Aetas amoris

by crouchjr

Summary:

Burdened by life and his duties as Dean of the College of Cardinals, Thomas Lawrence encounters Archbishop of Kabul, Vincent Benítez. The bond they form will come to define their lives.

Chapter 1: Day Zero

Thomas Lawrence was awake when, at 5:45 AM, his phone's alarm sounded. He reached out a hand to grab it and silence the irksome melody as quickly as possible, the tune grating on the dull ache throbbing in his temples. Sleep had eluded him entirely that night. He wasn't surprised; it seemed he had resigned himself to insomnia. Such nights were spent reading, staring at the dark walls, or attempting prayer. Occasionally, when his exhausted body protested, Thomas would take a potent sleeping pill and avail himself of the boon of sleep. Sometimes, then, he would imagine himself younger, lying down after a hard day and falling asleep simply from fatigue. The blessing of youth, which he could now only experience if he drugged himself.

Dawn was breaking outside. He figured he had fifteen minutes at most before the sun's rays would start pouring through the windows, decisively awakening his migraine. He cursed inwardly for forgetting to close the shutters and vowed to fulfill that duty this evening. Making sure all alarms were off, he cast aside the duvet, too heavy for the season, and swung his legs onto the floor, not without effort. He sat up and let out a heavy breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His gaze rested on the hassock standing against the wall and the cross hanging above it. He pushed away the thoughts crowding his mind and cast an almost reproachful look at the cross. He rose from the bed and headed towards the bathroom.

He shed his pyjamas, stepped into what he considered an absurdly large shower, and turned the water as hot as he could bear. Though he hadn't experienced sleep that night, he treated the shower as a form of awakening, a transition from night to day, into action. Another ploy to deceive his weary flesh, he considered. He washed mechanically, scarcely conscious of himself. Had someone observed this peculiar toilette, they might have deemed his actions aggressive, but Thomas knew that treating his body like a foreign object was the best way to ignore its physical needs. Years of celibacy teach a man strange things.

He stepped out of the shower and dried himself thoroughly. Thick steam filled the entire bathroom. He wiped it from the mirror with his hand and stood before it, a towel wrapped around his hips. He looked at his reflection, and a grimace touched his face. He was sixty-two years old; he had no family, no children to cause him stress, yet for some reason, he suspected that managing the College of Cardinals, which had fallen to his lot, was even worse. Each sleepless night added shadows to his face, and with each passing day, it looked worse. With considerable surprise, he noticed changes in his posture as well. He was a tall man, and though he had never paid excessive attention to his appearance, he now began to notice subtle changes that could only signify the approach of old age. If anyone had asked him when he enjoyed the best health and looks, he would certainly point to the time ten years ago, before he landed in Rome, and never mention the present period.

He mentally scolded himself for the moment of egoism and proceeded with the rest of his toilette. For one brief moment, he even considered not shaving today, but something told him he couldn't afford even the slightest neglect now. He chose the same sink he had used since moving in. In addition to the absurdly large shower, the bathroom had a huge mirror and two sinks, which he considered as wasteful. This was his second apartment in the Vatican. The first, which he received ten years ago upon taking up his position, spanned 410 square meters and was located in the Palace of the Holy Office. Initially, it hadn't dawned on him that he had been given exclusive use of a space that could house a dozen people, nor that this was common practice in the Vatican. In a display of naivety, he thought he would be sharing it with others. Gradually, he discovered that as a cardinal holding the high office of Dean of the College of Cardinals, he was treated with honours that left him embarrassed. The apartment was one of numerous manifestations of this, but, he presumed, the most expensive. Due to his office, he couldn't live anywhere other than Rome, and for practical reasons, it was best always to be within the Vatican, hence his placement in the Palace of the Holy Office. He wasn't the only cardinal living there. On other floors, one could find the apartments of Adeyemi, Bellini or Trembley. When he learned that the latter occupied an apartment exceeding 500 square meters, something significant broke within him. Here they were, preaching the word of God, teaching humility, poverty, and virtue, yet wallowing in luxuries that were hard to justify in any logical way. From the windows of his apartment, he saw the homeless on the streets of the Eternal City and the tents pitched even on main streets where they lived, while he himself couldn't recall the exact number of rooms at his disposal. Thoughts of this tormented him to the point where he tried not to spend any time in the apartment at all. He worked late into the night in his office on the fifth floor of the Apostolic Palace. Returning, he always chose to walk, though he was entitled to a car with a private driver. Walking through the empty corridors, he passed only guards and occasional staff members. He always tried to strike up brief conversations with them. His interlocutors, usually expected to be almost invisible, cherished these moments with Lawrence, his sincere interest, and normal conversation. He, in turn, tried not to think the worst of himself, knowing that these conversations also delayed the moment of returning to the apartment.

 

---

After his first month on the job, he invited his secretary, Ray O'Malley, into his office and said, "Ray, my dear friend... I need your help regarding my apartment..."

O'Malley, who had practically moved Lawrence into the first apartment, instantly tensed, ready for action.

"Of course, Your Eminence. What does Your Eminence require? If it's about the new furniture for one of the drawing rooms, it should be ready soon, I'll check right away..."

"No, no, no!.." Lawrence interrupted him mid-sentence in alarm. He knew nothing about plans for new furnishings and didn't even want to hear what else O'Malley intended to say about them. "Ray, forgive me... Don't hold what I'm about to ask against me." He took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes with his hand, and sighing, leaned over the desk, propping his head on his hand. He continued, "I know you played a large part in getting me settled in the Palace of the Holy Office, and I appreciate how much you've done for me. The problem is... I'd like to ask you to find me different accommodation."

O'Malley looked at him in silent astonishment. He could always maintain a neutral expression, but now he was decidedly surprised by Lawrence's request. He shifted in his armchair, cleared his throat, quickly composed himself, and asked, "Would Your Eminence like to move to another floor? I can check with the administration whether Cardinal Trembley has expressed a desire to continue using his apartment." At that moment, Lawrence remembered the size of the Canadian cardinal's apartment and felt the blood drain from his face. He realized that likely no one had ever asked O'Malley for worse and smaller lodgings. He decided to be as direct as possible.

"Ray... Allow me to be blunt. I don't want a better apartment, much less a larger one. I can hardly even imagine how one could occupy an even larger space and not use it in any reasonable way," he added with a nervous chuckle. "The truth is, something even ten times smaller than what I have now would be perfectly sufficient for me. I don't need five drawing rooms, bedrooms, and several bathrooms. Not when I occupy them alone, and certainly not when so many people in the world sleep under the open sky. Of course, we won't solve that problem right now, but if you can do something for me, please check the availability of a small apartment, perhaps a room... It would be an indescribable relief for me. I’m begging you."

O'Malley looked as if waiting for confirmation that what he was hearing was a joke. Their Pope was the embodiment of modesty, the head of a church for the poor, but the same could not be said for the cardinals and other members of the Curia. Working in the Vatican teaches one to fulfill the strangest requests without asking questions, but those requests never concerned what Lawrence was asking for now. Ray took another moment to study his interlocutor as if searching his face for signs of insincerity, but all he saw before him was a man practically buckling under the weight of his duties, carrying greater burdens than he himself bore. If he could lift even one weight from those shoulders, he would try to help. He promised to do everything in his power and left. The thought crossed his mind that although he had known Lawrence only briefly, he already felt affection and trust towards him. Yet, out of nowhere, a second thought emerged: men like him go far. But they also tend to get devoured by this soulless machine that is the Church. For some reason, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

Lawrence waited two long weeks for an answer. Ray requested a meeting to present several options he had selected. All this time, he had been conducting a personal investigation, checking apartment availability while trying not to reveal for whom he was doing it. He visited and viewed them, taking photos of the potentially best ones with his phone. Within the Vatican grounds, there were over thirty apartments for cardinals and just as many smaller ones occupied by lay employees of the Curia, but currently, there were no more than ten vacant apartments. Invited to Thomas's office, he decided to start by presenting the best and largest available lodging, but Lawrence dismissed the two-hundred and one-hundred-fifty square meter proposals with a quick wave of his hand. O'Malley understood that the Dean hadn't changed his mind and began showing some of the smallest units. At the last option, Lawrence visibly brightened. He asked for the phone to take a closer look and viewed the photos twice.

"Ray, my friend," he said with a sparkle in his eye. "This will be perfect. When can I move in?" he asked, bestowing a radiant smile upon the secretary. Thus, Lawrence became a resident of a fifty-five square meter apartment in the building of the Pontifical Ethiopian College. Ray watched in amazement at the pure joy painted on his face.

---

The smaller apartment decidedly improved his mood. He moved into it as quickly as he could and immediately began settling in. He brought his books from England and the desk that had belonged to his father. Now, after ten years, his small apartment definitely looked like a space inhabited by a man, and although it was full of his personal belongings, Thomas caught himself still not finding the space cozy. It was the same this morning. He finished his morning toilette and returned to the bedroom to dress. He had no official meetings scheduled for today, so he put on simple grey trousers, a black jacket, and a black shirt with a clerical collar. He took his phone from the bedside table and walked through the small hallway to the kitchen, which was connected to the living room. He switched on the coffee maker and placed a cup under it. While waiting for the coffee, he turned to face the living room and surveyed it with a long gaze. A small beige sofa stood with its back to him; in front of it, on a brown coffee table, lay a stack of books he was currently reading. A medium-sized television hung on the opposite wall. From the windows to his left, a fragment of the imposing dome of St. Peter's Basilica was visible. From the windows in front of him, only greenery could be seen. He walked over to one of them, a large balcony door, opened it, and let in the still slightly crisp May air. He returned for his coffee and took it out onto the balcony, where he sat on a chair for a moment. He took a deep breath and began listening to his surroundings. During his first weeks living here, what surprised him most was the tranquility that reigned. He was in the center of Rome, one of Europe's bustling cities, right in the heart of the Vatican, yet apart from the Basilica looming outside his windows, nothing reminded him of it. The Pontifical Ethiopian College was somewhat hidden deep within the Vatican Gardens. Truth be told, he had never known such buildings existed there before. It primarily served as the College's headquarters and an educational facility but also offered several apartments intended for foreign delegations and diplomats. How O'Malley had managed to secure this apartment for him would probably remain a mystery forever. Despite the lack of a feeling of being truly settled, he was grateful for this place. It offered him much respite and peace. He scanned the news headlines on his phone, finished his coffee, and stood up. "Good morning, Haile!" he called from the balcony to a man tidying the lawns below. The man looked up and replied with a broad smile, "Father Lawrence! Have a good day." He went back inside, took his laptop from the desk standing near the balcony entrance, packed it into his bag, and left, reaching his office in ten minutes through the Vatican Gardens.

Years later, when he thought back on this day, he would admit that it had been special from the beginning. From the sleepless night, the strange thoughts in the bathroom, the solitary coffee on the balcony. When he revisited it in memory, he would concede to himself that something had been hanging in the air since morning. Or perhaps not just since morning, but for a longer time? Stemming from every choice he had made, which had led him to this place.

---

Just before noon, Ray O'Malley came to him with the news that the Pope expected him at the Domus Sanctae Marthae. This meeting wasn't planned, he thought. Nor was it common to be summoned by the Pope without prior notice. He pondered for a moment whether to bring his bag with the laptop but abandoned the idea; if needed, surely one of the Pope's assistants would help him. He covered the distance to Saint Martha's House in about ten minutes. As he crossed St. Peter's Square, he smiled inwardly, thinking, "A textbook 15-minute city" - he often thought this about the Vatican. "Everything needed for life within walking distance. Schools, shops, churches, emergency services. And the Pope."

At Saint Martha's, he greeted the sisters at the reception desk and noticed Sister Agnes approaching him. "Father Lawrence," she greeted him.

"Sister Agnes." For years, Thomas hadn't managed to truly get to know this woman. Always exceedingly professional, with a poker face. The perfect keeper of secrets, someone who saw everything yet simultaneously saw nothing. Although they had known each other for ten years, he had never had a private chat with her. For Lawrence, a man who knew even the names of the guards' children, this was unnatural. As the years passed and his personal failures in forging a friendship with her mounted, he had abandoned his efforts. The formal way she greeted him today only confirmed his belief that Agnes, around sixty, had no desire to be his close acquaintance. Nevertheless, he smiled at her, saying, "I received word that the Holy Father is expecting me."

"Indeed. He is waiting in his apartment. Please proceed there. The guards will let Father in." He might have commented on this caustically in his head, had he not been going to the meeting somewhat apprehensive. It was the middle of the day, and the Pope was receiving him in his private quarters. Few good things could come of this. He suspected rather that whatever awaited him would only bring more work and a headache. He realized his breathing was quick and shallow, so he took the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. Taking the stairs now might cost him serious shortness of breath. Upon exiting, he headed straight down the corridor to the Holy Father's rooms. He passed the guards, knocked, and after a moment, the Pope himself opened the door.

"Your Holiness," Lawrence said, bowing and kissing the outstretched hand. He straightened up and looked at the Pope with a gentle smile. A special relationship had connected them for years. He thought they might even call themselves friends and hoped the other man reciprocated these feelings.

"Your Eminence," the Pope replied, then added with a smile, "Thomas, my dear friend. Thank you for coming so quickly." He invited him into the study, which had once been converted from one of the rooms, and asked him to take a chair, while he himself sat behind the desk. Lawrence knew this apartment well; he had spent many evenings here. He was a close collaborator of the Pope, an advisor, and sometimes a confidant. Sometimes they met simply to play chess, sometimes just to talk.

"You're probably wondering why I summoned you. It's an unusual time," he said, pausing lengthily before continuing. "I want you to meet someone. As it happens, I have a guest. I nominated a new cardinal today. In pectore. He is here now." Thomas felt as though his brain hadn't yet processed what he'd heard, yet simultaneously, he understood perfectly. A cardinal in pectore, whom the Pope was informing him about? Here? As it turned out, he spoke the last part aloud.

"Yes, he is here. I want you two to meet. Our new colleague knows no one here, nor does he know the Curia. He could use a good friend. I know you can be one... I also want you to know about this in case something happens. You know well how things are in the Curia... I want to avoid a situation where our brother is harmed in some way when I am gone. For security reasons, the world cannot know yet that he is a cardinal. He has served and serves in dangerous places where he could be punished for his faith. I want you to be his guardian. Come."

They stood up, and Thomas allowed himself to be led to the small sitting room where they often played chess. As they entered, his gaze immediately found the new cardinal, who occupied the armchair Thomas himself usually sat in. The Pope approached the guest, but Thomas's legs froze. He was experiencing shock after shock. The amount of information he had to absorb overwhelmed him. If this continues, I won't leave here alive. All his attention focused on the man who stood up at their arrival and smiled uncertainly. He was younger than Thomas, but his looks were of the type where age is hard to pinpoint definitively. His features were very soft. He wore modest clothing. If not for the clerical collar on his navy blue shirt, one might think he was a civilian. Draped over the back of the armchair was – presumably – a dark jacket. The black trousers he wore looked slightly worn. Thomas caught himself just in time, before his eyes could survey the newcomer from head to toe, and didn't look at his shoes.

"Vincent, meet the Dean of the College of Cardinals, Cardinal Thomas Lawrence. Personally, my dear friend. Thomas, I have the pleasure of introducing you to Archbishop of Kabul, Vincent Benitez, also a Cardinal as of today. Vincent normally ministers in Afghanistan, but he is Mexican."

Lawrence mentally scolded himself for his lack of appropriate reaction and approached Benitez with an outstretched hand, which the latter shook.

"Welcome to Rome, Cardinal. Thomas Lawrence, a pleasure to meet you."

"Cardinal Lawrence, the honour is mine. Vincent Benitez. The Holy Father has told me a lot about you."

He had strong yet soft hands, which did not escape Thomas's notice. He also had a gentle and melodic voice, the sound of which somehow intimidated him. He instantly found himself wanting Benitez to say something else. Now, being only a few dozen centimeters away from him, he couldn't stop himself from studying his appearance. The Mexican was shorter than him, perhaps by ten centimeters. What most strongly caught his attention was the shock of black, silken hair. When most of your colleagues are balding, simple things like someone's thick head of hair can be startling. Benitez gazed at him with his black eyes, and Lawrence found himself smiling back involuntarily.

The Pope, who had been observing the exchange in silence, finally spoke: "I'm glad you've finally met. Please, let's sit down, we have a few matters to discuss." The men sat, Benitez taking his seat – Thomas's former spot – and they turned towards the Pope, who began to speak: "As you both know well, appointing a cardinal in pectore requires neither witnesses nor even the knowledge of the nominee himself. However, considering the difficult ministry our dear Vincent performs and the problems plaguing the Vatican and the Curia, I decided it would be best for all of us if you both knew. Vincent, you know how much I value everything you do in your ministry. Know also that not a day goes by that I don't worry about you... The knowledge that I cannot always count on my help being available to you is hard to bear, which is why I arranged this meeting today. So that you might soon discover what a good friend Thomas can be." It seemed the Pope knew Benitez well. What surprised Lawrence even more – the Mexican was close to him. He tried to recall if the Holy Father had ever mentioned this man, but he couldn't remember anything. He felt strange realizing he hadn't known of Benitez's existence until now. Being privy to the in pectore nomination didn't mitigate what he felt.

"Your Holiness..." Benitez began. "It is a great honour to receive the nomination to Cardinal, but I must repeat that it changes nothing. I will not abandon my ministry in Kabul. There is still so much to be done there. Of course... if the Pope still wishes it," he added more quietly. At the sound of his voice, Thomas's pupils dilated.

Lawrence observed the conversation, rarely adding anything himself. He learned that before Kabul, Benitez had participated in missions in Congo and Baghdad. He could only imagine how different the Mexican's work was from his own – where he lived, what he saw. They talked for over an hour more. The Pope informed Thomas that Vincent would spend a few days in Rome. Today and tomorrow, he would attend several meetings in the Curia, go to the morning mass celebrated by the Pope, and also visit the Vatican Museums. And since it was his first time in Rome, he absolutely must get to know the Eternal City.

"Thomas, would you be so kind as to take Vincent for a long walk around the city one day? You know Rome so well. I guarantee you, Vincent, you won't find a better guide here," Lawrence suddenly heard, feeling again as if absent from his own body.

"Of course, with pleasure. I just need to check my schedule for the week, and we will contact Vincent."

The Pope accepted his response with a smile and suggested they exchange phone numbers. "No need to involve others in this." So Thomas reached into the inner pocket of his jacket for his business cards and a pen and wrote his mobile number on the back. The one printed under his name was usually answered by Ray. Now, however, he was practically certain O'Malley was to know nothing about this for the time being. He extended his hand with the card towards Benitez, but his movement was nervous and clumsy – the card fell to the floor. He could have sworn he blushed, embarrassed by his behaviour. He quickly bent down for it, and his eyes landed on Vincent's shoes – black sneakers. My God! Who is this man?! he screamed inwardly. He handed him the retrieved card: "Your Eminence, you can text this number, then I'll have yours too." Benitez thanked him with a smile. The Pope stood up, suggesting the meeting was over, and with smile addressed the Dean one last time: "Thomas, I hope you remember our game tonight? You still have a chance to even our scores." Lawrence nodded and laughed nervously. At that moment, he had completely forgotten about the previously arranged evening meeting. With slight relief, he realized it would be a good opportunity to hear more about the Pope's unexpected decision.

They exchanged pleasantries, kissed the Pope's hand, and left his apartment together. Once in the corridor, they stood silently opposite each other and smiled slightly. Thomas, yet again today, didn't know how to act, so he started talking, feeling like he was babbling nonsense.

"Your Eminence, where are you staying?" Benitez answered only after a moment: "I was given a room here, in the Domus Sanctae Marthae. The Pope was very kind and offered it to me for a few days. I'm staying two floors up. Dean Lawrence…I would be pleased if you called me by my first name. Just Vincent." If this request was meant to have any effect on him, it was definitely euphoria. This is absurd, he thought. I've known this man for an hour and a half. For the umpteenth time today, he tried to calm himself and replied, "Vincent, I too would be honoured if you addressed me by my first name." Benitez acknowledged him with a nod. Immediately after, Lawrence was struck by a torrent of words.

"That's great you're staying here! You're right in the centre of things then. When did you arrive? This morning?! You must be tired. And hungry! There's a cafeteria downstairs, they serve quite good cacio e pepe. You'll eat the best in Trastevere, if you like, I can take you there. Do you need anything? Are you planning to rest? I need to check my schedule and we'll arrange when I can show you Rome. Have you been to Italy before? No. And anywhere else in Europe? Switzerland? Ah, it's beautiful." Benitez listened to his rambling with a smile. He promised to text the number provided and wait for contact. He seemed somewhat less tense to Thomas than during the meeting with the Pope. He thought, someone who wore sneakers to meet the Pope must be an interesting and cheerful person. They walked towards the elevator and rode up together. When it stopped at Vincent's floor, he stepped out and turned to face Thomas, who instinctively stood in the doorway to prevent it from closing and blocking his view of his companion.

"Thomas. Thank you for today and for the help you're offering. It's nice not knowing anyone here and receiving such kindness." Lawrence remained silent, looking at the other man. Speak up, you fool. You alternate between being speechless and talking incoherently. He wondered if he was perhaps staring at him with his mouth open. Finally, he regained his composure.

"Vincent, the pleasure is all mine. Text me. I'd be delighted to show you Rome." Benitez walked away with a smile.

Thomas retreated into the elevator, selected the ground floor, and leaned against the wall. Text me, pounded in his head. He exited the Domus Sanctae Marthae, tossing a quick farewell to the sisters at the reception. He hurried back to his office, as if trying to walk off the entire meeting and the revelations he'd learned, but before his eyes was the man with black hair. Before he reached the Palace again, he heard the sound of an incoming message. He took his phone from his pocket and saw a message from an unknown number. He opened it, slowed down abruptly, stopped in his tracks, and smiled.

"Dear Thomas, Vincent Benitez here. Thank you for your number."

 

---

Lawrence, just as he suspected, couldn't focus his thoughts on anything for the rest of the day. He left the office earlier than usual and headed straight home. He knew he should eat something, but he deliberately skipped another meal. He didn't feel well. He knew he wasn't leading a healthy lifestyle. Poor eating habits, tormenting insomnia, and constantly accumulating new sources of stress were not affecting him well. He impatiently awaited the evening to talk with the Pope about Benitez. He tried to occupy himself with anything, but all attempts were futile. He lay down on the sofa with a book in hand, waiting for fatigue to overcome him, but it too failed to arrive. Instead of calming his mind, he only stimulated it further, constantly returning to today's meeting with the newly appointed cardinal. He couldn't pinpoint why it had made such an impression on him and – dear God – why he had behaved so irrationally around Benitez. He winced just recalling his stream of words and nervous chuckle. For pity's sake. It was the behaviour of an overenthusiastic teenager, not a cardinal, a dean... Probably after such a performance, Vincent would prefer to explore Rome alone. Frankly, he didn't blame him. His thoughts revolved around the man for so long that when he glanced at the clock, he was practically late for his meeting with the Pope.

When he arrived at the Domus Sanctae Marthae for the second time that day, he was again out of breath. He took the elevator and went straight to the Pope's apartment, who received him as cheerfully as ever. He asked Thomas to make himself comfortable and set about preparing tea for them. Lawrence sat in the armchair Benitez had occupied earlier that day and began setting up the chessboard. He tried not to think about the Mexican, but when one of the pieces fell to the floor and he bent to pick it up, he remembered the man's shoes and smiled to himself. By the time the Pope entered the room carrying two mugs of tea, he had managed to compose himself. Over the past ten years, he had managed to get used to the fact that their pontiff was an unconventional man and, whenever possible, liked to be treated as an ordinary person. He was famed for his modesty, which was why, after the conclave where he was elected, he remained in the Domus Sanctae Marthae. He only agreed to a small concession and allowed a larger space than a single room to be prepared for him. The area he inhabited was probably similar in size to Lawrence's own current apartment. He didn't even want to think about occupying the four-hundred-square-meter apartment further, while the Pope resided in the place they were currently in.

They began their game and exchanged remarks on matters they had discussed the previous evening. Thomas also gave a report on the case of the cardinal accused of abuse, which he had been handling for months. When the Pope finally brought up the earlier meeting, Thomas shifted in his seat.

"Thomas. I must apologize for today. I gather you didn't feel comfortable with the situation that arose, but at the moment, I considered it the best way to introduce you both and present Vincent to you."

"Your Holiness, you have nothing to apologize for. It was quite a surprise. I don't recall ever hearing about Vincent before."

The Pope looked at him for a long moment before continuing. "I didn't want to bring this up when you arrived here at noon. I was afraid I might frighten our Vincent off. You see... he is going through difficult times right now. I won't go into details, that's entirely his business, but the situation he finds himself in is not the easiest. Truthfully, his recent nomination might harm him where he currently serves, but in the broader perspective, it might save him. That's why I asked for your help, my dear friend. Because I know how well you can read people, and I hope that in his time of need, you will be there for Vincent, to help him. In our circle, there aren't many like him. He likes to be among his equals, and he considers simple and poor people as such, which is why he constantly undertakes missions in dreadful places. But here, he is among strangers and enemies. He knows only me, and as you know, I am not always able to protect him. In a few days, he will return home, and perhaps, influenced by his experiences, he will never want to come back. It is our task to ensure that doesn't happen and that he takes away the best possible memories from here." Thomas felt pinned by the Pope's intense gaze. "I ask you to take care of Vincent here as best you can. He desperately needs a good friend right now."

Lawrence felt his temples throbbing. Benitez's visit itself was exceedingly peculiar. The knowledge that there was something more behind it was practically terrifying. He couldn't focus on the chess game and lost badly; he said his goodbyes and left the Pope's quarters. He headed for the elevators, summoned one, and stepped inside to return to the ground floor. His thoughts now revolved exclusively around Benitez. The request to look after him, the information that he was going through difficult times... all this added even more mystery to the man, who already possessed more than enough. Of course, he intended to fulfill the Pope's request as best he could. He resolved to rearrange his schedule first thing in the morning to free up as much time as possible for their mutual guest. Still lost in thought, he stepped out of the elevator and came face to face with Vincent, who was evidently waiting for it.

"Dean Thomas," the younger man said. "I mean... Thomas. Please, forgive me." Lawrence was struck speechless yet again that day. He felt as if everything he'd been thinking about for the past hours was written all over his face and feared his own reaction.

He managed a "Vincent." Vincent, Vincent, Vincent. The name had been ringing in his ears since noon. Seconds ticked by as the men stood opposite each other, merely looking. The ground floor lobby was empty at this hour; even the reception desk was closed. Thomas, standing under the younger man's searching gaze, shook himself out of the sudden encounter with effort.

"How are you doing? Settled in yet?" he asked with a smile.

"Slowly getting there. The sisters are very helpful. Especially Sister Agnes. She spoke very highly of you." At this information, Lawrence laughed nervously.

"I find that hard to imagine, but I believe you. Are you coming back from dinner?"

"From dinner and a walk. The gardens here are enchanting."

"I agree! I have the good fortune to live among them." This information clearly surprised Benitez, though he tried not to show it. "Could we get in touch tomorrow and make some sort of plan for the next few days? I'll contact you as soon as I've planned out the week."

Benitez looked embarrassed. "Thomas, please know you don't have to do this. You surely have plenty of your own things to attend to. I don't want to be a bother."

"Not at all! You're no bother, absolutely not. And I'd gladly get out myself. There are places I haven't been to in years. I absolutely must see them again, and I want to take you with me." Vincent stood with his head slightly bowed, and the sight tugged at Thomas's heart. "Get some rest; tomorrow is a day full of meetings and likely various impressions. It will only get better after that. After all, you're in Rome!"

Vincent gazed at him with his large, dark eyes, his expression conveying gratitude and tenderness. "Thank you, I'll try to rest. You do the same. I'll wait impatiently for our sightseeing together. I'm curious to see what you plan to show me," he said, touched Thomas's forearm, stroked it for a brief moment, and stepped back. He pressed the elevator button, and it opened immediately. He stepped inside, turned to face Thomas, and said, "Goodnight." Lawrence whispered the same and watched with sadness as the closing doors took Vincent from his sight.

He started the walk back to his apartment, knowing he would spend this sleepless night planning their day in Rome.

Chapter 2: Roman Days. Part I

As it turned out, Thomas was able to carve out as much as two days for Vincent. He explained it to Ray, mentioning duties that the Pope had personally assigned him. "Don't worry, it shouldn't give us more work. I'll be back in three days and catch up on everything," he reassured O'Malley, trying not to think about the backlog that would certainly accumulate during two days away from the office. As soon as he determined how much time he could dedicate to Vincent, he decided to call him, but his call went unanswered. He tried not to let it completely occupy his thoughts, but despite these resolutions, they constantly returned to Benitez. He was spending the day in the Vatican, probably in the company of the Pope or attending meetings in the curia. He would call back if he could.

As he suspected, he called back a few hours later. "Thomas. I'm very sorry I didn't answer, important meeting at the curia."

"Vincent, don't apologize, I didn't want to interrupt. I'm calling about our little trip. First of all, I wanted to ask when you're returning to Kabul and how much time you'd like to dedicate to sightseeing together?"

"I fly out in three days. And I'm leaving it up to you. As far as I know, I won't need to be present at the curia anymore."

"That's great! As it happens, I have the next two days completely free. (He thought about snatching them from his tight schedule) So if you feel like finding out just how bad a guide I really am, you're welcome." He heard laughter on the other end and imagined Vincent's face.

"Maybe it won't be that bad," Benitez said, and Lawrence understood that the Mexican had a sense of humor. A moment later, he added more seriously, "Thomas, I would be honored to see Rome with you. Two days is certainly not enough to get to know it properly, but let's start with that."

"Let's start with that," Lawrence repeated, sounding as if he were in a trance. Suddenly, he felt like he couldn't wait.

"Will you allow me to meet you at eight in the morning? At the Domus Sanctae Marthae, morning mass is at 7, but you probably already know that. I'll be there and wait for you."

"Sounds perfect. See you tomorrow then." See you, Thomas said, and after hanging up, he stared at the phone for a moment longer.

The rest of the day passed for him in silent anticipation. Every now and then, he also caught O'Malley trying to find out what task he had received from the Pope. He trusted his secretary, but the Benitez matter was too delicate and he didn't want to risk it. He wondered why he felt good in Vincent's company and couldn't quite define it. The Mexican was completely different from all the cardinals he knew. He had a modesty and humility about him, but at the same time, he exuded a strength that Lawrence had not yet had the opportunity to witness. However, he knew it was lurking somewhere. He realized that he would like to see it someday, that he would like to get to know Vincent better.

The night before their trip, he decided to take a sleeping pill. He had a whole day of walking ahead of him, for which he needed strength. He wanted to be in top form to focus on what was important and be a worthy companion for Vincent. When he woke up, he noted with relief that he felt quite well. He decided to wear a light blue linen shirt and a matching navy blue blazer made of the same material. Although the mornings were still crisp, they were expecting a rather sunny day, and May in Rome can be scorching. He deliberately skipped the attire that would suit a clerical collar today, because he didn't want to attract attention. Today, he preferred to blend into the crowd and feel anonymous among the thousands of tourists. He chose the most comfortable shoes he had and thought about Vincent's sneakers again.

When he arrived at the Domus Sanctae Marthae, it was 6:30, so he decided to go to the cafeteria and try to eat something. The dining room was still empty, with only a few people sitting there. He poured himself some coffee, took a croissant, and sat down at one of the tables. He took out his phone to read the news, as was his old habit, and heard muffled laughter behind him in the distance. He instinctively turned around to see what was going on and simply couldn't believe his eyes. Vincent Benitez was standing by the coffee makers, talking to Sister Agnes, whose laughter he had heard. He had known this woman for a decade and had never elicited more than a faint smile from her, while Vincent had amused her effortlessly after only two days of knowing her. He went back to reading the news, trying to ignore the laughter he heard, but when Benitez also laughed, he felt something akin to jealousy. He longed to hear that laughter in his presence and couldn't help it. He thought that a few days in Vincent's presence might cure him of the sadness he felt inside. You have no right to think about him like that, he scolded himself in his head, and yet he felt a strange sense of belonging to this man.

A few minutes later, he heard someone approaching his table, and when he looked up, he saw that it was the man he had been thinking about almost constantly for three days. Thomas jumped to his feet and offered his hand. "Good morning, Vincent," he said, shaking it and smiling at him gently.

"Thomas, good morning. You're early," Benitez noted. "Can I join you? I'll get something else to eat," he asked, and when Lawrence warmly invited him, he put down the cup he was holding.

He returned a moment later, placing two plates on the table – one with fruit, the other with sweet pastries. "Eat something more, we have a long day ahead of us," he said, and sat down opposite Thomas, looking at him with a smile. Benitez looked different today, he had certainly finally rested after his journey, but there was also something magnetic about his attire. He had chosen a white shirt today (linen, as Thomas noticed) which brightened his swarthy complexion. He also noticed that the Mexican was wearing a linen blazer just like him, but in gray. For a moment, he wondered how Vincent dressed during his ministry. He resolved to ask him later about the realities of life in Kabul. He knew he was staring and that he needed to start a conversation, but strangely, he didn't feel awkward being silent in the man's company.

"I have to confess something to you," he leaned slightly over the table as he spoke quietly and looked deeply into Vincent's eyes. "I've lived here for 10 years, but I've never managed to make Sister Agnes laugh like that. I don't know what you said to her, but I wouldn't have achieved that effect even if I stood on my head in front of her or danced on the table. She'd probably kill me for the latter. I even think I've never seen her like that at all. Congratulations."

He saw how Benitez's black eyes widened and stared at him intently and curiously. He leaned back in his chair and heard the Mexican say, "You intimidate her.

Lawrence looked at him in disbelief. "She's known me for years, that's ridiculous."

"You are an important figure here. People respect you. Don't be surprised by that. She felt comfortable in my company because I'm closer to an ordinary person than others she usually spends time with," Benitez explained, but Thomas still found it absurd.

Vincent evidently read it on his face, because he added, "Next time we get the chance, we'll talk to her together. Just so she sees that you're an ordinary person too," and smiled warmly. Thomas mechanically opened his mouth. The ease and openness with which Benitez made connections amazed him.

They finished their coffees, Thomas even ate some of the extra things Vincent had brought, and they headed towards the chapel. Mass at the Domus Sanctae Marthae, like every other morning, was celebrated by the Pope. They were always quite private services for the employees and residents of the house. Thomas headed to the right side of the chapel and was pleased to find that Vincent was following him. During the mass, he caught the Pope's eye several times and the smile that graced the man's lips. In those moments, he wanted to be able to send him his thoughts – I will take care of him, just as you asked.

After the service, Vincent returned to his room for a moment to get a few things, and Thomas went outside to wait for him. Soon, Benitez came out with a leather bag slung over his shoulder and a shy smile on his face. My God. That this poor man had to get me as a companion. Let this be a good day for him, Thomas thought.

They headed towards St. Peter's Square, where queues of tourists had been forming since morning. Thomas pointed to the building of the Apostolic Palace and explained where he worked and what he did on a daily basis. When he mentioned that the majority of his work involved rectifying the wrongdoings committed by cardinals, he sensed Vincent tense up slightly. What particularly captivated him about the man was his evident curiosity and active listening to Thomas's stories. He also discovered, with no small surprise, that the man possessed a small camera and took a lot of pictures with it. When he noticed Lawrence watching him, he said, "I've always loved photography, but I don't remember the last time I had the chance to take pictures with a camera. I actually packed it thinking I wouldn't even take it out. It's already worn out, I wouldn't be surprised if it gave up the ghost here."

"Good thing you have it. Rome is perfect for a photographic trip like no other city," Lawrence added. As he watched Benitez photograph the Basilica from a distance, he thought: he has to see this square late in the evening when almost no one is there, and the thought of the monuments at dusk sparked a crazy idea that would require him to make a few phone calls. He decided to deal with it later.

They left the Vatican and headed along the banks of the Tiber towards the Trastevere district. "This is one of my favorite places in the city," Thomas said. They walked along the river, shoulder to shoulder, and talked non-stop. The hustle and bustle on the streets at this time of day was immense, and although normally Thomas would feel anger and overstimulation, he now felt calm. They turned right and found themselves in Trastevere. Vincent asked if Thomas would let him buy him a coffee, and Thomas didn't know why this ordinary question threw him off so much. When he regained some composure, he suggested they do it in a typically Italian style – standing at the bar and drinking a quick espresso. This idea clearly appealed to Vincent. In fluent Italian, he ordered their coffees, paid for them, and they drank them standing up. "First item on the list of things to do in Rome checked off. Only a hundred more to go," Lawrence said to his companion, and was rewarded with his melodious laughter.

They wandered through the streets of Trastevere for the next few hours. They visited small churches and chapels, and spent the most time in the Basilica of Santa Maria. They lit candles and prayed for a long while. Vincent had so far appeared to be the ideal travel companion. He had no specific demands and left the day's planning to the older man. He also admitted with sadness in his voice that he didn't think he would ever find himself in Rome, so he didn't know much about the city. At that moment, Thomas strongly desired that their two days together would leave the best possible impression on Vincent.

When they left the Basilica and stepped out onto Piazza di Santa Maria, the warm air hit them. They stopped by the fountain, and Lawrence took off his blazer, as it was already too warm for it. He rested one leg on the edge of the fountain, draped his blazer over his thigh, and began to roll up his shirt sleeves. When he looked up, he felt Vincent's gaze on him, the meaning of which was difficult to decipher. The men looked at each other for a moment without a word. When Lawrence proceeded to do the same with his other sleeve, Benitez said, "That's probably a good idea," and took off his own blazer. Now that the white of his shirt was unobstructed, the contrast it made with his swarthy complexion and jet-black hair was even greater. Thomas allowed himself a moment to take in his figure and had to admit it was a very pleasant sight. He didn't miss the fact that Benitez hadn't rolled up his shirt sleeves.

They wanted to move to another district, but decided to have traditional tiramisu in Trastevere first. Finding it was both simple and difficult, the choice was dizzying. They sat down in one of the cafes and placed their order. Thomas was about to ask how yesterday's meetings in the curia had gone when his phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and saw that it was his friend Monica calling. He never knew when to expect a call from her, so he wasn't surprised this time either. He apologized to Vincent for a moment, got up from the table, and answered. The phone conversation with her, as usual, was short. She was a pragmatic person, and besides, she knew that Thomas was usually busy and never wanted to bother him, but when they did meet in person, she dedicated as much time to him as needed. They were fortunate enough to call themselves true friends. When he finished the call, he returned to the waiting Vincent and said with a smile, "Tomorrow we'll go feed the cats." Benitez's confused expression, combined with curiosity, amused Thomas.

"It was my friend Monica calling. She asked me for a small favor. She has to leave urgently, work matters, and she's asking for help feeding the cats. I do it for her sometimes. And tomorrow we'll do it together, of course, if you don't mind?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course not. You're in charge here," Vincent replied with a smile.

The waiter brought their tiramisu and water, they thanked him, and began to eat. Lawrence figured that since he was involving his companion in tomorrow's help, he owed him an explanation.

"Monica was one of the first people I met 10 years ago after arriving in Rome. We met in rather strange circumstances, but that's how it is with good friendships, isn't it? I saved her from an unpleasant situation... I helped her, then she helped me. And we've been helping each other for years. For many, our relationship is completely incomprehensible, because Monica is young. So young that I could be her father. She's a programmer, I think that's what you call what she does with computers. She often has to travel for work. That's when I'm happy to help her with the cats."

Benitez listened to him, focusing his full attention on him. "That's kind of you. You're a good friend, Thomas. Even to those you don't know." Lawrence felt slightly embarrassed by these words. They finished their tiramisu, and Vincent made a checkmark sign in the air for another item on the list. "Check." Thomas paid their bill, although not without protests from Vincent, and they moved on.

The weather was favorable. It wasn't yet the typical Roman heat. Thanks to this, they could move around mostly on foot. They went to the Aventine Hill. Thomas asked his companion if the name meant anything to him, and when he heard it didn't, he just smiled. He planned to show him one particular place that wasn't yet very popular with tourists. When they got there, they found a small queue. "We'll have to wait, looks like about half an hour."

"Thomas, what are we waiting for?" Vincent asked, intrigued.

"You'll see. Since you haven't heard of this place, that's half the battle," he replied, smiling sincerely.

They waited in line for the keyhole that offered a perfect view of St. Peter's Basilica. Just looking through it was enough to see a postcard view of the dome. Thomas really wanted Vincent to see it from as many perspectives as possible. He was glad he didn't have time to dwell on his own behavior, because he felt he wouldn't be happy with the results. He decided it was a good time to ask about how yesterday's meetings had gone.

"I'm not sure how they went. I lack familiarity with the customs here. I can find my way where there's a real fight for life, but for some reason, I couldn't do that yesterday in the curia."

"The curia can also be a battlefield. Sometimes a brutal one..." he replied with sadness in his voice.

"I believe... It's just... hard to talk about the problems of Kabul to people who don't want to hear about them."

"I'd be happy to listen. I'll try to understand," Lawrence encouraged him, and Vincent looked at him gratefully.

So he listened about Kabul as they continued to stand in line. About conducting ministry in secret, about the lack of churches, prayer meetings organized in homes, exposing oneself to the anger of extremists. About how every day he walked a tightrope, trying to bring hope to those who needed it. About how, after the Taliban took power, the situation for Christians became even more difficult, and he himself became the target of direct and indirect attacks. He didn't talk about himself as a hero, but as someone who was simply trying to do what he was supposed to do. Thomas listened to him attentively and felt a growing fear for the other man. Suddenly, he completely understood the Pope's concerns about him. Ministry in Kabul couldn't be more different from what Thomas did in the Vatican. If the news that Benitez was now a cardinal came to light, he would be in even greater danger. Lawrence listened as he continued to talk about Afghanistan and realized that now, by his side, he was safe, but in three days he would return to the Middle East, and he wouldn't be able to protect him anymore. Suddenly, he desired that more than anything else. The awareness that some danger might threaten him, and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it, tightened his throat. For God's sake, a few days ago I had no idea he existed, and now I can't imagine that he could ever cease to exist. He lowered his head, afraid that Vincent would see the sudden terror on his face.

When the queue finally got close enough that it was almost their turn, Benitez looked at him uncertainly, as if waiting for further explanation.

"Just look through the keyhole, like the others before us," he instructed him with a slight smile. He tried to suppress the sadness and melancholy that he himself heard in his voice.

They approached the door, and Vincent gave him one more look. He could have sworn there was a hint of roguishness in it. At the same time, only one person could look through the keyhole, so Thomas bowed slightly to Vincent, gestured that he had priority, and watched as the man approached the worn spot on the door and peered inside.

Benitez's first reaction was to gasp loudly. A moment later, he turned sharply towards Lawrence and shouted joyfully, "Thomas!" The sound was like honey to his ears. He thought he had almost managed to lift the stone that weighed on his heart. With a wide smile, he watched Vincent return to looking at the Basilica and take out his camera to photograph what he saw. When he finished, he suddenly grabbed Thomas by his bare forearm and pulled him to the door. "Now you," he said, and Lawrence didn't know whether to focus on the view of the dome or the feeling of Vincent's hand on his skin. He admired the perfect composition that was painted before his eyes for a moment, something he hadn't seen in a very long time. The frame of this view was made up of trees growing along the path, at the end of which the basilica rose. Through a small gap in the treetops, the sun shone, illuminating the path and the building itself. The view was breathtakingly beautiful and surreal. He pulled away from the door and looked at the widely smiling Vincent. This view is also breathtakingly beautiful and surreal, he thought. He encouraged the man to take one last look, and they slowly walked away from the door.

"Thomas... I don't know what to say. Thank you so much."

"The pleasure is all mine," he replied, watching Benitez's face, which still held a smile. "Not everyone knows this – it's like seeing three countries at once," he began to explain. "You're standing in Italy, of course, looking at the Vatican, but the garden you're looking into belongs to Malta."

"I would never have guessed." Vincent looked at him as if enchanted. "I was on the dome yesterday, and today I saw it from this perspective! You're far from being the worst guide."

Lawrence couldn't hide his surprise. "You went all the way to the top of the dome?" he asked, amused.

"I had to, as soon as I heard it was possible."

"I've never done that. I'm old. It's beyond my knees."

"You're not old," Benitez said bluntly, and in response, Thomas could only look at him shyly. "As a thank you, I can show you the pictures I took on the dome," he offered.

So they went to the viewing terrace in the Orange Garden, which offered a beautiful panorama of Rome, and sat down on a bench. Vincent turned on his camera, pointed it at Thomas, and began to show him the photos. His attention was immediately drawn to the man's undeniable talent. Benitez showed him his photographs and explained somewhat shyly that they still needed editing. According to Lawrence, there was nothing to improve. The Mexican had a gift for capturing the right moments and framing them elegantly. While he was still working with the camera, Thomas involuntarily observed his hands, which he now saw up close, and for a few moments, he couldn't look at anything else.

"You have a great talent," he said, not taking his eyes off the man's hands. Benitez shifted on the bench, and in the next moment, Lawrence felt their knees touch. Vincent apologized and moved away slightly. Thomas felt himself getting hot. He thought it was time to move on and suggested they go towards the Colosseum and the Roman Forum.

On the way, they marveled at the vastness of the Circus Maximus and walked along Via di S. Gregorio towards the ancient amphitheater. Thomas had a plan that he had hatched in his head that morning. In a small, innocent lie, he would tell his companion that it was impossible to enter the Colosseum without buying tickets well in advance, so they would only visit the Roman Forum today. He wouldn't mention for now that as the Dean of the College, he had the ability to enter any monument whenever he wanted, and he intended to show Benitez the interior of the Colosseum tomorrow evening at dusk. He had experienced this pleasure once in his life, and it was an experience he would remember for the rest of his life. He decided he wanted Vincent to remember it that way too. Organizing it would require one phone call, but he should make it now. As they approached the Arch of Constantine, he excused himself to Vincent for a moment and called a friend who worked at the Parco archeologico del Colosseo.

The men reached the Colosseum and admired it from the outside. Thomas suggested they walk around it and take a closer look. If Vincent was disappointed that they weren't going inside, he didn't show it. He took pictures and looked happy with their trip, which pleased Lawrence very much. He hoped his colleague wouldn't hold this little lie against him later. They were heading towards the Roman Forum when Vincent suggested they eat something first. Lawrence discovered today, with amusement, that Benitez had a weakness for sweets. He himself, on the other hand, happily recommended more Italian delicacies to him. Cannoli, marizotti, tiramisu, Benitez intended to try everything. This time, however, he suggested pizza somewhat shyly, and Lawrence felt hungry for the first time in a long while. He took Vincent to a pizzeria, where they ordered and sat at a table outside with a view of the Colosseum. Benítez began to tell him about Afghan cuisine, a rich and flavorful culinary tradition that often features fragrant spices like cardamom, cumin, and coriander, and incorporates ingredients like rice, lamb, yogurt, and nuts. Popular dishes include Kabuli Palaw (rice with lamb, carrots, and raisins), Mantu (steamed dumplings filled with spiced meat), and various types of kebabs.

"You should try it if you're ever there."

"I don't think I'll ever find myself in Afghanistan," Thomas replied.

"Just like I didn't think I'd ever be in Rome?" Benítez asked with a smile.

When they finished, they asked for the bill, and Vincent insisted on paying. Thomas wanted to object, but the way Benítez held out his hand – as if to stop him: "Let me" – cut off any discussion on the matter. He looked at the man with a bit of silent admiration. There was a certain strength and authority in the Mexican that was impossible to argue with. He also had to admit that the time spent with Vincent was doing strange things to his head. He had eaten lunch in the company of a man he barely knew, and yet he felt very comfortable, as if they had known each other for years. Perhaps it's this scenery, the prospect of a day off that I haven't had in a long time, wandering around Rome like a tourist, like in the old days that I don't even remember, he thought. No one paid them any attention, no one was bothered by the sight of two men eating together, no one knew they were cardinals. Did anyone think of them as a couple? During lunch, Vincent unbuttoned the second button of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. Thomas couldn't help but stare, watching his hands working at the cuffs. He had both strength and ethereality about him. He couldn't understand how it was possible, but this combination certainly added even more to his aura. He was a handsome man. Surely, if he could, he would find a woman very quickly. Or maybe a man? Would I have had a chance with him if we had met under different circumstances, if our paths had crossed decades earlier? His own thoughts frightened him. He hadn't thought about his preferences in ages. When they got up to go to the Forum Romanum, a pleasant summer breeze enveloped them. Lawrence turned his face to the sky, closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths. He tried to clear his head of inappropriate and persistent thoughts, but when he opened his eyes, he met the gaze of Benítez, who was looking at him with a friendly expression.

They spent over three hours in the Forum Romanum. They wandered through the ruins, climbed the stairs to the hills, and Thomas watched as Vincent took countless photos. When they were on the Palatine Hill, a thought suddenly struck him: I want this moment in a photo, so he took his phone out of his pocket and photographed Vincent, who was standing by the railing and looking at the ruins below. He felt a strange excitement at the thought of what he had done. With a faster beating heart, he put his phone back in his pocket. The last point on the map of visiting the oldest place in Rome was the viewing terrace behind the Temple of Venus and Roma. As soon as they stepped onto it, they saw a breathtaking view of the Colosseum in all its glory. Thomas watched as Vincent, to his right, looked captivated, and he couldn't suppress the smile that appeared on his face. Wait until tomorrow when you see it at night, he thought, and felt both impatience for that moment and sadness, because then their little trip would end.

When they finished exploring the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill, they headed to another part of the city. They entered many churches, stopping for coffee and ice cream. They visited the majestic Pantheon, admiring its dome with their heads tilted back, and then immersed themselves in the bustle of Piazza Navona, only to get lost in the narrow streets of the Colonna district. Vincent stopped in some of the small shops and looked for small gifts. "For friends in Kabul," he explained. In one of them, he asked Thomas for help in choosing.

"I think I'll buy a key case for Miguel." After a moment, he added, "He's a priest and my friend. We live in a small house on the grounds belonging to the Italian embassy. Right next to us, we have the only Catholic chapel in all of Afghanistan." Thomas helped him choose from various leather cases and tried to ignore the surprising pang of jealousy he felt at the mention of Miguel. The thought that Vincent shared his life and ministry in such extreme conditions with someone close to him caused him a strange discomfort. They live together. The sentence echoed in his head. He wanted to know more about this man, about their daily life, about the challenges they faced. He realized that the curiosity that had gripped him went beyond mere politeness. There was a hint of something unknown in it, something that both worried and intrigued him.

"That must be a fascinating experience," Thomas began, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Working in such a remote place, in such different conditions..."

Vincent nodded, and a shadow of seriousness appeared in his eyes. "Fascinating... and exhausting. Our chapel is located on the grounds of the Italian embassy. It's the only place where Catholics can freely pray in the whole country. The history is quite long, but what's important is that we have this small, safe asylum."

"Asylum... that says a lot about the situation," Thomas murmured.

"Yes," Vincent agreed. "We operate within the Mission sui iuri of Afghanistan. This means that we are directly under the Holy See, but our work is limited to charitable and humanitarian activities, because official evangelization is impossible, even dangerous. We focus on supporting the small community of expatriates, embassy staff, and international organizations, but we also try to help the local population, discreetly, of course."

"And Miguel... what is your daily work like?" Thomas asked, trying to hide his interest.

Vincent hesitated for a moment. "Every day is different. Sometimes it's simple things – celebrating Mass for a small group of believers, administering the sacraments. But often it's also organizing aid for those in need, supporting them in difficult times. Miguel mainly deals with logistics and contacts with local organizations, which is an extremely delicate matter. You could probably compare it to your work. And I try to be present, listen, give spiritual support. We spend the evenings together, sharing experiences, praying. It's important not to feel completely isolated." There was a note of weariness in his voice, but also determination.

Thomas listened, and the remark about the similarity of their work did not escape his notice. He couldn't escape imagining Vincent in a domestic setting. Resting after a long day on the couch next to a faceless man. Cooking with him, eating dinner together, praying, saying goodnight. He suspected it would be another nightmare of his sleepless nights. Imagining the Afghan life of his new friend and tormenting himself with potential scenarios.

They wandered further through the narrow Roman streets, soaking in the city. Vincent asked about the Trevi Fountain, and Thomas was pleased because they were nearby and he could take him there. When they arrived, the Mexican's expression fell. The crowd was so dense that it was practically impossible to see anything, and the queue to get closer snaked around several times. Lawrence observed the slight disappointment on his companion's face and remembered that Monica had once told him about a place where you could see the fountain from above without the crowds. He quickly texted her, and since his friend practically lived online, he received a reply instantly.

"Follow me," he said to Vincent and gently pulled him by the elbow. They entered a clothing store that was opposite the fountain, and Thomas went up the stairs to the first floor. Vincent followed him trustingly, although he didn't understand the general idea. When they turned to the left side of the store, between the clothing racks, they saw a small window, and behind it, a perfect view of the Trevi. They approached the window and squeezed into the small space, observing the view before them. The fountain had just been renovated, and hundreds of people were in the square in front of it. The men looked at everything in amazement, and Benitez laughed softly.

"How did you even know about this place?" he asked Thomas, and in response, he heard, "I have my ways." He watched the smile on the Mexican's face as he took out his camera to take a few pictures and promised himself to thank Monica and stop criticizing her for her obsessive internet browsing.

Just below the Spanish Steps, they realized they were hungry (Thomas suspected he would eat more today than in the past week) and bought portions of pasta, which they ate sitting on a curb. "Another unique Roman experience," Lawrence said. When they finished, they climbed the Spanish Steps, feeling a bit heavy, and went straight to the Pincio Terrace, which offered a beautiful view of the Basilica. It was the true golden hour. The sun was slowly descending on the horizon, and a real spectacle was beginning in the sky. They found a small empty spot on a bench and sat down facing the city panorama. The day was slowly coming to an end, and Lawrence could feel it in his legs. He was tired and slightly sore, but he wouldn't trade it for anything else. They sat in silence, looking ahead. At one point, a couple sat down on Lawrence's right, practically pushing him onto Benitez. He cleared his throat and apologized, but there wasn't much room to move, so he stayed put. Their thighs, hips, and shoulders were touching. After a few minutes of sitting in such an intimate position, he was almost certain that Vincent could feel his heartbeat.

"Your friend, Monica, right? Where does she live?" he asked quietly. Because of how close they were sitting, it seemed to Thomas that Benitez was almost whispering. The sound of his voice sent shivers down his forearms.

"Trastevere. We were near her apartment today."

"Do you have a way to get there?" he asked, looking at Thomas with a raised eyebrow.

"I have the keys to her apartment. She gave them to me permanently. Or rather, indefinitely," he added with a wry smile.

"You're really close..." Vincent replied, and if Thomas had been able to concentrate better, he would have heard a note of uncertainty in the statement.

"Yes... Although it's very strange, because you know, she's an atheist." He looked to his left at Vincent and smiled mischievously. "I can't help it. An atheist and a cardinal. We've been laughing about it for years."

Benitez looked at him with a mixture of amusement and surprise on his face. He couldn't tell if he was amused by his confession or by the fact that he himself was laughing about it. He knew, however, that he had looked into his black eyes for a few seconds too long. That he had looked long enough to notice the long wrinkles on his forehead. That his complexion, after a whole day in the sun, still looked freshly shaven. And that he really wanted to touch it at that moment. With the last of his strength, he turned his face back and changed the subject. "She asked me to come to her cats tomorrow at noon. I usually spend an hour with them so they feel better. Don't feel obligated, I can handle it myself, and we can meet a little later."

"It doesn't bother me. I really like cats," Benitez replied quickly.

"So it's settled. I think we can start to head back. We still have the return journey ahead of us. I suggest going down and taking the metro."

So they went down. They headed towards Piazza del Popolo, and from there to the Flaminio metro station. Thomas bought them tickets, and they got on to travel three stops. The carriage was crowded. They stood close to each other, and when the train slowed down, Vincent leaned against Thomas. When they got off at the Cipro station, they walked for a few minutes towards the Vatican Museums. It was after 8 PM, so entry was only open to Vatican employees. Lawrence showed his pass and let Vincent go first. From this side of the city, it was the closest entrance to the Vatican, which was surrounded by a huge wall. They walked through the entire lower hall of the museum and came out into the courtyard, where the monumental view of the Basilica's dome greeted them. At the sight of Benitez, who was just taking a picture of it, Lawrence felt a pang in his heart. He was home now. His apartment was no more than five minutes away. He felt as if he were already hosting Vincent there, and he didn't even realize when he blurted out, "Would you like to see where I live?"

At the sound of those words, Benitez lowered his camera from his face and looked at him for a long time. "Of course," he replied, and they headed towards the Collegio Etiopico. Thomas didn't know what had come over him or how it had happened that he was inviting someone he hadn't known a few days ago to his home. The impulsive suggestion he had made resulted in him now wondering if the apartment was clean. When they reached the building in a few minutes, Vincent was delighted by the concept of living in such a place, but also surprised.

"I'll be honest, when you told me you lived in the gardens, I didn't know what you meant. The Holy Father mentioned that cardinals usually live somewhere else..."

"Because they do. In the Palace of the Holy Office."

"And you don't live there because...?" he asked, curious.

"Ahh..." Thomas rubbed his eyes. It seemed that thinking about that place affected him that way. "The Palace is too big. Too intimidating. I lived there. But I only lasted a month." He led Vincent towards the entrance, then they approached the stairs and began to climb them. "I asked to be moved to another apartment, and I've been living here ever since." They went up to the second floor, and Lawrence went ahead, leading Vincent down the corridor towards his apartment. He couldn't believe he was doing this, and yet he was doing it. Until now, he had only invited Aldo Bellini and occasionally Monica here. From now on, even this apartment would remind him of Vincent. He opened the door and invited the man into his space. They hung up their blazers at the entrance, and Vincent took off his bag. Thomas asked him to make himself comfortable and encouraged him to use the restroom. When Benitez went in, Lawrence leaned against the kitchen counter and looked at it with wide eyes. He washed his hands in the kitchen sink and splashed cold water on his face. He wondered if the Pope would be pleased with how things were going.

Vincent came out of the bathroom and looked around the apartment. Thomas offered him something to drink, and they both agreed on a small glass of white wine. Benitez wandered around the apartment, looking at the photos on the walls, reading the titles of the books on the shelves, and touching his father's desk with his hand. Lawrence approached him with a glass of wine and handed it to him. He didn't miss the fact that for a second, he touched his companion's hand and felt a shiver down his neck. He opened two balcony windows and let in the evening birdsong. They sat on the sofa at a considerable distance from each other and drank their wine.

"Thomas, this place is very nice. Although I admit I've only known you for a short time, I have the impression that it's just like you." Lawrence smiled gently. With his gaze fixed on his glass, he began to speak: "I couldn't live in the Holy Office. The apartment assigned to me was over 400 square meters" - he looked at Vincent to see if this information shocked him. It did. - "That's enough to accommodate several people. I won't lie when I say that others had even larger apartments. I'm incredibly lucky that they found this place for me. Living in abundance when there's so much evil happening. Occupying four hundred meters alone when there are homeless people living on the street under the window. That sense of absurdity was unbearable. I felt like a fraud in my own life. Asking for a transfer was a necessity. To preserve what was left of my sanity. Here," he sighed softly, looking around his living room, "here at least I can breathe."

After a moment of silence, he added, "I know it's the end of the day, and we're tired, but there's one more place here where the view at night is special." He nodded towards the window. "There's a small patio on the roof of the building. We can go up there if you like." Vincent nodded, getting up. Thomas took the bottle of wine, then led him back into the corridor and further, towards the narrow stairs leading up. They stepped out onto a small, tiled terrace. They were enveloped by the slightly crisp air and the silence prevailing in the heart of the Vatican. And before them, almost within reach, the mighty and wonderfully illuminated dome of St. Peter's Basilica shone against the darkening sky.

Thomas watched as his companion stared at the Basilica with wide eyes and thought that if he had considered anything today to be breathtaking, it wasn't. Truly breathtaking was only the sight of Vincent against the backdrop of the dome, Vincent on the roof of his apartment. This thought both terrified and excited him. Probably the fatigue and the wine had gone to his head.

"You did well to find your own space. This place is magical. I hope you're happy here," Benítez said, looking at him with shining eyes.

I am happy now. For the first time in ages, he thought, and said, "Let's drink to today. To your endurance and fruitful day. And to tomorrow, so you can endure a little longer," he added with a smile, and they clinked glasses.

For the next hour, they sat on the edge of the roof on the cornice and talked, watching the navy blue sky envelop the dome. They drank the whole bottle of wine. Thomas couldn't remember the last time he had allowed himself such a moment of carefree abandon. As it turned out, Vincent felt similarly: "I haven't had a moment like this in years. Thank you for today. It was wonderful... I should get going."

"I'll walk you back," Thomas blurted out suddenly. He didn't know if he wanted to prolong their time together more, or if he felt responsible for Benitez. It was definitely highly unlikely that anything bad could happen to him within the well-guarded Vatican gardens, so he admitted to himself that there was no explanation for his behavior.

Vincent looked at him in shock. "You don't have to."

"But I must! Otherwise, you'll find the turtles and never make it back to your room," he said, then got up from the cornice, offered his hand to Benitez, and helped him up. When the younger man stood up, he was chest to chest with Thomas and smiled broadly. They were still holding hands. Vincent lowered his head slightly and let go of the hand that had helped him up.

They went down from the roof and took Vincent's bag and blazer from the apartment. They reached St. Martha's in five minutes. Just before the building, they stopped and looked at each other for the last time.

"Good night," Thomas said. "Thank you for today... Tomorrow at the same time as today?"

"Yes. Good night, Thomas. Sleep well. Thank you..." Vincent replied, turned away with one last gentle smile, and left his companion in front of the building.

Thomas turned around and headed to his apartment. Despite walking several kilometers that day, he had a light step. He entered the house and sat heavily on the sofa in the place that Benitez had occupied. He took his phone out of his pocket and found the photo he had taken that day. He displayed it and stared at it for long minutes.

A few hundred meters away, in the Domus Sanctae Marthae, Vincent Benítez put his bag and blazer on a chair and sat on the edge of the bed with his camera in hand. He turned it on and began to swipe through the photos. When he found the one he was looking for, he zoomed in and looked at it, longer than he would have liked to admit. The picture showed Thomas Lawrence against the backdrop of the Arch of Constantine and the Colosseum.

Notes:

For anyone interested in locations and protips for your holidays in Rome - the places I described are real ;)

Aventine keyhole: https://g.co/kgs/D4urbML
Shop near di Trevi: https://g.co/kgs/eD6sBrq
Pontifical Ethiopian College: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pontifical_Ethiopian_College_Vatican_%28cropped%29.jpg

Chapter 3: Roman Days. Part II

To say that Thomas Lawrence woke up disoriented would be a considerable understatement. For the first few minutes after waking, he couldn't quite grasp whether he was truly awake or still dreaming. As the memories of the previous day began to filter back, his eyes snapped open. He glanced at his watch and realized that for the first time in a long while, he had nearly overslept and needed to hurry. He mechanically went through his morning routine and dressed in a similar outfit to the day before, changing only his shirt for one with blue stripes. As he entered the living room, the recollections of the previous day washed over him – one glance at the sofa and he could picture Vincent sitting there. It dawned on him that from now on, he would always see him in this apartment.

He hurried to make it to a quick breakfast before morning mass and left the apartment. He experienced another revelation as he walked along the path to the Domus Sanctae Marthae. They had walked this way just a few hours ago, he thought. Truthfully, he was terrified. Terrified that his thoughts orbited around Benítez, that he was excited at the thought of today, that he didn't want to say goodbye to him at the end and lose him from his life. The longer he pondered this, the more dejected he became.

He arrived at Sanctae Marthae and headed straight for the cafeteria. Even as he entered, he spotted Vincent from afar. It didn't surprise him that he was once again standing with Sister Agnes. At the sight of the man, he felt a strong pull and decided to greet him immediately. Benítez was dressed informally again. Seeing his figure in a charcoal shirt and beige trousers, Thomas couldn't take his eyes off him. The Mexican noticed him and offered a slight smile as Lawrence approached them.

"Father Lawrence." Thomas thought, great heavens! I almost called him my dear Vincent!

"Sister Agnes, Father Benítez," he greeted them with a nod and a smile.

"I was just telling Sister about yesterday." He turned to her. "Father Lawrence is an excellent guide," he said enthusiastically.

To Lawrence's surprise, Sister Agnes asked with curiosity, "Oh, really?" and continued to look at him with interest. The Benítez effect, Thomas mused.

"Sister should let him persuade her sometime. Thomas knows a multitude of exceptional places. Father Lawrence, did you know that Sister Agnes isn't from Rome?" No, he denied, and noticed a micro-reaction on Agnes's face when Benítez referred to him by his first name alone. Oh, heavens. The Mexican will leave, and I'll have to face Agnes and her silent judgment.

"It's good to know that you were in good hands, Father. Do you have any plans for today as well?" she asked.

Oh yes. I plan to make Vincent fall in love with Rome and make him want to return as soon as possible, he thought, and instead said, "There are still a few must-see places left. We intend to make the most of this day. And I hope Sister will remember me when she feels like taking a Roman stroll."

Vincent watched him, and a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. Thomas thought he would never recover from meeting this man.

"I promise I will remember. Now, please have something to eat. Eminences, have a good day," and she left for the back of the kitchen.

They ate and then went to mass. Thomas saw how the Pope observed them attentively during the service. Vincent sat next to him again, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He had to admit that his vanity fed on this feeling.

After the service, they headed straight for the exit of the Vatican and set off for Trastevere to feed Monica's cats, as promised. It was about a half-hour walk to her apartment. They spent it talking about the city, its workings, its hustle and bustle, and the necessity of balancing the lives of ordinary citizens with tourists and pilgrims. When they reached the old district, someone suddenly greeted Thomas, bowing to him. Benítez didn't miss it.

"You're quite the recognizable figure here," he commented with a noticeable hint of jest.

Thomas grimaced at the thought. If he were wearing his clerical collar, it would be much worse. "On the one hand, it's a huge city, and I have all the anonymity I could want. And on the other hand, you can't count on always remaining unrecognized... Despite that, I have a lot of freedom. I regret that I can't say the same about the Holy Father. He valued his independence. All of this to end up in a golden cage for the rest of his life. Vincent... don't misunderstand me. It's wonderful that he's the Pope. But sometimes I see in him that longing for the life he lost, and I regret that I can't give it back to him..." As he finished speaking, they stopped in the shade of trees in a narrow Trastevere alleyway. Thomas was shocked that his emotions had overwhelmed him so strongly. Just as he was about to apologize for his outburst, he felt Vincent's hand on his left wrist.

"Thomas... I perfectly understand what you're talking about. It must be incredibly difficult to suddenly lose the life you knew. If I lost mine, despite the difficulties that accompany it every day, I wouldn't know what to do with myself..." – tightening his fingers on Thomas's wrist, he added – "I'm glad the Holy Father has you. Having a friend like you is a treasure," and he released his hand.

They stood there for a moment longer, looking at each other. Lawrence felt the place where Benítez's hand had been pulse. He had lived in this world for over 60 years and didn't know how to behave. He cleared his throat and thanked him for the words. "We're almost there," he added and reached into his trouser pocket for the keys.

Trastevere had a distinctive character. It was a tangle of narrow, cobblestone streets winding between old, often ivy-covered buildings with faded facades in warm ochre and terracotta colors. The district, once a working-class area, had retained its somewhat separate, artistic atmosphere and the charm of bygone eras, with small squares, hidden courtyards, and the ubiquitous scent of coffee and baked goods. The house where Monica's apartment was located stood at a fork in the small streets. Lawrence opened the front door and went in first. He invited Vincent in and bolted the door behind him. "The stairs are terribly steep, so be careful. It's a characteristic feature of this neighborhood," and he headed upstairs. When they reached the second floor, he opened the door, and they were greeted by two furry faces that immediately began rubbing against his legs.

"Vincent, please, make yourself comfortable. Feel as at home here as I do, and I feel very much at home," he joked to the Mexican, who was already crouching down and stroking the attention-seeking cats. This particular sight tugged slightly at his heart.

Half an hour later, having fed and cleaned everything according to Monica's request, Lawrence sat on the sofa and watched Vincent play with one of the animals.

"I love cats," he said, feeling Thomas's gaze on him. "In Kabul, Miguel and I feed a few together. Unfortunately, they definitely prefer him."

