Page 51 of Damian & Jun, Episodes 13-16
“Whatever the stunt people were using.” Jun laughed. “I didn’t ask. We just danced inside it. One take. We really didn’t want to have to do that again.”
“Filming?”
Jun nodded. “You’re going to love it when we get it out of post. Jaewoong is working on it with Geun right now. Come on. I hope you’re hungry.” He took Damian’s hand and pulled him to the front of the church, up the steps and around the altar, which was covered in a thick packing blanket and topped with a comforter. On the floor between the back wall below the wooden figure of the son of Jehovah and the altar was a sheet on the floor. There were pillows and rugs laid out around it and on the sheet was food. What caught Damian’s eye were the wreaths.
Korean funereal wreaths. Two of them, on either side, standing on their three-pronged stilts, their edges ringed in dark green fronds, their centers made of concentric circles of white flowers punctuated in the center with sprigs of pink and yellow buds.
“Jun?” Damian breathed.
“You’ve never formally grieved,” Jun said softly, standing at Damian’s side. Collin settled in on Damian’s other side. Damian grabbed each of their hands, trying to tell himself that he was dreaming. But their hands felt warm, and his thumb nail, when he pressed it into his palm around Jun’s fingers, hurt.
“You did this?”
“Both of us,” Jun said. “You and Richard and Émeric, you’ve been through a lot together, around this neighborhood, around your past. But Collin and I haven’t walked that full path with you. Tomorrow, the work starts in here. This is the last time this place will look anything like you remember it all. You deserve a chance to grieve, even if it’s ugly.”
Collin wordlessly squeezed Damian’s hand, offering agreement and support.
Tears started in Damian’s eyes. He had to let go to wipe his vision clear. “You did all this, after filming, with everything going on.”
Jun turned Damian towards him, putting his hands on Damian’s shoulders. “Yes, DaSu. Because this matters. Because no matter what happens, this is the time that we have.”
Damian hugged him and then Collin.
“I can stay, or go,” Collin said.
“Stay,” Damian said. “Please.”
The three of them sat down. As the youngest, Collin poured the alcohol, but no one drank more than a first toast until they’d eaten some of the meat. Stories that Damian hadn’t thought about in years came to mind and he shared them. They ended up leaning against the wall, Damian in the middle, Jun teasing Collin by dangling a noodle in the air above his nose. Collin shoved an apple slice into Jun’s mouth in retaliation. Damian watched them, tears in his eyes again.
Joy. He’d come out of the dark to this, sitting between two of his lovers in the place he’d once hated, eating and drinking, warm and touched. Loved.
Collin laid down between Damian’s legs and put his head on Damian’s thigh. Damian played with his hair while Jun asked questions and leaned against Damian’s shoulder, feeding all of them from the scraps of the meal that were left.
“It’s almost midnight,” Collin said sleepily, after conversation had lulled. They’d long since stopped drinking alcohol and switched to water and tea. He sat up and stretched. There was barbecue sauce on his lip. Jun wiped it off with his thumb. Damian brushed Collin’s hair back from his face. Collin smiled at them. “Cedric said he’d have coffee ready.”
“Why?” Damian asked.
“Because we have one last promise to keep,” Jun said. He stood and stretched, joining Collin. They both offered Damian their hands. “Let’s clean up.”
“What’s the last promise…” Damian’s voice trailed off as he saw the altar. He’d done things with Jun on there, but never…the precise thing he’d promised. And tomorrow, everything would change. “Ah.”
Jun’s lips twitched upwards. Together they cleaned up the remnants of the meal, returning the pieces to a tote bin Jun retrieved from under the altar.
“Be right back,” Jun said. He and Collin walked down the nave towards the doors.
Damian took the moment of solitude to take in the church. He’d never been here alone in the dark like this. The only lights were the ones rigged up around the altar and above the figure on the wall. Damian sat on the altar and crossed his legs, looking up.
So many Sunday and Wednesday nights he’d looked up at the same figure, listening to the drone of Doyle or some other preacher’s voice. But he’d never studied it so closely before. From here he could see the minor imperfections, the places where the lacquer and paint were chipped.
“It’s time to rest, old friend,” he whispered. Time for the wheel to turn. Tombs were places of rest for a reason, from which life could rise again. The Church, for him and others, had been an unnatural place of eternal dying, where they’d stared at their sins and suffered the sins of others. And that had never been the way, had never been the path of life. Self-loathing was poison and hate was a toxin.
Damian opened hands, imagining the figure above him coming down, resting, and walking free, able to partake in the life he’d gifted to others with his healing and the food he’d given the multitudes during the time of his breathing.
He turned at the sound of a single set of footsteps. Jun stepped in close. His shirt was almost entirely open now. Damian jumped down from the altar and met him. He slid his fingers inside the front of Jun’s shirt, undoing the last of the buttons and cradling Jun’s waist between his palms, pulling him in close. Jun groaned, head falling back, showing Damian his throat. The bite from several days before still marked his throat. Damian kissed it, sucking gently. Jun’s fingers curled through Damian’s belt, holding their hips together.
“Up.” Damian bent his knees and got his arms under Jun’s ass. He carried him to the altar and set him on the edge.
Jun pulled his shirt out from the front of his jeans and laid back, eyes on Damian’s face. “Hey.”
