Day 2 - Vacation
The door always closed.
Twenty-three and Keith was frozen in place as that door swung slowly shut before him. It swallowed the image of a tall man with a head of white hair, a travel bag slung over a broad shoulder.
On another warm summer afternoon, a small boy stood frozen as another door swung shut with a note of finality, leaving only coldness in its wake. A list of hasty instructions, scribbled thoughtlessly on a scrap of notebook paper was clutched in his hand. Just simple, everyday household things really. Take out the trash. Clean and vacuum. Wipe down the table and countertops. Go to school. Home by 6. Do your homework. Bring in the mail. Trash pickup is on Tuesday. Peanut butter was in the cupboard, and a week's worth of frozen dinners was in the freezer.
That list of chores, of important reminders, a couple of numbers in case of emergency had been thrust into the hands of a seven year old, silent and sullen after the death of his father the year before. But he'd been the oldest of the four foster kids in that house, and thus the responsibility was placed upon his small shoulders.
Only seven years old, and the small boy clutched that torn scrap of paper tightly in his hand, watching as the front door swung firmly shut, catching with a click. He could still hear the rattling of a loose wheel as his foster parents rolled their luggage down the uneven stones of the front walkway, towards their beat up old Ford.
"We'll just be gone four days, Keith. Look after the others, okay? And do everything on that list. We don't want to come back to a dirty house." Those had been Mrs. Wagner's last words to him as they left on their long weekend getaway, the door shutting with a note of finality.
Maybe he should have been proud that an adult trusted him enough to let him stay home alone for so long. But a cold feeling settled in his chest and Keith turned his back on that door.
Two days later, an exhausted woman with frizzy hair from child services came by and retrieved the kids. Mr. and Mrs. Wagner came home to an empty house and angry voicemails.
Twenty-three now, and Keith started from his memory as the door pulled back open. That coldness had long since dissipated, making room for a warmth he had once thought he'd never find. Shiro peered back at him as he leaned against the doorframe, eyes crinkling slightly, a half smile adorning his lips. "You coming?"
"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking." Thinking. Remembering. Memories that no longer stung as they once had, a sheepish smile on Keith's face as he bent to grab his own bag, swinging the backpack over his shoulder, one hand wrapped loosely around the strap.
Shiro caught his free hand as he finally made it to the door, fingers twining together easily. "What about?"
"About how lucky I am." Keith grinned, and Shiro hummed as the younger man tugged him in close for a chaste kiss. His lips were still warm as they parted a moment later.
Tossing an arm over Keith's shoulder, Shiro laughed, lips quirking. "Extremely lucky. You have no idea how many strings I had to pull to make sure we both got leave at the same time."
Keith paused only to push the door shut behind them.