I'd never cared much for the holidays or the hypocrisy that follows them. I could hear it as I walked through this city. People arguing, children screaming over toys, car horns, obscenities. So much for this being a time of joy.

The snow had died down earlier, leaving only a few stray flurries in the night air. Fragile bits of salt broke under the weight of my shoes as I walked along the sidewalk amidst the droves of last-minute shoppers, all of them so eager and impatient to get whatever meaningless material possession and on to the next. I kept my gaze lowered as I made my way to my destination, focussing on just a few feet ahead of me with every step I took. Almost there.

St. Agatha's. I'd only been in there a couple of times in the entire time I'd lived here. It was relatively small for a Catholic church. Most people would imagine grand cathedrals with high ceilings decorated in massive, sprawling paintings or intricate webs of wooden scaffolds. This place though, it held a certain serenity I couldn't quite explain.

Before entering, I decided there was time for just one cigarette. I pulled the slightly worn pack and my lighter from my jacket pocket and lit up, savoring that first sweet drag as if it were my last. The smoke mingled with the vapor of my breath as I exhaled, dancing in sporadic patterns before finally dissipating into the winter atmosphere. One rushed drag after another and I was finished, snuffing the remains out on the bottom of my shoe and tossing the butt to the curb.

I made my way up the small, weathered stairs and quietly pushed the door open, ushering in a small gust of wind as I stepped inside.

A handful of people were already scattered among the pews, wrapped up in their murmured prayers or silent reflections or whatever it was they were doing. It was somewhat comforting to observe after being out in the world beyond these walls. I scanned the room as I crept slowly up the aisle. Where was he? I had started to wonder if he was even here when my attention was drawn to the altar.

There he was. Knees bent and head bowed in complete submission, hands clasped and woven together with the rosary that never left his possession, body curled inward.

I sat down in a row close to the front, watching him. At first glance, one would say he looked calm or even at peace as he was kneeling there. But I could hear his frantic whispers among the others, I could hear the desperation and fear in his hushed voice as he begged for redemption. He'd felt death's searing gaze on him before and he wore the evidence stretching from his face to his fingertips to his torso. And now he was scared of being burnt again. No, he was scared of being consumed, swallowed up by all that fiery wrath he'd brought down upon others. His voice suddenly took on a disturbingly pained tone, one that made my chest ache and my eyes sting, cracking and breaking as he bargained. Bargained for my well-being. I looked down into my lap and stared at my gloved hands, trying to ignore the voice that now pleaded for my happiness once everything was over and they were nothing but a memory in the far reaches of my mind. Those terrible things he said, I willed them all away until there was silence.

"...Matt?"

I looked up to see Mello, staring at me in disbelief with Mihael's tear-stained eyes. He didn't say anymore than my name, didn't even attempt to wipe his eyes. He just stood there, lips pressed tightly shut and arms wrapped himself. We looked at one another in silence, and it was really all I needed to know that he was actually happy I was there with him.

"Hi," I whispered, smiling weakly at him.

He remained quiet as he sat down beside me, still watching me with those heart-breakingly beautiful eyes. "What are you doing here?" he asked, moving his stare from myself to his fidgeting hands. "...Midnight Mass happens a little closer to midnight, you know. You're early." A quiet, half-hearted laugh escaped his lips, a laugh I only got to hear in our most sacred and private moments, where he was just Mihael and I was just his.

"Ehh, I was already in the neighborhood," I teased. "So I figured I might as w-"

"Matt," he interrupted suddenly, eyes still directed at his hands. "Thank you... For being here with me." Mello sighed under his breath and looked back up at me, but said nothing more.

Nothing more needed to be said. We knew each other better than we knew ourselves, as silly or cliche as that may sound. Anything he ever wanted to tell me was expressed in every subtle glance, every touch. Our understanding went beyond mere words, and as I sat there I finally understood just how scared he truly was. Scared of being left alone, scared of failure, scared of dying, scared of burning. If he ended up burning, I could assure him I'd be burning right next to him. Together, the way it was meant to be.

Love suffers long and is kind

Bears all things

Believes all things

Hopes all things

Endures all things

Love never fails

I swept my hand over my lap and rested it gently against Mello's leg as I listened to the priest read from Corinthians. Mello reached for it and clutched it tightly, as if he was afraid to let go. It was alright. I wasn't going anywhere without him.

He's right, Mello. Love never fails. And neither have you, Mello. My beautiful Mihael.

AuthorsNotes... Hurray for late Christmas specials. That's all I have to say about this really. Title was stolen from NIN's "A Warm Place".

Go read stuff by xElementFivex or she will KILL Matt. Again. So go, like now. NOW.