Mary had stood outside of a ratty little apartment complex, a singular little silver key in her hands, and a worn suitcase nearly as tall as her like a solid wall at her shoulder's.
Even now, she had no idea what she was doing, standing outside of rows and rows of buildings and streets she had never seen in her life, and the sweat on her hands turned her fingers cold, with the ever pressing weight of metal in her palm.
She marched up the stairs, the top of her nose red from cold, the little belongings rattling inside the case, with eyes with desperation and half-made decisions.
Mary jerked upwards, and the wheel got caught in the slip of the top step, and no matter how much she pulled and tugged, it refused to go along with her grip.
Her scarf was too suffocating, her new, cheap boots felt too clunky, her forehead was hot, and all the white hair flying into her eyes with each tug and push made her want to scream and cry and run away from it all. Mother should have been here. Mother would have-
The tears were already hot and pooling at the bottom of her eyelids, and all it took was a blink, and that was it. The silver of the key glinted briefly in the white of the cheap fluorescent lights of complex before tumbling to the bottom of the steps, a gray and white blur at the bottom of the pavement, and the tears only flowed faster.
"Mom.." she wailed into the night, high and trembling, and she wanted, more than anything, to rip off all of the jackets restricting her and throw them all away and go back to the warmth of her mother's arms. "Come back..."
The shadow of black sneakers stood in front of her, with her suitcase next to them and a small silver key on the other. They knelt down, gently, in front of her swirling vision, and handed them the key, the metal glinting white into her tears. "Is this your's?"
A man, she heard, and she snatched the key back, scrambling backwards, tripping on the back of her jacket. "Get away...!" Her voice was high, and trembling with fear, she knew, and knew that he probably knew it too. The figure paused, breathing white clouds into the night air, and smiled, under the cold white of the apartment lights. "Ok."
She watched him, warily, as he stood and fumbled at the door, a similar looking key inserting into the handle and then entering into a warm clammor. "Well," he paused at the door to look at her, and she flinched and looked away, holding her key closer to her body. "Goodnight."
He had given her a brief nod, and the door had shut, gray and tall, and she sat there, huddled close, and stared at the suitcase standing at the edge of the stairs. Mary stood, slowly, and the clunky boots echoed as she took the handle and rolled off to the room next door.
She took the silver key and fumbled for the handle through thick gloves, the key seemingly glowing in the light. "Ok." His smile was a little regretful, she thought, and tried to fit the key into the hole. It slipped, and Mary tugged off her gloves with some difficulty, and suddenly missed the warmth that had glowed from behind that door.
"Well," he said, as if considering something, "Goodnight." She ached for it, and then that gray door had closed, in her mind, slowly, until the warm light was merely a slit in her memory. Her fingers, cold with the sweat from earlier, slipped at the keyhole again, and the key clattered to the floor, and it was only as she went to bend over and pick it up under those cold apartment lights, that she felt the tears heavy in her eyes again.
The shadow over the silver key knelt down and cried, silently and as bitterly than she ever had, even after a week ago, when she had seen her mother with spatters of red on her dress and the door wide open. She hiccuped and the tears slipped down fast on her cheeks, with the little silver key at her feet, and wished she could run back to her old house and it would all be fine again.
The warmth flooded her, almost blindingly, and a pair of black sneakers stood, casting long shadows over her crouching figure. "You're still out here?" He sounded a little surprised, and she looked up, and they saw the tears streaking down her face.
They knelt down again, and Mary almost reached into that warmth, but she kept her hands close to her. The big hands picked up the silver key and held it out once more. She looked up, and he smiled, bright and warm as summer, and said, "You seem to keep dropping things, huh."
Her eyes were watering again, and she flusteredly hid her face behind the scarf, averting her pink eyes. "S-sorry," she apologized, softly, and rubbed the cloth hurriedly against her eye before taking it. He stood again, and re-wrapped his own scarf. "No problem. Need help with the door, too?"
He was only teasing, but the heightened confusion in her eyes told otherwise. He sighed, and she flinched. "Sorry," she said again, and he smiled and shook his head. "Nothing to be sorry about. Here, I'll show you."
The key was warm in her hand when he had given it back, and he had waved at her before the door closed again, hiding him and the warmth of it's residents.
She stepped inside, and it was empty. The door closed with a resolute click, and she fell asleep, there and then, at the doorway, and dreamed of his black sneakers and his warm smile.