Chapter Text
Ivan coughed.
The air in the room was heavy. Too heavy.
The smoke burned his eyes and he couldn't see much except the bright light of the chandelier above him in the room. His lungs were burning. The air around him was suffocating.
He blinked rapidly. His eyelashes were damp. The chandelier blurred into a halo of gold.
“Ivan ?”
A voice. Light. Just next to him. But it sounded far away, filtered through smoke and murmured prayers.
He turned his head to try and look at the person who was talking to him. He only saw a kind of tall shape, slightly feminine, cutting through the smoke.
“Y-yes ?”, he tried to answer. His voice cracked, choked by the cloud of white around him.
The shape moved closer.
He could now distinguish the long skirt and the shawl of his stepmother. Her gloved hands were folded in front of her.
He still used that word(stepmother), even though she wanted him to use “Mom” or “Mama”. He called her “Mrs Unsha” sometimes.
She knelt slowly so that her face aligned with his. Even kneeling, she seemed taller than him.
Her face came into focus: it was smooth, carefully powdered. A soft roundness to her cheeks suggested comfort and wealth. But her lips were thin—pressed in a straight line—and she had little piercing eyes that seemed to want to break into his soul instead of making him feel safe.
“You served the mass very well today, Ivan.” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Her palm was cold through the fabric of his white shirt.
Ivan swallowed. He had practiced carrying the candle without shaking. He had practiced walking slowly. He had practiced not looking tired. He liked being told he did well.
But something in her tone made his stomach tighten.
The incense drifted between them, softening the edges of her face. He coughed even more. He was still trying to keep his eyes on hers through the haze. It's like…he was going to fall asleep…or was he already sleeping ?
“And…” she kept going. “You know that…if you ever feel like you want to talk to me about something, you can, you know that, right ?”
Her voice was calm. But still clear enough not to be blurred by the sound of the organ behind them.
Ivan frowned his eyebrows. He didn't see what she was talking about. There was nothing he wanted to tell her.
He searched in his mind quickly. He hadn’t broken anything... He hadn’t lied... He hadn’t stolen anything... He had prayed...
“I…I don't–”
She cut him off by pressing a finger gently on his lips, “Shh…it's okay if you don't know yet. You just must know that you can talk to us. And we'll help you.” Her other hand reached up and brushed a strand of black hair behind his ear. Her fingers were cold. The movement was almost tender.
“You’re a smart boy,” she said softly. “You’ll understand when it happens.”
The organ swelled behind them. Voices rose together in prayer.
The incense thickened around them.
“Sometimes,” she went on, “children discover things inside themselves that are… not from God.”
Ivan’s chest tightened.
He didn’t know what that meant. And it scared him a little.
She stroked his cheeks, cupping them in her hands, “You are a very smart kid. And I believe that you won't do anything bad. And you can discover…‘new feelings’. Strange ones.”
Her eyes sharpened slightly.
“Especially between boys.”
The word boys made something in him flinch. She had stressed on the word with a weird tone in her voice.
He stared at her, confused.
She smiled.
“It can happen by accident. A temptation. The world is full of them. But we are not falling into them, are we ?”
He shook his head.
She nodded.
“Good. And if you ever feel something like that… you must come to us immediately. You must know that it's not something that you have to keep for yourself. It has to be shared with people you trust. Dad, me,...God made us all beautiful, but things might dirty us from the inside. If you ever feel something like that, then you must tell us right away.”
The words felt heavier than the rest.
“Before it grows,” she continued. “And before it rottens inside you.”
Rotten.
She leaned slightly closer. He could smell her perfume beneath the incense — something floral, expensive and artificial.
“God forgives boys who tell the truth, Ivan,” she whispered. “Not the ones who hide.”
He felt too hot. She was too close.
“I don’t want you carrying something like that alone,” she added with a tone that wanted to be gentle but tried too much. “You understand? It's nothing to fear. But you don't have to live with it, Ivan. It has to be taken care of and...cured. To be sure that it doesn't rotten your mind."
Again that word.
“Whatever it is, you have to talk about it. You'll know when it happens, you're a smart boy. When you'll feel like that,” she pressed on the word, “you'll know what I'm talking about. If you ever feel something toward another boy that makes your heart beat differently… if you look at him and feel something… warm or curious… you must tell us. And we'll be here to help you get over it.”
Her smile widened faintly.
“We will take care of it.”
Take care of it.
Like a stain.
Like a sickness.
“Boys are not meant to feel that way about each other,” she added gently. “It's not what God wanted. It's dirty.”
Ivan’s palms were sweating.
He didn’t know what feeling she meant.
But suddenly he was terrified of ever having it.
“Do you understand?” she asked.
He nodded quickly, not knowing what else to do. He didn't understand everything but by the way she was saying it, it must have been something important.
But he understood that not agreeing would be worse.
She smiled—coldly, like if it was out of duty.
“Good boy. Perfect.”
She stood up slowly and extended her hand.
He placed his smaller hand in hers.
Her grip tightened—not painfully, but firmly enough that he felt like he couldn’t pull away.
The incense had thickened again, curling around them. The stained-glass windows dissolved into smears of red, yellow and blue light. The silhouettes of kneeling bodies around him were blurred by the white haze. It was like a dream where only she and him were part of.
The scent was suffocating.
His senses were drowned by the atmosphere.
He was seeing white, tasting the incense, feeling the heavy atmosphere, smelling the smoke, hearing the prayers and chants around him…
Ivan’s eyes burned. Tears slipped down his cheeks and he wiped them away quickly.
His stomach felt cold and a knot had formed there.
He didn't know why exactly.
But years later, when he would stand outside under a clear afternoon sky, he would remember this room.
Even with no incense.
Even with no smoke.
Just with the sunlight spilling across the pavement.
Till’s grey hair would catch that light and turn almost silver. Wind would push it away from his face. He would laugh at something he would have said. He would roll his eyes at something stupid.
And Ivan’s heart would beat faster.
Not suffocate.
Just beat faster.
Warmth would rush to his cheeks.
His stomach would flip in a way that was good but terrifying at the same.
And suddenly—
The church would come back.
The smoke.
The word rotten.
The cold fingers against his cheeks.
You’ll know when it happens.
His breath would shorten.
This is it.
This is what she meant.
This is the thing that dirties.
He would look at Till — sunlight in his hair, careless and alive — and feel something beautiful.
And immediately hate himself for it.
Because the first time anyone had spoken to him about this—
They had called it a sickness.
And now it was blooming inside him.