes sense. Maybe McKinley is actually obvious, and Kevin is about as aware of his surroundings as the sun being aware that it is one of many stars. Which is to say, not at all. “But I don’t care. I mean, it’s not like I’m the perfect Mormon anymore either.”
“Don’t you think I’m going to corrupt you? Drag you to a life of sin? Don’t you think it’s awful? Shameful?”
Kevin narrows his eyes. “I… no?”
McKinley looks even more upset. “But—”
“But what?”
He ducks his head, and the sheets of paper scatter everywhere, startled doves. “You weren’t supposed to react like that.”
Kevin is thoroughly confused. “Like… what?”
“You were supposed to care,” says McKinley. “Tell me you would pray for my soul and that it would go away with time and the devil was tempting me.”
“But I don’t think that,” says Kevin. “Fuck that. Why would I pray for your soul?”
“Because it’s a transgression, it’s a sin–”
Kevin cottons on to the fact that he may have caught McKinley in the middle of some sort of breakdown. “It’s not a sin unless you act on it,” which actually doesn’t help at all, because McKinley bangs his head against the desk and mutters something like I tried to kiss you which Kevin doesn’t even know how to begin to reply to. “I mean, it isn’t. Plus we’re doing our own thing now, aren’t we? Fuck the rules, fuck the mission president.”
“I want to act on it,” hisses McKinley miserably. “I don’t want to but my brain does, and I just – how can you stand there and say it’s okay?”
“Because it is?” Kevin swallows. “Wait, were you really counting on me–”
“I was hoping you’d at least throw something at me,” bemoans McKinley. “Maybe a paperweight – or a book, or something. Might knock some sense into me.”
“A paperweight?”
“I don’t know,” sighs McKinley. He groans, and his hands thread through his hair, tugging. Sharply. He makes an expression of acute, precise pain, and tugs harder, and Kevin reaches out a hand halfheartedly to stop him, and McKinley flinches away like he’s been slapped. His gaze jerks back up to Kevin’s, alert and bayful, and Kevin holds eye contact for three seconds before it gets too much and he has to stare past McKinley’s head and at the kitten poster behind him. “I don’t know what to do now, either. That was the extent of my strategy.”
“Maybe,” says Kevin, “You could just let yourself have those feelings.”
“See, that’s where –” McKinley balls up his fists. “That’s where it starts. You permit one sin and then another just comes along and before you know it you’re an alcoholic working in a brothel. No, I’m cutting it off at the stem.” His lips press out into a straight, thin line. “I really wish you’d thrown something at me.”
“Didn’t you,” says Kevin, remembering something, “Didn’t you say something a few weeks ago about letting yourself have feelings – letting them out – surely you should just. Let yourself be.”
“That was ridiculous.” McKinley chews at the inside of his cheek. “You and Elder Cunningham are free to be heretics, I suppose, and I don’t entirely disagree with – some of the points you make, but I can’t. I can’t let go of something I testified to be true so easily.”
Kevin is pretty much the only one of the cohort of Elders to fully drop the restored word of Jesus Christ, to sever himself completely from the church. He’s going to get excommunicated when he gets home; he’s positively looking forward to it. It’s not to say that he’s stopped believing in God (even though he does have days where he’s sure God doesn’t exist) but he doesn’t believe in the Book of Mormon anymore and that’s the foundation of his faith so it’s a whole thing to unpick and make any semblance of sense of.
He kinda, really wants to argue with Elder McKinley, but then he remembers the basis of their argument (McKinley’s gay thoughts for him, and if Kevin is okay with that or not) and bites his tongue. For all of three seconds, before –
“Heretics?”
McKinley’s face falls. “No, not – really. Sorry. Sorry about all of this, Elder Price. I would really rather you didn’t see me like this but –”
“No, you’re – it’s fine.” Kevin swallows. “Why do you think you have… gay thoughts?” He registers the awkward pause between words, the swelling suspense, drumroll please why are you a homosexual?
McKinley makes a face. “Do you really want to know? Are you not – grossed out – at all?”
“No,” Kevin shakes his head. “Whenever people have crushes on me they’re never people I know.” He says eventually. “So I just assume it’s how I look.”
“Well, that.” McKinley rubs the back of his head. “I like that.”
“Just that?”
“Not just that.”
“What else.”
“Why are we having this conversation?”
“I just,” Kevin swallows. “You don’t have to say.”
McKinley’s face has not shifted from being a ruddy shade of red, like a tomato left on the windowsill too long to ripen. “If you must know,” he says, “I like talking to you. Or listening to you talk. And you’re a lot kinder than you give yourself credit for. I like your stupid jokes.” He looks visibly angry at the confession, curls his hands into fists again, digs his nails in sharply and furiously into his skin. Kevin wants to peel them away, stop him from hurting himself, but that’s not his prerogative.
“You told me you hated my jokes,” says Kevin, trying to lighten the mood, and McKinley sniffs
“I lied, Kevin. See, worst Mormon ever.” He scowls. Kevin doesn’t know how to fix this conversation so he settles for silence. “Now. That was – that was it. And if you don’t want to talk to me again, that’s –”
“I still want to talk to you,” says Kevin. “Seriously, don’t beat yourself up–”
“I think you should leave,” mutters McKinley shortly, wiping his face very quickly, wiping his expression into a blank, flat slate. “I need to pray and seek guidance.”
“Okay,” says Kevin softly. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” He doesn’t know why he says it; McKinley gives him a despairing look, and his head drops back onto the desk. Kevin sighs. He looks around before he closes the door, and McKinley is still and unmoving.
***
Kevin tells Arnold and Nabulungi about it, because there’s very little that passes for gossip in Northern Uganda and also he has no idea what to feel about any of it. Maybe it’s a bad thing, that he can’t discern his emotions unless he filters them through somebody else first, but that was the basis of prayer and confession growing up. Some habits are hard to shift.
He doesn’t use McKinley’s name. It feels – wrong, even though Arnold and Nabulungi 100% know who he’s talking about. “Then he said he was going to pray,” says Kevin, finishing the story. “He wanted me to throw a paperweight at him?”