"That's impossible," Thomas replied, and as he said it, the other animal lay down on his lap and settled in for a nap. He adored Monica's cats. He had known them since they were tiny, when she had taken them in from the street. They were siblings, a calico girl and a black boy. The black one had fallen asleep on his lap, and as he stroked it, for one crazy moment he thought of Vincent's hair. He looked at the man, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, dangling a toy for the calico. How did it come to this, that we are now playing with cats together in an apartment in Trastevere? It was a truly devilish concept to introduce them and lead them to this strange bond, only to separate them tomorrow. "If you want to give her treats as a reward, you'll find them in the drawer in the kitchen. Forgive me, but I'm immobilized for the time being."

Vincent laughed, a melodious sound. "Understood, Thomas. Understood," and stood up to give the cat her treats.

A moment later, he joined Lawrence on the sofa, and as he did, the calico quickly found her way onto his lap, demanding affection. Thomas couldn't help but laugh. "They like you! It's natural. You have an aura that attracts. Both animals and people." He could have sworn he noticed a slight blush on Vincent's face. "I love them, sometimes I treat them like my own. I could have my own pet, but it would be unhappy spending all day alone. Perhaps someday... when I decide to retire, I'll get cats. For now, I have them. That is, if Monica allows me to," he added with a sad smile.

"She has a very nice apartment." Thomas agreed and imagined how she would burst out laughing if she could see them now. Two cardinals squeezed onto her small sofa, each with a cat on their lap. "Do you have a picture of her?" Vincent asked, jolting him out of his thoughts. He reached into his pocket for his phone, trying not to wake the cat, and searched for the photos he had taken during their short trip to France. He turned the phone towards Vincent and showed him a few pictures. Monica was a beautiful woman. A tall blonde with long, slightly wavy hair and blue eyes. She had a classic and timeless beauty and was often pigeonholed because of it. It was precisely for not labeling her in any way that she valued Thomas. In some of the photographs, she was alone; in others, they were taking a picture together, which, as she told him, was called a selfie. "I completely rely on her in this matter; I don't have much knowledge of technology and fashion." He showed Vincent more pictures and smiled at the sight of her. He missed her and promised himself that they must meet soon. He began to talk about their trip. A year ago, Monica had to go to Nice for work, and since he hadn't been on vacation for years, she practically dragged him along. When he had doubts the day before their flight, she burst into his apartment and packed his bags. She threatened to cut off contact with him if he didn't rest and later go to the press and say that he was friends with an atheist. How she managed to get into the Vatican gardens back then, she never wanted to reveal. So they went to Nice for five days. He spent the mornings and afternoons alone because she was in meetings. And later, they explored, relaxed on the beach, and enjoyed each other's company. He couldn't remember ever experiencing such anonymity anywhere else since then.

"That sounds like a lovely trip. Did you have a good time?"

"Yes. I'm glad she talked me into it," he admitted with a touch of melancholy in his voice. "During that vacation, everyone tried to pigeonhole us. Some thought she was my daughter, others my partner. A middle-aged guy with an attractive woman... Monica got a kick out of it. She never corrected anyone and then teased me about it later."

"And is she more than just a friend to you?" Vincent asked so softly that Thomas, lost in his memories, almost missed it. He sensed the man tense slightly. He could feel that Vincent was interested in his relationship with the girl, but he was surprised that he had asked the question.

"I'm her friend, and I protect her as best as I can. If you're asking if I'd like to be something more to her, in a different category, then no. I've never thought of her that way. Probably because of the situation in which I met her... Someone hurt her. Terribly. I don't want to go into details because it's her private matter, but since then, Monica has avoided men. She went through traumatic times because of us, men... She doesn't want to hear about anyone. Fortunately, she makes an exception for me," he smiled as another photo of them together on the beach appeared on his phone. Thomas was holding the phone because he had longer arms, but due to his lack of skill, the photo was terrible. Still, they were in it together, and he liked to look back at it. He and Vincent were sitting with their shoulders touching. The domestic feel of that scene at that moment melted his heart. He could imagine his life that way. With someone by his side. He had never thought of Monica like that, not even now as he sat on her couch. And with Vincent? he thought for a crazy moment. They finished looking at the photos, and he suggested they get going. Vincent looked at him, and just like yesterday, he was so close that Thomas felt his breath catch.

"It's good that you have each other. I regret that I can't meet her."

"Next time. Two days to start. The rest later," Thomas said to him, looking deeply into his dark eyes. Had he just offered himself to Vincent for eternity?

In response, he heard, "Two days to start," and here, in the apartment in Trastevere, in their intimate cocoon, with their shoulders touching, it sounded like a promise.

When they left Monica's apartment, Vincent asked, "What's your next plan for today?" but Thomas didn't want to reveal everything.

"I'll take you to Campo de' Fiori. You wanted to buy something more for your friends, and you'll definitely find something there. We can also go to the Basilica of Saint Paul Outside the Walls. Less known, but just as important. And for dessert, a few interesting things."

So they walked slowly in that direction, and Thomas felt happy with the leisurely pace and enjoying the moment. They found themselves again in the historic district and got lost in its narrow streets. He felt that he could wander like this with Vincent for days, and they would always have something to talk about, and there would always be something new to discover. In Campo de' Fiori, he watched with a smile as Benítez wandered excitedly among the stalls. He couldn't decide which vendor to buy from, so he had a brief chat with practically everyone. Thomas paused for a moment when he saw the man buying sets of risotto rice and wooden kitchen utensils, saying that they would come in handy when he cooked with Miguel. He couldn't suppress a feeling of jealousy that surprised him. He had never felt this way before, never been jealous of anyone. But suddenly, he longed to be Miguel. He looked at Benítez with a sense of dread. When did you become so important to me, and what am I supposed to do with this unknown feeling now? He looked at his slightly shorter figure and longed to put his arm around him. How can you yearn for physicality if you've never experienced it? The moments and seconds when they accidentally touched were clear confirmation for him that it was possible.

They stopped at a café, where they ate Tiramisu, drank coffee, and then moved on. Thomas suggested they take a bus to the Basilica. The journey took them over half an hour. All this time, he told Vincent about the places they passed and also his private stories connected with them. They sat at the back of the bus, squeezed into less than two seats because a certain elderly Italian woman had decided to take the seat next to them and didn't care that she had practically placed her bags on Thomas. He tried to get her attention with a quiet cough, but it only made Vincent laugh. The Mexican, who had been smiling broadly at him for most of the way, now pulled his forearm, saying, "Thomas, move closer to me. You don't mess with elderly Italian women. Even I know that." And so, he spent the rest of the journey pressed against Vincent, who didn't seem to mind.

They spent over two hours in the Basilica. During the visit, Thomas was recognized by one of the Benedictine fathers. From behind one of the pillars, where a small group prayer had just ended, a monk in a black habit with a slightly graying beard and a warm, somewhat astonished gaze approached them. "Your Excellency?" he asked softly, as if not believing his own eyes. Thomas nodded with a slight, friendly smile. "Father Marcello," he replied with a note of warmth in his voice, "it's been a few years, hasn't it?" The monk took his hand in both of his, bowed respectfully, and nodded. "Since that conference in Monte Cassino. I haven't forgotten your lecture —I still quote it today." Vincent watched this scene attentively, and Thomas, noticing this, turned to him with a quiet laugh. "Father Marcello, allow me to introduce you to Archbishop Vincent Benítez, my... travel companion in Rome." The Father looked at the Mexican with kindness. "It's an honor, Archbishop Benítez," he said softly, with the respect befitting the holy place. Vincent nodded with a somewhat reserved but warm smile.

After a few moments of conversation, Father Marcello offered to show them places usually inaccessible to visitors. Thomas looked at Vincent questioningly, and he nodded slightly—with a curiosity that needed no words. So they followed the monk, who led them with a steady, calm pace through side passages and quiet cloisters, telling stories that only someone who had spent their entire life within these walls would know. Vincent listened attentively, asked questions, took pictures, but with a certain tact—as if he instinctively knew when silence was more appropriate than a snapshot. Thomas watched him surreptitiously, feeling something between pride and a strange warmth that grew somewhere beneath his ribs. After the tour, they also visited the souvenir shop hidden behind the cloister. Vincent almost immediately struck up a conversation with the smiling saleswoman, who asked him with curiosity where he was from. Thomas watched their interaction with slight amusement, thinking that Vincent seemed to find a common language with everyone, regardless of the place or situation.

They went back out onto the street, and Thomas turned to Vincent, standing opposite him.

"I'd like to show you one of the Roman catacombs. I thought that since you serve in Kabul, it would be a particularly important place for you." He watched as understanding dawned on Benítez's face. He was slightly taller than him, and as they stood looking at each other, he felt an overwhelming urge to hug Vincent.

"Thomas, that's very kind of you. I would very much like to see them. To be honest, I haven't heard anything about them..." He uttered the last words with embarrassment, and Thomas, in a sudden impulse, touched his forearm and squeezed it encouragingly.

"In this case, that's actually very good. It will enhance your impression. When I visited them for the first time, I hadn't heard about them either, and it turned out well for me." He tightened his grip on the man's arm and released it as they started walking.

He checked his phone for which bus they could take and they waited at the stop for about fifteen minutes. This area was different from the heavily touristy center, so they enjoyed the lack of noise and listened to the sounds of parrots that lived in the crowns of the palm trees. Vincent asked Thomas for information about the catacombs, but he said he wouldn't tell him anything more. "You'll experience it yourself."

They got on the bus and in about fifteen minutes found themselves on the Via Appia. Lawrence suggested they get off a stop earlier and walk along this oldest Roman road. Thomas chose the Catacombs of Callixtus for today. When they arrived, he went to the ticket office and asked for Father Francesco. "I know one of the guides here. Maybe we can get a private tour," he said to Vincent, slightly shocking him.

In the courtyard in front of the entrance to the catacombs, there were many tourists waiting to enter in guided groups divided by language. After a few minutes, a man came out of the office and greeted Thomas, who then introduced him to Vincent and asked if he would have the time and inclination to show them the catacombs. "Vincent serves in Kabul, and I would like you to tell him about this place," he said to Francesco and smiled brightly when he agreed and promised to return to them in about fifteen minutes.

"Thomas... Aren't we taking this man away from his work?... We can join a group," Vincent said, clearly embarrassed by the situation.

"Don't worry. Francesco once promised me such a tour, and now we have the opportunity to take advantage of it. He's great at it and enjoys doing it. Besides, he owes me a small debt of gratitude... There's nothing to worry about."

They waited a moment longer for the man, and when he came out, they followed him towards the entrance. They had to squeeze through the crowd of tourists, and Thomas, in a reflex he couldn't later explain, placed his hand on Vincent's lower back, pushing him ahead through the crowd.

They began the tour in the courtyard and the chapel. Francesco spoke about the history of the place, about the first Christians who, despite the prohibitions, gathered here for prayer and buried their dead. His Italian accent added charm to the story, and his gestures brought the words to life. Vincent listened attentively, absorbing every word. He looked at the old walls, imagining the community of faith that was born in such unfavorable circumstances.

Then they descended the narrow, dark stairs into the earth. The air became cooler and more humid. Francesco turned on his flashlight, and the beam of light illuminated the corridors carved into the rock. On both sides, rows of burial niches stretched out, some walled up, others empty. When he said that about half a million people were buried in the Catacombs of Callixtus, and the total length of the corridors was about 20 kilometers, spread over several levels, Thomas watched as Vincent's eyes involuntarily widened.

"Here rested thousands of martyrs and popes," Francesco said quietly, with reverence in his voice. "This is a holy place, steeped in faith and suffering."

Thomas walked beside Vincent, watching his reaction. He saw the concentration on his face, but also a deep understanding. As the Archbishop of Kabul, Vincent was acutely aware of the challenges and dangers faced by Christ's followers in various parts of the world. This place resonated with his own experiences and his responsibility for the flock entrusted to him.

Francesco stopped at one of the larger chambers. "These are the papal crypts," he explained. "Many bishops of Rome from the 2nd and 3rd centuries are buried here. Fragments of inscriptions with their names have been preserved." Vincent stepped closer and examined the remnants of the marble slabs. He touched them gently, with due reverence for his predecessors in faith. Thomas stood behind him, feeling admiration for his humility and deep spirituality. He knew that this visit was not just a history lesson for Vincent, but above all a spiritual pilgrimage to the roots of the Church.

They moved on, delving deeper into the labyrinth of underground corridors. The silence was broken only by the soft rustle of their footsteps and Francesco's calm voice, telling the history and symbolism of this extraordinary place. The corridors stretched endlessly. They turned left and right. Thomas always wondered how the guides managed to find their way. Francesco led them to the crypt of Saint Cecilia and spoke about the sculpture found there. As he moved towards the exit and they were about to follow him, Thomas stopped in his tracks at the sight of Vincent staring at him. The expression on the man's face absolutely terrified him. It was one of dread, and he looked as if he was about to cry.

Thomas approached him and asked softly, "Vincent... What's wrong?" Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Francesco was waiting for them in the corridor around the corner, giving them a moment of privacy. Benítez didn't answer, he just looked at Thomas, and now that he was closer, he realized that what he had initially taken for fear was awe.

"Thomas... I don't know how to thank you for bringing me here... And for all the time you've dedicated to me these past few days..." he said, his voice almost breaking.

Thomas listened to these words in shock and didn't know what to reply. He had gained a lot from the trip with Vincent, relishing their shared moments. He wanted the man by his side, which is why he now felt like a fraud. A fraud with ulterior motives, while Vincent was thanking him for all this time. Not knowing what to do, he moved even closer and took the shorter man by the shoulders.

"My dear Vincent... You don't know how happy I am to be here with you. I thank you too."

And then something happened that he hadn't expected. Vincent put his arms around him and hugged him. Thomas, who hadn't been hugged in ages, especially not by someone he had some sort of feelings for, didn't know how to react at first. After a few seconds, shaking off his initial shock, he returned the embrace, putting his arms around Vincent. They stood like that for a brief moment, holding each other. He could feel the man's hair on his cheek and how soft it was, he could feel his skin on his ear. Suddenly, he also smelled a scent that definitely belonged to Vincent. The beating of their hearts, their breaths, and the synchronized rising of their chests made him feel feverish. He longed to stand like this forever. Acting automatically, he pressed his hands more firmly against Vincent's back and tightened them on his linen gray jacket. There was something magical and dangerous in what they were doing. They were hugging in ancient crypts, deep beneath the earth's surface and hidden from the whole world. The only person who knew they were there at that moment was Francesco, who was probably wondering what on earth was going on. Thomas felt Vincent tighten his grip, signaling that he was about to end it, and he released him.

They pulled apart slightly, and Vincent's hand slid from his back and arm directly into his own hand. Both of them, as if in sync, looked down, and Vincent squeezed his fingers one last time and let go of Thomas. When he raised his head, a slight embarrassment was visible on his face. He thanked Thomas one last time and left the crypt, leaving Lawrence speechless with emotion.

Thomas didn't remember the rest of the tour very well. He followed Francesco and Vincent, but his thoughts were focused solely on the man walking in front of him, and his eyes were burning a hole in his back. When they emerged into the daylight, he began to act automatically. He thanked Francesco and directed them back towards the bus stop, at the same time suggesting that they should now go to the center to eat something. Everything was going according to his plan; it was already six o'clock. By the time they found a restaurant and ate something, it would start to get dark, and then he would take Vincent to the Colosseum.

When they got on the bus and again took their seats at the very back, he decided to present his plan, still not revealing the idea with the Colosseum. Vincent, as usual, agreed to his suggestions, and they spent the rest of the journey mostly in silence. Fatigue had caught up with them, they were starting to feel hungry, and in addition, Thomas felt emotionally battered by the hug he had received from Vincent. Now he felt him close again, on his body. A psychological and physical closeness that he hadn't known a few days ago. Now he knew what it could be like, and he wondered what he would do with himself tomorrow. The thought saddened him terribly. Beside him, Vincent was also sitting lost in his own thoughts. Are you thinking about the same thing? Thomas wondered. Did you also feel something more and not know how to kill it within yourself?

In about half an hour, they reached the center. They got off near the Monument to Victor Emmanuel II and headed to an osteria that Thomas knew. When they sat down at a table, Vincent asked if they had the pasta that Thomas’d mentioned when they first met, so they ordered two portions of cacio e pepe and Coca-Cola. While waiting for their meal, Thomas asked his companion about his plans after returning to Afghanistan.

"Go back to work, to the routine... This trip has really thrown me off. Miguel and I are planning to create a small school for children. So that at least some of them have the opportunity to receive an education. Unfortunately, it's still a big problem, especially for girls. The biggest challenge now is finding a suitable location. There's no point in doing it where we live, because it's an area for expats. So we need to find it in a neighborhood where the children will have us right next to their homes."

"That's very generous of you. Do you have a lot of support in Miguel?"

"Yes. He's a good friend and colleague. I'm lucky to have him there. I've left him alone for over two weeks now. Before... before I came to the Vatican, I had to go to Geneva. I had some personal matters there. In the end, I didn't resolve it, but still, I haven't been in Kabul for over two weeks and I'm not helping, not working..."

"Vincent, when you're there, you work hard enough. Allow yourself a moment of respite. Everyone needs a little vacation."

"Like you in Nice..." he said with a shy smile.

Thomas thought for a moment and said, "I'm planning to step down as dean of the college soon. There comes a point when even vacation doesn't help..."

"Why?"

"The Curia can be tiring. And I feel too old for all this. I don't think it's the role for me."

"Thomas..." Vincent leaned across the table. "I don't know much about the difficulties of your work, but know that the Pope always greatly appreciates how you fulfill it. I've heard many good things about you from him."

Hearing this made Lawrence feel uneasy. Uneasy with the realization that he hadn't known Vincent before. Quietly and with sadness in his voice, he said, "I didn't know you existed until I saw you. He never told me about you. He protected you until your arrival in the Vatican..."

"Yes, I believe that's his style. To protect others. So know that he protects you too. And worries. No matter how many times you say he doesn't need to, he still does."

Thomas decided that he would leave analyzing this for later. Later, when Vincent wouldn't be there. Now, the here and now and their last hours together mattered. When their pasta arrived, they ate it with relish. Vincent liked the simplicity of the cacio e pepe and thanked him for the choice. This time, Lawrence paid. "Please, you're my guest, let me treat you," and Vincent suddenly found himself speechless.

They left the restaurant, and the sky was beginning to darken. Thomas thought that if they saw Piazza Venezia more closely, they would reach the Colosseum when its beautiful lighting would be visible. So they strolled and admired the Victor Emmanuel II Monument, and Vincent took pictures. Thomas tried to stop himself from looking at the man, but he failed miserably time after time. What will I occupy my eyes with when he disappears from my sight forever? Vincent sensed his gaze and caught it. He gave him a smile that warmed him and quickened his breath. "What are we going to do now, Thomas?" he asked, and it took Lawrence a moment to realize that he was asking about the next destination, not the status of their situationship.

"You can't be in Rome and not see the Colosseum after dark," he smiled warmly at Vincent. "So let's go," he encouraged the man.

They slowly walked towards the Colosseum, with the Forum Roman on their right. After just a few minutes, the Colosseum, towering above everything else in the area, became visible. The closer they got, the more imposing the amphitheater's silhouette became. Strategically placed spotlights cast a warm, honey-colored light that emphasized every arch, every column, and every unevenness of the aged stones. The dark interiors of the window openings and passageways contrasted sharply with the illuminated facade, giving the building drama and mystery. Its enormity was overwhelming, yet fascinating. When they reached the square right beneath it, they stopped, and Thomas watched Vincent, whose eyes were wide with admiration, and whose face showed silent astonishment. He had already seen his awe in the underground, but what was now painted on his face was pure, almost childlike fascination. Vincent turned his head towards Thomas for a moment, who suddenly said, "So, shall we go in?"

Confusion flickered across Benítez's face. "Thomas, it looks closed."

"Yes, yes... It's already closed. But it will be open for you!" Then, without giving Vincent a chance to say anything, he headed towards one of the gates where a guard was standing. He turned around, and when he saw that the Mexican was still standing in place, he called out and waved his hand at him, "Come with me!"

And Vincent went. He didn't say a word as Thomas led him to the guard, showed him something on his phone that turned out to be a special pass, and as they passed through the scanners checking them and their personal belongings. It dawned on Thomas that the man must be completely stunned by what was happening. Once they had passed through all the procedural points, he turned to him. "Unfortunately, we won't have a guide with us, so you'll have to make do with my tour. I'll try to please you, Vincent."

In the empty lower hall of the Colosseum, these words resonated with more power than they were originally intended to. Benítez finally came to himself and asked with surprise in his voice, "How did you do that?"

"Oh, I know someone who works here. Besides, Vatican employees can enjoy certain privileges of living in Rome (he omitted the fact that not all of them are entitled to them), and this is one of them." He looked at the bewildered Vincent and added with a smile, "Did you think I'd let you not see the Colosseum inside? Not on my watch, my dear. However, I hope you'll forgive my little lie yesterday. When I said we wouldn't be able to get in... Sightseeing without the crowds is definitely better. And the evening – magical."

"Thomas... I can't express in words how grateful I am for everything you do..." Benítez sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

"The pleasure is all mine. I'm making sure you leave here with the best memories."

"I already have them," he heard in a sudden reply. Then he felt Vincent's hand tighten on his forearm and the repetition, "I already have them."

Oh Dear Lord, he thought. I won't get out of this alive. I'll end with this, whatever this is.

And they began to explore. They walked through the underground. The labyrinth of corridors beneath the former arena stretched before them in the dim light. The silence was broken only by their footsteps echoing off the damp stone walls and the muffled sound of the city coming from above. Thomas, playing the role of guide, pointed out the remains of the complex mechanisms.

"Here were the elevators," he said quietly, trying not to disturb the mood of the place, "that were used to lift wild animals and scenery onto the arena. And these narrow passages led to the cells where the gladiators waited." He spoke about the logistics of the games, about the underground tunnels connecting the Colosseum with the Ludus Magnus, the gladiatorial school.

Vincent listened intently, his face expressing a mixture of fascination and sadness. The emptiness and silence of this place now stood in such a poignant contrast to the brutal clamor that must have reigned here centuries ago. Vincent asked quiet questions, not so much about the technicalities, but about the people – about their fates, about the meaning of these bloody spectacles. Thomas answered as best he could, sharing his historical knowledge but also sensing the deeper, existential questions hidden behind Vincent's words.

Then they climbed the steep, though partly reconstructed, stairs, emerging onto the level where the wooden floor of the arena once stretched. From here, the view of the vast, elliptical interior of the amphitheater was even more impressive. Above them, the starry sky contrasted with the warm lighting of the ruins. They stood in the center, in the place where the fates of men and animals were decided. Thomas gestured towards the rows of stone seats climbing upwards, telling about the division of places according to social status – from senators right by the arena to the plebeians and women on the highest levels. He mentioned the Velarium, the gigantic canvas roof that protected the spectators from the sun. Vincent was silent for a long moment, looking around. He seemed absorbed by the enormity of the place and the weight of history that hung in the night air. "It's hard to imagine," he finally whispered, his voice barely audible in the vast space, "what those who fought here felt, looking at those thousands of faces around them."

Finally, they reached the highest level of the amphitheater. A light, cool breeze blew here, and there was an extraordinary silence and peace. They approached the stone balustrade and leaned against it. They looked at the view at their feet and absorbed every moment. Thomas couldn't stop himself from looking at Vincent, who stood to his right. He looked at his profile in the faint, warm light of the spotlights, at his dark eyes, his gaze following the line of his jaw, his nose. An overwhelming desire to touch Benítez washed over him. To connect with him with any surface of his body. He couldn't fight these thoughts, but he still had enough common sense to refrain from taking the younger man in his arms. He thought that this moment would never happen again in his life and that he wanted to remember this moment forever. As if summoned by this thought, Vincent turned his head towards him, and their eyes met. They didn't say anything to each other, they just looked at each other for a few short moments. Their time was inexorably drawing to a close, and they both felt it.

"We should slowly head back to the Vatican," Thomas began. "You're flying out tomorrow..." he added, and felt bitterness as he spoke the words.

"Yes," the man replied in a whisper and placed his hand on Lawrence's hands clasped on the balustrade, whose heart instantly quickened in response to the touch. "Thank you, Thomas," he whispered further, and Lawrence felt Vincent's thumb stroke the back of his hand. A large lump rose in his throat. The expression on the Mexican's face could melt any heart, and the look he gave him almost made Thomas fall to his knees before him. Here, under the Roman sky, in the silence of the Colosseum before them, with the city's clamor behind them, the tension he felt between them was electrifying. He suddenly understood what he felt. He longed for the man who stood beside him at this moment to belong only to him. He longed to close him in an embrace and never let go. Not let him leave and lock him in his apartment. To take care of him, to surround him with protection and love. I have just lived the two most beautiful days of my life. He, a man who had lived for 62 years, had only now found true joy, and it was contained in Vincent Benítez. He felt that another moment and he would faint. He felt hot, and then terribly cold. A cold shiver ran through him, and Vincent, who probably felt it under his hand, took it away and moved slightly away, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. Thomas looked ahead again and closed his eyes to count to ten. One, two, three, four, he's not mine, he never will be, tomorrow he'll leave and that's all you'll see of him, five, six, seven, eight, nine, I'm lost, ten. He took two deep breaths and turned to Vincent, who was standing silently looking at the ground. "Let's go back." His tone, though trying to sound cheerful, sounded sad.

They left the Colosseum in complete silence. My mourning begins now, he thought for a moment, but quickly stopped himself from dwelling on the tragedy of the situation. He's still with me, still walking beside me. Even the moment we have left must leave him with a pleasant memory. So he suggested that before they went to the metro station, they should go to a nearby observation terrace from which Vincent could take a nice photo of the Colosseum in its night setting. There weren't many people on the terrace due to the late hour. They approached the railing and admired the view before them. And the view was indeed breathtaking. Thomas patiently waited for Vincent to capture it with his camera. When he had taken a few photos, he turned to him somewhat shyly, asking, "Thomas. Would you agree to take a photo with me?" and Lawrence could only smile brightly at him. They decided that Thomas's phone would be better for this task than Vincent's camera, so he took it out and once again promised himself to thank Monica for everything she had ever taught him. The men moved closer together so that the lens could capture them both, and Thomas, in an automatic gesture, put his arm around Vincent, pulling him even closer. He took one photo, but it was disturbed by a passing car that blinded them with its lights. They laughed at its effect and posed a second and third time. Thomas felt that he could stand there and take silly selfies with Vincent until dawn. When he released him from his arm, he felt almost physical pain.

"Will you send them to me later?" he heard, and could only assure him that of course.

They went to the metro and waited for the train in silence. Despite the late hour, it was crowded inside, so they had to stand. At Termini station, they changed to another line and found empty seats opposite each other. Thomas looked at his companion, who was sitting right in front of him. An aisle separated them, which became more crowded with each station, obscuring their view of each other. At one point, he lost sight of Vincent for a few minutes, and only when the crowd that was getting off finally left the carriage did he see him again and casually smile, seeing the same expression on Vincent's face. At one point, he took out his phone and opened the photos they had just taken. He found it hard to believe that he had them. He looked at each one and couldn't decide which he loved the most. He selected all of them and sent them, as promised. He put his phone away and watched as Vincent took his own out of his pocket a moment later and received the message. A broad smile appeared on the Mexican's face. He looked at the photos just as Thomas had done a moment ago, and then raised his gaze to him. They swayed to the rhythm of the moving metro and looked at each other with something that could be called tenderness. If someone next to them were watching them, just by the look they exchanged, they could assume they were together.

They got off and headed towards the Vatican. Today, Thomas wanted Vincent to see St. Peter's Square at night. They walked through quiet streets, and an atmosphere of finality hung over them. They would say goodbye in a moment. For how long? Forever? Something had happened between them during these few days. Now I'm not even sure if I'm not dreaming. They entered the Vatican from the north side. They stood in the same place where Vincent had taken photos yesterday morning and admired the emptiness and silence that contrasted with that day. The atmosphere that could be felt there was magical. The only sounds were the quiet conversations of the occasional people passing by and the water flowing in the fountains. They walked around the entire Square, and Vincent took several photos, including the impressive sculpture of refugees standing on the left.

They headed towards the Basilica, and on its left, they were let through by a guard to the other side of the walls. After five minutes, they arrived in front of the Domus Sanctae Marthae. So, it's now, Thomas thought. Although he said nothing, he felt a lump of sadness tighten his throat. Vincent looked nervously at the entrance to the house, and then back at his companion of the last few days. He looked as if he too was at a loss for words.

"I didn't even ask about your return journey... What time is your flight?"

"Seven in the morning," Benítez replied, instantly jolting Thomas out of his lethargy.

"Vincent! That's very early! I should have asked about it sooner, instead of dragging you around Rome until night... I'm sorry!" He felt like hitting himself for this oversight.

"Thomas," Vincent said and flinched. It dawned on Lawrence that the Mexican had wanted to approach and touch him, but had refrained, remembering where they were. "It's nothing. I had a wonderful evening. And all the last few days. You have nothing to apologize for. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have seen so many wonderful places. Thank you."

However, the pragmatic part of his personality took over, and he continued. "Do you have a way to get to the airport?"

"I'm planning to order a taxi for the morning soon."

"No, no, no... No way. It's too far, you'll pay a fortune. I'll drive you," he said, agitated. Vincent, his Vincent, who was returning to serve in one of the most dangerous places, wouldn't spend his last moments in Rome in a taxi. Not a newly appointed cardinal, not someone so dear to him.

"Thomas... I appreciate your offer, but I can't accept it. I won't take up your time; you've already dedicated so much of it to me. I'll take a taxi, it's natural," he added, forcing a smile.

"Nonsense. It's decided. No taxi," he said quickly, and when he saw that Vincent wanted to protest, he approached him and cut him off: "No discussion." It occurred to him that he might be too harsh, so he added more gently, "Please, let me drive you. I won't be able to sleep anyway, knowing you're bumping around in a taxi." And Vincent agreed with a shy smile.

Slightly calmed, Thomas made quick calculations in his head and arranged to wait for him in this parking lot at 3:45 AM. The journey to Fiumicino should take less than an hour, but it was better to have extra time. He asked Vincent if that suited him and smiled broadly at him. More quietly, he added, "Try to get some sleep. I'll see you in a few hours," his voice full of warmth that flowed towards the younger man.

Vincent returned the smile, his dark eyes gleaming in the night. "I see you don't take no for an answer... And you're too kind to me... You try to get some sleep too. I'll gladly meet you in a few hours." He touched Thomas's left forearm and walked away with a goodnight and a smile on his lips.

Lawrence stood in front of the door and watched it close behind the man. With difficulty, he turned around and started walking towards his apartment. He took out his phone and called the person who managed the fleet of cars available to Vatican officials to order a car for the morning. Even though he had a driver at his disposal, he didn't want to use his services. That would certainly intimidate Vincent. He hadn't driven for several months and hoped that with Benítez beside him, he wouldn't kill them both on a beautiful May Roman morning.

He walked the rest of the way to his apartment as if in a trance, taking the stairs two at a time. If he were younger, he might have thought he was in love, but since he was over 60, he told himself that he felt immense relief at being able to spend a few more moments with Vincent tomorrow and drive him to the airport.

The night brought him no sleep. He was still too excited about the prospect of the morning. He nervously checked the time on his phone and even got up once to the window to see if the car he had requested had arrived, and frowned slightly when he saw that they had provided him with the best available, a black Mercedes S-Class. He could only hope that Vincent wouldn't pay too much attention to it.

At three o'clock, he sprang out of bed and went through a quick wash. Fortunately, he didn't have time to ponder where so much energy had come from in his movements. He suspected he wouldn't be happy with the result of his deliberations. He dressed informally, putting on a blue V-neck sweater over a fresh white shirt and a dark navy blazer. He sprayed on perfume, but avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror as he did so. He took his wallet and phone and practically ran down the stairs to the front of the building where the car was parked. The car, as he had suspected, was unlocked. There was no need to lock it in this place; he could be sure that someone from security had been watching it all night and now saw him getting in and the direction he was driving. He thought that if this activity somehow reached the Pope, he would be commended. After all, he had promised to take care of the new cardinal as best he could. And at this moment, he was doing everything he could.

He arrived at the House at half-past three. He turned off the engine and decided to occupy himself with setting various options in the car and the route to the airport on the navigation. After about 10 minutes, the door of the House opened, and Vincent came out. Thomas clicked the trunk release and quickly got out of the car to help him, but the man was traveling with a small carry-on suitcase, which he easily put inside.

"Good morning," he said to Thomas with a smile that made his knees weak. Once he had mentally scolded himself for this reaction, he replied cheerfully, "Good morning, Vincent. Ready to go?" and after a nod, they both got into the car.

Thomas, clearly agitated, began to speak in a torrent of words: "Do you have everything? Check, this is the last moment. Okay, so we're off. According to the navigation, 50 minutes, not bad. You'll probably have some time left. You can still buy something after you go through security, if you have a few euros left. I can lend you some if you don’t have, feel free to say so. And your passport, do you have your passport? That's good..." Vincent answered him patiently, occasionally sending him an amused glance.

They left Rome without any problems and moved smoothly along the still empty roads. Now that they were on the highway, he was grateful for the loan of this car, as driving it was unusually comfortable. Vincent sat in the passenger seat and looked quite relaxed. Thomas couldn't help but imagine that they were someone else and were going somewhere together for a different purpose. To rest? To a hotel by the sea, in the mountains? Anywhere, as long as it was with him, flashed through his mind, and he realized that for a moment he hadn't been focusing on the road at all.

Vincent, in turn, was asking him about the organizational matters of the Vatican, such as the car they were now driving. Of course, he noticed, you fool. He's more intelligent than all the other cardinals put together. He inquired about the work of his office, the work of the papal office, but he was particularly interested in the support staff, who are usually rather unnoticed on a daily basis. Lawrence wasn't surprised that he was paying the most attention to them. He had known Vincent for a short time, but that was just the way he was.

They arrived at the airport according to the navigation's forecast after 50 minutes. Thomas headed to one of the parking lots that allowed leaving the car for up to an hour to drop off or pick up someone from the terminal. He couldn't suppress a smile as he drove into it under the Kiss&Go sign.

He parked the car and turned off the engine. He glanced sideways at Vincent and could finally take him in fully. The Mexican had chosen a more casual outfit for today. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt, a gray zip-up sweater over it, and a light black jacket. A comfortable set for a long flight. Benítez also looked at him and offered a warm gaze.

"How long will your flight be?" Thomas asked.

"The whole thing with the layover is about 14 hours. The first flight to Doha is 6 hours, then a longer layover and three hours to Kabul," he replied, and weariness could be heard in his voice at the very thought of it.

Lawrence whistled softly and raised his eyebrows. "Then I hope you sleep most of it and won't be too tired after arrival. These last intense days and such a journey will take their toll... I should have thought about it before dragging you all over the city..."

"Thomas... Don't think about it that way... I could have explored with you for another week if only I had the chance... You must know that..." he hesitated before continuing, "...that I wouldn't trade these two days for anything else. I'm so grateful to you for them. You didn't know me, and you welcomed me like a good friend. You dedicated so much time to me... If only I could repay you somehow, I would..."

His words touched Thomas deeply. He felt the blood rushing to his ears. This was their last moment alone, so he reached out and placed his hand on Vincent's hands resting on his thighs. He lightly stroked their delicate skin and tried hard not to let the thought of how wonderful they felt to the touch enter his mind at this moment.

"If you absolutely want to repay me, you can send me the photos you took. I'd love to see them and keep them as a memento. Besides, I don't expect anything in return. Except, of course, for a message that you arrived home safely." Thomas tried to smile to reassure him, but the smile on his lips turned into a strange grimace. Vincent pulled one hand out from under theirs and placed it on top of Thomas's hand. They remained in this strange position with their eyes fixed on their clasp, postponing the moment of getting out of the car.

"I'll send you the photos. Of course. With pleasure," he said and raised his eyes to look into his companion's eyes. "I think I have to go now."

"I'll walk you in, if you'll allow me," Lawrence said, and Vincent nodded, and they got out.

They walked a short distance and entered the departure hall of Terminal Three. Vincent checked the departure board and made sure his flight was on time. He had no luggage to check in, so he could go straight to security. His flight was still almost two hours away, and the formalities at this hour shouldn't take him more than 30 minutes. He'll go from here soon, and I'll lose sight of him, even though he'll still be in the country. They stood in the hall, not knowing what to do now. Thomas felt nauseous.

It was Vincent who broke the moment, saying, "I'll go now." He turned to face Thomas and smiled sadly. "You're welcome in Kabul. It's not a tempting prospect, and it probably sounds silly, but... yes. You're welcome. Whenever you want."

These shy words completely broke Thomas. He thought, I'm either going to throw up or hug him, and he chose the latter. He put his arms around Vincent and pressed him closer than he should, closer than people who have known each other for a few days usually hug. To his delight, Vincent returned the embrace and practically buried his face in his neck. Warmth spread throughout his body and slightly washed away the nausea he felt. He held his hands firmly on the man's back and probably crumpled the fabric of his jacket. He tilted his head slightly towards his ear and whispered, "Thank you." For appearing in my life. I just don't know how I'll live without you.

They had been hugging for too long. If anyone recognized him, they might draw strange conclusions. Their almost desperate embrace shouldn't have happened in this place, but it did, and they couldn't help it. Thomas tightened his grip on Vincent as a signal that he was about to break it and released him.

"Will you let me know when you get to Doha? And home? I'll be calmer." He realized with horror that he sounded like he was about to cry.

"Okay, I'll let you know. Goodbye, Thomas."

"Goodbye, Vincent."

And he left, leaving Thomas watching his receding back, watching him go through the boarding pass scanner and head towards passport control. He stood there still until Vincent approached the corner beyond which he would disappear and turned around, looking for him. When he found him, he smiled sadly and waved goodbye. And then he was gone from his sight.

Thomas never admitted to anyone that he didn't leave there for another half an hour, just in case Vincent changed his mind. He never revealed to anyone that when he returned to the car, he smelled a scent that definitely belonged to Vincent and buried his nose in the jacket where he detected it. He also never admitted to anyone that he had already installed flight tracking apps on his phone.

 

Notes:

Thank you all for your kind words! I can't express how much they mean to me <3

Chapter 4: Separate

Notes:

i’m so sorry this chapter is 12k. long
i have lost control of this fic in the most magnificent way possible...

(this chapter contains small descriptions of sexual violence and graphic depictions of blood. Skip if needed — your well-being comes first ❤️)

Around 2 PM, he received the first WhatsApp message. Thomas almost jumped at the sound of it. It was simple: "Doha." He already knew Vincent had landed; he had checked his flight status a dozen times. He thought with a laugh that this was how his workday would look – flight control. Because at work, he was definitely useless today. In the afternoon, as the adrenaline began to leave his body, fatigue started to set in. The emotions of the past few days and the sleepless night had taken their toll. Physically tired and with his mind elsewhere, he was unhelpful in the office today, which did not escape Ray's notice. Fortunately, O'Malley didn't comment on it in any way. If he noticed something was wrong, he probably preferred not to know. If it's a problem, it will fall on him eventually anyway.

Thomas shuffled stacks of papers from one place to another and answered emails, leaving most of them to return to later. He kept catching himself that his thoughts were wandering to the other man. How had he managed during the layover, had he already boarded the second plane, would someone pick him up at the airport in Kabul? He certainly would have. Just like he had driven him to his flight. Just like he had said goodbye to him.

His morning escapade did not go unnoticed. When he returned the car, he felt the curious gaze of the employee servicing their fleet. Until they left the Vatican gates, they were being watched by camera eyes, he was sure of it, but also because of that look and Ray's subsequent silence, he began to wonder if someone would finally ask why he had driven Vincent personally, instead of asking someone else to do it or simply acknowledging that he would order a taxi, say goodbye, and leave. He knew he would never have done that. Now, however, he wondered what motivated him more - the desire to help or the need for closeness. He looked at his watch. It was just before 5 PM. He would leave the office soon and return to his apartment, while Vincent would still be traveling. He didn't even want to imagine how tiring such a journey must be. For the Mexican who had arrived in Rome just a week ago, it must have been exhausting. Wait, he thought, I don't even know why he came here. Couldn't everything be handled by phone or the internet these days? Suddenly, he felt bad realizing he hadn't asked Vincent for more details about his life. He took a deep breath and tried to control the carousel of thoughts spinning in his head. For several days, he hadn't been able to think about anything else. First, it was thoughts focused on Vincent himself and his mysterious appearance, but now that he had disappeared from his sight, he had their two days spent together to torment himself with. Days filled with pleasures, joy, walks, and conversations. Thomas couldn't remember the last time he had smiled so much. He could have sworn his cheeks hurt, but it was pathetic. His hand involuntarily reached for his phone and opened flightradar. He looked up departures to Kabul and saw that there was only one, presumably Vincent's, and it was taking off in just over an hour. He wondered what the man was doing now and had no problem picturing him exactly. He also opened his photo gallery and opened the last photo taken – their joint picture against the backdrop of the Colosseum. If he had seen what he was doing now a few days ago, he would have been seriously concerned. Smiling at his phone was not in his nature, yet something in their shared photo strongly touched his heart. They were smiling in it, in an almost euphoric state that had accompanied him during those Roman days. He looked through all three photos and remembered how Monica had shown him how to animate them. So he held them longer and saw live scenes from yesterday, saw how close their heads were, saw how tightly he was squeezing Vincent's arm, saw Vincent glance at him for a moment and smile radiantly. His black, shiny hair touched his cheek, and he thought: Oh dear God, I'm done... I really must thank Monica. He put down his phone and tried to focus on work for a moment longer when the landline on his desk rang. He picked up the receiver, saying briefly,

"Lawrence."

"Thomas, my friend." – he sobered up instantly when he heard the Pope on the line.

"Your Eminence."

"How are you? It seems you spent some intense days with our dear Vincent. I'm calling to thank you for that... I heard you drove him personally – of course he heard – that's very kind of you. Very, very kind." – when silence answered him, he continued – "I knew you would be indispensable in taking care of our guest.”

Thomas managed to pull himself together and replied, "Your Holiness, there's no need for thanks. I myself had a pleasant time in the process. In fact, I should be thanking you for the break from work." He tried to sound natural.

"Thomas, I would be happy to hear what you managed to see. Perhaps tomorrow over chess? At my place, at the usual time. And today, go home and rest. You've had an intense time.”

They agreed on tomorrow's meeting and said goodbye, and Thomas decided that it would probably be better if he left now. He packed up, turned off the light, and went out. He walked the path to the Vatican gardens practically without noticing it. Paradoxically, his mood did not improve when their silence surrounded him; instead, as he approached the Collegio Etiopico and glanced at its roof, he was overcome by nostalgia and a sudden, terrible longing for something he didn't even have. He bypassed the entrance to his apartment and headed straight to the rooftop patio. Memories hit him with enormous force, and he smiled sadly as he glanced at the place where they had sat two days ago under the dark blue and starry sky. He threw his bag onto the tiles and sat in the same spot, trying to trick his mind. He took out his phone; it was almost 6 PM. Vincent's flight should be taking off soon. He opened their conversation, which was limited to photos and the word Doha, and wrote, "Have a good flight. Let me know when you get home," and sent it quickly so as not to overanalyze anything. To his surprise, two blue ticks appeared immediately next to the message, and a moment later he read the reply, "Taking off in a moment. Of course, I'll be in touch." It struck him that this felt natural. Their relationship, their conversations – everything concerning Vincent came to him effortlessly. And even though he hadn't known him even a week ago, he felt an immense attachment to him.

He checked the time difference between Rome and Kabul. Two and a half hours. Not much for the feeling that half the world separated them. He gathered himself from the patio and went inside. He had a few hours to kill while waiting for Vincent's plane to land, so he began to tidy up the mess he had made that morning. Once he had cleaned up, he decided to text Monica and arrange a meeting. He owed the woman a huge debt of gratitude, and although he didn't intend to admit it to her yet, he felt he wanted to spend an afternoon with her and truly and consciously appreciate how much she brought to his life. If it weren't for her, he wouldn't have shown Vincent the Trevi Fountain from above, wouldn't have spent pleasant moments with him and her cats in her apartment, and finally – wouldn't have taken the selfie together that Monica had taught him to do. One of the advantages of friendship with an age difference. So he texted her asking when she would have time for dinner in the city. He decided he would invite her for a good meal, and they arranged to meet on Monday afternoon.

It was a little after 9 PM when he received a message from Vincent. Again, short: "Kabul." Thomas saw in the app that his plane was landing, yet he smiled broadly knowing that the man had remembered to inform him. He replied, "Please, let me know when you get home," and became worried when after an hour and a half he still hadn't received a response. It struck him again that he knew nothing about Vincent's life. He knew he lived on the grounds belonging to the Italian embassy, but that was the extent of his information. He didn't know what the house he shared with Miguel looked like, nor did he know who Miguel was or what he looked like. He felt he would enjoy getting to know Vincent's daily life, seeing what everything looked like that he could only imagine now. He continued to wait for a message and wondered what their relationship would look like now. Would it even exist? He would very much like it to, but he was just an old man, longing for good company, conversation, contact. What did someone like him have to offer? He had only known Vincent for a few days, and he couldn't expect the man to want to continue this long-distance acquaintance. Vincent certainly had better things to do; he already had a friend. Miguel. When Thomas learned of his existence, he felt something akin to betrayal. He had no right to feel that way, and yet the feeling appeared and was so easy to name... Good heavens! He had spent two days with Vincent and was claiming some rights to him? He suspected that compared to Miguel – whoever he was – he looked pathetic. His galloping thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his phone. When he realized it wasn't a message but a call, he was surprised, and when he saw it was a call from Vincent, his heart began to beat like crazy. He answered as quickly as he could and said uncertainly, „Vincent?"

"Thomas, good evening. Am I disturbing you? I hope I didn't wake you?" Vincent. Undeniably Vincent. There was perhaps tiredness in his voice, perhaps a hint of uncertainty.

"Not at all! Vincent, have you arrived home?" He couldn't contain the euphoria in his voice.

"Yes, just a moment ago.”

"How was the journey? You must be exhausted. And it's practically midnight there.”

Vincent laughed softly. God, how much I already miss that! "That's true. And yes, I'm tired. The journey from the airport is not the shortest.”

"Did someone pick you up?" – silence answered him. – "Vincent, weren't you picked up?”

"It's not that simple. We don't always have a car available. And I don't want to trouble anyone... I appreciate all the more what you did for me this morning." Thomas felt a lump in his throat, and Vincent continued, "I am very grateful to you for these days together. I spent them in the best way I could." He added very quietly, "It was a very beautiful time.”

Would it always be difficult for him to find his tongue around this man? And the right words? He felt dazed by his emotions.

"I'm glad you left here with good memories," he said with nostalgia in his head, and to break it, he added, forcing a humorous tone, "Maybe I wasn't such a bad guide after all.”

"No... Not the worst at all… Thomas, you were the best guide and companion. I can only regret that we only had two days.”

It was hard to hear such words and know that they wouldn't see each other. For months, years? Would they even see each other again?

"Next time, let's try to make up for it and beat that," he said as if wanting to force the universe to bring them together again with those words. "In the meantime, go to sleep now. You need to rest.”

"You too. You lost half the night because of me, and now you should sleep too.”

"I didn't lose anything, I only gained," he replied quickly, as if by reflex. It was true. He would have sacrificed a hundred nights to be able to spend one more day with him.

"Good night, Thomas.”

"Good night, Vincent. Get in touch if you feel like it.”

"The same goes for you. Good night." And he left him in the empty apartment with a pounding heart and a warm voice echoing in his head.

He spent the next few days psychologically recovering. He tried hard to return to his routine and clear his mind, but he didn't achieve any significant victory in any area. The apartment and its surroundings reminded him of Vincent the most. A single glance at the sofa in the living room could ruin his mood for the entire morning. The awareness that the man had been there for a while, had shared his space, had used his bathroom, had drunk from his glass was sometimes devastating. The morning masses at the Domus Sanctae Marthae were accompanied by an emptiness that no one beside him filled, and his walks through the streets of Rome by the memory of their long strolls. His only respite was work, so the day after Vincent landed, he threw himself into it. He worked 10, 12 hours a day, and it seemed he was regaining his old composure. It was disrupted when he went for the traditional evening chess with the Pope and was questioned about the last few days. He didn't sleep a wink the night after that meeting.

He tried hard to convince himself that meeting Vincent was nothing extraordinary. Just meeting another person, the same as any other, like thousands of others in his life, but when he sat down in his empty apartment at the end of the day, he could only think about him and realized that returning to reality would not be easy or quick, if it was even possible at all.

The prospect of a free weekend terrified him so much that he decided to work on Saturday as well. Being alone with his thoughts for two whole days now seemed like unbearable torture. He sought an escape, something to occupy his mind, because if he wasn't doing anything, he was looking for a way to contact Vincent again, for a message, a call, anything. He could just call and ask how he was, but he was desperately afraid of being considered intrusive.

The thought that he depended so much on contact with the man terrified him. Over the past few days, he had thought many times about why he felt this way, and he himself didn't know what to make of it. He felt that absolutely everything about Vincent drew him in. Both his character and his appearance had a magnetic effect on him. Thomas had known for decades that he was attracted to both sexes, but for obvious reasons, he had never acted on it. Sometimes he would succumb to his bodily needs alone, but he always tried not to attach any face to them. Now he felt he knew whose face would appear before his eyes.

What worried him most was that, due to his age, he no longer had frequent problems with desire, and in the past few days, he had experienced them several times. Frankly, he shouldn't have been surprised. One look at Vincent made something inside him clench. The Mexican had an extraordinarily delicate beauty, yet strength emanated from him. The contradiction of these traits seemed to be one of his greatest assets and at the same time the curse of Thomas, who was falling deeper with each passing day. It was supposed to be different. After Vincent's departure, when he realized that his feelings for the man had many dimensions, he decided to cut himself off from them, to make them give him peace as quickly as possible. He had no intention of nurturing a fleeting infatuation from which nothing could ever and would never develop. Not that he didn't believe that sincere feelings could be held for someone you barely knew, but he was a realist, and he considered what he felt to be a temporary infatuation that would disappear along with its catalyst. So when he drove Vincent to the airport, he felt both longing and relief. He planned to cool his feelings by subjecting them to the influence of time, so that with each passing day they would weaken until they finally disappeared. So far, nothing like that was happening.

Sunday arrived, which he had completely free. He decided to face it and see how he would feel when he couldn't occupy his mind with work. He made himself breakfast and decided to eat it even if he had to force it down. He took it out to the balcony and ate in the morning silence, to the singing of birds. He was lucky to live in such a place. He wished Vincent could experience it too. And best of all, have breakfast with him here, so he could experience this peace and enjoy it. That would be a day off from thinking about him, he thought. He finished his coffee and began preparing for the morning mass in Santa Marta. He decided to wear his black shirt with a clerical collar today. He wanted to look and feel like a priest, like a cardinal, and also felt a bit like he was mourning something. In his naivety, he thought it would make the inappropriate thoughts disappear, that the attire would somehow prevent them from surfacing.

At the Domus Sanctae Marthae, however, everything was marked for him by Vincent's presence. The entrance where they had said goodbye twice, the cafeteria where they had eaten breakfast, the chapel where he had him by his side, the elevator they had taken. He stood in the hall to wait a moment for the mass to begin and took out his phone. In an automatic reflex that had accompanied him for several days, he opened his gallery and their shared photo. He looked at it and couldn't stop himself from stroking the screen over Vincent's face. Let this pass. My dear Vincent, when will I get over you? And as he stood staring at the screen, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that someone was walking towards him.

Agness.

Sister Agness approached him, and Thomas thought he didn't remember her ever giving him such a friendly expression. He put his phone away, feeling as if he were putting Vincent himself into his pocket, and returned her smile.

"Sister Agness. Buongiorno.”

"Father Lawrence, Buongiorno.”

She stood beside him and, surprising him, began to speak, "I heard about the trip you treated Father Benítez to. It seems it can be considered very successful?" At the sound of that name, Thomas's breath shallowed.

"I hope it was. And that he left with good impressions. As you well know, Sister, this place can be intimidating. Especially for someone who deals with bigger problems on a daily basis…"

"I'm sure he left with good impressions. He sounded very pleased. We spoke yesterday. He called to tell me where you generously took him." – Thomas felt as if he had been slapped in the face. They spoke? He called Agness? He didn't call me? – "Visiting the catacombs? A wonderful idea. I think that place especially touched our Vincent. I must admit, I've never been to any Roman catacombs. I must make up for that.”

Lawrence felt as if he had suddenly landed in another galaxy. Sister Agness was talking to him freely, seemed friendly, and above all, claimed that Vincent had called her. If he had heard that she was pregnant, he would have been less shocked. Shock and disappointment, that's mainly what he felt.

"It's nice that Father Benítez called you, Sister," he tried not to sound disappointed. "And you definitely must make up for the catacombs! I know someone there; I can organize a tour. Perhaps you would like to take other sisters with you?" He tried hard to sound friendly.

"That's very kind of you, Father. I think that's a wonderful idea. I've barely been anywhere here.”

"Excellent. Please set a suitable day; perhaps next week would work? And of course, determine how many people would like to join us. Then I'll call Francesco and arrange it.”

"Father Lawrence, thank you very much. However, I don't want to take you away from your work or cause any trouble," she added more quietly. There was something in her that he had also seen in Vincent. Bashfulness and perhaps a feeling that they shouldn't bother him because he held some position. This similarity particularly touched him.

"Nothing like that will happen. Please don't worry about it. I'll be happy to take you there.”

Agness looked at him with a searching gaze, as if weighing the words she was about to speak.

"I think I understand why Father Benítez was so delighted with you, Father... And overwhelmed by how much time you dedicated to him. I think he still is.”

Thomas felt his face redden. The curse of being a pale Brit was returning to him even in his sixties.

"He shouldn't... We had a nice two days. It was good to feel like a tourist in this city again. And to stretch my old bones," he said to ease the tightness in his throat. He was still under Agness's scrutinizing gaze.

"Are you in touch? Have you spoken since his return?" It was a question he hadn't expected. He had never had such a long conversation with Agness, and this one was starting to touch on very delicate matters for him.

"Yes, he let me know when he got home. We spoke briefly." Too briefly. Everything had been too brief.

"You should call him. It seems to me that you liked each other. Our Vincent could use a friend.”

Lawrence stood in complete shock. Agness was telling him directly what he had been wrestling with in recent days. He should call Vincent. They liked each other. Christ, what else had she read from their body language, what else had Vincent told her?

"Do you think I should, Sister? He's a busy man. I don't want to impose." I sound like a schoolboy.

"Just as you are," she said with a smile, then said goodbye, promised to let him know about the little trip, and left.

Once his feet had left the ground, he headed to the chapel and participated in the mass quite absentmindedly. Several times he caught the Pope watching him and tried not to think that he might have his thoughts written all over his face.

He returned to his apartment and didn't know what to do. Call Vincent! If Agness saw it as something completely normal, then why was it such a big deal to him? Probably because he couldn't behave normally around the man. He lost his breath, he blushed. He would die if he found out that his palms were sweating from nerves. You're a grown man, get a grip. It's just a phone call, he told himself, then went out onto the balcony and dialed his number via WhatsApp. Since Vincent had called him that way last time, he probably knew it was the best option. The last thing he wanted was to make the man incur expenses because of his impatience.

After a few rings, he was ready to hang up, but when his phone was answered on the other end, he heard, "Hello? Thomas?" and his world briefly burst into flames.

"Vincent. Hello. Am I disturbing you? I hope not.”

"Not at all! Thomas, I'm so glad you called! How are you? Is everything alright?”

"Yes, yes... Everything's alright." – Nothing is alright. – "I'm calling to ask how you're feeling after your return? And what's new with you?”

"Thank you, I'm feeling well. The first day after arriving was a bit disrupted, but I rested. It's good now.”

"That's good, good... I heard from Sister Agness that you recommended the catacombs to her. It seems she'll agree to let me take her there. We probably had the longest conversation of our lives," he said with a slight chuckle.

"That's wonderful!" Vincent said happily, and Thomas felt his heart clench. "I called her and told her a bit about our trip and how kind you were to me... Forgive me for not calling you too. I didn't want to bother you. You dedicated enough time to me..." Vincent said the last words more quietly. It dawned on Thomas that Agness was right. Benítez was still bashful.

"You’re never gonna bother me or waste my time. Feel free to call me anytime you wish. I’m here for you.”

"Thank you... So, tell me how you are, did you rest after those intense walks…"

And they began to talk, telling each other how they had spent their recent time. Thomas learned that Vincent had started working intensively on establishing a school for children in the center, and that it was starting to keep him awake at night, that he had his eye on a premises, and tomorrow he was going to a meeting to see it and possibly rent it. He also recounted that Miguel was very happy with the gift that Thomas had helped him choose, and that they had even cooked pasta once, and the stories about cacio e pepe had prompted Miguel to promise to recreate it soon. At the sound of the man's name, Thomas felt the same thing as during his morning conversation with Agness. He was jealous, although he had no right or reason to be. Vincent didn't belong to him, he didn't have to call him or inform him about anything. It was in his head that they meant something more to each other, even though they had known each other for just over a week. The man had the right to his own life, to make friends with whomever he wanted, to live with whomever he wanted. Besides, Vincent seemed to be the most decent person on earth, so imagining that he could not only live but also be with Miguel was a blasphemy for which he wanted to scold himself.

When Vincent asked about his plans for the following week, he mentioned his dinner with Monica the next day. (This was accompanied by a silence from Vincent that made him wonder.) Besides that, the usual routine and, he hoped, a trip to the catacombs with the sisters. He had promised Agness and suggested taking other women along.

"That's very generous of you, Thomas. But that's just who you are. You take care of others. I'm sure they'll be delighted. With the catacombs and your company. If only I could, I'd go there a second time with you all.”

"Well, we only saw one set. There are still quite a few in Rome. Just like other places you didn't see. A whole lot..." Lawrence said with nostalgia in his voice. Come back. Come back sometime. Whenever…

"I know..." Vincent whispered. "I hope I can be there again someday. And see it all. With you. I hope.”

If Thomas needed any sign that Vincent might also feel a hint of affection for him, he had received it now. In the tone of the man's voice, in the silence that followed those words. If he were beside him now, he would probably already be holding his smaller hands in his. One look into his eyes and he would already be embracing him. But they were not beside each other, and they didn't know when, or if, they ever would be again.

They talked for a while longer, until Thomas finally said slowly, "We should wrap this up. I've taken you away from your work. Let me know how the meeting about the premises goes?" he asked shyly. "I'd like to be able to cheer you on.”

"Of course. I'll call you tomorrow evening. Unless you're at dinner with Monica?…"

"It's more of a late lunch... I'll be home in the evening. It's later there, so feel free to call whenever you want.”

"Alright, Thomas. Then I'll talk to you soon." There was a hint of a smile in his voice.

"Yes. Good luck tomorrow, Vincent. I'll keep my fingers crossed.”

"Thank you. That means a lot to me. Knowing you'll be thinking of me.”

Of course I'm thinking of you. The problem is, I can't stop.

"Talk to you soon.”

"Talk to you soon." And he was gone.

Thomas slumped back in his chair and tilted his head back sharply. The rest of the day was already set, he was sure of it. Now he just had to get through tomorrow evening. And then to the next time. And the next, and so on, round and round and still.

 

---

 

On Monday, he left work at 2 PM and headed straight towards the office where Monica worked. They had planned to meet halfway, but she texted him that she wouldn't be able to leave on time, so he decided to walk the whole way and wait for her outside her work. Monica worked as a programmer at the Italian branch of EY on Via Lombardia. Most of the time she managed to work remotely, but there were days like this when she had to go to the office. She always complained about it a lot to him. The walk to the office building took him almost an hour, but Thomas felt it was pleasant to be moving, doing something, instead of steadily sinking into his own thoughts. I should probably go back to the gym, maybe start running again, he thought and decided he had to try to do it. When he arrived at the office, he texted Monica that he was waiting for her, but she didn't have to rush, and leaned against the stone wall of the building. He noticed that as soon as he stopped, his thoughts automatically focused on Vincent. He tried to push them away, focusing on the upcoming dinner with Monica. He owed her a nice evening. He would mention the man to her only once and wouldn't dwell on him for the rest of the evening.

A few minutes later, the building doors slid open and Monica came out. She noticed him and smiled radiantly, calling out his name cheerfully. The sight of her always lifted his spirits. She was a strikingly beautiful woman. She had all the features that defined her as a beauty, yet she tried to be invisible to male eyes. Her physiognomy didn't make it easy for her. Her attempts to dress in a masculine style seemed futile. Such beauty could not be hidden.

To say that Thomas had met her 10 years ago would be a significant understatement. 10 years ago, Thomas had probably saved her life. It was an April evening, the day when the Rosary led by the Pope was held at the Colosseum. It was his first few moments in the Vatican, and he had been tasked with organizing the event. When everything was successfully concluded, he declined a bus ride back to the Vatican and instead walked home to cool down his emotions. What he received in return was far from that. Roughly halfway home, for some unknown reason, he decided to take a different route than usual and turned onto the Tiber Island. When he walked onto the Fabricius Bridge, he glanced to the right, and some movement on the walkway by the river caught his attention. When he realized what he was seeing, he froze in place. A woman was lying on the cobblestones, and on top of her was a hooded figure, probably a man, who – it looked like – was raping her. Thomas felt rooted to the ground, unable to move. When the initial shock passed, he approached the edge of the bridge and looked more closely to make sure he wasn't mistaken. Unfortunately, he wasn't. The woman was clearly struggling, kicking her legs and trying to push the attacker away with her hands, but the man was stronger. Thomas heard nothing but a muffled scream and guessed that she was probably gagged. He quickly assessed the situation: there was no one in sight, to get down he would have to backtrack several hundred meters to the stairs – he didn't want to risk jumping, he would most likely break something and then he too would need help. To make matters worse, he was wearing his cardinal's robes. Chasing someone or fighting them in them was a terrible idea at that moment. So he started shouting. He shouted everything that came to his mind, and while threatening the attacker, he started running towards the nearest stairs. When he reached the riverbank, the rapist was still on top of the woman. Thomas ran towards them, having nothing to defend himself with. When he was a few meters away from the horrifying scene, he began to notice more details. There was blood everywhere, shreds of material that must have been the woman's clothing, scattered items that had probably been thrown from her purse. In a few large strides, he reached the attacker and threw him off the woman onto the ground. As he did so, he noticed that a knife fell from the man's hands, and that he was reaching for it. Good God. She will die, and I will die. On the night of the Way of the Cross at the Colosseum. The attacker got up and picked up the knife from the ground, while Thomas stood between him and the woman. Perhaps it was his height and build, which he took better care of 10 years ago, perhaps the robes he was wearing, that made the attacker flee. He never found out what it was, but he was grateful for the turn of events. He suspected he wouldn't have stood a chance against him in a fight and wouldn't have been able to defend the woman.

As the rapist moved away, Thomas, with trembling hands, took out his phone and called the emergency number. He knelt beside the woman and groaned loudly into the receiver. She was in a terrible state. She lay practically naked, with only shreds of her clothes on her stomach. She was covered in blood, but he couldn't tell from which part of her body it was coming. It seemed as if she was all mutilated. Her legs were spread wide apart, giving a ghastly impression like a broken doll. He called the ambulance and the police and began to help the woman. He saw that her mouth was taped shut, so he gently peeled it off, then she looked at him with red eyes. Surprisingly, she wasn't afraid of him; perhaps she recognized that he had scared off her attacker. He started talking to her about anything, asking her name and other trivial things. She spoke only once, to say that her name was Monica Marchetti and that he should not, under any circumstances, inform her parents. He didn't hear her voice again.

It was an April evening, and the air was quite cool, and she lay naked on the ground, clearly shivering. They waited for help to arrive, and he had nothing with him except what he was wearing. Without thinking much, he decided to take off his cassock and cover the woman. He noticed with horror that she tensed up when he started unbuttoning it, so he began to explain aloud what he was doing. When he took it off, he began to cover the naked woman with it. The scarlet fabric enveloped her figure and mingled with the brown blood on the ground. He thought he would never get that cassock back, but at that moment, he didn't care at all.

Help soon arrived. Paramedics attended to the woman while he gave his statement to the police officers. He stood there in just his trousers and a white shirt, which was stained with the woman's blood here and there. He nervously crumpled his zucchetto in his hands. The rescuers placed the woman on a stretcher and covered her again with his cassock, and then with a thermal blanket. Everyone, along with the police, followed them up to the ambulance. Thomas approached the stretcher where she lay, and when she looked at him, he froze. Only now did he see her in the light coming from inside the ambulance. She had black eyes, several teeth knocked out, numerous wounds, probably from blows. He was terrified by the injuries that weren't visible at first glance, but were certainly there. He managed a faint smile, leaned closer to her face, and said, "Monica, I'm Thomas Lawrence. Everything will be alright. They will take care of you; you're in good hands," and he could only watch as they put her into the ambulance and drove away.

He stood on the street as if paralyzed and watched the ambulance disappear from his sight with sirens blaring. He was thoroughly identified, the police thanked him for his help, and they offered him a ride, which he accepted.

The matter tormented him for days. He followed the media, but he didn't see any mention of the crime. He also didn't know what had happened to the woman. So he involved his secretary, O'Malley, and received the name of the hospital where the woman was staying. He went there during work hours and used all his personal charm to get her room number at the reception. When he entered it, he immediately saw that the woman looked a little better than when he had first seen her. She was on an IV drip, and her vital signs were being constantly monitored. She realized someone had entered, but only when she noticed it wasn't a doctor or a nurse did she visibly flinch.

Thomas cursed himself mentally. He hadn't thought that the woman might be afraid of men and not remember him. He had acted selfishly, wanting to see her and check if everything was alright, and hadn't considered that he might scare her. He stopped at the door and decided to say something first.

"Hello Monica. I'm Thomas Lawrence. I'm the one who called the services a few days ago by the river. I'm sorry, forgive me. I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to check how you are and if you need anything.”

The woman looked him up and down, and when she finally spoke, he felt much better.

"It's you. You saved me. You saved my life." And then she started to cry.

Thomas took this as permission and moved closer. When he stood by her bed, she took his hand and squeezed it tightly. He began to soothe her, as one soothes a child. Hush, everything's alright, don't worry about anything, everything will be fine, and he stroked her hand, and then her hair. Despite the wounds on her face, a beauty emanated from her that no crime could take away. He thought with concern that the wounds on her body would heal, but the deeper ones, in her psyche, would remain, and that worried him most now.

From that time on, he visited her regularly. He brought fresh flowers, bought books, and anything else she asked for. According to her request, her family was not notified, and he had the impression that he was the only one who came to visit. One day, when he was with her, the police came to inform her that the rapist had been caught and was being charged. DNA samples and the cardinal's testimony had helped, and when she heard the word cardinal, she looked at Thomas with wide eyes. Oh yes, it seemed he had omitted that detail.

When they were alone again, she said, "Now it all makes sense... What irony. I'm an atheist, and a cardinal saved me. I was lying in blood, and you covered me with - now I know - a cassock. We're connected, Thomas. You won't get rid of me. Just don't try to convert me to believe.”

"I won't," he chuckled softly.

And indeed, that was the case. After a month in the hospital, Thomas helped her return to her apartment. She still required frequent help, so he arranged for a nurse who came to her every day and a psychologist whom he drove her to see and waited for each time at the end of her session. Her injuries were very serious. In addition to the rape, she had been horribly mutilated with a knife, which meant she would never have children. The other wounds healed and gradually revealed her natural beauty. Thomas feared that he would never know the girl she was before the event. That's why she never got involved with anyone and didn't let anyone close. The fact that she wanted him to be her friend was a miracle.

When they survived that terrible period, they gained a lifelong friendship. Monica was grateful to him for everything he had done, and whenever she could, she tried to repay him in some way, while Thomas found joy in the very contact with her. The awareness that he had helped as best as he could and that he would always protect her was enough for him, so today, at the very sight of her, he smiled broadly, swallowing the bitterness of the memories of that tragic event.

"Thomas! You didn't have to come all the way here!" she exclaimed, quickly approaching him. She hugged him briefly, and her cheek brushed his. "I'm sorry I'm late. That meeting was pointless, but they wouldn't stop talking.”

Thomas waved his hand, indicating that it didn't matter at all.

"What matters is that you're here. It's good to see you," he said with a smile.

"Oh Thomas... You're wasting away! You're a born charmer," she said cheerfully, and he could only smile in response.

They headed towards Trastevere, and after a while, they chose a place.

