Stained Glass, a high school musical fanfic

Stained Glass:

Attention: This story is rated M not due to the Tryan elements init. It contains certain biblical or theological elements present that are unsuitable and unfavorable to some readers. The setting of this story is in a church. I am not trying to raise anyone hackles. DON'T LIKE IT DON'T READ IT. The materials to me are not offending in nature, for they are quite mild, but I am just being cautious.

Smooth white walls and intricately carved pillars supported the caved ceiling with sweeping arches above its corridor; rows of stained glass glowed magnificently as columns of light of every shades coloured the black marbled floors and cedar coloured furniture. A faint scent of aged books and dried lavenders lingered in the room.

Taking a few paces forward, Ryan Evans studied the old church. Years had past, yet time and weather did not wither its ancient beauty. But nature had taken it into its loving embrace, surrounding the building with wild flowers and shaded it with young trees that budded with tiny white flowers and its perimeter guarded with old oaks.

The young man dipped his head as he pulled his grey overcoat closer. Tired eyes scanned the ancient statues of saints and angels, engrossed in the details of the fine craftsmanship. He inhaled the sweet scent deeply as tears welled in his blue eyes.

He could still hear the lovely piece played by the grand organ as the walls echoed in reunion, celebrating the unison of two souls. He recalled the bride garbed in white walking down the isle, her face radiating with happiness as she approached the man she loved. The loving couple exchanged wedding vows as a younger him wept in the merry crowd.

Those were not tears of joy but tears of sorrow that ran down his cheeks that fair afternoon.

"Mister Evans," a warm voiced called.

The blond glanced over his shoulder to register a man in his black priest robes approaching him. A small smile rested on his tired face as he dipped his head slightly, acknowledging the presence of Father Elijah.

"What brings you here today?" the young priest asked as his hazel eyes studied glassy blue ones.

"Memories," Mister Evans answered, his voice hollow of emotions.

The priest nodded. He knew the man held no faith in the church and his presence here was mostly due to something that was non-biblical or celestial. Memories webbed with emotions had drawn this man into this empty place.

There was no need to question; the priest knew far more than his smooth handsome face would tell. He had seen those wary eyes before and knew too well the reasons behind them.

Two young boys rushed into the building to escape the heavy downpour outside, panting hard as they dropped their heavy bags onto the marbled floor. The two boys were of course young Mister Evans and Mister Bolton.

A young boy, no older from them, observed them from the front. He was Elijah, orphaned at the age of five. The two did not notice his presence as they complained silently about their drenched clothes. There was an awkward silence between the two boys, a tension that was about snapped. Sensing that, Elijah decided not to bother them for they were no more but people who seek for shelter in the house of the Lord. Silently, he made his way to the spiraling stairs to collect some dry clothes and towels for the two. The other priests would not mind him giving some clothes from the charity box.

The blond boy glared darkly at the brunet while he blamed the brunet. Troy Bolton scoffed at the accusation, flipping his wet socks in Ryan's direction. Their voices were loud and their vocabulary colourful but Elijah paid no attention as he continued his way up to the attic. This was disrespect to the church but young Elijah just smiled and shook his head, those were just words accessorized with anger and were no meant to insult the church or the other – it was a child game.

It was alright.

Evans glowered and moved further away from the brunet. Those two shared no common interest, other than the school's musicals. They hardly talk to one another unless it was necessary. Yet their eyes kept searching for the other's presence with love and care. When their eyes met, they would blush and their chest inflated with hope for a brief period before one of them broke the beautiful movement with a snarky comment.

The two sat far from each other, facing the stained glass windows as they felt bitter romance clogged their throats and their chest burnt with passion and their head lambasted by cold remarks from their consciences. Ryan pressed his cold fingers against the stained glass, begging to be freed from this silent torment.

Bolton turned around, eyes observing the blond, his lips parted but not a word that escaped those lips. He saw the beauty of the blond; the porcelain white skin, lush red lips and tired eyes hidden behind long fair lashes. He could sense the bitterness emitted from Evans.

Elijah made his way down with some clothes as he noted the brunet made his way to the blond, tugging his sleeves slowly. Halting in his track, the sandy brown haired boy studied their expressions. He recognized those too…

…They were the expressions showed by lovers separated by the cruel laws of the society and reality.

There was love in those eyes. Love far deeper than any love he had seen in eyes of a married couple or two opposite sexes. To Elijah's eyes, the affection those two projected were not wrong and he would not even categorize it as a sin. Sins were made when a man abused the rights and honour of another man; when a man inflicted pain on another without a justifiable reason. Young Elijah did not mind, he was not a narrow minded person despite being raised and educated in the church – he would be like Father Benedict, wise and calm. Homosexuality existed in older ages yet men acted so alien toward it, Elijah thought as he continued his way down.

