Noah.

A school field trip. You weren't much of a fan, especially when it was a long trip to another city. But your parents insisted you go, because the teacher promised to give everyone an A in their report card.

Everything was boring, too boring. You rode the bus for four hours, and some guy from a different class sat next to you. He kept throwing food and wires at his classmates. He laughed loudly. You learned his name when the teacher yelled at him. Noah. Part of you didn't care, but whenever he yelled too loudly, you would nudge him in the ribs with your elbow. It irritated him, but he didn't say anything, just frowned in displeasure.

Only upon arrival did you learn that you'd be visiting four museums and something else. You were shocked. Each tour lasted over an hour. It was too boring, so you just hung back the whole time, checking your phone when no one was looking. Noah was loud even here: laughing with his friends, making jokes.

Your "fun" ended when, after the fourth museum, they confiscated your phone for a while. It was a failure. But even if they hadn't confiscated your phone, you still wouldn't have been using it, because the place you'd come to was too beautiful.

A huge church greeted you with a golden, bright entrance. Even Noah fell silent. You fumbled for your camera in your pocket. Slowly, without even looking, you began taking photos of everything around you. Icons, church stalls, figurines, altars. It all filled up the memory card. It filled up until Noah approached you and snatched the camera. He turned it off and held it up, looking at you with the same displeasure you'd looked at him on the school bus.

Noah: Actually, you're not allowed to take pictures of anything here, blasphemer.

He said quietly. A silver cross hung around Noah's neck.