Unless you could win. "Kurt?" Winced when the muted call bounced through pillars, down from the arched ceiling. "Here." She found his aisle – he was the only person seated – and slid down the pew, keeping that bit of respectable distance between them. Just being here, in this space, with the statues of the baby Jesus and Virgin Mary staring benevolently down at them in white marble purity – tangible reminders of human frailty and mortality – was enough to give her the creeps. She'd had enough of statues dedicated in her honor to last a lifetime. Still, the stained-glass windows were pretty, if somewhat incongruous. She didn't associate religion with color – quite the opposite, in fact. "Service is about to start," she said softly, glancing once more about the church with a slight shudder. "A moment, only." Kurt's smile was soft, lips moving in silent prayer as his fingers flew over the beads of the worn rosary. She wanted to ask what he was saying, ask him to say it out loud, but stayed silent. Perhaps saying the words in this space would give them more weight. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to be caught up in that spell. Instead, she studied Kurt's bowed head, the half-closed eyes, indigo skin glowing with some sort of inner beauty, raised tattoos barely visible beneath his collar. Fascinated, despite herself. There was something so child-like about him most of the time, something so pure. She wanted to ask him how he retained that purity in spite of his self-confessed sins and visible scars, but couldn't find the words. To ask such a question in this hushed space seemed a little like sacrilege. Kurt patted the space next to him when he was finished and she scooted over gratefully, happy to be away from the sightless gaze of the statues. "Why do you pray for her?" Winced at how harsh her voice sounded. "Because they will not." Kurt shifted slightly, half-facing her, yellow eyes compassionate. Sliding into defenses, breaking down carefully erected barriers. "Too busy denying." "Denying what?" "Fate." No, it wasn't fate. It was bravado, courage, desperation...and she swallowed, blinking back the unexpected tears. Thought she'd cried them all the long night before in the privacy of her room. "I don't believe in fate," she said, proud when her voice only wavered slightly. "You may not believe, but she did." Kurt smiled again, showing a brief flash of jagged teeth. His hand closed over hers, warm and reassuring, indigo blending against cocoa, creating its own kind of beauty. Far better colors than those in the glass, far more real. "I pray for her because she understood faith." "How can you say that?" She kept her eyes firmly fixed to the small, ornate tattoo ridged in the webbing between Kurt's thumb and forefinger, wondered which sin it represented. "You didn't even know her." "I knew enough." "Did you?" Kurt's hand barely brushed over her hair, the motion stirring the air between them. "I know what I know." Her breath caught, held. "Which is?" Moist air between them when he leaned in, so close she could see that his skin wasn't really indigo – more of a muted violet. "I want to add you to my list of sins." Heart stuttering, stumbling in her chest. "Just another tattoo to add to all the others?" she asked, searching piercing eyes. "No." The space between their lips was an afterthought. "I want to imprint you under my skin. Everywhere." She parted her lips to say...something. Anything. Break the spell, remind him of his faith, her lack of belief, his purity, the service, their friends... But the motion brushed her skin against his, and the air mutated again, crackled, heated and thick. Energy, static, raising the hairs on her arms, singing in her blood. "I don't – " Except she did.
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