August sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The bruise on his cheek had faded to an ugly yellowish-purple, but the memory of his father's handprint remained vivid in his mind. The church elders had told him he was broken, that his feelings were unnatural, that he needed to pray harder for God to fix him. He'd knelt for hours, repeating their prescribed prayers while his parents looked on with grim satisfaction. But no amount of prayer could make him stop thinking about the way his heart raced when he was with him.

Outside his window, the night breeze rustled the oak tree branches. His room felt like a prison cell, the heavy wooden door locked from the outside. The house was silent except for the occasional creak of the floorboards from his parents' room down the hall. They were probably lying awake, vigilant against any sign of further 'sinfulness' from their only son.

Tap. Tap-tap. August froze. The sound was barely audible over the blood rushing in his ears. Tap-tap-tap. It was coming from his window. Impossible, he thought. No one knew he was here, locked away like some dangerous criminal. He stood slowly, his legs trembling as he crossed the room. When he reached the window, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the latch. What if it was a trick? What if his parents had devised some cruel test to see if he was truly repentant?

Another series of taps, more insistent this time. With a trembling hand, August slid the latch open and lifted the window a crack. The night air rushed in, cool and带着湿意, carrying with it the faint scent of pine. And there, silhouetted against the moonlit sky, was his face. August's breath caught in his throat.