“So,” says Nabulungi. “Did you?”
Kevin shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No, I didn’t.”
They’re Kevin and Arnold’s room, sitting on Arnold’s bed. It’s slouching under their shared weight and Kevin feels like he should move to his own, but it’s comfortable here – Nabulungi’s head in Arnold’s lap, Arnold leaning against his side in a reassuring, warm way.
“That could probably kill him,” muses Arnold. “A paperweight to the head.”
“Good thing Kevin did not throw it, then.”
More quiet, more silence.
“It was Elder McKinley, wasn’t it,” blurts Arnold.
Kevin narrows his eyes. “...no.”
“How do you feel about it?” Nabulungi takes over the questioning, rapid-fire, machine-gun.
Uh. Very good question. Kevin shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “I mean, I’m not mad about it. He can have all the gay thoughts he wants. I don’t know why he’s beating himself up about it, either.”
“Uh-huh,” says Arnold. “Probably because he’s – what was that little song and dance we heard? First day?”
Kevin hums a tune to himself. There hadn’t actually been a song and it hadn’t really even been a dance. There had been a whole lot of stories going round in circles and a whole lot of finding out that his fellow missionaries weren’t turning to God in prayer and were rather just shutting their feelings off and away. And there had also been about five minutes where Elder McKinley had been ‘dragged’ (read: enthusiastically wanting to, but continuously holding his hands up going oh come on you guys! as if to prove he didn’t want to be tap dancing) to perform a little dance routine, complete with a few choice slogans. Whatever it was, it had been fine-tuned, workshopped. Kevin thinks that equally so it could have also been a fever dream, but that was the same as many things in Kitguli.
“Repressing?” Kevin guesses.
“I missed the song and dance,” Nabulungi grumbles.
“Sure, repressing,” says Arnold. “Also, yeah. You really did. Kev got forced into this itchy – thing – and complained about it for ten minutes.”
“Repressing,” Kevin repeats back. “Yeah, I get that. But he told me how he felt, that doesn’t seem very –”
“We’re all at a crossroads,” says Arnold sagely. “I don’t know if he knows where he stands one day to the next. It’s a matter of working out if he wants you to reject him so he can go back to pretending or if he wants you to leap into his arms or something.”
Kevin raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“I mean, it could be the other way round.”
Nabulungi clears her throat. “What I would say, Kevin, is not to concern yourself too much about it. Somebody else’s feelings are not your business, especially if you do not hold the same ones in return. He might be your friend but that doesn’t mean you should spend hours stressing about it.”
Kevin’s throat feels dry, funny. “Same ones in return?”
“Well, yes,” says Nabulungi. “Don’t think about it too much.”
Probably the worst thing she could say. It’s all wrapping around his head like a game of snake, thoughts slowly consuming each other, swallowing each other whole the moment one materialises into being.
He’s not a true faithful beliver anymore, isn’t do-or-die spreading the word, isn’t ready to become a matyr for his faith long as it ended with the celestial hum of the Disney theme tune. He’s not what he was meant to be and he’s learning to be fine with that. But he also isn’t yet so far away from all he was raised knowing to pretend that he’s – that he could be – that there are sins that he could now commit in the knowledge that he likely wouldn’t rot in eternal darkness for them.
So he doesn’t have the same feelings in return. That would be stupid. McKinley is a friend of his, sure, but he’s mostly a half-formed image, an impression of a responsible district leader herding a flock of boys about like geese whilst maintaining the sternest expression Kevin’s ever seen. He’s also, occasionally, weird, in a sly sort of way – throwing out random general knowledge with the expertise of somebody growing up watching Jeprody! or quoting a musical Kevin is sort of half familiar with or quoting a musical Kevin is very familiar with, and it taking every bone in his body not to sing along. He vacuums corners of the missionary quarters and makes a real, conscious effort to avoid spiders and he wraps every single leftover up in clingfilm and aluminium because waste not want not and drops around children’s books to the families in the village and –
Kevin swallows. Lump in his throat. His breathing feels stuttery.
“Can we play Uno,” he blurts.
Arnold gives him a weird look, but slowly peels himself off the bed, unsettling Nabulungi in the process. She bats at him with curved fingers, but settles against Kevin’s side in his absence, just as warm and reassuring. She turns her head, looks up. Pauses, as though deliberating what to say.
“It’ll work out,” she says, eventually.
Kevin doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know what it refers to.
***
Connor McKinley hates keeping secrets.
Hates secrets in general, really. If there’s something worth saying, he always thinks it should just be said. If it’s whispered about, then there’s automatically an undercurrent of corruption to whatever story gets spread. He prefers to keep his thoughts linear; either firmly far far up inside his head, so pushed back he struggles to draw them to his mind, or out in the open.
Which is why he tells Kevin what he tells him. Because there is no part of him that wants to hold onto that fact alone. It doesn’t feel better, telling Kevin. He’s just as guilty. Plus, confused. Kevin didn’t react how he assumed poster-boy Kevin Price would react. No cussing him out or acting like he was dirty. Leaving him with more questions than answers.
But he feels – lighter, somehow. Without the secret keeping him knotted down.
He’s planting carrots outside when Kevin comes up to him. He looks bashful and sunburnt. Nose flaking with white skin against red, red, red. Their first conversation since Connor locked himself in the office and clasped his hands together and spoke to God until his mind went foggy and he nearly passed out.
“Hey,” says Kevin. Quiet, awkward. Not loud like he usually is when he’s bothering Connor, the reason he fell for him in the first place. (Fell, such a romantic way of thinking of it. Fell in love. Connor’s thinking more fell into sin, more fell in with the devil, more fell into hell.) “How are you doing?”
Connor feels frightfully jumpy, like a startled rabbit. “I’m – fine,” he says, and it comes out brittle; if he lied anymore, he’d snap. “How are you?”
“Good,” says Kevin. “Look, I was thinking about our conversation –”
Oh. Gosh. “Our conversation?”
Kevin shuffles his feet on the floor, and dust clouds jump up. “The other day,” he says. “About how you wanted me to throw a paperweight at you.”