"So," she began, once they had found a table outside a small, charming restaurant and placed their order, "what's this sudden invitation for dinner? Not that I'm complaining, but you seemed busy lately." She gave him a questioning look from behind the wine list.

Thomas smiled slightly. Clearly, he wouldn't be able to avoid the topic of Vincent. "That's true, we had a guest at the Vatican. I was delegated to be his guide, so I spent a few days doing things other than usual.”

"You mean for a few days you didn't have to keep an eye on your colleagues, those old bats, and you could walk around the city?" Monica said sarcastically. When Thomas glared at her, she corrected herself. "Okay, I was kidding. Who was this guest? Is there a chance I've heard of him?”

"Probably not. I myself hadn't heard of him until I met him," Thomas paused for a moment. "He's an Archbishop. His name is Vincent Benitez. He's Mexican, but he works in Afghanistan on a daily basis. He came for a few days, some official business, but the Pope asked me to take care of him, show him the city. So that he would leave with memories not just of meetings at the curia.”

"And how did your tour go? From what I remember, you're not a big fan of being a tour guide," Monica teased him, sipping her water.

"I have to admit, it was... different than I thought," Thomas began, choosing his words carefully. "Vincent turned out to be a very interesting man. We talked a lot. About his work in Kabul, about the challenges he faces there..." He paused for a moment, recalling their conversations. "He's very dedicated to what he does. And incredibly humble.”

The waiter brought the appetizers. Thomas focused on eating for a moment, giving himself time to gather his thoughts. He wanted to tell Monica about Vincent because he felt he needed to share it with someone, but he didn't want to reveal the depth of his feelings.

"I showed him a few places," he continued. "The Trevi Fountain, of course. Thanks to you, I knew the best view was from above. When I asked you about it, we were actually visiting it. He was enchanted." He looked at Monica gratefully. "He went with me to feed your cats. I hope you don't mind that I brought a stranger into your home…"

"If you trust someone, then so do I," she said quickly, waving her hand.

"We even took a picture together at the Colosseum. I still can't believe I let myself be talked into it," he added with a slight, self-deprecating smile. "Your selfie lesson came in handy.”

Monica smiled broadly. "See! I told you it was a useful skill! Do you have the photo? You absolutely must show me!”

And Thomas handed her his phone with the photos he had been staring at obsessively lately. The woman took it in her hand and didn't hide her slight surprise when she saw them together, practically embracing in the picture.

"I was expecting someone else. He looks interesting. I don't even know if he's handsome or sweet?”

"Monica!" Thomas almost shouted and took her phone back.

The woman laughed. "Oh, stop it. I'm saying what I see! And judging by the photo and the way you talk about him, you liked each other. Are you planning to stay in touch with him?”

"I'd like to. He let me know when he arrived at his destination, in Kabul, and we talked once.”

"That's good," Monica replied gently. "It looks like you've made a new friend.”

Thomas nodded, feeling relieved that Monica already knew about Vincent's existence. If life allowed it, he would very much like them to meet someday. "Yes, you could say that. We'll see what time brings." He looked at her. "But enough about me! Tell me, how was your day at the office? That meeting sounded really awful.”

He gratefully accepted the change of subject and for the rest of the meal listened to Monica's stories about her work, the coding problems and annoying colleagues, occasionally interjecting his own remarks and enjoying her company. He felt grateful for her presence, for this moment of normalcy, but he knew that as soon as he was alone again, his thoughts would return to the man thousands of kilometers away.

They left the trattoria as the sun was setting. They were full and in good spirits. The conversation flowed freely, moving from anecdotes from Monica's work to Thomas's memories of funny situations in the Vatican that he could safely share.

"You really must meet O'Malley sometime," Thomas said with a laugh. "His stoic expression when something absurd happens is priceless. Sometimes I think he's the only thing keeping me sane in that place.”

They walked slowly towards her apartment. Thomas offered to walk her home, and she readily agreed. As they turned into one of the side streets, they passed a small, colorful flower shop. Buckets displayed outside were overflowing with fresh flowers. Monica stopped for a moment, her gaze drawn to a bunch of plump pink tulips.

Thomas looked first at the flowers, then at Monica. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at them. He felt a sudden impulse. "Wait here a moment," he said quietly, and before she could react, he approached the flower shop owner. He pointed to the tulips that had caught her eye, exchanged a few quick words, and a moment later returned to her with a magnificent bouquet wrapped in simple brown paper.

Monica looked at him, then at the flowers in his hands, with clear surprise on her face.

"Thomas, what are you..." she began, but he interrupted her, handing her the bouquet.

"You liked them," he said simply, with a warm smile. "A little something to thank you for tonight and... well, for everything, Monica. Your friendship is priceless to me." His voice trembled slightly on the last words as, for a split second, the memory of that terrible night years ago flashed through his mind.

Monica's eyes welled up slightly. She took the flowers and hugged them to her chest, inhaling their fresh scent. If his good friend Aldo Bellini had seen what he had just done he would certainly have scolded him for it. Aldo did not understand the nature of his relationship with Monica and considered it rather inappropriate. However, for obvious reasons, he did not know the fundamentals of this relationship.

"They're beautiful, Thomas," she whispered. "You really didn't have to. But thank you. Very much." She looked up at him, and in her eyes he saw sincere gratitude and affection. "You're the best. You're wasting yourself living alone. You'd be the perfect partner for someone.”

"I'm not alone. I have you," he replied quickly, trying to ignore the image of Vincent that appeared before his eyes.

Monica rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes... Try it sometime. I promise I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to." And they walked away from the flower shop.

 

---

 

When he heard the phone ring after 9 PM, he almost jumped on the sofa. Vincent. Of course, it was Vincent. He answered almost immediately.

„Hello?"

"Thomas. I'm sorry for calling so late. I hope I didn't wake you.”

"Hello Vincent. Not at all! I was waiting for your call," he said and regretted sounding so pathetic.

"That's good to hear, Thomas. How was your day? Did your meeting with Monica go well?" His voice. His damn, gentle voice. Thomas got goosebumps.

"Very well. I told her about you. And about our trip. We had a pleasant afternoon.”

"I told Miguel about you. And about all the places you took me. I showed him the photos, and he was delighted. He regrets not being able to meet you," he said more quietly. "Speaking of photos - I'll finish editing them soon and send you a link. Of course, if you still want them.”

"Do I want them?! Don't even ask. I'll send you my email. Tell me, how did today's meeting go?"

Thomas sank into the sofa and listened to Vincent's story, as if they were sitting next to each other.

"It went very well. It looks like if everything goes well with the contract, we'll be able to sign the documents next week, and we'll finally have this place.”

"Vincent, that's wonderful! Do you need any help with the contract? If you want, I can help you analyze it. I have some experience with that. Or I can also ask Ray, who has even more," he offered without thinking much.

"Thomas, I would really appreciate that. Honestly, we didn't know how to approach it. I would be very grateful if you could help me with this.”

"No problem at all. Send it to the email address I'll give you, and I'll get back to you later with comments.”

They talked for another hour, until Thomas finally realized that it was already past midnight for Vincent. He said he was sorry for keeping him up so late, and in response, he heard from the man, "You're getting into a habit of this, Thomas. Taking away my nights and my sleep," and all the air left his lungs.

When they said goodbye, he had the impression that they were doing it reluctantly. Thomas went to bed with a heavy heart and a tight throat. He felt that he could talk to Vincent all night and spend whole days with him, and still not be satisfied. Already in bed, he sent him his email address and, in a spontaneous gesture, went to his gallery to see the last photos taken. He chose one that he was particularly happy with, one he had taken thinking of him, and sent it to Vincent.

Seven thousand kilometers away, the man in bed received a beautiful photo showing the dome of the basilica at night – he recognized the view from the roof of Thomas's apartment – with the caption „Good night."

 

---

 

The next day, Thomas received an email at work with the promised contract attached. He couldn't help but smile like a fool as he read it, imagining Vincent's voice. He immediately began analyzing it, feeling a slight pang of guilt for dealing with personal matters during work hours. After two hours, when he had all the revisions ready, he sent it back to Vincent and then texted him on WhatsApp: "Done. Check your email." His gaze also drifted to the photo he had sent yesterday and the reply that had come immediately after. The simple "Good night, Thomas" had kept him awake until dawn.

The following days and weeks began to resemble a gradually developing routine. When the contract that Thomas had helped revise was signed, he felt a wave of pride and satisfaction, as if he himself were part of the venture. Even Miguel thanked him, whom Vincent had put on the phone, and at the sound of his young voice, Thomas felt very uncertain.

They talked often. Initially a few times a week, and over time practically every day. The conversations revolved around everyday matters. Vincent spoke of the progress in renovating the premises, the challenges of bureaucracy, the children who couldn't wait for the opening, Miguel, who turned out to be an invaluable help and support. His stories painted a picture of a life full of difficulties that were completely different from those Thomas knew. Thomas, in turn, listened carefully, asked questions, offered words of encouragement and support, sometimes even throwing in an idea or suggestion based on his management experience. He himself shared – eagerly for him – about his life. He told about the successful trip with the sisters to the catacombs ("Sister Agness was delighted and sends her regards," he said with a smile), about the weekly chess games with the Pope, about the meetings and duties that filled his days.

They began with cautious curiosity to explore their inner worlds, sharing reflections on the books that currently held their attention, films, and music. Thomas discovered with astonishment how much they had in common. Imperceptibly, they became each other's confidants of their deepest thoughts and an invaluable source of emotional support. When Vincent spoke bitterly about the frustration of the constant lack of funds to complete such an important educational project or about the tense political situation in the country that cast an ominous shadow on his work, Thomas listened with genuine concern, weighing every word, trying to uplift his spirit and instill new hope in him. Conversely, when Thomas felt overwhelmed by the burden of his responsibilities, Vincent's warm and understanding voice acted like a soothing balm. Although neither of them said it directly, they both instinctively felt that these regular conversations had become more than just an exchange of information.

For Thomas, every sound of the phone signaling a call from Vincent was like a sudden rush of adrenaline. His feelings, which he had tried so determinedly to suppress and rationalize, grew stronger with each subsequent conversation, with each shared, heartfelt laugh, with each empathetic word of understanding. The longing for Vincent's physical presence began to take on an almost physical form, becoming a wistful ache in his chest. It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to hide the slight tremor in his voice when he heard Vincent tired but happy after another fruitful day spent at the construction site of the future school. Sometimes he caught himself unconsciously smiling at the extinguished screen of his phone long after the conversation had ended.

Weeks passed, turning into months. Spring in Rome gave way to the hot summer. They called each other in the evening and often texted during the day. Sometimes they were just short messages – a photo of blooming oleanders in the Vatican Gardens sent by Thomas, a photograph of laughing children in front of the future school from Vincent. Sometimes, however, the conversations stretched into the late hours of the night, when both felt the need to share more than just a brief account of the day. This was the case again when they spoke.

"The school will be ready just in time for mid-August. We'll be able to start on schedule. There are still a few things missing, but we should get them over time," Vincent said one evening. Thomas was sitting on his balcony. It was a hot June evening. He had all the windows in his apartment open and the lights off so that mosquitoes wouldn't fly in. At that moment, he felt wonderful. He had already taken his evening shower, was sitting in thin cotton pajama shorts and a plain white t-shirt. The surroundings, the hot night, and Vincent's company on the other end of the phone put him in an excellent mood.

"What else do you need? Can I help with anything?" He thought he would do a lot for this man.

"Mainly funds. Everything we need can be sorted out with money. But don't worry. We'll raise the funds. We don't need everything right away. You've done enough already, Thomas..." Vincent's voice trailed off slightly at the end.

Thomas couldn't help the tingling sensation he felt in his stomach at the sound of that specific tone.

"Maybe I can do something about that too?…"

"Thomas..." he heard in response, and his name on Vincent's lips sounded almost like a moan. It sent shivers down his spine.

"I'm not promising anything, but I'll try to do something.”

"Thank you... I'm sorry I don't have much to offer you in return.”

"You offer me your time and your company. That's more than enough, my dear Vincent…"

"You should come here," Vincent said suddenly, and Thomas almost fell off his chair. "When we open the school. You should come and see it with your own eyes. You contributed to its creation, it's your work too. I know it's not a tempting proposition. Or particularly pleasant and safe... But if you ever feel like it, I'm here, and I'll be waiting for you.”

A silence fell, broken only by the buzzing in Thomas's ears.

"Vincent... Thank you. That would certainly require some planning... I'll see what can be done," he replied, but in his head, he was already planning, and he already knew that this was probably the only chance for them to meet again.

"I could show you a bit of Kabul. It's certainly no comparison to Rome, but you would get to know me as a guide... I often think back to our days together." In a barely audible whisper, he added, "Those are my happiest memories lately.”

"Mine too..." Thomas replied, and his throat tightened.

"I won't keep you any longer..." he whispered, then cleared his throat and added, "I finally got around to editing the photos. You should get a link to them tomorrow. Go to sleep, Thomas. Talk to you tomorrow.”

"I'll be waiting. Sleep well.”

His good mood vanished. The only thing he felt now was a poignant longing for Vincent. As for the trip to Kabul – it was already decided. He would probably start working out the logistics from tomorrow. He wondered what would happen after that. He would spend a few days with Vincent and then be separated from him again. Would that be how it would be? And how would he want it to be at all? He thought about Monica's words and imagined himself by Vincent's side. Would he be a good partner for him? What could he offer him? The idea that a younger man might see him in such terms was ridiculous. However, he remembered the look Vincent had given him when he took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He remembered how often they touched seemingly by accident, how Vincent reacted to that touch. Finally, he remembered how, at the farewell at the airport, the man had practically nestled into his neck, and at the memory, he felt himself getting aroused. Such thoughts are pointless. I'm an old man, I need to calm down. But when he went to bed, he hugged the other pillow to his chest and imagined it was Vincent.

 

---

 

The next morning, driven by a desire to provide real support for Vincent, he anonymously transferred a significant sum from his private savings to the school's account in Kabul. He imagined the smiles of the children who would receive better learning conditions thanks to this, and Vincent's joy at having another problem solved.

During the day, as Vincent had promised, he received an email with a link to the photos. He opened it immediately and, with his heart pounding, immersed himself in their shared memories. Vincent definitely had a talent for photography. His photos were a great pleasure to look at, but the awareness that he had taken them while they were spending time together gave them intensity and evoked a great longing in him. Much to his surprise, he found a photo of himself. He was standing against the backdrop of the Arch and the Colosseum, talking on the phone. That was when he was arranging the details of their private after-dark entry to the Colosseum. The fact that Vincent had decided to take a photo of him almost brought tears to his eyes. He picked up his own phone and stared for a long time at the photo he had secretly taken of Vincent and at their joint photograph.

 

---

 

The hot Roman summer stifled the city in its sticky embrace, and Thomas decided with renewed determination to take care of his body and mind. He returned to regular workouts at the gym, and in the evenings, when the heat of the day subsided slightly, he walked through the Vatican gardens at a faster pace, trying to find relief for his growing longing in physical fatigue. One evening, as he was returning from the small gym located in the museum's basement, Vincent called him and said directly, "We received a donation. A significant donation. Thomas, do you know anything about this?" and Thomas stopped in his tracks.

"It's possible I do," he said, and a smile spread across his lips.

"Thomas... Did you transfer us that money?”

"Vincent... Don't worry about who did it, just use it. It's in the school's account, so I guess one problem solved?”

"Thomas, Thomas... I don't know what to make of all this…"

"Vincent... Accept it. I know you'll use that money in the best way you can." Silence answered him, and he understood that he needed to be more convincing. He sat down on a bench in the shade of a large tree and continued. "Vincent. My dear... Listen to me. I'm glad I can help you. We're so far apart... I need to help you to - at least - feel a little present in your life, and it just so happens that I want to.. So let me, if you want it too. And maybe in a few months we'll be able to stand together at the threshold of your school. What do you say to that?”

He heard Vincent breathing heavily. After a moment of silence, he replied, "I want the same thing you do." Oh yes? "When you come here, I'll try to thank you somehow.”

Thomas laughed. "My dear, you don't have to thank me for anything.”

 

---

 

The sweltering Roman summer dragged on for Thomas in an atmosphere of anticipation and longing. His days were filled with duties in the Vatican, but his thoughts constantly revolved around Kabul and Vincent. Regular workouts at the gym became not only a way to stay in shape but also to release the growing emotions within him. If he had seen a few months ago the intensity with which he now felt and lived his life, he probably would have tapped his head.

The link to the photos from Vincent came back to him almost every day. He looked at them in the solitude of his office, in the quiet darkness of his bedroom, on his phone screen during short breaks at work. Each frame revived memories, evoking both a smile and melancholy. One photo in particular – his own figure against the backdrop of the majestic Colosseum, captured by Vincent's lens – became his favorite, a silent testament to their unexpected closeness.

Conversations with Vincent continued their virtual daily routine, bringing news of the progress at the school, the joy of the children, the challenges of everyday life in a distant country. After the anonymous donation, Thomas sensed even greater warmth and gratitude in Vincent's voice, although the topic of the donation was never explicitly mentioned again.

As time passed, the hot air of Rome became lighter, and the palette of colors in the Vatican gardens began to shift to warmer hues. The first signs of autumn – chestnuts falling from the trees, cooler mornings – brought with them a subtle change in mood. For Thomas, this change of seasons carried a mixture of melancholy and quiet hope. On the one hand, the summer intensity of their virtual relationship seemed to wane somewhat with the shorter days. On the other hand, the opening date of Vincent's school was approaching, and with it – the increasingly real prospect of his trip to Kabul. The thought of meeting Vincent again, though shrouded in uncertainty, warmed him on cooler autumn evenings, becoming a quiet engine driving his daily activities and plans.

The golden autumn in Rome painted the city with warm colors when Thomas, after many secret conversations and planning, finally set the date for his trip. November. The cool month seemed to him a symbolic new beginning. Organizing everything required a certain degree of discretion and maneuvering between duties, but his determination proved stronger than any obstacles. He bought a plane ticket, carefully hiding this fact from O'Malley and other colleagues. He managed to obtain a visa thanks to the discreet help of a certain acquaintance from the Vatican structures. Every detail arranged, every confirmed reservation brought him closer to the longed-for meeting, while simultaneously fueling the anxiety associated with the unknown. November became in his mind a turning point, a date that was to change the course of his lonely Roman autumn. On a certain September evening, he finally decided to inform Vincent about it.

"Vincent..." he began calmly, trying to keep his voice from betraying the emotions churning within him. "Is the offer for me to come still valid?”

Silence hung in the receiver for a moment, as if Vincent had stopped breathing. "Of course. Are you planning something? Thomas?”

"Well... yes." Thomas smiled slightly, though Vincent couldn't see it.

Again silence, this time filled with disbelief. "Really? Thomas... are you serious?" Excitement was rising in Vincent's voice.

"Yes. I looked into some things... and I think I'll be able to fly over." Thomas paused, giving Vincent time to process the news. "In November.”

On the other end, there was a sudden, muffled sound, as if Vincent had moved abruptly. "In November? That's... that's in a few weeks! Thomas... I don't know what to say." Joy, surprise, and emotion mingled in his voice. "That's... that's incredible. Are you really coming?”

"Yes, Vincent. If nothing gets in the way, I'll be in Kabul in November." Thomas felt the tension slowly leave him, replaced by a warm feeling of fulfillment.

After hanging up, Thomas leaned back in his chair, feeling a strange mix of excitement and slight fear in his chest. He had done it. He had said it. There was no turning back. November had become his new goal, and the thought of meeting Vincent in distant Kabul filled his autumn evenings with a new, hitherto unknown light.

 

---

 

He spent the next few days in euphoric elation. He planned their meeting in his mind, imagined the first moments, their joint sightseeing of Kabul, which Vincent had described with such passion.

However, a few days after their hopeful conversation, the evening phone call didn't come. Thomas glanced at his watch – Vincent usually called around this time. He thought that perhaps he was busy, tired after a long day of work at the school. He didn't want to risk waking the man, so he spent the evening alone with his thoughts. In the morning, when his phone screen remained blank, he decided to send Vincent a message asking if everything was alright, but it didn't reach the recipient for the next few hours. Maybe his phone broke. From what I saw, it was already old. When the whole day without contact turned into another evening without a call, he became seriously worried. He pushed away the thought that something had happened, but was instead inclined to think that Vincent had decided to cut him off. Break contact with the pathetic old cardinal. The thought hurt him terribly. He decided to call, but his call bounced back and was not made. He tried to calm himself and convince himself that it was nothing, that they had no obligations towards each other, that the man didn't have to explain himself or report to him, but the anxiety he felt robbed him of sleep and the ability to think rationally.

The answer came on the third day since his last contact with Vincent. At 10 AM, someone knocked vigorously on his office door and entered without waiting for a response. Thomas only realized after a moment that the person was the Pope. One look at his face made him feel faint. The world around him began to spin, and a quiet, growing buzzing sound filled his ears. He looked at the Pope with silent terror, waiting for the words he subconsciously feared.

Driven by instinct, he stood up behind his desk and, looking at the horror on the Pope's face, whispered, „Vincent..."

The Pope approached, and his footsteps in the quiet office seemed to echo in Thomas's ears like the tolling of a funeral bell. He placed his hand on his shoulder. The usually warm and comforting touch was now heavy, marked by pain and compassion that pierced Thomas to the bone.

The Pope sighed softly, and that sound, full of resignation, rang in Thomas's ears like a sentence.

"There was an attack, Thomas. In Kabul.”

At those words, something inside Thomas broke. His sense of reality began to blur, and a thick, leaden fog enveloped his mind. "Vincent... he’s wounded?" he managed to choke out with difficulty, his voice trembling uncontrollably.

The Pope shook his head, helplessness and deep sorrow etched on his face. "He was nearby. There are reports... chaotic, inconsistent... but nothing certain. Unfortunately, in the current situation... they fear the worst.”

Thomas felt himself sink back into his chair. He couldn't utter a single word.

"He's dead?" The question escaped his lips as a barely audible whisper, full of disbelief and despair.

The Pope closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, genuine suffering was visible within. "We have no confirmation, Thomas. His body hasn't been found in any of the hospitals. There's chaos there, confusion... Information is scarce, difficult to verify. But... the concerns are serious. They fear he didn't survive. However... there's no certainty. He hasn't been found.”

No no no no... This can't be true... Vincent, his Vincent. Vincent who laughed with him, talked to him, Vincent whom he had embraced, Vincent who had become his whole world cannot simply die…

"You must be strong, Thomas," the Pope said quietly, his voice trembling slightly. He squeezed Thomas's shoulder tighter, as if trying to impart some of his strength. "I know that you two have become closer... This is terrible news. But as long as there's no certainty... as long as there's no body... there's a sliver of hope, however small.”

Thomas looked at him with empty eyes, and in his mind, piercing through the fog of shock, a spark of desperate determination began to flicker. "I must... I must fly there," he whispered with sudden, unwavering certainty. "I have to find him. I have to know.”

The Pope looked him straight in the eyes, seeing in them not only bottomless pain but also a nascent, almost mad strength. "It's dangerous, Thomas. Very dangerous. We don't know what's happening there.”

"It doesn't matter," Thomas replied, a new, harsh resolve in his voice that surprised even himself. "I have to know. I have to find him."

Notes:

if you made it to the end of this 12k-word beast: kudos to you!
i love everyone who reads this. you are keeping my brain chemistry stable <3
comments fuel my soul, so if you felt things — scream at me. cry with me. drop a 🥲 or an essay. i’ll cherish it forever.
see you next chapter!

Chapter 5: Kabul

Notes:

oh to be a conclave fan right now...
what a time to be alive, huh?...

The next few hours were a blur in his memory. Someone – perhaps the Pope? – had informed O’Malley about the matter, and before Thomas knew it, his flight tickets and hotel were booked. After the Pope left, the man walked around him as if on tiptoes. Or perhaps it only seemed that way to him through his dulled senses? He heard that his flight was in 5 hours, a driver would pick him up from his house, so he had to go pack. In a moment of clarity, he grabbed his computer, and Ray pressed some documents into his hand. A visa, he later realized, and on it a yellow sticky note with the words: “PACK YOUR PASSPORT!” A slight sobering effect washed over him. Thank God, someone had kept a cool head. He looked at Ray with gratitude, as much as that expression was possible on his face twisted with terror.

“I didn’t even get a chance to introduce you…” he said and was himself startled by the sadness in his voice. “You never met him.”

“You’ll definitely get to,” O’Malley replied, trying to offer comfort by squeezing his arm.

Just then, the corridor door burst open, and Sister Agness rushed in. She recoiled slightly at the sight of the two of them standing right by the entrance.

“Father Lawrence… I’ve heard…” her voice broke. “It’s terrible…”

Thomas couldn’t respond. Thousands of thoughts raced through his head. Yes, it was terrible. It was unimaginably terrible. His Vincent. He had only just met him, and now he might have to say goodbye? He would find him. Alive. He would hold him alive to his chest and never let him go again.

The sight of Agness’s and Ray’s faces suddenly brought him to order. Even though he didn’t feel up to it, he saw that they needed comfort, and he had to give it to them. He looked at them in dismay. Agness, who knew Vincent, and Ray, who had only just learned of his existence. Both of them moved to varying degrees by what they had heard. He suspected that O'Malley was most frightened because he had never had the occasion to see him in this state. He felt his ingrained habits take over and turned to them: “Will you pray with me?”

Without hesitation, they nodded, approached him, and standing in a strange triangle, they held hands and prayed.

When they finished, he felt a great wave of affection for these people. They were there for him in this terrible moment and tried to support him, even though the situation seemed hopeless.

“Please call if there’s anything at all I can do to help. No matter the time,” Ray offered, while Agness took a small box from her pocket and handed it to Thomas, saying: “For Father Benitez. A rosary from a sister who comes from Congo. She asked me to give it to him…” He couldn't help but notice that she didn't finish the sentence with when to give it to him.

Thomas felt tears welling up in his eyes. He tried to force a smile, but inwardly he was dying. He wanted to be there already, in Kabul, and to act. To search and search until he found him.

“Thank you. I’ll be in touch once I land,” he said, took his laptop bag, nodded, and left.

He walked through the corridors of the Apostolic Palace so quickly that everyone moved out of his way. When he burst into his apartment, he ran straight to the bathroom and vomited. He couldn’t compare the stress he felt at that moment to anything else. He sat down on the tiles with his back against the bathtub and began to cry. He couldn’t even remember the last time it had happened. His sobs turned into loud wails, but even that didn’t ease the pain he felt now. Vincent was gone. He had vanished into thin air. Completely, as if he had evaporated, as if he had never existed. And yet he had existed, Thomas felt his existence in his own skin. In every conversation, in the embraces they had shared, in the touches of their hands. He existed in his heart, and because of that, he felt as if it had been torn out.

Now he was sure. He had fallen in love with Vincent. And he was absolutely terrified.

How it was possible after only two days spent together, he would never understand. However, he knew that back in April, when he first saw him, everything had changed for him because a feeling had appeared, and every subsequent day and the many months of separation had only strengthened it. They were finally going to see each other. Just another month and a half, and he would see him again, embrace him as he had at their farewell at Fiumicino, and they would spend pleasant moments together. What direction was their relationship heading? He preferred not to think about it. Until this morning, all that mattered was that they would see each other again. Now, all that mattered was that he was alive.

Thomas finally got up from the floor and rinsed his mouth at the sink. He had to pack, he didn’t know for how long. He had no idea what clothes would be appropriate there. Normally, he would have asked Vincent. In a surge of futile hope, he tried to call him, mentally begging God for a miracle for him to answer, but the call, like the previous ones, didn’t go through. He took a medium-sized suitcase and threw in everything that came to hand, paying little attention to it. He remembered the documents and the note from Ray and found his passport.

The driver will be here in less than an hour, he thought anxiously. In a panic, he realized he didn’t know when he would return, so he probably should take some work documents with him, but he couldn’t think about the practical aspects of this trip now. He walked around the apartment, grabbing everything that caught his eye and adding it to the suitcase. When he received a message that the driver was waiting, he took one last look around the apartment and closed the door behind him.

The irony was that the same car he had driven Vincent back in April was waiting for him. This coincidence hurt him especially now. He handed the suitcase to the driver and sat in the back, praying silently that he wouldn’t vomit on the beautiful cream upholstery on the way. He sat behind the passenger seat and stared at its headrest, as if he could see Vincent there, as if he could materialize him there by the force of his gaze.

If only he could bring him to himself by willpower alone, he would. If only he could give him life by willpower alone, he would give him a thousand years.

He prayed the whole way. It hadn’t come so easily to him in a long time. Indeed, when in fear, God is dear. He begged and pleaded for Vincent to be alive. Nothing else mattered to him now. Another wave of panic washed over him as he realized what he was doing. What was he going to do there? Where to start, where to go, and who to talk to? Him, a white Englishman, who would have to navigate there alone and in civilian clothes… Vincent could manage, but Vincent was Vincent. Everything came naturally to him, he had innate interpersonal skills, everyone liked him instantly. Those qualities would definitely come in handy now. Even though he didn’t know what to do, he wanted to be there already. To teleport and skip the torment of this journey, of being alone with his thoughts for so many hours.

When he arrived at the airport, he entered the terminal and found himself in the same place where he had once said goodbye to Vincent. Tears welled up in his eyes. He should never have let him go. What had he been hoping for? He knew how dangerous it was where Vincent was returning. He had hugged him, said goodbye, and watched him walk away. He had allowed it. He felt as if he had sent him to his death.

He gathered his strength and walked the same path that Vincent had taken five months ago. He went through check-in and security and found his gate. He was going to fly the same way his dear friend had last time, with a layover in Doha. There was an hour left until boarding. He walked nervously near the surrounding gates and duty-free shops and felt himself starting to panic. He found a free seat by the windows, sat down, focused his gaze on a single point on the tarmac, and began to breathe slowly and deeply. You won't help him in this state. You won't find him in this state. He felt a little better, at least he wasn't on the verge of fainting anymore, but he still didn't know what to do with himself. He needed some comfort now, and there was only one person who could offer it to him in some way. He dialed Monica's number. He felt relieved when she answered almost immediately.

"Thomas! Ciao! What's up?" The sound of her voice tightened his throat. He got up and moved to a more secluded spot so he could talk freely.

"Monica. Ciao..." he choked out.

"What's that noise? Where are you?" Monica asked uncertainly.

"I'm at the airport... I'm flying to Kabul," he said in a trembling voice. "Something bad has happened.”

"To Kabul? Kabul in Afghanistan?" Monica sounded clearly surprised and worried.

"Yes, that Kabul." He felt how shallow his breath was.

"Thomas, what happened?”

"Vincent... There was an attack. And he... He's gone. They suspect the worst, but his body isn't anywhere... He... He..." Thomas could barely understand himself.

"Thomas, my God! Vincent, that Vincent?! Your friend Vincent?" Monica asked in shock.

"Yes. My Vincent. - My Vincent - I have to find him. He couldn't have just died like that. Not him..." Thomas whispered. "I found out a few hours ago, but it must have happened two days ago. Suddenly our contact was cut off. I... I thought I was being pushy and he didn't want to talk to me anymore, and in the meantime, someone wanted to kill him, and I don't even know if he's still alive..." Now Thomas was sobbing quietly. He pressed the phone tightly to his ear, crossed his arms over his chest and covered his mouth with his hand.

"I'm in shock... Thomas, I'm so sorry... What are you going to do?”

"I have to find him... I don't know how, but I have to…"

"Thomas... Since there's no body, that's good, right? You'll check the hospitals, other places... He has to be somewhere. He couldn't have just vanished into thin air…"

"That's what I'm afraid of... I had a bad feeling when I took him to his flight. I shouldn't have let him go then..." Thomas was falling into a spiral of self-blame again.

"Thomas, it's nobody's fault, and certainly not yours!" Monica vehemently denied. "How could you have known? Nobody could have. Now the most important thing is for you to be safe and for you to find him. But please... promise me you'll be careful. That you won't do anything stupid, anything rash." Her voice was filled with concern and fear.

"I'll be careful," he said mechanically, but it seemed he hadn't convinced her.

"Listen, do you still have a moment before boarding? Maybe quickly buy yourself a large water and something to eat for the journey, okay? And a power bank so you can charge your phone and stay in touch. Call whenever you can, okay? At any time of day or night. I'll be waiting for news. And let me know when you land.”

"Okay... Yes, I'll buy something... You're right..." His voice was still full of tears, but he nodded, appreciating her practical concern. "I have to go.”

"Take care of yourself. My heart is with you. I love you.”

He needed that very much at that moment. He was filled with immense gratitude for this woman in his life.

"Thank you. I love you too... Talk to you later..." he whispered and hung up. For a moment, he stood still, feeling both the immense weight of despair and a strange, desperate strength flowing from the decision he had made and the conversation with his friend. He looked around for a shop and bought water and a snack there, as she had advised. In another, he found charged power banks and thanked her warmly in his thoughts, as he probably hadn't even packed his phone charger.

He was heading back to the gate when a small stand with leather goods caught his eye, especially a cat-shaped keychain. He stopped at the sight of it and instinctively approached the counter. He looked at it, and in that piece of leather, he saw something that deeply touched him. For some reason, cats reminded him of Vincent. Whether it was because they both liked them or because they had spent time with them at Monica's, he couldn't say, but he felt he had to buy this keychain and give it to Vincent when he found him. It was as if with this simple purchase he wanted to make it more likely that he would find him, as if it would ensure that the man was alive. So, he paid for the small souvenir and went to start his journey to him.

 

---

 

Throughout the first flight and because he was flying the same route as Vincent had in April, he had the feeling that he was close to him. This trip was supposed to be different. He should have been flying happily. Maybe Vincent would be waiting for him at the airport? Where would he take him, would he sleep at his place, or would he have to take a hotel? These were questions he feared he would no longer find answers to.

The flight was not kind to him; he didn't get a minute of sleep. Unable to watch the movies on the screen in front of him, he stared at the map showing their location for the entire six hours and prayed to find Vincent alive. Every second closer to him, he thought with dread, and at that moment, it was his only comfort.

When he landed in Doha, he felt terribly overwhelmed by the size of the airport. The thought that Vincent had experienced the same thing did not reassure him. He looked at the watch on his wrist and saw that it was already after 9 PM European time. He had several hours of waiting ahead of him for his next flight. He would arrive at his destination at dawn.

He spent the layover sitting and minimizing his vital functions. He felt like he could barely breathe and that he was barely alive. The stress he had been experiencing for hours had taken away all his vital energy. His body was subconsciously conserving energy to be able to act when he arrived.

When the plane touched down on the runway in Kabul at four in the morning Rome time, Thomas felt a knot in his stomach. He stepped out into the warm, dry air that immediately hit his face. It was 6:30 AM in Kabul, and despite that, everything around him seemed chaotic and loud. Shouts and unfamiliar languages mixed in a cacophony of sounds. The Kabul airport terminal was completely different from the sterile, modern airports he was used to. It was crowded, and the air was filled with the smell of exhaust fumes and spices. Thomas struggled to push his way through the crowd of people pulling luggage carts and calling out to each other. His mind was blank. He didn’t know where to go or who to look for. He showed his visa and passport at immigration control and exited the terminal.

A long line of taxis stood before him. He didn’t know where to go, but he had to go somewhere. He approached the first taxi driver and asked in English, “Can you take me to… the city center?” He had no idea where he was even supposed to start.

The driver nodded, and Thomas threw his suitcase into the back seat and got in. The car moved, weaving between other vehicles, while Thomas observed the streets of Kabul. The city pulsed with intense, chaotic life. At first glance, he was struck by the mixture of damaged buildings, often scarred by conflict, and makeshift shops crammed along dusty roads. The traffic was dense, with rickshaws and motorcycles weaving through the cars. Pedestrians, in a variety of attire – from traditional Afghan robes to more Western clothing – moved along the sidewalks, and often on the road itself. The air was filled with the smell of exhaust fumes, mixed with the aroma of spices and street food. Here and there, checkpoints with armed guards were visible. Women were often covered in burqas or hijabs. The city’s panorama was completed by the stark, snow-capped mountain peaks in the distance, contrasting with the bustle and dust in the streets.

During the ride, Thomas decided that it would be best to go to where Vincent lived. Maybe he could talk to someone at the Italian embassy. That was the best place to start, so he asked the driver to change the route, and after half an hour, they drove into a nicer-looking neighborhood.

He paid the driver for the ride. He was convinced he had been overcharged, but he wasn’t in the mood to haggle today. He got out in front of the embassy building and took in its high fence and metal gate. It wasn’t even eight in the morning, and he wondered if coming here was a good idea, but he couldn’t even imagine going to a hotel and going to sleep right now.

The Italian embassy felt like an isolated enclave. The solid, dark green metal gate, with the visible emblem of the Italian Republic, was guarded by two soldiers. There was a small guardhouse next to the gate. Behind the gate, a short driveway led to the main building. I’m here. I flew for so long, and everything will only begin now, he thought. He took a deep breath and approached the soldiers.

“Buongiorno,” he said to them in Italian. His voice was uncertain, stress robbing him of the authority that usually resonated in it. “My name is Cardinal Thomas Lawrence. I am British, but I work daily in the Vatican.” He sounded idiotic. If he had heard someone else babbling what he was now, he would probably feel embarrassed. “I have come on the Pope’s orders.”

That seemed to open all doors. The soldiers greeted him, one stepped aside, repeated what he had just heard into a walkie-talkie, and asked Thomas to walk along the path to the building.

Thomas entered the embassy grounds. The driveway was surrounded by a modest but well-kept garden. Rose bushes and other local plants grew here, and here and there, trees offered some shade. The garden surface was covered with gravel. The main embassy building was a two-story structure made of light stone or concrete, with simple, modernist lines. Large windows were visible, probably secured with additional bars or protective film. The Italian flag and the European Union flag flew above the entrance. The embassy grounds felt like an oasis of peace and order, contrasting sharply with the chaos outside the city. When he thought that this was where Vincent lived, a sliver of calm washed over him.

The building door opened as he approached, and a well-dressed, middle-aged man stepped out. He was Italian, that was clear at first glance. Thomas even thought he resembled a younger Goffredo Tedesco. Had the circumstances been different, it might have amused him. He walked up to Thomas and said, “Buongiorno. Cardinal Thomas Lawrence? My name is Alessandro Rossi. I am the consul here.” He extended his hand, which Thomas shook. “Please, come inside. Straight from the airport, Father?”

“Yes, I landed not long ago.” His voice was hoarse from exhaustion and the many hours in flight.

“Please, follow me,” Alessandro Rossi said with a kind smile, leading Thomas through the hall. The interior of the embassy exuded tranquility and elegance, a stark contrast to the noisy street outside the walls. The floor was made of polished, light marble, on which discreet, dark red carpets lay. The walls, painted in a muted cream color, were adorned with tasteful prints depicting Italian landscapes and landmarks. Discreet lighting, hidden in ceiling moldings, created a warm and welcoming atmosphere.

A quiet hum of air conditioning filled the corridor. Doors lined both sides, presumably leading to offices and administrative rooms. On small mahogany tables stood fresh flowers in glass vases, and in the corner of the hall, Thomas noticed an elegant, carved console table with a thick guest book.

Consul Rossi led him to wide, double doors at the end of the corridor. “This is my office,” he explained, opening them with a gesture. “Please, come in.”

The consul’s office was spacious and bright. Large windows, partially covered by blinds, let in natural light, illuminating the dark wooden furniture. The central point of the room was a massive mahogany desk, on which perfect order reigned. An elegant writing set, a lamp with a green lampshade, and several framed photographs sat on it. Behind the desk was a comfortable leather chair. The whole room gave the impression of the workplace of a man in a high position, but furnished with taste and attention to detail. Typically Italian aesthetics, he thought.

He sat down in the offered seat and looked at Alessandro for a moment.

“I presume I know what brings you here, Father…” the consul said first. Thomas couldn’t answer, he simply looked at him as he continued. “Vincent Benitez… Our dear Vincent has gone missing. I assume that is the reason for your visit.”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat and tried to say something more. “Archbishop Benitez is very dear to the Holy Father. He is personally a close friend of mine. We only know that there was an attack, and immediately after, he disappeared. Does the consul know anything more?” He heard a pleading tone in his voice. “I have come to find him, but I don’t even know where to start…”

Alessandro looked at him with a furrowed brow.

“I’m afraid we know little more… Vincent was with Miguel at their school about 5 kilometers from here. They had finished classes and were supposed to be returning home. When they went out into the street, there was a car bomb. Someone probably detonated the charge in it as they approached. Miguel was seriously injured, a dozen other people were injured… The thing is, they were all identified. Vincent vanished into thin air…” Alessandro finished sadly.

Thomas felt faint again.

“There were no witnesses, and there are no camera recordings, so I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but in my opinion, Vincent was kidnapped.”

Thomas slumped back in his chair. Kidnapped… What does that even mean in this part of the world? He felt nauseous and thought that as soon as he reached his hotel, he would vomit again. He couldn’t utter a word, so Alessandro continued.

“Of course, we reported his disappearance to the police. I personally inquired about him in the hospitals, but there is no one like that in any of them…”

“If it’s a kidnapping, maybe it’s about money? If so, it shouldn’t be a problem,” he finally said, with a glimmer of hope. He himself had a lot of savings, and the Holy Father would certainly be able to help as well.

“Unfortunately, money is the least of the concerns here. They became targets because of their faith… That’s how it is in this part of the world…” Alessandro paused for a moment and looked at Thomas. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “Vincent knew how dangerous what he was doing was. Opening a school and teaching children? Right at the top of the reasons for an attack. Add to that the fact that he is an archbishop (Even a cardinal, Thomas thought to himself) and they didn’t need anything more. People like him are punished most severely.”

“What does that mean?” Thomas asked in terror.

“This means - forgive my directness - that we may never see him again.”

Thomas was agitated. “But surely there must be some protocol for this? He’s a citizen of Mexico, an archbishop.” A cardinal.

“Thomas… Can we switch to first names? - Thomas nodded - So far, we have activated all possible avenues of help. The Mexican embassy is in constant contact with us. Now, thanks to you, the Vatican will be as well. We all care about finding him…”

Alessandro observed Thomas, whose face must have shown a whole range of negative emotions.

“Vincent mentioned you to me. You met when he was in Rome last time, didn’t you?” These words jolted Thomas out of the despair he had been in for almost a day.

“Yes. We met when he was with us in April.” With a sad smile, he added, “We became friends.”

Alessandro surprised him with his next words: “He told us about the places you showed him. He was very happy and grateful to have met you. It’s a wonderful thing to have a friend like you.”

These words brought tears to Thomas’s eyes. He swallowed them, nodded, and asked Alessandro where he should start.

“In bed. By getting some sleep. You’ve had a tiring journey. Stay with us. We have guest rooms. We would be honored to host you.”

“Thank you, but I have a hotel booked.” He thought that he didn’t even know where, and he would probably have to ask Ray about it.

“Surely it can still be canceled. I insist. The embassy is a safer choice, and we’ll be able to stay in touch,” Alessandro added with a smile.

Thomas hesitated for a moment but nodded and accepted the offer. He was a little overwhelmed by the openness with which he had been received but was grateful for it at that moment.

“Excellent, in that case, I’ll show you the small dining room where you can get something to eat, and later I’ll take you to your room.”

So they left the office, and after a few minutes, they were in the mentioned dining room, which Thomas promised to visit later. Then they went up to the second floor, and Alessandro led him to one of the rooms.

“This is it. Make yourself at home, please. Just so you know, you can stay as long as you want. It’s safe here, we have quite a large garden. At the back, there’s a small house where Vincent and Miguel live. They refused to live here… Go over there later, I have the keys, I can give them to you.”

Thomas thought about it with both dread and longing. To enter the house where Vincent lived. To feel him, to see how he lived, but at the same time not be able to meet him there – it tore at his heart.

“Perhaps… Alessandro, tell me… What condition is Miguel in?”

“He has undergone several operations. He had many internal injuries. As a result of the explosion, he unfortunately lost a leg… He will spend many more weeks in the hospital.”

Good God… And Vincent… They were next to each other. He could be similarly injured, and no one is helping him… Four days have passed since the attack. If he was still alive, it might already be too late…

“Is it possible for me to visit him? We’ve never met, but we’ve spoken a few times. Vincent told me a lot about him…”

Alessandro smiled slightly.

“He is in the Centro chirurgico di Emergency in Kabul. It’s a hospital founded and run by Italians. He will be happy to meet you, Father. I must go now. Work needs to be done… Please, rest before you do anything. You won’t help anyone in this state… Please – he reached for his business card – here’s my number. Call if you need anything at all,” and he left the room.

Left alone in the room, Thomas didn’t know what to do first. He doubted he would be able to rest, but he definitely needed to take a shower. He thought about the hotel that was booked for him and decided it was a good time to call Ray. He dialed his number, sat at the foot of the bed, and when O’Malley answered, he asked him to cancel the reservation and told him everything he had learned so far.

Thomas could tell that when Ray heard about him staying at the embassy, he breathed a sigh of relief. He thought with affection about his secretary. He should be careful not to give him extra work.

Then he unpacked and took a shower. Physically, he felt a little better, but he couldn’t say the same for his mental state. He lay down on the double bed and tried to assess if he could fall asleep. It was almost nine in the morning. His thoughts were racing. The stress he had been under since yesterday had only intensified after the news from Alessandro. He was right next to the place where Vincent lived. He had to go there and feel him, otherwise he would go crazy.

So, he jumped out of bed and put on clean clothes. He took his bag and documents with him, in case he wanted to go to the hospital later as well. He would check Vincent’s house and assess what to do next. Alessandro had mentioned the keys, but for now, he just wanted to approach it.

So he left the building and headed right, looking for the small house. He walked through a medium-sized garden, which of course couldn't compare to the Vatican gardens, but the similarity of the places where he and Vincent lived struck him. After a moment, he indeed saw a small, one-story rectangular house painted in a light, sandy color. Of course, Vincent would prefer to live in a place like this, he thought with a smile. It was nestled against a high wall topped with barbed wire at the back, and a small bench stood under a small canopy at the front. There were two windows at the front, one larger, probably belonging to the living room, and a smaller one, belonging to one of the bedrooms.

Thomas approached the door and instinctively reached for the handle. The door yielded to his touch and opened with a soft creak. He was startled. He hadn't intended to go in without anyone knowing and felt a bit like a burglar, but now there was no turning back. He stepped inside, driven by longing for Vincent and the need to be close to him.

He closed the door behind him and felt the stuffiness typical of rooms that have been closed for a long time. It was dark inside because the blinds were drawn. The house was small, so you entered directly into a small living room. Thomas took a step forward and still felt like a trespasser. As if he were disturbing someone's peace, disrupting some order. He looked around. To the right was a small kitchenette and a table with four chairs. Straight ahead was a small living room with a small sofa and a small television. In front of the sofa, on a low coffee table, lay books and various papers, an empty glass, and a plate with crumbs. He walked around the living room and kitchen and noticed traces of life that had been left unfinished. Signs of a hastily eaten breakfast, the cleaning after it not completed, a chair not pushed in at the table, a dirty knife on the counter.

He walked through this space and barely breathed. He was afraid to touch anything, his steps uncertain. He wanted to leave as little trace of himself as possible, but then his gaze fell on two doors on the opposite wall, between which hung a large wooden cross. Both doors were closed. Bedrooms, he assumed. He stood for a moment, biting his lip, but he didn't have enough willpower to stop himself now. He approached them and opened the one on his left.

An unmade bed was the central point of the room. On the left wall was the window he had seen earlier from the outside. Besides that, a simple desk, a chair, a small wardrobe, and a chest of drawers on which stood a framed photograph. He approached it and looked at the picture. It showed a young man and two older people. Miguel. This must be Miguel with his parents. Thomas had never seen him, but he was surprised to find that this was exactly how he had imagined him. He came to his senses for a moment and realized that he had crossed a line and was snooping in the bedroom of a man who didn't know him.

He left it quickly and stood in front of the second door. Vincent. This bedroom belongs to Vincent. He will find more of Vincent in here than he has had in the past months.

He opened the door and entered the room. He wouldn't mistake this place for any other. He thought that if he had to recognize his bedroom by smell alone, he wouldn't be wrong either.

Vincent's room had a larger window than Miguel's, and it faced the side of the garden. The bed stood against the right wall and was perfectly made. The bedside table held a considerable stack of books, a glass of water, a tube of cream, and a simple bedside lamp. Thomas stood in the middle of the room and looked around. Everything here shouted Vincent's name to him. To his left, he found a chest of drawers, and on it, a camera he recognized from Rome. He picked it up and tried to turn it on, but the camera didn't respond. Vincent had mentioned it was breaking down; perhaps it had finally given up.

He put the camera down and walked over to a small desk that stood in the corner of the room. A visibly worn laptop, a lamp, several notebooks, and a binder with documents lay on it. He sat down at it on the chair, over the back of which hung a sweater. He gently stroked its material. He looked at everything in front of him and only now noticed a corkboard hanging on the wall. There were several receipts, reminder notes, and also a few photographs on it. Some of them depicted landscapes, one was of a small house – perhaps his family home, others probably showed members of his family. Thomas could guess that he was looking at his mother and siblings, and it dawned on him that he didn't know if they had been informed about what had happened. He had to ask Alessandro, and if they didn't know yet, he would have to find a way to tell them. As he thought about this, his gaze landed on a photograph he knew perfectly well. It was their picture together from the Colosseum. Thomas instantly shot to his feet, and his hand flew out to it, unpinning it from the board.

Vincent had a developed photo of them together in his room. He had hung it with pictures of his family. In a place he looked at when he worked, that he saw from his bed.

Thomas felt faint. He began to tremble and sob. He clutched the photograph tightly, as if it would somehow help him, but his crying intensified. He walked over to Vincent's bed and sat down on it. He stared at the photograph in his hand but saw little through the torrent of tears that flowed from his eyes.

The longing for Vincent was unimaginable at that moment. If he could sacrifice his life for him, he would do it without question. He would do anything to find him and bring him back to life, to be able to hug him again. He looked at the bed he was sitting on and reached for the pillow. He took it in his hands and, in a moment of despair, buried his face in it. He now smelled Vincent's scent more intensely than before. The scent of his hair, his skin. This must be how he smelled in the morning when he woke up. Thomas longed to be surrounded by this scent forever. With the photograph and the pillow in his hands, he lay down on Vincent's bed on his right side, curled up his legs, placed the photograph on the mattress next to his head, and hugged the pillow tightly. Breathing in Vincent's scent, he calmed down enough to stop crying and imperceptibly fell asleep.

When he woke up a few hours later, his first instinct was to not know where he was. Vincent's bed, he thought and realized he was still clutching the pillow tightly. He got up and put it back in its place. He straightened the bedding where he had lain and hung the photograph back up.

He looked at his watch. Good God! He had slept for over three hours. He hoped no one had seen him come in here. Otherwise, they would think he was a psychopath, falling asleep in other people's beds. He took one last look at Vincent's bedroom and left the small house.

He felt better. He didn't know if it was the sleep he had fallen into without even realizing it, or the enveloping feeling of Vincent's presence and his scent that had calmed his nerves somewhat. It was time to start acting. Sleeping in his bed wouldn't bring him back to the world, and he desperately believed that the man was alive and needed his rescue. The first step he should take was to visit Miguel, so he headed towards the gates and asked the soldiers guarding them for directions to the hospital. They advised him against walking there alone, probably fearing that something would happen to him too, but he ignored their warnings, and after a 20-minute walk along a busy street, he found himself at the Centro chirurgico di Emergency in Kabul.

The hospital wasn't intimidating in appearance, but it wasn't modern either. It was clear that it consisted of several one-story buildings in a sandy color, which was characteristic of the area. There was chaos in front of the hospital entrance, but Thomas felt that this was always the case here.

He found the reception desk, and as he approached it, he realized he didn't know Miguel's last name. He knew practically nothing about the man, but to not even know his last name... that bordered on extreme ignorance. He remembered that the hospital was run by Italians, so he decided to try anyway.

He approached the reception desk, and when he saw a woman there dressed in medical scrubs and looking Italian, he said: "Buongiorno. My name is Thomas Lawrence. I am looking for Father Miguel, who was injured in the bomb attack. Unfortunately, I don't know his last name... They brought him here four days ago.”

The woman looked at him, her gaze attentive. She listened patiently and then replied: "Buongiorno, Mr. Lawrence. I understand. One moment, I'll check the system.”

She turned to the computer, her fingers moving quickly across the keyboard. Thomas felt his heart beating faster and faster. He waited, staring at her focused face.

After a moment, the receptionist turned back to him.

"Yes, I found him. We have a patient admitted four days ago after the attack who fits the description – Father Miguel Perez," she said, confirming the name. "He was admitted with serious injuries, but his condition is stable. He is here with us.”

A polite smile appeared on Thomas's face. "Grazie. Grazie mille.." Thomas hesitated for a moment, then added, with hope in his voice: "And... was another man from the same attack brought here too? His name is Vincent Benitez. He was with Father Miguel.”

The woman paused for a moment to glance at the screen again. Thomas held his breath.

"No," said the receptionist, shaking her head slightly. "We don't have anyone by that name admitted after that attack in our records, or at all in recent days. Father Perez was the only person brought directly to us from there at that time.”

The news about Miguel brought relief, but the lack of information about Vincent tightened his throat again.

"I understand," said Thomas, trying to keep his voice steady, even though he was seething with anxiety inside. "Could I see Father Miguel? Just for a moment?”

The receptionist nodded. "Yes, please. He's in ward D, room 107. Please be quiet, the patient is recovering. I can take you there.”

A smile of relief, though overshadowed by concern for Vincent, appeared on Thomas's face. "Thank you very much.”

The receptionist got up, gesturing for him to follow her into the depths of the hospital. She led Thomas through a maze of hospital corridors. Each step took him further away from the bustling reception and into the silence of the wards. They passed several nurses and doctors, and Thomas tried to remember the way. Finally, they stopped in front of room 107. The receptionist pointed. "Here. Remember, quiet and brief." She nodded understandingly and left.

Thomas took a deep breath and gently pressed the handle. The door opened silently. He entered a small room.

On the bed, surrounded by many cables and tubes, lay Miguel. He was perhaps in his late forties, and his features, even sharpened by pain and pallor, were striking – a strong jawline, straight eyebrows above eyes that were now closed, dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. Thomas was seeing him for the first time, and despite his current state, he had to admit he was very handsome. Small cuts and shrapnel marks marred part of his face, especially his right cheek and temple, but even they couldn't completely destroy the symmetry and definition of his features. There was something incredibly vital in his appearance, even now as he lay still. Under the blanket, it was clear that one side was flat – his leg. He was connected to equipment monitoring his vital signs.

An unwanted and sharp thought of jealousy arose in Thomas. Seeing Miguel for the first time, he saw the man with whom Vincent shared a home, daily life, laughter, and conversations that Thomas could only dream of. Even now, wounded and in pain, Miguel exuded a certain strength and attractiveness that intensified his long-nurtured jealousy. He felt guilty for having such thoughts at this moment, but he couldn't stop them.

He approached the bed and stood on the left side of the man, who seemed to sense someone's presence and opened his eyes. He frowned at the sight of Thomas standing by his bed.

"Miguel. Hello. My name is Thomas Lawrence. I don't know if you remember me..." he said softly.

"Thomas? Vincent's Thomas?" he heard an uncertain question, and his heart grew heavy in his chest. Vincent's Thomas. Thomas's Vincent.

"Yes, it's me," he replied with a slight smile and leaned slightly over the man's bed. "Miguel, how are you feeling?”

"Better days... It's hard for me to believe this happened. Thomas... what are you doing here? Did you fly in from Rome? - his voice was hoarse - Vincent... I don't know about Vincent," he said and took his hand.

Thomas, surprised by this gesture, lost his train of thought for a moment and couldn't answer immediately.

"I don't know either, Miguel. But I came to find out." He felt the same thing he had felt yesterday outside his office when he was comforting Ray and Agness. He had to hide his pain and become a rock for Miguel. He needed it most now to recover. If he could do it, also for Vincent – to help his friend – he wanted to help. "Miguel, do you remember any details, anything at all that might help? I'm looking for some starting point to begin searching…"

Miguel looked away, his gaze wandering across the ceiling as if the images were etched there. He sighed shallowly, with difficulty.

"We were leaving... school," he began quietly, his voice weak, but as he spoke, it gained a certain, albeit painful, clarity.

"We finished classes. Vincent was joking... as always. We were standing on the street right by the gate. He was telling me something about a new class... for the younger ones..." He stopped, squeezing Thomas's hand. His breathing became faster.

"There was a car," he continued after a moment, mumbling. "Parked a little further away. We didn't pay any attention to it..." It was clear that the memory was becoming more vivid. "And suddenly, just a blinding light and sound... Everything exploded. Heat and impact... I remember being thrown.”

Miguel squeezed Thomas's hand tightly, as if he were drowning. His eyes were now wide open, full of fear.

"Then just smoke, dust, and silence. I didn't see him, Thomas. Everything disappeared, and I don't know where he is… He was walking next to me, and in a moment, I lost him… I should have watched over him. Why didn't I?”

His voice broke on the last words. He released Thomas's hand and turned his head away. Thomas felt his own heart clench in his chest. Miguel's account, though fragmented and painful, confirmed his worst fears – Vincent had been at the very center of the explosion and had simply vanished in the chaos. No remains of his body had been found, which most likely meant kidnapping. In what condition had he been taken captive? Were his injuries similar to Miguel's? If so, what was happening to him now? Wasn't it already too late? Thomas felt nauseous again. He had no idea what to do. How could he help Vincent, where should he look? He could be anywhere. In any cave in the desert, somewhere in a basement in the city. He might not even be in the country anymore! he thought with terror and realized he was staring blankly at the terrified Miguel.

Gently, so as not to disturb any of the equipment, he reached for the man's hand and held it between his own two. He summoned his gentle voice and addressed the man.

“Miguel… I am so sorry this happened to you… I can’t even imagine how traumatic this experience was. But please, don’t blame yourself for what happened. You had no control over it. Miguel, you know that, don’t you?” - he waited for his words to reach the man and for him to nod. “I came to help, and I will do everything I can to find him. And while I’m at it, I will try to help you too.”

The man whispered his thanks, and tears began to flow from his eyes, which Thomas wiped away with the back of his hand.

“Don’t worry. Everything will be alright. This can’t defeat Vincent, can it?” he asked with a smile.

“No, not our Vincent. Thank you, Thomas,” he replied with a slight smile, and a worried expression appeared on his face.

"What is it?" Thomas asked.

“Your Eminence. Please forgive me… I addressed the Cardinal by his first name. I’m sorry, it’s the shock,” he added, embarrassed.

“Miguel, come on.” - Thomas shook his head disapprovingly and said with a smile - “For you, I’m Thomas. Please…”

“Thank you,” he heard in response, and felt a stronger grip on his hand. “Where are you staying?”

“Well, the consul insisted I stay at the embassy, so for now, there. I’ve already seen your house.” Of course, he didn't mention that he had been inside or that he had even slept in Vincent's bed.

“It’s good that you’re on embassy grounds. Don’t go anywhere after dark, and it’s best to travel by taxi or ask someone at the embassy for a ride. Alessandro can arrange everything.”

And they talked for another hour. Thomas told Miguel about his journey, although he remembered little of it, and Miguel shared memories that Vincent had shared with him after returning from Italy. Every mention of the man warmed his heart. He had to find him, because if he lost him, he would have no reason to live himself.

Thomas asked Miguel if he needed anything from the house and wrote down a few things on his phone. As he did so, he noticed several messages from Monica, which he would have to reply to soon. He began to get ready to leave and promised to get Miguel a cell phone so he could stay in touch with the world. He also declared that he would visit him tomorrow.

As he said goodbye to the man, the intensity of his gaze stayed with him.

“Thomas. I don’t know how to thank you for flying here. I know we barely know each other, but thanks to Vincent, I feel like we’ve known each other for years.”

Thomas smiled sadly. “I feel that way too.”

“He liked you very much. I think you know that, but sometimes it’s good to hear it from someone else. Since he came back from Rome, you’ve been the number one topic at school,” Miguel said and laughed.

A wry smile crept onto Thomas's face, and tears welled up in his eyes. Now it was Miguel who had to comfort him.

“He’s gonna be okay. We’ll find him and help him. Vincent is too tough for things like this. They’ll never break him,” and with these words in his head, Thomas left the hospital.

He walked automatically towards the embassy, analyzing his visit with Miguel in his head. About halfway there, he felt himself weakening. Only then did it dawn on him that he hadn't eaten absolutely anything since the previous morning. Emotions, stress, and the long journey had effectively suppressed his need for food, but now his body was beginning to rebel. He had to get to the embassy as quickly as possible and eat something before he fainted on the street.

When he passed through the gates, he entered the main building and headed straight for the dining room that Alessandro had shown him. He chose a large bagel with salmon and cream cheese, as well as tea, and was surprised when he was told he didn't have to pay for anything. He ate mainly out of a sense of duty and common sense and returned to his room to call Monica.

Just as he had suspected, the woman had been worried about him the whole time. He had last contacted her when he landed, but she already knew that because she had once turned on their shared GPS locations on his phone. Her pragmatism always came through in the end. So he gave her a detailed account of his entire stay so far and promised to check in regularly. He also took a few photos from the room, which she had demanded as proof of life, and sent them to her with a simple heart emoji. He collapsed onto the mattress and thought of her with gratitude.

After a few minutes, he jumped to his feet and got to work. He asked the consul for help in reaching the Mexican embassy. Alessandro immediately arranged transportation and set up a meeting with the appropriate people.

In contrast to the zealous engagement and genuine concern he had encountered within the walls of the Italian embassy, the visit to the Mexican diplomatic mission left a cold feeling of disappointment in his heart. Initially, he was received with polite reserve, his account was listened to with formal attention, but their eyes lacked that spark of compassion, that flicker of determination he had seen in Alessandro.

When he spoke of Vincent, of his Mexican origins, and of his tragic disappearance as a result of the attack, Thomas sensed a clear difference in their reaction. There was something in their attitude that suggested that the fate of one of many citizens who had found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time did not particularly move them. He was promised that they would check databases and contact the police, but the tone of their voices lacked the promise of active involvement, of a frantic search. What was a matter of life and death for Thomas seemed to be just another sad statistic of violence victims in a distant country for them.

If it hadn't been for his desperate attempts to elicit even a shred of empathy from them, Thomas had the impression that Vincent's disappearance would have been treated as a tragic but inevitable incident – he was missing, and that was it. Their promises of help sounded as if they were ticking off another item on an official list of duties. Even the request for contact information for Vincent's mother met with reluctance and bureaucratic excuses, and ultimately a refusal. He felt as if he were fighting an invisible wall of indifference, as if the fate of his beloved man was just an impersonal matter to them.

Leaving the embassy, Thomas felt despair growing in his heart. He felt helpless, as if the entire burden of the search rested solely on his shoulders. Wherever Vincent was now, did he feel the same desperate loneliness? Did he know that Thomas was doing everything in his power to find him? He could only hope that wherever he was, he felt his presence.

After the disappointment he experienced at the Mexican embassy, Thomas crossed the threshold of the local police station with even greater uncertainty. This time, he no longer harbored great expectations. The interior of the station confirmed his fears. It was noisy and rushed, and the air was thick with cigarette smoke. The officers behind desks piled high with documents seemed exhausted and indifferent. Thomas had to wait a long time before someone finally paid attention to him.

When he finally managed to speak to one of the officers, he had to explain the whole story from the beginning – about the attack, about Vincent, about his fruitless visit to the Mexican embassy. The policeman listened with a bored expression on his face, occasionally glancing at his watch. He confirmed that they knew about the attack on the school, but there was no particular interest in the fate of the missing in their voice.

Thomas asked if they had any new information, if any unidentified bodies had been found. The answer was laconic and negative. He was advised to be patient and wait for any news.

When Thomas mentioned the possibility of kidnapping, the officer shrugged. "Anything is possible, but we are dealing with the Taliban, and in this case, we are helpless," he said with resignation in his voice, implying that in the current situation, they had no concrete leads or evidence that could confirm this hypothesis, and the fate of one missing foreigner was not a priority for them.

Leaving the police station, Thomas felt even more alone and helpless than after his visit to the Mexican embassy. There, at least he had been formally received; here, he had encountered a wall of indifference and being overworked. He realized that if he wanted to find Vincent, he couldn't rely on the local services. He had to take matters into his own hands and activate his contacts in Rome, because Vincent, although Mexican living in Afghanistan, was only being searched for by the Italians and one Brit. With this sad realization, he returned to the embassy. He ended the day kneeling by his bed and praying for Vincent.

The day after returning from the police station, he asked the consul's office for help in printing posters with information about Vincent's disappearance. Lucia, Alessandro's assistant, promised to help him and invited him to choose a suitable photo from the embassy's collection for this type of poster. Thomas sat at her desk and looked at the photos for longer than necessary. At the sight of each one with Vincent, his heart raced. He now had a unique opportunity to see what his Afghan life looked like, to see him celebrating Mass, playing with children on the embassy grounds, or on trips to some desert and mountain areas. Vincent smiled broadly in every photo. He was a ray of joy, however cheesy that sounded. Thomas knew that he harbored a hopeless feeling for this man. Everything in him longed to hold him in his arms again and hug him tightly, to stroke his satiny hair, to touch his cheeks. He hoped he would be granted this. Otherwise, he didn't even want to think how pathetic and meaningless his life would become. He chose one photo that best represented Vincent and asked Lucia to prepare and print the posters. When they were ready, he left the embassy with them and headed into the city.

With a heavy heart and anxiety clenching his stomach, Thomas decided to see the site of the attack with his own eyes. He took a taxi to the vicinity of the school, whose name he still remembered from Vincent's account. What he saw shook him to the core. Destroyed walls, shattered windows, fragments of rubble and burnt objects scattered everywhere. Thomas stood staring at this battlefield. They were supposed to stand here together in November and admire the school. Vincent had invited him to see for himself what they had managed to create and what they had built, also thanks to his donation. Now, neither his work nor he himself was anywhere to be seen. Thomas felt a physical pain gripping his chest.

 

---

 

The following days passed in a similar way. He slept little and ate even less. He hadn't shaved since his arrival and had already grown a beard. In the mornings, he would wake up with a glimmer of hope that something had changed overnight, but absolutely nothing changed for the better. He would leave the embassy, walk through increasingly distant parts of the city, put up posters, and visit the same hospitals several times, asking if anyone resembling Vincent had been admitted.

He also visited Miguel. Hospital visits became an important part of the day. Thomas would sit by his bed and try to bring at least a little light and normalcy into the room. He would tell him about the city, about small events he had observed, avoiding depressing details of the fruitless searches. He would bring him fruit, current newspapers, and books that Miguel had asked for. Two days after his first visit, he finally managed to get a new phone at the embassy with his old phone number. The previous one, like his documents, had been lost in the attack. From then on, he was in constant contact with the man, and he could say that it helped them both endure this difficult time.

One day, when he was at the hospital, Miguel asked him uncertainly if he could lead a Mass for the embassy staff in their chapel. There hadn't been a service for a long time due to the attack, and there probably wouldn't be for a long time to come.

Thomas was surprised by this request. He asked if he was sure it was a good idea.

"Yes, I am. People need words of encouragement now. Especially from you. Please... Vincent would have wanted that.”

And a few hours later, Thomas, dressed in simple liturgical vestments, stood before about twenty people and presided over Mass for them. This experience couldn't have been more different from the standard Masses in the Vatican. Everything here was simple and modest. The vestments, the liturgical vessels, the ascetic decor of the chapel. People didn't expect gold and splendor. Despite the danger lurking beyond the fence, he understood why Vincent liked living here so much. Everything seemed simpler and closer to God here.

One afternoon, as he was taking more books for Miguel from their small house, it struck him that the place looked abandoned and definitely needed cleaning. He thought hopefully, what if Vincent suddenly appeared in the doorway and saw the unwashed dishes and all the mess they had left a week ago? So he spent the next few hours cleaning every surface he encountered and admitted that it did his emotions good. He wanted Vincent and Miguel's house to be clean and ready for their return. He wanted Miguel to feel good and comfortable here after leaving the hospital. He wanted to take care of the space where his Vincent lived every day and prepare it for his return. He believed that this would bring him closer to finding him.

As he tidied Vincent's already clean room a little unnecessarily, he looked at his photo board and thought about the man's family. Alessandro had told him that he had spoken to his sister yesterday and promised to keep them informed. Thomas could only imagine how difficult it must be for them. They were on another continent and could only wait for news. He, at least, was on the ground and could act, even if only in a small way. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his phone. Monica.

