@grabracadabra ❝ you don’t have to hide them around me. the scars are just part of who you are. and i like all of what i see. ❞
John gazed up at the other man, a somberness settling into his features. Albert had always been so kind, so gentle.
Gerald Shaw never deserved the boys God gifted to him, and John always did what he could to shield them away from the deplorable treatment they received at home, though, it was clear that Albert was the one Gerald especially liked to go after. John had grown rather protective of Albert, to the point he'd suddenly need extra help with various duties such as making sure the music sheets for the choir were in order and take inventory of the wine and eucharists to ensure they had enough each week.
And the Monsignor knew he kept the boy from a lot of pain, but try as he might to keep him from his father, there always came a time when he had to send the boy home.
And every time, his heart shattered.
"I suppose you're right. There's nothing to be ashamed of. Even Jesus had shown his the remnants of His wounds proudly," the priest responded fondly. Though, it's a bit harder to explain that there was an Angel that the God had sent to him that bit his neck than to explain the resurrections of their Lord.
A question creeped into his mind as the subject settled in his thoughts, and despite sincere efforts, it wouldn't dwindle. Though he was certain of the answer, he never had any concrete confirmation of what he knew the Shaw boys endured.
"Do you have any scars, Albert?"