Connor holds up his hands. “I didn’t want you to do that. I just thought it would be easier.” He pauses, looks around. It’s just them out here, but still. You could never be too careful. “Why are you – thinking about… that?”
Kevin shrugs awkwardly. The way he holds himself is – slightly stiff, awkward in comparison to the perfectly poised Elder Price he’d met weeks previously. Less like a walking talking mannequin, more like a boy unsure if he suits the shirt he wears. “Because,” starts Kevin. “I was talking to Arnold, and I think that you hating yourself into being straight is stupid. And also, why would Heavenly Father give you gay thoughts if you couldn’t act on them? That’s just cruel.”
Connor stares at him, knocked into being speechless. “What?”
“You shouldn’t beat yourself up over having a crush,” says Kevin. He sounds a little like he’s regurgitating something, like what he’s saying isn’t completely coming from his own perspective, but he does sound like he believes it. “It’s just a crush.”
“Elder Price,” says Connor, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth in slow, slow huffs, hold for three seconds, out for three. “Please… stop.”
It comes out halfway defeated; he feels it. Partially because it’s – unsettling to hear. That the unshakable infalliable Kevin Price is in front of him badmouthing God and the foundation of what Connor had grown up telling himself, that he had to deprive himself of ever having a hope of truly being in love because of what a book said, that he couldn’t be in love because it wasn’t love at all, it was lust, a sin, cast it out, pray for me. And partially because more than anything else – it felt painful. Here is this boy, here is this handsome, stupid boy that he likes more than he should, earnestly telling him he should act on his gay feelings.
Kevin Price does not stop or slow down. “I’m just saying,” he says, rolling his eyes, peptulant child. “I don’t care that you have gay thoughts for me. And I don’t think you should care either.”
Connor sucks in another breath, sharper this time. The desire to run claws at him. “It isn’t as easy as that,” he manages. “A month ago you would have felt the exact same way I feel now.”
“A month ago I was a brainwashed zombie,” says Kevin. He’s smiling, a self-depricating, lopsided smile. He punctuates the end of the sentence with jazz hands, for whatever reason, and Connor’s heart jolts foolishly. “A month ago I was just copying what I’d been taught to say, word for word. A month ago I don’t think I had an original thought outside of wanting to go to Orlando. That – that doesn’t count.”
“Your faith has changed,” says Connor. “Whatever.” He’s too curt, he’s being almost unkind, and he hates that, because he’s not like that. He can’t be like that. He’s the oldest here; here to set an example; here to guide the other boys like a shepherd with a flock of sheep. How is he supposed to set an example if he’s snapping at this naive boy, if he’s daydreaming with furious regret about warm palms and a head on his shoulder? “Mine hasn’t. I know that what I feel is a sin and you trying to convince me–”
“I’m not trying to convince you,” Kevin shrugs. “I’m just – saying. It shouldn’t be a sin.”
“It… shouldn’t be a sin?”
“No,” says Kevin. “You’re not cheating. You’re not burning down a building. You’re not stabbing someone. You’re not – being violent, or gossiping, or spreading rumours. You just… like somebody. That shouldn’t be a sin.”
“You’re – disagreeing with God?”
Kevin looks – guilty, for a moment. Then, somewhat pleased with himself. “I guess,” he says. “Or with the Bible, at the least.”
“Elder Price,” Connor says, very slowly. “Perhaps you should go back inside.”
Kevin’s expression does something funny. “Why do you keep sending me away once I say something you disagree with?”
Connor wants to say becasue I want to agree with you so so so badly but I can’t force myself to unlearn the only thing that’s been keeping me sane and when I think about the fact that shutting off a basic human emotion has been keeping me sane I feel freaking crazy, and you’re a straight boy, you’ve only ever known living up to expectations, how could you ever expect to understand? How could you ever get it? but he can’t, so he doesn’t.
“Because I’m busy,” he says primly.
Kevin turns his nose up. “Fine,” he says.
He walks away. Connor watches him go. Before Kevin disappears out of sight, he turns around once. Connor meets his gaze. Something passes over Kevin’s face – eyes suddenly dialling wide, mouth falling open, and before Connor can process that, he’s gone.
***
Kevin finds Nabulungi.
Mostly because Arnold, as much as he loves him, has a big, big mouth and whatever Kevin tells him will find Nabulungi anyway. And he wants to hear Nabulungi’s honest opinion before he speaks to Arnold, unfiltered.
He finds her outside her home, busy fixing something to stumpy posts sticking out the ground. Kevin inspects them for a moment before realising that they’re bright coloured flaps of bunting.
She turns around, and laughs in his face. “Were you trying to sneak up on me, Elder Price?”
Kevin shrugs, somewhat haplessly. “Um. No.”
“You did not do a very good job. You walk like a herd of elephants.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Elephants are lovely animals. You should take it as a compliment.” She pauses. “Now, what do you want?”
“Maybe I’m just visiting you,” says Kevin.
“Maybe you are lying. There is something.” She drums her fingers on the post. “Come inside. I will make you a mug of boiling water and we can talk.”
“Boiling water?”
“My baba has developed an obsession with tea and I cannot stock up fast enough,” Nabulungi snorts, turns around, and opens the door. Kevin follows after her, feeling like a lost kitten.
“Where is Mafala?”
“Visiting Gotswana,” says Nabulungi. “He is sick. Baba did not want him to have to make himself stew – he has a fever, see, it needs to be broken – so he is bringing him some.”
“That’s kind of him,” observes Kevin softly. It is; kind in the way he’s grown to expect from the people in the village, selfless without intention. “Nice… nice weather we’re having.”
Nabulungi cackles at him. “Oh my fucking God. What happened.”
“What?”
“You are making small talk. About the weather.”
“And?”
“You hate small talk.”
Kevin blushes. “Sorry, I’m just – nervous.”
Nabulungi leans forward, smirks at him. “Awww, Elder Price. Do you have a crush on me?”
“What? No.”
“You are soooo red.”
“Nabs, you have a boyfriend. I don’t – I wouldn’t –”
Nabulungi claps a hand on his shoulder. He flinches, and she drops her hand, looks reproachful, but doesn’t say anything. “I know,” she says, “Now, tell me whatever it is. Clearly is a big deal if you ran here in such a hurry.”
