Kotlc Sleepover

Chapter ●20●

I wanted to finish this by the new year. That's probably not going to happen.

At this point, it's sort of just expected for my chapters to be very late, but uh. Still. Very sorry.

(I'm surprised you guys are still here)

Anywho, Merry Late Christmas! Or Happy Hanukkah! Or Merry Kwanzaa!

Just. Uh. Happy Holidays!

Hope you guys are doing very well and I hope you enjoy this chapter as a little late Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/other gift<33

Keefe's Pov

Keefe slept peacefully.

Well, maybe peacefully wasn't the right word, but it was something like that. He didn't toss and turn and didn't wake up once throughout the entire night, so he wanted to believe that was peacefully. In any case, it was soundless.

Which was weird, and strange, but he knew his body had needed rest. He had been so tired, and whether it was physical or emotional exhaustion he wasn't sure, but the premise had been the same: he slept softly and dreamed of nothing.

When he did wake up, he did it slowly. He shifted and tried to return to sleep, but when that didn't work, he laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking. It was early morning, he could tell by the way the sun barely shown through the window. But he felt well rested, and a tiny part of him was ready to face whatever horrors the day presented.

A tiny part. Not a lot of him, that was for sure, but . . . there was enough. Enough to get through the day.

Get through the day.

He repeated it in his head until he was ready to drag himself out of bed, across the room and into the adjoined bathroom. He peeled off his clothes and stepped into the shower, where he watched the water slowly steal the dirt and flour littering his body and carry it down the drain.

There was a metaphor there, somewhere, but he couldn't find it.

When he was done, he put the same clothes he had been wearing back on. He was sure that somewhere in the room there was something else he could have worn, but he liked the familiarity that came with his own clothes.

Distantly, he also realized he wasn't sure if he would be allowed to wear whatever clothes he might find. And he didn't particularly feel like asking someone.

So he stepped out of the bathroom and let his eyes wander over his room. He was searching for something, though he wasn't sure what.

Something to do, maybe, because he didn't want to go downstairs yet. Maybe just a thought to grasp. Whatever it was, it didn't seem like he would find it.

Eventually, he snapped out of whatever he had put himself into and made the bed, though that was something he rarely did at home. He regrettably couldn't remember the proper order the pillows and covers had been set up in the night before, so he placed them in what he hoped was a presentable way and left them.

When that was done he stood beside it, staring at the rest of the room, trying to make excuses as to what else he had to do.

Because even if he had slept well, and he had showered and he felt a little better, the idea of trailing down the stairs and seeing Grady and Edaline and being met with the questions he was sure they had was something he wasn't very sure he could handle.

And he was so sick of all the things he couldn't handle. Of all the sounds that made his heart pound and all the people he couldn't see without getting a headache.