Misfit |KotLC AU|

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there should have been more chapters between this and the last

::

Keefe's door was open again when Sophie got home.

She walked over and peeked her head in. Keefe was no where to be seen, but his drawing tablet was on, blinking over and over: ERROR. ERROR. ERROR.

But the tablet was the only thing on the tables, and all of his markers and books were gone from their shelves.

It was like everything had disappeared over night.

Then Keefe stepped out of his bedroom. He wasn't smiling.

"Hey," Sophie greeted. "What..."

"I need to talk to you about something," Keefe interrupted. He walked over and grabbed her hand, pulling her out on to the fire escape. They sat.

Sophie waited.

"I have to go."

Sophie blinked. "Where?"

"Home."

She paused. "Isn't this your home?"

Keefe's frown deepened. "This isn't a joke, Sophie."

Then she frowned too. "Sophie..."

"Listen to me," he said, grabbing both of her hands. He looked down at them. "I told you before about...my family. I trust you."

"Yes."

"Well, I need you to take this seriously."

"Okay."

"I have to go back," Keefe started again. "Home. With my father. In France."

"I thought you were going to Foxfire? How are you going to..."

"I'm not," Keefe sighed. "My father isn't doing well and I have to go back to...fix a few things."

Sophie furrowed her brow. She pulled out an eyelash. "I thought you hated your father."

Keefe tried for a smile. "He's still my family. I still care for him. And although I don't necessarily love him, I need him okay. Understand?"

Sophie blinked. It was all she could do. Her body was frozen, and whatever she had been thinking—happiness—had fizzled out. "So, what? You're just going to leave?"

"I have to."

I have to.

"I have no choice."

No choice.

"Are you going to tell Fitz...and Biana?"

Silence.

Sophie stood. She crawled through the window and stopped at the doorway.

"Okay."

****About two hours prior.****

"Besoin...tu...ici..."

"I understand. Thank you Cammie."

Then he hung up.

With his back against the floor boards and his phone in his hand, Keefe stared at the ceiling of his bedroom.

It was white.

Then, slowly, tears fell from his eyes.

He stood. Walked over to a shelf. Took an arm full of books. To the bathroom. Dumped them. In the tub. And with a match. Burned them.

More followed.

Keefe sat on the floor. He ran his fingers through his hair as he watched the flames curl around his drawings.

He moved to his computer. Files were put in the trash. Click Click Click. Gone. He put his markers in his bag (those cost a lot of money, you know) and waited.

Sophie was at the door soon after, smiling.

He couldn't smile back.