There's a light grain in the rich Mahogany that he's made a habit of tracing with his fingers whenever he comes back. Over the years - he figured - his OCD turned this tic into a sort of stylized ritual. A time-mark signaling both a beginning and an end.

He lets his knees fall against the hard wooden step, sighing deeply as the smell of incense and burnt wax fill his lungs. On the other side, hidden behind the red velvet curtain, his pharmakon awaits.
They have developed a peculiar and unspoken arrangement, forbidden as he is from ever spelling the Truth to the uncouth, time after time he's methodically crafted his sins, arranging them in a patchwork of lies. It's always small things, something that gives the semblance of an interesting life though which let his celibate friend live vicariously.
Afterwards, they'll meet in front of the church and partake in a pint or two for old times' sake, never hinting at the subject.

Of course his childhood friend is not stupid, he's aware of the lies and so he's never bestowed the absolution he so desperately needs. Thorough the years, this debasing of their shared faith and his other misgivings have thinned their bond, never fully compromising it. It most certainly would, if he were to bring the Truth to the forefront. For starters, of the two, he's the one harboring the smallest slice of the great Chasm.
Crush him, tell him that his crude faith - the one which he's dedicated his life for - is just a trick pulled by an evil Demiurge, a children's tale fostered by lies. He's a soldier fighting for a lost cause.

Nevertheless, even if his reading of the Wheel was right, he's still unsure whether his accumulated Karma has granted him a blessing or a curse. His soul says something, yet his actions place him at the bottom of the Ladder. Were the tables reversed, would his friend be a better man than he is? Would he be able to do more good?

A philosopher once said that friendship is a relationship among equals. But unlike the knowledgeable, he's plagued by doubt.

He knocks against the wooden door and a shadow signals him to begin, "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned", he says with contrition.

There's still gold to be dug from the mud.