Just Hear Me

  Written by L.A. Witt

  Based on the Father Project by Tooji

  Copyright Information

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

  Copyright © 2016 L.A. Witt

  Editor: Jules Robin

  Cover Art by Lori Witt

  Images from The Father Project provided by Tooji and used with permission.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact L.A. Witt at gallagherwitt@gmail.com

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  This short story was inspired by The Father Project. While Tooji has given me permission to write it, and has provided some input along the way, he has graciously let me have free rein to interpret and portray the characters and story as I see fit. Any shortcomings are mine.

  I’d also like to take this opportunity to thank Tooji for allowing me to write this story and to use images from the video for the cover. The Father Project is a beautiful piece of film, and it has been a tremendous honor and a pleasure to interpret it in this medium.

  From a fan and a friend—thank you.

  Chapter 1

  The church must have been centuries old. It was huge and imposing, looming above the modern street with high walls built from stacks of cold gray stone like a fortress. It seemed less like a house of worship and more like a barrier meant to keep out enemies and evil while nestling the flock safely inside.

  Any other day, Darius would’ve walked right by without giving the building a second look. Normally, he’d have no business in a place like that, and even today’s biting autumn wind wouldn’t be enough to drive him inside.

  But this church had taken something from him, and he was here not necessarily to reclaim it, but to ask why.

  Why did I wake up alone that day?

  Why didn’t you say goodbye?

  Why, Jordan?

  Darius’s gaze slid toward the sign on the wrought iron gate. It probably had all the usual pertinent details—the church’s name and denomination. Service times. Maybe a notice about an upcoming wedding or a baptism. Some piece of scripture meant to inspire love or fear or whatever it was the church wanted from people these days. Anything else a church felt the need to broadcast on a yellowing sign.

  None of that registered in Darius’s mind. The only letters that made it from his eyes to his brain made his fists clench inside the long sleeves of his coat.

  Fr. Jordan Solheim.

  Below that:

  All Welcome.

  He snorted. Yeah, right. Something told him All didn’t include long lost skeletons from the good vicar’s closet.

  Well, Darius hadn’t expected to feel welcome. He’d come here for answers, not warmth. After five long years, he’d made it this far, and he wasn’t turning back until he had those answers.

  Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.

  I can do this. I will do this.

  Then he started up the path toward the church. As he ascended the stone steps to the giant wooden doors, the music from inside raised the hairs on his neck. The hymns probably sounded warm and inviting to the congregation, but like the church itself, they had quite the opposite effect on him. At least he wouldn’t be showing up right in the middle of the sermon.

  He didn’t want to hear the sermon or the hymns, but he needed some time, even just a few moments, to get used to breathing the same air as Jordan again. All he had to do was slip in during a song and take a seat in a pew at the back. From there, he’d listen to whatever Jordan had to say before Jordan—whether he liked it or not—was going to hear what he had to say.

  Dozens of scenarios had been playing out in his mind over the past few weeks while he’d tried to work up the nerve to come here. Now, with nothing but a door and a church service separating him from Jordan, all those scenarios swirled through his brain. Maybe Jordan would be happy to see him, but Darius wasn’t holding his breath.

  Maybe he’d be annoyed. Hurt. Angry.

  Too surprised to feel anything.

  Maybe he wouldn’t even recognize Darius.

  That thought made Darius’s stomach lurch. Of all the possibilities, he decided that was the most painful one: Jordan looking at him blankly with no idea who he was. That didn’t seem likely, though. A lot of time had gone by, but the two of them had way too much history to just forget it like that.

  You’d better recognize me, you bastard. Darius clenched his jaw. I didn’t spend half a decade hurting like this while you moved on like it was nothing.

  The thought of Jordan gleefully going on with a clear conscience made his teeth grind. The fresh anger was no surprise. In fact, all the way here, he’d focused on the fury that had been simmering for the last five years. The alternative had been to think of every way this could go wrong, and then he’d lose his nerve. So he’d concentrated on all that rage to get him this far and hoped like hell it kept him going.

  Hand on the door, he took another deep breath and hauled all those feelings back to the surface. Renewed anger swelled in his chest. He was definitely not turning back. Not until that son of a bitch explained a fucking thing or two and listened to a few more.

  Then he pulled open the door, thankful the aging hinges didn’t shriek and cause every head to turn. His entrance had already attracted more than enough attention—he’d barely stepped inside before, from across the sanctuary, he saw him.

  Jordan stood at the pulpit, looking every bit the respectable clergyman in his green, gold, and white robes, but also every bit the blond-haired blue-eyed kid who’d left their shared bed cold. His once clean-shaven jaw was covered in a short, neat beard, and even from here, it was obvious time had sharpened his soft cheekbones. He’d grown up. Beautifully.