His friend called him every day. She checked if he was still alive and asked about the progress of the investigation. Today, he heard a note of determination in her voice and wondered what it could mean.

"Thomas, can you confirm Vincent's school location for me? I just sent it to you in a message.”

Thomas looked at his phone and opened the link he had received.

"Yes, that's it. Why do you need it?”

"I'm trying to help you. Since everyone except you doesn't give a damn about Vincent, we'll start looking for him from here. This is the last step before I fly there and drag your ass back to Rome," she thundered, then added, "Ti amo, ciao!" and hung up.

Thomas stared at his phone, not understanding what had just happened. Monica in Rome, wanting to look for Vincent from there? And threatening to come? He smiled slightly to himself, despite the seriousness of the situation. His friend was unpredictable, but he could always count on her. A moment later, he shook off his surprise and thought that, ironically, those who are far away help you the most. One evening, he had a video call with the Pope and Ray. They assured him that they were praying for Vincent and for him, but above all, that they would not leave him alone in his efforts. The Pope promised to raise the issue through discreet Vatican diplomatic channels that reached further than it might seem. Ray, in turn, a man with connections reaching various, not always official, circles, offered to activate his contacts in the region – people specializing in delicate matters and possessing knowledge of local realities, including the activities of groups such as the Taliban. However, both emphasized the need for utmost caution and patience. Interventions at such a level required time and subtlety.

Thomas felt a surge of new, albeit fragile, hope. He had the support of people with immense resources, even if they were acting from afar. However, this did not diminish his own determination.

The next day, after another visit to Miguel and a routine round of hospitals, he returned to the embassy and asked to speak with Alessandro. He briefly explained that he had received promises of support from Rome and the Vatican, but at the same time, he asked directly if the embassy had any more unofficial methods of obtaining information in Kabul.

Alessandro looked at him with understanding. "Thomas, official channels, as you saw at the police station, are not very effective at the moment, especially when the Taliban are involved. Our capabilities are also limited, and we must ensure the safety of our staff and our citizens." He paused for a moment, weighing his words. "However, there are people... 'fixers', translators, former NGO workers, journalists who have their ears and eyes in the city. It's a risky game, Thomas. Information is expensive, and its reliability is often questionable. You can easily fall victim to fraud or, worse, put yourself and the person you're looking for in even greater danger.”

"I understand the risks," Thomas replied with determination. "But inaction is unbearable for me. If there's even a sliver of a chance that someone knows something, I have to try. Do you know anyone trustworthy? Someone who would be willing to discreetly gather information?”

Alessandro sighed. "There is someone," he said after a moment of thought. "A former journalist, an Afghan, who has worked with several European agencies. His name is Karim. He has a wide network of contacts, knows the realities of the city, and knows how to talk to people at various levels. But I repeat, it's dangerous. And it will cost.”

"Money is no object," Thomas stated. "Could you put me in touch with him?”

"I can pass on your request and number. But the meeting would have to take place outside the embassy, in a neutral location. And you must be extremely careful.”

Thomas felt his heart begin to beat faster again. This was the first concrete, local lead in days. "I agree. Please, pass on my request.”

At the same time, another message arrived from Monica, a response to her last mysterious phone call. "Thomas, I used the school location you gave me. I'm in contact with someone who deals with satellite data analysis and open-source intelligence. We're trying to analyze satellite images from the day of the attack and the days immediately after, looking for unusual activity, vehicles, anything that might indicate the direction the kidnappers fled or the place where they might have gone. We're also checking local social media and forums from that period, looking for any mentions, photos, or videos from the area that might have captured something. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack, but it can't hurt to try.”

Thomas was impressed by her commitment. "Monica, thank you. You're amazing.”

Monica sighed. "Thomas... I see that you're standing still there. And I see how this is eating you up inside... Vincent is more than just a friend, isn't he?" she asked with a question that didn't require an answer. "Be careful there, Thomas... Please." And that was it. Admitting to her that he harbored deeper feelings for Vincent was just that simple. He couldn't even describe how safe it made him feel.

Now Thomas had two new paths before him: a potential meeting with the local informant Karim and remote technological support from Monica. He still felt a huge weight and fear, but for the first time since arriving in Kabul, he had the impression that the fog of despair was beginning to thin slightly, giving way to concrete actions and new possibilities. He knew the road was still long and dangerous, but now at least he saw the next steps to take. He had to trust his intuition, the support of his friends, and people of goodwill.

Several days later, Thomas's phone rang again. It was Monica, but this time her voice was different – tense, full of adrenaline, but also triumph.

"Thomas, we have something. Something big," she began without preamble. "My... friend, the one who analyzes data, has gained access to detailed satellite images from the days after the attack. Don't ask how, it's complicated, but we have high-resolution images. We analyzed the movement of vehicles from the school area and found several potential locations on the outskirts of the city and in nearby villages where the route of one of the suspicious convoys might have ended. These are isolated places, fitting the profile of hideouts.”

Thomas felt his blood run faster. "Monica, this... this is incredible! Can you send it to me?”

"Yes, but I need a secure channel. Do you have the ability to give me remote access to a computer? Preferably not your personal one. Maybe something at the embassy? I'll send the files directly to an encrypted drive, bypassing standard servers.”

Thomas immediately thought of Alessandro. He ran to his office and quickly explained the situation, omitting the details about the legality of obtaining the data. The consul, understanding the seriousness of the situation and the potential breakthrough, without hesitation provided one of the embassy's secure laptops, intended for special tasks. Under the technical supervision of the embassy, Thomas established a connection with Monica. For several minutes, he watched in silence as progress bars appeared on the screen, followed by folders filled with graphic files and analytical notes.

When the transfer was complete, Monica instructed him on how to open the secure files. Thomas and Alessandro leaned over the screen. The photos were astonishingly detailed. They showed building complexes, access roads, even individual vehicles. Monica's and her friend's notes indicated the three most likely locations, along with an analysis of why these particular places had aroused their suspicion.

"This is more than we could have hoped for," Alessandro said quietly, his face a mixture of excitement and caution. "Karim needs to see this. This could be the trump card we need.”

That same day, a discreet meeting with Karim was arranged in the suggested teahouse, which Thomas attended alone. In the warm and bustling interior, his gaze found the Afghan journalist in the corner, his face etched with experience, deep wrinkles, and short hair streaked with gray. Dressed simply but neatly, he sat upright, with a piercing gaze from his dark eyes and a calm but palpable inner energy. As Thomas approached the table, Karim looked up, greeting him with a brief nod and a firm handshake of a rough hand that conveyed confidence and readiness to act.

The Afghan journalist nodded at the sight of him, and Thomas sat down. They ordered tea, and for the first few minutes, they talked about current affairs. It was a charade, necessary to avoid arousing suspicion.

Finally, when the waiter had left, Thomas placed a thin laptop on the table, opened it, turned on a specific folder, and directed it towards Karim. "Alessandro has already outlined the situation for you… Over a week ago, my friend was injured in an attack, and immediately after, he was kidnapped. He is Mexican, and to make matters worse, a Catholic archbishop. I have to find him. He is probably injured. The person he was with has serious injuries and lost a leg. Every day is crucial." Thomas stopped speaking, as the rest of the words caught in his throat.

Karim leaned over the computer and clicked through the photos. His dark eyes scanned every detail – the layout of the buildings, distinctive terrain features, the shadow cast at a specific angle. He asked no questions about the origin of these materials.

"Impressive," he said quietly after a long moment. "The quality is exceptional.”

"It is," Thomas replied, trying to keep pride out of his voice. "We have access to unique resources.”

Karim nodded, understanding the implication. "This changes things. Knowledge is power. And this kind of knowledge is immense power.”

“You’ll find more there. Some analyses, notes…”

Karim carefully reviewed the files, scrolling through photos and reading the short, factual descriptions. Occasionally, he would furrow his brow, become pensive, and then return to reading. He asked precise questions about details that Thomas and Alessandro had overlooked. His experience in the region was invaluable, his intuition sharpened by years of working in the shadow of conflicts.

After a dozen or so minutes, Karim closed the laptop and looked at Thomas intently. "These three locations make sense. Especially the one northeast of the city. I've heard some rumors.”

"Rumors?" Thomas pressed.

"Yes. About a new, isolated camp. They say they keep... special prisoners there." Karim's voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "But these are just rumors. Nothing certain.”

"Nevertheless," Thomas interjected, "this information is very important to us." He opened his bag, took out a folded newspaper, and placed it on the table, sliding it towards Karim. A white envelope protruded from its side.

Karim nodded. "I will use my contacts. I won't show these photos to anyone, that would be too risky. But I will pass on the message. Subtly, as you suggested. About 'new surveillance capabilities' and 'interested parties from Europe'. I will make them understand that their secrets are not safe." Determination flashed in his eyes. "I know some people within the Taliban structures. People who might be willing to talk if they feel threatened. If they understand that the stakes are higher than they think.”

The meeting was coming to an end. Karim asked for all the files to be sent to him as they had always done with Alessandro, took the newspaper with the envelope from the table, said goodbye, and left.

Thomas returned to the embassy with a hope he hadn't felt in a long time. A week and a half had passed since the attack. Time was running out. Vincent, wherever and in whatever condition he was, surely needed medical attention. Thomas desperately wanted to believe in Karim. Frankly, if this contact failed, he had no idea what to do next.

That day, for the second time during his stay in Kabul, he celebrated Mass. He poured his whole heart into it, and all his deep faith into the prayer. Alessandro, present among the other employees and a few soldiers, caught his eye. After Mass, he approached Thomas and said only, "Karim did it. The wheels are in motion.”

 

---

 

At this point, he wasn't sleeping or eating at all anymore. When he looked at himself in the mirror each morning, he barely recognized the man he saw. He hardly resembled himself anymore. He had lost a lot of weight, and his graying beard and the shadows under his eyes added years to his appearance. Only the slight tan he had acquired during his hours of wandering around the city saved him.

Waiting for information completely drained him of energy. Every notification on his phone made him jump. He decided to occupy himself even more intensely so as not to go completely crazy alone with his thoughts.

He asked Alessandro for the contact information of a good doctor who could take care of Miguel's rehabilitation after the leg amputation and help design a suitable prosthesis for him. He took care of this, and during the next few visits to Miguel, he met with doctors and physiotherapists and helped the Mexican discuss the details of his return to relative fitness. The man was worried about the costs involved, but Thomas told him not to worry about it. They would definitely figure something out. He wouldn't leave him alone with this. The most important thing was for everything to heal well.

Once, he told Miguel that the search for Vincent had entered a new phase.

"Forgive me for not telling you anything more, but the less you know, the safer you are. We've activated Alessandro's contact and a few of mine from Italy. I'm sorry to say this, but unfortunately, the police and the Mexican embassy are failing and not acting at all.”

The man looked at him gratefully and asked if they could pray together. Later that same day, Thomas came to the hospital again and brought him Holy Communion. Miguel thanked him with tears in his eyes. As he said – for everything. For being there and for being such a good friend. Thomas was moved by Miguel's attitude.

When he was in his room at the embassy, he tried to work on his laptop and fulfill at least some of his dean's duties. He was in constant contact with Ray, so he knew which topics were a priority and dealt with them as much as possible remotely.

Both the Pope and Ray knew that Thomas had taken a rather risky but necessary step in the search for Vincent and accepted with understanding that he couldn't tell them anything more about it. They offered him support and waited together for developments, while continuing to work on clarifying the matter on their end. Monica also gently inquired about progress.

Nights in Kabul for Thomas became an extension of the day full of tension and uncertainty. Physically and mentally exhausted, he would go to bed, but his mind couldn't find solace.

He tossed and turned, analyzing every detail of his meeting with Karim, every conversation with Monica, every word from Alessandro. Had he left anything unsaid? Had he missed anything? Had he made the right decision in entrusting Vincent's fate to the fixer?

In the sleepless hours, his mind became a battlefield. Sometimes he imagined a happy ending, other times a wave of pessimism and visions of the worst-case scenario would engulf him.

He stared at the ceiling, where reflections of light from outside flickered, and felt each passing minute take him further away from Vincent. Such black despair overwhelmed him that he felt completely submerged in it. With the last vestige of consciousness, he got out of bed, put on a cardigan over his pajamas, and headed to the small house at the end of the garden.

He had refrained from doing this for over a week, but today he had finally lost the battle with himself. He opened the door, which he now always locked with the key Alessandro had given him, and went straight to Vincent's bedroom. When he entered, he released the breath he had been holding.

He felt that only here did he feel better and could finally breathe freely. The only hours of good sleep he had experienced in Kabul had been spent in this bed, so he got into it with hope and immediately hugged the pillow to his chest as he had done the last time.

He allowed himself a moment of daydreaming and imagined Vincent lying next to him. The very thought of the man's silhouette beside him made his stomach tingle. What would he do if Vincent were with him now? He would hug him to his chest and hold him tightly in his arms. Or he himself would snuggle into him and bury his face in the crook of his neck, his hands wandering over his back and hair. The man's scent would soothe his nerves, but at the same time, his closeness would evoke other reactions. He was sure he would have trouble keeping his desire in check. Would they be able to maintain their vows of chastity, would they be strong enough? Vincent had awakened something in him that had been dormant for years. Being in the same bed with him could end in an explosion. Especially now. When he hadn't seen him for months, when he didn't know if he was alive. Did Vincent reciprocate these feelings? Did he feel for Thomas what Thomas felt for him? Their brief moments in Rome, accidental touches, spontaneous hugs – Vincent had initiated many of them. That must have meant something. Just like the invitation to Kabul. Like months of long phone conversations, like their silent understanding.

Thomas clutched the pillow tightly, the scent he had last smelled now gone, and imagined what he could be doing with Vincent. He preferred to move these dreams to the ground of Rome – Kabul at this moment was associated with nothing but fear and pain. He longed for their long walks through the city. He returned to them in his memories every time he later moved around Rome. He yearned to sit with him in the park near Villa Sciara, to take him to the sunrise at the Colosseum, to the sunset on the Gianicolo hill, and at night back to the roof of his apartment. Everything he wanted was contained in Vincent. It was as beautiful as it was terrifying. He felt that he would take this love with him to the grave. Regardless of whether he died today or in 40 years.

Enveloped in his bedding and mattress, he didn't even know when he fell asleep. In the early morning, he was awakened by the rays of the sun streaming through the window. He hadn't changed position once throughout the night. The pillow was still pressed to his chest. When he opened his eyes, his gaze mechanically landed on their photo on the wall, and he felt a thrill at the thought that Vincent also saw it upon waking.

Reluctantly, he got out of bed, made it, closed the house, and returned to his own room. He mechanically performed his morning ablutions, got dressed, and decided to visit the chapel first thing in the morning. He wanted to pray in it in silence and prepare everything for the afternoon Mass. He looked at his watch – it was seven in the morning. After the first night of sleep in two weeks, he even felt rested. He was even pleased. Being in better shape, he would accomplish more today. He left the room and headed towards the ground floor. He was just descending the stairs to the ground floor when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

It was an Afghan number calling. His heart leaped into his throat, and he staggered on the last step. He hesitated for only a second and answered.

„Hello?"

"Thomas Lawrence? This is Beatrice from Centro chirurgico di Emergency in Kabul. We met some time ago during your visits to Miguel Perez.”

Thomas felt his blood pounding in his ears. "Yes, speaking.”

"Mr. Lawrence. You showed me a photo of a missing man several times. I don't want to give you false hope, but it seems to me that someone similar has been admitted to us. I compared him to the poster you put up, and I think it's him, but it would be best if you assessed it yourself.”

Thomas had to sit down on a nearby chair, otherwise he would have fallen. He wanted to ask a million things and run to the hospital as fast as his legs could carry him, but he couldn't utter a word or get up. He started to speak, but realized he couldn't even understand himself. He took a few deep breaths and managed to stammer, "Vincent? You have Vincent?”

"I think so. He was brought to us tonight. He was found on the outskirts of the city. He's about to be prepped for surgery. Are you still in Kabul? If you want to see him, you might still have time to identify him before the operation?" the woman asked, and Thomas hung up and ran to the hospital.

Adrenaline surged through his veins. He passed the surprised soldiers at the gate and ran faster than he thought humanly possible. After several minutes, he burst into the hospital and stopped at the counter where the woman he had just spoken to was stationed. She let out a near-squeal, startled by the speed at which he had entered the emergency room, his wild appearance, and the determination on his face.

"Take me to him," he gasped between ragged breaths, and the woman immediately knew who he meant.

He followed her, feeling as though he was on the brink of life and death. He was about to have a heart attack or a stroke. Such emotions and exertion were not for someone his age. He just wanted to hold on long enough to see that it was Vincent, that he was alive, that he had been returned to him.

The woman entered one of the rooms in the emergency ward, pulled aside the curtain hanging from the ceiling, and revealed Vincent lying on the bed, covered only by a white sheet, connected to every possible piece of equipment, bruised and battered.

Thomas reached him in two steps, his hands shooting toward his face.

"Vincent!" he nearly shouted.

He was unconscious. Thomas touched his cheeks, forehead, hair, nose. He touched every uninjured patch of skin he could find. Terrified, he checked if the man was even breathing and nearly cried when he saw his chest rise.

"Vincent! Good God! Vincent, you're alive!”

The woman standing beside him spoke up: "He's been given morphine, that's why he's asleep. He'll be going to the operating room shortly.”

Thomas hovered over him like a shadow, continuing to let his hands wander over the unconscious man. He held his hand, squeezed his arm, then returned to stroking his hair and whispering repeatedly that everything would be alright. He was exhausted, emaciated, dirty.

He was openly crying now. He looked at Vincent, at his bruised face, black eye, scratches on his forehead, nose, split and dried lips, and tears streamed down his face. He examined his arms lying on the sheet and saw they bore even worse signs of violence and burns. He regained some composure and, without taking his eyes off Vincent, asked the woman about his condition.

Beatrice sighed softly, her professionalism battling with compassion. "He's in very serious condition, Mr. Lawrence. Severely dehydrated, extremely malnourished. He has numerous burns, external injuries, both old and new—extensive bruises, lacerations, some deeply infected after so long without care. He also has two broken ribs and a fractured femur. That's what we've identified so far." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "But the biggest concern is suspected internal bleeding in the abdominal cavity. Probably from shrapnel left in the body after an explosion or from blunt internal trauma. His vital signs are unstable. We need to act immediately.”

She looked Thomas straight in the eyes. "That's why he's being prepared for emergency surgery. We need to open the abdominal cavity, locate the source of bleeding, remove any shrapnel, and assess the extent of internal injuries. His condition is critical, Mr. Lawrence. The operation is very risky given his current state of exhaustion, but it's his only chance.”

Each word pierced his heart. He looked at Vincent's ravaged face. Two weeks of hell had left their mark on him.

"What... what are the chances?" he asked in a whisper.

"Mr. Lawrence, I'll be honest with you. His condition is very serious. Infections, extreme exhaustion, and potential internal damage are a huge strain on the body. We'll do absolutely everything we can. We have excellent surgeons here. He's young, but much depends on what exactly we find inside and how his body reacts to the surgery and anesthesia.”

At that moment, two paramedics entered the room with a larger bed. Time was up. Thomas felt a wave of panic. He wanted to scream for them to leave him alone, but he knew Vincent's life still hung by a thread. Beatrice said they'd give him half a minute, and he was left alone with Vincent.

He leaned over him and kissed him on the top of his head and forehead. He also took his hand and placed a long kiss on its back. Still holding it, he leaned close to his face and whispered: "Vincent, Vincent. My Vincent. Come back to me. Fight and come back to me. I'll be waiting for you. Just don't leave me again, my love." He kissed his forehead one last time and stepped away from the bed as the nurses approached.

He watched from the side as they transferred him to the other bed and wheeled him out of the room. He saw his profile for a moment, tangled hair on the pillow, the IV swaying by the cart. Then he disappeared around the corridor corner, on his way to the operating room. The ward doors closed with a soft hiss.

Thomas stood motionless for a moment, staring at the spot where Vincent had just been. The adrenaline that had carried him since the phone call suddenly subsided, leaving behind a crushing emptiness and overwhelming fatigue. His legs gave way beneath him again.

"This way, please," Beatrice said softly, pointing to a few chairs against the wall in a small adjacent waiting room. "You can wait here. I’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything, but it might take a few hours.”

He sat down, and terror overtook him. Vincent had been found, but this was far from over. He could still lose him there on the table. Nothing was certain yet. Suddenly, he was crying again. He bent over and wrapped his arms around his knees. Shudders of sobs shook his body in the empty corridor.

Once he had calmed down a little, he decided to inform everyone about what had happened. First, he called Monika, then the Pope, and after that Ray and Alessandro. In Rome, they were just starting to wake up. The news of Vincent being found brought enormous relief to everyone. But Thomas explained that it still wasn’t over. He had been taken into surgery, and they wouldn’t know anything for several hours.

After calling everyone, he sat down, closed his eyes, and waited.

About two hours later, the doors Vincent had disappeared through opened again, and Beatrice stepped out. Thomas immediately jumped to his feet. The woman approached him.

"There are complications, but we expected them. Vincent is bleeding heavily internally. They’re trying to stop it. I wanted to ask what your blood type is, and if there's a chance you could donate?”

Without hesitation, Thomas said, "Yes. I’m O negative," to which the woman nodded approvingly and led him to the treatment room, where he spent the next 40 minutes donating blood for Vincent.

He got through the following hours with prayer. Sitting in the corner of the waiting room, staring at the floor, he prayed for Vincent, for the success of the surgery, begging God not to take him away again. He was barely conscious, unaware of the world around him, not feeling hunger or thirst. All he could think about was the state in which Vincent had been found. Only Vincent knew what had been done to him, but judging by his injuries, he had not only been hurt in the attack, but also tortured. It would take a long time to heal his wounds—both physical and psychological.

Several hours later, Beatrice came out of the operating block again and informed him that the surgery had been successful. Vincent was now in the intensive care unit under constant monitoring, as the next few hours would show which way things would go. Thomas, who had leapt from his chair at the sight of her, now sank back down into it. He managed to ask if he could see him, and the woman promised she would come get him later.

She kept her word and returned about an hour later. She helped him into a temporary sterile gown, told him to wash his hands thoroughly, and let him into the room where Vincent was.

"He’s on strong medication, he’ll sleep for many hours. It helps the healing process. Later, the surgeon who operated on him will come to speak with you." And then they were alone.

The man was lying beneath many machines—one of them was breathing for him, which terrified Thomas. He approached the bed and looked over his entire body. It was hard to find a spot that wasn’t hooked up to something. IVs in his hands and elbows, a blood pressure cuff on his arm. A mass of tubes came out from under the hospital gown. The largest protruded from his mouth, covered in bandages and tape. Several bags with fluids hung above him, including one with blood. Thomas wondered if it was his own. The thought that his own blood was now flowing through Vincent’s body sent a shiver down his spine.

Thomas looked at his mangled face. Vincent had several stitches on his cheeks, forehead, and near his lip. Despite all this, he still looked gentle. Thomas looked at his black eye and wondered if there was damage beneath the eyelids, too. He hoped he would soon find out.

He pulled a chair from the wall and sat down on Vincent’s left side. Gently, he took his left hand in his own, and with the other he brushed the hair from Vincent’s forehead. A smile appeared on his face without thinking. It hit him—Vincent was here. He was finally with him. From now on, he wouldn’t take his eyes off him. If they wanted him to leave, they’d have to drag him out. His mind spun, trying to grasp the enormity of the suffering written on Vincent’s face. What horrors had he endured? The thought was unbearable. As his gaze traced the line of fresh stitches near Vincent’s lip, his heart overflowed with a mix of rage at the perpetrators and overwhelming tenderness for the man lying before him.

He figured it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him. He needed some outlet for his emotions, so he began stroking his hair and speaking nonstop.

"You invited me, and I came. It would’ve been nice if you’d picked me up from the airport," Thomas chuckled quietly. "Vincent... My dear Vincent... It was hell. Not knowing if you were alive, where you were... You went through hell. I hope you’ll come out of it. I’ll help you. With everything you need. And I’ll take you away from here. You’ll never have to face this again. I never should’ve let you go in April… We could’ve skipped the airport and gone straight to the coast. None of this would’ve happened…"

Thomas gently caressed his hair, his cheek, his uninjured arm. His fingers wandered over Vincent’s skin, over each finger, with a quiet hope that eventually he’d feel a muscle twitch.

He continued.

"Miguel is alive and doing reasonably well. Unfortunately, he lost a leg, but we are already working on his rehabilitation and getting him a prosthesis. He's here, in this hospital. He'll probably visit you soon. He's gonna be okay... Just like you.... I'm staying at the embassy. Alessandro insisted, so I've been living there since I arrived. I've been to your little house a few times. I tidied it up a bit. Everything is ready for your return. I've celebrated a few Masses in your chapel. I was planning to today too, but – forgive me – I won't move from here until you chase me away, and to do that, you need to wake up.”

He told him about the search, about Monica's and Karim's involvement, thanks to whom they had accomplished more than the police and the Mexican embassy. He knew that Vincent most likely couldn't hear anything and that he would have to repeat it all after he woke up, but it didn't matter now. He even asked if he would like to pray with him and recited a long prayer for both of them.

After some time, the door creaked open and the surgeon who had operated on Vincent entered. He explained that the procedure had been extremely difficult due to Vincent's critical condition and extensive internal bleeding. The main problem turned out to be a ruptured spleen, most likely caused by a strong impact; it had to be removed to control the life-threatening hemorrhage. During the long surgery, the team managed to stabilize the situation in the abdominal cavity and cleanse it. The most infected external wounds were also treated to prevent the development of sepsis, and the fractured femur was temporarily immobilized, which would require surgery in the coming days. Although Vincent's condition had been stabilized, it remained very serious, and the next few hours would be absolutely crucial for his prognosis. The surgeon emphasized that everything humanly possible and within the reach of modern medicine under these conditions had been done, and now much depended on Vincent's own strength. He also expressed admiration that the man had survived so long in such a severe state before reaching the hospital, which testified to his extraordinary will to live.

Thomas listened to the doctor's report. Fear clenched his throat again, but the words about Vincent's strength kept hope alive in him. He managed only to whisper thanks to the doctor and the entire team, feeling boundless gratitude for their efforts. When the doctor left, Thomas slumped heavily back into the chair, left alone with the unconscious Vincent and the constant, hypnotic rhythm of the hospital machines sustaining his life.

And so Thomas kept vigil. Hours passed slowly, changing the light entering the small intensive care unit window from daylight to afternoon light, and finally to the artificial light of the corridor shining through the glass in the door. No one tried to make him leave. Beatrice popped in for a moment, bringing him a cup of coffee and quietly assuring him that they understood his need to be there. Nurses came and went, checking parameters, changing drips, noting something on the patient's chart.

In the evening, Alessandro came to the hospital, and it was the first time Thomas had left Vincent. He used the bathroom and ate the sandwiches the consul had brought him. Alessandro insisted that he return with him to the embassy for the night, but Thomas firmly refused.

"No, Alessandro. I'll stay here." His voice was quiet but firm. The consul sighed softly, seeing the determination in Thomas's eyes. He knew there was no point in trying to persuade him.

When Alessandro left, Thomas took Vincent's hand in his again. He felt relieved that he didn't have to go back to the empty room at the embassy. He took out his phone and wrote a short message to Monica and Ray, informing them about the surgery and Vincent's current condition. He didn't want to call so as not to disturb the silence in the intensive care unit. The replies came almost immediately, full of support and encouragement.

Night fell. The lights in the corridor were dimmed, and the only source of light in Vincent's room was the glow of the monitors and a small lamp on the panel on the wall. Thomas sat on the uncomfortable chair pulled up to the bed. The emotions of the whole day and the past weeks were taking their toll, and he felt himself becoming sleepy. He shifted in the uncomfortable chair for hours until, finally, in the early morning, he leaned against the bed and, stroking the man's hand, asked sadly, "When will you wake up and come back to me?" He rested his head on his folded arms and, looking at him, fell asleep.

When he woke up a few hours later, he noticed the morning light streaming into the room. The next thing he registered upon waking was a small movement beside his face. He jolted upright and looked directly into Vincent's open eyes.

He had never experienced a more beautiful moment in his entire life. He was afraid it was a dream and that it would end soon, but the black eyes were still open, still staring at him, and the hand moved slightly.

Thomas leaped to his feet and hovered over the man.

"Vincent! My God! Vincent!" and his hands shot out towards the man. He grabbed him as a drowning man grabs a razor. He stroked his head and looked into the dark eyes that were widening more and more in shock. Vincent took a deep breath, and a soft, rattling sound came from his throat. He wanted to say something, but couldn't because of the intubation tube.

"Easy, they'll take it out soon. Easy, Vincent," Thomas soothed the man, and seeing the growing shock and anxiety on his face, added, "It's me, Thomas. I'm here with you. You had surgery, wait a moment, I'll go get help," and he ran out of the room to call the doctor.

For the next dozen or so minutes, he stood meekly against the wall while the doctor and nurses worked on disconnecting Vincent from the ventilator and checking his condition. When everyone had left and they were alone, Thomas stood rooted to the spot and looked at the other man, who was staring at him in disbelief. Drawn by his gaze, he took a step, then a second, and a third. He didn't know which of them reached out first, but they grasped hands, and the next thing he heard was his name spoken in Vincent's hoarse voice.

„Thomas....Thomas..."

"Yes. I'm here," he replied and began to smile broadly.

Vincent looked at him in disbelief. "What are you doing here?” he whispered.

"Well... You invited me, so I'm here." He hadn't heard such joy in his own voice since their last conversation.

Another "Thomas...." fell, and tears welled up in Vincent's eyes.

Thomas touched his face and began to stroke his hair. "I know, my dear. I know...." he replied, but at the next "Oh Thomas," he leaned over him further, put one hand behind his neck, the other under his shoulder blades, and embraced him as much as possible.

They remained in this strange position, and Thomas felt the man's warm breath and tears on his neck. He whispered simple nonsense to him, that everything was alright now, that he was with him and wouldn't leave him, that he was safe now. He kissed the sides of his head, gently stroked his back, massaged his neck with his hand, and tangled his fingers in his hair.

He didn't even know when he himself started to cry. When he felt Vincent's hand clench on his arm, sobs shook his entire body. He hung over the bed like that, clinging to Vincent, afraid to let go. Let this moment last and never end. He never wanted to lose sight of him again. So he had to look into his eyes. He released him from the embrace and cupped his face in his hands. He had so many tears in his eyes that the whole image was blurred. He snorted with laughter and heard Vincent's laughter. It was also the most beautiful thing he had ever heard in his life.

"I can't see you," he said, and suddenly felt Vincent's hand on his cheek and his thumb wiping away tears from under his eyes.

In the simplest reflex, he took that hand in his, kissed it long, and then held it against his cheek again. Vincent stared at him with a slight smile. Thomas was convinced that his own eyes were sparkling with delight.

"The beard suits you," Vincent said quietly, and his fingers made a few movements that resembled scratching a dog's head. Thomas felt those damn butterflies in his stomach that everyone always talked about. He smiled tenderly at the man.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again...." Vincent said with sadness in his voice. Tears welled up in his eyes again.

"I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere," Thomas said and placed Vincent's hand on his chest, where his heart was beating desperately. "Everything will be alright."

Notes:

a very surreal experience in life - write a fic about something while it becomes reality. and that something is the conclave.

Chapter 6: On a foreign land

Notes:

happy eve of the conclave!

Thomas looked into Vincent's eyes and thought that today he would not break away from the man at all. He had just said that he wasn't going anywhere. Not without him. In fact, he doubted if he would be able to leave even for a moment to use the restroom. 

He held the man's hand on his chest and was sure Vincent could feel the frantic beating of his heart. At that moment, he must have had the heart rate of a runner. In fact, he felt as if he had run a marathon. Fortunately, he reached the finish line and got his prize. He was looking his prize straight in the eyes.

Vincent seemed as agitated by the whole situation as he was. His eyes were glazing over, his breathing was shallow and wheezing. Much of this could be attributed to his awakening, but the expression in his eyes and the feeling Thomas saw in them told him that the man was happy to see him, too. At being brought back to life, back to the world.

Thomas wanted to know everything at once. He flooded Vincent with an avalanche of questions. Where were you, who kidnapped you, what happened, how did they free you, we need to report all this immediately, but Vincent just nodded his head in the negative and - causing great surprise to Thomas - said: "It's not important now."

"This is important! This is the most important thing! Vincent! Everyone thought you were dead. I thought... - his voice faltered - I thought you were dead."

He was on the verge of tears again, and was standing too close to Vincent to be able to hide it in any way. How could he claim it didn't matter? Wounded in an explosion, kidnapped, probably tortured and yet he played down his suffering. Thomas was breathing so fast that he feared a panic attack in moments. Vincent, whose hand was still resting on his chest, could easily sense it. He freed it from under Thomas' hand and touched his cheek again while stroking his beard with his thumb. Thomas had to grab onto the bed to stand on his feet.

"I will tell you everything. But later. I promise." He spoke with difficulty. "Let me come to my senses first and enjoy being here." He paused for a deeper breath and added in a whisper, "And that you are here. I find that hard to believe."

"Where else would I be," Thomas also replied in a whisper. The touch of Vincent's hand on his face took away his ability to think and form sentences. He knew he was staring at him with dreamy eyes. He couldn't help it. He felt so many emotions at once that he was afraid he was about to explode. Of all of them, one definitely came to the fore - happiness. Happiness that Vincent is with him and that he is alive. That he could look into his dark eyes and see life in them. He understood him perfectly. He will tell him everything when he is ready for it. For now, what matters is his health and Thomas will make sure he comes back to him.

"How long have you been here?" he heard a question that snapped him out of his reverie.

"I flew in two days after the attack. More than two weeks ago."

The information surprised Vincent. He said: "I didn't know it had been so long," he lowered his hand from his face and slid it down to his forearm. "Where have you been staying?"

"At the embassy. Alessandro gave me a room. He insisted I stay there," he said with a smile.

"That's good. I'm glad. You're safe there." Suddenly, fear appeared on his face. "Miguel. What about him..." he asked with uncertainty in his voice. He was afraid of what he was about to hear.

"Miguel is doing well." God, thank you that I don't have to give him bad news! The relief on Vincent's face was almost palpable. "He's still here. He has undergone several operations. Unfortunately, as a result of the explosion, he lost his leg... But he will be fine. We are working on it. He is in better and better shape. Probably as soon as I tell him, he will visit you right away."

Vincent had to digest this barrage of information. He shifted his gaze from Thomas to the sheets on the bed, and the loss of eye contact hurt him almost physically. He touched Vincent's shoulder gently and stroked it for reassurance. "Don't worry. The most important thing is that both of you are alive. We'll deal with everything else.... Tell me, how are you feeling?"

"It's hard to say. I think everything hurts..." And Thomas frowned seriously.

"I'll go get the doctor," he offered and wanted to leave the bed, but Vincent grabbed his wrist.

"No. Later. Stay still." Vincent said quietly and smiled softly.

Thomas figured he was probably about to need medical attention himself. In truth, he wasn't feeling well himself. He didn't know what ailed him more - physical fatigue, mental exhaustion or love. Another moment and he would collapse at his bedside. The emotions he feels for him will kill him. To top it off, he thought: what he feels is most likely a one-sided feeling. I've had time to get mad about him and fall into a spiral of searching and despair. Vincent at the time was fighting for his life and didn't think of me. I need to calm down quickly so he won't think badly of me. That's all I'm missing right now. A moment later he heard from the man's mouth: "You have no idea how good it is to see you," and found that he already knew, however - he was about to die of love. In response to this he could only smile.

"So you met with Miguel?" asked Vincent. "And, knowing you, you are helping him."

"Yes, we met," Thomas sent him a quick and uncertain smile. "I tried to be helpful. You only have each other here."

Vincent looked at him with a hard-to-understand expression on his face. He breathed heavily, but it brought him no apparent relief. He bit his lips, and moments later Thomas felt the touch of his hand on his palms. Warmth spread across his chest again.

"I don't know how to thank you. And I don't even know about half the things you've done. You have to tell me everything... Will you tell me everything, Thomas?" With the naked eye, it was clear that speaking made it difficult for him. Tears were gathering in his eyes.

"I will. And you'll tell me everything when you're ready," he replied and wiped away a tear that had begun to run down Vincent's cheek.

They looked at each other without speaking or moving for a long moment. Thomas thought they had both been through hell. Vincent had experienced it personally, Thomas had watched it from the sidelines and died internally in silence. Now they were both resurrected. He realized that he had seized this moment for himself. He must inform everyone that Vincent has awakened, he can't keep it to himself indefinitely - the man doesn't belong to him.

"I have to let the others know. Do you mind if I call from here? It's too noisy in the hallway." He was not at all afraid to lose sight of him even for a moment.

"Of course," agreed Vincent and smiled at him in encouragement. Dear God. I wish to stay here for the rest of my life and escape from here at the same time.

So he stepped aside towards the chair where he had spent the night and picked up the phone he had left there. First, he called Alessandro. He figured that way Vincent's family would find out everything as quickly as possible. Next, he dialed Monica and, to the accompaniment of her laughter and shouts, watched with a wide smile as Vincent looked on, surprised. He would have to tell him all about it. Now it would sound like a cheap horror movie or a bad dream.

When he thanked Monica, his voice broke, and he had to turn his back to Vincent. In her typical style, she threatened to fly to Kabul and personally escort them both to Italy. But before she did, she asked for a short FaceTime once Vincent felt better. She had to see them together and find out for herself what all the fuss was about. Thomas chuckled, thanked her again, and said he loved her. As usual, she replied in kind, and only when they hung up and he looked back at Vincent did he see that perhaps his impulsive declaration of love to her had made him a bit uncomfortable. The man wasn't looking at him and seemed visibly embarrassed by the situation. Thomas cursed himself inwardly. Finally, he called Ray and asked him to pass the message on, to the Pope and to Sister Agness. After finishing all the calls, he approached the bed and decided a little introduction would be good.

"Several people were involved in your search. Monica was one of them. I won't tire you with telling you about it now, but to tell you the truth, I don't know if you would be here now without her help..."

Vincent was clearly taken aback by this statement. He raised his eyebrows, and Thomas watched his forehead wrinkle around the wounds he had on it. He smiled slightly at Thomas and said: "In that case, I hope to meet her eventually."

"That's the plan."

"What else are you planning?" If it weren't for the fact that Vincent had just awakened from surgery, Thomas could have sworn he heard a hint of something dangerous in his voice.

To take you back to Rome, to my apartment, lock you in it and cuddle you until the end of the world. Never lose sight of you and never let you out of my arms. To kiss you if you want. To love you if you want.

Instead, he replied with a smile: "You will find out. Be patient."

Two nurses and a nurse entered the room and greeted Vincent effusively in Italian. They said they needed to perform some tasks on him, so they asked Thomas to leave the room. He looked at Vincent questioningly.

"Go back to the embassy. Rest, get some sleep."

This was not an option at all. At the thought of losing sight of him, he felt panic. "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be in the hallway."

He left the room and called Alessandro once again. In front of Vincent, he didn't want to ask about his family. It turned out that the man's younger sister had immediately boarded a plane when they found him and was about to land. Alessandro suggested not saying anything to Vincent. "Let's give him a surprise. He needs such gestures now." Thomas couldn't agree more.

Alessandro urged him to return to the embassy and rest. "I will change you, there will still be someone with him," he said. Thomas remained adamant. He was terrified at the thought that he would return to the hospital and Vincent would vanish into thin air again. Not on his watch.

He used the toilet and saw in the mirror how dreadful he looked. His complexion was sallow, his eyes were sunken. Not only was he exhausted, but he had also given blood. His lifestyle in recent weeks had been appalling. He looked at his white linen shirt, which now looked terrible, and shuddered at the thought that he might already smell. He definitely needed a shower, but he would have to wait for it. He splashed cold water on his face and dried it with a paper towel.

He suddenly remembered that Vincent had complimented his beard. Given all his current appeal, it was impossible that it could have suited him, but he nevertheless added his words to the wonders of today.

He remembered that he still had to inform Miguel. He went back under Vincent's room, but could still hear the voices of the nurses inside. Miguel was lying a floor above, probably a few dozen meters away, but Thomas had no intention of going there for the time being. His place was here, next to Vincent. So he dialed his friend's number and called. "Miguel, good morning. I have great news! Vincent is here. He has been found. Yes, yes, it's true! I wouldn't dare joke about it, you know that... Miguel, take it easy. He is here, he has awakened from surgery. He is weakened and tired, he will have to have surgery on his leg, but he is alive. I can't believe it either. Of course you can visit him. I'll come for you later, he is still weakened now. Yes, you will see him today. I promise. We'll talk later, I have to go. See you Miguel."

One of the nurses came out of Vincent's room and told him that they weren't finished yet. They would wash him and change his clothes. He probably hasn't had the opportunity to do that since the attack itself. They should finish soon and he will be able to return. The woman returned to the room and Thomas sat down in the chair below her. As he sat there with his eyes fixed on the door, Beatrice noticed him. She approached and said in Italian: "You look terrible."

Thomas laughed. "Well, hello to you too."

"You need to rest. This is no joke. You donated blood." The woman sounded slightly worried.

"I will rest. But later," Thomas replied in a firm tone.

The woman looked at him in disbelief and said she would be right back. After a few minutes, she came with a large bottle of water and a smaller one with red contents. "Beet juice. It will do you good after donating blood. At least drink plenty. Will you eat something?"

Thomas thanked her for the drinks and took them from her. "I don't think so."

"Ok. If you need anything you know where I am." Before she left she added more calmly: "I'm glad your friend is awake."

"Thank you," he replied and was finally able to smile sincerely at her.

He returned to the room when the nurses left. Vincent was lying in clean sheets, and was also wearing a fresh hospital shirt. At the sight of Thomas in the doorway, he smiled.

Thomas didn't quite know what to do now. He closed the door and stood by it. After the initial shock and sudden bursts of joy, it was time to sober up. Earlier he had behaved very effusively. He could not stop touching the man, looked at him with eyes full of affection, hugged and kissed him on the head. Now, as the euphoria slowly subsided and was replaced by indescribable relief, he was uncertain how he should behave. It didn't help that his whole body kept lashing out toward Vincent. To spare himself a bit of awkwardness, he decided to approach and sit down. At least he wouldn't reflexively lean over the bed. He set down the drinks he had received from Beatrice on the cabinet and sat down.

"Have they refreshed you a bit?" he asked.

"Yes. It's a little better," replied Vincent, who watched his every move closely. "Thomas, go to the embassy... You're exhausted."

He brushed it off with a wave of his hand and leaned back in his chair, "I'm perfectly fine."

"No, you're not."

"Are you suggesting that I look bad? You haven't seen me in so long and this is the first I hear from you?" Thomas thought: what a sweet feeling to be able to joke with him again!

"No, I complimented your beard first," replied Vincent, surprising him with this.

"Vincent... Don't worry about me, just worry about yourself. You need to get a lot of rest and sleep. I'll do that too. But not yet at this time."

Vincent tilted his head to the left on the pillow to look at him. He extended his left hand and opened his palm. An invitation Thomas could never refuse. He touched it and gave it a light squeeze, and stroked the top of it with his thumb. They looked into each other's eyes.

"They gave me some drugs. I'll go to sleep right away," Vincent said, and Thomas could see his eyelids getting heavy.

"Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." And Vincent fell asleep with a crooked smile on his lips.

Thomas was still stroking his hand and looking at his face. He couldn't believe he had been returned to him. What would have happened if he hadn't flown here, if he hadn't started dabbling, if Monica hadn't helped him... He didn't want these thoughts, but they came to him on their own. Could anyone else do all this? Fortunately, he never had to find out again.

When Vincent's breathing became steady, he gently let go of his hand and reached for the juice he got from Beatrice. He will do at least that. He drank it and felt fatigue sweep over him again. Soon he would have to listen to everyone and go to sleep. He just didn't know how he would manage to leave Vincent.

To occupy himself, he reached for his phone and wrote back several messages. More than half of them were from Monica, and once again over the past few days he felt a great longing for her. He definitely wanted to meet her with Vincent. There was no doubt about that. It was part of the plan he had asked him about earlier. As soon as the man felt well enough to fly to Italy, Thomas would take him with him. What to do next, he wasn't sure, but getting him out of there was now a priority for him.

He felt sleep drizzle over him. Carefully, so as not to wake Vincent, he moved his chair to the wall and sat on it, leaning his head against the wall. He wrapped himself in the small blanket he had found on it earlier and closed his eyes. He fell asleep.

A few hours later, he opened his eyes to the sound of the door opening. Alessandro was peeking into the room through it and looking at the bed with a smile. Thomas looked reflexively at Vincent, but the man was asleep. His face looked peaceful. In order not to wake him up, he went out to Alessandro, who asked him into the hallway with a hand gesture. The nap in the chair was definitely giving him a hard time. He felt sore and stiff.

He went out into the corridor and saw that the consul had not come alone. Next to him stood a shorter woman. She might have been about 40 years old. One look and Thomas knew she was Vincent's sister. She had even finer features than he did and bore a striking resemblance to him. Her bundled up hair, washed out tracksuit and the fatigue on her face suggested that she had spent a long time traveling. She had flown from Mexico, that's more than twice as long as he had! He closed the door behind him and nodded shyly to her.

"Thomas, welcome! Oh... Forgive the frankness, but you look terrible... Come up please. I would like to introduce you. Isabela... Please meet Cardinal Thomas Lawrence. Thomas, this is Isabela Benítez, Vincent's sister."

Thomas shook hands with her and said simply "Thomas," while Alexandre continued: "I told Isabela about you in the car. Thanks to Thomas' efforts, we got Vincent back." He felt uncomfortable. Such words were unnecessary. 

"Forgive my appearance. I haven't had a chance to freshen up. Isabela, it's nice to meet you. Vincent is asleep, but he will probably wake up soon. Go ahead," he said and encouraged her with a gentle smile. The woman thanked him and entered the room. Thomas stayed in the hallway with Alessandro. 

"Thomas, the car is waiting downstairs. My driver will take you to the embassy. You need to rest, you look weak. Isabela is here now. Vincent is in good hands."

"Yes, I know I have to go. Thank you for your concern and bringing Isabela here. It will certainly do him good." Alessandro looked at him with doubt. "I will return to the embassy, but first I will bring Miguel here. I promised both of them."

So he went to fetch the man, brought him downstairs in a wheelchair and brought him into the room. Vincent was still asleep, and Thomas was slightly concerned that he was not waking up despite the obvious sounds in his room. Inside were his sister and the consul. Isabela was sitting in the chair that he had occupied in recent hours, and had moved it to the bed as he had before. Alessandro stood behind her. At the sight of Miguel, Isabela broke away and began greeting and hugging him. Thomas apologized to them, explaining that he was going to use the bathroom, and left. He tried to ignore the fact that jealousy was back in his heart. About the fact that Vincent's sister evidently knew Miguel, that the man had been present in his life for years, about the fact that they were now together at his bedside. 

He stated that when Vincent woke up, he would say goodbye to him and return to the embassy. He was exhausted, hungry, emotionally drained and - indeed - looked nightmarish. He regretted that his first meeting with Isabela had taken place just now. He would have preferred that Vincent's sister had met him when he presented himself better, but he had no control over that now. He went back under the hall and sat down. He began to think about what would happen next. 

Now that Vincent has recovered, they will soon be able to return to Rome. Thomas did not yet know when or how this would happen, but something told him that the decision would be made at the Vatican and would come directly from the Holy Father. When would they be able to return? Will Miguel want to fly with them? What will both men do in the Vatican? These were questions they would soon have to find answers to. He sat and pondered for a few dozen more minutes, when the door from the hall opened and Alessandro came out through it. 

"Vincent woke up a few minutes ago. He asked about you," he said with a smile. Thomas felt his heart speed up again.

He followed Alexander into the room and saw Isabela standing by the bed and holding Vincent's hand. On his other side, Miguel, sitting in a wheelchair, was doing the same with his other hand. Thomas closed the door and at the sound of it Vincent looked straight at him. Thomas felt his own heart pounding hard against his ribs. He walked closer to the bed and stood at its foot. He smiled at the man and quietly said: "Hello."

Vincent gave him a warm smile. He turned to his sister and asked: "Isabela, have you met my Thomas?" 

My Thomas!" he thought in horror.

"I met, Vincino, I met," she replied still stroking her brother's hand. Thomas smiled hearing this diminutive expression and raised an eyebrow in amusement. Vincent, seeing this, rolled his eyes. There was no end to the wonders of the day. 

"So now that you all know him, help me chase him out to the embassy." 

Everyone laughed. The atmosphere in the room was wonderful. Thomas thought about it with a shrug. How very lucky he was to have them all here. Although he didn't know any of these people until recently, he was now happy to share these moments with them. 

"I'll personally put him in the car," Alessandro said, and offered to drive Miguel to his room first. Isabela, on the other hand, suggested she go talk to the doctors. Thomas wordlessly watched Vincent say goodbye to his friend and watched as Alessandro wheeled him out of his room in a wheelchair. Isabela said to her brother that she would be back soon and approached Thomas. 

"Should I also make sure you return to the embassy?" she asked him with a note of amusement in her voice. 

"No, I promise to comply. Mainly so you all can finally give me a break." 

She smiled warmly at him. Fortunately, she understood his humor. "Thank you Thomas. For everything you have done. I'm glad Vincent has such a friend," and, to his great surprise, she hugged him. 

Thomas found it hard to embrace with his mind all the thoughts that popped into his head. The woman was much shorter than him, and hugging her required him to lean harder. When he did, he looked straight into the eyes of Vincent, who was watching the scene. He found something in his gaze that made a shiver run down his spine. Isabela had been cuddling him for longer than he would have expected, and he felt really terrible at the thought of a woman touching his dirty shirt. As hard as he tried, he could never make a worse first impression. He could only hope that Isabela would soon forget about it. She extricated him from her embrace, said she was also staying at the embassy, said goodbye and left the room. They were left alone again. 

Thomas slowly approached Vincent from his left side. His every step was closely watched. 

"If you don't want me here, all you had to do was say so. You didn't have to involve three people in kicking me out," he joked.

"Thomas...." 

"How do you feel? Do you need something?"

"Yes, I need you to rest," Vincent answered him, and after a moment added, "They told me you donated blood for me... Thank you, Thomas."

"You have nothing to thank me for. Fortunately, I'm a universal donor, so we match. I mean... my blood type matched you..." he was embarrassed by how suggestive what he said sounded. He lowered his head and berated himself for his ill-considered words, but heard Vincent say: "You're right, we match," and he was no longer sure of anything. 

He stood like that and looked at the lying man completely overpowered by the love he felt for him. What was he to do with this feeling if Vincent could not be saved? He thought suddenly that he couldn't be here any longer, or he would throw himself at him and defile him with kisses. And from them, he already knew, he would not be able to return. 

"Go and get some rest. Please," Vincent said quietly.

"OK. I'm going. I'll come tomorrow morning. If you need anything, let the nurses know. One of them has my number." 

Thomas saw that Vincent reached out his hand toward him and had to embrace it, had to touch him, and when he touched him he wanted to kiss him goodbye. So he touched his cheek with his other hand, smiled, leaned over and kissed his forehead. He stood like this for a few seconds, frozen in this strange position, and relished the feel of Vincent's skin on his lips. When he straightened up Vincent's brown eyes were soft and shining. He said "Goodbye," heard "Goodbye," stroked his cheek one last time, and just as he took a step back from the bed, Alessandro looked into the room, signaling that he was waiting. Thomas walked to the door and smiled at Vincent one last time. 

 

---

 

When he entered the embassy he was immediately intercepted by Lucia and led to the cafeteria, where a plate of warm soup and a second course were unceremoniously placed in front of him. Only when he started eating did he feel how hungry he was. He didn't even know when a small tiramisu appeared on the table, but he ate it too. 

Upon entering the room, he decided that he needed to take a hot shower right away. He threw the clothes in which he had spent the last two hospital days on the floor and stepped under the hot stream of water. He noticed that he had a purple bruise in the hollow of his forearm - a trace of blood donation - and at the mere mention of his last exchange with Vincent he got even hotter. 

He washed himself very thoroughly to wash off the smell of the hospital. He scrubbed himself all over from head to toe, and after getting out of the shower he brushed his teeth, put on his pajamas and felt himself being dragged to bed. It was only four in the afternoon, but he estimated that it would do him good to get a few hours of sleep. He plugged his phone into the charger and put it next to his pillow so he could hear it if he needed to, and got into bed. He fell asleep within minutes. 

 

---

 

When he woke up, he regained consciousness for a few seconds. Eventually it came back to him, and he anxiously reached for the phone. Three o'clock in the morning. He had slept a continuous 11 hours! This had probably not happened since his youth. He was afraid he had missed something important, but his phone was glowing empty. Well, in this case, the lack of news is good news. He got up and used the restroom, had a drink of water and went back to bed. 

He still felt the weight of the stone that had recently fallen from him on his heart. Vincent's assassination and kidnapping had certainly taken a few years off his life. After nearly three weeks of terror, he was finally able to breathe and sleep. He reached for his phone and found the photo from under the Colosseum that brought back so many good memories. Now that he knew Vincent had survived the most important thing was for him to recover. Once his condition stabilizes, he still faces surgery on his femur. When he recovers from all this, Thomas will take him for a walk around Rome again. Even if he has to carry him back in his arms. He fell asleep imagining their life in the eternal city. 

Once again, he woke up at six in the morning and decided to start getting ready for the whole day. He decided not to shave. The beard that Vincent had complimented was admittedly just beginning to thicken, but hearing a compliment from a man was reason enough to keep it down for now. He dressed almost festively - he put on a striped linen shirt, the same one in which he had toured Rome with Vincent one day, he even decided to wear a jacket. He felt rested. So many hours of sleep had definitely helped him recover.

It was probably too early to visit, but given that he had spent last night at Vincent's bedside and hadn't been kicked out, this situation may not have fit into any protocol. So he went downstairs, where he finally ate his breakfast with an appetite, and set off on foot toward the hospital. As he walked there, he was haunted by vague memories of the same route he had taken two days earlier. Now everything was different. 

He walked inside and immediately met Beatrice, who was still walking to work in her normal clothes. At the sight of him, she smiled and stopped. 

"Buongiorno! You've finally taken your rest!"

"Yes. I'll admit that I needed it," he answered her with a smile.

"Everyone told you about it... I don't wanna stop you. Go to him."

"Beatrice... Thank you." And off he went. 

He quietly knocked on the door and opened it. He immediately saw that Vincent was awake. At the sound of the door opening, he momentarily looked in their direction and met his gaze. In a chair against the wall, as he had been doing lately, was Isabela sleeping. Thomas entered quietly so as not to wake her. He walked over to the bed and at the sight of a hand extended in his direction, took it in his hand and shook it.

"Good morning," he whispered and smiled slightly at him.

"Hi," replied Vincent in a whisper. 

They smiled at each other, but Vincent's face was visibly marked with pain today. This did not escape Thomas' attention. "How are you feeling today? Is something hurting you?"

Vincent nodded in response. He said nothing and it came to Thomas that the man was in pain.

"Didn't you get your medicine yet today?" He shook his head in negative response. 

Thomas was overwhelmed by horror. Only now did he see drops of sweat on Vincent's forehead. He wiped them off with his hand and brushed back his hair. 

"I'm already going to get someone," he said, and brought in a nurse, who administered something through the IV line. 

Movement in the room woke Isabela. She got up from her chair, greeted Thomas and approached Vincent worriedly. She stroked his head and said quietly mostly to Thomas, "Today they are taking him to operate on his leg. His condition is stable and they can't wait any longer because it's a displaced fracture. The pain bothered him a lot during the night." Vincent was now lying with his eyes closed. It was clear that his pain was getting worse. 

Thomas cursed in his spirit. Vincent was in pain, and he slept like a baby. He regretted going to the embassy at all.

Even though Isabela was next to him, he couldn't stop himself from touching Vincent. He took a cloth handkerchief, a relic of the past, out of his jacket pocket, wet it in the sink and began to use it to rub his forehead, on which new drops of sweat were appearing. If he had been less focused on his dear friend he would have noticed that Isabela was watching his every move carefully.

In the hours that followed, Vincent was prepared for and taken to another surgery. Thomas watched in horror as his bed was wheeled away from the room. He felt his heart pounding like crazy again. Although Vincent was now under the care of doctors, Thomas couldn't shake the anxiety that had been with him for weeks. 

Isabela sighed quietly and leaned against the wall. She looked as exhausted as he had the day before. 

"You should rest. You came here straight from the airport. I know what that means," he offered quietly.

"I know, and I know I said the same thing to you yesterday, but I'll wait until the surgery is over." She sat down in a chair. 

Thomas nodded his head in understanding. He wasn't going to push. He himself would not be able to leave here in this situation. He told her he was going to get a chair for himself, took one from the hallway and sat down near her against the wall. 

They were silent for a long moment, each immersed in their own thoughts. Thomas tried to focus on something other than Vincent, but he relied on this field.

"He is strong," Isabela spoke up suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was calm, but Thomas sensed a hint of trembling in it. "He's been through so much. He can handle it."

She turned her head toward him and looked him straight in the eyes. Her gaze was investigative, but at the same time full of understanding. "I can see how much you care about him, Thomas."

Her words surprised him. He felt a blush come to his cheeks. He did not expect such directness, especially at this moment. He tried to answer something, to deny, to trivialize, but his voice trapped in his throat.

Isabela smiled softly, sadly. "You don't have to say anything. I saw you taking care of him." She paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "Alessandro told me about everything you did to find him. You risked so much..."

"Your brother... He's a great friend. And he's very dear to me. From the day I met him..." he said with a slight smile.

Isabela sighed again, this time with a hint of sympathy. "He has always attracted people to him. But he attracted you in a unique way. Don't worry, Thomas. Whatever you feel... I understand it. And I'm glad Vincino has someone like you by his side."

Thomas felt a wave of gratitude surge through him. For her words, for her understanding, for her acceptance. He also felt relieved that he no longer had to pretend anything in front of her. That someone saw the truth hidden in his looks and gestures.

"Thank you, Isabela," he whispered finally. She smiled warmly at him. 

After about two hours, there was a familiar sound in the corridor - the quiet squeal of the wheels of a hospital bed and the steady beeping of the apparatus. The door opened and a bed rolled into the room, pushed by a nurse. Thomas and Isabela pulled up simultaneously.

Vincent lay motionless, covered by a thin white sheet. He had an oxygen mask over his face, and his eyes were closed. IV tubes ran to his arms, and from under the sheet, near his leg, the shape of a thick bandage was delicately outlined. He looked extremely fragile and vulnerable. Moments later, a doctor came in and told them that the operation had been successful. The bone had been fused together with a metal plate and screws. He should recover quickly and be fully functional in a few months. Thomas breathed a sigh of relief. It could have been much worse. He had Miguel as confirmation of this floor above. 

He glanced at Isabela, standing next to him, who was barely on her feet. She promised to go to the embassy when Vincent returned from surgery. 

"Will you now agree to go to rest? I will be with him. I'll call Alessandro to send a car for you. You don't know the area, and it's better that you don't go here alone."

The woman was too tired to deny it. She nodded and asked if Thomas would let her know when Vincent woke up.

"Of course," and handed her the phone so she could type her number into it, then called Alessandro. Fifteen minutes later, he escorted her to the gate and made sure she got safely into the car with the diplomatic plates, then returned to Vincent's room and squatted a chair on his bed. 

This was the third time in the past few days that he was in the same situation - sitting next to an unconscious man. He sincerely hoped it was the last time. He wished that everything would be back to normal by now. He could give the impression of being in control and having everything under control, but inside, he was still a bundle of nerves when he looked at Vincent in such a state. Was there anything else he could do for him? At this point, he could only pray for him. So he took his hand in his own, bent over it so that it touched his forehead and began to pray. He thought - how can I find God in all this? So much evil has happened, so much evil has befallen this good man, the best man I know. Why did God allow this to happen? He realized that he was now the closest in his entire life to renouncing everything he had put his trust in. However, he stifled these iconoclastic thoughts and returned to his prayer. 

Two hours later, he was still sitting in the chair and gently stroking the top of Vincent's hand. His gaze was fixed on the man's face, so he noticed exactly the moment the man began to wake up. He sprang to his feet and hovered over him. When Vincent opened his eyes, Thomas was again the first thing he saw. 

Vincent raised his hand to his face and wanted to pull off the oxygen mask. Thomas stopped him: "Wait with that." When he saw that the man was staring at him intensely, he squeezed the hand he had just grabbed tighter and said with a smile: "Welcome back. I hope this is the last time I greet you like this."

Vincent bestowed on him the gentlest smile, which was reflected even in his eyes, and Thomas felt his knees soften. 

"Your sister finally went to rest. She waited here until the surgery was over."

Vincent did not give up and persistently reached for the mask covering his face. Thomas said Okay, okay and pulled it off him for a moment. When he did so he heard a quiet: "Hi." His heart did a few flips and he responded with the same. He felt like a teenager experiencing his first crush. Never in his life had he been so focused on another person as he was now on Vincent. He felt like his body was reading the other's needs in seconds. With every part of himself, he wanted to understand Vincent as thoroughly as possible, wanted to absorb him, wanted to give him a part of himself, just to speed up his recovery. 

He looked at the man and wondered how it was possible that despite everything he had experienced his eyes shone with such a glow. His gaze involuntarily wandered to the man's mouth and saw that it was cracked.

"Are you thirsty?"  Vincent nodded in response. 

Thomas, who had undergone a small back operation many years ago, remembered that after waking up from anesthesia, drinking could end in vomiting, but he wanted to help Vincent somehow. He looked around the room. A bottle of water stood on the coffee table. There was not much of a rack against one wall, where, as he had seen earlier, the nurses kept basic things for dressings. He found some gauze pads there, poured water into a glass and began to wipe Vincent's mouth with the soaked gauze pads. 

"You can't do any more for now," he explained. "You'll have to wait a few more hours," and continued wetting his lips. 

There was something in that simple gesture that he might otherwise have recognized as some kind of tension. Touching his lips while being closely watched by brown eyes. In another situation, he would have allowed himself to be possessed by this thought. But they were in no other situation. Thomas continued the same activity time after time. Vincent was constantly under the influence of painkillers. As he slept, Thomas texted Isabela and continued to keep vigil. 

A few hours later, Vincent awoke being in much better condition. When suddenly, to his great surprise, Thomas heard: "Decano Lawrence, do you think you would find something for me to eat?" he momentarily burst out laughing. Vincent smiled at him and shook slightly with laughter. Thomas hoped things would only get better from now on. 

 

---

 

The next few days passed in a routine they worked out slowly. Thomas would come to the hospital with Isabela, but some of his time was spent as before with Miguel. He did not want the man to feel abandoned now. Whenever Vincent felt better, he would bring him to the man, sometimes they would leave them in the room alone and he would take Isabela to the hospital bar to eat. Once, while they were waiting for an ordered dish, Isabela asked him if the Vatican asked when he would return to work. 

"No... Not yet. Vincent's case is very important to the Pope." And I can't imagine going back to work after all this.... 

"It's strange... It's good to hear that, but it's strange... I, unfortunately, can't stay for longer. I will have to leave in a few days. My boss is not as understanding as yours..." she said with a wry smile. 

Thomas smiled in understanding. If he had any other job, his presence here would not be possible. 

"Thomas - what will happen next? When he gets out of the hospital? I'm afraid he will require assistance. He will be here alone. He has Miguel, but in his case... He needs help himself..."

"I've been thinking about it. Actually... it's hard for me to think about anything else." He took a longer pause and thought. "I would like to propose to him to return to Rome. With me. And Miguel as well. They would have access to the best rehabilitation there. I would have them in my sights.... What do you think about that?" He asked somewhat uncertainly.

Isabela seemed surprised but pleased by the proposal. "Thomas.... That's very generous of you. Do you think it would be possible? Vincent certainly has some money to cover his rehabilitation, but there is also the cost of housing, living...."

As humble as a brother, thought Thomas affectionately. 

"Don't worry about it. I live alone, they will be able to stay with me. The main thing is to convince them..."

Isabela looked at him with astonishment on her face. It's certainly not every day that one encounters such offers. Thomas specifically said in front of her that he was offering the apartment to them both. He didn't want her to think anything bad about him. Especially about his willingness to take Vincent under his own roof. He had to admit that now that he thought about it he felt a tingle in his stomach. The prospect of living with Vincent sounded like his dream come true. And it looked less and less like a dream. 

 

---

 

Vincent was feeling better and stronger every day. He had already been uprighted and had his first walk with the rehabilitator, which Thomas watched from under the wall on held breath. The rehabilitator led him around the room toward Thomas and back. When they first reached him, Vincent winked at him and Thomas realized that he was not only holding his breath, but also clenching his hands into fists so tightly that he was hurting himself with his own fingernails. He offered to be the one to practice walking with him from now on, and became a happy man when Vincent's small weight rested on his shoulder. 

Meal time became the most enjoyable time of the day for Thomas. Vincent, although stronger by the day, still sometimes required help with simple tasks and, when Isabela was not around, Thomas eagerly sat on the edge of the bed and helped him with his meal. The closeness he felt from the freedom of touching him; the care that came from this simple gesture - he wouldn't trade them for anything else in his entire life. Vincent was also looking better and better. The cuts and bruises on his face were beginning to heal and were turning yellow. The wounds from the surgeries were healing well. Everyone was in agreement - he would soon be able to return home. 

It was also a time when Isabela had to return to Mexico and her life there. Both Vincent and Thomas felt a little sad about this. The woman brought a breath of fresh air into their daily lives and a sense of closeness that only family can give. Thomas felt an attachment to her that he never suspected. 

On the day of her departure, he came to Vincent alone, as the woman was packing and getting ready to go. She intended to say goodbye to them by entering the hospital on her way to the airport. Thomas helped Vincent with breakfast and was about to offer him a walk down the corridor when the man surprised him by asking shyly if he could help him wash his hair. They help him with the restroom here, but they didn't offer to wash his hair, and he can't stand the feeling anymore.

Thomas felt himself blush at the thought of this and it did not escape Vincent's attention. "Thomas, I'm sorry... You don't have to."

Thomas thought: Vincent trusts him. And for some reason, he didn't ask Isabela about it earlier. So he quickly got a grip and said: "Come on. It's a good thing, because I brought you your pajamas. At least I hope it's yours and not Miguel's. I think I would have upset him." 

He led him by the hand to the small bathroom that Vincent had in his room. Thomas looked at the small shower and sink and, thinking very little, fired away: "So.... How do you want to do it?"  

When silence answered him, he realized how it must have sounded and reddened even more. 

After a moment, Vincent grunted and said: "I'd better sit." Thomas, if he could, would raise his eyes to the sky. Lord, give me strength.

So he brought a rally chair that could get wet, placed it in the shower and looked at Vincent expectantly. 

"You can change later if you wet your shirt. Whatever you prefer."

Vincent looked at him for a moment - he was clearly thinking about it intensely. Finally he asked: "Will you help me untie it in the back?" If he keeps this up, I'm sure I won't wash his hair.

He approached Vincent, who had his back turned to him. The shirt he was wearing was a typical hospital shirt with ties on the back in three places. He was immensely relieved to see that the man had loose hospital boxers under it. He swallowed the saliva that was suddenly abundant in his mouth, slowly untied the knots on Vincent's back and slid the shirt off his shoulders. He tried not to put all his heart into the gesture so as not to frighten the man. 

He immediately noticed. The bruise marks on his back, his ribs. The extensive healing burn wound on the right side of his loins, the numerous cuts on his arms, the marks stretching across his entire back. He stared, but couldn't stop. When Vincent suddenly turned to face him, a quiet groan came from his throat. 

His entire chest was covered with a variety of wounds, but what shocked him the most was the Arabic word kafir burned on his chest, red and black and partially covered with scabs. Thomas froze. Heretic. Infidel. On the body of a cardinal. The most faithful man he knew. Thomas couldn't take his eyes off it. The word was large and burned irregularly. Instinctively, he reached out toward it without touching it and was horrified to find that it was the width of his outspread hand. It was clear that it had taken someone a long time to do this. And it caused Vincent indescribable suffering. He had probably endured it all with dignity, and now stood before him and patiently submitted to the analysis of his eyes. 

