"Are you sure you're okay?" Maddox said as he went out the front door of Pylar's house, his bike helmet under his arm and his backpack over one shoulder. "You've seemed really weird since last night."

"Yeah." Pylar curled his fingers against his leg to avoid rubbing his eyes again. "I'm fine. I think maybe I'm getting sick. Maybe the pizza didn't sit right or something."

"Sorry--My bad."

"You didn't do anything to me, Mad... I think I've been coming down with something is all. Don't worry about it."

Maddox pursed his lips, his head tilted to the side. He slipped his helmet on and secured the strap under his chin. "See you later?" he said, but when Pylar didn't respond, Maddox repeated himself a bit louder.

"Yeah — of course." Pylar said.

"Tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, tomorrow." Pylar stood on the porch and watched Maddox mount his bike and ride away. Usually he gave Maddox a ride home, especially when he was working the midday shift, but Maddox had turned down the offer, citing the black under Pylar's eyes and the number of times he had yawned through the last hour. While Maddox slept, Pylar was awake through the remainder of the night. His body was on fire, electricity moving quickly underneath his skin. His fingers tingled, he tossed around on his mattress, and every inch closer to Maddox only intensified the heat he felt within himself. Never before had he felt drawn to another person in this way, relieving physical needs on his own was one thing, but desiring the touch of another person was foreign to him. This wasn't him. He had always been more than okay with keeping physical contact to hugs between his mom and his best friend and awkward handshakes whenever necessary. He closed his eyes and his mind filled with images of the lobby, of the girls in front of the mirror, but mostly of the hot chapel. Pylar's shirt clung to his back. A chill blew through the yard and caused goosebumps across his skin, bringing the ginger back to reality. Shaking his head, Pylar opened his eyes and quickly went back inside. He closed the door and leaned into it.

Mounds of boots and shoes, most well beyond their intended life span, lined the wall to his left, just beneath a collection of coats that he had been meaning to sort through for far too long. The rough, prickly welcome mat poked at the backs of his legs through his pants as he sank down into it. The silence of the house was broken only by the soft ticking of his grandma's old cuckoo clock in the living room. Tick. tick. tick. The rhythmic noise was calming, comforting.

The sensations were back, rising just under his skin, and for the briefest of moments, Pylar thought maybe, just maybe, he was having a heart attack. He curled his fingers against his thighs and slowed his breathing. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. He ran his palms up the base of his thighs to his knees and back down, then again, and again, the sensation of his sweatpants pulling on his skin, the drag and tug. He sighed heavily and did it again. Closing his eyes, one hand dipped between his legs.

Another deep breath and Pylar's shoulders sunk more than normal; his breath came out hot and his hands slipped further between his legs. He sank further down the door, falling into a deeper slouch. He saw the priest walk down the aisle and climb onto the stage. He leaned back against the podium and parted his robes. Pylar swallowed hard as the priest ran his hands down his toned chest, then his abs, then stopped at his pants. Their eyes met; the pupils in the other man's blue eyes grew to completely devour his eyes until they were fully black. The priest unhooked his belt and with one swift tug, pulled it from the loops on his slacks. Pylar's tongue trailed along his bottom lip, watching as the priest slowly drug a hand along the entire length belt, stroking the soft leather, before it dropped to the floor with a noisy clatter. With a blink, the priest's eyes were back to normal.

"Whisper what you want in my ear," said the priest.

"How..?"

"Hm...?" The priest unzipped his pants and slid his hand inside.

"How do you know my name..?"

"Babe, no one comes into my church without me knowing them..."

Pylar's hands stopped on his thighs. "But this—this isn't your church. That other guy—he said he was the owner. Did he send me the letter?"

The priest didn't answer and instead, just stared quietly, his hand in his own pants. His fingers ran along the length, taunting Pylar with the thought of how long it could be, what it would look like without the obstruction of fabric between them.

Tick.

Pylar's throat went dry and he swallowed hard. His head felt fuzzy and his hands continued to move along his thighs. His brow creased as the visuals in his head became more vivid. The priest's red tail swayed behind him. Or...he thought it was a tail, it had to be a tail. But the funniest thing about it was the comically demonic shape, or perhaps the comically red horns that sprouted up from his forehead. Were those there last night or was Pylar's imagination adding details? "Hey," Pylar said, though it came out weakly. He cleared his throat and said it again."Hey."

The priest gazed down, watching his fingers stroke himself in his pants. The blue eyes flickered up, his pupils now replaced with diamonds.

Tick.

"What... what are you..?" Pylar said.

Tick.

The priest gave a crooked grin, but he remained silent.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Pylar gasped and opened his eyes as the shrill cuckoo call jars his focus. A cold breeze moved from the entryway of his house and tickled his bare arms. The elastic band of his sweatpants was hugging his wrist as his fingers gently grasped himself. Dark wet spots and streaks dotted his sweats and he could feel the heated fluids quickly cooling on his fingers. His pulse spiked again as he quickly jerked his hand out of his underwear and hastily wiped his fingers off on his pants leg. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Pylar pulled himself up with the aid of the door and briskly strolled into the kitchen, directly to the sink to wash his hands and splash cold water against his heated face. He checked the clock in the living room. He had a few hours to kill before work...

