The Color of Life is Red

The Walk-Out

Lance woke up to Favio sleeping beside him. They lied in a mattress on the carpeted floor. He brought a hand to his face, realizing that the mask had been removed. The room was cold and damp, but a little cleaner than the rest of the base. He took another look at his bedmate before carefully lifting the blankets off and crawling out. Favio's room was covered in various clothing, so Lance helped himself. He put on a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, and a brown leather jacket. The clothes were big on him, but they would have to do. As he stepped out, he slipped his feet into a pair of boots. The halls were different from the previous base he had been in. They were more comfortable. The building felt more like a house than a prison. An old house, but still a house.

Lance took a few turns down the hall and found the stairs. They were dark wood with rusty gold handrails. With a deep breath, Lance scanned the hallway. His attention was turned back to the stairs. Two options. Escape or fight. If Keith were here, he would probably tell him to fight. He stared at them for a long time, then finally took the stairs up a floor.

From the bits and pieces Lance heard, Zarkon lived on the top floor. His head fogged up, but he shook it to keep it clear. After reaching the top, he paused and sat down. Lance was exhausted, starving, and weak. He didn't have any weapons or any plan. He hugged his knees and choked back tears. He wanted Keith. He wanted his team.

Come on Lance, we can do this. He stood with a grunt and inspected the hallway. We just have to find the room and get back to Favio.

Every door looked the same. He almost gave up his search before he saw a larger door with a gold nameplate. There wasn't any name on it, but he could tell that was the one. Alright. He turned and quickly walked back to the stairs, tracking the path. We know where he is, we just have to come up with a plan.

Lance hopped down to the floor Favio was on. With a swift spin, he opened the door. When he was safe, he rested his back against the wall and slid down to hug his knees. He was finally able to cry. Pitiful sobs jerked from his chest as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Did you have a nice adventure?"

Lance raised his head to an awake Favio. He wanted to respond, but only cures exited his throat. Favio took a deep breath, then got up to sit down next to him. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and brought his head to his jacket. He shushed him, "You're gonna be fine. They're coming."

Lance's skepticism returned, "Who?"

"Hm?"

He sniffled, "Who's coming?"

Favio ruffled his hair and hugged him tighter. "Shiro and Keith."

That was enough for Lance. Favio was a good guy. Lance grabbed his shirt with both fists and rubbed his face into his chest. He cried for a long time, possibly an hour. Even so, Favio stayed and pet his head the whole time.

Lance had finally calmed down and released his hold, wiping his face with his sleeve. "What am I supposed to do?" He locked eyes with him, "When are they coming?"

Favio shook his head, "I don't know."

"Are you really leaving like this?! He's just a boy, Krolia!" Keith's father yelled.

Keith's mother spun around, suitcase in hand. The moonlight filtered through her hair. "David, he's killing animals."

He reached out and took her hand, "He needs his mother right now." He raised his voice when she yanked her hand away. "You don't know how he will turn out."

Krolia huffed, eyes wide and filled with fear. She glanced at Keith's bedroom door. "I refuse to have a psycho as a son."

"Krolia!"

She turned around and slammed the door behind her.

Keith woke up naturally to the morning sun. He sat up in his bed suspiciously. It was strange that his parents wouldn't wake him. He stepped out of bed and got dressed. When he was ready, he cautiously exited his room. He found his father asleep on the couch, bottles littered the floor around him.

Keith walked up to him and climbed up on the couch. He pushed him, "Papa?"

His father groaned and stirred, but didn't wake.

Keith pushed him again, "Papa?"

When he finally opened his eyes, he sat up and grabbed his head. Keith leaned toward him, "Papa? Where's Momma?"

His face dropped and he scanned the room. His breathing increased and he became frantic. Keith scooted back, frightened by his erratic behavior. "Papa?"

He finally locked eyes with Keith. His face held anger and hatred. He pointed to the hall, "Go to your room!"

Keith flinched at the yell and slowly stepped off the couch. After every couple of steps, he would look back only to be greeted with the same hateful expression. Keith eventually reached his door and entered, quietly closing the door behind him as to not anger him more.