He lowered his hand and encompassed his entire exposed figure with his eyes. The shirt still hung from his wrists and covered him from the waist down. He was emaciated. Only now Thomas could see how his ribs stood out under the skin. On his abdomen, a scar from the operation was hidden under a bandage, but next to it were numerous marks and burns, the same as on his back. After whipping? Burning? Vincent still didn't say a word about what had happened to him at the hands of the Taliban, and now Thomas knew why. How to tell about something like that? You just don't come out of it. The marks he bears must speak for themselves. 

Suddenly, he felt that he was crying. Tears flowed uncontrollably from his eyes. Vincent looked at his breakdown with calmness. It was as if the battered body did not belong to him. Thomas felt a tremendous amount of love for this man. He had been through so much, and now he had the courage to stand before him and tell him without words what had happened. 

He raised his hands and took his face in his hands. Looking straight into his eyes he whispered only: "What have they done to you" and hugged him to his chest. 

He hugged him so desperately that he was afraid he would hurt him. With one hand, he touched his bare back, while the other slid into the hair at the nape of his neck. Vincent put his arms around him after a while and breathed deeply. Thomas thought how much he missed him, how much he missed cuddling him, how much he loved him, how much he would die if he lost him.

He stroked his back and rocked him gently. He realized that he was repeating over and over again I'm so sorry this happened to you, so so sorry... They lasted in this embrace for a long time. They must have looked dramatic.

Thomas, though he didn't want to let him out of his arms, finally did. He stepped back, grabbed him by the shoulders and smiled sadly. Vincent, in contrast, smiled back at him with an expression that could only be called tenderness. His gaze, however, went to Thomas' torso, followed by his hand. Thomas looked down and saw a trail of blood on his shirt. The unhealed mark that Vincent bore on his chest was partially reflected on the fabric of his clothes as he hugged him tightly. He was snapped out of his trance by Vincent's words: "I'm sorry."

He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at him in mild disbelief. "Never apologize to me for anything. Besides... my blood flows in you. So this one is basically mine." He received another smile in response. "Come on, let's freshen you up."

Vincent took off the shirt hanging at his wrists and sat on a chair with his back to the shower. Thomas covered him with a towel to keep him from getting completely wet, turned off the water and adjusted its temperature. Afterwards, he would probably be all wet himself. Apparently Vincent thought the same thing, because he said: "I think you should stand in front of me. You'll get wet." So Thomas stood in front of him, but when it became apparent that it would be hard to wash his head that way, he stood perched over the seated Vincent and just asked if he was okay with it. Vincent quickly replied that it did and tilted his head back. From under his slightly closed eyelids he sent him one last look and Thomas' head spun. 

He wet his hair and applied shampoo to it. He began massaging his scalp and noticed that Vincent had closed his eyes. He tried not to think about the position they were just in, what he was doing or to whom. His hips were only a dozen inches away from Vincent's chest, on top of which he had his fingers deep in Vincent's hair, massaging his head. It was probably the most erotic experience of his life. Add to that the expression on Vincent's face, his slightly tilted lips, the pure relaxation in his features... He began to pray. Praying not to get aroused now. To interrupt these thoughts he asked if it was okay, but in response he heard a protracted murmur of approval that sent vibrations straight to his lower abdomen. He could feel the tension rising in him. My God. He was 62 years old. Wasn't he already too old for such reactions?

He rinsed his head and while he was doing so suggested that he should wash it again. Only when he washed it did he notice how much dried blood was in his hair. He also did so in the hope that he would be able to get himself calm down in the meantime. He recalled to himself all the repulsed memories of the past weeks, chastised for his impure thoughts about the man whose body bore obvious traces of torture. It didn't help him much. 

He rinsed Vincent's head a second time and delighted in the touch of his clean hair between his fingers. He turned off the water and squeezed the water out of them. He took the towel that lay on his chest and began to dry them. He saw that Vincent had opened his eyes and was looking at him with an expression on his face that he found hard to decipher. 

"I'll help you get up and get your pajamas. Can you manage to change on your own?" Please, say yes. 

"Yes. Thank you, Thomas." Smile. That damn smile. 

"At your service." And he stood next to Vincent, touched his bare torso and lifted him out of the chair. Then he quickly left the bathroom to fetch his pajamas. He handed them to him and, without looking him in the eye, left. 

He spent the next few minutes walking nervously around the room. He shouldn't have reacted this way. He alternated between crying and getting excited. What was this behavior anyway? On top of that, in the presence of Vincent - the man dearest to him, whose life he had recently been trembling for? Truly, I am pathetic. He was not given much longer to calm down, as he heard his name from the bathroom and in three long strides made his way in. 

Vincent, dressed in his pajamas, asked for help getting back into bed. Thomas couldn't help but notice that he looked much better. His wet hair fell gently over his face, and the dark blue pajamas somehow added him more vivid colors. He smiled involuntarily. 

"Feeling better?"

"Much better. Thanks to you," and he accepted the arm offered to him. 

"Since we're already walking, maybe you feel like exercising and doing a few rounds around the room? Later we can also take a walk in the hallway."

"Fine. If you want to."

"It's about whether you want to."

Vincent sighed. "Thomas... You devote so much time to me... This departure of Isabela today has made me think... Shouldn't you also be back by now? You've been around much longer than she has, you have your responsibilities, and you're spending time here with me. You say you are working, but when Thomas?" 

"No one at work asks about me. They are doing great. As you can see - and as I've always told you - my work is not that important."

He sensed that Vincent was looking at him suspiciously. "For the time being, I'm not going anywhere, Vincent."

They heard a quick knock on the door and Isabela entered the room with Alessandro. 

"Boungiorno!" exclaimed Alessandro. "Vincent, a new hairstyle? A new outfit? Have you been standing like that for a long time? Are you posing for a wedding photo or what?" Everyone burst out laughing. Thomas, however, noticed that both he and Vincent didn't laugh as loudly as the other two. 

It was the last time they spent time together in such a group. Thomas brought the coffee that Beatrice let him make in their coffee machine in the social room and even let Vincent take two sips of his own. He didn't notice that Isabela was still watching him intently. When it was time to say goodbye, the woman clung to her brother and didn't let him out of her arms for a long time. Finally, she pulled away from him and they heard her say: "Take care, Vincino. And listen to Thomas."

Then she also said goodbye to him and hugged him for no less time than she did her brother. He heard her whisper in his ear "Thank you. For everything" and left with Alessandro, who was to drive her to the airport.

 

---

 

Two days later, Vincent was discharged from the hospital. Thomas prepared himself as best he could. He wanted to groom Vincent's house for his return, so he again asked Lucia for access to their small laundry room, which he used himself, and washed the linens. He then cleaned the entire house again and stocked their small refrigerator. At the hospital, meanwhile, he handled the paperwork for Miguel's stay in the rehabilitation ward, where they managed to find a place for him. He was to receive a temporary prosthesis there and start learning to use it. Later, it would be time for a professional one, custom-fitted for him. Thomas hoped that this would be taken care of back in Italy. Except that for the time being he hadn't told any of them about it. 

On the day Vincent left the hospital, he brought him clothes he had found at home, loose and lightweight pants, his t-shirt and an unbuttoned sweater. They packed up all his belongings, which Thomas brought as time went on, and left the room toward the hospital exit. 

Vincent was moving about on a crutch, but, if the doctors were to be believed, he was making good progress and his recovery should not take long. They said goodbye to the nurses who had been taking care of him all along and even received a hug from Beatrice. Thomas thought he would have to come back here later with a gift for her. They left the hospital and got into a car provided by the consul. After ten minutes they were already on the embassy grounds. 

When they got out of the car, a small welcoming committee was waiting for them. Everyone Thomas had managed to get to know throughout his time in Kabul had gathered, and one by one they greeted Vincent. Thomas watched from the sidelines and was glad to witness it. They were invited to dinner, promised to take advantage and took a short walk to the house.

They walked up to his door and Thomas opened it with a key. He looked at Vincent, who stood and did not go inside.

"You want me to carry you over the threshold?" he joked.

"Could you?" asked Vincent with amusement. I could, of course I could. But for obvious reasons he didn't. Instead, he took the man's free hand, grabbed the handle and went inside with him. 

Thomas cared about the place and Vincent noticed it right away. "Have you cleaned up here?" he asked and looked at him curiously.

"You could say that," he replied somewhat shyly. 

"No - no, you could say that. Everything shines. You didn't have to do that..."

"You left quite a mess. Forgive me, I didn't want to mention that day..."

"It's okay. To tell you the truth, it's only here that I feel it all the strongest."

Thomas wondered what effect this would have on his mental recovery. Now this is what was starting to worry him. However, he decided not to bring up the subject now and let it settle in again. 

"Would you like to rest before dinner? Why don't you sit down or lie down?" 

"I want to say hello to the house. And have a cup of coffee if you let me. Will you?" he asked with a roguish smile.

So he started making coffee for them and not at all out of the corner of his eye he was still controlling Vincent. The latter, on the other hand, looked at the small living room before going to his bedroom and bathroom later. There was silence in the house, broken only by the sound of the kettle and the tapping of Vincent's crutch. When he finished his little round, he came into the kitchen and sat down to drink the promised coffee with Thomas.

They talked about what would happen now. About Miguel going into rehabilitation for a month - according to Vincent, this was impossible to arrange unless you were Thomas - about when Vincent would be able to return to celebrate mass in the chapel, about the fact that Thomas had done it himself several times during their absence at Miguel's express request. 

Thomas took out a small box from one of the cabinets and handed it to Vincent. A new phone that Monica had arranged and sent to the embassy. He asked her for the same one he had, so that he could easily share Vincent's location with him if he agree. 

"You lost yours, and by the way, contact with the world. We've also set up a card with the same number."

Vincent looked surprised. He took the box in his hands and turned it around in them. "Thank you for thinking of this. Honestly, it didn't even cross my mind. I woke up and you were with me. The phone was unnecessary..." Thomas tried to ignore the emotion he felt at the sound of those words. "How much do I owe you for it?"

"Nothing. Let it be a welcome gift," he replied with an affectionate smile. "I can help you set it up. I have the same model. It's not available here, that's why I asked Monica to help me. She sent it for you from Italy."

Vincent nodded his head in denial and avoided his gaze. With his eyes fixed on the table, he said: "I don't deserve you. You are too good for me. I'd be happy to use your help. And by the way, tell me how Monica is doing."

Thomas remembered two more gifts. He excused himself for a moment, went to his suitcase and took out a rosary from Agness and a key ring he had bought at the airport just before his flight. 

"I have something else for you." Vincent looked at the small packages in his hand and furrowed his brow in surprise. "When I flew out Agness asked me to give you this rosary. Once you are safe and sound... Forgive me for not giving it to you at the hospital, but suffice it to say I was a little dazed. Please," he handed him a small box. "It's a rosary from one of the nuns who comes from the Congo. You worked there, so she thought it would be close to you." He smiled and watched as Vincent took out the rosary and examined it in his hands. He continued: "And this, a trifle I saw at the airport before my flight. For some reason it reminded me of you. I had to buy it and give it to you," and moved the wrapped pendant on the table toward Vincent.

The man unwound it from the paper and laughed at the sight of the leather cat. "That's funny, because I at the sight of it would think of you.... Thank you, Thomas. It's a vivid memory of our time in Monica's apartment.... I'll take good care of it," and to prove it, he closed it in his hand and pressed it to his chest.

"I also have to thank this sister and Sister Agness. I will call her soon. Now come, teach me hot to manage new phone."

They did as he asked. They sat down on the couch and set up the phone for the next few hours. At Vincent's suggestion, the first call they made from it was to Monica. Thomas showed Vincent how to call via FaceTime and a moment later they saw Thomas' friend on the screen. When she realized she saw the two of them and had the opportunity to meet Vincent she was incredibly happy. They talked for more than an hour sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch with her and it was a time filled with laughter and joy. 

As lunchtime approached, they said goodbye to her, gathered up and left in the direction of the embassy. Moments later, Thomas received a message from Monica. "He's wonderful. I'm happy for you," and he couldn't be happier. 

A small reception was held at the embassy, he realized. All the employees and a few soldiers were present. He also recognized faces he knew from the masses they were celebrating. As they walked in among everyone, he lost Vincent, who was taken aback by the conversation. He watched him from a distance, while trying to engage in conversation himself. 

During the meal, they did not sit next to each other. Thomas involuntarily glanced in his direction every now and then and watched the man sitting diagonally across the table. Vincent was talking engagingly, but after a while Thomas noticed a tiredness in him. The man sensed his gaze and looked straight into the eyes looking at him with concern. This was a sign - it was time to go home. 

They thanked for the meal, said goodbye and left. Vincent additionally supported himself on Thomas' shoulder.

"Is something hurting you?" in response he saw only a nod. "Take your medicine and lie down. You've been up for a long time today." 

He led him to a bedroom and administered medication. Vincent should sleep and rest after them. He covered him with a blanket and said he would work. He went to the embassy to get his computer and sat down at the kitchen table. He answered emails and took care of things he could without Ray's support. He also wrote several messages to Ray and Holy Father, among others, just now, informing them that Vincent was out of the hospital. 

He was still working for a while when he heard a sound from Vincent's bedroom, and a moment later a scream. His heart stopped. He broke off running and rushed into the room, not knowing what to expect. 

Vincent was writhing on the bed and screaming shrilly. Thomas had never heard such a sound from him. It's a nightmare. Vincent was having a nightmare. When it occurred to him that no one but him was in the room, his legs almost gave out in relief. 

He ran over to the man's bed and sat on its edge. He grabbed the man's shoulders and began to awaken him. It took a moment to calm his spasm-ridden body and his screams. He began to say anything to the man, hoping to calm his voice: "Vincent, this is just a bad dream. Vincent, I'm here, it's me Thomas. Wake up." 

When he finally opens his eyes, Thomas shuddered at the terror he saw in them. 

Vincent grabbed him by the shoulders and clung to him with a strength he would not have suspected. His gaze was full of terror. 

"Shhh... I am here. You are in no danger. It was just a bad dream," and moments later he felt the man cuddle up to him and begin to cry shrilly. 

Thomas embraced him tightly and hugged him close. He began to rock him gently and stroked his hair, his back, everywhere he could reach. He repeated the same words over and over again and cuddled him as tightly as he could. The position in which they held each other was not comfortable for either of them, especially for Vincent, who might have strained the stitches on his abdomen because of it. As he began to calm down, Thomas pushed him back a bit, asked him to move a little and lay down next to him, leaning against the headrest of the bed. As soon as he did, Vincent landed on his chest and latched onto his shirt with his hands. 

Thomas surrounded him tightly with his arms, as if he wanted to protect him from all the evil of this world. He pulled the blanket over them and stroked the man's hair, his cheek, his neck... He kissed him on the head and forehead, surrounded him everywhere he could with the warmth of his hands. If he could help him in any way now, he would do so. He would gladly take all the pain and all the trauma from him. And he would never let anything extinguish his inner glow. But he couldn't. He had him in his arms, and he couldn't help him. So he hugged him even tighter and again began to say anything to calm him down. 

"It was just a bad dream, Vincent. Just a dream. You are not in danger of anything. I won't let it happen. Ohh, Vincent. My dear Vincent...." 

After a few minutes, the man's breathing evened out and his fists clenched on Thomas' shirt let go, and he placed his upright hand on Thomas' torso. Thomas reflexively covered it with his own. They were very close to each other. Their bodies were touching at full length. Vincent's head rested peacefully on his chest, one arm on his stomach and chest. He felt his hips against her hips and his legs against her legs. If it weren't for the circumstances in which they found themselves in this position, he would now be the happiest man in the world. 

He felt Vincent move slightly. He heard: "I'm sorry. Forgive me," and had to remind him that there was absolutely nothing to apologize for. 

"Did you have such nightmares in the hospital?" he asked in a whisper. It was beginning to get dark outside and the bedroom had become an even more intimate zone because of this. 

"A few times... When they saw that it was happening again, they started giving me sleep medication. So I slept through it."

"I'm sorry," he said and continued stroking his back and hand.

He was blissful. Beside him lay the man he loved. He could feel his warmth everywhere, they were surrounded by each other and the bedding, and night was approaching. He thought it would be very easy for him to close his eyes now and fall asleep. He had fallen asleep in this bed several times, it would not be such a new sensation for him. But he couldn't. He was supposed to take care of him, not think about himself. So he suggested they get up, and Vincent stirred a bit.

He prepared teas for them and carried them outside the house to a bench. He returned for Vincent and led him outside. They sat down and looked in silence at the garden that stretched out before them. 

"We did the same thing with Miguel."

"And you will continue to do so." 

"Nothing will be the same again... Thomas... Thank you. Not only for what just happened. For everything. I don't even want to think what everything would be like without you. I want you to know that you are very dear to me... And I'm glad you're here. Very much." Vincent looked ahead as he said this. Thomas wanted to say something, but the man continued. "Forgive me for not telling you exactly what happened to me. I want to tell you. For God's sake, I want to tell only you!... But for now I don't know how... You saw me... And I hope that's enough for now. Just know that I want you to know. And I promise you that someday you will hear from me about it. Just be patient, Thomas. Please."

And Thomas, completely heartbroken by these words, promised that he would. 

They spent the rest of the evening taking a short walk in the garden, where Vincent showed Thomas the corner where he put out food for the cats, and after returning to the house to read books on the couch. Thomas offered to spend tonight here in the house on the couch, so that he would be close by if necessary, and disposed of Vincent's refusals with a wave of his hand. As bedtime approached, he went to the embassy to get some personal items and prepared his bed for tonight. He washed up, changed into his pajamas, said goodbye and laid down separately. 

Sleep did not come to Thomas as easily as it did in bed in a bedroom not far away, but knowing that Vincent was in it eased his nerves considerably. When he was awakened by a scream a few hours later, he dashed running to the bedroom to wake the man as quickly as possible. 

This time calming him down came easier. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over Vincent, whispering reassuring words to him. He decided not to lie down next to him this time. They were wearing only their pajamas. He was afraid of his reaction, and definitely didn't need it now. For the next half hour, he stroked him like a small child and lulled him to sleep with his words. He thought maybe it was the darkness and the place where he was being held. A little light shouldn't hurt, so he must get it fixed tomorrow. He looked at Vincent and sensed that he had fallen asleep. He waited another moment and carefully got out of bed and left the room, leaving the door ajar. He didn't get any more sleep until morning. 

 

---

 

The following days were the working out of a routine of living together. They woke up after often sleepless nights, punctuated by Vincent's nightmares. The bedside lamp Thomas had obtained seemed to help little. Every day, at different times of the night, he would sit on his friend's bed and rouse him from his nightmares. They were so regular that after a few nights Thomas began to anticipate them and would get up as soon as he heard the first signs of them.

They spent their mornings having breakfast together, and right after that Thomas would get to work. Once he had a video interview with the Pope, to which they invited Vincent. They sat side by side in front of a computer screen, and he could sense that the man was feeling abashed by the situation and having to talk about his recovery. Thomas, to give him encouragement, grabbed his hand under the table. They held hands until the end of the conversation. 

After work, Thomas set about preparing simple meals. Sometimes he would bring something ready-made from the embassy, and sometimes he would prepare something typically Italian on his own to gradually fatten Vincent up. When he managed to get his hands on a piece of Pecorino Romano cheese, he made pasta cacio e pepe and enjoyed watching Vincent gobble it up with relish. 

In the afternoons, they would go out for walks in the garden and exercise Vincent's leg. His progress was starting to become more and more apparent and he was already moving around the house for short distances without a crutch. Evenings were spent on the couch reading books. Sometimes Vincent would fall asleep in the process. To Thomas' surprise, he never had nightmares then.

Thomas enjoyed every moment they spent together. There was so much normalcy in their relationship and temporary solution that he wondered if this was what their lives would be like if they always lived together again. They didn't bother each other, although Vincent still apologized for every wake-up call at night. They lived in symbiosis, and moved around the small house as if they were dancing. Thomas probably knew everything about Vincent's habits by now. Vincent knew what kind of coffee Thomas drank, how long his morning toilet took, and which side of the couch he preferred to sit on. 

After the first week of living like this, Thomas decided it was high time to talk about the immediate future. As they sat outside the house in the evening he broached the subject. 

"Vincent.... Have you thought about what will happen now?"

He answered only after a while. "Yes. I think another week and I will be able to work in the chapel again. Nothing big to start with, a few masses a week. I can do office work right now."

Thomas thought just that. And he supposed this conversation would not be easy.

"And would you consider leaving here? For example, to Rome?" he asked uncertainly.

Vincent looked at him puzzled. "Leaving? Why? This is my post. I'm the head of the mission."

"Yes, you are. And because of the fact that you are, all this has happened to you."

"Lighting never strikes twice, Thomas," Vincent said and tilted his head in his direction.

"Vincent... They already had you once. Now the situation is different. Soon they may find out that you are a cardinal. And then you yourself know what they are capable of..."

"Thomas. I know all this. But this is where I belong. I won't leave here because of fear. Should I leave all these people?" Vincent was agitated. Great. I'm doing great, Thomas thought.

"They would understand that. You were the one who was kidnapped and tortured. This would not be an escape, but a rational solution. You could come back to Rome with me and live with me. At least for a while. You would have access to the best doctors. We would also take Miguel with us. There are more modern prostheses in Italy than here..."

"Don't blackmail me Miguel," Vincent interrupted him with weariness in his voice. Thomas felt he was losing this negotiation. 

"Thomas, I appreciate your concern, but I won't change my mind. If you want, suggest it to Miguel, but I'm not going to move from here."

Thomas looked at him sadly and watched Vincent's delicate profile as he stared ahead. The wounds on his face were healing, leaving bright scars in places. There was no trace of the large bruise under his eye. At the thought that it could all happen again, it made him sick.

Still looking at the man very quietly he said: "I can't be here forever. You know about the fact that I will have to leave soon. I don't want to experience this again. Vincent.... - his voice faltered. - You don't know how I felt flying here with the thought that you might be dead. Please promise to at least consider it. For your family. And for me."

Vincent looked at him and with a barely visible smile said: "Okay. I promise." 

From that evening on, Thomas began praying that Vincent would change his mind.  

 

---

 

To his great surprise, he has watched each successive day as his prayers have slowly been answered. The first time, while visiting Miguel, he offered him the same thing he offered Vincent and was met with a very different reaction.

"That's very nice of you, Thomas. In addition to everything you have already done, you continue to help us..." He bestowed a warm smile on Thomas. 

They were just walking slowly down the corridor of the rehabilitation ward. Miguel was using a temporary prosthesis to re-learn how to walk. For belay, he walked by the wall and every now and then caught the handrail on it. 

"I'll be honest with you... I am also afraid for him. And I think he is too easy a target. They gave him to us once, but I'm afraid that the next time may not be... If my decision encourages him to do so, I'm ready to agree to your proposal."

"Really? Would you like to do that?" Pure joy could be heard in his voice.

"Yes. To live in Italy? Even just for a while? Move Vincent away from danger? Have better medical care? I don't see the downside to that."

Thomas threw himself at him in euphoria and put his arms around him. Miguel wobbled and clung to him to keep him from collapsing on the wall. He patted him on the back and laughed.

"Thomas. Take it easy. We still have to convince him too." Thomas released him from his grasp and, slightly embarrassed, apologized for his outburst. 

Miguel looked at him with kindness in his eyes. "I will talk to him. But," he raised his index finger at Thomas, "I'm not promising anything."

As he said, so he did. Thomas, although he did not witness the conversation, could tell exactly when it took place, as Vincent began pacing the house gloomy and deep in thought. He was reading more than usual and preferred to be alone. Thomas watched from a distance and humbly waited. Fortunately, contrary to his deteriorating mood, his health was improving. He was already able to walk without a crutch and was getting less and less tired. The diet that Thomas and the embassy canteen were serving him was also having an effect.

However, more days passed and Vincent barely spoke to him. Thomas couldn't even tell if it was due to persuasion to leave Afghanistan or post-traumatic stress. He felt terrible about it. Vincent seemed withdrawn from life during the day, but at night he was still plagued by nightmares. It turned out that these nights and waking him up were the only opportunity for closer contact between them. Thomas then felt how much he missed their normal contact.

One night, after calming him down after another nightmare, he returned to the living room on the sofa and, after struggling for a while, fell asleep, only to be awakened moments later by another scream. He woke up again, disturbed by a second nightmare that same night, and found Vincent in his bedroom writhing on the bed as if in spasms. 

He tried to calm him down as he usually does, but quickly realized that in this case it would not work - Vincent was pushing him away in his sleep, as if he was fighting him. Thomas felt his heart go up to his throat. In order to help him in any way now, he leaned over him and, not without force, took his struggling body in his arms, all the while talking to him. It took several seconds before it had any effect. 

Thomas felt Vincent's body relax in his embrace and take in the comfort he offered him. When he finally regained consciousness, he clasped his hands in his pajamas on his back and hid his face in the hollow of his neck. Thomas kissed his head and began rubbing it with his cheek. They continued in this position. Thomas tried to rock him slightly, stroked his back and felt the material of his pajamas sweat on them. After a few minutes, Vincent calmed down enough to pull away and look into his eyes. Their expression, in the small light of the bedside lamp, broke him. 

He asked: "Would you like me to lie down next to you?" and heard a hoarse yes. 

So he pushed back the quilt and went underneath it, arranging himself on Vincent's left side, who made some space for him. He extended his arm in a gesture of invitation and a moment later the smaller man lay down on top of him, snuggled against his side and laid his head on his chest. Thomas surrounded him with his arms and dipped his nose into his hair. They both breathed deeply.

For long minutes they lay in complete silence. Thomas could feel Vincent's breathing and heartbeat calming down and his head floating on his chest. He hugged him tightly and stroked his shoulders, his cheek, his hair. Every so often, possessed by a burning need, he would kiss his head. Lately they had barely spoken to each other, meanwhile now they lay under one quilt on that small single bed and cuddled together with great strength. Truly, life had many more surprises in store for him. If not for the unpleasant circumstances of everything, he would be very happy now. 

After about a quarter of an hour, when he was almost certain that Vincent had fallen asleep, he suddenly heard a whispered apology. 

Very quietly, so as not to destroy this almost sacred atmosphere, he whispered to him: "I told you to never apologize to me for anything."

"Will you stay with me?" asked Vincent after a while. 

"I'm not going anywhere." A few minutes later, he felt the man's steady breathing against his chest. He soon joined him, still holding him in his embrace. 

He was awakened by a slight movement. In horror, he opened his eyes and for a moment tried to understand where he was and what was happening. Vincent's bedroom. Vincent's room. Vincent, he thought and reflexively tightened his arms around him. It was dawn. The morning light was already streaming into the room, and they were still lying cuddled in the same position. Actually, in the course of these few hours, the situation had escalated slightly and his body was now slightly facing Vincent. Chest to chest, head to head. When he realized that Vincent's right leg was resting on his thigh, he felt desire building within him.

He found to his horror that he had to get up right away. Before something bad happens, before this situation takes everything out of him. It was morning, and he had another human being by his side for the first time in ages. And not just any man. Vincent.

One move. Just one move, a slight extension of his head, a finger under the man's chin to point his head up and he could kiss him. Scrape the dream from those eyelids, convey to his lips all the love he had for him. Suddenly he realized that this was what it was all leading up to. Their whole first meeting, the magnetism they immediately felt for each other - he felt that this was what it was supposed to lead them to, that he didn't want anything else in life anymore. Who were they now, lying in an embrace in one bed? It's one thing to wake someone up from a nightmare every night, and another to fall asleep with them in your arms. Had they just crossed a line?

Years of suppressed desire, killing every expression of desire, self-control that he himself admired and all for nothing. He felt his mouth go dry and his breathing begin to quicken. The warmth of the other body was doing unspeakable things to him. He has to get up, because it will be over soon. Because he doesn't want to tear down everything they had. Because he's not here to act like a lust-possessed animal, he's here to help. 

He felt the body in his arms tense up. Vincent had awakened and probably also realized their closeness. He slowly took his leg from his thigh and, avoiding his gaze, moved away from him. Thomas had to fight the reflex to keep him with him. He didn't know what to do with his hand once Vincent was no longer on it, so he put it under his head and looked sideways at the man.

"Good morning," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Good morning," he heard in reply and was given a fleeting smile. "Forgive me, I took the night away from you," he said. 

"No. That's okay," he assured him. In fact, that was one of the greatest nights of my life.

Vincent lay next to him motionless with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. When he spoke, it shocked Thomas.

"You know you can sleep in the embassy? You don't have to watch over me. I appreciate it, you don't even know how much, but I'm taking away your rest.... You haven't slept a single night because of me..."

"Stop... Of course, if you don't want me here, just say one word, but I'm totally fine with it. I'm here for you. If I can help you in any way, I want to do it."

"You'll be leaving soon anyway..." Sadness echoed in his voice.

Thomas turned on his side and, with his hand under his head, was now lying facing him. 

Very quietly he said: "We can leave together." And wake up like that every morning. Fall asleep together. Could I look at that face every day? Would it all be free at all, or would I have to pay a high price someday? 

"Thomas...." Vincent sounded like an anguished man. 

"You are always welcome at my place. And invited. What do you want me to do? Get you the keys to my apartment? No problem."

Vincent laughed. Thomas was pleased with this small victory. 

"I promised you to think about it, and I still do. I really do."

"Thank you. No pressure. But you know what I would like."

Vincent turned his head toward him and they smiled at each other. Thomas felt a small sense of hope. 

 

---

 

The following nights formed a silent ritual. In the evening, after a shared, often silent dinner and evening reading, they went to bed. Vincent to his bed, Thomas to the sofa in the living room. However, the sofa rarely witnessed his all-night sleep. Usually, well after midnight, or sometimes even earlier, the first, stifled sounds of a nightmare came from Vincent's room. Thomas, alert as ever, roused himself almost immediately. He would enter the bedroom, sit on the edge of the bed, gently touch his shoulder, whisper reassuring words until Vincent slowly emerged from the darkness. Disheveled, drenched in sweat, often with a silent scream on his lips.

The first night after Vincent asked him to stay, Thomas hesitated only a moment before slipping under the covers himself after reassuring the man. On subsequent nights, that hesitation disappeared. As the nightmare passed and Vincent's breathing became more steady, Thomas simply lay down next to him. As if by instinct, Vincent would shift, making room for him, and then seek his proximity, snuggling into his side or laying his head on his chest. Thomas embraced him, feeling the tension slowly leave his friend's body, replaced by the sense of security he seemed to derive from his presence. They fell asleep like this, entwined in a tight embrace that for Thomas was both sweet torture and the greatest blessing.

The mornings were a theater of appearances. They woke up still cuddled up, often entwined by their legs, with the breath of the other on their skin. The first to open his eyes would freeze for a moment, soaking up the intimacy of the moment, only to pull away immediately afterward, as the other began to move, gently, almost imperceptibly. A brief, somewhat awkward exchange of "good morning" followed. They avoided each other's gazes, dodging each other on the way to the bathroom and over their morning coffee. Neither of them ever commented on the fact that they spent the night in the same bed, that they fell asleep in each other's arms. They pretended that nothing had happened, that the closeness of the previous hours was merely a side effect of Vincent's night terrors, and not something they both began to need. 

One afternoon they were invited to a video interview with the Pope. Thomas felt hopeful that it would prompt Vincent to leave Afghanistan. They sat side by side in front of Thomas' laptop, staring at the screen, on which, after a while, the Holy Father's face appeared. His countenance was serious, but his eyes looked with concern.

"Eminences. My dear friends. Vincent, Thomas, welcome," the Pope began. His voice still exuded calm and authority. "We are receiving disturbing information regarding security in the region, and especially regarding your person, Vincent."

Vincent sat stiffly, his face impenetrable, but Thomas, knowing him so well by now, could see the tension in his jawline and in the way he clasped his hands in his lap.

"Your Holiness," Vincent began, his voice respectful, "I appreciate the concern, but my mission here..."

"Your mission is invaluable, son," the Pope interrupted him gently. "But we need you alive and able to continue serving. We have received credible reports indicating that the risk of another attack is extremely high. We cannot allow it. There is a possibility that your cardinal appointment may come up." The Pope took a brief pause, letting the words sink in. "That is why I would like you to come to Rome."

Surprise was painted on Vincent's face, and then something like disappointment. 

"But... people here..." Vincent began, but his voice faltered.

"People here will receive all possible assistance," the Pope assured. "We will find a suitable replacement, provide continuity of care. Your safety is now a priority. What's more," he continued, and there was a warmer note in his voice, "I have an important task for you here in Rome. Your experience and your courage will be invaluable in the work I would like to entrust to you. What do you think?"

Vincent remained silent, staring at the screen. Thomas felt his resistance begin to crumble under the authority and concern of the Pope. The Holy Father's words were another powerful argument, adding to Thomas' earlier requests and Miguel's declarations. Thomas discreetly glanced at his friend. He saw the struggle in his eyes, but also the shadow of resignation. The pope wasn't asking, he was issuing a command, albeit clothed in words full of fatherly concern.

When the screen went off, Vincent sat in silence for a long time, with his elbows resting on his knees and his face hidden in his hands. Thomas didn't press the issue, shuffling quietly around the small living room, giving his friend space to digest what he had just heard. Finally, Vincent raised his head.

"It's... it's not that simple, Thomas," he said quietly, his voice slightly hoarse. "To leave all this? The people who count on me?" He shifted his gaze around the modest interior, as if searching for answers within the walls of the house.

"No one says it's easy, Vincent," replied Thomas softly, sitting down across from him. "But the Holy Father is right. Your life is precious. Your continued service is precious. Here, under these conditions, you are like a torch in the wind. But what if..." Thomas hesitated, not wanting to sound too brutal, "...if we're not so lucky next time?"

Vincent sighed heavily. "I know, I hear it all. And I hear Miguel, who is ready to go. And I hear you." He looked at Thomas, and something like surrender was painted in his eyes. "But it sounds like an escape."

"It's not an escape, Vincent. Think about what you could do in Rome without constant danger." 

"I still need to think it over," Vincent muttered, more to himself than to Thomas, but the former fierceness was no longer in his voice. Thomas nodded his head. He waited, knowing that another, perhaps final push was needed.

The next few days passed in a heavy atmosphere. Vincent became even more petulant and thoughtful. Thomas watched him from afar, seeing his friend's internal struggle. His resistance was clearly crumbling under the weight of arguments - Thomas' requests, Miguel's willingness to leave, and now the Pope's direct order. The thought of a new job in Rome, though unwanted, nevertheless offered some vague prospect of meaning in this forced change. Thomas felt that Vincent was getting closer to making the decision that was expected of him, though he knew how much it was costing him.

At the end of the week in the late afternoon, as they were walking in the garden, they noticed Alessandro walking towards them. His face was unusually serious, which immediately alarmed Thomas.

The consul looked at them with a grave expression. "I need to talk to you. Both of you." 

They invited him into the house and sat across from him.

"We received very disturbing information from our sources today," he began. "We managed to foil an assassination attempt on you, Vincent. It was being prepared for the next few days.

Thomas felt the blood drain from his head. 

Vincent went pale. Thomas saw Alessandro's words hit him hard. The information from the consul, a man they trusted, was the final confirmation that his time there was over.

"I know you don't want to leave this place. It's very noble that you still want to serve this community, but in this case I think you have no choice. The stakes are too high. We've all found that out...." He leaned over to place his hand on Vincent's entwined hands and added more quietly: "You did a great job here. No one will forget it. And you will certainly leave a void in many hearts, but it's time to think about yourself. And about the people you are close to." While saying the last words, he shifted his gaze to Thomas for a second. 

He got up, said goodbye to them, saying they knew where to find him, and left. 

There was a grave silence in the house. Thomas looked anxiously at the man sitting next to him and didn't know what to do now. Vincent leaned over and hid his face in his hands. Thomas placed his hand on the man's back and stroked it silently for a moment. Words were superfluous now and Vincent didn't need them. He certainly had all their chasing in his head. 

Thomas thought to brew him some tea. Also to let the sound of boiling water fill the silence in the house. He went to the kitchen and got busy. Every now and then he glanced in Vincent's direction to see if the man had moved, but there was no change. He brewed the tea and set it on the table in front of Vincent. He faced the man and looked at him with concern. Vincent sensed his presence and raised his gaze to him.

They looked at each other with a whole range of emotions in their eyes. Fear, resignation, anticipation. Thomas put his arms around Vincent with his gaze and wanted to show him with it that he was there for him, all the time, in whatever form. Whatever he decides, he will not abandon him. But I beg, I beg.... Make a wise decision. He smiled at the man to give him encouragement and saw the man gently reciprocate the gesture. It amazed him how, despite all the horrors he had endured, he still had that subtlety and innocence about him. He exuded goodness, and Thomas loved all things good. 

Vincent looked at him with those brown eyes and Thomas realized that the decision had been made. He heard the question spoken quietly, "Is your invitation still valid?" and he didn't even know when or how, but he fell to his knees before him. He clasped his hands as if drowning, and indeed drowned, but in his eyes. 

"Yes, yes, yes... A thousand times yes."

Vincent looked at him, then into one eye, then the other. He squeezed his hands with one hand, and with the other he reached out and touched his cheek affectionately. His smile grew and Thomas himself began to smile at him like a fool. This was how his life was now and how it would always be. On his knees before this man, at his every whim. 

"Thomas, Thomas ... " he heard and thought he was close to having a heart attack, that he would leave this world on this foreign land, but at least in his presence, and he was ready to accept it. As long as Vincent looks at him and strokes his beard, everything else is indifferent to him.

The man in front of him raised an eyebrow and Thomas realized he was about to say something. And he heard. 

In the gentlest tone he had ever heard from him, Vincent asked: "Will you take me to Rome?"

With tears in his eyes and a wide smile, Thomas replied: "I will. I will take you to Rome," and fell right into his arms. 

 

Notes:

First of all, huge thanks for reading this 17k chapter! Please, let me know - do you like this long chapters or prefers sth shorter? ;)

I love that you're reading this and your comments mean the world to me — they genuinely fuel my motivation to keep writing.

It amazes me how this tiny, niche fandom has brought together such open-hearted, tolerant people. You're the best — kind, open-minded, and full of love. I wish I could meet every one of you in person.

Thank you for being here!

Chapter 7: Sharing

Thomas woke up and with his half-closed eyes glanced at the small digital clock on the nightstand. It was three in the morning. His eyelids drooped, and he rubbed his cheek against the pillow. He was on the verge of wakefulness and sleep, feeling himself drifting off again, when he felt a movement behind him - a slight dip in the mattress, and suddenly a small body pressed against his back. Vincent . He felt the man rest his forehead between his shoulder blades, and sleep became a distant memory.

It was their last night in Kabul - in a few hours they would board a plane and fly away from here. In the last few days Thomas had been wondering what their life would be like now and, above all, whether Vincent would even want to be a part of it. When the man had asked him a few days ago if the invitation to Rome was still open, Thomas, in a rush of euphoria, had offered him a place to stay in his apartment, and Vincent had accepted the offer. He hoped that once they arrived, Vincent wouldn't change his mind. There was also the matter of finding a place for Miguel, but that was quickly sorted out by Ray, whom Thomas had immediately called to inform of their return. He knew now that he wanted to act fast-before Vincent had the chance to reconsider. He couldn't stop thinking about how their routine would take shape in his Rome apartment, and-above all-how they would arrange the nights.

In the last few days, they had started going to sleep together in Vincent's bed. One evening Thomas had shyly suggested it and Vincent had agreed without a second's hesitation. They lay side by side in the narrow space, trying to touch as little as possible. They talked for a while in whispers and fell asleep. Thomas noticed it on the very first night - he wasn't woken by Vincent's scream. His nightmare had come, but Thomas could sense it before the man started thrashing in its grip. He had quickly held him and soothed him while he was still asleep. A few hours later, he woke up with Vincent pressed against his chest, his face hidden in the crook of his neck. The situation repeated itself for the next two nights, until on the third, they slept through without waking up at all. Thomas thought of his large, comfortable bed at home and imagined them in it together. His apartment had one bedroom, which he occupied, and a small room that he could easily convert into a guest room by putting a bed in it. He wondered if he should do that, or if he should just invite Vincent into his bedroom right away. The thought of it sent a thrill of excitement through him.

He couldn't wait to have him at home, in that big bed, although he suspected he would have to show great willpower. The last few mornings had been a delight mixed with torture for him. He would wake up feeling Vincent's warm body and his own painful arousal. Sometimes Vincent would shift his leg over Thomas's thigh in his sleep, and Thomas would pray that he wouldn't move it any higher. In those moments, his breath would quicken, and he felt as if he were about to explode. Fortunately - to his surprise - Vincent, when not tormented by nightmares, slept like a log. This allowed Thomas to sneak out of bed and escape to the bathroom for an ice-cold shower, where he would wonder who they had become to each other and what this thing forming between them was. After a few such mornings, he realized it would only be worse in Rome. He was going to live with Vincent, exist with him, sleep with him. After everything they had been through together, how was he supposed to create some kind of barrier and control the way his body reacted to the man? He felt terrible at the thought of getting aroused while lying next to Vincent. After all he had been through, he didn't deserve to be objectified like that. He would have to start meditating. As he pondered all this, he felt Vincent's arm move to his side, wrapping around him lightly. The man snuggled into his back even more, placing his hand on his stomach. Thomas's breath quickened. In a simple reflex, he took his hand and held it with his own. He couldn't stop himself from stroking it with his thumb. He would have to get used to similar situations somehow. But how? He didn't know. Surrounded by his body, warmth, and scent, his thoughts returned to recent events.

Over the past few days, he had been completely absorbed in preparing for their departure. He knew it wouldn't be an easy journey. Making it alone had exhausted him; now he had to take care of two other people, neither of whom was fully recovered. He had concerns about how they would manage it all and it somewhat dampened his joy about returning to Rome. He shared these concerns with Monica during one of their conversations. He was walking alone in the garden while Vincent was preparing for the evening mass in the chapel, talking to her on the phone.

"Do you want me to fly over and help you move out?"

"What? No, no... Thank you, but it's impossible for you to come here. I'm sorry, but with your looks... They would go crazy at the sight of a blonde European woman. It could end badly... We'll manage, really. They're adults, after all, not children," he laughed nervously.

"Okay... Call if you need anything. I want to see you as soon as you land, not a week later, understood?" Thomas agreed.

"Where will Vincent and Miguel stay?"

Exactly. He knew people would start asking about that. So far, only the Pope himself and Ray knew, but the information was bound to spread soon.

"We've arranged for Miguel's rehabilitation at a facility just outside the Vatican walls. He'll have everything he needs there and the best care. They'll design a custom prosthesis for him. He'll probably need one more surgery... And Vincent... Vincent will stay with me."

Monica, who as usual was exceedingly understanding, took it as the most natural thing in the world.

"That's wonderful, Thomas. Isn't it? Hey. You know you'll soon be able to stop worrying about him? What bad could happen to him in Italy? It's not like one of you is going to become Pope. Now that would be a tragedy!"

Thomas felt struck by those words. Why hadn't he thought of that, and why had Monica said it? They talked for a little longer, but he couldn't shake off the shock her simple remark had caused.

One of them as Pope? Good God. I would rather die now than ever see that with my own eyes!

It was all the more terrifying because it was, in principle, possible. For heaven's sake-they were both cardinals, and given the current Pope's age, they would likely live to see another conclave. Why on earth had he never thought about it? And why did it cause such a surge of panic in him?

I have to stop thinking about this. The complete tragedy it would be was entirely unrealistic.

No one would look at either of them and decide they were suitable to be pope. It was simply impossible. Nevertheless, for the rest of the day, he couldn't think of anything else.

The conversation with Monica cast a shadow over their preparations to leave Kabul. Thoughts appeared in his head that he hadn't had before. How would they continue to hide that Vincent was a cardinal, how would he explain that the man was living with him, what role would he be given in the Vatican, and how would they explain the Pope's involvement in bringing him over. Besides Ray and Agness, probably few people still knew about Vincent's existence, let alone how close he had become to him. At that moment, Thomas couldn't help but wonder what his close colleague and friend, Aldo Bellini, would say about it. And he was sure that everything would soon come to light. He thought about it all almost constantly, and all of it, combined with the logistics of their departure from Afghanistan, significantly worsened his mood. He could delude himself that he was managing to cover it up, but he quickly realized that Vincent knew him too well.

One evening, as Thomas sat at his computer booking flights for the three of them, he felt the furtive glances Vincent cast his way as he organized books and documents in the living room. He hadn't expected organizing the flights to take so much time, but he couldn't have known - when he flew here, O'Malley had done everything for him. So he focused on doing everything right, when he suddenly heard Vincent.

"Something's eating at you. Is there something I should know?"

Thomas looked up from the computer, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He met Vincent's concerned expression, his dark eyes waiting for an answer. He realized he couldn't hide anything from him, nor could he lie.

"No, nothing's wrong. Sorry, it's just that the closer we get to leaving, the more tired I feel."

"Thomas. We don't have to do this. You can go back alone. I don't want to be a burden to you. And to impose on you in Rome..."

"Please, stop," Thomas interrupted him and took off his glasses. His eyes were burning from the computer. "This matter is not up for discussion. You fly with me, or neither of us flies at all. I'm just thinking about..." He had to rub his eyes with his fingers and then continued after a moment. "About how hard it will be for you at the beginning. And that it will probably soon come out who you are. And how we'll manage it all."

Vincent put down the books he was holding and got up from the couch. He walked slowly over to Thomas, who was sitting at the kitchen table, and with a sigh, pulled out a chair from the side. He sank into it, leaning heavily against the backrest.

"I think about that too." He gave Thomas a sad smile. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, their tired eyes meeting. Vincent was the first to lower his gaze, fixing it on his hands, which were folded on his thighs.

"You know, some things are beyond our control. And no matter how much you want to control them, you might not succeed. So we'll go to Rome and see what time brings. Step by step."

Thomas-moved by these words-sat and looked at Vincent, captivated.

"It probably won't be easy at first. But it wasn't easy here either. And the longer I think about it, I have to admit - much to your delight, I'm sure - that... That a part of me is glad to be leaving this place. That there will no longer be this fear, that I'll be able to walk the streets freely."

Vincent watched as a shy smile appeared on Thomas's face.

"Plus - the memories from here are, after all, marked by the kidnapping." After a moment, he added more quietly: "And the few good ones are tied to you anyway."

Thomas felt his heart begin to beat faster. He blushed like a typical pale Englishman; he felt it immediately. He felt embarrassed by his reaction but couldn't do anything about it now. Shyly and quietly, he replied, "I hope you find your place in Rome quickly. And that you come to like living there."

"I will. I'm sure about that," the man answered, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "What concerns me is... You've already dedicated almost two months of your life to me, you're offering to take me into your home... I don't know where your reserves of kindness end, but I wouldn't want you to feel obligated to do anything..."

Vincent leaned over the table and reached for Thomas's hands. "Thomas... I am immensely grateful for everything you've done. But please, don't feel obligated to help further. It's not your duty. You've already done so much. For me and for Miguel."

"Vincent... There's nothing to talk about. I did it all with pleasure. Not searching for you, of course. I never want to go through that again. But the rest. The rest is good. And if you want, we can return to this conversation in Rome. But for now, the topic is closed."

Vincent looked at him with wide eyes, still holding his hands. Thomas could have sworn he saw emotion in those eyes. He smiled slightly and watched as Vincent's gaze began to wander over his face.

My God. I'm blushing again! ...

With slight panic, he watched as the man's eyes took in his face, thinking intensely about something. Suddenly, he reached out and touched his hair just above the ear, lightly mimicking the gesture of tucking it behind. Thomas stopped breathing for a moment. He had definitely neglected his appearance during his time in Kabul, and his hair had probably grown by about two centimeters, slightly covering his ears. Vincent's gesture made him realize this.

"You need a haircut," Vincent announced cheerfully.

"And a shave," Thomas replied with a nervous chuckle.

"No. I think the beard should stay. But the hair is ready for a trim."

Thomas tried to ignore how fast his heart was beating and how much blood was being pumped to his face at that moment. He felt completely betrayed by his body. He was sure that every emotion was visible to the naked eye. He also knew he was gazing at Vincent with a dreamy look.

"You're right, I need to get myself together before returning to Rome. I'll ask Alessandro tomorrow where I can find a barber."

Vincent straightened up in his chair and said quickly, completely surprising Thomas: "Here. We have clippers. They're Miguel's, but he won't mind. I can give you a haircut. If you want to."

"Like now?"

"Yeah, right now. Come. I have a little experience, I used to cut Miguel's hair sometimes. He never complained." And he stood up from the table, holding out his hand to Thomas.

Thomas took it and rose from his chair. He couldn't help but remember-they were once in a similar situation and it was in Rome, on his apartment's rooftop. Just like then, they stood before each other and let the moment of releasing their hands linger for a few extra seconds.

When they did, Vincent headed towards the bathroom and told Thomas to bring a chair. He placed it in the bathroom, and a fresh memory immediately flashed before his eyes: washing Vincent's hair in the hospital. Now, being together again in the cramped space, it was hard not to think about it. And about how close they had become since then. Every day spent together, every night, and every interrupted nightmare. He felt as if he had been sharing his whole life with Vincent for as long as he could remember. Now he wondered how he could have ever lived without him before. He thought about all this as he watched Vincent bustle around the bathroom, taking the clippers out of a cabinet. Thomas sat on the chair he had brought and took off his sweater, remaining in a simple t-shirt. He handed the sweater to Vincent, who hung it on a hook on the door. He took a clean towel from the cabinet and draped it over Thomas's shoulders. As he did so, his fingers gently brushed his nape.

"Shall we begin?" Vincent asked quietly, his voice low and slightly hoarse. He was now standing right behind Thomas.

"Yes," Thomas replied, trying to make his voice sound steady.

He closed his eyes, trying to relax. Vincent took a comb and began to gently brush through Thomas's hair. His fingers repeatedly swept across his scalp, temples, and the hairline above his nape. Every touch felt like a caress to him. Thomas felt the muscles in his neck relax. He was afraid a murmur of pleasure would escape him. He could sit like this for hours, surrendering to the soothing touch of someone's hands. He wondered if any massage would satisfy him now, or if it was exclusively about the touch of this particular man. After a moment, he admitted to himself that he knew the answer to that question perfectly well.

He heard the familiar buzz of the clippers behind him and felt Vincent touch them to his head. He started from the bottom and moved upwards and to the sides. He cut with rather confident movements. So confident that Thomas, with a twinge of jealousy, began to wonder how often Vincent had performed this task for Miguel. The sound of the clippers, Vincent's presence, and his occasional grip on his nape made Thomas feel more relaxed than he had in weeks. Probably since the last phone call he'd had sitting on his balcony in Rome. Since the last time he had heard his voice before the kidnapping. As the man moved to work more carefully on the side of his head near his ear, their gazes met for a moment in the mirror, and Thomas felt a jolt in his lower abdomen. Great. Just what I needed in this situation.

Vincent turned off the clippers and, as Thomas realized, reached for the scissors.

"I need to trim the longer ones on top with scissors."

"Do what you want," Thomas said mechanically, realizing that as long as Vincent was touching him, he didn't care about anything else at all.

To his immense surprise, Vincent said, "I really liked it when you washed my hair. You know. In the hospital," and Thomas's eyes flew wide open in shock. Vincent was now right in front of him. He could just reach out his arm and pull him close. Bury his face in his stomach and breathe in his scent deeply. He knew he wouldn't do it. Probably never. Vincent noticed his open eyes and looked at him. Their gazes said more than they could say to each other now. Is it possible that Vincent feels the same way I do? Does my touch do the same thing to him? Did I really give him that much pleasure in the hospital? He could only pray that he would one day find out.

Vincent continued working with the scissors until, after a few minutes, he put them down. When he ran his fingers through his hair, Thomas had to close his eyes. Finally, he picked up the clippers again, refined the line at the nape and around the ears, and finished.

"Done." With his hand, he brushed away the loose hairs on his nape and removed the towel from his shoulders. Thomas thanked him and looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn't hide his surprise when the results exceeded his expectations.

"Wow. It seems you have a talent for this. I'm sorry I can't return the favor, but I don't even want to attempt your beautiful hair."

You said it. You really said that, you idiot.

Dazed by his unexpected courage, he uncertainly looked in the mirror at the face of Vincent standing behind him and discovered with fascination that a faint blush had appeared on it. Of course, it wasn't as noticeable as on himself-Vincent, naturally gifted with a swarthy, olive complexion, was better able to hide it. Nevertheless, the very fact that the man reacted this way to a simple compliment made his heart do a somersault.

"I'm sure you'll point me to a good barber in Rome," Vincent said shyly.

A barber and much more.

"Of course. Anything you want."

And they returned to their tasks and preparations for departure. Vincent and Miguel decided to pack only the most necessary things, leaving the rest, which would be difficult to transport without a container, behind. Thomas once overheard them saying that they might return here soon, so there was no point in taking furniture with them now, but the closer they got to departure, the more clearly he felt that he would never let that happen. If the need arose, he would use all his authority in the Curia to prevent any reshuffling. Vincent would never disappear from his sight again. He was too precious to become cannon fodder in a religious war, to vanish somewhere in the name of higher ideals. If the Holy Father even thought of something similar, he would have to face him. For a moment, he was frightened by his own possessiveness.

On their last day in Kabul, Thomas went to pick up Miguel from the hospital. He took his things, and as they were leaving the building, he discreetly watched how the man managed with his prosthesis. He thought with a small sense of relief that maybe it wouldn't be so bad and they would somehow manage the journey back. At least he could hope so. In the afternoon, Alessandro invited all three of them for lunch at the embassy. When they arrived, it turned out he had thrown a small surprise farewell party. Everyone Thomas had managed to meet during his entire stay was present: the embassy staff, the participants of their masses, and the soldiers. The buzz of conversation and laughter filled the spacious room. Platters on the tables were laden with local delicacies and European snacks-Alessandro had taken care of every detail. Thomas, though surprised, felt a wave of gratitude. For a moment, he forgot his anxieties, focusing on receiving well-wishes and shaking hands.

At one point, Alessandro approached Thomas, holding two glasses of wine.

"Thomas, a moment," he said, leading him to the side, towards a large window overlooking the embassy's inner courtyard. "I wanted to thank you. And to say... I'm glad you're taking Vincent from here."

The consul looked Thomas straight in the eyes, and his gaze was filled with concern. "Kabul is not the place for him, Thomas. Especially now. The situation is getting more tense, more unpredictable. Every day here is a risk. What happened to him... I'm glad he'll be safe." Alessandro took a sip of wine. "And that he'll have you."

Thomas felt the consul's words resonate with his own deepest fears. He nodded, unable to get a word out.

"Thank you, Alessandro. For everything. For the help, for this party... And for these words." Thomas hesitated for a moment, then added, "If you ever feel like visiting Rome, please let me know. We would always be happy to host you. It's the least I can offer in return for your help." Alessandro smiled broadly.

"That's very kind of you, Thomas. Who knows, maybe I'll take you up on that someday."

At the same time, out of the corner of his eye, Thomas noticed Vincent standing on the other side of the room. One of the younger embassy employees was talking to him, gesticulating vividly. Vincent was listening, occasionally nodding, but his attention seemed to be divided. Suddenly, their gazes met. Vincent raised the corners of his mouth slightly in a gentle smile meant only for Thomas, then quickly returned his gaze to his conversation partner. A moment later, however, he glanced his way again, this time for longer, as if checking to see if Thomas was still looking at him. This brief, wordless understanding made Thomas's heart beat faster again. There was something in that look that confirmed his conviction that the decision to leave, to take Vincent with him, was the only right one. Even if the future in Rome still seemed uncertain, this small gesture gave him hope.

The farewell stretched late into the evening. Finally, amidst the last hugs and promises to keep in touch, the three of them left the embassy. They walked along the path towards the small house, shoulder to shoulder. When they reached it, they hesitated before going inside, trying to enjoy being in this place for a little longer.

"I'm going to miss this. A night sky like this. I bet it doesn't look like this in Rome," said Miguel.

Thomas thought about it and was about to answer when Vincent beat him to it.

"You'll be surprised. You have to see the night view from the roof of Thomas's apartment. If he invites you," he joked.

Miguel laughed quietly. "I hope so. I'll also miss feeding the cats."

Thomas smiled at the memory. "That can be arranged too," he said gently. "My friend has a pair that she'll gladly let you visit sometimes..." He noticed from the corner of his eye that Vincent was smiling slightly.

Finally, feeling the growing fatigue and the chill of the night, they went inside. In silence, they checked one last time that all the bags were packed and ready by the door, and that the documents were on top. There was a quiet agreement among them that everything was in order. Miguel, leaning on his prosthesis, yawned at length, nodded goodbye to them, and headed to his bedroom. When he disappeared behind his door, a moment of silence fell between Thomas and Vincent. It was their last night here, and also the first time Miguel was in the house with them. The man knew nothing about Vincent's nightmares, let alone their new nightly routine. So they stood there, looking at each other, not knowing what to do in this new situation.

After a dozen heavy seconds, Thomas began uncertainly, "Would you like me to...," but he couldn't finish because Vincent interrupted him with a quick "Yes," and just as they had every day recently, they lay down next to each other in the bed.

Now, lying with Vincent snuggled into his back, he felt a considerable shiver of excitement at the thought that Miguel was just beyond the wall - a man who had no idea about the type of relationship that had formed between his housemate and some cardinal from the Vatican. Had he noticed anything? And if not, would he figure something out when he saw them often in Rome? Thomas's mind went back to the conversation with Alessandro during the farewell dinner, and he pondered his words. I'm glad he'll have you. If there was anyone who could have noticed something during his stay in Kabul, it was surely Alessandro. The man had seen him practically go through mourning and experience a nightmare, and then be reborn, happier than ever. The message was clear. Whatever form of love connected Thomas and Vincent, Alessandro certainly perceived it. With all his intelligence, however, he chose not to comment on it. Thomas was grateful to him for that.

He didn't sleep again that night. Two hours later, he slipped out of bed and out of Vincent's room and began the final preparations for leaving Kabul. The men joined him shortly after, and soon the three of them were ready to leave. They were driven to the airport in two embassy cars. One of them carried only their luggage, and the sight of the collected amount made Thomas feel a little faint. In the second, they all rode together with Alessandro, who helped them get a trolley for the suitcases at the terminal and walked them as far as he could. They said goodbye to him, and Thomas repeated the invitation to visit them in Rome. "We'll give you a tour of the Vatican and Rome. We'll show you places not normally accessible to tourists," Thomas offered.

"You must come. Thomas is the best guide. You'll see for yourself," Vincent added.

Thomas noticed that spark of understanding in Alessandro's eyes. He looked at the two of them and nodded.

"Thomas. A man of many talents. Well, no wonder you've come so far! I'll visit you, with pleasure. Just let me find a convenient time."

And they bid farewell to their new-old friend, heading on their way. When they checked in their luggage, Thomas breathed a slight sigh of relief. If everything went according to plan, he wouldn't have to worry about it until Rome, but there he would be home and could handle everything. Now, all that was left was to take care of his companions and get them safely to Italy.

As their first flight took to the sky, he felt a little lighter. Their first flight passed peacefully. Vincent and Miguel were well-rested, so they didn't fall asleep. Thomas thought with amusement that he would feel wonderful too if he had slept the night nestled against Vincent's back. He even wondered if the man was aware of his nighttime behavior at all. If he woke up in his arms, and what he thought about it all then. He suspected he would have more time to ponder that.

When they landed in Doha, they still had three hours until their next flight. Miguel moved decidedly slower than they did but refused Thomas's offer to arrange a wheelchair with the airport staff for him to get around faster and more easily. Thomas didn't intend to push. He exchanged a knowing glance with Vincent and patiently followed them through the vast terminal to find their second flight.

They settled at their gate, occupying one of the small seating areas with a view of the tarmac. Thomas offered to buy something to eat and returned 20 minutes later with prepared meals and coffees. They ate in relative silence, the general hubbub of the airport providing a muffled backdrop to their own fatigue. After finishing his meal, Miguel pulled a worn book from his carry-on bag and immediately became engrossed in it.

Thomas and Vincent sipped their coffee, their shoulders almost touching, watching the ground crew move with practiced efficiency across the tarmac. The long journey and the strain on their bodies finally took their toll. Miguel's reading slowed, his head began to droop, until finally the book rested on his lap and he sank into a deep sleep, his quiet breathing becoming a steady rhythm beside them.

The small alcove they occupied and the sight of the sleeping Miguel created an almost intimate atmosphere for Thomas. One more flight and they would be home. He had been dreaming of this for months, praying for it since receiving that message about the kidnapping. And now he had Vincent beside him, on their way home, to his apartment. He glanced to his right at the man and studied his profile for a short moment. The wounds on his face had healed completely, leaving only a few smaller, fading scars. None of them had taken away his charm. As they moved through the airport, he noticed the man limped when they walked a bit faster. The prospect of being in Europe in just a few hours pleased him even more because of it. Vincent didn't know it yet, but he would be subjected to a series of tests, arranged by Ray, almost immediately. He would have to thank his secretary for everything. And introduce him to Vincent. He vaguely remembered lamenting out loud as he left his office two months ago that the two had never had a chance to meet. Now they would make up for it.

As he was thinking about this, the man felt his gaze and turned his head towards him. He smiled at him gently and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Thomas returned the smile and began quietly, "I was here two months ago, but I barely remember the journey." He lowered his gaze to his hands and admitted even more quietly, "I was terrified."

He was baring himself before Vincent and had probably never felt so vulnerable, but for some reason, he felt he wanted to expose himself even more to him. He also wished the man would open up to him in the same way and finally tell him about everything he had been through.

Vincent didn't surprise him when he took his fingers in his hand and squeezed them lightly. "I know," he said, looking down at their almost intertwined hands. "I don't know how I would have survived it if it had been about you. I can never thank you enough."

Thomas's breath quickened. "You don't have to. You don't owe me anything, I thought we had that settled..."

"I have mixed feelings about leaving. On one hand, I know it's the only sensible thing to do. On the other, I can't help but feel like a coward. All that work, the effort put into founding the school. The money. Yours, too. It's all gone. And I'm running away instead of rebuilding it..."

Thomas sighed heavily. They had a lot of work ahead of them to get Vincent out of this trauma and guilt.

"To help others, you have to be alive yourself. You can't do anything there now. The situation, as you've heard, is getting worse. And frankly, from my perspective, your presence only exacerbated it. They were focused on an additional fight, with you and our faith..." Thomas covered their joined hands with his other hand and continued, "We'll think about how we can help when we get to Rome and when you're fully back on your feet. I promise."

Vincent only replied with an "Okay," and, slightly embarrassed by holding hands in the airport terminal in the presence of a sleeping Miguel, they let go and moved slightly apart.

They filled the rest of the time waiting for the next flight by reading the news, books, or, in Thomas's case, answering all his messages. Just as he was opening his chat with Monica, his phone rang, and her name appeared on the screen. Amused, he showed the screen to Vincent and answered, watching the smile on the man's face. When he answered, he received a reprimand for not checking in at the next stage of their journey. For several minutes, he had to listen to her comments and complaints on the subject, until the conversation ended with a pleading request to contact her right after landing in Rome.

Finally, it was time for their boarding. They used the restroom and then stood in line to board the plane. On the plane, they were assigned seats in two different rows. Miguel took his seat first, and they sat in the row behind him - Vincent by the window, and Thomas on the aisle. They had an almost six-hour flight ahead of them, and Thomas was glad that he had chosen premium economy when buying the tickets. It gave them more space, and he hoped the men would feel better in slightly more comfortable conditions. Thomas had paid for the tickets from his private account. This and the other costs, including the price for the information about Vincent, had significantly depleted his budget, but still not enough for him to feel it. He had no intention of regretting any of the funds now, nor did he regret spending them to find Vincent. If he could have secured his freedom with money from the start, he would have done it without hesitation. To be honest, he rarely had opportunities to squander his funds because-above all - he had no one to spend them on. Opportunities might soon arise, and he suspected he wouldn't be able to hold back in that regard.

They were sitting comfortably in their seats as the plane began taxing for takeoff. Vincent, who had been gazing out the window, turned his head toward him and gave him a meaningful look.

"Don't you dare change your mind now," Thomas said warningly. Vincent snorted with laughter at that.

The flight went smoothly. The advantage of choosing more expensive seats was the tranquility that prevailed in that part of the plane. The quiet helped Thomas soothe his nerves, which had been frayed in recent weeks, and mentally prepare for the return to work and everything that awaited him upon his return. He saw that Miguel had fallen asleep in the seat in front of them, and Vincent soon followed suit. Thomas watched as the man slumped to the side of his seat and wished the distance between them wasn't so great that he couldn't offer him his shoulder. Well, the greater travel comfort didn't account for someone wanting to cuddle their fellow traveler. He admitted he hadn't thought of that when buying the tickets and realized he missed physical contact with Vincent. If all went according to his plan, they would go to sleep together again tonight. Lost in this thought, he fell asleep.

He woke up a few hours later, just before the plane began its descent for landing. He was surprised by how much he had managed to sleep and that he had slept so soundly.

"Fasten your seatbelt. We're landing soon," he heard from his side and looked at Vincent, who was smiling at him from his seat by the window.

He did as he was asked and looked at his watch. It showed 9:30 PM Afghan time, which meant it was 7 PM in Rome. He found it hard to believe they were home.

They landed and were among the first to leave the plane. The three of them made their way through one of Fiumicino's spacious terminals to the baggage claim area. It was already dark outside. Soon, an Italian November evening would greet them, and a winter that shouldn't be too harsh. Thomas felt himself getting emotional, unbidden. It was probably the return home and happy endings that did such things to a man his age, he thought as he rented a luggage cart.

"Should we order a taxi?" Miguel suddenly asked him, and only then did Thomas remember he was supposed to let Ray know they had landed.

"No, a driver is picking us up. They knew what time we were landing, but I should let them know anyway," so he dialed O'Malley's number and joyfully announced they were home. As he had suspected, Ray had taken care of the details and said the driver was waiting for them outside the terminal.

"They've arranged everything. I need to thank them properly for all this."

Vincent, his eyes fixed on him, said with a certainty in his voice that made him wonder, "Me too."

They waited for their luggage for about fifteen minutes, and when Thomas had loaded it onto the cart, they headed for the exit. He felt his back ache from the weight of the lifted suitcases and thought that weeks away from the gym had taken their toll on his body. He would have to return to a healthier lifestyle if he wanted to be of any use.

After a few minutes of squeezing through the crowded airport corridors, they finally stepped out into the November Italian air in front of the terminal. Thomas thought he was about to burst into tears of happiness. Just when he thought that, after all they had been through, he could allow himself a moment of weakness and shed a single tear, suddenly, someone crashed into him with great force, or rather, hung on him.

Completely disoriented, he tried to push the person away and defend himself from the attack, but he was enveloped by a storm of blonde hair and instinctively recognized he had Monica in his arms. When it fully dawned on him, he wrapped his arms around her tightly and hugged her desperately. The force with which she had thrown herself at him made him stumble. He had to push her away to keep from falling to the ground.

"Of course you didn't let me know you landed!" a scolding, followed by a strong slap with an open hand on his chest.

At the sound of her voice and her words, Thomas burst out laughing and started to cry. Tears streamed down his face, one after another. Tears of relief, of longing, of happiness, of fear.

Monica had come to the airport. Of course, he should have expected it from her. He felt he couldn't get a word out and just stood there, crying with a wide smile in this strange situation. Fortunately, the woman understood his shock and took charge of the situation.

"Vincent! And you must be Miguel. I'm so glad to finally meet you both! I'm Monica." And the next thing Thomas saw was the men being hugged by her (Vincent longer and more tenderly, he noted).

His companions were also shocked by the whole event. Thomas suspected that Miguel had no idea what was happening, as he had never spoken to the woman, nor even heard much about her. Vincent, on the other hand, after freeing himself from her embrace, watched her with a kind and curious expression as she continued her torrent of words.

"Thomas, what did I expect from him, he didn't let me know you'd arrived safe and sound. Luckily, there's still flight radar and his shared location. Sorry, I hope I didn't scare you? It's just that I know you'll be swamped with getting organized and work and won't find time to meet me, and I had to see you. And meet you. Ah, Thomas, I also met your colleague, I think his name is Ray?" Thomas's eyes widened. This woman was unbelievable. "He's standing over there by the car. Oh, a bit further down. Come on, let's go home. You can give me a ride" she threw out, then took the luggage cart and started pushing it in the indicated direction.

Thomas couldn't believe what he was seeing and hearing. A glance at his companions told him they couldn't either.

"Miguel, this is my friend, Monica. Vincent had the chance to meet her over the phone. She's insane," he said to them.

"I heard that!" she shouted back from ahead, and they knew they had to hurry.