  Their eyes met. Jordan’s lips parted. Oh yes. He recognized him.

  Instantly, all of Darius’s anger evaporated. His chest ached like it had that morning five years ago. Where the fuck did you go? melted into a pitiful plea of Just tell me why.

  And in the same instant, Jordan’s expression changed too. Surprise raised his eyebrows, but then his features hardened. His lips tightened and his eyes narrowed. He said something to the choir director and then started down from the pulpit. As he strode down the aisle between the sparsely crowded pews, a few heads turned, but Darius didn’t look at them. His gaze was fixed on Jordan, who glared at him with an intensity he’d never seen before.

  As soon as Jordan was close enough to be heard by Darius and only Darius, he snarled, “Get out of here.”

  Darius hadn’t realized how much the sound of Jordan’s voice would hit him in the gut. That, coupled with the terse dismissal, made his breath catch. He was still taken aback by his own emotional one-eighty, and he couldn’t process Jordan’s anger. Or his presence. Or his words. He couldn’t respond. Stand up for himself. Demand what he’d come here to demand.

  Last time I saw you, you still loved me.

  “Hello to you too,” he finally managed, injecting just enough sarcasm to mask the hurt and unsteadiness.

  Jordan halted less than an arm’s length away. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you.” Darius swallowed. “I need to talk to you.”

  “No.” Jordan shook his head. “There’s nothing for us to talk about.”

  “There’s plenty for us to—”

  “Get out, Darius.”

  The sound of Jordan saying his name chipped away at his resolve, but Darius pushed out a breath. “Please. After the service, can we just—”

  “No. Anything that happened between us was five years ago.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Darius growled, “And it still hurts after five years, so I need—”

  “You need to let it go,” Jordan said through his teeth. “You need to leave.”

  “Like you did?” Darius fired back.

  “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. That’s why I’m here.” He stepped closer and started to speak again, but Jordan stopped him with a hand on his chest, and Darius couldn’t breathe. That contact was the opposite of Jordan’s affectionate, passionate touches, but it flooded Darius’s mind with their intimate shared past.

  “Please,” he whispered. “Just tell me—”

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” Jordan jerked his hand back. “Especially after all this time.”

  “So there’s a time limit on hurting your best friend? A statute of limitations?”

  “You didn’t leave me a choice. You were leading me down a dangerous path and—”

  “Leading you?” Darius narrowed his eyes. “Last I checked, you could lead a horse to an erect dick, but you couldn’t make

him—”

  “You need to leave,” Jordan growled.

  “Jordan, would you just listen to—”

  “No. I won’t.”

  “I just want to talk to you.”

  “Go.”

  “For God’s sake, why won’t you—”

  The music changed.

  Jordan glanced over his shoulder. “I have to go.” He pointed at the door behind Darius. “And so do you.”

  “Why? Because I’m gay?” Darius tightened his jaw. “Or because you are?”

  Whoa. He’d never seen so much hatred in those blue eyes, and it took his breath away even before Jordan snarled, “Enough. We’re done here.”

  He didn’t give Darius a chance to respond. In a flurry of green and white robes, he turned and stalked back up the aisle without looking back. A few people threw glances toward Darius, their expressions puzzled, but then Jordan took his place in front of them. He pushed his shoulders back, put on a smile, and started his sermon as if nothing had happened. His voice was steady and gentle and calm without a trace of venom and carried throughout the cavernous church, echoing along the high rafters and stone walls.

  Darius stayed in the vestibule for a moment, reeling from just being in the same space as Jordan. Somehow that hurt even more than the rejection. Like the bandage had been ripped off and the wound reopened, and now he was alone all over again. He couldn’t make out the words of the sermon. All he heard in Jordan’s practiced preacher’s voice was “Get out.”

  And now that all was said and done—what else could he do?

  With his heart in his throat, he turned and walked back out the door.

  The cold hit him in the face and stung his eyes. Each step down the stone stairs felt like defeat, but he didn’t stop until he reached the sidewalk. There was a bus stop there, but Darius needed to get farther away than that.

  So, with his hands deep in his coat pockets and his face nestled into his collar, he kept his gaze down and walked as fast as he could without breaking into a run.

  Eventually, he lifted his head and looked around. The church was far behind him now. Safely out of sight. Somehow he could still hear hymns ringing in his ears and feel Jordan’s voice echoing alongside his heartbeat, but he didn’t imagine those would go away any time soon. At least he was out of that building and far enough away to catch his breath.

  Slower now, he continued down the road until he found a different bus stop, and when the bus arrived, he settled into a seat and rested his forehead against the cold window. As the bus pulled away from the curb, Darius couldn’t keep his mind from wandering back to the last time he’d seen Jordan.

