Chapter Text
There were very few foster homes that Keith genuinely mourned leaving. Not that he was in many homes before. By the time he was 11 - three long, long years without the warmth of his father - there had been no less than 7 families that went through the group home he was first placed at. The first few were unwanted because no one could replace his dad. He didn’t want anyone to even try. But even when there was some kind of accord reached, someone who seemed like they might understand him, who might make him stop feeling so cold, he was brought back very quickly.
In those three years, Keith had gone through two group homes and three foster families and two couples who thought they might adopt him. He had moved on from his righteous anger, from spitting and screaming at someone trying to replace the hole in his life, to a grim acceptance at the cruelty of the world. He had thought there was nothing for him anymore. It felt like he realised too late that he might be able to find comfort in these strangers. Those last few attempts had ended quickly, he was sent back for being too much .
So no, there was no more warmth for him to play with - only the pricklingly cold embrace of the night stars to keep him company. But when it was almost spring break an elderly couple came to the group home looking for someone to keep them company.
While Keith was slightly wary of why they chose him out of anyone else, the Holson couple seemed like a simple sort at first. When he first saw their home it was nothing special. A homely looking villa with an open garden filled with flower pots. Not much different from the group homes and few fosters he had gone through by now. They had explained to him - which was weird; it was always weird when the adults spoke of family and caring for him like it was real - that their house had become quiet and their children had grown and gone away. They asked him if he wanted to stay with them. If he would be willing to keep them company. While he didn’t really know what to say he supposed it would be better than living in a cramped dorm room in a house filled with kids that had their unique issues. So he agreed, expecting nothing new.
Which is why, within the first few weeks he was so surprised by their patient coaxing. Where were the tense conversations? Where were the moments where they would ask him things he had no idea how to answer, inviting him to things he felt nothing for? He was only met with calm, gentle conversations that offered room for him to speak but never leaving empty silence that he was forced to fill.
It baffled him at first, what were they doing? Was this a sign of yet another thing he had no clue how to respond to? Why were they asking for his input if he never seemed to give it? They didn’t seem to stop either. They kept on asking how his day was, asking if he wanted more juice or tea or food or another blanket.
They asked.
They asked, if he wanted to go through their considerable collection of books when he had been caught one night staring up at their shelves, wide awake because of the insistent thrumming of his pulse that would sometimes refuse to calm. They seemed to see him. Catching glimpses of the moments where everything under his skin screamed something was wrong that something was missing. A screaming that his father was always able to soothe, an itch he had learned to smother by screaming at the stars. He quickly learned that screaming was frowned upon and so turned to the few books he found at the group home. And so when they asked him if he wanted to read their books, with a patient understanding, he saw no reason to refuse.
It made him feel just a small bit of warmth. It made him hope .
The hallway light turning on and spreading into the relative darkness of his room through the cracks of his (his!) bedroom door set his slow heart rate ablaze. He reflexively shoved the book beneath his covers as a gentle knock echoed in the room and fumbled to turn off his torch in an attempt to hide his actions. When the door swung open he was curled awkwardly with a hand half shoved beneath his pillow and the book clearly poking out of his blanket. He was met with the warm face of Elenore Holson peaking into his room.
"Can't sleep?"
The words were spoken so softly, as if the old woman didn't have the heart to break the calm the book had cast upon the room. It was the way she waited by the door, so still and unobtrusive that made his mouth open and admit he was afraid. For the first time in what felt like forever he sat by a kitchen counter with hot chocolate chasing away the chill that'd taken root in the corners of his mind. It was this moment, just a short few weeks into his stay with them, when he realised that maybe this was what he had been waiting for. Hope blossomed under the tender ministrations of the Holson couple who tended to him with quiet glances, silent company and gentle offerings.
Soon enough, before Keith could even notice, it had been two months with them. He had fallen in love with the room they had filled end to end, floor to ceiling with as many books as possible. It felt like living in a library but one that had a chair that had a throw blanket made just for him .
With the Holson couple, Keith finally found people who were willing to wait and listen. People who cared enough to learn his habits so he was given things before he would open his mouth to ask. If his gaze ever lingered on some book or jacket they made sure he knew it was ok to ask. They couldn't afford everything but they did what they could.
And they had cared.
It was with them that Keith found his lonely obsession of the stars grow into a true love and fascination. It was with them that he became enthralled by the myths and folktales of the past about the stars. Besides the window of the library he learned to appreciate the artistry of sketching from Steven and from Eleanor he began to find his voice. It was in-between the pages of novels and love-filled meals where Keith finally found a family that he wanted. One that loved him too.
They made him a part of their family - teaching him their language of love and learning who he was and helping him keep find himself. They helped him keep in touch with the traditions of his father, let him cry and mourn the way he never felt comfortable too before now.
For two years Keith basked in the gift he found that was the Holson household. He met most of their elder children and he felt accepted. Finally he felt like he was standing on solid ground, that he was no longer trapped in some twisted sandstorm that left him confused and hurting all the time. Perhaps that was why it hurt so much to walk around the corner one day, preoccupied with his excitement for the outing they had planned, that he missed the signs.
He missed the fact that the street seemed busier the closer he got to home. Missed the darkening sky, missed the rancid smells he usually would have noticed by now - missed the fact that there was something that made his gut scream. It probably explained why he was frozen still by the sight of charred wood, ash and blown bricks.
Fire. Why, oh why was it always fire?
It didn’t matter that they weren’t dead, it didn’t matter that Chris, one of the elder children who was meant to go hiking with them today, tried to explain to him that Eleanore and Steven were probably going to be ok. He seemed to float instead, unable to really reconnect with the world to try and understand what had happened.
His mind was stuck on the sight of burnt pillars and the harrowing scene of the two people he had come to love being loaded into ambulances. As the next few days progressed, a cold emptiness seemed to settle over him. His instincts knowing before anyone had to say anything, before his mind was truly ready to accept it, that this was the end.
There would be no more hot chocolate, no more quiet evenings in the library basking in the company of the couple. With a house burnt down, high hospital bills, and no one from the family available to take care of him while the couple goes through the arduous - and maybe not even a full - process of recovery, there was no way he would get to stay.
As the week drew to a close it was clear that he was being sent back. He wouldn’t even know if they died. He was left feeling lost and empty as he was swept away from the ashes of his hopes and dreams - haunted by the knowledge that he was nearly part of a family again, so close, if only nothing had happened for a few more months--
But no, life could not be kind. He was left alone with no place to call home - again.