saints and soldiers » klance

13: Help is on the Way

My bones all resonate
A burning lullaby
You can't take that from me
Just go ahead and try

Lance had tried to talk to Keith for another ten minutes after the latter had shrugged, to less than no avail. Keith hadn't looked away from the window, no matter what Lance had tried. When the other boy had finally given up, defeated, Keith almost felt guilty for his obstinance- but really, why should he? The world had proven to him over and over again that it was hostile and could never accept him, no matter what place he thought he had found or whatever friends or allies he thought he might have made.

Despite the number of times Lance had brought up meals and hydration- not-so-subtle-hints dropped exactly sixteen times, Keith had counted- Keith still hadn't left the room. He couldn't bring himself to leave his sanctuary, plagued by the fear that it would be gone or corrupted by the time he returned, even if he just went the six steps down the hall to the bathrooms or the water fountains.

That, and he had no desire to see any other human beings for as long as he could possible manage.

Except maybe Lance...

Keith counted backward in his head, glancing at the horizon. The sky was turning the pale gray of early morning, and he saw the edge of the sun cresting the ends of the earth in the distance, visible in the east as he peered down the street, through the tangled spread of buildings stretching far into the distance. From here, he could see to the edges of the city.

It had been about seven hours, then, since Lance had left, and Keith still couldn't get the boy's blue eyes out of his head. The color of the sea, deep and dark and enthralling. They floated against the backs of his eyelids every time he so much as blinked and seemed, every now and then, to be staring back at him from the pane of the window he'd been leaning against for the last seven hours- for the last four days, really- and gazing at him while he watched the city, alive and moving far below.

He looked down to the street, then back at the sun. It was... Saturday now. They started serving breakfast in an hour.

Propping a fist beneath his chin, he looked down. Golden light was spilling from open doors and windows onto the dull gray sidewalk. The entire city in the morning was always a scape of gray, gray buildings gray ground gray sky, splashed with color- the lights from the windows, the faint gold-orange-red-pink glow of the sun on the horizon, the signs posted on windows and facades suiting everything from advertisements to propaganda to statements. It was a bizarre and yet utterly beautiful patchwork of human everything.

Hours passed, ticking away with the shifting of the sun across the sky. He heard the rise and fall of the clamor of breakfast beneath him, heard restless feet in meetings above him, watched the weekend lunch rush, packed with tourists, locals and professionals alike, bustle past below him, felt the stampeding feet of the dinnertime meal service passing by through the halls and through the streets and dining hall below him. Another day, come and gone. Another day of refuge in his own miniscule corner of the world.

Though dinner was served from six to nine, it usually took until about ten for the building to regain any semblance of quiet. Tonight was no exception. He could hear people cleaning in the dining hall, three stories below him, and people settling into rooms all round and below. Slowly, they were closing out their own days, albeit in a different manner than he was. He tried to put himself in one of their heads- waking up in a bed here, going down to breakfast, heading out to accomplish- or attempt to accomplish- some preordained purpose or another, coming back, eating dinner with friends or at least people who knew him, laughing, joking, talking, actually enjoying himself, coming back to bed, sleeping the day away so he could wake up and do it again.