“Okay,” says Kevin.
Nabulungi goes to stand up and set the tin kettle on the stove to boil; Kevin watches her for a moment and digs two mugs out the cupboard. One is patterned with tiny dolphins and the sight makes him shudder, though he doesn’t know why – the other is giant, red and blue stripes. She pours the water and he takes a mug from her, sidles slowly to the couch, sits down. Nabulungi comes to join him, sipping from the mug as she goes.
“Elder,” she says, though it sounds more like a nickname than a title. “What’s on your mind?”
Kevin gives a funny, helpless shrug. “I just don’t know who I am anymore,” he says, and it comes out blunt and broken. Not what he means. He reaches for his tie, readjusts it slightly. “Like, without the church, I mean. People keep getting mad at me and I’m not used to that.”
“Who is mad at you?”
“Elder McKinley.”
“I thought he was in love with you?”
“He didn’t say that,” Kevin shakes his head, what a thought, “But no. I keep telling him that it’s okay to have gay thoughts and he keeps ordering me out the room or back inside.”
“He is ordering you and you are listening?”
“No, no – not like that.”
“Elder, you are yourself with the church. You have just only ever known yourself as who you were with the church for so long that you do not know how to be anything else.”
Kevin stares at her. “Nabulungi–”
She gives him a thin, wry smile. “You will work it out. Now. Talk to me about people being mad at you.”
“Well, it’s mostly just Elder McKinley. Maybe Elder Neeley, too – but. I don’t know.”
“Elder McKinley is bothering you more?”
“Well, he is the district leader.” Kevin squirms uncomfortably. “And… I don’t know. I don’t want him to be mad at me, but I also don’t want him to be mad at himself. He shouldn’t be mad at himself! He hasn’t done anything wrong, he’s just – gay.”
“For you,” Nabulungi reminds him.
“Yeah, I know.”
“You are still fine with that?”
Kevin shrugs. “I really don’t care.”
“What if,” starts Nabulungi. “Say he did not have gay feelings for you. If it was for Elder Poptarts instead.”
Another shrug. Kevin gnaws at the inside of his cheek. “I wouldn’t care,” says Kevin. “But he likes me, so that doesn’t matter.”
Nabulungi rolls her eyes. “It is a metaphorical question. Would you really not care?”
“Why would I?” says Kevin. Pauses. “I mean, maybe a bit. Just because – I don’t know why he’d like Elder Thomas.”
“Elder Thomas is very nice,” says Nabulungi. “We went fishing together a few days ago. He is terrible. He let me make fun of him for two hours.”
Kevin bristles, though he’s not sure why. “Fine. Whatever. He’s nice. I don’t know why Elder McKinley would have a crush on him.”
“It is hypothetical,” says Nabulungi. “After all, Elder McKinley has a crush on you.”
The way she says it – it makes Kevin pause. Elder McKinley does have a crush on him. If it were someone else instead, then –
Kevin bites at the inside of his cheek, again. Ivory nips at his taste buds. Because, oh, no, he really would not like that.
“I’m not gay,” he says, unsteadily.
“Did I say that?”
“I’m not…” Kevin swallows, has to reassess. “I don’t think I have a crush on – him.”
“I did not say you did,” says Nabulungi.
“But I don’t want him to like anybody else but me.”
“Okay,”
“And – I hate the fact he’s mad about liking me. He shouldn’t be mad about that.”
“And?”
“And I think he should be allowed to like boys. I don’t think God would be mad at him for that. I just – I don’t want him to like Elder Thomas.”
“Because?”
“I…” Kevin scrunches up his face. “Because I guess. Him liking me is? Flattering.”
“Sadaka has a crush on you,” says Nabulungi. “Is that also flattering?”
Kevin frowns. “I mean, yeah. But not in the same way.”
“Because you want Elder McKinley to like you.”
“He’s my district leader, of course I do…”
“But if he wasn’t?”
“Then I’d still want him to like me.”
“Do you like him?”
This conversation feels like – chess, or, more aptly, table tennis. Serve, back and forth, enclosed tiny room that he’s sweating in. His palms itch.
“I mean, yeah.”
“Not like that, Kevin.”
Kevin swallows. Throat drier than gritty sand. “Like?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m not gay,” he tries again, and Nabulungi raises an eyebrow. “I’m not–”
There is a horrible shaky moment when something passes through his body, a relentless torrential feeling of wrongstopback and it’s sick, sick, and he shudders involuntarily. Maybe there’s tears in his eyes and maybe he’s crying and Nabulungi is looking at him with what must be pity.
She puts her hand on his shoulder. He flinches, and her hand slips off, and his vision blurs from the tears. It’s pathetic. Boys don’t cry. Especially not boys like Kevin Price. Especially not –
“It is okay,” says Nabulungi.
“How could it be okay?” says Kevin. Biting at the inside of his cheek again. “It’s not okay.” He pokes his tongue at the torn flesh, flayed, white and bitty, wonders if it’ll heal, wonders if he wants it to heal. Mouth blistering with salt. “It’s not–”
“It is okay.” She sighs. “I am sorry if I pushed you, I just did not know if you realised–”
Kevin did realise.
Not that he was gay because he’s not (is he isn’t he what even is he) but because he’s always been different. Bright megawatt smile he puts on. Forcing his hands to be still when all he wants to do is twist them in knots. Making himself be what they want not what he wants. He realised he was different; just didn’t know how, just didn’t know it would extend to everything. That the inherent otherness of his being extended to his sexuality as well, that he’s not only broken in the head but in the body as well, that the sin of lust has tagged itself to the crux of his being.
He wipes at his face. Shouldn’t be crying. Nothing to cry about. No use crying over – over Elder McKinley, of all people.
“I don’t know,” he manages to get out. “What I feel. Does it even matter?”
“Eventually, yes,” says Nabulungi. “But not right now.”
Kevin swallows. “Why not right now?”
“What are you going to do with it now?”
“Nothing.”
“Exactly.”
