Patrick shouldn't be here. He knew that better than anyone.

The church in town was one of those places that seemed untouchable, almost too sacred for someone like him. Red brick, stained-glass windows, polished wooden pews—everything had an orderliness that didn't fit with the chaos of his life.

He'd never been religious, had never even thought about being, and yet here he was, sitting in the back pew, trying not to look so out of place. The scent of polished wood and incense clung to the air, foreign and unwelcoming.

He hadn't come to pray. He'd come to see him.

The pastor's son was at the altar, intent on organizing some papers, his fingers running through the pages with precision. His hair was in its usual place, impeccable, as if every strand knew exactly where it belonged. The light blue dress shirt, the kind eyes, the way he smiled and tilted his head as he spoke to a deacon—everything about him seemed perfectly put together.

Untouchable.

And Patrick hated how much he wanted to touch him.

It was a silent obsession, growing slowly, in the most annoying way possible. At first, it was just curiosity. This kid, the pastor's son, the town's model son, always so proper and polite—how would he react to the chaos of someone like Patrick?

So Patrick started testing. He would walk around the school talking loudly near him, trying to make funny jokes, helping old ladies carry bags at the grocery store just to see if he would notice. He wanted him to see something beyond the reputation he carried.

And he did.

That was what disoriented him the most. Unlike the rest of the town, he didn't look at Patrick like a walking problem. He didn't treat him like a mistake waiting to happen. There was something in the way he looked—not with fear, not with contempt, but with a patience and curiosity that Patrick didn't know how to deal with.

No one had ever looked at him like that before.

And that was exactly why Patrick felt like he was screwed.

He couldn't like him. He couldn't afford that. He was unattainable, in every way possible. The family, the social status, the perfection molded from birth. Pastor Miller would never let his son get involved with someone like Patrick. The man didn't care that his son liked boys—that wasn't even the problem. The problem was him. Patrick. The boy who had been suspended more times than he could count. The boy who grew up in a house where no one knew the meaning of family.

But despite knowing all that, Patrick kept coming back.