As Francis enters the room he can hardly see most of it. Moonlight casts shadows from a window revealing only a writing table and a bookshelf. Although no books actually inhabit it, only dust and spider web. Something cold touches his skin as he tries to move forward. Through darkness it resembles a metal bunk bed. On the opposite side of the room stands another one just like it. Their old tattered blankets spill over the edges. Still close to the door, Francis stretches his arm towards a lower bed to find Adam lying on it. His body seems allmost lifeless. His breath feels very soft to the point where its hard to detect by hand.
Cold night air caresses Francis’s skin from an open window. He turns his head and sees Sara leaning forward on an old fire escape while smoking a cigarette. Francis walks towards her. The wooden floor squeaks and moans with every step he takes. Even with him trying to be careful. A smell of outside world hits him as he climbs up the window. Fresh air tries to get inside and Francis stands in its way. Through this stream he steps outside. The sound of his boots hitting rusty metallic floor rings and echoes like a bell but It doesn’t bother Sara. She barelly turnes her head as a response.
Sara shivers with every blow of wind passing by. Her clothes, ment to uncover as much of her body as possible, don't protect It from cold at all. However, the sound of Francis undoing buttons didn’t please her.
“Francis, I’m not in the mood right now.” Said Sara. The feeling of cloth on her skin nonetheless surprises her. Like an old cozy blanket that grandmother made her one day, be it a little smelly.
“I thought you’d be cold here,” Said Francis.
“Oh,” Said Sara. “Thank you. I didn’t expect that.”
“Yeah, I can see.”
Francis leans on the rail with Sara. Its rust scratches against his palms. He turns his head towards the sky, looking at the fool moon while Sara blows out the smoke. Something about it always seems to attract his eyes. Like a sun that doesn’t burn your eyes. Sara pulls a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and tries giving it to Francis. His hand stops her before she can say a word.
“I don’t smoke.”
“Are you serious!” Said Sara.
“It’s… It’s bad for your health”
“Ok doctor Francis,” Said Sara, “I saw you chug a bottle of vodka at the bar like it was water. Heck I’m pretty sure you did a heroin shot before that. And you’re the one to talk about health?”
“Well, for a start, I am a doctor.” Said Francis.
“Really!” Said Sara, “I don’t believe you.”
“I still got my PhD,” said Francis. “Frankly I didn’t sell it. Plus, I have sworn to someone.”
Sara shrugs her shoulders and brings the pack back to her pocket.
“You know, for someone like you it’s really… I don’t know. Weird? Like why would you not? I don’t see what to lose.”
“This promise is something I can lose,” Said Francis.
This sentence dazed Sara for a moment. She met Francis so long ago and yet she didn’t bother to ask him anything about his past. The fact that he had someone so important to him that he could hold a promise for so long shocked her. In disbelief she notices the little candle in her mouth running out. As she tosses down what’s left of it she reaches for another one. However, after a short moment her hand settles on the rail instead.
“Damn. I thought I knew you for… What, three years. Maybe four, even. And just now I get to know who you are.”
Sara turns her head at Francis. She can’t recollect a moment when she ever saw Him without his coat. Now, when its gone, it almost feels like he opened himself up. His old pullover shows its scratches and sews in different places. Time stained its white and black stripes so much it resembles yellow more than white. If before Sara would hold herself from questions, now she simply can’t.
“So, who is that lucky person,” asked Sara.
"Pardon me?" Said Francis.
“Who got so important to you that you keep a single promise to that person even after so many years?”
Francis looks down on the ground. Silence takes over this conversation for a few seconds. Sara watches him with anticipation while his face describes uncertainty.
“My father," Said Francis.