Just as she'd said, a few meters away, a black van was parked at the curb, and leaning against it was Ray O'Malley. At the sight of him, Thomas's heart tightened, and he felt another wave of emotion. Ray sprang to his feet upon seeing them and moved to greet them. Thomas saw the hesitation in the man's demeanor; not knowing how to greet him, he extended his hand. Thomas ignored it and hugged the taller man, effectively burying his face in his chest.

"Ray, my friend, welcome. I didn't think you'd be the one to come," he said to him, his voice distorted by emotion. They pulled apart and smiled at each other.

"I figured Your Eminence would prefer a more intimate circle." Thomas felt strange at the sound of the word 'Eminence.' He hadn't heard that title in weeks.

"Thoughtful as always. Vincent, please, meet my assistant, Monsignor Raymond O'Malley. He was in charge of everything in my absence." Thomas stepped aside to introduce the men to Ray.

Finally! He couldn't believe it!

"Monsignor, it's an honor. Vincent Benítez. And this is my friend, Father Miguel Perez. Thank you for all your help."

"Your Excellency, the honor is mine. Father Lawrence has told me a lot about you. Father Perez, it's a pleasure to meet you as well."

"All right, we all finally know each other, so I guess we can get going? Are you going to help me haul these suitcases into the trunk, or do I have to do everything myself?"

Everyone burst out laughing. Thomas thought with gratitude how wonderful it was that Monica had shown up now. She had given him a healthy dose of perspective and a lot of joy, as usual. He would never be able to thank her for everything she had done for him.

They sat Miguel in the passenger seat so he would have plenty of room for his leg, while he, Vincent, and Monica took the back seat. Ray was the driver, and Thomas noted with a smile that he had never seen the man drive anything before. The car was a comfortable black minibus, so they had plenty of space in the back. Monica sat between them and kept talking to everyone. The atmosphere in the car was wonderful; Thomas was overjoyed that they had made it to this moment and that he now had all of them beside him. The drive to Rome should take about an hour now, but time in this company seemed to pass too quickly. Every so often, Thomas would lean over to look at Vincent, and the sight of the slight smile on his face made his heart leap. They had made the right decision. He hoped Vincent would never regret it.

Ray used the time during the drive to brief them on the organization of the coming days. Whenever Monica didn't drown him out, he spoke to Miguel about his future accommodation at the medical facility and his current one, which was the Casa Santa Marta . Thomas was grateful when Ray didn't mention Vincent's accommodation. When he had informed him by phone earlier that the man would be staying with him, he had sensed considerable surprise, but Ray-being the excellent diplomat he was-hadn't commented, merely acknowledging it. He continued to present them with organizational matters. As soon as they recovered, they were invited for an informal conversation with the Pope. The timing was entirely up to them. For now, they would drop off their luggage, and if they felt like it, they could all go for dinner together at Santa Marta. Agness was eagerly waiting to see them. Monica was also invited, of course, if she felt like it. Thomas saw Ray send her a suggestive look in the rearview mirror, and then smile when the woman enthusiastically accepted the invitation. Thomas smiled at her and took her hand affectionately. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Vincent glance at them.

They were entering Rome from a less touristy side, but even so, the main streets were already adorned with Christmas ornaments. Christmas would be here soon, he thought with a little surprise. He hadn't thought about it at all. He had been so absorbed with Vincent that he had completely forgotten about the prospect of spending the upcoming holidays with him. And it looked like-if the man wanted it-that was exactly how it would be. Christmas in the Vatican with Vincent. Could the future look any better? He slightly doubted it.

They were already approaching their destination and could see the walls of the Vatican. Thomas felt a happiness he couldn't compare to anything else. Ray headed for the entrance gate, where guards stood at the winding road, and a moment later, they were home.

"Vincent, Miguel, are you up for dinner? Or would you rather rest after the journey?" Thomas asked, but the men eagerly agreed to the suggestion of dinner at Casa Santa Marta . Ray proposed that he would drop them off at the Ethiopian College and take Miguel to Santa Marta .

"Great, we'll walk to dinner."

When they pulled up to his building, he felt a rush of adrenaline and the joy of being back in his own space. They got out and took out the suitcases-his small one and two large ones that held almost all of Vincent's life, plus the remaining carry-on bags. They closed the trunk, and Monica offered to help them carry the luggage upstairs and walk with them to Casa Santa Marta. Ray drove off with Miguel, and the three of them stood in front of the building entrance, looking at the luggage.

"Okay, let's get this over with." Monica grabbed the largest suitcase and ignored their protests. "Don't worry, this is why I keep going to the gym."

Thomas shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of helplessness and picked up the second large suitcase. At the same time, he forbade Vincent from lifting the last one, saying he would be right back for it. For the next few minutes, they climbed the stairs, and Thomas and Monica went back down once more for the rest of the things.

Finally, they stood before the door, and Thomas inserted the key into the lock and they entered the apartment. They left the luggage in the hallway and the three of them stood at the threshold of the living room.

The first thing Thomas felt was the memory of the day he had left here in a hurry. The memory returned to him with enormous force because the entire apartment was a testament to that day. Clothes were scattered on the sofa, which he had tossed around not knowing what weather to pack for. Documents and books lay on the floor - the search for his passport just before departure; a small empty suitcase he had considered packing; in the kitchen, dirty dishes from a quick morning breakfast. The bedroom surely looked even worse. He took it all in and simultaneously wanted to cry in disbelief that this horror had ended well and apologize to his guests for the mess. With his last ounce of awareness, he heard Monica tell them she would wait for them downstairs and she left them alone.

Thomas realized he was breathing heavily. He took the bag off his shoulder and set it on the sofa. He looked at Vincent. The man was looking at everything with uncertainty etched on his face.

"I would have preferred to welcome you to a cleaner home. But I was in a bit of a hurry then..." he said to him with a smile.

However, he immediately noticed that it didn't reach Vincent. It seemed that memories were catching up with him too.

"I could tell...." he finally said.

Thomas could only nod slightly. Yes, this was what the worst day of his life looked like. The evidence was plain to see. The thought crossed his mind that maybe Vincent didn't want to live with him now, and although he was terrified to hear a refusal, he knew he had to give him a choice.

"Vincent, as much as I want you to live here with me, I need you to know that you're not-in any circumstances-obligated to do so. We could arrange something for you somewhere else, for today with Miguel I guess... Just so you know, that you have another option."

He heard almost immediately: "I'd prefer to be with you. But if you want, I'll move to Casa Santa Marta ."

Thomas felt the blood rush to his face. "No. If that's what you want, you're staying with me."

If he could see himself now, he would see his eyes shining. In response, Vincent smiled at him and moved closer. Thomas saw a hand reaching towards him and a moment later felt it stroking his arm. But that wasn't the end. He watched the man carefully and understood his intention-Vincent wanted to hug him. When this thought fully registered, he instinctively opened his arms and accepted the shorter man into them. They both took a deep breath at the same time.

Thomas felt strong arms wrap around his waist and again, the man burying his face in the crook of his neck. He felt the strong beating of hearts-their rhythms merged, and he no longer knew which belonged to him. In his most natural reflex, he kissed the side of Vincent's head and tightened his grip on his back. He wanted to absorb him, to become one with him; to ensure they would never be separated again. Imperceptibly, they began to sway slightly. Thomas closed his eyes and let himself be completely consumed by the moment. He barely realized he had whispered the question: "Are you really here?" and was afraid he would wake up from some dream, but Vincent immediately replied simply, "I am," and he felt lips and warm breath brushing against his neck.

Thomas felt the atmosphere between them becoming more and more electric and realized they should stop whatever they were doing and go now. He subtly moved his hands to the man's shoulders, giving him a signal that they needed to separate, but as he did so, Vincent placed his right hand on his left cheek and planted a quick kiss on the other.

It took all his willpower not to pounce on him at that moment. He looked at his face and felt like he was about to explode. This man-this beautiful, wonderful man-wanted to be with him. He bestowed incredible tenderness and attention on him, he gravitated towards him.

My God, I'm about to lose this fight! he thought with terror, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Vincent.

From his beautiful brown eyes that looked at him with such warmth, from the lips he longed to kiss. He felt his mouth reflexively open as he began to breathe deeply. He had to control himself before he destroyed everything they had built so far with a single move. The thought that he might frighten Vincent terrified him beyond measure. Instead of what he desired, he reached out his hand and touched the man's cheek, stroking it gently with his thumb. He felt his incredibly smooth skin and understood that one day he would lose the battle with his desire and yield to it.

Not now, not today, and not in a month. Someday the moment will come when I won't be able to stop myself. And you will feel the same. I will see it in your eyes, feel it in your trembling body. Until we both crumble into tiny pieces.

With his gaze intensely fixed on the man's eyes and his hand still stroking his face, he whispered: "Welcome home." In his gaze, Vincent found deep affection.

 

---

 

A moment later, when they went down to Monica who was waiting for them, the woman looked at them searchingly, her gaze lingering on Thomas. One look into her eyes told him everything - his friend suspected something, and he expected he would have to have a talk with her soon.

They walked through the Vatican to Casa Santa Martha . The evening, though in November, was pleasant. They passed trees adorned with Christmas lights and listened to Monica, who was full of excitement about having dinner in the famous house. Thomas noticed that the woman, whenever she could, engaged Vincent in conversation, asking him about everything. He suspected she intended to get to know and sound out the man as best she could. Was she checking if Vincent was a suitable companion for him? The thought amused him.

They reached the entrance of Casa Santa Martha , where Miguel and Ray were waiting for them, talking. They smiled warmly at them.

"Welcome back home," Ray said with warmth in his voice. "Sister Agness is already waiting for us in the dining hall. We've prepared a slightly separated area so that no one will disturb you today."

I really have to repay him for all this somehow, Thomas thought.

They walked through the corridors, already hearing the hubbub of conversations and the clatter of dishes. The main dining hall was, as always, bustling with life. Thomas imagined long tables, covered with simple, white tablecloths, filled with pilgrims, priests, nuns, and staff. Ray led them to one of the side doors, and when they passed through it, they found themselves in the main dining hall, but in an area sectioned off by several screens. In the middle of this small space stood a table prepared for them. As soon as they were all inside, Sister Agness emerged from behind one of the screens and, upon seeing them, clasped her hands in a silent cry of prayer. Ignoring everyone else, she immediately ran to Vincent, grabbed his hand, bent down, and began to kiss it.

Thomas watched the scene unfold with a smile. Vincent, clearly embarrassed by her behavior, tried to lift her to a normal position, and when he succeeded, he simply hugged her. Ray gave Thomas a meaningful look, accentuated by a raised eyebrow-he had probably, just like him, seen so much emotion on Sister Agness's face for the first time in his life.

When Monica moved towards her a moment later to introduce herself, the man had both eyebrows raised. Thomas tried not to laugh-the contrast between these two women couldn't be greater, and his friend could find her footing in any situation.

Miguel looked stunned by the turn of events. He waited patiently for Vincent to introduce him to Agness, and then waited to be shown a seat. Thomas felt bad about it. This whole sudden move must be especially hard for him. Vincent knew a few people here; you could say he had a foothold in the Vatican, but for Miguel, this was completely foreign territory. He would have to pay special attention to him and devote more time to him. Perhaps the man would want to live with them after all. He would have to discuss this with Vincent. Ray showed them their seats. Vincent in the middle, with Agness on one side and Monica on the other, and on the opposite side, Thomas, Miguel, and Ray.

The dinner began with a selection of traditional Italian appetizers. On their table, besides carafes of water and a basket of fresh bread, appeared plates of perfectly prepared bruschetta. Next to them were bowls of marinated olives, slices of delicate Parma ham and hard Pecorino cheese, and small arancini, golden rice balls. The aromas filled the air, and Thomas felt his fatigue slowly give way to a pleasant relaxation. The main course arrived in the form of a large bowl of pasta with a simple but aromatic sauce.

Thomas felt strange, but wonderful. On one hand, after so many weeks spent in Kabul, the return was intimidating. On the other, sitting with all these wonderful people brought him immense relief and gratitude.

He watched Vincent, who ate slowly but with a clear appetite. The man looked around the dining hall, absorbing the atmosphere, his eyebrows slightly raised as if analyzing everything around him. Every now and then, his gaze would meet Thomas's, and a gentle smile would appear on his face. Vincent's meal, however, was constantly interrupted by the incessant questions from Agness. The sister, driven by curiosity and concern, wanted to know what had happened in Kabul, and Thomas tensed in his seat, waiting for Vincent's response, which he gave diplomatically and evasively. The next question she asked him was intercepted by Monica. Thomas glanced at her and understood that the woman had perfectly grasped the situation and had come to the rescue. When she once again answered a question for Vincent, everyone at the table burst out laughing. Her intelligence was invaluable. When no one was looking, he winked at her.

At one point, as they were finishing the main course, the door they had entered through opened, and none other than the Pope himself walked in. He was dressed in a simple gray shirt and a black sweater, which probably caused them to react with a delay. Everyone looked at him in shock and only a moment later sprang from their seats. Ray and Thomas moved to greet him-a learned habit saved Thomas from embarrassment in this situation.

"Good evening, my dears! Forgive me for interrupting. I wanted to see you as soon as possible." The Pope spoke in a hushed voice so that others in the refectory wouldn't hear him. Their intimate gathering would be over. "Thomas, Vincent! It's fantastic to see you! And thankfully, you brought your friend too!"

Thomas approached and formally greeted him, kissing the papal ring, but was then pulled into an embrace. In the Pope's hug, he felt great strength and relief. He clung to him, drawing from that moment, from the almost fatherly comfort his arms offered.

After him, Vincent went to greet him and was also hugged tightly. Thomas heard the Pontiff speak to him quietly, saying how happy he was that he had returned to them whole, and asked for a meeting as soon as he felt up to it. Thomas and Vincent called Miguel over and introduced their friend to the Pope. They greeted each other joyfully, though Miguel's face showed even more shock than before.

Poor thing, he probably won't be able to sleep tonight! Thomas thought with amusement, and a moment later he was smiling broadly when he realized that the only person yet to be introduced was Monica, who was sitting with a most curious expression, a mix of shock and embarrassment.

This is going to be interesting!

The woman approached and-though she did not kiss the ring-shook the Pope's hand vigorously while introducing herself. Thomas, who knew the Pope well, noticed that her self-confidence had impressed him. He knew he had to save her from the awkward silence that was about to fall. She might be an atheist, but now she was face to face with the Pope, and even she was impressed so he stepped forward a little and said, "Monica is my friend, and we owe the success of our efforts in Kabul largely to her."

"Ms. Monica, on behalf of all of us, thank you very much. I am immensely glad that Thomas has such a friend, and that Vincent and Miguel have gained one too," said the Pontiff.

"Holy Father..." Holy Father! I'm gonna roast her for the rest of my days! "I didn't do anything extraordinary. I'm just glad everyone returned to Rome safely. Just please, never let them leave again!" she joked, and her remark made everyone laugh.

They talked for a little longer, and then the Pope left them alone again. They finished their wine and decided it was probably time to end the day. According to Afghan time, it was already late, and fatigue was taking its toll. They said goodbye to Agness and thanked her for the dinner, then walked Miguel to the elevators. They agreed to call each other in the morning and meet to discuss the details of their new daily existence. When he had gone upstairs, they - along with Vincent, Ray, and Monica - went outside Casa Santa Martha .

Monica spun on her heel towards them and said with a wide smile, "Thank you for the invitation. It was good to finally see you. And to meet Ray. And the Pope, of course. Though I'm not sure if I didn't dream that last part... I'm going home, just tell me, how the hell do I get out of here?!"

"I can give you a ride, if you'll agree," Ray suddenly offered. "On the condition that you don't live far away, like in Venice..."

Thomas, however surprised by the offer Ray made to his friend, was glad the man had come up with such a proposal. What surprised him even more was the look the woman gave him - she was waiting for confirmation that she could trust his secretary. He thought that with her experiences, getting into a car with a strange man would always be risky, and he didn't blame her at all. He nodded to her and thanked O'Malley for his help. The man said goodbye to them and went to get the car parked further away.

When the three of them were left, Vincent took a step towards the woman and with a gentle smile began to speak to her.

"Monica, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for everything you've done for me. To be clear, Thomas hasn't told me everything yet, but that's because it's the kind of topic that isn't easy to talk about..." Vincent bowed his head. "But I know you didn't have to do anything, and yet you helped us. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be standing here together today. And if it weren't for you, Thomas. I will never be able to repay you, but I will remember it for the rest of my life. I am so happy that you have such a beautiful friendship... I want you to know that if I am ever in a position to help you in any way, you have my greatest ally. To the grave."

Thomas felt himself getting emotional for what felt like the hundredth time that day, and Monica's face expressed a similar, if not greater, emotion.

With trembling lips, the woman said to him, "You don't have to do anything. You've already repaid me by surviving," and she pulled him into a tight hug, into which Vincent sank. Thomas watched the scene and tried not to burst into tears in front of them.

A moment later, a car with Ray at the wheel pulled up nearby, and Monica hugged Thomas, who asked her to text him when she got home, and they drove off. The men stood for a moment longer, watching the car disappear from sight, then headed home. Home , Thomas thought with no small amount of anxiety. This place had become a home for him, but would it be for Vincent too? He wanted it very much.

In a few minutes, they covered the distance to the apartment, walking calmly through the Vatican paths. Entering the building, Thomas thought about getting a set of keys made for Vincent and knew he had to take care of it as soon as possible. They climbed to their floor, Thomas opened the apartment door and let Vincent in first. He turned on the lights in the house and decided he had to tidy up the space at least a little before bed.

"Will you let me clean up this mess a bit? You don't even have a place to put your things."

"Can I help you with anything?"

"Maybe in a little while. Use the bathroom, wash up. In the meantime, I'll make some space for you in the closets."

"You're the boss here. Can you just give me a towel? And maybe you have some pajamas to spare? I'll need to do a big load of laundry. But you probably do too."

"Of course. I'll get everything ready for you and bring it in a moment. Enjoy your bath," he said to him with a smile, but as Vincent disappeared behind the bathroom door, Thomas felt like banging his head against the wall at the thought of having to enter the bathroom where Vincent would be naked in his bathtub.

He took out a clean towel and decided he also needed to change the sheets on his bed. He intended to offer the bedroom to Vincent, and the bed that had been standing for weeks definitely needed freshening up. The problem was finding some pajamas for him. The man was much smaller than him, and he suspected everything would hang on him, so he chose a simple t-shirt and shorts with a drawstring waist and, with those and the towel, headed to the bathroom. He knocked, and when he heard an invitation, he opened the door a crack. To his relief, Vincent was still dressed and brushing his teeth. He handed him the items and returned to his duties.

He cleared the mess from the sofa, then made some space in the wardrobe and chest of drawers. All this time, the thought that he was making this space for Vincent made his heart beat faster and gave him goosebumps. He moved the suitcases from the hallway to the living room, where it would be easier to empty and sort them, and concluded that they would be getting organized for several long days.

He was just tidying his nightstand when he heard the bathroom door open. Vincent came out and entered the living room just as Thomas was leaving the bedroom. At the sight of him in the oversized clothes, he burst out laughing.

"Sorry. It's the only thing that should fit you."

Vincent, clearly amused, waved his hand and said, "Nevermind, more for you to laugh at. Tell me what to do."

"I'm just getting the bedroom ready. You can help me change the sheets." And he invited him to follow. He had already removed the old bedding and fitted sheet, and now he took a fresh set from the closet. It was time, time to propose some kind of nightly arrangement.

"I don't have a guest room, so I'd like to put you in here. I can sleep in the living room..." he said uncertainly. Vincent grabbed the other end of the fitted sheet, and together they put it on the mattress.

"You know you don't have to. Besides... Thomas, we've been sleeping in the same bed lately. And a much smaller one at that. I think we can both fit in this one without a problem."

So much for all his worries and planning. They made the bed with fresh linens and Thomas showed Vincent where he had prepared space for him in the closets.

Once everything was roughly in order, a trip to the bathroom triggered another nervous breakdown. It was the sight of Vincent's toothbrush. With the evidence of another man's presence becoming so visible in his home, the full weight of the situation began to sink in.

What on earth am I doing? I am a cardinal, and there is a man waiting for me in my bed! A man I love with all my heart, whose death I would not survive, whose body I increasingly desire.

The very act of breathing the same air felt like a sin. Sleeping with Vincent was wrong, as was their constant proximity, yet pulling away felt impossible. For some incomprehensible reason, his presence seemed crucial to Vincent, as if he were the only person the other man needed now, the only one who could help his psyche.

What would happen when his guest recovered, when he received professional psychological help? Would all this end? Would he be pushed away? The prospect was terrifying, almost like losing him all over again. What was he to do? Both paths were impassable. Life without Vincent was unthinkable, but a life with him-the kind he truly dreamed of - was forbidden. They were bound by vows of chastity, and although he sometimes sensed the other man might share an erotic interest, he knew nothing could ever happen between them.

So, all that was left was to lie to himself: that sharing a bed every night wasn't wrong. That it wasn't making them even more dependent on each other. That this intimacy, by itself, was not a sin.

With his head still churning with those thoughts, he showered and dressed. He emerged from the bathroom to find Vincent on the living room sofa, engrossed in his phone. Hearing Thomas approach, Vincent set the phone down on the coffee table- their coffee table?-and rose to his feet. Thomas switched off the lights and, with a nod and a smile he hoped was welcoming rather than predatory, gestured for him to enter the bedroom. The moment they were both inside, a familiar fear surfaced. They were going to bed together again, just as they had for the past several nights, yet this time felt completely different. There was a taste of domesticity in the air, a sense of routine that was utterly terrifying.

"Which side do you sleep on?" Vincent's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Right in the middle, Dean?"

He's teasing me, he thought with relief.

"Of course. Unless I'm hosting some stray cardinal. And when I'm rarely alone - on the left." Thomas could have sworn Vincent's cheeks took on a slight color.

They approached his large bed, each on their own side, pulled back the duvet, and lay down. They left the night lamp on Thomas's side - the only one he had - lit.

Silence fell.

After a long moment, Vincent spoke quietly: "You can turn off the light. I don't think it will be necessary."

"Are you sure? How are you feeling?"

"Tired but fine. A bit overwhelmed. I might not be able to fall asleep instantly."

"Yes... I feel the same." Thomas turned off the light, and now only the faint glow of the moon fell into the room.

They wished each other good night and tried to settle in, but sleep remained elusive for both of them. Thomas's bed was vast compared to the one in Kabul, creating a significant distance between them. He was too far away to feel the warmth of the other man's body, and the cold gap only made rest more unattainable.

Vincent tried to fall asleep next to him for about an hour. Thomas could feel the man tossing and turning and realized it was pointless. He whispered, "Are you awake?" and heard "Yes" in response. Under the cover of night, he gathered his courage and said, "Come here," then extended his left arm over the man's head, signaling that he could cuddle up to him.

He didn't have to wait.

Vincent accepted the invitation without hesitation and nestled beside him, resting his head on his shoulder. Thomas felt a smaller arm wrap around his waist and warm breath brush against his neck. Instinctively, he enfolded him in his arms and rested his cheek atop Vincent's head. This was it. Only now, with him so close, did the world feel right. He ran his hand along his back, over his shoulder blades, down his arms-anywhere he could reach. Gradually, he felt the tension leave Vincent's body as sleep claimed him.

How could either of them ever let this go? Lord, help me, because I can't live without this anymore.

He delayed sleep just to stay in the moment a little longer, savoring the weight of Vincent's body, the knowledge that he had brought him peace. His scent, his warmth, the softness of his skin - it was overwhelming. Without thinking, Thomas pulled him closer and let his fingers drift through his hair.

He was tempted to wake him then and there, to pin him between himself and the mattress until dawn. But he knew he couldn't. Not now. So instead, he pressed a soft kiss to Vincent's head and buried his face in his hair. Only after several long minutes of quiet torment did sleep finally take him too.

 

---

 

The next day started very early. He disentangled himself from the bed, from under a soundly sleeping Vincent, and after looking at his face, he suppressed the urge to kiss him. He took a quick shower, got dressed, and peeked into his refrigerator. It was practically empty, as was the trash can. Ray had probably been here during his absence and taken care of such necessities. Truly, the man thought of everything. Thomas thought it would be a good idea if they could eat breakfast here, without the prying eyes of the Casa Santa Marta dining room, so he put on a thick coat he had pulled from the closet and went out into the newly waking and cold morning. Ten minutes later, he was in a small café that also sold pastries. He drank a quick espresso while standing and bought a whole host of various rolls, both sweet and savory. As he walked back home, he felt how much he had missed all of this.

Upon returning to the apartment, he was met with silence. He peeked into the bedroom and found Vincent asleep, lying on his stomach with his arms stretched above his head. The sight stirred everything in him at once - longing, desire, tenderness, and an ache he couldn't name.

And then something else hit him: the room felt different now. He'd never really noticed the decor before. Sure, it had always been comfortable - gray wallpaper, a dark wooden bed, heavy curtains, a small rug that softened the floor - but only now, with Vincent tangled in the sheets, did it feel like a home .

It took everything in him not to crawl into bed and mold himself against Vincent's back.

He returned to the living room and resumed unpacking his suitcase. From the closet, he pulled out a large laundry basket and filled it, then set it beside Vincent's suitcases as a quiet suggestion - he could do the same. Later, he'd show him where they did their laundry.

Moving carefully to avoid waking him, he tidied the living room and kitchen, erasing the last traces of his chaotic September departure. He even cleared space in the large hallway closet so Vincent would have a place to hang his coats.

That's when it struck him - Vincent probably didn't own any proper winter clothes. If he was open to it, Thomas would take him shopping.

Half an hour later, a sleepy Vincent emerged from the bedroom, and at the sight of him, especially his slender legs, Thomas's heart skipped a beat. They greeted each other with shy smiles.

"Do you always get up this early?"

Only when I can't keep my hands to myself.

"Usually. How did you sleep?"

"Well. Very well, actually." If he didn't know him well, he wouldn't have caught the slight tremor in his voice.

"Do you want to have breakfast here, or would you prefer Casa Santa Marta ?" he gave him the choice.

Vincent looked around the living room and kitchen. "I'd prefer here."

"Great. Because I bought fresh pastries."

"What? When? You've already been outside?"

"Yes, a walk at dawn in Rome is divine. You should do it sometime too."

"Oh Thomas.... You're one of a kind." And passing him on the way to the bathroom, he lightly patted his arm.

 

---

 

Their first Italian breakfast together tasted exceptional. They agreed to start the day with laundry, then pay a visit to Miguel. Thomas mentioned that later he needed to stop by his office - just to check in, see what had happened in his absence. Vincent was welcome to come along. He could see the Apostolic Palace, maybe even do a bit of sightseeing.

Vincent seemed agreeable to everything until the topic shifted. When Thomas brought up the medical check-ups he should undergo, something in Vincent's expression changed. Thomas assumed it was the trauma still hanging over him like a shadow. A psychologist's support would likely be necessary, but he didn't want to push that just yet. It was still too soon.

He trusted Vincent's wisdom; he would reach for help when he was ready. But physical health was non-negotiable.

"I'll ask Ray to book appointments at the Vatican's private clinic," he said gently. "It's best to get everything checked out as soon as possible."

All he received in return was a softly spoken, "Okay." And that quiet reply only deepened his concern.

To ease the rising tension, Thomas stood and placed a hand on Vincent's shoulder, squeezing it with quiet reassurance. "We'll do this together, step by step. You don't have to worry about anything."

Vincent looked up, eyes full of fear and gratitude. He gave a small nod, and the faintest hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"Okay, let's get to work," and they took the laundry basket to the small laundry room in the basement of the Collegio Etiopico. Thomas showed Vincent how to operate everything so that he could always manage on his own, then they started their washing machines and returned to the apartment to get dressed. Thomas took one of his thicker cardigans from the closet and gave it to Vincent. "Put this on before we go out. It's chilly outside." And the man did as he was asked, then put on his thin jacket over it.

They reached Casa Santa Marta in a few minutes and met Miguel in the lobby. They settled all the details with him. Thomas explained that tomorrow they would take him for his scheduled stay at a specialized rehabilitation center nearby. There, the best specialists would take care of him, and a modern prosthesis would be fitted for him. After a few weeks of rehabilitation, he should be as good as new. Vincent and Miguel looked at each other with concern.

"Thomas, this must cost a fortune..." Vincent began.

"I appreciate your efforts, but I'm afraid I can't accept this. I thought about it even before coming here, and I can't afford it," added a concerned Miguel, panic audible in his voice.

Thomas placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Listen to me carefully. Everything is taken care of. You don't need to worry about the costs - none of it. Your only job now is to focus on getting better. Understood?" His voice left no room for debate, yet carried undeniable warmth.

He gently encouraged Miguel to at least explore the place he was staying for now and promised they'd catch up once his new prosthesis was ready. There were things that needed to be done, steps they had to take.

With a final promise to return later, they left Santa Marta behind.

 

---

 

After saying goodbye to Miguel, they headed towards St. Peter's Square to enter the Apostolic Palace. When they reached Thomas's office, they were greeted by Ray, busy with his work. Thomas let Vincent into his study and quietly asked his secretary to arrange for an extra set of keys to the apartment. When he joined Vincent, a cold shiver ran down his spine at the very threshold, just remembering the last day he was here. It was here, on a certain September morning, that he had heard about the attack; it was here he understood that Vincent could have died. Today, seeing him in the middle of this office, his throat tightened.

Only after shaking off these memories did he take in the space. His office was exactly as he had left it. The huge oak desk was groaning under piles of documents, files, and letters that had accumulated during his absence. Ray had certainly sorted them by priority, but the amount of work was overwhelming. He asked Vincent to sit in the guest chair, while he took his own.

But Vincent didn't sit down right away. He slowly walked to one of the tall windows of the office. A breathtaking view of St. Peter's Square unfolded before his eyes. A huge Christmas tree already stood in its center. He stood there for a moment in silence, then turned around, his gaze sweeping over the majestic interior and stopping on the overwhelming mountain of papers on the desk. "So this is where you hold office every day..." he said quietly, with a note of disbelief in his voice. Only then did he take the indicated seat.

Thomas saw the man looking with wide eyes at the piles towering on the desk and allowed himself a deeper breath. Vincent shifted his gaze from the desk to him and said, "You hold such an important position, you have all this on your shoulders... and yet you dropped everything and disappeared for two months." Was it disbelief in his voice? Admiration?

"You know I was working in Kabul."

"It doesn't look like it to me."

Thomas nervously tapped his finger on the desk. In the office, it hit him how much he wanted to move on and not dwell on those events. To do that, he had to get to work. He naively thought that tackling the mess on his desk would help him sort out his private affairs in his own head.

"I need to at least skim through all this. I need about two hours... Of course, you can stay here if you want. You could also go for a walk around the Palace..."

"I don't want to disturb you, I'll go. You can call when you're ready."

"You never disturb me..."

Vincent gave him a warm smile that went straight to his heart.

"Before you go... Please, let's just decide when we'll meet with the Pope... We should let him know soon."

Vincent held up both hands: "I leave it to you. The sooner, the better."

There was a knock on the door, and Ray appeared. In this place, one could never count on privacy.

"Your Eminence..." He approached the desk and placed a set of keys on it. Thomas, surprised by how quickly he had managed it, stared at him. "Can I help you with anything else?"

"Thank you, Ray. Vincent will be exploring the Palace for a while. Could you show him which way is best to go first?"

"Actually, if Your Eminence allows... - he turned to Vincent - I can show you around a bit. If you'd like."

"That's a great idea, Ray. Thank you." He turned to Vincent: "You'll be in good hands. Ray knows every stone here."

Vincent looked at Thomas with an almost mischievous smile and said, "I'm going exploring." He stood up from his chair and followed Ray out. As he closed the door behind him, he winked at Thomas.

 

---

 

In two hours, Thomas didn't even get through half of the documents, but he left the office anyway and found Vincent talking with Ray in the courtyard of the Palace. O'Malley seemed to be exceptionally at ease in his presence, and Thomas found that he wasn't surprised at all. Vincent had that effect on everyone.

"Ray, my friend, could you contact the Pope's secretary and let him know that we are available at any time?" Ray confirmed and they said their goodbyes, with Thomas promising to come to work for longer tomorrow and slowly get back to his full duties.

They returned to Casa Santa Marta and had lunch with Miguel. They were all aware that they wouldn't be seeing each other as often now, so they savored this time together. Thomas could feel the focused gazes of others in the dining hall on them and guessed that certain speculations would soon begin to arise. He was pulled from his thoughts by a message from Ray, informing him that they were invited to see the Pope in an hour. Good. The sooner, the better. At least today Miguel could go with them. After the meeting, everything would be clear. And they could move forward.

At the appointed time, they appeared at the papal apartment, were let in by the Pope's secretary, and led to the study. The three of them waited there for a few more minutes until finally the door opened and a formally dressed Pope entered.

"Buongiorno! Forgive my lateness." And he began to greet each of them in turn.

Once the pleasantries were exchanged, the Holy Father looked at them with genuine, unconcealed joy.

"Allow me to say once again what a tremendous relief I feel, seeing you both in this office, whole and healthy," he said, his voice full of warmth. Then his gaze shifted to Thomas. "And to you, Thomas, I want to thank you especially. I know that what you did required immense courage and went beyond your duties. But you were guided by your heart and, as is evident, Divine Providence. You brought our brothers home. Thank you."

Only after these words did the Pope gesture for them to take their seats in the armchairs, while he himself sat in his, placed centrally. His face, smiling until now, grew serious, and a fatherly concern appeared in his eyes.

"I know you have been through hell," he began, and his voice, though quiet, filled the entire study. "And I know that your hearts and minds are still in Kabul, with the people you served so faithfully. But we must face the truth. Your work there has come to an end." The Pope looked at them with concern. "I hope you will receive the necessary help here, both medical and psychological. Please, do not be afraid to ask for anything..."

These words hung in the air. Thomas saw Vincent clench his hands on the armrests of his chair, and Miguel's face tensed. But the Pope didn't give them time to respond.

"Your mission, however, does not end. It merely changes its location," he continued, a new, stronger note in his voice. "Your experience, your suffering... has given you an authority that no one else in this place has. That is why I need you here. In Rome."

He leaned forward slightly, looking piercingly at Vincent, then at Miguel.

"The Dicastery for Evangelization urgently needs a voice from the front lines. Vincent, I would like to appoint you as my Special Advisor for the Church in areas of conflict and persecution. You will be responsible for creating strategies for missions operating in the most dangerous corners of the world. Their voice, their support, and their shield. Who, if not you, is to teach them?"

Then his gaze rested on Miguel.

"And you, Miguel, will continue the work you so wonderfully began. I would like to offer you the position of Head of the Office for Educational Projects in Mission Territories, reporting directly to Vincent. The school you founded in Kabul will be a model for dozens of others that, with God's help, we will build."

A long silence fell, broken only by the ticking of an old clock. Vincent and Miguel looked at the Pope in absolute shock. Thomas felt his heart pounding as he watched their reactions. It was the perfect solution - honorable, important, and above all... safe.

"My duty, as a father, is to protect my sons," the Pope added more gently. "And you are sons who have suffered enough. The Church needs you alive."

It was finally Vincent who, swallowing with difficulty, found his voice.

"Holy Father, we... we don't know what to say. This is... a tremendous honor, but..."

"You don't have to answer now," the Pope interrupted him with a gentle smile. "Go back. Pray on it. Talk it over. Thomas is certainly someone you can discuss this with. I trust him completely... As soon as you are ready, I await your answer, but my heart already knows it."

They talked for a little while longer, but Thomas could feel that the men were absent in spirit, and it was mainly he and the Pope who carried the conversation. He also felt that, after everything, a separate invitation for a personal meeting awaited him to recount all that had happened in Kabul. At the end, the Pope gave them his blessing, and they, still stunned, stood up and left the study in silence.

Given their moods, Thomas suggested they attend evening mass. So they went to Casa Santa Marta for it, and immediately after, they had a small dinner. The men were still in rather somber moods. Thomas, on the other hand, could barely hide his joy. They had been offered jobs here. And not just any positions! Vincent could achieve so much more from here than he ever could from Kabul; he just had to let that thought sink in. Above all, he was to be always close to him, under his watchful eye and protective arms. A few days-that's all they'd need for Vincent to finally accept his new destiny. For obvious reasons, he wasn't worried at all about Miguel's decision-he was sure the man would do the same as his friend.

Vincent remained quieter for the rest of the day, clearly lost in thought. When they returned to the apartment in the evening and prepared for bed, to Thomas's slight disappointment, Vincent said he wasn't going to sleep just yet.

"I'd like to sit and read for a while. Think a little. Will you let me?" he asked, and the hope in his voice broke Thomas's heart. So he went to bed alone, leaving Vincent on the sofa in the living room with a book in his hand. In the dim light of the floor lamp beside the sofa, with his legs covered by a blanket, he looked utterly captivating. Thomas had that image seared into his mind as he lay in the darkness of his bed. Even though he had only slept with Vincent in it once so far, he now felt a longing for him and a strange emptiness.

Sleep refused to come to him again. Every so often, he would glance towards the hallway, but he could still see the faint light from the living room. Vincent needed to think things through deeply, but there was really nothing to think about. Thomas wouldn't entertain the option that the man might reject the Pope's offer, yet various thoughts galloped through his head, none of them helping him to relax. Finally, tired of his internal monologue, he fell into a light sleep.

He was awakened from it a while later when the mattress dipped slightly and he sensed Vincent getting into bed next to him. He opened his eyes slightly and saw that the man had lain down on his side, facing him, with a small gap between them. In the darkness, Thomas could vaguely see slightly shimmering eyes staring at him. He reached out his open left hand towards him and placed it on the pillow between their heads. Vincent understood instantly and accepted the invitation, placing his hand in his. They lay like that for a moment in silence, until finally Thomas whispered to him: "Everything will be all right. I know, it sounds terribly cliché, but don't worry about anything. We'll handle everything."

He stroked the back of his hand with his thumb and stared into the darkness at those two shimmering points. He felt Vincent squeeze his hand tighter and mechanically began to stroke the back of his hand with his thumb. It was then that the man moved a little closer to him and pressed his cheek against their joined hands. He was so close that Thomas could feel his warm breath on his face. If only he could lift every burden that had fallen upon his shoulders, he would want to do it. But he could only offer his company. A poor consolation, but so far it seemed to help a little. So he moved a little closer to the man and touched his forehead to his. For the second time since returning to Rome, they fell asleep beside each other in his bed.

 

---

 

The following days passed with them slowly finding their footing in the new reality. They drove Miguel to the rehabilitation center together, which was both the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another. From then on, Thomas and Vincent began to build their shared daily life. They spent mornings having breakfast together, after which Thomas would leave for work. He would spend a few hours in his office and around noon, he would leave to check on Vincent. Sometimes he would take him for coffee at nearby cafes, and sometimes, besides coffee, they would also buy tiramisu. After such an outing, Vincent would walk Thomas back to the Palace and sometimes have a chat with Ray. Later, he would return to the apartment, for which Thomas had previously given him the keys, and wait for him to come back from work. They spent their evenings together and went to bed together. Their nightly alliance was never mentioned during the day. Nor was the fact that they spent every night huddled together.

In addition to walks in the Vatican Gardens and daily visits to Casa Santa Marta, they also began to take short trips around Rome. These were very short walks and couldn't even compare to their spring sightseeing, but they were a good sign, a sign that something was returning to normal, that Vincent's condition was improving. After the first week, Thomas noticed with a great sense of triumph that Vincent hadn't been plagued by nightmares a single night. The change of environment certainly had an impact, and he was immensely happy that Rome seemed to be his safe haven. Rome, his apartment, maybe even he himself.

Thomas was also slowly getting back on track with his work. After a few days spent poring over documents and with Ray's invaluable help, he had dealt with most of the backlog and felt a sense of relief. However important everything he had done in recent months was, he still felt he was neglecting his duties to the College and the Pope himself. One evening, he was invited to play chess with him, just like in the old days, which now seemed decades ago. As he had suspected, he was asked about every little detail of the situation in Kabul, the men's injuries, and everything related to it. The Pontiff asked if he had spoken with Vincent about his treatment, and when he replied that he hadn't, he heard, "You should," and he thought for a long time afterward about the mysterious expression on the Pope's face. When he returned to the apartment that evening, he sat next to Vincent on the sofa and watched him read a book. He decided that in the morning he would suggest checking on his health after everything he had been through and - if Vincent agreed - he would book his first doctor's appointment.

 

---

 

As it turned out the next day, Ray had already taken care of scheduling the doctor's appointment. He informed Thomas about it in the morning at work, providing the details of the place they should go. The appointment was for that same afternoon, and Thomas felt a small panic, imagining what a huge faux pas it was to discuss such matters behind Vincent's back. He didn't want to tell him over the phone, so he apologized to O'Malley, informing him that he had to go out to take care of something, and returned home, where he hoped to find Vincent. It was still early, too early for their standard meeting during the day, so when he entered the apartment, the man asked him with fear in his eyes if something had happened. He was standing in the kitchen in simple jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and the gray sweater Thomas had lent him on the first day. The sight of him dressed like that always tugged at his heartstrings.

"No. That is, I just wanted to tell you something..." He came closer and took off his coat, which he then tossed onto a chair by the table. "Ray scheduled a doctor's appointment for you today. I know we haven't had a chance to talk about it yet. I wasn't planning on doing anything without discussing it with you first, but O'Malley always plans everything... I know you'd rather avoid it, but maybe it's better to get it over with and make sure everything is okay?"

Thomas watched as Vincent's face changed. A slight shock, fear, and confusion appeared on it.

He managed to force out, "You're fast," but nothing more came from his lips. He looked at Thomas with disappointment, and that completely broke him at that moment.

"The appointment is at 6 PM. He's a good doctor, works only for the Curia. He'll tell you what's next after everything you've been through." When Vincent didn't answer, he added, "I'm sorry it came up so suddenly and without discussion. You know I would have preferred it differently..."

Vincent gave a crooked smile and nodded. "It's fine. You don't have to apologize." Then he walked into the living room and sat on the sofa. Thomas looked at him with surprise and followed. He watched him uncertainly, and Vincent's behavior began to worry him even more. His gaze was almost vacant and fixed firmly on the window opposite.

He was about to say something when he suddenly heard, "I have to tell you something." He looked up and met Thomas's eyes from above. "Will you sit down?"

He felt a large lump forming in his throat and with a heavy heart, he sank into the armchair next to the sofa.

"You need to know that I hold nothing against you, especially for taking care of my health, for your concern... I am immensely grateful for it. But I'm also afraid of further tests for other reasons... And as much as I don't want anything to change after what I tell you, I'm afraid it will..."

Thomas saw Vincent looking at him from under narrowed eyes and felt himself growing a little faint.

"Do you remember how we met? I flew to Rome from Switzerland then. I never told you why I was there, and you, because you are wonderful, never pushed to find out... You see... I was in Geneva, where I visited a hospital. Or rather, a clinic. I was going to undergo a surgery that, in my mind at the time, was necessary."

Thomas was silent, spellbound, absorbing every word, trying to make sense of any of it, but fear prevented much from getting through. The darkest scenarios began to swirl in his head, from an incurable disease to legal troubles. None of them prepared him for what was to come.

Vincent took a shaky breath and continued, not looking him in the eye. He focused his gaze on his hands, clenched on his knees.

"When I was just before forty, I got appendicitis. A simple, routine surgery, nothing major." He paused, as if gathering strength. "But after the surgery... the doctor asked me for a talk and told me that during the procedure, they discovered something unexpected."

Thomas felt his heart rise to his throat. He dared not move and could barely breathe.

"They discovered that my internal organs don't fully correspond to what's visible on the outside. That I was born with characteristics of both sexes." He finally looked at Thomas, and his eyes were filled with pure, unbridled fear. "I'm intersex, Thomas."

The word hung in the air. Thomas tried to understand it, to fit it to the man sitting before him, to everything he knew about him, but his intellect was failing him now. The silence in the room became deafening. Intersex? What does that mean? Vincent is Vincent, and I've never had any doubts about that. Thomas felt himself frowning, trying to comprehend what he had just learned, but his mind was failing him.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm following... Vincent, what are you talking about?"

Thomas looked at him as if he had suddenly started speaking a foreign language. This was clearly not helping Vincent, who looked even more tormented.

"Physically and on the outside, I'm no different from other men. But besides that, I have female reproductive organs inside. And on a genetic level, I'm more female..." Vincent had his head bowed and looked at him with sadness on his face. Thomas still couldn't find the right words, so the man continued quietly.

"I was born this way. For almost forty years, I lived without having any idea," Vincent's voice was now quiet, almost broken. "I felt... like a fraud and a liar. My whole life was suddenly turned upside down. The priesthood and the role of archbishop, all marked by a great sin. Everything I thought about myself turned out to be a lie. I wrestled with my thoughts, but eventually, I flew to Rome and submitted my resignation. Suffice to say, it wasn't accepted... The Pope spent a lot of time with me to find some solution. And he came up with one. That's why I went to Switzerland," Vincent finished. "The clinic in Geneva specialized in these types of cases. I was supposed to have the female parts of me removed. I just wanted to be normal, whatever that means. But when I got there... I couldn't do it. I understood that I was born this way. This is how God created me. And interfering with His will would be a greater sin... I gave up and came back to tell the Pope. And that's when I met you." He looked up at him, his eyes full of pain and uncertainty.

Thomas was beginning to understand. All the tension whenever the topic of a doctor came up. The fear of what he himself would think of it now. He looked at the man and saw the same Vincent as always. Even if he didn't fully understand what the term "intersex" meant, he immediately felt that it changed nothing between them. He just wanted to be sure that his Vincent was healthy. That everything was okay with him.

The man was looking at him as if waiting for a blow. If he thought so poorly of himself, how must he have felt revealing this secret to him? Suddenly, the need to comfort him and take him in his arms surpassed everything else. He rose from the armchair as if in a trance, took a few steps, and knelt before him, taking his hands, which were resting on his knees.

"Vincent..." he finally rasped, his voice breaking. "I don't know what to say... Thank you for telling me this." He took a deep breath so that his next words would sound firm and clear.

"I'm sorry you had to carry this inside you in secret all this time. I can't even imagine how you must have felt..." He kept stroking his hands. He looked at them, and suddenly, when he saw the contrast they made with his own, it hit him-they were delicate. He was delicate all over. At times, delicate in a feminine way. He moved with grace, his figure was slender, his skin almost perfect, and few of his physical features could attest to his age. Suddenly, it dawned on him that it had always been there. From their first meeting, from the first glance and handshake - Thomas had been struck by his delicacy and beauty. He realized that this was what drew him to him. The mix of his masculine and feminine elements. That was what made up the whole of Vincent. His Vincent.

With his gaze still fixed on their intertwined hands, Vincent whispered, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I wanted to, but then all this happened and... I'm sorry. And I hope you can forgive me. I'll understand if you want to distance yourself now... It's a lot to drop on someone..."

Thomas shook his head in denial. "Distance myself? Why would I do that? Vincent, you are the same person I met, the one I know, the one I..." love. He let out a sharp breath and took several deep ones. He tightened his grip on the man's hands and bowed his head to find his gaze. Vincent was unyielding, so Thomas gently took his chin and guided it upward. When their eyes met, he felt shivers run down his spine. "If you're worried about that, I have no intention of changing my attitude towards you now. Or changing anything at all. It's true, it's shocking and unexpected... And I would never have even thought of something like this. But I think that for my advanced age, I am tolerant and can understand a lot." Finally, he saw a slight relief and a shadow of a smile on Vincent's face, and a moment later his eyes began to glisten, and a tear rolled down his cheek, which Thomas immediately wiped away with his thumb. "Don't worry about anything. As long as you want me to, I will be by your side. I don't think there is any force in the world that could make it otherwise."

Now Vincent looked at him with even greater disbelief. An incredibly short distance separated them, and Thomas, kneeling before him, was practically between his parted knees.

"I can't believe you took it so easily. As if I hadn't just revealed such a heavy and painful secret."

"No, no... Vincent..." Thomas said and took the man's face in his hands. "This is neither painful, nor wrong, nor improper. This is all of you. And for me, it means there is even more of you. More of Vincent." - To love. - "And for God's sake, how else was I supposed to take it? Surely you don't think so poorly of me?"

"Thomas..."

"I hope it doesn't cause you any health problems? Did anyone in Kabul examine you in that regard after the kidnapping?"

"No. They didn't discover it, and only the Pope, the doctor in Geneva, and now you know about it."

"And, as I assume, you don't want anyone else to know." A nod. "Alright, we'll handle this without any problem."

Vincent looked at him with both sadness and tenderness in his eyes. Thomas felt him place his hands on his shoulders and say, "I don't know what I did to deserve you. You are the brightest ray in my life," then he leaned in and hugged him.

Thomas held him tightly, feeling his soft hair against his face and recognizing the scent of his own shampoo. After a moment, Vincent pulled away, his face streaked with tears.

"Don't kneel like that, come here," and a moment later Thomas was sitting on the sofa with his arm outstretched, into which Vincent immediately snuggled.

We've never done this before, it occurred to Thomas. Not in this room and during the day. Usually, when they spent time in the living room, a certain distance separated them. Cuddling happened at night. In bed. In the dark. But not now. Now they sat, touching generously. Holding each other in a tight embrace, stroking backs and shoulders. This was more than friendship, and Thomas was now certain that Vincent felt the same.

He himself was filled with a whole host of emotions. Shock was at the forefront. What he had just learned was so unexpected that he suspected it hadn't fully sunk in yet. On the other hand, he would be lying if he said that Vincent's delicate side had never made him wonder. He was also incredibly moved that Vincent had decided to share this confession with him. And that, he thought, was what moved his heart the most. The trust he had placed in him.

"If you want me to, I'll go to the doctor. I just don't want to be examined too thoroughly. That's all."

"Okay. You won't be. I promise, I'll take care of you," and Vincent snuggled into him even more tightly.

 

---

 

The doctor's visit brought a wave of relief that swept through the small apartment with the force of a hurricane - Vincent's body showed no signs of permanent damage. All he needed was time, peace, and good care. Thomas felt an invisible weight fall from his shoulders, one he had been carrying since the moment he saw him in Kabul.

Vincent's confession demolished the last wall between them. The final remnant of formality vanished, and their shared daily life took on a new, deeper intimacy. Thomas, fascinated, rediscovered the man by his side, seeing in his delicacy not weakness, but a unique, captivating complexity. His feminine delicacy was complemented by a surprising yet undeniable authority that he sometimes emanated. He was both beautiful and intimidating. Seductive and innocent. Thomas constantly wondered how he managed to live with this man under one roof and in one bed without pouncing on him and defiling his lips, but the answer was within arm's reach. In all this mixture, Vincent was, above all, a sanctity to him.

Vincent's condition improved at an astonishing pace. He was finally able to traverse not only the Vatican alleys but also venture deeper into the city with Thomas without much effort. When Thomas had time, they would walk. They explored the nearby Trastevere, and once even went up to the Janiculum Hill, from where they admired the orange sunset over the domes of Rome. Vincent no longer carried the camera he had in the spring, admitting that it had refused to work any further. Hearing that, Thomas hatched a small, innocent plan, and one day as they were walking through Rome, they "happened" to find themselves next to a Nikon store, which he suggested they enter. There, he watched Vincent very carefully and noted down in his phone the models that particularly caught his eye. A few days later, he emerged from the same store alone, a large bag in hand.

In the first week of December, Vincent and Miguel officially accepted the Pope's proposal. The official headquarters of the Dicastery for Evangelization was in a building by the Spanish Steps, but Holy Father, considering their recovery and to ease their logistics, offered them an office in the Apostolic Palace, two floors below Thomas's office with a view of St. Peter's Square.

The beginning was difficult. Vincent felt out of place in his new role. Overwhelmed by piles of reports and analyses, he longed for direct contact with people. Thomas, with patience and unwavering faith, helped him find meaning in his new role every evening. He explained that his experience was now an invaluable filter through which all decisions passed, that his voice within these walls held immense power. Slowly, week by week, Vincent began to believe it. His insights became more and more astute, and the strategies he developed gained recognition and respect. Thomas also watched as he once again stepped into the role of a leader, managing Miguel's work. Watching the duo they formed at work was an interesting experience.

The Christmas season in the Vatican was always more intense than any other for Thomas. He participated in Advent masses celebrated by the Pope, organized Christmas gatherings for the cardinals. He spent long hours writing his speeches, sermons, and reading to enrich them. Vincent attended the same masses as he did, but always hid among the other faithful. One of them, on the last Sunday of Advent, was always particularly crowded. Since it was to be held in St. Peter's Square, Thomas wanted Vincent to be among the other clergy on the upper platform, close to him. But he refused and said goodbye with a smile. When they left the house, he headed straight for the entrance gates to the Square and disappeared into the crowd of the faithful. Thomas, while concelebrating the mass, was constantly aware that somewhere in that crowd was this dearest man.

December was also a time of numerous meetings with bishops and cardinals. At every meeting with a different cardinal, he could only think about whether Vincent still wanted to function in pectore and remain in the shadows, unidentified. Once, this topic was raised during a meeting to which the Pope had invited them. Some of the chess evenings Thomas attended were now extended to include Vincent. At the mention of potentially coming out of the shadows and working as a cardinal, the man politely declined. Thomas, although he deeply desired for the whole world to know Vincent, was also glad to have him to himself for a little longer.

Christmas came very quickly. They received an invitation from the Pope for Christmas Eve dinner at Casa Santa Marta. This was nothing new for Thomas; he had participated in holidays with him many times, but now everything was different, better.

It was their first Christmas together. Together! He thought about it constantly.

For Christmas Eve dinner, they dressed more formally-in black shirts with clerical collars and blazers. Thomas had noticed in recent weeks that Vincent's wardrobe had expanded slightly. The man, before starting his work at the Dicastery, had gone shopping a few times and now had more clothes suitable for winter in this latitude, even if winter here was rarely severe. He had even once asked Thomas for advice on buying a coat, and the memory of that day and the opportunity to see the man in various coats was permanently seared into his mind.

At Casa Santa Marta, they were greeted by Miguel and Agness. Their friend, after completing a several-week stay in rehabilitation, had moved into one of the rooms in the house. This arrangement suited him very well. Thomas and Vincent were delighted to see his confident and lively step. For some time now, the man had been the happy owner of a modern prosthesis which, as he said, effectively replaced his leg. Miguel had repeatedly expressed his gratitude for all the help and for arranging all this for him. He had also repeatedly tried to find out what financial debt he now owed for it, but that matter - as Thomas learned - had been completely taken care of. The extremely expensive prosthesis and long rehabilitation - all paid for from the Pope's private account. That man was truly amazing.

The Christmas Eve dinner was formal but filled with a warm, family atmosphere. There were a dozen or so people there, both clergy and a few outside guests whom the Pope had invited. Everyone was focused on him, gazing with an adoration he fully understood. There were few such people left in the world, and he realized with horror that he had no idea who could ever match him and take his place. It was not a thought for now, but for some reason, it wouldn't leave him.

When they returned home after dinner, Thomas took a box he had been hiding in the closet for weeks and handed it to Vincent, who was sitting on the sofa, saying simply, "Merry Christmas," and watched as surprise and shock appeared on his face. He had given up on wrapping it in decorative paper and instead had only tied it with a red ribbon, so it was easy to see that it contained a new DSLR camera.

"Thomas, are you crazy?..."

Yes, about you. Completely and without limits.

"Possibly. Go on, open it and see if you like it."

Vincent was still staring at the large box, and it took him a moment before he started to open it.

For the next fifteen minutes, he examined the camera from every angle, a wide smile never leaving his face. Thomas saw in his mind's eye himself kissing that smile off his lips.

When Vincent shifted his attention to him, the world stood still. The man looked at him in a way that made him feel his legs go weak. He set the camera on the coffee table and reached him in two steps. The next thing Thomas knew, Vincent had collapsed onto the sofa next to him, almost landing in his lap, and hugged him with all his might. He didn't know what to say or how to control his desire, so he laughed nervously and, returning the embrace, hoped his body wouldn't betray him in that one humiliating way. Vincent thanked him several times and sealed it with a kiss on the cheek that made Thomas blush fiercely.

"I have something for you too." A surprised Thomas watched as Vincent went to the dresser and took out a rectangular package wrapped in plain brown paper. It was heavy. Vincent handed it to him with a slightly uncertain smile.

"It's nothing big. Certainly not as expensive as your gift... But I've been working on it for a while."

Thomas tore the paper, and his eyes fell upon a simple album bound in dark leather. No decorations or inscriptions. He opened it to the first page and froze. It was a photo he had never seen before - himself in St. Peter's Square at night. He didn't even know when Vincent could have taken it, but somehow he had managed. He turned the page. And then another. The album was a chronicle of their shared history. There were photos Vincent had taken during their spring walks in Rome, and also photographs from recent months: autumn leaves in the Vatican Gardens, Miguel laughing during a prosthesis fitting, the view from their window at sunrise, a photograph of the school in Kabul before the attack, a photo of them together in front of the Collegio Etiopico that Miguel had recently taken.

On the last page was a single, large photo. It was of him, Thomas, captured in profile as he sat on the sofa reading a book. His glasses were slid down to the tip of his nose. Vincent must have taken it secretly recently.

Thomas kept looking at the album, unable to utter a word. He felt a lump forming in his throat, and his eyes began to burn. It was a gift from the heart, and the awareness of that left him speechless.

"I want you to know how important you are to me. I wouldn't have survived this year without you. A lot of bad things happened, and you made it so that I can still live. I will never be able to thank you for that," said Vincent, taking one of his hands.

Thomas finally looked up, and the sight of the tenderness in the man's eyes made his head spin. With the album still on his lap, he turned towards him and, on impulse, cupped his face in his hands. In response, Vincent gripped his arms tightly and clung to them. They looked deep into each other's eyes and probably saw the same thing there. Love and desire.

Thomas desired Vincent. He wanted everything from him. Soul and body. Eternity and this single moment. He felt that he was seconds away from pouncing on him and defiling him with hungry kisses, and the fire in Vincent's eyes told him that the man felt the same. Centimeters separated them; he could feel his shallow breath on his face and realized he even desired that. To breathe in the air that had just left his lungs. To swallow the saliva he had just had in his mouth. With horror, he realized it was no longer just about a kiss. It was about complete possession of this person, about marking him as his own, appropriating every inch of his body, taking control of his mind. Because he himself was already completely lost. Everything in him belonged to Vincent. And at the same time, nothing belonged to him anymore.

With an uneven breath, he looked at him, his gaze wandering between his eyes and his lips. When Vincent responded in kind, a quiet moan escaped his lungs, at the sound of which the man's eyes narrowed slightly.

We can't. We shouldn't, echoed in his head. I can't defile him. He is too good, too wonderful. Too holy for me to stain with my desire.

So Thomas took a few deeper breaths and touched his forehead to Vincent's. He closed his eyes and told himself, This much I can allow myself. Vincent moved his hands from his arms to his wrists and held on to them tightly. He too was breathing fast.

After a moment, Thomas - with an effort he couldn't compare to anything else - pulled away from Vincent slightly and placed a long kiss on his forehead. He watched the man's expression and caressed his cheeks with his thumbs, also touching the corners of his mouth.

I love you. I love you, forever. I love you so much it scares me. He wanted to say it, but he knew that after that, there would be no turning back. He would be lost and unable to control himself. So he gathered himself once more and said the same thing in different words: "You are the most precious thing in the world to me. And I don't know how I survived my life without you."

Without saying it outright, they had confessed their love to each other. But was it really just now? They confessed it to each other every day with small gestures, as they had been living like a married couple for months. They were already one, and Thomas was aware of that. He didn't know, however, how their situation would unfold from here.

With considerable effort, they pulled away from each other and began to prepare for sleep. In the bathroom, Thomas realized he couldn't get into a bed where Vincent was right now. The very thought of it aroused him immensely in a surprisingly short amount of time. He stood under an ice-cold stream of water and realized that it wouldn't help today. He guided his hand down and, for the first time in many years, yielded to the needs of his body. He had sinned. He had sinned terribly, imagining kissing Vincent. Sucking on his lips, his earlobe, the soft skin of his neck. He didn't even have to work his hand hard; at this stage, he was convinced he would come even without touch. He leaned his forearm against the shower wall and sank his teeth into his hand. He replayed the events from a moment ago in his mind, careful not to let his thoughts stray beyond them. If he did, he wouldn't be able to get into bed without tearing Vincent's clothes off. A few more movements and he began to come with a suppressed moan. He felt a pleasure so great and painful he didn't know if he could stay on his feet. He pulsed in his hand and didn't stop coming.

When he was finished, he tried to determine if it had helped clear his mind at all, but it was still possessed by Vincent.

 

---

 

Not long after Christmas came the New Year, and just before it, a small New Year's Eve party to which they were invited at Monica's. Their friend always had a habit of being home on that day because her cats didn't take well to the sound of fireworks. So they took Miguel, and when they entered her apartment and greeted her, Monica casually threw out: "Ray will be here soon. What? Don't look at me like that. He's very decent. And he seems a bit lonely."

And so they discovered that Monica had befriended O'Malley over these weeks, causing a small earthquake in his life. Ray, Thomas's faithful secretary, was a rather reserved person. To be honest, he didn't know much about his life, only that he lived near the Vatican in the Prati district and spent most of his time at work. The appearance of a woman like Monica in his life must have been a huge shock, and Thomas suspected the man had rethought every interaction with her two hundred times. The fact that she was a close friend of his boss probably made it easier for him to develop this relationship. If anyone avoided getting entangled in inappropriate relationships like the plague, it was Ray.

Monica, of course, noticed his train of thought and addressed him: "Don't think about it too much, old man. I made it clear to him that I have no ill intentions towards him and I expect the same. Just a coffee or a chat from time to time, since we're both the lucky ones who got to know you."

So when Ray arrived for dinner that night and sat on the sofa next to Miguel and Vincent, who were already busy petting the cats on their laps, Thomas watched from the side and understood that he had just gained a new family. The chosen one, the acquired one, that he had never even dreamed of. He was surrounded by people who were willing to do a lot for him. And he would do anything for them. When he tore his gaze away from them, he saw Monica watching him with a smile.

They welcomed the New Year standing on her small balcony, admiring the view before their eyes. They raised a toast with a glass of champagne, and Ray began to show everyone something in the distance. Thomas stood slightly behind, and when Vincent saw this, he immediately retreated to him at the back of the balcony. They were now standing side by side, and Thomas couldn't stop himself from putting an arm around his waist. When he did, Vincent returned the gesture, and they looked at each other for a moment. The sight of the man's dark eyes, illuminated by the glow of fireworks, was to stay with him for the rest of his life.

If they were alone now, he would kiss him... He would wish him a happy new year and convey all his love in a single kiss. But they were not alone. And in a way, he was glad. They were in a small, safe bubble, and they shouldn't burst it now. So he suggested they clink their glasses and they said "Happy New Year" to each other at the same time. Thomas tightened his grip on his waist and felt the man do the same, while gently stroking it. When he came back to reality a moment later, he saw Monica watching them out of the corner of her eye. The woman smiled sincerely and raised her glass in their direction.

 

---

 

The new year brought with it a new rhythm. After the storm that had swept through their lives, a time of soothing routine had come. For Thomas, this meant a return to the familiar whirl of work at the College. Meetings, documents, audiences, and diplomatic appointments within the Vatican filled his days. But now, for the first time in a long time, this work was not an escape, but simply a part of life. He carried out his duties with a renewed sense of purpose, knowing that afterward, he would return to the apartment where Vincent was waiting for him.

Vincent, in turn, blossomed in his new role. His office at the Dicastery became a hub for missions in the most volatile parts of the globe. His analyses, based on lived experience rather than just dry reports, were invaluable. He earned the respect of his colleagues, and his voice, though always gentle, carried an undeniable authority. In the evenings, he often told Thomas about the projects he was overseeing - the construction of a school modeled on the one in Kabul somewhere in South Sudan, or organizing safe transport for nuns in Nigeria. Thomas watched with joy as passion began to burn in his eyes.

Their life together took shape. Mornings were calm, evenings filled with conversation or reading together on the sofa. Sometimes they cooked together, and simple, homemade meals tasted better than anything served in the Vatican dining halls. Weekends were dedicated to further exploring Rome. Trips with Vincent's new camera became longer, and their purpose was no longer rehabilitation, but the pure pleasure of being together in a beautiful place. They spent several evenings out on the town in the company of Ray, Monica, and Miguel. They savored these meetings as much as they could. Thomas particularly enjoyed the moments of carefree laughter and the sense of anonymity that this company and informal attire gave him. Miguel often accompanied them on their walks, now handling his prosthesis as if he didn't have one at all. The man had found his place perfectly in his new role at Casa Santa Marta, becoming the unofficial good spirit of the place.

At least once a week, they also met with the Pope. Their chess games became a regular ritual. These were moments of respite for everyone, full of laughter and friendly competition. The Holy Father watched with fatherly affection as they both regained their peace and joy in life and - as they noticed with no small surprise - sometimes asked for their advice when facing a problem.

January and February passed, and the cool Roman mornings slowly began to give way. Life, for the first time in an unimaginably long time, was simply good. March greeted Thomas with a rather unexpected request from the Pope. The Holy Father had asked for his help with some of his duties, particularly those related to receiving delegations. This request, though it slightly surprised him, was understandable in its own way. The Holy Father seemed to have been heavily burdened with duties lately, so Thomas agreed to everything without batting an eye and, for the following weeks, carried out these duties alongside the Secretary of State and his good acquaintance, Aldo Bellini. It was only now that Thomas also discovered that although several months had passed since his return from Kabul, he still hadn't exchanged more than a few words with Aldo. He knew why he hadn't noticed it before - he was constantly occupied with Vincent, first with his health, and then with his blossoming feelings for him. It had effectively distracted him from any other reality, and certainly from noticing that Aldo was behaving with unusual restraint. Now that their work required them to spend more time together, Thomas couldn't stop wondering if it was possible that Bellini felt hurt or disappointed.

One evening, after a day spent with Aldo in many meetings, he shared his observations with Vincent.

"Well... Thomas, I'm not quite sure what to say, because it seems to me that you haven't told me much about him yourself... So if you didn't tell him about going to Kabul and disappeared for long weeks... it seems that might be the reason for his resentment."

Indeed. Not only had he not told him anything about the trip, but he had also never told him about Vincent, about his search for him, and his care for him. Aldo had probably learned everything from others, through the grapevine. He didn't want to leave it like that and resolved to apologize for his behavior as soon as possible.

He talked with Vincent about it for a little while longer before going to bed, and fell asleep with the thought of how grateful he was for his presence in his life.

A few hours later, he was awakened by an annoying sound that stood out in his dream. As he returned to consciousness, he realized it was the sound of his phone, left on the nightstand. He was instantly alarmed. A phone call in the middle of the night never boded well.

With difficulty, he extricated himself from under Vincent, who was sleeping on top of him and seemed not to hear the phone. Thomas, in a rush of something he couldn't even explain, whispered to him, "I have to get this, my love," and got out of bed, glancing at the screen. Aldo.

Even without answering, he understood. This was the moment. The one he had been pushing out of his consciousness and had feared. With his heart in his throat, he answered and received confirmation of his fears. Nothing could have prepared him for such news. He suspected no one was ready for this now.

He said into the phone that yes, he would come. As quickly as he could, and hung up. With one conscious part of his mind, he noted that Vincent had woken up and turned on the night lamp. Thomas sat with his back to him, still holding the phone. His shoulders slumped under the weight he was now to bear, and his head dropped low. He felt movement behind him and a gentle touch of a hand on his back.

"What happened?" Vincent's quiet question. His head was buzzing. Everything would change now. From now on, nothing would be the same, and that terrified him the most.

He turned to Vincent, and the sight of the worry on his face made his heart ache.

Vincent took his hand and asked with concern, "Thomas....What's wrong?"

Thomas took his smaller hands between his own and squeezed them tightly. He took a breath, looked him straight in the eyes, and said.

"The Pope has just died. We will soon have a conclave. And I will have to organize it."

 

Notes:

I am very sorry for this longer-than-usual break! Life caught up with me, and it was hard to keep up, hard to write even a few words.
I'm out of that dark period now and hope it won't happen again soon. I hope you can forgive me.
To make it up to you, I have for you the longest chapter in this fic so far.

Also - we have a new Pope and because of - ofc - Conclave fandom I feel so much sympathy for this man. He seems to be the kindest guy and he reminds me a bit of Vincent. We do really have our own fanfic playing out live...