At the bottom of the stairs, he saw the two boys kissed, tears staining their cheeks. The kiss was bitter and loving. Fingers cupping each other faces as they placed soft butterfly kisses on fallen tears and wet lashes. Elijah averted his gaze for he felt he had intruded on a precious and personal moment for the two lost souls. Closing his eyes, he could feel their faint sobs and unanswered questions – they were no more but fragile creatures that struggled against the stream of time, finding a place where they belonged.

Were they prepared?

Elijah wondered and shifted his gaze to a statue of an angel bounded by chains.

Would they end up like you, Morning Star?

Young Father Elijah translated the Latin texts easily as he heard a soft creak from below, not moving away from his table, he knew it were those two: Troy Bolton and Ryan Evans. With an old manuscript in his hand, he slowly moved away from his table, wanting to taste the rich morning air.

Walking down the stairs, he understood why the two came here frequently. He knew they were not here due to their beliefs in the divine beings or to seek forgiveness from the Lord. No. They came here for peace of mind, a small sanctuary for their restless souls. They had fought hard everyday to keep their little secret unknown to the world and they were weary from their fight.

After the last flight of stairs, he came face to face with the two. He noted the fear in their eyes as they approached him. Elijah knew their purpose here and not wanting to cause those two any unnecessary embarrassment, he smiled and spoke softly: he would tell no one of what he had priory witnessed and he would not shun them.

The blond and the brunet linked their trembling fingers, eyes wet as colours seeped back into their pale faces. They were expecting a harsh answer from the priest. However, he was different from the rest, his warm smile and kind eyes comforted their troubled hearts.

He knew his act would not be favoured among the others, but he could hardly care. He was not to convert or condemn anyone, he was to guide those lost and lighten their burdens with his knowledge; he would grant them hope. It was his wish, his mission in life.

If that was not a duty of a church father, then it was his duty as a man.

Father Elijah smiled as his gaze again fell on the statue of Morning Star. Perhaps he would end up like fair Morning Star, condemned by others.

Ryan Evans entered the church, eyes wet and swollen. His slender frame crumpled into a heap as he wept, unable to retain the growing pressure within his chest. Hearing his sobs, Father Elijah approached the broken man; his hazel eyes glowed with care and tinged with worry as he knelt down beside Evans.

The blond raised his head to speak but he failed to find his voice for sorrow clumped his throat and his mouth too dry with disappointment. Elijah watched him wept, his body shaking violently with each tear shed. Grief had crushed his will and reality had robbed him from his hopes and dreams. Life was cruel, but it was never necessary for a man to succumb to such fate.

The first blow was always the hardest. It would arrive unexpected, its pattern unpredictable and its attack swift. Even those who were constantly on guard would fall prey to its force. Ryan Evans had become the victim, or he had made himself the victim. Every man would encounter turbulence in their journey but it was entirely up to him to collect his shattered self and progress forth into the unknown.

Ryan gazed into the eyes of the understanding Elijah before he dipped his head to stare at the floor. He felt weak and pathetic. Simply hopeless and useless in the cold eyes of society.

What went wrong, both men questioned their inner selves.

Dusk had arrived, colouring the sky in shades of navy and puce, cooling the surface below as it drove people back into their houses with the aid of the cold, bitter wind.

Father Elijah gazed out of the unclosed door.

Had it all come to an end for those two loving souls? He expected them to be stronger.

Had one of them fallen like you Morning Star? Had he lost the love of his beloved like you had lost the love of the Lord?

Father Elijah did not betray his surprise on that fine Friday morning. The isle was decorated with ivies and white roses while the benches were laced with expensive silk ribbons. The old chandeliers were cleaned and now glowed like sparkling diamonds and crystals supported by delicate gold vines.

Today, the pain and sorrow of Ryan Evans became clear to him. Hazel eyes studied the quiet blond who sat at the first row, eyes welled with tears. What had happened? What went wrong? Did he, Father Elijah wrongly decipher the unconditional love in their eyes? Keeping his countenance clear, he faced the bridegroom, Mister Troy Bolton.

Hate was a strong word and an even stronger feeling, but Father Elijah could not help himself from feeling so. In all his life, he had never felt this miserable for he was the man who would deliver the sermon who would unite two souls whose love was largely based on the requirements of the society and not love. He would read the sermon that would break the bond that linked those two. He could read the guilt in Mister Bolton eyes. He could tell the brunet was as heart broken as the blond.

Nobody sensed the tense undercurrent between them; their jovial voices and merry faces had indicated their lack of sensitivity toward others emotions. But that was very human for they were too preoccupied with the major event; they had neglected the tiny details around them.

The organ started playing and the choir began to sing when a lady garbed in white entered the building. She was Gabriella Montez, Mister Bolton's true love – or so he was told. Elijah could tell the differences between love, lust, fondness, admiration and pity; he knew the love Mister Bolton for the lady was no more but fondness and the marriage was carried out of pity and guilt. Fear was partly responsible for this white ceremony.

The fear of being discovered. The fear of being a fool. The fear of being rejected by the society.