  * * *

  The bed was barely big enough for both of them, but they made do. It wasn’t as if they were ever far enough apart to need the whole mattress anyway. After all, this was the only place where they could be this close. Anywhere else, they didn’t get close at all. They had to stay at arm’s length so no one would notice.

  It was here in Darius’s apartment that they made up for all that lost space and time.

  They weren’t having sex right then. They had earlier, and he had no doubt they would again, but in that moment, they were simply…there. Jordan sat against the headboard, and Darius leaned against him while Jordan’s hands ran all over him—perfection. Over the past few weeks, this had become Darius’s favorite thing in the world, and the two of them could stay like this for hours. Sometimes talking. Sometimes kissing. Always close enough for Jordan’s body heat to mingle with his.

  Darius smiled to himself as he cuddled closer. He loved the fact that Jordan’s hands were never still for very long. If they weren’t running up Darius’s arm, they were trailing along his thigh or his side or over his stomach. The warm, feather-light touch was addictive, and Darius had gladly let himself get hooked.

  On the bedside table, Jordan’s phone buzzed, startling them both and reminding Darius that a world still existed outside this room.

  Jordan swore under his breath. “What now?” He lifted his hand, leaving a cool spot on Darius’s arm, and reached away from him to look at the phone. Then, grumbling something under his breath, he put it facedown again, and they resumed their close cuddling. Except Jordan suddenly felt distant. His hands didn’t move so much. His arms were looser around Darius, his body tense in a way it hadn’t been a moment ago.

  “What’s wrong?” Darius asked. As if he didn’t know—that distance meant Jordan’s conscience was nagging at him, which meant…

  “My mother.”

  Surprise, surprise. “What does she want?”

  “Nothing important.”

  Darius didn’t press. It was probably just a benign text message. Jordan’s mother was always messaging him about something or another. Sometimes Darius wondered if it was just a way of constantly tugging his mind back home, as if to remind him of his family and the virtuous path waiting for him outside of whatever den of sin might have tempted him on a given day.

  Heart sinking and good mood evaporating, Darius watched his fingers drift along Jordan’s forearm. “Your family still doesn’t know, do they?”

  Jordan sighed. “They can’t know.” He trailed his fingers up and down Darius’s chest. “They think this is a sin.”

  “Do you agree with them?”

  Jordan fell silent. His hand stopped, and his whole body seemed extra tense all of a sudden. Rigid like he couldn’t decide between staying next to Darius or pulling away. He breathed slowly, but even those long, steady breaths weren’t convincing. It was as if he were trying to appear relaxed when he was anything but.

  Darius twisted around and took Jordan’s hand. “Look at me.”

  Those beautiful blue eyes flicked up and met his.

  Darius took a breath. “Do you agree with them?”

  “I don’t know, to be honest.” Jordan touched Darius’s face. “I wish… I wish there was an easy answer to any of this.”

  In Darius’s mind, there was, except he knew how much Jordan’s faith and family meant to him. Finding a happy medium where those things and this thing could exist peacefully… there was no easy answer for that.

  Jordan kissed him softly. “Everything about this feels right. And it always has.” He traced Darius’s cheekbone with his thumb. In an innocent, almost childlike whisper, he said, “But what if we’re wrong?”

  Darius clasped his hand over Jordan’s and pressed a soft kiss to his palm. “How can we be?”

  “Because this isn’t what a priest should be… Because the Bible…” Sighing again, Jordan trailed off. “We both know what it says.”

  Avoiding Jordan’s eyes, Darius pressed his lips together. They’d had that debate several times, and it hadn’t been pretty. He knew what the church thought the Bible said, and he knew what he’d actually read. He knew what interpretation Jordan’s deeply religious family had forced down his throat while not-so-gently pushing him toward the priesthood. The only variable seemed to be which of the two Jordan believed. Sometimes he seemed to realize there was nothing forbidden about this. And sometimes Darius felt doubt pulling him away. He never once believed that Jordan didn’t love him. The only question he had was if that was enough.

  “I know this is hard.” Jordan held Darius tighter and stroked his hair. “People will see someday. Times are changing.”

  “But is the church changing?”

  “Slowly. Love isn’t wrong. It’s never wrong.”

  Of course it isn’t. But do you really believe that?

  The only thing he knew for sure was that he loved Jordan. Nothing else made sense—not his own family’s homophobia, not the doctrine that kept Jordan’s family from accepting either of them, not the way they’d all crawled under Jordan’s skin and made him second guess himself and this relationship. Nothing made sense except the way Darius felt for Jordan.

  Eyes closed, he held Jordan tighter.

  All I can do is hope you feel the same way about me.

 

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