(no subject)
He almost puts the box straight in the closet. It's where he's always kept it, and after all, he knows exactly what it contains.
But, after a moment, he steps away, the box still in his hands, and sits down on the bed. Because even knowing its contents by heart... he hasn't seen it for nearly four months. And this used to be his private ritual, every week. More often, sometimes.
So. He sits on the bed, and he opens the box, carefully.
Each thing comes out separately, and he takes the time to look, to read, before setting it aside. The articles, the photographs, the report cards, the papers...
It's not so long before he's surrounded, all available space on the bed around him covered. (There's a letter, addressed to Darien, and that he lays aside separately. He'll decide what to do with it later.) And the box is all but empty.
Just one thing left, in the bottom. Their star.
Kevin lifts it out, careful, almost reverent, and holds it in folded hands. And, eyes closed, he prays.
"Please God, if you will... keep him safe."
But, after a moment, he steps away, the box still in his hands, and sits down on the bed. Because even knowing its contents by heart... he hasn't seen it for nearly four months. And this used to be his private ritual, every week. More often, sometimes.
So. He sits on the bed, and he opens the box, carefully.
Each thing comes out separately, and he takes the time to look, to read, before setting it aside. The articles, the photographs, the report cards, the papers...
It's not so long before he's surrounded, all available space on the bed around him covered. (There's a letter, addressed to Darien, and that he lays aside separately. He'll decide what to do with it later.) And the box is all but empty.
Just one thing left, in the bottom. Their star.
Kevin lifts it out, careful, almost reverent, and holds it in folded hands. And, eyes closed, he prays.
"Please God, if you will... keep him safe."