Kevin’s shoulders lift up, though it’s more of a defeated death thrall than an honest attempt at trying to discern his feelings. “I just always thought I would go to hell. If I–”
“What were you telling Elder McKinley the other day?”
“That God wouldn’t send him to hell for liking boys–”
“So why would the rules be different for you?”
“Because I’m not… I’m not… I can’t be gay.”
“You can’t be?”
Kevin gives another hapless, helpless shrug. “No. I can’t be.”
“Because you were told that or because you decided that?”
Kevin gives her a withering look. “Why do you keep asking me so many questions?”
The corners of her lips quirk upwards into a rueful smile. She leans back, props her feet up on the coffee table. Kevin doesn’t follow suit. He’s folded inward squarely, rigid. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Yes,” says Kevin. “For… for today.”
She nods, pokes his cheek. “For today, fine. I just – you do know that it is okay. Whatever you are.”
Lump in his throat. Guilt, guilt, guilt. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
A head on his shoulder, soft hair spooling. Coconut oil. “It won’t,” agrees Nabulungi. “But it is the truth.”
***
On the way home, Kevin bumps into Mafala and Gotswana. He raises a brow at the sight of Gotswana – he swears Nabulungi said the doctor was sick – but waves politely anyway. Gotswana waves back at him, and ducks his head to whisper something into Mafala’s ear. Nabulungi’s father barks out a sharp laugh, and they carry on their way.
Knots in his stomach, like worms. Nothing feels any easier. He doesn’t have the answers. What he does have, however, is an indicator of the way the wind is blowing. Of what this is, why he cares so much, why he can’t let Elder McKinley’s stupid crush go. Doesn’t mean he has to like it.
***
Arnold is the one who makes it all make sense, because of course he is.
Mid-conversation, a few days later. He taps Kevin twice on the shoulder. “You know, I don’t even live that far away from you.”
Kevin stares at him blankly. “What? Yes. I know that. We share a room.”
“No, back home,” says Arnold. “You live like, twenty minutes away.”
“How do you know that?”
“I read your ID card,” says Arnold cheerfully. “But – my point is – my folks are chill as freak, for Mormons. My dad not really, but my mom is.”
“So?”
“So if your folks don’t like the person you are when this mission is over, there’s a home for you.”
“What?”
Arnold squints at him. “Kev. You’re not exactly a gleaming example of being LDS anymore. And like, not in a weird way, but your dad was so intense at the airport. I don’t know how he’ll feel about… this.” He gestures to Kevin’s unlooped tie. “Plus… anything else.”
“Anything–”
“Anything else that might come up.”
Kevin flinches, like a pint of cold water has just spilt down his back. “You spoke to Nabulungi, didn’t you.”
Arnold shrugs, unapologetic. “Maybe. I mean, I asked why you flew to her house in a hurry and then put the dots together. Wasn’t hard.”
Chills creep up his spine. He honestly doesn’t know how he feels about anything or if he’s even begun to accept the fact that he likes boys – he knows even less how he feels about Arnold knowing. “Do you–”
“Kevin, I used to draw art of me and Samwise kissing when I was fifteen,” Arnold says abruptly. “I had a crush on a boy I sat next to in high school because he liked Percy Jackson and also wore glasses. I don’t care if you like boys.”
“Oh.” Kevin swallows. “How are you so okay with that?”
“Like I said, I never read the Book of Mormon. I don’t care about rules like that, plus I just think it’s such bullpoop, you know? Like surely God doesn’t give two figs if you’re with a boy instead of a girl.”
“God did give two figs,” says Kevin, rubbing his eyes and thinking of Sodom.
“What did we say when we left the church? What happens after we die doesn’t matter. What matters is tomorrow. What we do whilst we’re here.”
“But if I burn in hell forever–”
“If you burn in hell forever then God is a dick,” says Arnold bluntly. “If that’s what God really wants his children to do, to deprive themselves of being in love because of some stupid book from a million years ago, then He’s a dick. Sorry not sorry.”
Kevin swallows. “But I don’t wanna go to hell.”
“You won’t go to hell,” Arnold says fiercely. “And – you know what. I’ll find a boy to kiss so I go with you. Nabulungi won’t mind.”
Kevin laughs, despite himself. “You – what?”
“I’ll make out with, I don’t know. Poptarts or something.” Arnold’s eyes gleam. “And you can pursue Elder McKinley knowing that you have a buddy when the demons get you.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. Why would you go to hell for kissing a guy?”
Arnold jabs him in the chest and Kevin almost jumps a foot in the air. “Exactly! Ex freaking actly! It makes noooo sense.”
“I guess,” says Kevin hesitantly. Something in his chest unfolds and relaxes. “I guess that’s sorta true.”
“It is so true. Trust me.”
“I just don’t think my – parents. Would see it that way.”
“Which is exactly why I need you to know that I have a spare room. Listen, Kev. You’ll be fine. Work out your feelings like a normal person. You and Elder McKinley – it doesn’t have to be anything, but don’t deprive yourself of having a harmless crush because you’re scared of getting smited or kicked out.”
Kevin swallows. “Okay,” is all he’s able to manage. “Thank you.”
“No prob, dog.” Arnold beams at him, and throws his hands out. “Hug?”
Arnold’s head barely comes up to under Kevin’s chin and it’s a bone-crushing hug, but the last of the tension unfolds from beneath his skin and for the first time, for the first time – thinking about the what if of how he’s feeling doesn’t immediately make him sense pichforks and smell burning.
***
“Elder McKinley,” Sadaka says hurriedly, and Connor has barely rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Elder McKinley, I know it is way too early, but there is an emergency.”
“Oh?” says Connor. He stretches in the doorway, long limbs brushing the frame. Spine clicking. Still so tired. “Oh, shoot. Is everything okay–”
“Two of your white boys are wandering around the village drunk,” says Sadaka, her lips pressed into a thin line. “It is not the end of the world but I think they are going to end up embarrassing themselves.”