Lots of love to everyone enjoying this!!!!

PS. I'm dying to read your comment!

Chapter 8: Conclave

Notes:

no one complained about the long chapters, so here’s an even longer one.
30k words - clearly, something’s wrong with me. enjoy!

It was six in the morning when he finally returned home. He left his bag in the hallway and entered the living room. Vincent ran out of the bedroom. The man looked at him with wide-open eyes and, seeing the expression on his face, groaned heavily, „Thomas.”

Thomas guessed he must look quite peculiar. Standing in the middle of the living room in a black cardinal's cassock with a crimson sash and a matching zucchetto, he looked otherworldly. Add to that the shock and sadness on his face, and you have a sight that made Vincent approach him and take him in his arms.

They stood in an embrace, looking like a collision of two galaxies. The contrast between them could not have been greater. Thomas, with his height and in his robes, versus the delicate Vincent in pajamas. They differed in everything, yet they were the same.

He's also a cardinal. He's the same! Soon everyone will see that he is my equal! The thought of the imminent conclave made him feel faint. He tightened his embrace on Vincent's body and wished he could hide in him and never show himself to the world. If only we didn't have to go through this, if I could hide him, if we could both stop existing for the world…

But they couldn't. Surrounded by the man's scent and calmed by the steady beat of his heart, he realized this was his punishment. Punishment for months of carefree happiness by his side, for reveling in his company, for sleeping beside him, for the forbidden feeling he harbored for him.

How naive he was to think he would never have to pay for it! No more routine, no more Vincent just for him. From now on, everything would change. The only question was how much.

„Sit down”, Vincent said to him, pulling away.

Thomas wanted to hold him back. For some reason, he was now afraid of every second he didn't feel him near.

„Do you want something to drink? Something to eat?" Vincent asked with a worried expression.

You don't even know how worried you should be now . „No, thank you. I don't want anything. I'll have to go back soon."

He barely registered that they were standing and holding hands.

Vincent nodded in understanding but pulled him by the hand, led to the kitchen, and sat him down on a chair. Thomas took off his zucchetto so as not to feel so out of place. He watched as Vincent quickly bustled around the cupboards, and a moment later, a strong black coffee appeared before him, followed by a plate of vegetable frittata a dozen minutes later. The man made coffee for himself as well and sat opposite him. With his gaze he encouraged him to eat and Thomas had to smile slightly at that.

It would be hard, but it seemed it would be even harder without him. 

When he smelled the prepared breakfast, he realized he was hungry. He ate in silence, which didn't bother him at all, just as being watched by Vincent didn't bother him. He finished every bite with appreciation thinking that without Vincent he likely wouldn’t have touched any food at all today.

„Thank you. You just made me somehow survive this day."

Vincent only smiled slightly in response.

„I have to leave soon, but I still have a moment. Will you sit with me for a while?" he invited Vincent to the sofa in the living room. They sat shoulder to shoulder, and he began to tell everything he had witnessed since he arrived at Casa Santa Marta.

He spoke of his disappointment when it turned out he was called last, of his prayer by the Pope's bed, of how the Pope looked as if he was in a deep sleep, and of the crowd in his apartment that angered Thomas. He spoke of Aldo's condemning glances, of Tremblay's political maneuvering that began over the Pope's still-warm body, of Woźniak, who was the only one who seemed genuinely distraught by everything. He spoke of the procedures that had to take place to announce the sede vacante , of the destruction of the Fisherman's Ring, and of the doctor's confirming the death. Finally, of his task, which from now on encompassed everything until the inauguration of the new Pope.

Vincent listened to everything attentively, and although he didn't utter a word, Thomas knew perfectly well that no information escaped him. He listened, holding his hand, squeezing it tighter from time to time to encourage him. Thomas knew he had to present the possibilities that lay before him now and - concluding that there would be no better moment - he began to speak about them. 

„We need to discuss your position. I know you've preferred to remain in the shadows until now, but the situation has changed, and in a maximum of three weeks, we'll have a conclave, in which, as you know, you are entitled to participate. I don't want to force any decision on you, but if you decide to reveal yourself as a cardinal, I'd like to know in advance. To prepare everything..."

Vincent mused for a moment and then said, „It seems I won't have a choice anyway."

Thomas looked at him slightly confused.

„When I received the cardinal's nomination from the Holy Father, just before he introduced us, he told me that information about it would be contained in his will. He secured himself, firstly, by telling you about it, and secondly, by testament. Of course, if he ultimately included it there. It seems you will soon find out... And then, Thomas - Vincent took his hand in both of his - I will have no choice."

The will. They planned to read it today. So today, everyone present would learn about the new cardinal. And not just any cardinal. Cardinal Benitez. The mysterious friend of the Dean, whom he had sought for two months in Afghanistan. Good God. This day just became even more terrible.

Not wanting to scare Vincent, who already seemed stressed, Thomas forced a cheerful tone and assured him that everything would be alright. He looked deeply into his eyes and discovered, to his great astonishment, that simply being with him gave him an unprecedented strength to face reality. That's what love is , he thought gloomily. Even one that will never be consummated gives indescribable power.

It was time to go and face the world. He got up from the sofa, put on his zucchetto and coat, and Vincent followed him to the hallway. They stopped just before the door and Thomas looked at the man in front of him. In a moment, he too would have to get ready. He would wash up in their bathroom, change from pajamas into an elegant outfit, and leave their apartment. The whole situation and the sadness made him want to cry at the sight of Vincent in this domestic setting. He might lose this too soon. Everyone would be asking where the mysterious cardinal lived. Did he live with the Dean? Would he never see him in pajamas in the bathroom they shared again? Would he never again hold him in his sleep, make him coffee, or put their shared laundry in the washing machine?

I hope I just don't survive this conclave , he thought with absolute certainty in what he was thinking, then suddenly embraced Vincent. The shorter man immediately hugged him back. 

Thomas had read literary descriptions of love between two people many times in his life, but he had never fully experienced it firsthand. He had rather doubted its power, considering it exaggerated by writers. He didn't understand how contact with a loved one could add physical strength or how thoughts of someone could brighten the darkest day. To him, these were just clever metaphors, poetic fantasies with no basis in reality.

But now... Holding Vincent in his arms, he finally understood. He felt as if contact with him healed his body, as if Vincent recharged his drained batteries and dispelled the fog shrouding his mind.

So it happened. In my 60’s, I fell victim to love. 

After a few too-short minutes, he reluctantly pulled away from him but wished to drown in his gaze for a moment longer. Unable to control his body, he felt his hand reach for Vincent's face and stroke his smooth cheek. Delicacy - that was where his femininity lay.

„I don't know what time I'll be back tonight. Don't wait for me."

„Take care. I'll be thinking of you," Vincent replied.

In a surge of overwhelming love, he blurted out, „I think of you constantly" and, taking advantage of Vincent's bewilderment, quickly left the apartment.

 

---

 

When he arrived at his office, he walked straight into the epicenter of all events. As Dean of the College of Cardinals, he was jointly responsible for preparing the funeral and solely responsible for the entire conclave. He plunged into work to avoid thinking too much about the responsibility weighing on him. He felt that if he allowed himself even a moment to reflect on the current situation, he would throw up his breakfast.

He heard Ray fighting outside his office door with everyone trying to get in and call him. He also saw his phone glowing red from the number of messages and calls bouncing off it. He only answered one message, from Monica. It was short and simple: "Oh God, Thomas... I'm so sorry...", but it gave him unexpectedly much encouragement.

Ray knocked on the office door, poked his head in, and informed him that the official part of the papal will would be read in the Secretary of State's office in half an hour. Thomas thanked him and was unable to do anything else for the rest of the time until he left. He only sent a short message to Vincent: „I'm going to the reading of the will" and left his office.

He arrived at Aldo Bellini's office a moment before time. He was led by his secretary into the hall where delegations were always received and took a seat at the heavy oak table. Soon he was joined by Cardinal Tremblay, who was the Camerlengo, and the Pope's personal secretary, Woźniak. Thomas greeted them, and at the sight of the contrast emanating from them, he felt even worse. Tremblay, as always serious, now exuded a sense of mission, while Woźniak was depressed and trembling. His face seemed transparent. Well, he thought, it was clearly visible who stood by the Pope out of a need of the heart.

The door opened, and Aldo himself entered the room with an energetic stride.

„Welcome. Thomas. Joseph. Janusz." He sat opposite them and placed a white folder with papal insignia in front of him. „I know it's still early, and perhaps you think I'm jumping the gun with this, but I believe the information contained in the Holy Father's will may be helpful in planning... which we must now carry out..." Aldo looked over his glasses at Thomas, and for the first time in months, Thomas saw a gentle expression on his face.

„In November of last year, the Holy Father deposited this will and his last wishes with me, asking me to keep it in the safe, and to carry out his wishes when the time was right. I want us to read it among ourselves first. Later, we will acquaint the entire College of Cardinals with its contents. Will you allow it?"

The men nodded in agreement.

Aldo opened the folder on the table and took out an envelope. It was sealed in the same way they had sealed the papal apartment a few hours earlier. Thomas watched as Bellini broke the seal and opened the envelope. He took out the pages and began to read.

„The Will of John Paul III. In the Name of the Most Holy Trinity - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit."

„Amen," they answered in chorus.

„I, John Paul III, Servant of God, in full possession of my mental faculties, which I owe solely to the mercy of the Lord, entrust my soul to His infinite goodness, humbly asking for forgiveness for my sins and imperfections in fulfilling the Petrine ministry. I thank God for the gift of life and for the unspeakable honor of serving His Church on earth.

In the face of passing into the Father's House, I wish to express my last will and entrust to my indispensable collaborators and faithful friends, the Dean of the College of Cardinals, Thomas Lawrence, and the Secretary of State, Aldo Bellini, my gratitude for your wonderful service and ask you to fulfill my last will on my behalf.

I. On my funeral and burial. I recommend that my funeral be conducted with due observance of the venerable tradition and rites prescribed for the Bishop of Rome. At the same time, in a spirit of humility, I ask that its character be simple and modest. Let my coffin be of plain wood, without unnecessary adornments, and let only the Gospel book rest upon it. I ask that my resting place be the Vatican Grottoes, near the tombs of my holy predecessors, and that the tombstone be simple.

II. On the disposition of my private property. All material possessions that I owned, you may transfer at your discretion to the Vatican Museums, while my private savings, accumulated in the account to which the Secretary of State gains access upon my death, I ask to be distributed equally for two purposes that were particularly dear to me during my pontificate.

Half of the funds I direct to be transferred, under the supervision of Dean Thomas Lawrence, for the reconstruction of the primary school in Kabul, destroyed during the last terrorist attack. I desire that this school once again become a place of education and peace for Afghan children, regardless of gender or confession.

The second half of the funds, I ask that you distribute among three organizations chosen by you that provide medical, psychological, and material assistance to individuals who have experienced the hell of human trafficking, sexual abuse, and also to individuals who have experienced persecution due to their trans or intersex identity. May the Church be a safe home for them. The execution of this will I entrust to the Secretary of State, Aldo Bellini.

III. On the cardinal nomination in pectore . Throughout my pontificate, I carried in my heart a concern for the faithful living in places of trial and persecution. Desiring to give voice to those who bear witness to Christ in silence and suffering, by the power of my apostolic ministry, I wish to reveal the name of the cardinal whose nomination, dated April 4th of this year, I kept in pectore . This new member of the College of Cardinals, whom I call to the highest service of the Church, is His Excellency, Archbishop of Kabul, Vincent Benitez. His faith and fortitude are a model of a Servant of God for me. I ask you, my Cardinal Brothers, to receive him fraternally and support him in his new role. He is a sign of hope for the entire Church.

Finally, from my heart, I impart to all my last Apostolic Blessing. Please, do not forget me in your prayers.

Vatican, November 5, 2024. Signed - Pontifex Maximus”

Thomas watched as Aldo laid the document on the table and looked at him in silent shock. He himself also stared at the pages, trying to process what he had just heard.

Everything was surprising. The donation for the school reconstruction? He had no idea how much savings the Holy Father could have accumulated, but the idea itself was admirable. Support for organizations that Aldo had just listed with precise instructions on who they should help? At least astonishing. They all sat in silence, but Thomas could only think that practically this entire will centered around Vincent. Everything he knew looked like an intense struggle for this one man. A priest. From the moment of discovering his intersex identity, his desire to resign from ministry, help with his departure to Geneva, and finally the search and all the assistance in Kabul. Did he truly see such hope for the Church in him? Was it because he was an outsider and never became tainted by the corruption of the Vatican? And was that why he introduced him, to take him under his care and protect him? Whatever motivated him, he must have been particularly dear to him. Like everyone he met on his path, he thought bitterly. Whatever happened, he felt Vincent slipping through his fingers.

Tremblay was the first to break the silence.

„Aldo, thank you for reading the Holy Father's last will. I am sure you will handle its fulfillment to the best of your ability." His tone was polite, but Thomas detected a steely note of reservation in it. Tremblay leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands on the table. „However, I must admit that some of these dispositions are... unconventional, to say the least. The matter of private property... Rebuilding a school in Kabul is a noble gesture, of course. But the precise designation of organizations providing aid to these individuals... That is, shall we say, innovative for a document of this importance."

These individuals. The way he spoke those words made all the hair on Thomas's neck stand up. He had never been fond of the camerlengo, and now he felt a deep aversion rising within him.

Tremblay glanced at Aldo, then at Thomas, seeking support. Aldo remained silent, staring at the document. Woźniak, in turn, looked as if his thoughts were completely elsewhere. Tremblay continued. He leaned forward, his gaze becoming razor-sharp.

„But what truly astonishes me is the cardinal nomination. The Archbishop of Kabul..." he pronounced it slowly, as if savoring a foreign word. "Vincent Benitez." He looked around at the faces of those gathered. „Does any of you, gentlemen, know this man? Heard anything about him beyond what we know from official, terse dispatches that appeared when he received a position in the Dicastery for Evangelization? Are we to bring someone into the College of Cardinals, just before the conclave, about whom no one knows anything? What do you think?"

Thomas felt pure fury building within him.

The question was a direct challenge to the will of the deceased Pope and an indirect questioning of Vincent's competence. A heavy silence fell in the room. Aldo Bellini cleared his throat, clearly searching for the right words, and Janusz Woźniak cowered as if he wanted to disappear. Thomas felt Tremblay's scrutinizing gaze on him and knew he couldn't remain silent. He took a deep, calming breath.

„I know him."

Three words made all eyes turn to him.

„I know Cardinal Benitez personally," Thomas continued, his voice calm but firm. He looked straight into Tremblay's eyes. „And I can assure you that the Holy Father was not mistaken in his assessment. He is a man of unwavering faith, extraordinary intelligence, and great courage, who served the Church in conditions most of us cannot even imagine. His nomination is not a mistake, Joseph. It is a testament and a blessing."

„Did you know about this beforehand?" Aldo suddenly asked, and Thomas understood that the man had not intended to ask it aloud.

„Yes," he replied directly, looking intently into Aldo's eyes. „The Holy Father told me about the nomination, entrusting me with this secret until Vincent's ministry was no longer dangerous. As it turned out shortly after, he was right. Cardinal Benitez almost paid for it with his life." His voice was confident, but if someone knew him well enough, they could hear the bitterness in it.

„Is Cardinal Benitez going to participate in the conclave?" Aldo asked.

God. I hope not.  

„I don't know yet. The information will probably spread soon. Then Vincent will make a decision. For now, gentlemen, we have the Pope's farewell to organize. I suggest we get to work." With these words - in a surge of authoritarian power - he stood up and forced the meeting to an end.

Tremblay raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but for now, he fell silent. In the room, however, it was clear that the first front line of the coming days had just been drawn.

Aldo bid them farewell and asked Thomas for a meeting in the coming days to determine further actions related to the will. As he left and headed towards his office, he felt the constant tension in his jaw muscles relax.

Upon entering his office, he bypassed Ray, who clearly expected a longer conversation, but at the sight of his face, Ray simply handed him a thick stack of documents and gave up asking questions. Thomas threw it on his desk and sat heavily in his armchair, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of his duties.

He immersed himself in a labyrinth of procedures and prepared an official letter to all members of the College of Cardinals, formally announcing the death of the Holy Father and calling for their immediate arrival in Rome to participate in the general congregations. He set the first one for four days later.

He scheduled a meeting with the Master of Pontifical Liturgical Ceremonies to discuss the details of the Holy Father's lying in state in the Basilica and the course of the funeral mass, according to his will. He also contacted the head of security and the director of Casa Santa Marta and discussed security measures and logistics for the arrival of over a hundred cardinal electors. He instructed them to begin preparations and asked for reports on their progress. He kept making calls, but the tasks piled up endlessly before him. Even though they hadn't even set a date for the conclave yet, he also had to start preparing the Sistine Chapel for the occasion, and this was what nauseated him the most.

Late in the afternoon, there was a knock on his office door, and when invited in, Vincent entered. At the sight of him, his heart began to beat faster. Sometimes they visited each other during the workday, but seeing him here today had a completely different dimension.

"Vincent. Hi. How was your day?"

The man approached his desk but did not sit in the chair.

"I should be asking you. How was the reading of the will?"

Thomas took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He felt how tired he was. He looked at Vincent with slightly narrowed eyes, leaned forward on the desk, and propped his chin on his hands.

"It went not so bad. You appeared in it. I'd even say more than once." On Vincent's face, he saw fear creeping in. "No, no, don't worry!..." He stood up and, in a few quick steps, was in front of him.

"Forgive me, it's the fatigue, I should speak more clearly... The Pope revealed in it the identity of the cardinal nominated in pectore , meaning yours. He also gave guidelines for his funeral. And yes, you appeared in the will more than once, but only I could interpret it that way. Because you see... The last will of our Holy Father was to divide all his savings equally between two purposes. The first of them is... The reconstruction of a school in Kabul. And the second - he paused longer and watched as Vincent's eyes brightened - support for organizations helping victims of human trafficking, abuse, and transgender and intersex individuals. I don't know yet what amounts we're talking about, I'll figure that out later with Aldo."

A multitude of emotions appeared on Vincent's face, and he was glad he knew him well enough to recognize them all.

"He really appreciated your work and ministry. And he held you in very warm regard," he smiled warmly at Vincent. "You had a good friend in him."

"We had. You too... It's hard for me to grasp all this," Vincent said quietly. "I'm very sorry he's gone."

Thomas wanted to hug and comfort him, but he feared his office was not the right place. Ray just beyond the wall and the milky-white glass in the door definitely didn't favor privacy . In the evening , he promised himself, he took a deep breath and asked if anyone had already bothered him because of the new information.

Vincent sighed heavily, and Thomas already knew that his day hadn't been easy either. "Camerlengo Tremblay was here." - Of course . - "I had the impression he was trying to sound me out. His visit and words caused Miguel to find out about everything. And not from me, but from a stranger. I don't need to tell you it got quite unpleasant. I explained everything to him, but I don't know if he'll forgive me..."

"He'll forgive you, of course he will. I'll talk to him soon. There's still Ray and Sister Agness. And Monica. But she'll probably burst out laughing."

Vincent laughed lightly. "Very likely. Oh, we could really use her company now."

"Yes... We'll meet her once I get all this sorted out a bit."

"Thank you." Vincent looked at him with tenderness. Thomas was almost certain the man also wanted to hug him. "I'll be heading back now. I don't want to take up your time. See you at home," and he left, leaving Thomas with the word 'home' echoing in his ears.

 

---

 

It was just after 11 PM when he finally left the office. He had guessed that the first day would be hellish, but frankly, it exceeded his wildest expectations. What he hadn't considered were the time zones and cardinals scattered across the globe. Because of this, he was receiving calls from them late into the evening, repeating the same thing he had sent by email for the hundredth time. Managing over a hundred cardinals today reminded him of working with children. And this was just the beginning.

When he entered the house, it was already dark everywhere. Only a small lamp in the living room cast a dim light. Thomas used it to undress from his cassock, hang it on a hanger, and go to the bathroom, where he took a shower as hot as he could stand it. He let the water run down his back and felt his tense muscles finally yield to it. He realized he was in a hurry. He wanted to get to the bedroom as quickly as possible, so he hastily brushed his teeth, put on his pajamas, and practically ran out of the bathroom.

He found Vincent lying on the bed on his side. He didn't move when Thomas entered the bedroom, which meant he was probably asleep. Quietly, so as not to wake him, Thomas got into bed and gently moved closer to the man. For a moment, he wondered if he dared come any nearer, but his proximity and scent overwhelmed his senses. He hugged his back, wrapped an arm around his waist, and in the most natural reflex, pressed his entire body against Vincent's smaller frame. When he felt Vincent's velvety hair on his face, he deeply exhaled with relief.

This was what he had longed for since they parted in the morning. With his eyes closed, he buried his face in the crook of his neck and began to inhale that familiar scent. The body in his arms stirred slightly, and he heard a soft, "You're here”.  He feared he'd overstepped, that he'd be pushed away - but instead, Vincent nestled closer. Lifting his head slightly, he gave a subtle sign that Thomas could hold him with both arms. Without hesitation, Thomas responded, drawing him in fully, cradling him against his chest. Vincent's head came to rest on his bicep - an almost unbearable sweetness in its quiet weight. Thomas felt him gently squeeze and caress his arms, fingers moving in a rhythm that seemed to echo their closeness. In that suspended, perfect moment, the world could have ended and he wouldn’t have minded at all.

Such a wave of emotion hit him that he restrained himself from crushing Vincent. He needed him more and more. He needed him every second of his life, in every volume and quantity. He wanted to absorb him and fill him at the same time, and the thought of it and the pressure his body exerted on his groin did not make it any easier.

"You can't work so much," Vincent suddenly whispered. "Please, don't stay there so long anymore."

"Okay." And that was it. He would do whatever this man ever asked of him.

He felt Vincent place a kiss on his shoulder, and in response, he kissed his head.

I love, love, love. I'll go crazy with this love. He wanted to tell him, but he feared it more than condemnation to hell. Instead he gently brushed his nose through the man's hair and reveled in his closeness.

"Do you think I'll have to move?" Vincent suddenly asked, and Thomas stopped with his face against his neck.

"No. I don't think so. I don't want you to move out of here."

"I don't want that either," he replied instantly, and then added even more quietly, "I want to be with you."

I want to be with you! I want you too. I desire you! To be with you always, to feel you near always. To have you always both in this apartment and in my life.

Although Vincent's words could only refer to their living situation, he felt they weren't. His heart was beating wildly, and he was sure Vincent could feel it.

This isn't the worst time for a heart attack , he thought bitterly.

He held the man in his arms even tighter and in the most tender gesture he could think of he brushed the hair from Vincent's face and neck with one hand and whispered directly into his ear: "I want to be with you too. I don't want anything else," then pressed lips to his neck, placing a long kiss on his skin.

He felt Vincent's accelerated pulse beneath his lips. He felt the warmth and that scent that at any time could drive him insane. He also felt Vincent's breath catch in his throat when the man stopped breathing for a moment.

One move separated them from complete madness. A second would be enough, a slight turn of Vincent's head towards him, the touch of lips... One decision, and it would be over. With his lips still on his neck, he felt all the excitement gather in his lower abdomen. He touched Vincent with every possible surface of his body, and it definitely had an effect on him. He thought he had his body and its reaction under control, but Vincent moved even closer and pressed harder against Thomas's growing problem.

In a surge of superhuman strength, he pulled his lips from his skin and hissed, "don't." He was almost gasping. Vincent, in his arms, froze and whispered: "Why?" Then Thomas slowly, savoring every inch, moved his right hand from his chest along his torso and stopped at his hip.

"Just... Please..." he whispered heavily, and Vincent understood. A simple "Ohh" left his lips, and he subtly moved away. Thomas's hand squeezed Vincent's hip harder. He allowed himself to trace a few circles with his thumb on it before moving it back to a safer place on his shoulder.

It was currently impossible to calm down with Vincent still in his arms. He sadly realized that he probably wouldn't be able to sleep with him anymore. If their closeness provoked such situations, they would soon be unable to restrain themselves. Today, he had painful proof of that.

"I think I should go to the sofa," he said, calculating the current situation in his head.

His words made Vincent turn to face him and shift further on the mattress. He rested his head on his hand.

"If you want to, I understand. But this bed is big enough for us not to touch. If that helps us..."

Us. Did Vincent also have the same problem with their closeness?

"The problem is, I want to touch you."

Then Vincent extended his hand and placed it on Thomas's heart. His hand now defined the distance between them, and at the same time connected them.

"Let's try," Vincent whispered.

Thomas tried to occupy his thoughts with something else, but all of them eventually came back to Vincent. What was destined for them? What would their future look like? He wasn't even sure about tomorrow. He got terribly little sleep that night.

 

---

 

To say that the following days were madness would be a great understatement. Thomas left home at six and returned around twenty. Simultaneous preparations for the funeral and the conclave completely drained him of strength, both physical and mental. He felt that whenever there was an opportunity, he was being closely watched by Vincent.

In all this unpleasant madness, Thomas discovered that for the first time in his life, he had a favorite part of the day, and that was the late evenings at home. If he hadn't eaten anything that day, he was greeted with a waiting dinner upon his return. When they ate together, it was easy for him to forget what they were currently facing and imagine that their life could continue to look similar. He would want to come home from work to such a home. He would rush home from work to such a home. He wouldn't want to leave such a home at all.

After dinner, so as not to go straight to bed and lose precious moments with Vincent, they often moved to the living room and took to the sofa. Thomas was overstimulated, so they didn't turn on the TV. There was nothing in the news he didn't already know first. So he lay on the couch, enjoying the silence, broken only by the rustling of pages in his companion's books. When Vincent once suggested he lay his head on his lap and began to run his fingers through his hair, Thomas almost choked with happiness. He smiled so widely that he earned a few jabs in the ribs for it. To his considerable surprise, he also discovered that Vincent liked to pay great attention to his beard. He stroked and smoothed it with his fingers constantly. Thomas couldn't remember ever being as relaxed in his life as he was during those moments.

 

---

 

The news that Vincent was a cardinal - as he had suspected - spread like wildfire. Thomas told Ray personally shortly after sending the memo to the entire College of Cardinals. He absolutely didn't want his secretary to find out by chance from a rumor, so he invited him to the office and told him everything he could and wanted to. O'Malley didn't seem particularly surprised and Thomas suspected the man had gradually begun to guess. What particularly pleased him was the absolute lack of change in his behavior and his full understanding. He was very grateful for it.

He also had a conversation with Miguel, which he hoped helped the man understand the motives that guided everyone; a brief exchange with Agness, who found out everything by word of mouth and one day stopped him in the corridor of Casa Santa Marta, offering congratulations he didn't understand; and finally - a fascinating conversation with Monica, who, as he suspected, burst into resounding laughter.

"Ohh, Thomas. You two can really surprise," he heard from her during a brief meeting he managed to squeeze in during the madness.

"How are you coping with home life?" she asked with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Thomas suspected she would try to pry and discover the nature of his relationship with Vincent. "I'll be honest with you - it's more than good." His friend smiled warmly at him. "Don't look at me like that and don't come up with any theories. Nothing happened. And nothing will. It's just a flatmate arrangement." Rather a marriage! "It's so good that I don't want it to ever change. I hope nothing changes soon. And please, don't look at me like that."

Monica had an innocent, mischievous smile on her face. "I'm not saying anything! Anyway, congratulate Vincent on his nomination for me, because I probably won't have the chance to do so myself anytime soon."

As he soon found out, she was lying. On the only day Thomas finished work early and returned home at a reasonable hour, the evening was interrupted by a knock at the door. He rarely had visitors, so he approached the door with trepidation, but upon opening it, Monica burst straight into the apartment, followed immediately by Ray, looking like a beaten dog.

"Welcome, please come in," he said to the now empty hallway and closed the door, still disbelieving what he had seen.

When he followed them into the living room, he saw Monica taking champagne out of her purse and placing it on the table, then handing a shocked Vincent a gift wrapped in decorative paper and throwing herself into a hug with him.

"Someone here got a promotion and didn't brag! Don't think you'll get away with it! Ray, deal with the appetizers. Thomas, glasses please."

Thomas looked at O'Malley with amusement, and O'Malley nodded in response and silently said, "I tried." So he invited him to the kitchen to take care of the tasks assigned to them and left a confused Vincent at the woman's mercy.

When they were alone again a few hours later, they admitted that, though completely unplanned, it had been a very successful evening. For the first time Thomas saw how the cardinal's nomination gave Vincent not a reason for sadness but a little pride. They needed that now. Hope and joy, and they got it when Monica burst into their apartment like a tornado. This woman, endowed with extraordinary intuition, decided to make the best of the current situation and disperse the dark clouds gathering over them. Thomas watched all evening as she went to great lengths to make Vincent feel as good as possible and finally rejoice in the honor that had befallen him. He was particularly grateful to her because he knew her perfectly - she didn't open up easily to new people. He suspected that after today's performance, she would retreat into her shell for two days and not speak to anyone. So he looked at her with almost paternal love in his eyes. To his great astonishment, he noticed that Ray was observing her with a twinkle in his eye that he had never seen in him before. He watched him for the rest of the evening, and finally something clicked in his head - O'Malley was smitten with her.

"You noticed it too, I knew it," Vincent said when they were already in bed and talking about it.

"Poor Ray. I wouldn't want to be in his shoes when she realizes." Their laughter filled the bedroom.

"I want a front-row seat then," Vincent said, and the lightness in his voice was honey to Thomas's ears.

"Be sure I'll fight you for a better view."

He lay there and couldn't help but wonder - if they saw Ray's reaction to Monica, was their own behavior noticeable to others as well? What expression did his face have when he looked at Vincent, did his voice change when he spoke to him, did his pupils dilate? He suspected he knew the answer.

In the darkness, he felt Vincent reach out his arm, and he accepted the invitation. He rested his head on it and snuggled against the smaller figure. The coming days would be the most difficult in his entire ministry, and every moment he could recharge with Vincent's warmth was invaluable. He allowed the steady stroking of his hair to lull him to sleep.

 

---

 

Organizing a funeral is always difficult, but when it comes to a pope's funeral, the measure of difficulty ceases to exist. At this stage, Thomas was convinced that he was organizing more of a royal funeral, and combining that with cardinals arriving for the conclave made him want to drop everything and hide somewhere.

He participated in countless masses, services, and rosaries. Many of them he had to personally lead, and he was annoyed by the attention he received as Dean of the College of Cardinals. Together with Aldo, they had now become the faces of the church and objects of interest for the media and tourists. People began to arrive to follow everything on site and be there during these historical moments. Ironically, just like life itself - someone wants to see it, someone would rather not have to experience it. He definitely belonged to the latter group.

The day before the funeral, while talking to Vincent, he received the answer to a question he had asked a few days earlier: "I will participate in the conclave. But before that - I don't want to officially participate in the funeral. I will attend it in the square among the crowd, with other faithful. And with Miguel."

Thomas understood. Since he would participate in the conclave, these were his last moments of full anonymity. The speculation market for names would soon begin, and then someone would finally notice the previously unknown cardinal. With the awareness that their relative peace would soon crumble, he was even glad that he was now completely absorbed by his duties and had no time for destructive thoughts.

 

---

 

On the morning of the funeral, Miguel came to their apartment, and together with Vincent, they headed to St. Peter's Square. Thomas made sure one last time if they truly didn't want to take a seat somewhere among the clergy closer to the altar, but he heard them decline - besides, Monica would join them. The woman had recently mentioned that she intended to come to the funeral, so they offered her company. He had to admit, it was a true twist of fate - an atheist's closest friends turned out to be clergy. When he mentioned it to her, she told him to shut up.

He left the apartment and went to the basilica's sacristy, where he was vested in chasubles and led to greet several important delegations. When he finished that part, he was already tired, and the main event hadn't even begun. With a heavy heart, he moved towards the altar, where the body of his friend, confidant, and simply a very good man lay in a simple coffin.

He bowed deeply before him and set off on his last journey with him.

 

---

 

The funeral was an event from another world. St. Peter's Square, which had seen so much in its history, now seemed to hold its breath. 

Thomas felt the eyes of the entire world on him. He saw a sea of cardinal red, bishop fuchsia, the black of diplomatic attire, and the endless mass of the faithful, undulating somewhere on the horizon. Hundreds of cameras followed his every step and every facial expression. He felt exposed, put on public display at a moment when all he wanted was privacy.

The funeral Mass was like a waking dream for Thomas. He performed it mechanically, and when the moment for the homily arrived, he felt his knees buckle. He looked at the crowd. Somewhere there, in that anonymous mass, stood Vincent, Miguel, and Monica. The thought was a strange anchor for him. He took a deep breath and began. 

He didn't speak of the great theologian, the head of state, or the shepherd of a billion souls. He spoke of the man he knew. Of his boundless goodness and deep faith in every human being. Of the love he had for everyone, the tolerance he fostered in the world, and the warmth that flowed from his heart. Of his love for walks in the Vatican Gardens and how he could capture more wisdom in a single sentence than others in entire volumes. As he neared the end, his voice broke for a moment, but he finished, feeling it was the last favor he could do for his friend - to show the world the man he knew and loved, not just the symbol they were bidding farewell to.

The rest of the Mass was like a waking dream for him. The Latin formulas he knew by heart became his refuge, allowing his mind to drift away when his heart was too heavy. The sprinkling of holy water, the incensing with frankincense - each of these gestures was final. When eight Vatican sediari lifted the coffin to carry it to the Vatican Grottoes for eternal rest, Thomas felt an emptiness and fatigue. The bells of St. Peter's Basilica rang out. Before him lay the last stage of the ceremony - the burial in the grottoes, without cameras and in the intimate company of his closest collaborators. The ceremony for the faithful was over, but for him, the saddest part was just beginning. He followed the modest procession to bury his friend. 

In just a few days, he would have to choose his successor.

 

---

 

Although the funeral was behind them, events did not slow down at all. As the initial emotions subsided, Thomas noticed that the game for the conclave had begun. He felt a deep-seated fear of everything that would happen in the coming days. 

The first congregation after the funeral was also to be the first one Vincent would attend. The man had asked Thomas for help in purchasing his first cardinal's robe and all the necessary accessories, so they went to a small shop where Thomas had always shopped. They were greeted by the ever-present owner, Giulio, and at Thomas's request, he immediately began to bring everything Vincent would need.

Thomas sat on a small sofa and with each layer of clothing, he watched a cardinal emerge before him. Vincent was dressed in a black cassock with red piping on the buttons and trim, and he received a matching mozzetta, a cardinal's sash, and a zucchetto. The man before him looked like someone completely different in his new attire. Fear gripped him. Was this a harbinger of the end of the life he had come to know and love in recent months? His fears intensified when Vincent began to try on an all-red cassock. The way its intense color suited his complexion and jet-black hair was stunning. To Thomas, he looked like a being not of this world.

When Giulio finished dressing him, he retreated to the front of the shop, leaving them alone in the fitting area. Vincent looked at Thomas expectantly, and his fears vanished - regardless of the attire, he was still the same man. He stood up, walked over to him, and then he understood - Vincent himself was terrified by it all. The new role, the responsibilities. He fought the temptation to hug him. It wasn't the right place, and their embrace would surely be misinterpreted, so instead of taking Vincent in his arms, he allowed himself a tender touch of his hand.

"How do you feel?" he asked with concern.

"Strange. Like I'm not in my own skin." He looked it, too.

"You'll get used to it." He offered an encouraging smile and squeezed his hand tighter, but his efforts seemed to have no effect on Vincent's mood.

"Do I really need this much?" he asked, pointing to his outfit and the other items hanging on the rack.

"Well, unfortunately, yes. You'll see in the coming days.”

And so it was. 

Vincent's appearance at the first congregation caused a stir. They arrived together at the Synod Hall, behind the Paul VI Audience Hall, where the congregations were held. It was Vincent's first official outing, so Thomas tried to stay by his side, introducing him to everyone who was interested. And there were many who were interested. Practically all the cardinals wanted to meet him and exchange at least a few words. At one point, a large group gathered around them. They were definitely the center of attention, and they didn't feel comfortable with it.

In the distance, behind the faces curiously staring at Vincent, Thomas noticed Aldo watching them. He responded to a nod with a raised eyebrow. Well, on that front, he was in for a long battle.

The battle came a few days later. He and Aldo had arranged a meeting to discuss the details of fulfilling the financial part of the will. Thomas arrived at the secretary's office at the appointed time and wistfully recalled the days when he could walk in without asking. Things between them had soured suddenly and quickly. He wondered if he would ever be able to rebuild this relationship.

Aldo greeted him from behind his desk. With a gesture, he invited him to sit opposite and, without a word, pushed a few sheets of paper towards him. Thomas looked at him with furrowed brows and took them. He was looking at bank statements. It took him a long moment to understand who the accounts belonged to.

Holy Father.

"I only had time to check these accounts today. I must admit, like you, I'm probably in shock. The Holy Father accumulated a considerable sum…"

"I didn't expect this…" Thomas said quietly, still looking at the numbers before him.

"Do you have any idea where we should donate half of these funds?" Aldo asked him.

Thomas finally tore his gaze from the paper and looked at his friend.

"No… I'm sorry, Aldo. I haven't had a chance to think about it yet… Do you think we can deal with this after the conclave? I'll ask Ray to help find suitable places, and we'll discuss them."

"Of course. I'd also prefer it to be a well-thought-out decision."

Thomas nodded silently and looked at Aldo. He knew him well, so he saw the question forming on his lips. He guessed what it might be about, and as soon as he heard it, he felt his blood pressure rise.

"Thomas… Forgive my frankness, but I'd like to understand something. To be blunt - what's the deal with Cardinal Benitez?"

"What do you mean, what's the deal with him?"

"Well, first we have the will, which includes the school he founded. Second, your disappearance and - as I found out not from you - your two-month stay in Kabul, with Benitez. Right after that, of course, your return to Rome, your care for him and his friend…" Aldo paused and looked at him intently. "Thomas…. Is he living with you?"

Thomas felt his stomach clench. He pictured all the moments they had fallen asleep and woken up in each other's arms, when they were seconds from a kiss, when they spent time like a couple with a twenty-year history. With all these images under his eyelids, he tried to convince himself first, and then Aldo, that they were doing nothing wrong.

"Aldo… I don't want to go into the details of why the Holy Father held him in high regard and trust. That's a matter exclusively between them, and I don't fully know the foundation of their relationship. Afghanistan… You probably don't know why I flew there, do you?" Aldo shook his head. "During the attack on the school, Vincent and Miguel were injured… But unfortunately, that's not all. Vincent was kidnapped. For weeks, we didn't even know if he was alive. The Holy Father sent me there to help find him. We met when he was in Rome in the spring, and we had kept in touch since then. So I flew there and worked with others to find him…"

Thomas paused, feeling his throat tighten with the memories. The images from that time came back to him as if they were real. Was it really as he said, that he was sent there by the Pope, or did he just start packing and fly?

"When he was finally found, after many efforts, he was in terrible condition. It took weeks before he regained some mobility and was able to board a plane. Besides that... convincing him to leave was the hardest part. He didn't want to leave his community, the church... But we knew the threat hadn't passed and they could quickly become targets again. Information about another planned attack and an express request from the Holy Father finally settled the matter, and he and Miguel decided to come to Rome. And yes, he lives with me," he said, seeing that Aldo was probably hoping he would deny it. “Because the kidnapping left him with such a lasting post-traumatic stress disorder that he can't be in the dark or alone. He has no one close here either. If my presence can help him with that, then I'm here for him."

Aldo nodded his head in silence.

"Aldo… Forgive me for not telling you everything sooner. But to be honest, I don't think I would have known how. I want you to know that he is an incredibly brave man and a cardinal of great faith. If you have concerns about his participation in the conclave, I hope they will be dispelled when you get to know him better. Regardless, I'm sorry."

He watched as Aldo, his gaze fixed on the desk, slowly nodded his head. When he finally spoke, his voice was slightly different, as if warmer.

"I understand. It's good that you found him. And that you became friends." He finally gave Thomas a gentle smile and added, "In that case, I hope to get to know him better soon."

"That can be arranged," he replied, feeling a little lighter at heart.

————

He decided not to tell Vincent about the sum in the Holy Father's accounts for now. An idea had formed in his mind, and he couldn't wait to put it into action. But before he could do that, there were more general congregations ahead. And with them, a mass of duties. 

Most people assume that the Pope is elected during the conclave, but those truly in the know knew that the election is usually decided during the congregations. Thomas, as Dean, presided over the proceedings, which gave him a unique insight into the mood of the College, but also placed on him the burden of maintaining order and impartiality. Every morning, the cardinals gathered in the Synod Hall to discuss the current affairs of the Church, the state of its finances, and the challenges awaiting the new pope. However, beneath the surface of the official speeches, a subtle game of influence was being played.

Thomas had never even thought about who could be a potential Pope before, so everything that was happening now was a bit overwhelming for him. He watched with concern as leaders began to emerge and tried to imagine them filling this complex and difficult position. He couldn't picture any of them succeeding.

One of them was, of course, the Camerlengo Joseph Tremblay, a Canadian, a man of great ambition and a cool diplomat with a strategic approach to the conclave. In his speeches, delivered with icy precision, he spoke of the Church as a fortress that must repel the attacks of liberalism and moral relativism. His speeches captivated the conservative wing of the College, which desired a strong, calculating leader, a guarantor of immutability and tradition.

The second was Goffredo Tedesco - the patriarch of Venice, known for his conservative views and unpredictable nature. His interventions were full of passion, almost theatrical. He defended a romantic vision of the Church, openly calling for a return to the Latin liturgy as the only true expression of faith. He was unpredictable – he could attack the Vatican bureaucracy with the same force as he did theologians seeking new paths. He won over those who longed for the old splendor and uncompromisingness.

Another natural candidate was always the Secretary of State, and Thomas was relieved that it was now Aldo Bellini. In his speeches, Aldo was the embodiment of calm and reason. He spoke of dialogue, the need for Curia reform, and financial transparency. He was the only one who dared to address the role of women in the modern Church, and his stance was marked by deep tolerance. He presented a vision of an open Church, one that is not afraid of the world but goes out to meet it. He was the hope for the reformist faction.

In sharp contrast to him, the last of the favorites, the Nigerian Joshua Adeyemi, was gaining popularity. His views, though closely aligned with Tedesco's conservatism, had a completely different source. Adeyemi spoke with pastoral fervor, openly condemning homosexuality and any attempts to change the traditional family model, which he called a "plague from the West." He was a powerful voice for the global South, which, though open to aid, had no intention of adopting a European vision of liberalism. He represented a strong alternative for traditionalists who did not want another Pope from Europe.

Among them, Thomas saw only one worthy of ascending to the throne of Peter, and that was his friend Aldo. He knew that only after the first vote would he be able to estimate his real chances and start campaigning for him, but he felt that Aldo could have a real shot. He confided this to Vincent one of the last evenings before the conclave.

"I think it should be Aldo. Though he himself doesn't seem to want it."

"And he's certainly the only one among them who isn't running a full-on campaign. Cardinal Tedesco cornered me today. A charismatic man… He asked me a lot of questions but didn't leave any room for answers. I don't know how he was supposed to learn anything from that," said Vincent, sitting at the desk in the living room and looking for something on his computer.

Thomas laughed. "You've described him graciously. A true diplomat, you are". 

He watched the man who sat with his back to him, leaning over his laptop. Lately, like himself, he had been working a lot, and it showed in his tense shoulders. The stress of the last few weeks was taking its toll on everyone. He supposed that living with someone now responsible for organizing this whole spectacle didn't alleviate the stress.

He walked up to him and placed his hands on his shoulders, squeezing them firmly. The effect was immediate. Vincent moved away from the computer and leaned back in his chair. Thomas heard the man sigh deeply. He began to massage his shoulders, gradually increasing the pressure of his hands. With his thumbs, he worked on the muscles of his neck and felt Vincent surrender to his touch and slowly relax.

"I wish I could be with you more these days. And protect you from individuals like our Goffredo," he said. 

Vincent's laptop screen went dark, and Thomas saw his face reflected on the black surface. He had his eyes closed and had tilted his head back, resting it against his stomach.

"You're busy enough with your work. You don't have to worry about me. I'm trying to manage".

"Tomorrow is the last normal day before all the madness. We have to pack for - I hope - a few days".

"I know." Vincent sighed deeply. "Thomas?..." At the sound of the way he said it, fear gripped him. He stopped massaging his shoulders and asked uncertainly, "Yes?"

"Do you know where our rooms will be?"

Oh… He's thinking about it too. Separated in Casa Santa Martha - the thought made him feel sick.

"No… I'll check tomorrow and see what I can do to…" He didn't finish. So we can be as close as possible. So we don't have to sneak to each other's rooms at night between floors.

Vincent grabbed his hands and squeezed them tighter. With his head on his stomach, he felt an even stronger attachment to him. The next few days would be a real test for them.

"Go to bed now. I promise not to stay up long. I'll join you soon." 

Thomas did as he was told and lay down in the empty bed, which was bathed in their shared scent. Tomorrow, the last day and the last night before the conclave. He thought about his plans for the evening and fell asleep thinking about it. Some time later, in his sleep, he felt Vincent get into bed and immediately hug him.

 

---

 

His plans for this last day almost went down the drain when more problems and delays in preparing the Sistine Chapel began to appear, but Ray helped him deal with everything. He assured him that he had everything under control and practically chased him out of the office.

In the morning, Thomas had written to Miguel asking him to clear Vincent's calendar from four o'clock until the end of the day, and as the hour approached, he headed down the stairs to the Dicastery's office. He entered Miguel's room, but the man was busy on the phone. He indicated that he was going to see Vincent, and Miguel covered the microphone and said, "You can kidnap him," then unceremoniously winked at him.

That's exactly what he intended to do. He knocked on his office door and, invited in, he entered. The man was clearly not expecting him, and a shadow of fear appeared on his face.

"Thomas! Did something happen?"

"No, not at all! Work's over for today. Get ready. I'm taking you out of here." There was a lightness and joy in his voice. If he was happy now, what would he say later?

"Thomas… What are you plotting?" Vincent asked, curiosity in his voice.

"Oh, you'll see. Sooner if we get out of here right now. Come on, Miguel gave me permission to take you.”

Vincent smiled at him broadly, and only some invisible force, which he didn't know where he got from, stopped him from walking around the desk and throwing himself at him.

"Okay. It seems I have no say when you're plotting against me," he said, then closed his computer, grabbed his jacket and bag, and stood in front of Thomas.

"Lead the way, Dean."

 

---

 

They left the Palace and crossed St. Peter's Square, then headed towards Trastevere. They were dressed in civilian clothes today. Knowing his plan, Thomas had suggested it in the morning - "Maybe wear something normal today. From tomorrow, for a few days, you'll be in a cassock from morning till night", and Vincent had listened to him. Thanks to this, they now had more anonymity - nothing in their attire indicated who they were.

As they immersed themselves in the narrow streets of Trastevere, Thomas looked up the address they were headed to on his phone and directed them there. After a few more minutes, they stood before an inconspicuous-looking door. Only a small plaque next to it suggested that there was a restaurant inside.

"I invite you to dinner," he said, then opened the door and gestured for him to go first. They were led to the very top, where, as it turned out, there was a rooftop. The place had, of course, been recommended to him by Monica. Although he hadn't told her why he was looking for an intimate restaurant with a nice view of Rome, she sent him the contact for this place with the note: "Vincent will like it."

When they stepped onto the terrace, they were the only guests. Thomas suspected that at this time of year, the place wasn't crowded, and that was exactly what he wanted. They were shown to a table and took their seats. They couldn't stop looking at the panorama of Rome before their eyes. They could see the dome of St. Peter's Basilica and other iconic buildings. Above them, the sun was gradually beginning to set. In about an hour, they would be able to admire the spectacle.

The waiter, an elderly man with a sun-weathered face, approached their table. Thomas asked for two glasses of chilled white wine, and they ordered their dishes. They started with an antipasto, which they ate from a single board while sipping their wine. A short while later, their main courses appeared on the table. They ate slowly. It was so rare in recent days that it was even more enjoyable. Everything, absolutely everything now made Thomas feel as if he were floating above the ground. The increasingly warm rays of the sun, which brought out brown highlights in Vincent's hair, his now brighter eyes, which glanced at him every so often. This moment, and the fact that they were somehow still alone on this terrace. His thoughts began to take absurd directions.

Was this a date? Definitely. Although it couldn't be a date, it was. And what if it could be? He would probably fall to his knees right now and ask Vincent to marry him. He longed for him to be his. Would he be accepted? Their gazes met again, and he knew he would. They were in love. Though they hadn't said it yet, they were madly in love with each other. Only their vows of chastity separated them from complete madness. Would he want to break them? At this moment, very much so. He wanted all of him and desired all of him. He saw proof of this almost every morning when he had to flee from the bed.

Now, his gaze wandered towards his neck, which was exposed without a collar and with an unbuttoned shirt button. He noticed a throbbing vein on it and longed to feel it under his hand, and then to press his lips to it and suck, suck, and suck until Vincent moaned his name. He got aroused at the very thought of it. He had to start breathing more deeply to calm himself. There was no salvation for him anymore.

The sun was slowly sinking towards the horizon, and more plates appeared on their table.

"You planned this well" said Vincent, and Thomas - aroused by his own thoughts - replied with a twinkle in his eye, "This is just the beginning."

He wasn't lying. They spent about another hour at the restaurant, eating, drinking, and talking. Forgetting about the world and work. About what awaited them from tomorrow. They finished their dinner with a small tiramisu and espresso and, to the accompaniment of the orange-pink sky, descended from the roof.

"And now, my dear, allow me to invite you to a movie."

Vincent raised his eyebrows. "A movie?"

Thomas confirmed and led them not far away to a small art-house cinema where he had been several times with Monica. A few days ago, when he came up with this idea, he had checked its repertoire and almost jumped for joy when he saw what was playing. It was less than a ten-minute walk from the restaurant, which did them good after such a hearty dinner. When they reached it, an old neon sign, Cinema , glowed above the entrance. The screening was about to start, so they went inside, Thomas bought the tickets, and they stood before the entrance to the only theater.

"I thought it would be nice to spend this evening in a different way. And probably the last time for you when you still have full anonymity on the street. From tomorrow, when you take the oath, the media will quickly pick up that you're someone new. And it will begin. Today is the last day of complete freedom. And you haven't been to the cinema with me yet. We have to make up for that."

Vincent stood and looked at him without words. His gaze said that he understood perfectly and thought the same thing. From tomorrow, most of his life would end. He would probably appear in the newspapers, which would discuss every cardinal. His name and photos would also be displayed on the internet. A part of his life would be gone forever.

"You think of everything. No, not everything…. Thomas.. You think of others. You're wonderful…"

Did he mention proposing earlier?

"I don't think of everyone. I think of you. And that's a difference.".

He saw Vincent's black eyes begin to glisten and realized he was on the verge of tears.

"Come, see one of my beloved films with me, Cinema Paradiso . Thanks to it, I once fell in love with Italy and cinema."

He grabbed his hand and pulled him into the theater.

 

---

 

Just half an hour later, Thomas concluded that perhaps it wasn't the wisest idea. The theater was small, and they were alone in it. There were also no traditional armchairs but rather double sofas. Although they had plenty of space, they chose to sit next to each other, touching firmly. Vincent's proximity and the circumstances were doing something dangerous to him. Every now and then, when they laughed at the film, they would glance at each other in the semi-darkness. Several times, their gazes lingered longer, and Thomas felt his heart pounding in his chest. Once, Vincent placed his hand on his thigh. It was probably meant to be a pat in reaction to the film's plot, and just as he was about to take it away, Thomas stopped him. He intertwined their fingers and kept their joined hands on his leg. 

He couldn't focus much on the film. His thoughts were consumed by the man beside him. Would his life really change in a few days? People would find out about Vincent's existence, probably start digging into his past and discover what a good person he is and how involved he was in helping those in need. And what's worse - they would find out about the attack and the kidnapping. The media would harp on this topic until the new pope was elected. Would he find peace after that, and would everything return to normal? And - most importantly - would the newly elected pope not take an interest in their private lives and intrude upon it… That's what he feared the most. If Aldo was elected, they were safe. If anyone else, it didn't bode well for a peaceful future.

They held hands until the end of the film, instinctively moving closer and closer to each other. Their bodies were connected, and it had been that way for a long time. Probably from the very beginning of their acquaintance. The thought came to Thomas again that he didn't know how he would endure the next few days and this forced separation. He had checked today which rooms they were assigned to for the duration of the conclave and discovered that the system had randomly assigned them only a few doors apart. It seemed that in every world, they were destined for each other.

When the film ended, they reluctantly got up from the sofa and left the cinema. It had already gotten dark outside, though it wasn't that late yet. Vincent thanked him for the whole evening, but Thomas told him it wasn't over. "Come on," he said, and gestured with his hand for him to follow. After about a twenty-minute walk and a stop at a shop to buy a wine, they reached the last place Thomas had planned for the day, the Colosseum. 

"I wanted us to look at it from a different perspective." He led them to one of the gates, where, just like almost a year ago, he showed his pass and they were let through. They headed in the opposite direction from the Colosseum, climbed many stairs, and found themselves on an already closed observation deck, from which a beautiful view of the Colosseum and the Arch of Constantine spread out.

They took one of the benches. Thomas took a deep breath, took a bottle of wine they had just bought from his bag, and opened it. 

"It may be a poor toast, with wine without a cork from a supermarket, but let's raise it. To everything we've managed to experience and achieve this year. To the fact that you're here." His voice almost broke. He passed the bottle to Vincent to drink from it first. The man took it and looked down, weighing his words. 

"I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. No, don't deny it, you know it's true. Everything good that happens to me, I owe to you. You are a true gift in my life. To Thomas!" He raised the bottle and took a sip, looking him straight in the eyes. When he handed it to him, Thomas did the same.

They looked at the Colosseum rising before them, beautifully lit as always. There weren't many tourists around anymore. Although the season in Rome lasted all year, right now one could still find a moment of peace. They passed the bottle back and forth a few times, drinking wine on the ancient ruins like a pair of rebels.

"So…," Thomas began slowly. He was excited at the thought of what he was about to tell him. "I spoke with Aldo. He showed me the amounts that were in the Holy Father's accounts. And which, according to his will, will go to the reconstruction of your school and other purposes." Vincent looked at him with a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. "It's 425,000 euros." He watched as shock painted itself across Vincent's face.

"How much?"

"Yes, you heard right. I don't know where or when the Holy Father managed to accumulate such funds, but the activity on the accounts indicates they've been there for years and have just been capitalizing". Vincent sat in shock. He stared at the Colosseum and didn't say a word. "I told you that you could help more by coming back to Rome. And it looks like with these funds, we can help a great deal. We'll start working on it after the conclave, what do you say?" He looked at the man with an encouraging smile. He knew that this issue might finally help Vincent deal with the guilt he felt after leaving Kabul, and he was very happy about that.

Vincent looked at him and nodded. A slight smile appeared on his face. He probably needed more time to digest this information. They exchanged the bottle of wine and listened to the sounds of the city and the murmur of tourists beneath their feet.

"It's funny how perspective changes. We were here a year ago, and I feel like ten years have passed. Also since I met you. I feel like I've known you my whole life, Thomas…" Vincent said with nostalgia. 

Thomas tilted his head and looked at him from under his brows. He offered him a gentle smile. He felt exactly the same. 

"It may sound like a tired cliché, but I really wouldn't be here without you. And I mean here, in this world and this life. You saved me and you saved my soul… I never told you what happened there, and you, of course, waited patiently and never pushed…" Vincent reached for his hand. "But now I'm ready. Do you want to hear about it?"

Thomas could only nod his head now. 

Vincent squeezed his hand tighter, and his gaze wandered into the distance. He took a deep breath, as if gathering his strength. 

"Right after the kidnapping, I wasn't aware of what was happening. The explosion deafened me, but consciousness gradually returned, and then came the pain from the injuries I sustained, including the leg I broke then… They kept me in some kind of dugout. There were no windows, no access to air. I quickly started to smell a terrible stench and realized it was me. My wounds... They started with whipping. They probably did it twice a day. They screamed terribly, but I didn't understand them. That enraged them even more. After a few days, when they didn't get a single word out of me, they brought someone who spoke broken English. Then I understood, I was supposed to renounce my faith. I spoke for the first time, saying that I would never do it, and then the worse part began… They twisted my arms, beat me with rods, struck my broken leg. They electrocuted the soles of my feet, they even tried waterboarding once, but I don't think they really knew how to go about it… On top of that, they starved me and inflicted a lot of other smaller and larger wounds. Sometimes I look at my body in the mirror and I don't even remember when they made this or that scar… 

I never spoke to them again, they only heard screams. I think that's why they branded me on my chest…. It took them hours. They burned it letter by letter. Kafir . Infidel… They wanted me to know that to them, I am only that. That my faith, my life, everything important to me, is nothing to them. Except I knew the good sides of life and I could hold onto them like a last resort… So I prayed constantly. And when I wasn't praying, I was thinking of you. I had you constantly before my eyes. All our moments here in Rome, all the long conversations after I left, your promise to visit - all of it saved me. They could kill me, but they couldn't break me. You kept me in check. And you gave me strength... I had never experienced anything like it. I kept wondering how it was even possible that I was thinking precisely of you. We only spent a few days together, and then we only communicated from a distance, but for some reason, you dispelled that darkness…"

Thomas put his arm around him and squeezed his hand tighter. Listening to this was like scratching a barely healed wound. Until now, he had only guessed at the tortures Vincent had been subjected to. Hearing it from his own mouth was much worse, even though it was surely nothing compared to what he had gone through....

"You kept me alive, even when you weren't with me. I lived on the hope that I would see you again someday, that we would be given the chance to talk, to laugh, that we would finally meet again. And then, at last, I saw you. Sleeping on my hospital bed.” He laughed. „At that moment, I was sure I had died. But no. You flew here, you found me, you did I don't know what to find me, and you were there… I begged God to send you to me, and He did. Do you have any idea how much it meant to me to see you in the hospital then?" He asked and looked at him with large, sad eyes.

Thomas did. He did, because he himself had almost gone mad then. He had been through hell and back. 

"I know," he answered heavily. He looked into the eyes he loved so much and, at that moment, couldn't believe they had reached this place. "I thought I had lost you. I flew there thinking you were dead. You simply vanished, yet you existed. I didn't understand how you could disappear without a trace when I knew your touch, your warmth, so well. You were there, and suddenly you were gone. And I almost ceased to exist along with you.. You came back at the last moment. For you and for me...."

Vincent looked at him with those eyes for which he would give his life without hesitation at any moment. There were tears in them, and Thomas understood it perfectly; he himself felt he was on the verge of them. He knew they couldn't afford much right now. Even though they were practically alone here, there was still a risk that someone might notice and recognize them. Two cardinals in a tender embrace? Maybe at least they'd be done with the conclave....

He also knew that although he desired it more and more, he shouldn't confess his feelings. He would complicate everything, maybe ruin something. And he knew they would never be allowed to have anything more and go beyond this platonic sphere of their relationship. They had taken vows. And tomorrow they would enter the conclave to elect a new pope. What they have is enough. It has to be.

As if reading his mind, Vincent whispered, "Oh, Thomas. What will become of us…" and intertwined their fingers even tighter. 

He was sure they both felt the same. And that it would never be enough for him.

They got up as it started to get colder. The empty wine bottle landed in a nearby bin, and they headed towards the metro to go home. At the station, they caught a train and sat in an empty carriage opposite each other. They had been in the same situation before. 

Vincent was thinking the same thing, because he said, "A new tradition?" and smiled, raising one corner of his mouth more than the other. Thomas stared at that corner for far too long, then moved his gaze to his entire face, his hair, his figure. From tomorrow, he would see him mainly in cardinal's robes, and there would be no trace of the Vincent sitting right in front of him. 

Tradition, sentiment, weakness, love. Call it whatever you want, my love.

 

---

 

The next day they said goodbye to their apartment, not knowing when they would return. Dressed in red cassocks, they left carrying only one suitcase each and went to the Domus Sanctae Marthae. Agness greeted them and gave them the keys to their rooms at the reception. They deposited their phones and said goodbye to the outside world for a few days. They took the elevator together to the third floor and were relieved to find they were only separated by two rooms. Each of them opened the door to their room and went inside to unpack and prepare for the solemn mass.

Thomas took in his room. Ascetic decor, a simple single bed, a desk, a kneeler, a wardrobe, and a modest bathroom. He felt as if it was already too much. A prison cell would have been more appropriate. He unpacked, reread the homily he was to deliver, and when the appointed hour came, he left the room dressed in a red cassock, rochet, and mozzetta. 

The act had begun.

That same morning, in St. Peter's Basilica, a solemn Mass Pro Eligendo Pontifice was celebrated for the election of the Pope.

Thomas, as Dean of the College of Cardinals, presided over the liturgy. Standing at the altar, looking at the faces of his brothers in purple and the crowds of faithful filling the naves of the basilica, he felt the weight of history and responsibility on his shoulders. It was hard for him not to compare this moment to the recent funeral he also had to celebrate. It was ironic that such tasks usually fall to those who would do anything to avoid them. He found Vincent's face in the crowd and clung to it for the next hour.

He delivered a homily in which he emphasized the historical importance of the moment, presenting the conclave not as a power struggle, but as an act of deep, collective listening to God's will. He spoke of a world full of contradictions - on one hand, thirsty for hope and spirituality, on the other, wounded by divisions and loneliness. He painted a portrait of the pope needed for these times: a man of prayer with the heart of a shepherd, capable of building bridges where others build walls. He stressed that the new pope must be someone who can hear the whisper of the suffering louder than the shouts of power, and who possesses the courage of mercy. He concluded with a call for their choice to be an act of faith in the future and in a Church that can heal, unite, and bring light to every, even the darkest, corner of human experience.

During the Mass, he studied the faces of the favorites in this race. He looked at them and tried to read whether his words had reached any of them and whether they would abandon their personal ambitions, but the longer he observed them, the less hope he had. He was soon to find out for himself.

In the afternoon, the time came to shut themselves off from the world for good. The cardinals, dressed in choir robes, gathered in the Pauline Chapel, from where they proceeded in a solemn procession to the Sistine Chapel. The majestic frescoes of Michelangelo looked down on them, silent witnesses of dozens of similar gatherings over the centuries. Everyone took their designated seat. Thomas, as a senior member of the Curia, had a seat in the front row near the presidential table, where Ray stood in the company of the Master of Papal Ceremonies. Thomas located Vincent, whose place was in one of the back rows. His face was focused and serious.

The ceremony of taking the oath began. Each cardinal, one by one, approached the Book of the Gospels, placed his hand on it, and solemnly swore to maintain strict secrecy and, if elected, to faithfully perform the duties of Peter. The voices echoed in the vast space. In the background, only the sound of a camera shutter could be heard. In a moment, all these faces would circle the globe and - until the white smoke appeared - would be the main fodder for the media. One of the photos just taken would end up in newspapers, in the headlines of news services. Permanently burned into the pages of history. God, what a nightmare, he thought, close to tears.

When the Master of Papal Ceremonies uttered the historic words: "Extra omnes!", the Swiss Guards closed the massive doors of the Chapel. They were left alone. One hundred and fifteen men cut off from the world to choose its spiritual leader.

The first ballot took place that same afternoon. It was more of a test than a real attempt at an election. The cardinals silently approached the altar to cast their votes. Thomas wrote Aldo's name on the ballot, went to the urn, cast his vote, and a moment later watched with tension as Vincent cast his. He looked confident, but he knew him all too well - he was tense and, although he tried to hide it with an energetic stride, he didn't fool him.

When everyone had voted after more than an hour, the tense ceremony of counting the votes began. Three scrutineers sat at the table. One of them unfolded the ballot, read the name written on it aloud, and passed it to the second. The second wrote the name on a list, and the third threaded the pierced ballot onto a long string with a needle. In the absolute silence of the chapel, the first names began to be called. Bellini, Tremblay, Tedesco, Bellini, Adeyemi. 

The rhythm was exactly as Thomas had expected. The votes were spread among the four favorites. He meticulously noted each vote in his notebook, trying to maintain a stone-faced expression, when he suddenly heard his own name. 

Thomas froze with his pencil over the paper. He felt a sting of irritation. What a waste, he thought. It wasn't him who was supposed to be on everyone's lips; he was only supposed to lead this process. He was the judge, not a player. He glanced to the side, feeling the gazes of several curious cardinals on him. He furrowed his brow slightly and returned to his notes as if nothing had happened.

But something had happened. A moment later, he heard "Lawrence" again and instinctively looked at Vincent, who was sitting on the other side of the chapel. They exchanged a look and understood each other perfectly. Another vote. Two votes that could have gone to Aldo.

The voting continued. Votes for the main candidates were interspersed with single votes cast for others. And then suddenly, among the familiar names, one was called that made Thomas's heart stop completely. Benitez. 

He lifted his head sharply and looked at Vincent. He sat there, clearly disoriented, his eyes wide with amazement. He was looking straight at Thomas, as if seeking an explanation from him. Thomas felt a cold shiver run down his spine. This was dangerous. And it was drawing unnecessary attention to him. 

He was so stunned that he missed the third vote cast for himself.

No, no… How is that even possible? Until now, almost no one knew of his existence. Vincent had spoken a few times during the congregations, but for a new cardinal, that was still not enough to gain supporters. Someone from Mexico must have voted for him, he convinced himself, and just then he heard his name for the second time. The air left his lungs. He stared at his notes, which had not matched the reality since halfway through the count.

The reading of the names concluded, and the votes were tallied. It was then he learned that he himself had received a total of five. He cursed silently. Joseph Tremblay was in the lead - a total of 24 votes were cast for him. 20 electors voted for Aldo. Tedesco did surprisingly well with 18, and Adeyemi with 16 votes. The rest were scattered among other candidates.

He didn't know what to think about it. He didn't know what to expect today, but certainly not what had just happened. When he felt more and more people staring at him expectantly, he gathered himself and stood up from his seat. He approached the presidential table and turned to face the cardinals. He forced his lips to utter the Latin formulas. Half an hour later, black smoke rose from the chimney above the Sistine Chapel.

 

---

 

The whole group returned to Casa Santa Marta and went to dinner. They sat divided into specific factions and also by country. Thomas saw that Vincent was sitting among other Mexicans. At that moment, all he wanted was to be close to him, to share this shock with him and to calm down a bit in his company. Unfortunately, he would have to wait for that for even a few more hours. If he could even manage to sneak into Vincent's room tonight.

Dinner passed in a rather awkward atmosphere. The dining hall was filled with the murmur of conversations, yet everyone at his table was silent, and Aldo, sitting next to him, avoided his gaze. Thomas tried several times to start a conversation with him, but to no avail. It seemed he had angered Bellini somehow, but he couldn't guess how. Their relationship had never been this bad since he met Vincent, and it was becoming a real thorn in his heart.

As soon as he finished his meal, he almost immediately stood up from the table, muttering a quiet "excuse me," and headed for the exit. He needed air, a moment of solitude, anything to help him gather his thoughts. But he didn't get far. In the hallway, just outside the dining room door, Cardinal Tedesco, the Patriarch of Venice, blocked his path. He wore the same arrogant smile with which he had scrutinized him earlier in the Sistine Chapel.

"Tomasso! Aspetta! An amazing day, isn't it? Full of surprises," he said, and his voice, though melodic, had a steel note to it. He came closer, invading his personal space with his typical bravado. "Allora, tell me, what is all this supposed to mean?" His hand landed on Thomas's shoulder, seemingly in a friendly gesture, but the grip was too tight. Tedesco gestured grandly with his other hand. "Those votes for you. Veramente? Really? You're not naive, Thomas. You know this is a game. Un gioco. But a dangerous game. Perché? Why are you doing this? This candidacy of yours only divides our votes and opens the door for the liberals or, what's worse, for the Americans. Do you want that?"

He spoke quickly, expressively, interweaving English with Italian and drilling into Thomas with his dark, intelligent eyes. There was fire and passion in him, but also ruthless calculation. 

"Goffredo, I don't have the ambitions you accuse me of, and I don't want to run. This is probably a misreading of the first vote. Tomorrow everything will look completely different". Thomas, in fact, couldn't believe he even had to explain himself. And to Tedesco, of all people!

"Listen…" The Italian leaned in conspiratorially, and his tone softened, becoming almost seductive. "We both know that in these times the Church needs someone with strength, with strategy. Someone who understands Rome and its mechanisms. Capisci? That's why I come to you as an equal." 

He paused, letting the words hang in the air. 

