His faith was imperfect, driven by fear of reprisals that Gabe could never articulate. Fidgeting, he covered his mouth with a half-formed fist, stubby nails pressing against his lip. At the same time, his jaw clenched as he recalled the phantom taste of Chinese mustard and chili oils in his mouth.

"Do you have to watch this?" Gabe looked stubbornly at the ceiling, trying to block out the sounds that surely signified kissing. Probably outside of marriage or even courtship.