Connor crosses his arms over his chest. Who broke curfew? He hadn’t heard the door open all night and he’d been awake for most of it, so – he has no idea. He’ll have to go check rooms, see which ones are empty – what is he going to do with this pair? They broke missionary rules, and standard rulings would probably determine that infringement to be their ticket home, but things are so so very different and also he’s fond of his boys, fond of them enough to forgive them for their transgressions, especially one as banal as this. That being said, he imagines that whatever they’re doing in the village is probably disruptive, considering Sadaka had walked the whole way here to tell him so.
“Why is it an emergency…?” he asks cautiously.
“They are just being loud and annoying and I think that if they do not stop in the next twenty minutes Mafala will make them wish they had never come here. I said I would get you because you seem like you would be kinder than Mafala.”
Connor’s face darkens. “I won’t be,” he says. “Give me five minutes, Sister.”
Sadaka gives him a thumbs-up, and he pulls the door shut. He hurries back to his room, dresses quickly. Chris is still asleep soundly in bed; Connor doesn’t bother waking him up. Connor does his rounds around the missionary quarters, room by room. He receives an answer for the culprits in the form of Elder Schrader and Elder Michaels having empty beds, and debates banging his head against the wall before leaving.
He’s stopped at the door by the shadowy form of Elder Price.
Kevin is dressed like he’s about to go for a run; black athletic shorts that hem at the thigh, a thin overshirt, sneakers. The sight makes Connor blush. Kevin offers him an awkward, stiff wave.
“Are you okay?” says Kevin.
Connor gestures towards the door. “Yes, but Elder Schrader and Michaels won’t be.”
“Ohhh. Did you find out about their plan to drink Mutumbo’s moonshine?”
Connor blanches. “You knew about this?”
“I think everybody knew about it,” says Kevin. “I thought you were being nice. Letting it slide.”
“Absoutely not.”
“No, of course not,” Kevin stretches, and the whole affair is obscene. Why are his legs so freaking long? It’s actually ridiculous, thinks Connor. There’s a point in the bend of his body where he thinks his hips should sit, but no, it’s just more fucking leg and surely, surely Kevin must be aware that he’s proportioned like a gangly giraffe, but he’s sorely unaware of the matter. “Can I come?”
Connor wants to say no. Very badly. No good will come of it.
“Why,” he says instead.
“I want to watch you yell at them,” says Kevin. “Sorry. Not very noble.”
Connor snorts. “Fine. Whatever.”
Kevin beams at him.
***
Elder Schrader and Elder Michaels are outside Middala’s home when they arrive; sitting in the grass. Elder Schrader stands up when they arrive and throws an arm over Connor’s shoulder; Connor flinches and shrinks in on himself.
“Sooooo good to see you,” blurs Elder Schrader, voice slurring. “You have got – got – got to play this game with us.”
“Elders,” says Connor, and throws Elder Schrader’s arm off. Schrader almost trips over at the whiplash. It’s odd to see him like this; Connor had thought he was quiet. Shy! “I suggest you come back with me, and then we can discuss next steps when you get back.”
“But we’re playing a game,” whines Michaels, and Connor has to stand on his tip-toes, raise his voice.
“Elders, you will come back to the missionary quarters, and you will come back now. Myself and Elder Price have been woken up at an ungodly hour of the morning to haul the pair of you back, and I refuse to stand outside any longer. You will come back, and it will be this second.”
Elder Schrader raises a hand, as if to disagree, and instead turns around and vomits into a bush. Elder Micahels watches him, gives a sluggish shrug, and scrapes himself off the grass to stand, staggering over to Connor with reproach in his gaze.
“Elder Mcmimley,” he mumbles.
“Not my name,” hisses Connor through gritted teeth.
“Elder Momkinley–”
“Also not my name.”
“Connor whatsitface, we’re sorry,” says Michaels. “I didn’t think you would – find out – and – you did, but we’re sorry.”
Connor crosses his arms. “It is not me you should be apologising to. But fine. Thank you. Help Elder Schrader up, and we can be on our way.”
***
Elder Schrader and Elder Michaels go on ahead; Connor finds himself hanging back with Kevin. Kevin gestures vaguely towards the pair, and makes a face. “So they’re in troubleeee,” he sing-songs it, for some reason. Stupid, ridiculous boy. Stupid, handsome boy.
“Heaps and heaps,” says Connor. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Isn’t that a sin,” Kevin blurts. “Drinking to excess… not having a sober mind… surely that bypasses what the Lord expects from us?”
“Well, yes,” agrees Connor.
“So how come you’re not throwing things at them.”
Connor frowns. “Kevin–”
Kevin balls his hands into fists. “They’re sinning just as much as you are.”
Thin-lipped smile. “He who is without sin can throw the first stone.”
Kevin jabs a finger in his direction. “Don’t quote scripture at me.”
“Stop bringing this up, then.”
Kevin stops dead in his tracks. Connor wonders if he’s tripped over something.
“What if,” says Kevin, in a very small voice. “What if it wasn’t just you who was having gay thoughts.”
Cold, cold. All through his body. His worst fear, paralysing him – he’s corrupted someone else, he’s ruined someone else, he’s a dirty, dirty sinner and he’s ruined Kevin freaking Price and he needs to–
Kevin’s hand on his wrist. He jerks away. Kevin frowns at him, reproachful. “You look like you’re freaking out.”
“I’m not,” says Connor in a brittle voice.
“It’s not the end of the world.”
“It really, very much is.” Connor pauses. “So. Who is it?”
Kevin squints at him like he’s stupid or something. “What?”
“Who is it?”
“Who is what?”
“Who is making you have gay thoughts?”
Kevin stares at him and stares at him. Until finally, click –
Oh.
“Me?” says Connor, incredulous. “Oh, no. No, no.”
“What do you mean no–”
“You don’t have gay thoughts about me.”
“I think that’s for me to say–”
“No, you don’t. That’s stupid.”
“I actually very much do–”
“Then don’t. Stop.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Why would you—“ Connor swallows. “Why would you want to?”
Kevin shrugs at him. “Because — it’s really not. The worst thing ever. And — it’s not hurting anybody.”
“Doesn’t make it okay—“
“I didn’t say I was gonna act on them,” whines Kevin. “I just thought you should know.”
Connor pauses. “You… don’t want to act on them?”