"Let's join forces. Insieme. Give your votes to me. It will be a clear signal. You will show that you are a strategist, that you care about a strong Church, not an empty gesture. Think, Tomasso! An Italian on the Throne of Peter. We both know that's what the Curia wants".

He looked at him expectantly. This was not a request. It was a business offer, a proposal of an alliance in which he alone dictated the terms. 

"I don't want to get involved in these games. Let everyone decide for themselves who to vote for."

The hall echoed with Tedesco's booming laughter. A moment later, his smile vanished, and his face hardened. 

"You look at them all and think that the Holy Spirit will descend upon each one individually, whispering the one right name in his ear. You think your ballot, your vote, has some personal, pure value. Che illusione, mio caro!" 

He let go of him as suddenly as he had grabbed him. He turned on his heel and walked away with a confident stride, leaving Thomas alone, his heart pounding like a bell. The pressure was mounting from all sides, and he felt increasingly alone.

 

---

 

After about an hour and countless conversations he was dragged into in the corridor, he finally headed to the elevator towards his room. He got out on the third floor and immediately noticed Aldo's silhouette, standing by the room of the deceased Pope. On the tables against the wall stood lit candles, and in the center was a photograph of the Holy Father. Thomas approached him quietly and looked at Aldo kindly. When his friend didn't look up, he began.

"Are you angry because of the vote?".

Aldo looked up at him and said in a hollow voice, "Angry? No. Disappointed. Because it seems I know nothing about you. I didn't know you had ambitions to take this office, but apparently, I was mistaken."

"You can't be serious. Are you joking? I have no ambitions. I don't even want to preside over all this, but I have to. Aldo… This is madness. I don't know who voted for me, but if I find out, I will demand they stop."

"Don't be naive. You know how this looks. The Dean of the College, it fits as a natural succession…." he said, then looked at Thomas with narrowed eyes. "What puzzles me even more are the votes for Vincent. Someone must have been promoting him, right? And it just so happens you're always surrounding yourself with him."

Thomas couldn't believe what he was hearing and the direction this conversation was taking. Slandering him was one thing, but the comment about Vincent infuriated him.

"Aldo, what are you even talking about? Neither I, nor he, especially, have done anything for anyone to vote for us. I'm lobbying in your direction. The only thing I'm doing is trying to convince people to vote for you!"

"Oh, come on, Thomas." Aldo picked up the pope's picture from the table. "He would be ashamed. He would be ashamed of what's happening here. Of how ambitions and schemes are destroying what we've built for years" he said, then turned and walked down the corridor, leaving Thomas alone. 

This is madness, he thought, and wished he could hide away somewhere and never come out. He heard the elevator coming, so he quickly moved to his room, entered, and leaned against the closed door. He stood there, trying to calm down, listening to the buzzing in his head. He didn't know how long he stood in that position, until finally, a light knock came from behind him and broke him out of his stupor. He thought with hope of that one person and turned to open the door. When he came face to face with Vincent, a quiet groan escaped his throat. 

"Come in," he said, as if in a hurry, and let the man through the door. He closed it, quickly turned to him, and with wide-open arms, they desperately hugged each other at the same time. 

One… two… three… four… five… It took five deep breaths of Vincent's scent for Thomas to calm down. 

Even though he was a head taller than him, he felt enveloped by his arms and his whole body. Gradually, he began to feel like himself again, and after a few minutes of that iron grip, he was able to offer a similar comfort to the one he had just received. With his face hidden in his hair, he stroked Vincent's back, and it was then he felt the man's hands wander to his neck and begin to massage it. 

He surrendered to these gentle caresses and felt the tension that had been with him all day leave his body with every movement of Vincent's hands. Entranced by this closeness, he whispered into his ear, "I wish I were home now," and heard a quiet, "Me too." 

He would prefer to be at home a hundred times over. To be going to sleep right now in their shared bed and not have this whole circus on his mind.

"You should go to bed and get some sleep," Vincent whispered, but the prospect of a lonely night terrified him tragically today.

"Will you stay with me?" he asked hopefully. Vincent took him by the shoulders and gently pushed him away. Thomas watched as the man looked at him with a subtle smile and nodded slightly. 

God, I don't deserve him.

He went to the bathroom and got ready for bed. When he came out, he saw Vincent sitting on the edge of the bed in a t-shirt and boxers. The thought that he had come to him with the intention of spending the night together took his breath away. He saw it on his face - of course - and, clearly embarrassed, he explained, "I got ready in my room. I didn't want to bring a bag of clothes here… I'll leave early in the morning." And indeed, what he had come in was folded on the chair.

"That's good. Smart." 

Thomas came closer and fixed his gaze on Vincent's legs. He rarely saw them bare. At home, Vincent avoided showing them, but now Thomas saw them in all their glory - from the top of his thighs down to his feet. He looked at the pink scar from the surgery on his thigh, looked with admiration at his smooth skin, at his sparse hair, and tried to make sure he didn't look at his boxers at all.

He turned off the small lamp on the desk - the only source of light by which he saw those legs - and with a gesture of his hand, invited Vincent to lie down. 

The bed was definitely too small for two adult men, but that was also its purpose. No one, not even in their wildest dreams, assumed that two cardinals would be spending the night in it together. Even though they didn't intend to do anything wrong, Thomas felt a bit like a fraud. He suppressed that feeling and decided to think about it later. A small body snuggling up to his own and wrapping its arms around him as if he were something precious helped him. Thomas returned the embrace and kissed his head. He loved doing that and loved feeling how Vincent would snuggle even closer to him, like a purring cat. Silence fell, in which only their breaths and the ticking of the clock by the bed could be heard. 

They had made it. They didn't even try to spend the night apart; Vincent came at the first possible opportunity. It seemed they could no longer function without each other for more than a day. Terrifying.

"I heard raised voices in the hallway. That was Aldo, wasn't it?"

Thomas sighed deeply. The exchange from less than an hour ago was still on his mind.

"Yes. I can't seem to get along with him… I've never seen him like this. He thinks that I… I! Want to become pope and instead of urging votes for him, I'm running my own campaign."

"That's madness. Where did he get that from?"

"I don't know. He was never like this." Not before you.

Vincent gently caressed his arm, running his fingers up and down it. Their touch on the bare skin of his arm was the best moment of the day. He completely surrendered to it and felt himself finally relaxing. He was even melting under his gaze. Being caressed so tenderly by him was another dimension of pleasure. He would let him do anything with him.

"Why would anyone even think to vote for me? They barely know me," Vincent whispered with disbelief in his voice.

"And yet you've charmed two of them," he joked to cheer him up. His hands were constantly wandering over Vincent's body in an unconscious reflex. "Should I be jealous?" he blurted out without thinking. The darkness always gave him courage he wouldn't have if he were looking into those black eyes now. He felt a rising panic as he understood the weight of those words and that he couldn't take them back.

Nothing could have ever prepared him for what he was about to hear. 

"No. I'm only yours." 

His hands stopped, and he froze completely. His heart started beating so wildly that he could even feel it in his ears. Vincent, whose head was resting on his chest, could surely feel it. As well as the frantic pulse on his neck.

Only yours . 

How was he supposed to function after hearing something like that? He realized that Vincent had also frozen. He probably hadn't thought through what he had said. Did he regret it? Thomas hoped not.

A moment passed before he spoke to him again. When he did, Thomas thought he must have been asleep and was just dreaming it all. 

"You charmed five today. Should I ask the same?" 

The way he said it… The tone of his voice, which, despite a whisper, sounded seductive. The tension he felt between their bodies… He didn't know where he found the strength to lie motionless now and not take what was his, not to mark him all over with his lips, his hands, not to end this torture that had been going on for months. Vincent was his - he had just told him so. So he had every right to prove it. But he remained absolutely still and incapable of anything. 

He was probably silent for too long, hesitated with his answer for too long, because he felt the man slightly tilt his head and turn it towards him. The room was absolutely dark, and even if he were half a century younger and strained as much as possible, he still wouldn't see his eyes. Despite that, he knew they were there somewhere, searching for an answer in him. So he moved his hand to the cheek he found by touch and, with the gentlest caress he could give, stroked it. But he wanted more. He desired him and wanted Vincent to know it. For him to feel how much he was loved by him despite all the vows that separated them, and to go to the next vote tomorrow with that feeling, to sit in the Chapel and look at him with that in the back of his mind. 

He also knew that if he were to confess his love, he wanted to do it while looking him in the eyes. That he wanted to see his reaction then and watch the changes on his face. That he wanted to see everything then, to be able to replay it in his mind a hundred times over. That's why he held back again: not today. Instead, he moved closer to his face and placed three tender kisses.

On his forehead. On his cheek. On his eyelid. And then he whispered: 

"I'm yours. Since the day I met you. And till the end of my life."

As he pulled away, he felt Vincent's uneven, hot breath on his face. His own lips burned with the memory of the skin beneath them and cried out for more. But neither of them did anything more. In response to this confession, Vincent squeezed his arm and hand tightly and did not let go. 

They spoke no more and sleep did not come to them for a long time.

A few hours later, Thomas was awakened by movement next to him. In a half-asleep state, he realized that Vincent was sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out his hand, wanting to stop him. 

Vincent leaned over him, and Thomas felt his hand on his face. 

"It's better if I go now. Before the others wake up."

Thomas looked at the clock. It was almost five in the morning. Yes, it was probably a good idea, but he still didn't want to be separated again.

Vincent stood up and took his clothes from the chair, then started to put them on. He stood with his back to Thomas, who could now admire the outline of his back, buttocks, and legs in the dim light filtering through the shutters. He was perfect, and the sight of that body began to arouse him. When Vincent turned around, Thomas's gaze involuntarily rested on the bulge that had appeared in his crotch. He felt his throat go dry.

Vincent sat on the edge of the bed again and reached for him once more. 

"Please tell me it's gonna be over today," he whispered pleadingly.

"I wish but I don't know…"

Vincent sighed heavily but nodded in understanding. Then he leaned over him and kissed him on the cheek. Thomas sensed a delay in this, a stretching of these few seconds. His heart was beating very heavily.

"Come on. Check if the coast is clear" and he held out his hand to help him up. 

Thomas opened the door to the hallway and peeked out. Empty. He nodded and let Vincent pass. He couldn't stop himself from placing a hand on his back and a moment later he was alone again. He returned to the empty bed and didn't sleep a wink.

 

---

 

The second day of the conclave began in an atmosphere thick with unspoken questions and quiet calculations. As the cardinals once again took their places in the Sistine Chapel, Thomas felt even more eyes on him than the previous day. He also felt that one, special gaze - belonging to Vincent. That and the memory of his words from the previous night gave him the strength to endure the next few hours.

The morning ballot brought a drastic change. The votes that had previously been scattered among many candidates now began to consolidate in a surprising way. Cardinal Adeyemi's name was called by the scrutineer with alarming regularity. Thomas noted each mark next to his name, feeling a new dynamic growing in the chapel. The Nigerian cardinal, with his charisma and vision of a global Church, was clearly gaining the support of the faction seeking radical change. When the count was over, Adeyemi already had 35 votes, almost doubling his result from the day before. 

To his horror, he himself had also gained. There were now twelve votes for the name "Lawrence." Twelve lost chances for Aldo. Each of them was like a dagger plunged into his sense of loyalty and duty. What's worse, the name "Benitez" was called four times. Vincent, sitting in his row, looked even more bewildered than yesterday.

The main players from the first day began to lose ground. Tremblay dropped to 18 votes, and Bellini, despite the efforts of his supporters, maintained his 20 and avoided Thomas's gaze. 

Black smoke billowed from the chimney again.

During the lunch break, Thomas watched as Tedesco, almost theatrically, circled among the tables, surveying the room like a predator. At one point, he approached Joseph Tremblay. The Canadian looked tired, his confidence from the previous day had evaporated. Tedesco placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering something in his ear with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. A moment later, Thomas saw Aldo Bellini join their brief, quiet conversation. They were sniffing around. Three powerful players whose plans were currently crumbling were desperately trying to understand what was happening and how they could regain control. They knew Adeyemi's momentum was dangerous, and the votes for Thomas only complicated their calculations.

The afternoon ballot only confirmed this trend. Adeyemi gained 45 votes. It was clear that he was attracting both liberals and a portion of the moderate cardinals, tired of the Italian and American power plays. The result was far from the required seventy-seven, but the direction was now only one, and Aldo was distancing himself both from the papacy and from Thomas. He ignored him both during dinner and in the corridor when he tried to talk to him. Thomas decided he couldn't blame him for it. During the last vote, he had gained as many as 15 votes, and although he hadn't sought them, for some reason Aldo didn't want to believe it.

That evening, Vincent came to his room earlier. They hugged in greeting and stood for a long time in each other's arms in the dark room of Casa Santa Marta. 

"It's going to happen tomorrow, isn't it?" Vincent whispered. His face was buried in Thomas's neck. 

"All signs point to it," Thomas replied, stroking his back. "Maybe that's exactly what the world needs right now".

Before they went to bed, they talked for a long time about what the pontificate of the first black pope would look like. About how Adeyemi would change the Curia, what their new roles might be, and how Aldo would find his place in this defeat. Finally, they got into bed, but didn't turn off the light yet, to read one book together for a while. Thomas held it with one hand and embraced Vincent with the other, who turned its pages. They were a perfect duo and suited each other in every way. The only comfort was that regardless of who would wear the Fisherman's Ring, they would still have each other. 

Vincent fell asleep first, breathing rhythmically on Thomas's chest. Thomas stared at the ceiling for a long time, praying that the new reality wouldn't soon tear them apart.

 

---

 

On the morning of the third day, the atmosphere in the Sistine Chapel was electric. There was no more room for strategies and conspiracies. There was only anticipation. The cardinals cast their votes in silence, and each step toward the altar seemed final. The counting began in absolute silence. At the fiftieth vote for the Nigerian, the chapel fell silent. At the sixtieth, Thomas saw Aldo Bellini bow his head and close his eyes. At the seventieth, Tedesco crossed his arms over his chest with a stone face.

"Adeyemi. Seventy-five. Seventy-six. Seventy-seven."

Habemus Papam.

A quiet, then louder applause broke out in the chapel. Several cardinals stood up. Thomas felt the entire weight of the last few days lift from him. 

Now his moment had come. As Dean of the College of Cardinals, he stood up and, accompanied by the Master of Ceremonies, approached Cardinal Adeyemi, who sat motionless with his head bowed, tears streaming down his dark face.

Thomas leaned down and asked the historic question in Latin: "Acceptasne electionem de te canonice factam in Summum Pontificem?"

Cardinal Adeyemi looked up, and his eyes, though full of tears, burned with a new strength. He looked at Thomas, then at the assembled brothers, and answered in a trembling but firm voice: "Accepto."

At the sight of the determination on his face, Thomas felt a wave of fear. In a single second, it hit him that the humble and modest church had died with the previous pope.

"Quo nomine vis vocari?" he asked, following the ceremonial, and upon hearing the answer, he felt an icy chill run down his spine.

"Pius."

In a moment, white smoke would rise over the Vatican, but before the world meets the new pope, Thomas must prepare him. He invited the new Pope to stand and, together with the Master of Ceremonies, led him to the Room of Tears.

 

---

 

The choice of the name Pius shook the College of Cardinals more than the election result itself. It was a name-declaration. The name of fortress-popes, defenders of doctrine, symbolizing tradition and intransigence. 

The first weeks of the pontificate of Pius XIII proved that this was no empty gesture. The new pope's first decision, made almost immediately after accepting the election, was to forego the simple apartments in the Domus Sanctae Marthae that his predecessor had so loved. Pius XIII unhesitatingly chose the historic, majestic apartments in the Apostolic Palace as his residence, separating himself from the rest of the Curia with walls of tradition and protocol.

The Vatican began to function with the cold precision of a clockwork mechanism. The new pope, with his ascetic posture and piercing gaze, introduced iron discipline. The days of informal meetings with the pope and casual conversations in the corridors were over. Everything had to have its order, its protocol, its place in the hierarchy. 

For Thomas, as Dean of the College, this meant a new, exhausting role. He became the main intermediary between the pope and the cardinals, the interpreter of Pius XIII's will, which was often harsh and not open to discussion. The audiences to which he was summoned to the Apostolic Palace took place in the papal private library. The room was impressive, but under Pius XIII's rule, it became cold and impersonal. Thomas sat opposite a desk so large that he felt not like a partner in conversation, but like a petitioner. The pope never engaged in personal digressions. He looked at Thomas with his still, black eyes, valuing his competence, management ability, and diplomacy, but at the same time kept him at a distance, as if constantly examining his every move, every word, searching for the slightest sign of weakness or disloyalty.

However, it was Vincent's situation that worried Thomas the most. As Prefect of the Dicastery for Evangelization, Vincent found himself at the very center of the new pope's ideological vision. For Pius XIII, evangelization was not about dialogue, inculturation, or mercy, which were close to Vincent's heart. For him, it meant proclaiming the one, inviolable truth and converting. The dicastery's work, its projects in Asia, Africa, and South America, which were based on cooperation with local communities and respect for their cultures, suddenly came under scrutiny. 

It started with requests for detailed reports on recent years' activities. Then came summonses for talks that more closely resembled interrogations. Pius XIII, in a polite but unyielding tone, questioned Vincent's methods, asked about the theological foundations of his decisions, and undermined the sense of programs that were successful but, in his eyes, were too "modern" and "liberal." Thomas only knew about this what Vincent told him, and he suspected that his meetings with the Pope were even less pleasant than he let on. 

He also saw how the pressure was destroying Vincent. He saw it in his eyes when he returned to their apartment in the evening - in a new, deeper wrinkle on his forehead, in a fatigue he couldn't hide even with a smile. Vincent never openly complained, but Thomas heard it in his voice when he talked about another meeting, another project put on hold for further analysis, and felt it in the tension of his shoulders every time he hugged him. 

It was like a constant undermining of Vincent's authority, a slow stripping away of his tools for work. And Thomas, Dean of the College of Cardinals, one of the most powerful men in the Vatican, was powerless. Any attempt to intervene in Vincent's defense would be immediately interpreted as proof of their too-close relationship and could arouse suspicion. He could only watch and wait, and die from this weakness.

On top of all this, there was Vincent's personal popularity, which had exploded during the conclave. It turned out that the media had latched onto him and had almost focused on him exclusively. Information about the attack and kidnapping was unearthed, and the media managed to reach Miguel, who gave evasive and diplomatic answers. In one article, Thomas even read about the consul from Kabul, Alessandro Rossi, and wondered how anyone had even gotten to him. In this way, his face filled the internet, and the times of anonymity were gone for him forever.

The moments when they finally met at home after work were now even more anticipated. When they closed the door behind them, they could finally take off their cardinal masks and just be Thomas and Vincent. It was then that the tension of the day would fall away from them. It was then that Thomas could hug Vincent and hold him in his arms until they both regained their balance. Their relationship, though still unspoken, deepened in the face of the new reality.

Outside the Vatican walls, the reactions to the new Pope were initially very enthusiastic. The first pope from the black continent and the first black man. Weeks passed before public opinion about him began to change, and his conservative views started to alienate more of the faithful from the church. The closing of the church to the people was already happening, and since it was noticed not only by members of the curia, it had to be serious.

One day during work, Aldo came to Thomas's office unannounced. Of course, he invited him into the office and graciously hosted him. He couldn't wait to hear what had finally prompted the man to speak to him.

"Thank you for seeing me" Bellini began uncertainly.

"Of course. Sit down, Aldo."

"Thomas. Forgive me for taking so long. I came to apologize for my behavior during the conclave. And for lying to you… I wanted to be pope. And it was a lie to deny it. Just as it was not to believe your words. Thomas, nothing excuses me, but know that I would very much like your forgiveness. And for our relations to be as they were in the old days…" Sincere remorse and shame could be heard in Aldo's voice. When he finished speaking, he didn't even look him in the eye.

Thomas was moved by these words. And happy that his friend had finally come to him. He was about to say something when Aldo spoke again. 

"I behaved terribly towards you and towards Vincent. I've read a lot of accounts of his ministry now and I'm impressed. I don't know how I could have thought you desired the papacy. Especially looking at what Adeyemi is doing to you… I ask for your forgiveness."

Thomas, deeply moved, stood up from behind his desk and walked over to the man. Aldo looked at him with fear in his eyes. Thomas pulled him by the hands: "Stand up" and drew him in for a hug. Bellini, much shorter, buried himself in him and began to cry quietly. 

His posture completely moved Thomas. Not everyone had the courage for such an apology, and not everyone was able to bring themselves to it. He hugged Aldo tightly and said simply: "I forgive you. Don't worry about it." At the sound of these words, Bellini cried even harder.

They stood like that for a moment, until finally Aldo calmed down and, embarrassed, pulled away from Thomas. 

"I also wanted to warn you. You and Vincent. To be careful… You know Adeyemi's views and his management style. I don't like how he's behaving towards Vincent. Keep an eye on him. I will too".

"Thank you, Aldo… I'm aware of it…" he said and sat on the desk. "The problem is that if something happens, I won't be able to help anyway. He's the pope. And Vincent is Vincent".

Aldo nodded his head in silence. He knew that too. Thomas, still moved by his apology, had an idea. 

"Listen… Do you have time tomorrow evening? Maybe you'd like to come over for dinner? You'd finally have a chance to exchange a few words with him," he proposed shyly.

Aldo's eyes widened. "With pleasure. Just let me know what time and I'll be there".

"Great. So we'll see you tomorrow" he said to him with a smile and was genuinely looking forward to the evening. He squeezed his arm and walked him to the door. 

When he sat down at his desk, he felt a great weight named Aldo Bellini fall from his heart.

 

---

 

The dinner turned out to be a great success. Vincent was also happy about it and thanked Thomas for coming up with such an idea. All three of them needed a bit of relaxation now. So they tidied up the apartment a bit for Aldo's arrival and took special care to ensure that nothing would betray the intimacy and closeness in which they lived. Vincent finished work early that day and took care of the cooking, while Thomas went to buy a good wine.

When the doorbell rang, a pleasant hubbub already filled the apartment. Thomas opened the door, and there stood Aldo with a bottle of olive oil in his hand. His smile was a bit shy, but a spark of joy twinkled in his eyes. Thomas gestured for him to come inside, and Aldo, though still slightly tense, crossed the threshold.

Vincent was already waiting in the living room, his presence immediately brightening the atmosphere. He smiled broadly at Aldo, and his warm gaze immediately eased the initial awkwardness. Aldo handed him the bottle of wine and made himself comfortable on the sofa. The aromas from the kitchen enveloped the room, promising a delicious feast.

Their small table, covered with a simple tablecloth, groaned under the weight of the dishes. Vincent had prepared roasted chicken with potatoes and rosemary, a fresh salad of tomatoes and mozzarella, and homemade bread. Thomas, as always, was impressed by his culinary skills.

Initially, the conversation flowed cautiously, focusing on general topics. Aldo, despite his tendency towards restraint, slowly succumbed to Vincent's charm, who freely told anecdotes but, above all, was a very good listener. Vincent's gentle tone of voice, his infectious laugh, and his ability to defuse tension made Aldo join the conversation more and more boldly.

Thomas observed their interaction, occasionally joining in, and watched with satisfaction as Aldo warmed up to Vincent. It wasn't difficult. The man charmed everyone who had the opportunity to be with him. 

A few times, he noticed how attentively Aldo observed them. It was the first time he had seen them together in such an informal situation, so he was certainly surprised by their ease with each other. Thomas wondered if the man saw something more in their behavior and if he was drawing any conclusions from it.

Thomas felt the tension of the past few weeks slightly easing. Surrounded by people he respected and trusted, even serious topics, like the difficult situation in the Church under Pope Adeyemi's rule, seemed less overwhelming. 

The evening stretched on lazily, filled with free-flowing dialogue and good food. Thomas watched with satisfaction as Aldo, initially tense, became more and more relaxed and open. When it was time to say goodbye, Aldo hugged both men, and emotion and gratitude could be heard in his voice. 

"Thank you. For everything. It was a wonderful dinner. Thank you for forgiving me," he said, and emotion was audible in his voice.

"You're welcome, Aldo," Thomas smiled. "We're glad you're here."

Vincent patted him on the back. "See you soon, I hope."

When Aldo left, Thomas and Vincent looked at each other, smiling. A weight had been lifted not only from Thomas's heart but from their shared one as well.

 

---

 

A month and a half after the conclave, Easter arrived, and with it, an intense period of ceremonies in which, as cardinals, they had to participate. These were the first holidays of the new Pius XIII, and their splendor and ostentation struck Thomas in a particularly poignant way. 

Each day brought more ceremonies: masses in the Basilica, long processions through the streets of Rome, and finally, the Way of the Cross service at the Colosseum, which, through the memory of Monica, had a particularly painful resonance for Thomas. 

Pius XIII seemed to derive satisfaction from these public appearances, emphasizing his presence at every turn. His vestments were increasingly rich, his gestures more theatrical, and his surrounding entourage - more numerous. Television cameras from around the world broadcast every detail, and Thomas struggled to hide his displeasure.

All of this was jarring to him. In a world struggling with poverty, wars, and injustice, the Church under Adeyemi's leadership seemed to be escaping into unnecessary splendor. Thomas felt that these pompous ceremonies were distancing the Church from its true mission, creating a barrier between the clergy and the faithful. He saw that the faces of some cardinals also expressed fatigue and resignation, which only confirmed his own feelings. This was also, naturally, a topic of conversation at home. Vincent—an incredibly modest man - felt particularly bad starting his official cardinal service in a church led by someone like that.

 

---

 

A few weeks later, the pope announced his first apostolic journey - a grand, one-and-a-half-month pilgrimage to Africa, his home continent. It was a gesture meant to show the world the new, global face of the Church, while also serving a completely different purpose. 

One afternoon, Thomas received a summons to his office. When he entered, it turned out that Aldo was also there, having also been invited.

"Your Eminences," the pope began, gesturing them to chairs opposite the massive desk. "As you know, I am preparing for a trip to Africa. This will be a key moment for my pontificate. I want the world to see the unity of the Church." He paused, and his gaze became even more intense. "I would like you to accompany me. Your presence - the Secretary of State and the Dean of the College - will have enormous symbolic significance."

Thomas felt his legs go weak. A pilgrimage. A month and a half. And he was supposed to go on it. 

"We leave in three weeks, so there is still some time for preparations. Please prepare for a one-and-a-half-month absence from Rome." 

In three weeks! There's no time at all! He must be crazy.

Adeyemi showed them a map of Africa, marking the route of the planned journey. The pilgrimage was to cover ten countries - ten ! - starting from Senegal in the west, through the Democratic Republic of Congo in central Africa, to Kenya in the east. Each stop was to last several days, filled with audiences with heads of state, mass masses in stadiums, meetings with local communities and clergy. The plan was exhausting, logistically complicated, and almost impossible to realize without a huge staff of people. The pope spoke of strengthening faith, supporting local Churches, and intercultural dialogue, but Thomas had the impression that behind these noble slogans lay a desire to consolidate Adeyemi's personal power and his vision of the Church.

Thomas felt a rising wave of panic. A month and a half with Adeyemi, far from Rome and Vincent, sounded like a real ordeal. The vision of endless ceremonies, forced smiles, and listening to papal speeches filled him with anxiety. He knew that refusal was impossible. Opposing the pope at such a symbolic moment could have catastrophic consequences for his position and, worse, for Vincent. He felt his stomach clench at the thought of the coming weeks.

Aldo reacted with his typical restraint, but Thomas saw disapproval in his eyes. For Aldo, a diplomat and strategist, this order was a clear signal. The Pope not only wanted to use their authority but also, perhaps, to move them away from the Vatican for a longer period to have a free hand in carrying out his plans. Aldo's expression, though calm, betrayed calculation – he was weighing every word of the Pope, analyzing the hidden intentions. He was aware that this was not an invitation, but an order from which there was no appeal. In his gaze, Thomas found confirmation of his own fears. 

This would not end well.

They both nodded, acknowledging the pope's decision, and left his office. Too shocked, they didn't say a word to each other. They stood by the stairs and looked at each other in silence. Aldo looked resigned; Thomas was sure he saw terror in his own eyes. 

"We'll talk later," Aldo said, and they went their separate ways.

That day, Thomas returned home first, unusually for him, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and sat on the sofa. He hadn't gotten much done at work today. His thoughts were focused on the new command and its consequences. For some reason, the idea of leaving Vincent alone in the Vatican terrified him. Without him and without Aldo nearby, he would be left to fend for himself at the mercy of the curia, which was obedient to Adeyemi. Thoughts began to form in his head about whether he would have anything to return to.

He waited for Vincent. He tried to formulate a plan in his head on how to tell him, but the thought of it all made him feel sick. They would have to separate. The last time they hadn't seen each other for so long, many bad things had happened. He pushed these thoughts away, but they stubbornly returned to him. It was hard for him not to think about it when such drastic changes were happening all around. He knew that in the new reality it wouldn't be easy, but what was happening was beyond his comprehension.

When Vincent finally came home, he was alarmed by the sight of Thomas. He approached him uncertainly and looked at him searchingly. With clear anxiety in his voice, he asked immediately, "What happened?" and Thomas told him everything. They sat in silence on the sofa, shoulder to shoulder, their hands clasped between them.

Partner. That's how he thought of him. That's how he had started to think of him some time ago. They shared both life and a bed, so that's what they were - life partners. And now they would have to separate. 

He didn't want to act like a martyr - other couples were separated for even longer periods. People lived in long-distance relationships for years, and a month-and-a-half trip shouldn't make such an impression on anyone. But it did on them. It did, because they perfectly remembered Vincent waking up at night screaming, they perfectly remembered that they had almost lost each other once before. It did, because they were just starting to feel truly happy, because they savored every moment together, because life was just starting to look good. Now all of that was taken from them again.

Vincent comforted him and assured him that it would be okay. Everything will pass before we know it, we'll manage, and we'll get through it . 

When the time for departure came after three weeks of intense work and frantic preparations, Thomas didn't feel at all that it would be okay. 

They were flying out early in the morning, so at six o'clock he was already waiting in the living room with his suitcases for his driver. Traveling with the pope had at least one advantage - service that bypassed queues and assistance at every stage.

So he stood in the middle of the room, and next to him, Vincent bustled about nervously, looking around to see if Thomas had forgotten anything. He knew why he was doing it - he was nervous and trying to occupy himself in these last minutes. Thomas followed his every move with his eyes and wanted to etch it into his memory. As he passed him to check the desk again for no reason, Thomas grabbed his hand and pulled him to his chest. Vincent hugged him tightly around the waist and let out a breath. They clung to each other for good.

He would miss this the most. Hugging him whenever he could, holding his small body in his arms, falling asleep with his hair tickling his face, the gentle fingers caressing him, the sound of his feet on the floor, the sound of the shower in the bathroom. He would miss everything so terribly that he felt it now, while he still had him. 

Vincent, though it was unclear where he found such strength, squeezed him tighter and tighter, burying his head in his neck. Thomas felt his warm breath on it, and on his back, hands that were wrinkling his jacket.

A month and a half! It sounds like eternal exile. Suddenly it hit him that anything could happen. Planes crash, cars wreck. There are fires and floods, there are robberies and murders. He didn't want to attract anything bad, but life is just life. And since they were only fragile humans, and his life was standing right next to him, he had to know about it. So he touched his shoulders and gently pushed him away. He took him by the chin and lifted his face upwards, and then, as tenderly as he could, looking into his glistening eyes, he said as simply as he could what he had wanted to say for months.

"Vincent. I love you."

He did it. He forced out those simple words that can shatter worlds. And now he felt like he was going to faint. 

His brain was working at top speed, trying to remember every reaction on Vincent's face. The first was shock, and the proof of it was his slightly raised eyebrows. When the shock passed, his expression changed to the most tender he had ever seen, and Thomas's vision started to go dark. 

He didn't even know when the man's hands found their way to his face and began to gently caress his beard. He tried to take him all in, but the sight of his flushed cheeks, slightly parted lips, and shining eyes robbed him of the ability to think. He felt on the verge of fainting. Suddenly, he realized his hand was reaching for Vincent's lips, and before he could stop himself, he placed his thumb in their corner. They were now insanely pink and soft, like nothing else. And he knew they would haunt him at night. When he felt Vincent's hot and quickened breath on his finger, he swayed on his feet.

This man. This perfect human being chose him. Wants to be with him. And now gently strokes his face as if he were something precious.

A lot of time passed before Vincent found any words. Thomas, stunned by his own confession, even thought in a moment of horror that he had gone too far, that he should have kept his feelings deep inside and never let them out, but Vincent's expression changed, and Thomas knew before he heard. 

Vincent strengthened the touch of his hands on his cheeks and looked him deep in the eyes, probably deeper than ever before. His gaze was paralyzing and didn't allow him to look away. Standing in this hypnosis, he heard the man, with a subtle smile and the most beautiful tone, say what he desired most in the world.

"Oh, Thomas. I love you, too. So much it scares me."

Thomas, struck by these words and possessed by love, grabbed him firmly by the nape of the neck. Vincent, in response, squeezed his face even tighter. A shiver ran through him, a shiver he felt even in his bones, and he had to start breathing through his mouth. They looked into each other's eyes, and thunderbolts flew between them. If he thought they were close to a kiss before, he was mistaken. Vincent looked deep into his eyes, first one, then the other, until he suddenly moved his gaze to his lips. Thomas felt himself blushing to the tips of his hair.

Vincent in this state was dangerously arousing. If he wanted to, he could rule the whole world, just as he ruled his heart. Thomas fought with himself with all his strength, the hand on Vincent's neck both anchored him and kept him at a safe distance. If they went any further, he certainly wouldn't be going anywhere. He wouldn't leave this apartment for the next week and they would probably be excommunicated. In a burst of superhuman strength, he moved closer to Vincent and rested his forehead against his. He closed his eyes and began to breathe even more deeply. Their noses were touching, and he felt himself breathing the warm air that was leaving Vincent's lungs. The sensation was almost erotic. Their embraces became stronger and more desperate. Suddenly, he realized their bodies were touching, with no free space between them. They instinctively began to sway slightly, as if what they had just confessed to each other wasn't enough. Thomas opened his eyes and saw Vincent's black irises before him.

At that moment, he desired nothing more than to take him in his arms and carry him to the bedroom. And there, to tear off his clothes and kiss every inch of his skin. He was getting aroused and was almost certain he could also feel proof of it at Vincent's lower abdomen. The mere thought that only the fabric separated their bodies, that without it they would be pressing skin to skin, sent sparks of pleasure through his groin, and he instinctively pressed his hips against him more firmly.  Their eyes widened. 

Yes, they both definitely felt it.

He pulled his head back slightly and looked at Vincent, whose eyes were shining even more, his cheeks were getting pinker, and his lips were invitingly parted. There was so much eroticism in his face and gaze that he was sure what would be haunting all his dreams for the coming weeks. Driven by this primal instinct, he barely noticed when he began to approach him with one, and only one, intention. And just when only centimeters separated them, a knock sounded at the door.

The sobering up didn't come immediately. They didn't let go of each other instantly, nor did they stop looking at each other lustfully. When the knocking repeated, Thomas knew he really had to go. Despite his body's protests, he pulled away and took half a step back. 

"I have to go," he whispered barely audibly. 

Vincent looked dazed. He was breathing heavily through his open mouth and staring at him as if he didn't understand what was happening. 

"I'll call, I'll write. If you want, I'll even send letters. I'm asking you for the same. Get in touch regardless of the time of day. Okay?" 

It seemed that consciousness was slowly returning to Vincent. He nodded but still stared at him, stunned. A third knock came at the door, to which Thomas called out that he was leaving. 

"I gotta go," he said and managed a sad smile. Seeing the man's somber expression, he felt he had to see his smile at the end. 

He joked, "Try not to fall in love with someone else while I'm gone," and achieved the effect. 

Vincent smiled slightly. "Don't worry about that… As I said before, I'm only yours. Don't you remember?" 

"I remember. Of course I remember," he whispered. I would remember it even after death.  

Thomas felt his eyes start to burn and again had trouble breathing. In one step, he was back at Vincent's side and hugged him tightly. He buried his hand in his soft hair and hotly kissed his neck. He knew he couldn't afford to drag out this moment even for a second, so he quickly pulled away, looked hard into his eyes, and kissed the corner of his mouth, then whispered a sad "Goodbye" directly into them. 

He pulled away as quickly as he could, grabbed his suitcases and moved to the door. He had to act fast, or he wouldn't get out of here. Before grabbing the handle, he turned one last time and saw Vincent looking at him, his hand on the lips he had almost entirely kissed just moments before and he left the apartment.

 

---

 

He didn't remember how he went down the stairs, nor how he got into the car. He didn't remember if his suitcases ended up in the trunk or if he greeted his driver. On the way to the airport, he didn't see Rome waking up, nor did he register that they had spent a long time in traffic. In his head, the morning scene kept replaying, and it made him feel drunk. When consciousness began to return, it was like sobering up with a hangover. The thought of weeks of separation made him feel sick. He had driven like this once before. Then it was to look for him, now he was leaving him. He raised his eyes to the sky but saw only the creamy headliner of the car. He saw neither God nor hope in it.

The papal plane, a specially chartered Airbus, was a flying version of Vatican splendor. Comfortable seats upholstered in white leather, gold ornaments, and the ubiquitous papal coat of arms. Pius XIII strolled through the cabin, greeting his entourage and the accompanying journalists with a theatrical smile. He behaved like a monarch. Thomas took a seat next to Aldo, in the section reserved for the closest collaborators. He slumped heavily into the chair.

"You look like you're going to your execution," Aldo muttered quietly.

Thomas just sighed. "Then why do I feel like it's something even worse?"

Aldo gave him a brief look. "Remember, keep your composure. He's just waiting for us to slip up."

Suddenly, it hit him. Aldo. He would be his voice of reason in the coming weeks. Since he had left his heart in Rome and was currently incapable of independent thought, he needed someone to guide him through this madness. 

So he listened to Aldo and submitted to his advice. For the time being, he entrusted his reason to his friend.

The first stop, Senegal, was a blast of heat and chaos. The waft of African air - a mixture of dust, exhaust fumes, and unknown scents - was like entering another world. From the very beginning, the pilgrimage took on an ecstatic form. Endless motorcades, enthusiastic but exhausting crowds cheering for the pope, meetings with politicians during which Adeyemi spoke of peace and justice, only to negotiate the Church's influence moments later.

The masses in the stadiums were the greatest spectacle. Pius XIII, dressed in richly decorated vestments with elements of local fabrics, celebrated the liturgy with theatrical flair. His voice carried over the stands, and thousands of faithful fell into a religious ecstasy. Thomas, standing by his side on the monumental altar, felt like a fraud. He saw in the eyes of these people a true, deep faith, and it pained him that it was being used as a backdrop for one man's personal triumph. When he had accompanied the late pope on foreign trips years earlier, they had never taken on such a pompous form, and he had never felt about them as he did now. 

After a few such days, he felt as if he was falling into a fever and understood that the whole trip was that fever. A tiring fever, with Africa as its hallucinogenic backdrop. Every few days he would wake up in a different country, but in the same state of overwhelming longing that gave everything a bitter taste. He had even stopped feeling angry at Adeyemi. The pope had become just a distant, noisy element of this performance. All that mattered was the routine of the journey and its slow, almost agonizing progress.

He saw Africa mostly from behind the window of a car, in which he usually rode with Aldo. From Senegal they flew to the Ivory Coast, then to Ghana and Mali. Each country blended with the previous one into a single, tiring image of airports, more or less luxurious hotels, summit meetings, and mass services. Thomas functioned like an automaton. He smiled, shook hands, participated in prayers, but his mind and heart were thousands of kilometers away. 

In Nigeria, Adeyemi's homeland, the chaos took on an almost mystical form; in Lagos, millions of people gathered in the heat and humidity, creating an energy so dense it could almost be cut with a knife. When they entered Cameroon, he was hit by a wall of green like he had never seen anywhere else. On the streets of each of these places, he saw the same thing: extreme poverty, disease, chaos, and filth. And he was just an observer in a cage, an intruder in a cassock, which filled him with disgust for himself and for what he was participating in.

The only time he felt joy was in those moments when one name appeared on his phone screen. Whether it was just a greeting or a photo sent by Vincent, he felt then that he could breathe again and even smiled. They called each other every day, both morning and evening. Vincent told him about work, the increasingly hot weather in Rome, meetings with Monica, who - as he suspected at Thomas's request - didn't leave him alone, and asked him for stories about Africa, for which he seemed to miss a little. 

If they managed to talk before sleep, he was able to fall asleep relatively quickly. If he finished his duties when it was already late, he would go to bed without Vincent's voice and toss and turn all night, having nothing to fill his arms with. He would burst into empty laughter when he thought about how he had lived for over sixty years in solitude, and suddenly every night without Vincent by his side became a challenge. When he asked him if he was sleeping well, he would receive a quick assurance that he was, but he suspected it wasn't true. 

They didn't touch on the subject of their farewell or what had happened then. Thomas still hadn't recovered from it, and every morning he would wake up from a dream in which they went much further than on that day. He couldn't handle his body's reactions and several times experienced something much more in his sleep than he ever thought they would do. When he woke up from such a dream, he could barely catch his breath, and his boxers had proof of what Vincent was doing to him even from a distance. Although he felt a great temptation, he didn't want to resort to releasing this desire in that way. He already felt terrible just for having such dreams. The fact that they provided him with stimulating images was arousing enough, so if he found a gym in the hotel, he would lock himself in it and try to tire his body so it wouldn't have the strength to produce such visions for him anymore and to rid his arms of the weight of the pleasure he experienced during them. The touch of Vincent's lips on his skin, his kisses, the movements of his hands, and the pressure of his silhouette. 

Every following morning, he was convinced he was failing.

Their journey continued on. After the first three weeks, he was convinced he had landed in hell and this torment would never end. Even though they had already covered half the distance, there was still no end in sight. 

They reached the Democratic Republic of Congo. As the plane landed in Kinshasa, Thomas felt a strange tightness in his heart. It was here that Vincent had spent years on a mission. The longing, which until now had been a constant but dull ache, now became sharp and piercing. He remembered the name of the hospital Vincent had once helped to create here, so he looked up its address on the internet and, seeing it wasn't far, in a surge of immense longing, decided to go there. When he told Aldo about his plan, he asked if he could accompany him, to which he of course agreed. One day, taking advantage of a short break in the official schedule, they asked their driver to take them there. 

It was a tiny hospital on the outskirts of the city - a modest building where victims of sexual violence were mainly treated. Vincent was the originator of its creation, and although he never spoke much about it, Thomas found an extensive article about it on the website and thanks to - then still - Father Benitez. Next to the thanks was a poor-quality photo in which he stood with several sisters. He was definitely younger in it, dressed in simple and loose clothes, and had much longer hair than usual. At the sight of him, warmth spread through his chest. During the drive, he showed it to Aldo, and the man studied the note and the photo for a long time. When he handed the phone back, he said with an unreadable expression on his face, "He is a really good man."

They got out of the car and introduced themselves to the first sister they met. They were dressed loosely and informally, so when she heard they were cardinals, she tensed up slightly. She was surprised by the visit of such important guests, in her opinion, but as soon as they mentioned Vincent, her face lit up, and she immediately invited them inside. 

They were given a tour of the small hospital. At practically every step, someone had a story to tell about Vincent. Most people remembered him perfectly. They talked about his diligence, about raising funds for the construction, about how he personally searched the surrounding villages for victims who needed help. Thomas listened to these stories, and his heart swelled with pride and love. He walked the corridors that Vincent had once walked and felt his presence so strongly, as if he were standing right next to him.

At one point, he had the idea to video call him. He gathered most of the people in one place and dialed his number. When Vincent answered, he was in the office. At the sight of his face on the screen, Thomas smiled broadly. 

"Hello there," he said cheerfully. "May I interrupt?"

Vincent looked at him with such joy that his heart nearly exploded. "You never interrupt, Thomas. Where are you?" 

"I'm calling to show you something," he said, then turned the camera towards everyone and passed them the phone with Vincent on it so they could talk to him.

He and Aldo stood on the sidelines and only occasionally caught themselves in the frame, but they watched the conversation with a smile on their faces. Everyone wanted to say hello to Vincent and exchange at least a few words with him. The knowledge that he was so adored here and had built this community didn't surprise him at all. He won people over everywhere. The conversation with him lasted for over half an hour, and when Thomas finally got his phone back, he saw Vincent on it, his face beaming with happiness. He stepped aside a bit so no one could hear him and asked if the surprise was a success. 

"Very much so. I didn't even think you would go there!" 

"Well, I did. And I'm glad I saw all of this. We heard many good things about you".

"I saw Aldo. Did you manage to get away?" 

Thomas looked at the square in front of the hospital, where his friend was talking to the sisters surrounding him. He was relaxed and at ease. It looked like this moment of respite was doing him good. 

"Yes, he asked if he could come here with me. He also needed this moment away from work..."

"Thank you, Thomas. For this and for everything..." He paused for a moment, then added, "I miss you..."

Thomas had to lean against the hospital wall. Vincent's expression was incredibly gentle, and his eyes seemed to embrace him with their gaze. 

"I miss you too," he whispered, and longed to hug him so much that his chest ached. 

They remained like that for a moment, looking at each other through the screen. Despite his smile, he could see that Vincent was exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes. Thomas saw it as clear as day - he wasn't sleeping well and was working a lot, and with each conversation, he seemed more tired. Finally, they said their goodbyes, Thomas promised to send him some photos, and reluctantly ended the call. 

So he photographed the hospital and shyly asked the staff if they could take a picture with them, for Vincent. Everyone eagerly agreed and stood against the hospital background, almost recreating the photograph Vincent had taken in the same place years ago.

An hour later, as they were returning to the hotel, they got out of the car early and walked through a nearby market. Thomas was looking for something he could bring back as souvenirs for his friends. For Monica, he bought a brightly dyed batik scarf. He intended to give several packs of coffee and cocoa to Miguel and Ray. He found some ebony figurines depicting animals and bought them as well. Finally, while still wondering what he could give Vincent, a print on yellowed paper caught his eye. It depicted a riverbank—probably the Congo. A raft with several people was drifting on it, and on the bank, among dense palm trees, stood a small church with a thatched roof. Something about this print immediately reminded him of Vincent, and he felt that this was it. He bought it for him and found Aldo, who had also acquired a few things. Walking towards the hotel, they stopped at a small post office. 

"I'd like to send a postcard," Thomas explained, not revealing for whom, chose one, and bought stamps and an envelope, as he preferred to avoid a situation where it would fall into the wrong hands at the Vatican. He took his pen from his pocket, stood at a small table by the wall, and after a moment wrote: "Here, I miss you more than anywhere else." 

He addressed the envelope to Vincent at the dicastery office and dropped it in the mailbox.

 

---

 

The second half of the journey dragged on endlessly. Thomas was already counting the days and nights until its end, but the long distances they traveled only intensified his torment. From Congo, they flew to Angola, from Angola to Namibia, where they saw the stunning Namib Desert meeting the ocean. In Botswana, they were invited on a long safari, where they were enchanted by both the animals and the landscapes. In South Africa, they admired the view of Table Mountain bathed in clouds. Africa was captivating. Except Thomas couldn't truly enjoy any of it.

Being in Adeyemi's company for a long time was doing a lot of damage to their psyches. Witnessing the contrast between the pride exuded by the new pope and the abject poverty in Africa was hard to bear. Sometimes in the evenings, he would meet Aldo in the hotel bar, and they would end the day with a few glasses of a stronger drink. In the current situation, his friend's presence was one of the few pleasures of this period for Thomas. Their relationship was back to how it used to be. Like before Vincent, and he hoped it would stay that way.

"How long do you think his next pilgrimage will last?" Thomas asked one evening.

"He'll probably be breaking his personal records. But will anyone be waiting for him outside of Africa?" Aldo replied with a raised eyebrow.

"God. I hope he considers us completely useless and doesn't invite us on the next ones."

"Or maybe he'll do it just to spite us. Each in his own way," he suggested, and a shiver ran down Thomas's spine.

That evening, alone in his room, he couldn't stop thinking about it. The new Pope's views stood in contrast to what he was doing in his own life. Adeyemi would gladly send everyone with a different orientation to prison. If he finds out that Thomas and Vincent are living together in his small apartment, he might consider it a real insult and seek revenge. Would he really be willing to do something to get back at him for it in some way? He hoped he would never find out.

His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of his phone and an incoming message. He saw it was from Monica, opened it, and received several photos. One of them was taken in her apartment. Vincent and Miguel were sitting on the sofa, and her cats were sound asleep on each of their laps. The men sat and were evidently trying not to move so as not to startle them. At the sight of their pride, he laughed. The next photo - the three of them in some Roman street, eating tiramisu. The next - Vincent and Ray sitting in a restaurant with glasses of wine. The last - Monica in Vincent's office, doing something on his computer with Vincent looking over her shoulder. Thomas couldn't believe his eyes. Monica in the Apostolic Palace! He started laughing out loud. 

He looked at the photos over and over again. He also went back to all the others he had received before and wished he were in Rome. He was glad that Vincent was being well looked after by all his friends, but he couldn't help but regret that they had to be separated now. They would make up for all of it as soon as he returned. That day, he fell asleep staring at one face in a photo.

 

---

 

After six weeks of the longest pilgrimage in history, they reached their final destination, landing in Nairobi. 

Thomas felt that his reserves of patience were at their absolute limit. Six weeks of a traveling circus, which Adeyemi fondly called a pilgrimage, was about to end in Kenya. A gigantic mass was planned in Uhuru Park, to be broadcast worldwide as the culmination of his African triumph. Horror in its purest form.

The evening before the Mass, Thomas received a short text from Vincent: "One last push. You can do it," and that was enough for him. He read the message a dozen times, like a mantra that was supposed to get him through the last twenty-four hours. 

The farewell Mass was exactly what he had expected. Pius XIII, in a chasuble glittering with gold and the colors of the Maasai flag, was in his element. The crowd swayed, sang, fell into rapture, and Thomas stood on the side of the altar with a vacant look in his eyes. He performed all the gestures mechanically and was present there only in body. When the Mass ended, he felt an unspeakable relief that the final act of this absurdity was over.

They headed to the airport early in the morning. There was silence in their limousine - even Aldo seemed exhausted to the limit. After a solemn farewell, they boarded the plane and took their seats. Thomas began to pray in a panic, suddenly afraid that the machine would break down and trap him in Africa for longer. When, after what he considered too long a wait, the plane finally began to taxi, he closed his eyes and waited for them to take off. 

After 43 days of absence, they were returning to Italy.

 

---

 

Ten hours later, after a long flight and an hour's drive from the airport, he stood with his suitcases in front of the Collegio Ethiopico. The driver helped him carry them in, and when he found himself with them at the door of their apartment, he felt real stress. He grabbed the handle - locked. So he took out his long-unused keys from his bag and opened the door. 

He stepped inside and froze in anticipation, but only silence answered him. Vincent must still be at work. He took off his shoes and jacket. He hung it in the closet, then went deeper into the apartment. 

It was a bit strange to look at it after such an absence and with the knowledge that someone had been living in it all this time. Everywhere he looked, he found traces of Vincent's life, and the sight of it made his heart clench with joy. He walked around the entire apartment. In the bathroom, he washed his hands and reverently touched the man's pajamas lying there; in the kitchen, he found new coffee beans he hadn't drunk before; in the bedroom, on the nightstand, he noticed a stack of books that Vincent had mentioned during their conversations; in the open closet, he saw his hanging shirts and had to touch them as well.

He was about to leave the bedroom when he heard the sound of the door opening. He froze. 

One step, then another, and the blood drained from his head. 

"Thomas?" he heard Vincent's voice and recognized in its tone a mixture of fear and uncertainty. 

He instinctively moved forward and, without calculating anything, walked out of the bedroom into their small corridor and saw him. 

Vincent stood a few meters away from him. 

They looked at each other with wide-open eyes and didn't move an inch. 

Thomas thought: Sweet Jesus, I hope this isn't a dream. And he saw the bag Vincent had on his shoulder slide off and fall to the floor. That sobered him up. He whispered, "Hi," and saw Vincent move towards him, only to throw himself at him a few meters later. He felt him sooner than his dazed mind understood what was happening and wrapped his arms around him so tightly as if their lives depended on it. 

He couldn't believe the reality of this moment. Vincent practically hung from his neck. He felt him everywhere—a hand on his head, a hand on his neck, hot breath next to his ear, and the small body hanging on him. He felt his hair tickling his face and the sweet pressure of his arms on his shoulders. Finally, he also smelled his scent and couldn't stop inhaling it deeply. 

"Vincent, Vincent, Vincent…." he kept whispering and hugged him with all his being. 

He stroked his back, ran his fingers through his hair, kissed his head everywhere he could reach. In a surge of unrestrained happiness, he moved his arm to the man's waist and lifted him up for a moment. They both started laughing.

This was it. Vincent and home. May hell take him if he ever leaves and abandons this again.  

He felt the man slightly loosen his arms around him and slowly release him from the embrace. A moment later, he pulled away and looked him straight in the eyes. No one had ever looked at him with such love in their eyes. Never before, and he was sure, never again. 

Vincent's eyes shone with tears, and one of them rolled down his cheek. Thomas immediately moved his hands to his face and wiped it away with his thumb. He caressed him, touched him, unable to stop. Feeling his delicate skin under his fingers, he almost started crying with happiness himself.

"I'm sorry I didn't wait at home. They kept me at work, Miguel just left and I had to take care of something, and I was supposed to be here waiting a long time ago…".

Thomas placed his index finger on his lips. Vincent immediately fell silent and parted his lips. 

"I just arrived," Thomas whispered, although he didn't have to. "I just walked in."

The sight of Vincent with tears in his eyes, pink cheeks, parted lips, and disheveled hair did the same thing to him as all the dreams he had experienced over the past weeks. He instinctively ran his fingers through his hair and asked him if he had been running. Vincent nodded and clung to his wrists with his hands. 

He was beautiful. He was so breathtakingly beautiful… And he was his. How did this even happen?

"How are you feeling?" Vincent asked him. "You must be exhausted."

"Great now," he replied, and he really did feel great. 

He felt as if he could breathe with his full chest again, as if the fog had lifted from his mind, as if he were half his age. He started smiling uncontrollably and knew he probably looked like a fool, but happiness was overwhelming him now. Wanting to feel Vincent close to him again, he pulled him in and hugged him. There was no longer such desperation as a moment ago. They embraced as tenderly as possible. Vincent's shorter head was safely tucked into the hollow of his neck, Thomas's chin resting on it. He heard his phone vibrating in the bag left by the door, but he had no intention of answering it. He wanted to stay like this forever and ever. 

They stood like this six weeks ago, too. In a similar embrace, but with sadness in their hearts. Now that there was nothing standing in the way of separating them, Thomas felt light, as if he were about to float above the ground. He never thought he would miss someone so terribly, but the man in his arms had turned his meticulously arranged world upside down for years. He no longer wanted to live without him for even a single day. The last few weeks had proven it to him - life without Vincent was just a miserable existence.

"I missed this. And I missed you. I missed you so, so much..." he said right into his ear and felt a shiver run through him. 

In the distance, his phone started vibrating again, and he cursed under his breath. They had barely landed, and work was already calling for him. Vincent, however, seemed not to register it and clung to his body even tighter, pressing against him as if he wanted to merge with him. And Thomas also wanted to merge with him. To calm every longing cell of his body and to get as much of Vincent as possible.

When he felt the man start to kiss his neck, he almost lost feeling in his legs. At first, Vincent gently brushed his skin, but he moved his lips over it, leaving bolder and bolder kisses. At this stage, Thomas was almost crushing his shoulders in his embrace. His heart was beating so hard that he stopped hearing anything but it, and he breathed quickly and irregularly. When Vincent kissed the line of his jaw, he understood - it was about to happen. They couldn't hold back any longer. It had always been a struggle with his nature and an attempt to overcome this attraction, but now it had taken on an uncontrollable form. Not when he felt his lips on him. Not when he felt how much he desired him. Not when he felt his body respond to every caress it received.

Driven by pure madness, he took Vincent's head in his hands and waited for the man to look at him. And when he did, his eyes - though it seemed impossible - were both darker than usual and clouded as if in a trance, and Thomas thought he wouldn't come out of this unscathed. His gaze slid down to Vincent's lips, and he saw the man breathing heavily through them. He looked at his eyes once more and discovered that Vincent himself was staring at his own lips. He felt his gaze and very slowly raised his own. They looked deep into each other's eyes and at the same time found in them the answers to the never-spoken question.

"Don't you dare leave me again," Vincent whispered, and that was the end. 

They threw themselves at each other simultaneously, pressing their lips together. 

At first, they froze. The sensation was too intense to do more at that moment. Thomas felt Vincent's soft and hot lips and almost fainted with pleasure. They were barely breathing through their noses, but they weren't making any movements with their lips. A moment passed before they completely ran out of air and had to open them too, and when they did and felt their parted, moist lips, they pressed against each other in their first clumsy but passionate kiss.

Everything he had imagined was nothing compared to what he was experiencing now. They didn't know what they were doing, but they were guided by some primal instinct. He kissed Vincent's lips, caught them between his own and sucked, but when he felt his tongue, he swayed. He tangled one hand in his insanely soft hair, and moved the other to his lower back and slipped it under his jacket. Crumpling his shirt, he pressed him as tightly as he could and let his tongue meet Vincent's. Breathing heavily, they deepened their kiss.

Thomas tasted Vincent on his tongue and felt an instant surge of arousal. The man tasted of nothing specific, yet it was the best scent and taste he had ever felt. Pure madness! he thought, and longed to feel it more and more. So he began to drink that taste from his lips. 

Their mouths began to move with a will of their own. They alternately plundered, suckled, and nipped, teeth clashing in their clumsy impatience. They were breathing hard, feeling the heat of each other's exhalations as their noses brushed together. Thomas felt Vincent's hands wander over his body. He was everywhere at once. On his back, shoulder blades, neck, shoulders. He squeezed and caressed each of these places, and Thomas was going mad with desire. 

He devoured Vincent's mouth, laving over the plush skin, possessed by a longing to bite down, to leave a mark, to seal this moment in flesh. When Vincent pulled away from his lips and began to lick his neck, he understood that their desire was mutual. He was barely holding on, but when he felt hot lips begin to suck on his neck, he started to moan with arousal. Everything was too much. Too much pleasure and eroticism for his poor old heart and body, which had never known such bliss. The moans escaping his throat also had an effect on Vincent, who began to press against him more and more forcefully. He pushed him hard until finally Thomas's back hit the wall. When his mind understood that Vincent had completely dominated him, he felt such immense arousal that his vision darkened. 

Yes. They were both aroused. He could feel it clearly now. Vincent's smaller body was pressing against him with a force he would never have expected from him, and he could feel it precisely. Only a few layers of material separated them, and yet every movement and the friction of their distinct erections were driving him crazy. He had to stop it, because he knew there would soon be nothing left to gather, so he pushed Vincent away from him and earned a drawn-out moan of pleasure for it. 

They looked at each other and panted heavily. 

With swollen lips and a dazed, hazy look in his eyes, Vincent was an utterly maddening sight. Thomas hissed his name. He was desperate to taste his skin again, to brand him with kisses, so with one swift motion, he reversed their positions, pressing Vincent's back to the wall. He claimed his mouth again in a deep, searching kiss, losing himself completely, yet still feeling an insatiable need for more. He let his hands wander over Vincent's frame, and when his fingers found a sliver of exposed skin at his side, just under his shirt, he had to break away, resting his forehead against Vincent's shoulder to catch his breath.

"You're driving me insane," he forced out and began to lick and suck his neck. 

When the flavor of him bloomed on his tongue, Thomas was certain he was drunk on happiness and desire. He could detect the faint scent of his cologne mingling with a salty essence. He knew, with sudden clarity, that he could worship Vincent's body for hours and never feel sated. In a burst of courage he didn't know he had, he pulled back the collar of his shirt and pressed his lips to his collarbone. The guttural growl he heard in response was the most beautiful melody to his ears, and he longed to hear it again. So he continued, alternately kissing and sucking his clavicles, until Vincent writhed beneath him and quietly moaned his name. Thomas thought that he wanted to hear that forever. He moved up his neck until he reached his ear and almost purred into it, "Say it again," then took his earlobe into his mouth and began to suck it lightly. 

Vincent, as if on command, began to repeat his name, and Thomas thought his heart would explode. He loved this man more than life itself, and now he had him all to himself. In a surge of this overwhelming love, he began to kiss his entire face. Cheeks and temples, eyelids and eyebrows, nose and forehead. All this time, Vincent's hands greedily grabbed every part of his body and wandered over it, discovering it. When they stopped on his neck, he realized that the top two buttons of his shirt had already been unbuttoned and now he was caressing his neck. If he was dying of bliss now, what if those hands were somewhere else, he thought, and almost exploded.

Suddenly Vincent grabbed his face with both hands and, looking at him with madness in his eyes, exhaled directly into his mouth: "I love you."

This wasn't madness; it was the end of the world as Thomas knew it. From now on, everything would change. The earth would start spinning in the opposite direction, and the stars would fall from the sky. To be honest, nothing mattered to him now. This was the pinnacle of his dreams. If he were to die now, he would die at the best moment of his life. 

At the sound of Vincent's confession, he moaned and realized he had to have him here and now.

He grabbed his buttocks, lifted him slightly, and, squeezed between the wall and him, whispered, "Wrap your legs around my hips." Vincent, obedient and submissive, did as he was asked and clung to his neck and head with his arms. Their position was now perfect. Thomas, with one hand on Vincent's buttock and the other on his ribs, fought for survival. Their heads were finally on the same level, and once again he was lost in that gaze. Hell would surely consume them for this, but since there was no salvation, at least they would spend their last earthly moments happy. He grabbed Vincent's chin with his hand and for a few seconds studied his face, which was now a picture of desire. 

"My Vincent… You're so, so beautiful…" and after looking at the perfectly pink lips, he threw himself into kissing again. 

They were not gentle. They behaved like ravenous animals, and that's how they felt. Their lips were swollen from the force with which they devoured each other. At one point, Vincent started sucking his tongue and Thomas hadn't known before that one could go out of their mind from that or be desired in that way. With Vincent hanging on his hips, he could perfectly feel his arousal against his stomach. With each successive movement of their mouths, they became more insistent with each other. When he felt Vincent start to rub his hips against his body, he thought he was about to come, but against all reason - he had said goodbye to it at the first kiss - he only pressed against him harder, demanding more and more. His weight on his hips was the only thing still keeping him conscious. 

He suddenly felt that he would die if he didn't feel his bare skin under his hand in a moment. So he reached for it under the shirt, which had completely come out of Vincent's pants, and when he felt it, he moaned straight into his mouth. Vincent tensed up at the contact with his hand, but quickly, in response to the new caresses, began to pant even harder. Now Thomas was doing everything to hear his moan. He kissed him passionately and at the same time teased his skin with his fingernails. He licked his chin and sucked his neck, only to take his lip in his mouth again and suck it and suck it until he was out of breath. 

Half an hour ago, he was a man who had never kissed anyone in his life, and now he was doing it with abandon and couldn't stop. Just as he was thinking about it, they heard a knock on the door a few meters away. They froze with their lips on each other. 

Their breaths were ragged and quickened, and they didn't know if they had misheard the knock, but they heard it again, this time louder, and they had no more illusions. They stood there in that incredibly erotic position, panting straight into each other's mouths and looking into each other's eyes. The knock came a third time, this time stronger and more resounding, and suddenly they heard the familiar voice of Aldo. 

"Thomas, it's me. Are you home?"

"Something must have happened," he whispered to Vincent and felt the man lower himself from his hips. He tried to force his brain back on the right track, but all he could do was regret that their moment had been interrupted. He let Vincent go from his arms and panic set in. Aldo is at the door and they have to open it, while their faces clearly show what they were just doing. 

He barely registered that Vincent was buttoning his shirt and suggesting he tuck it into his pants. 

"And try to do something with…" he whispered and gestured downwards with his eyes. "Open the door, but give me a minute. I'll be right out," he said, and then disappeared into the bedroom.

It had all unfolded in a blur, leaving him no time to even form a protest. He muttered a curse, fumbling to adjust his trousers, but it was a hopeless effort. Stalking to the door, he caught his reflection in a nearby mirror and winced. He was met with the wild-eyed image of a lunatic. He'd need a good quarter of an hour to restore any semblance of order, but time had just run out.

The knock came again, harder this time, followed by a sharp, impatient bark of his name. "Thomas!" There was no doubt now: whatever waited on the other side was not friendly. Steeling himself with one last, deep breath, he turned the handle and pulled the door open.

Aldo stood before them and immediately said reproachfully, "I called!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear… I was just… Sorry."

Aldo looked at him more closely, and something seemed to click in his head. He raised an eyebrow and said, "Oh… I see.. So you haven't seen the news yet?"

Thomas frowned and shook his head. "What news? Aldo, I don't understand."

"Can I come in?"

He let him into the apartment, and just then Vincent came out of the bedroom. He looked almost completely normal, and Thomas couldn't understand how he had managed to recover so quickly. He wished he could say the same for himself. He watched him greet Aldo and shake the hand that had just been touching him all over.

They stood in a strange triangle between the kitchen and the living room. Aldo didn't sit down, and they waited to hear what he had to say. He glanced between them, behaving as if he wanted to grant them a few more seconds of unawareness. When he spoke, every word was like a blow to the head.

"Adeyemi has a child. A thirty-year-old son in Nigeria. From a relationship with some nun. From the time when he was already a priest. Everything was revealed today while we were flying. I'm not sure, but I suspect it was because of Trembley…. It's all over the news right now. Literally everywhere. He hasn't addressed it yet, but he will have to announce his decision."

Thomas couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stared at Aldo as if he were an alien from another planet and couldn't get a single word out. Vincent spoke for him.

"Aldo, what decision? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that if this is confirmed, there is only one way out. Adeyemi must renounce the papacy and step down from office. And we will have a conclave again."

Thomas felt a cold sweat break out over him. What he had heard sounded so unreal that he tried to push it out of his consciousness. He stared at Aldo with his mouth open and felt faint. Aldo continued to speak, but only every other word reached Thomas. He didn't understand how his life could change so quickly, and not through his own choices. When he focused on Aldo's words again, he heard something that for some reason made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"I just don't know who we should choose out of all of them, since last time we were left with the worst of the worst."

Thomas looked at Vincent, whose face was a mask of shock, then at the worried Aldo, and back at Vincent, and a thought so terrifying came to his mind that he tried with all his might to banish it and forget it. He felt such a paralyzing fear that all the recent wonderful moments could not dispel it. He wanted to start praying at that moment that what he had thought of would never come true, but he couldn't find any suitable words in his head. So he stood in his living room and watched as the order of his world once again disappeared among the rubble.

The moments with Vincent - so warm, so close just a few minutes ago - were already slipping through his fingers. His whole body was still burning from Vincent's kisses, but it was as if, in an instant, someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over him and now he stood there, steaming under that cold shower, feeling the heat evaporate from his skin while everything else froze inside him. He stood there, silently mourning something that was still alive but already lost, and the worst part was knowing that he had no power to stop it.

Who told him it was okay to get used to things? Who said that anything was forever? Had no one ever told him that he would never feel at home in the world?

 

Notes:

1) Holy shit, this is 30k words in one chapter... What is wrong with me? I know I made you wait long, but I hope the sheer length will make up for it.

2) You guys and your wonderful comments are the absolute best, seriously. My addiction to seeing comment notification pop up is getting a little out of hand. You can brighten the darkest day!

3) Turns out the recent Vatican drama (the whole sede vacante and conclave thing) was surprisingly good writing fuel.

4) Quick heads-up: the path to fluff is paved with angst. But I promise once we get there, the payoff will be huge. Just hang in there with me.

5) I don't think I mentioned it, but english isn't my first language. Hope everything I was trying to say here came across clearly but if not, please don't hesitate to let me know if anything sounds weird!

6) This story has truly become a huge part of my life. It occupies every spare moment, keeps me up late into the nights, and sometimes I even sneak in a few words at work if I can. I absolutely adore working on it and I'm so happy to be able to share it with you all and that people are reading.

7) And now... please tell me what you thought. I'm dying to know. Feed me your thoughts! I love comments more than lawrenitez loves each other!

Yours, crouchjr!

Notes:

This story comes from a love of Conclave movie and its increadible casting, a hunger for a book story, and an obsession with the Volo ut sis series.
I really hope you enjoy reading it as I enjoy creating this piece in my head.
This is gonna be a real slow burn with a lot of angst&comfort.