***

Pylar kept a watchful eye on his surroundings as he headed downtown, retracing their steps from the prior night. He pulls his hoodie tight around his narrow form an rubs his hands together. Small puddles from a shower early on this morning had pooled up in the sidewalks dips and cracks. The air was chilly, thick, and it smelt like more rain was on the way. He took note that the bar on the corner was the same one, then the bed and breakfast, then he saw the large mansion and is columns squeezed between other downtown fairs. He slowly walked up the steps and stopped to look around the streets. There weren't many people out. The only ones that really came downtown this time of day were the people who worked in one of the business offices off of the main streets or those who came for lunch. Maddox mentioned the tours of old mansions around the city, but there's no way this place could've been used for that; he would've noticed people going in and out at some point in the last twenty-one years, or at least in the fifteen-odd years he had an active memory of.

Pylar walked up to the steps; where the characters HVN had reflected in the feet of the pillars last night, the marble was now smooth without indentation or branding. He made his way up the steps and looked over the golden plate hanging by the door. To each side of the door were windows, long and slim, sheer curtains drawn. He cupped his hands around his eyes as he leaned his face against the window. He squinted, hoping to see past the sheer curtains, but they were just thick enough to shroud to the classically dressed interior. Pylar stepped back and tried to find a plaque or a sign in any of the windows that might've gave an idea to hours, but there was nothing to be seen. He went down the steps and glanced both ways down the street to see if anyone was looking. A car passed, but there wasn't anyone else around to see him. He went back to the window and pressed his face against the glass again, for longer this time.

Through the curtain, Pylar could just barely see where the bright walls turned into dark walls, but not where the darker, lower part of the walls bent into the floor. The small entry tables he spotted last night were invisible through the lace, the rugs, the sconces, the people, the stages-everything he could vividly see in his head was somewhere just beyond the door and he knew it. He reached for the doorknob and without a fuss, the door came open. He stumbled back, the force he used on the door more than he needed as the door was not heavy, locked, or resistant. He wiped his feet on the mat outside, swallowing hard before he went in.

He hadn't noticed the lobby decor much last night when he came in. He couldn't remember anything about separating from Maddox, he barely remembered walking down the hall to get to the elevator. Down a couple feet and immediately to his left was a marble counter with a woman sitting behind it, looking at something underneath the tall lip of the desk. Further past her opened into a small cafe and bistro where the smell of freshly brewed coffee and morning breakfast wafted into the lobby air. He slowly moved further in. Chairs and couches spaced throughout the lobby were plush and were a mixture of all black or all white: a black couch with white chairs, white couch with black chairs, or a peppering of black and white chairs next to a clean looking table. The plants had black or white potters with a color spot of gold speckled in. The black marble floor glittered with the essence of gold in the right light.

The woman standing at the desk looked up and waved to Pylar.

A lump grew in his throat and he nearly took a step back. Maybe he shouldn't have been there — but he wanted answers. Pylar approached the desk and laid his arms over the top of it as casually as he could. "Hi." His voice squeaked a little from tension. He cleared his throat. "What is this place?"

"Le Sanctuaire," she said. When Pylar didn't say anything, she said, "A hotel and boutique."

"A hotel?"

"Yes." Her voice was bright and contained her big smile.

"Uh," he turned around, taking a quick glance to the closed set of double doors across the room — the pair he was sure he went through last night to reach the elevators. "Was there an event here last night?" Pylar turned back to the desk.

"An event?"

"Yeah, like, a party."

The receptionist picked up a tablet from her desk and flicked across the screen. Her finger gently glided along the surface in unison with her eyes until she broke away and shook her head. "No, sir. We do have reception halls upstairs that are booked regularly, but there was no even held here last night. It's a little bit off season for most of our regular events."

"Are you sure?" Pylar's heart throbbed in his ears.

"Positive." The receptionist tapped the corner of the screen, closing the window. "Was there something you were looking for specifically? I might be able to find the party based on that."

Pylar stared at her. He knew it was here. He was positive. The mirrors, the banquet, the church — he saw it. He saw... everything, but was there a way to explain everything from... last night to this woman? His hand pressed flatly against his arm. He eyed the back of his hand, fingers splayed. He reached with his other hand and touched at the raised tendons, veins, and pale skin. There was no fire, no match, no insignia, but they'd burned a symbol into his skin quickly and just as quickly it had disappeared.

"I don't know all the details, sorry, but this is a cool place." He smiled, stepping away from the counter. "I've lived here all my life — probably walked past this place more times than I could count, but I've never been inside. I never thought about it until now. So...uh, thanks." He bowed his head a little before quickly ducking out and retreating out the front door. He stopped on the porch once the door closed beside him. His heart still pounded; he wasn't satisfied, but he didn't know what to ask, if anything would give him answers even or if last night had all been some weird, crazy... dream. A car drove by through a deep puddle, spraying the sidewalk with dirty rainwater.

Pylar pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. He had a little while until he needed to be at work. Maybe it was best to go home and forget this thing ever happened. He pulled his hood over his head, he descended the steps and turned towards the city center. He hears a door open and slam shut, but he doesn't look fast enough to see who had exited the building. As he's turned, someone steps by and their shoulders bump. Pylar scowled and shot a glare at the back of the stranger's blonde head. But the man didn't stop. His heels clicked against the pavement and in even, long strides he walked right past Pylar. Long legs in bleached jeans and a dark blue jacket lined with white fur. The pants were a perfect fit around the man's backside. Though all Pylar could see from the back was the jeans and the man's short, blond hair, he immediately knew he recognized the man...Even without the tail.

Something inside of him pulsed with familiarity and he picked up his feet and followed the man around the corner. In that moment, Pylar was desperate to not lose him.