Because that’s his issue, that’s the core problem. He thinks about Kevin and there’s a squirrely part of his mind that wants to kiss him senseless, wants to stroke those silly dark locks of hair, wants to dig his fingers against Kevin’s side. Other parts just want to hold his hand.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”
“So you want to?”
Kevin makes a face. Flustered, maybe. “I… mean. Maybe. I don’t know.”
Connor starts walking again. Kevin jogs to catch him up.
“How could you not know,” says Connor. “That’s my whole issue. That I want to act on it.”
“I just don’t know what acting on it would look like,” says Kevin. “I just know that I think I have gay thoughts about you.”
“Why are you telling me this?” asks Connor, and his voice breaks.
Kevin runs a hand through his hair. “I just — I don’t know. I didn’t want you to think you were alone.”
“Oh, a relief. I’ve corrupted you as well—“
“Stop being dramatic for one second—“
“Oh! Me, dramatic—“
Kevin sighs sharply, and Connor goes silent.
“I just,” says Kevin slowly. “I’m not saying we should — hold hands and everything will be okay. But I don’t think I’m about to get smited for liking a boy, and I — do like you. Even if you’re mean to me sometimes. So if you wanted to act on how you feel then I want to find out what that looks like.”
Connor shudders in the sticky hot smog heat of Kitguli. “You want to find out?”
“Yeah,” says Kevin.
Connor runs his hand over his shirt, tightens his tie. He looks on ahead; the other two Elders are zig-zagging all over the path but they’re too far away to be in earshot.
“I don’t believe you like me,” he settles on saying. “And I don’t think that it’ll be any good, exploring these… feelings. We can’t go home like that. And I’m still — Kevin, I know you don’t think so, but it’s bad. Sinful. But…” he presses the dip of his knuckles against his chin. “We’ve already done bad enough things to end up in hell five times over. If being gay is the thing that seals that deal, then it was probably already going to happen.”
“So–”
“So maybe it’s not the worst evil to exist.”
Kevin smiles at him. “Good. Okay.” He pauses. “Wait, what do you mean I don’t believe you like me…”
“I mean that exactly. You’re…” Connor gestures at him. “You’re Kevin Price.”
“Yeah,” says Kevin, sounding confused. “And?”
“And you’re – there is no way in heck that somebody like you could have gay thoughts about someone like me.”
“Who are you to decide that?”
“Because between us I’ve been having gay thoughts for longer so I’m really the authority on–”
“Oh, that’s bullshit,” snaps Kevin. “I have gay thoughts for you and I’m sure about that.”
“Yes, but –” Connor’s shoulders hitch up. “Why?”
“I don’t know–”
“Exactly–”
“No, I don’t know why. I just know that–” Kevin’s face is very red, blotchy and pink, and he keeps looking back at Connor. Assessing the situation. He’s walking quicker than Connor, like this is something he can outpace. “I just know that whenever I think about the fact you like me I think I’m on the edge of a panic attack but maybe like, in a good way. And that I keep dreaming about you and that your jokes make me laugh way more than they should and that I really, really want to touch your hair.”
“Oh,” Connor manages. He almost abruptly halts; manages to remind his legs that they’re connected to his brain just in time. “Oh. You’re– dreaming –”
Kevin turns around. “You knew about that.”
“Yes, but that was weeks ago,” says Connor. “That was a gay dream? I asked you as a joke.”
“Yes! Yes, of course you were there in a -- homosexual capacity,” squawks Kevin.
“What was I doing,” asks Connor, though he’s not sure if he wants to know.
“I’ll tell you – not now – soon.” Kevin gets out. He gestures on ahead, waves back to Connor. “Are we – okay? You’re not going to keep ordering me away?”
“Only if you annoy me.”
“I never annoy you.”
“Just because I like you, Kevin Price…” Connor says, and it’s the first time he’s alluded to liking Kevin and not feeling guilt crushing his chest with the weight of a thousand bricks.
Kevin grins at him over his shoulder. “Youuu likeeee me,” he sounds gleeful about it, childish.
Connor pokes out his tongue. “You like me too, Price.”
Kevin doesn’t stop smiling. Connor feels like he should tell him to stop or something but it’s a beautiful sight and in the moment, he doesn’t mind allowing it to blind him.
***
“Kevinnnn,” says Arnold.
It’s closer to midnight than it is to daybreak, and Kevin has given up on sleeping. Insomnia has trailed him like a dog after a rabbit, inescapable, refusing to stop. He’s flat on his back, hands clasped together. As if in prayer. He used to fall asleep praying, back when the Church was the only thing going for him –
“Arnold,” Kevin sighs. “What?”
“You are awake.”
“Yeah,” says Kevin.
“I didn’t know for sure if you were or not.” Arnold pauses. “Psttt. Did you think? About what I said?”
“Which… which thing?” They’ve had a dozen conversations in the past week about everything under the sun; Kevin can hardly keep track of them.
“The gay thing.”
“Oh,” says Kevin. “Oh. A little, I guess.”
“And?”
“And – I don’t know. Maybe you’re right.” He pauses. “I told Elder McKinley.”
“You told Elder McKinley–”
“That I was having gay thoughts,” says Kevin. “For him.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, he disagreed with me. And then I think he was fine with it?”
“So… are you dating?”
Kevin rolls onto his side. Arnold is facing his bed, and his eyes are bright in the dark. It’s odd seeing his face not framed with glasses; eyes not bugging owlishly. “What?” Kevin manages.
“If you like each other… I just assumed…”
Kevin swallows. “We’re not. I don’t think either of us want that.”
“You don’t think?”
Kevin thinks about it, for a moment. His perspective of dating and relationships in general is very, very sheltered. He had a few friends with girlfriends when he was in high school but they were surface-level friends with surface-level girlfriends. They went for drives together, late nights at Swig or movie theatres. Hugged between class periods. Held hands in the hallway. Didn’t kiss, not ever. “You know it just leads to temptation,” one of Kevin’s friends had said. “Really, you’re doing things the best way. If you’re not dating anyone, there’s no temptation there to snare you in the first place.”