Father Elijah glanced at the blond who was weeping with his sister. Those were not the tears of joy. No, they were not. Those were tears of grief. Mister Evans sat there, like a withered flower in the glory of spring as clear dews stained its faint petals. Shifting his gaze to Mister Bolton, he was surprised to see tears on the brunet eyes and guilt lined his handsome face. He watched how the brunet forced a weak smile as his bride approached him.

Inhaling deeply, Father Elijah tried to calm the building sadness in him.

It all started here, and like the cruel irony of life, it all ended here as well.

Closing his eyes – not wanting to see the bitterness in their faces – Father Elijah started the sermon.

Life was cruel, Morning Star.

Must it end like this?

Hours had slipped by slowly unnoticed and dusk had reined the amber sky. Ryan Evans was not aware of the change in time; he was still trapped and enthralled at every single memory that existed within the old church. Memories that he hung on so dearly while emotions misted his eyes.

He noted Father Elijah who just returned from his gardening with a little companion in his arms. A tiny, chestnut-brown kitten mewed in delight as it was brought into the ancient building, away from the cold, bitter wind. The young priest halted in his tracks, hazel orbs meeting blue ones.

"So, you are still here," Father Elijah said with a gentle smile, fingers stroking the fluffy creature lovingly.

Mister Evans kept quiet and smiled briefly; fingers cold and eyes sore from the endless hours of weeping. He still found it hard to retain his tears from falling despite all those years. Not only was he separated from his love, he was condemned by the rest.

Wary blue eyes gazed at the statue of the chained angel. He never studied the bible, or had he attended any Sunday school arranged by the local church, but he recognized that statue. The angel of light, Lucifer.

"Morning Star," Father Elijah said as he followed Ryan's gaze.

"Morning Star?" Ryan echoed, curious.

The priest nodded. "Lucifer, the Morning Star. Its brilliance only temporary, like the life of the angel."

"The fallen angel, cast from heaven to the depths of hell. The angel who believed he equaled his Creator. The angel who raised an army against his Creator, challenging the monarchy and throne of God."

"Really?" Father Elijah asked, amused. "Have you heard of the alternate tale of Morning Star?"

Ryan stared at the priest and stated, "No…There is an alternate tale?"

"There is. A tale that we all know little about...The tale of Morning Star being the Creator's most loyal lover. His love for the Lord was so great that he defied His words – Lucifer could not bring himself to bow before Adam. His immense love and adoration for God did not permit him to bow before anything else, and because of that, he was hurled from the light to the fiery pits of Hell, to be forever separated from his love. To roam in the darkness of Hell, yearning to return to God's side."

"Is that…Is that the alternate tale?" Ryan asked. Like the Morning Star, he too was separated from his love, exiled by those around him. He had yearned to return to the embrace of his love and remain loyally by his side.

"Mister Evans," Father Elijah continued, "no one deserves such an ending." The priest took a few steps forward, to reveal the other man who had followed him in.

"Ryan…"

Ryan's eyes widened as he studied the bruised face of his love. He knew. He understood. Trembling fingers cupped Troy's face as tears stained their cheeks. Ryan shook his head, speechless. He had sacrificed everything to protect his love. Feeling strong arms pulling him into a tight embrace, the blond leaned his tired body into the delicious warmth.

Slowly and gently, they pressed their lips together, tasting their salty tears as they bathed in the calm, soothing warmth of their bodies. Cold fingers linked tightly as they felt the cold, hard reality shattering before them. Ryan leaned his forehead on Troy's, his eyes held blue-grey orbs in a loving gaze. Troy smiled and pressed his lips lightly on the jeweled lashes of Ryan.

Father Elijah kept walking, a smile rested on his kind face. The priest rubbed the kitten affectionately behind her ears, causing her to purr happily.

Do you remember when we were just kids,
and cardboard boxes took us miles from what we would miss?
School yard conversations taken to heart,
and laughter took the place of everything we knew we were not.

I want to break every clock.
the hands of time could never move again.
We could stay in this moment for the rest of our lives.
Is it over now hey, hey is it over now?
I want to be your last first kiss
that you'll ever have.
I want to be your last first kiss.

Amazing how life turns out, the way that it does.
We end up hurting the worst, the only ones we really love.

Is it over now hey, hey is it over now?
Is it over now hey, hey it's not over now.
I want to be your last first kiss
that you'll ever have.
I want to be your last first love
Lying here beside me with eyes and arms open wide,
I want to be your last first kiss
for all time.

Author: The song above is Inevitable, by Anberlin, lyrics taken from a site - sing365. Great song, should really check it out. Brings back memories...

Father Elijah is not based on any real character. His fascination for the Morning Star is actually based on my keen interest on the fallen angel. The alternate tale can be found by wiki-ing the name Lucifer. I did not mean to tarnish the good impression of the fathers.....I have seen some that smoke and drink. Real good impression there...

Thank you for reading.