Lonely Hours [Kier/Shane]

One

Waking up cold and afraid is never one of my favourite ways to start the day, but during the past few years it's something I've become accustomed to; It's not like I had a choice in the matter anyway.

Four years ago, my step-brother and I were curled up near the fire in the living room of our Semi-Detached home in London, two days before Christmas Day. Our Mother and Father had left a few hours before to pick up our Grandmother from her own home to spend the most famous holiday together as a family. They were due to return around eight in the evening, just before our usual 'film-and-a-cuppa' before bed. However, they never came home. Drew and I waited, and waited, but the sound of the front door being unlocked, or my Step-Father's grumbles in the porch never came.

"Shane?" I heard my Step-Brother whisper from his buried place in my side. "I'm getting worried..."

Looking up at the clock above the fireplace I frowned in concern, the hands seconds away from turning 10pm.

"It's been hours." I murmured, pulling the blankets away from our overheated bodies. I headed over to the far side of the room, picking up the house phone and typing in my Mother's number easily by heart. It rung and rung, but there was never any answer. I tried again, and then my Step-Father's number, and my Grandmother but none of them ever answered, leaving it to ring out until the automated message about leaving a voicemail was left ringing in my ears. Returning to Drew, I allowed him to curl up in my side once more, hushing him softly when he'd ask about the phone calls.

Neither of us heard anything of their whereabouts until the morning after; Christmas Eve. They were in a horrific car crash on the motorway, on their way back from our Grandmother's; No survivors.

"Drew?" I called to him as I sat up on the harshly chilled pavement where we'd spent the night, looking over at his curled up position beside me. He released a small groan in acknowledgement, rolling over so I could see his tired and pained expression. "I'm going to head off to the shelter, okay?" I continued, waiting for a nod before adding. "You stay here, and if anyone comes over to you, run to the place I told you about, alright?"

He hummed before turning over once more, weakly pulling my jacket over his malnourished form before he fell limp, signalling he'd fell asleep.

Awkwardly moving to stand, I brushed down my already dirty grey jeans before heading out of the alley we called home towards the small homeless shelter at the end of the street; I didn't want to set up camp too far away, knowing that it'd be easy for someone to hurt Drew in this position, but if I had to go out I knew it wouldn't take me long to get back to him.

After entering the shelter and signing for the food packages, I was able to collect the relatively small box of various fruit, water and canned food. Throughout London, various charities for the homeless set up collections for us all, meaning that if we walk into one of these 'shelters' once a month and signed our names, (having previously signed up for a box with a good enough reason for why you should receive it) we were entitled to a box. Sometimes, they'd even include a box of paracetamol that I was able to give to Drew, but that was very rare as the majority of the time it was rotting apples and a few cans of beans. Thanking those at the shelter I swiftly left, making my way back down the street I came from as quickly as I could, Drew's worsening condition being the only thing on my mind. Without watching where I was going I opened the box and sighed at the lack of medication, rummaging through one handed while holding the container in the other, until I collided with a hard surface, meaning the box slipped from my hands and the items within were splayed across the pavement.

"I-I'm so sorry!" I cried out, realising I'd in fact walked straight into the back of another man. Crouching down on the ground I began to scramble to pick up my belongings, dropping them back into the box with the hopes of not seeing a disgusted face the moment I stood back up. People have always had a fairly negative opinion on the homeless, branding us as disgusting drug addicts, or alcoholics; However, that was not always the case. Some of us just simply couldn't afford to live anymore.

"Hey, It's alright," A soft, calm voice sounded from above me, causing a blush to spread across my cheeks as the man lowered himself in front of me to help.

"Thank you," I murmured once I eventually stood back up, meeting the warm smile of the helpful stranger. He had an usual hair style in comparison to the crisp black suit he was wearing, his hair being a bright red and styled over one side of his head, a lengthy fringe to match his fairly 'punk' look. "It's fine," was his gentle response, causing me to nod as things gradually became more increasingly awkward. I couldn't help but feel a little insignificant in comparison to the man in front of me; he was extremely smartly dressed, the suit shaping his toned figure perfectly and his skin clean and smooth, making him glow beautifully. I, however, was starved, dirty and greasy; He should have walked away the moment I walked into him.

"W-Well, If you'd excuse me..." I whispered, nodding towards the man once more before hurrying off back down the street towards the alley where Drew would be waiting for me.