He thinks about holding hands with Elder McKinley. Is McKinley even the holding hands type? Would they hold hands? Surely his palm would get dreadfully sweaty. Or – or watching a movie, cuddling together, heads on shoulders. The thought gives him shivers, dreadful heart palpitations. It’s a sickenly nice idea, actually – he likes Arnold hugging him and Nabulungi kicking her feet up and resting them in his lap and any kind of gentle, well-intended physical affection. He just can’t see McKinley wanting that. He’s tactile and touchy in his own way, but all fleeting and glancing. He’d held Kevin’s hand when they’d first arrived, hand on his shoulder the first few days, but after that –
What he does know is that he likes McKinley. Likes his company. There’s a natural ease between them; conversation flows like wine or water. Occasionally, it feels more like trekking through quicksand sludge, but mostly because Kevin continuously puts his foot in it and is blunt when it’s probably not what the situation calls for. He knows he likes McKinley and knows that he’s dreamed about holding his hand and more than that – scary, terrifying things he doesn’t want to explore, not yet, or even at all. He knows that he wants to know more about him, his first name, if he has any siblings, what he used to do on a Saturday night back home. If he likes popcorn with butter or salt. How long it took him to get the hang of complicated algebra and what it took for him to train to be district leader and if he’s as scared of the future as Kevin is. Maybe that’s what dating is. Getting to know someone better, seeing how it goes.
“Maybe,” Kevin says evenly. “Maybe I’d want that.”
“Have you… told him that?”
“No,” says Kevin. “I didn’t realise until just now.”
“Sometimes I feel like I need to join you everywhere so I can go wooohooo Kevin, here’s the situation, how do we feel about this!” says Arnold, grinning in the dark. “That’s amazing, though. We can go on double-dates.”
“Oh,” Kevin says. “That would be–”
“The best ever? Right. I know.”
“Yeah, sure,” Kevin rolls over agin. It’s hot, but it’s always hot. Sheets sticking to his skin. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnightttttt,” sings Arnold.
***
He dreams that night of a bedroom: four white wallpapered walls, candles lit, scent of lavender and cherries. Patterned bedspread, clean and fresh. McKinley sits on the bed and Kevin walks into the room, approaching him slowly. Kevin leans in, kisses him gently on the forehead. McKinley sighs, a contented-cat sort of sigh, and then Kevin wakes up.
***
“Dude, seriously?” whines Elder Michaels. Connor has his hands dug deep into his pockets; there’s a nondescript bit of lint buried deep. “What do you mean I can’t leave the missionary quarters for threeeee whole days, that’s insane.”
“Elder Schrader has the exact same punishment, and he didn’t say a word.”
“Elder Schrader is scared of you,” says Elder Michels. “Elder McKinley. Listen. A lot of us just – don’t think that the rules are that important anymore? We’re ignoring so many of them. Why should drinking and curfew matter.”
Connor pinches his nose. “Do you think I care that you and Schrader got drunk? I don’t care about that. What I care about is the fact that you were loud enough that Sadaka had to fetch me to get you.”
Michaels pauses. “Oh,” he says. “Oh. I didn’t know we were being that loud–”
“Evidently not,” sighs Connor. “If you’d gotten drunk in the kitchen or something, I wouldn’t have cared. But we need to focus on the scripture we’ve been taught that still matters, the scripture that will make tomorrow a better day for everyone. And sometimes loving thy neighbour means actually just not being a nuisance to our neighbour.”
Michaels nods slowly. “Ugh. You’re so responsible. It’s horrible.”
“Why do you think they made me district leader,” Connor says with a thin smile. “Right. Off you go. Next time, try and be more subtle about it…?”
Michaels rolls his eyes and goes to open the door. He pauses, hand on the handle, turns back around. “Elder Price is waiting outside. Should I send him in?”
Connor freezes. He feels the ridiculous need to ask Elder Michaels if his hair looks okay, if there’s anything in his teeth. “Sure,” he says, “Go for it.”
Michaels nods. There’s sounds of shuffling and then Kevin is awkwardly craning his way into the office. He’s way too tall for his own good, thinks Connor. If the room was any smaller, his head would brush the ceiling. Connor is tall, too, taller than the rest of his boys, but compared to Kevin –
“Hey,” says Kevin, waving. “Sorry. Are you busy?”
“Not anymore,” Connor says breezily. “Why?”
“I wanted to talk to you about – something –” Kevin looks around. “Maybe I should close the door.”
Connor raises a brow. “What… is the something?”
Kevin shifts from foot to foot. “Same thing as usual.”
“I thought we were on the same page.”
“I thought so too, but I spoke to Arnold, and–” Kevin wrings his hands in front of him. “How – would you feel – if I said I was thnking about dating you.”
Connor stares at him. “...what?”
“I mean, I like you. That isn’t a shock, I just – I don’t know. Maybe it would be nice to give it a go.”
“You… you want to date me,” Connor says. “In northern Uganda? On our mission?”
Kevin shrugs. “I want to get to know you better. I mean, I don’t even know your first name–”
“It’s Connor.”
“Connor. And I’ve never dated anyone before, and – I don’t know. You like me too, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” says Connor.
“And you thought about acting on it.”
“Thinking and living in sin are two different things–”
“I don’t think it’s a sin,” says Kevin. He’s stood awkwardly in the doorframe, pressing his fingertips together. “I think if it is, then – I don’t want to worship that God. But God is – God is good, so I don’t think it’s a sin.”
“But the Bible says–”
“It’s old, it’s an old old book. Meaning can get lost in translation,” it sounds like something Arnold has definitely said to him before. “Don’t you – think?”
Connor swallows. “Kevin, I really don’t know what I think.”
“Then just – think about it. You don’t have to decide now,” Kevin says. “It just might work out to be something good.”
***
Two days of thinking. Two days of dreaming.
Connor walks up to Kevin making a morning cup of coffee, sucks in a deep breath, leans in close, but not that close. Just so he can drop his voice and know he won’t be overheard. “Yes,” says Connor.
“Yes what? Yes you’ll try coffee?”
Connor rolls his eyes. “No, Kevin. I’ll date you.”
Kevin probably smiles at him, but Connor doesn’t look.
He still hurts to watch when he’s smiling.