Chapter Text
He didn’t believe in absolution.
But maybe – just maybe – he believed in being heard.
The air in Ashwell carried that distinct scent of wet brick and old wood — something you learned faster than the layout of the streets. The wind slipped through the narrow alleys between red-roofed houses, and the ivy climbing the church walls seemed to move to its own quiet rhythm.
Inside, the church was cool and dim. Not gloomy — just... cut off from the world.
A place where time had no real use.
Viktor sat in the last pew, hands buried in the pockets of his coat, trying to look like someone who’d come here of his own accord.
He wasn’t doing a great job of it.
“Are we done yet?” he muttered, eyes wandering over the stone columns and stained glass. “Another minute and my aunt will think I escaped through the sacristy.”
He had no idea why he’d even agreed to this.
Well — he did. Aunt Nora could give you a headache with just a look. When she’d said it was high time to cleanse his soul, he’d figured it was easier to go along with it and get it over with than start an argument.
Confession.
The last time had been… what, ten years ago? Back when he was a kid, cornered into confirmation, lying through his teeth about mischief and nail-biting — because back then he didn’t know what real sins were.
Now he knew them well enough not to want to speak them out loud.
From behind the confessional grate, someone cleared their throat.
“Come in.”
The voice was deep, calm, slightly tired.
Viktor rose reluctantly and took a few steps forward, as if heading for an interrogation.
He knelt.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” the priest began. “How long has it been since your last confession?”
“Uh… a long time,” Viktor admitted quietly. “At least ten years. Maybe more.”
“That’s all right. You’re here. That’s what matters.”
Silence.
He rolled his eyes, resting his forehead on his hand.
“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say.”
“You can start with what brought you here.”
You. Your calm, stupid ‘come in’. And my aunt.
But he said something else instead.
“I was sent. Family orders.”
“I see.”
“I don’t think this is the best way to reach God,” he added after a pause. “Feels more like a lawyer calling — ‘You’re required to appear.’”
There was silence again on the other side. Not cold — more… thoughtful.
“Sometimes God calls through aunts,” came the quiet reply.
He snorted — a small, surprised laugh escaping him.
“What’s your name, Father?”
“Jayce.”
“Not exactly a priestly name.”
“I know. But it’s better than Hieronymus.”
“Fair point, Father Jayce.”
“Just Jayce is fine.”
That line lingered in his head. Just Jayce.
As if they were sitting on a park bench, not in this musty, dim confessional that smelled of dust, wood, and prayers gone stale.
He fell quiet for a moment before speaking again, softer this time.
“I don’t really believe.”
“In what exactly?”
“In all of this. In forgiveness. In things changing just because you say the right words.”
“Maybe it’s not about the words. Maybe it’s about someone hearing them.”
Shit. That was… honest. And weirdly true.
Viktor swallowed hard. He hadn’t planned to talk. He’d planned to get through it.
But this priest wasn’t— fuck — he wasn’t normal.
No questions about sins. No Scripture. Just that voice — warm, quiet.
“Listen—” he started, ready to cut it short and leave, but Jayce interrupted gently.
“You can come back when you’re ready. You don’t have to confess. But if you want to talk — you’ll find me here. Every day after five.”
Viktor froze.
Someone had just told him something without expecting anything in return. No judgment. No you should. Just if you want.
“Maybe… maybe I’ll drop by. No promises.”
“You don’t need to. I’ll be here.”
He left the church faster than he’d entered.
The air was sharp, but not cold.
As he passed the sign — Ashwell Parish – Rev. J. Talis — a crooked smile tugged at his lips.
“A priest with a sense of humor. That’s new.”
He didn’t know it yet — but he’d be back.
Not for God.
For Jayce.