He sat up and let his head rest against the cold wall.

A dream.

Just another dream.

He exhaled. Ran a hand distractedly through his untidy hair. He was clammy… he should shower. But the bathroom was unlikely to be free.

As expected, when Yuki emerged from his bedroom the door at the end of the corridor stared back at him; closed and unrelenting with its white peeling paint. There was always someone in, especially in the morning. He sighed half-heartedly and retreated back into his room to change his clothes.

He was the only one with a room of his own. And he was grateful, he really was. He didn't know how he'd fare sharing with someone else; maybe a surly teenager, or a needy child… or worse, one who had recently been left. Those were the most difficult to be around, to live with.

They had all been one of those at one time or another. The Left Ones. They all knew how it felt, but that didn't mean they wanted to be reminded. Ever. And a recently dropped off child was just that; a reminder of what they all were.

It was the dreams that did it really. Yuki wasn't in a room of his own for his own happiness... but for others'. It was an embarrassing and exhausting routine; the sinister dreams, the feeling of suffocation, the jerking awake amidst a fit of screams… but it had at least secured him some privacy. And in a place this busy Yuki was profoundly grateful for a moment alone.

He padded along the corridor, focusing on the feel of the soft carpet through the hole in his sock rather than his dream. Distracting, ignoring and pretending. Then back to sleep for another one.

Down the stairs he counted every stripe of coloured paint on the walls. Red. Blue. Yellow. Purple. Orange. Green. Pink. Red again… It was measured and rhythmical. The spaces between the lines were even, repetitive. A neat design, it spoke to him of safety. Those lines were steady and trustworthy; never would an unexpected gap appear to swallow him up. Red, blue, yellow, purple… safe and steady… until he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Rounding the corner he was suddenly assaulted with a wall of noise. Commands and demands, chatting and complaining and the keen squeak of wooden chair legs on vinyl. A small glance back at the safe stripes before he steeled himself and entered the room.

A couple of faces turned up from the table at his entrance but their interest in him was limited and they soon returned to their breakfast. He was often busy with school or work, and was quiet when he was present, so he wasn't very close to any of them. That, and he sensed some of them were nervous of him. He was sorry for that, but he could hardly help it.

He selected a bowl from the assorted selection and poured himself some cereal. He took this and a glass of water to a vacant seat, nodding slightly at Kureno, the young support worker currently engaged in a battle of breakfast wits with a cranky toddler. Left to himself Yuki wouldn't eat breakfast; he tended to have a small appetite and was rarely hungry when he woke up. But he'd made a deal with Kureno, and the eagle-eyed man would make sure he kept to his word. Yuki was the oldest in the home, at seventeen. He was legally allowed to leave and when he turned eighteen he would be expected to leave.

But… he didn't know how to leave, where to go, what to do…

So Kureno had involved himself. Yuki could stay as long as he needed, provided he complete his final year of high school and follow the house rules. Yuki had no issue with this. He liked school, enjoyed learning and got fairly good grades. However he had nothing, and he would have left school and begun working full-time if not for Kureno. If he had a proper job, money, maybe he would feel like he had something… like he was someone. Maybe it could fill the ravenous emptiness which slumbered within him. But maybe it wouldn't. And then what would he do? That disappointment might prove too difficult for Yuki to accept.

Besides he respected Kureno, and he owed him. He had been there for Yuki when he needed him, when he returned to the home after…

Kureno had been patient and kind. He had stayed away when Yuki needed to be alone and held him close when he needed to be reassured. He had traced elegant dark blue swallows on the walls of Yuki's bedroom, four of them, swooping up the wall by his bed towards the window. And he told Yuki he could escape this feeling too.

So Yuki now obediently spooned cereal into his mouth, barely tasting it but finishing his bowl. And he wasn't resentful, he was grateful. This place was everything to him. It was familiarity and safety, like the stripes on the stairs. Living here didn't bother him at all. He almost liked it.

It was the people out there he didn't like.

After eating Yuki went for a walk. As soon as the front door closed behind him the quiet seemed to sneak up. Inside there was so much noise; staff trying to organise, children playing and crying, teenagers arguing or blasting music from phones and Ipods. Out here it was quiet. There was a thrum of traffic a few streets away, a few birds chirping and the murmur of voices from two women pushing buggies along the pavement. But it was almost too quiet.

Yuki considered returning inside. The noise in the home was the worst thing about it; for Yuki it was overbearing and omnipresent and sometimes startling. But it was also the best thing about it. Because attempting to cope with and process the noise and to focus on individual sounds required so much effort and energy that while he was doing it he was able to forget…

He began walking, carefully locking the gate to the garden behind him. He felt anxious somehow. Perhaps he was still shaken from his dream. He knew he would have felt better if he'd showered. Perhaps he should have waited until the bathroom was free- he could still go back…? But no, he pushed himself on. He knew if he waited until he was comfortable he would never leave. And he knew very well that was a bad cycle to become trapped in.

It was a Sunday morning and the streets were quiet. Yuki liked that. He went to school during the week and worked in a busy restaurant on Saturdays and on Thursday nights. So he liked Sundays and the feeling of walking freely without time restraints. Today was not a typical meander however; Yuki had a destination in mind. He headed there now, hoping he could remember the way.

Yuki had been there twice before. It was somewhere he had discovered recently on his frequent wanderings and he had decided it was perfect for his needs. He walked on briskly, rather enjoying the sharp coolness of the air as it cleared his head. He had memorised the way after struggling to find it the week before and panicking. Now it was almost easy and soon it appeared before him. His palace.

He stepped over beer cans and crisp packets as he approached. The gravel crunched under his feet, mixed with cigarette butts. Weeds twisted their way up towards him, straining towards the sky as they forced themselves through the clusters of rusted metal. He stepped over an old deflated tyre and carefully shifted two damp, rotting wooden planks. And he was back.

The first time he had seen the dilapidated shed, almost swallowed up by rubbish and debris, and wearing a proud coat of rust, he nearly ignored it. It was the natural response to such blatant decay; to reject. People looked for the clean, the safe, the neat and easy. They didn't want broken glass and gratified walls. Yuki had no idea how long the shed had lain unused and forgotten, but judging by the healthy growth of ivy over the door it had been a considerable time.

With caution he moved a large sheet of corrugated iron which served as an entrance. He ducked low and entered, noting that it was slightly warmer inside, and protected by the wind. He thought every time he saw the shed it seemed more appealing. The rubbish no longer disgusted him, and the weeds seemed more like flowers one would plant in their front gardens.

There was still ample light within the shed thanks to a large dusted window. The dull light which filtered in highlighted several shelves holding a variety of chipped pots and rusted gardening tools. But in pride of place, directly beneath the pool of light, was a faded blue sofa. Yuki now replaced the sheet of iron, leaving it slightly ajar to allow a little more light in. He turned and sank into the sofa. It was old and well-used and sank ungracefully under him. But it was comfortable enough. He had found the couch behind the shed, in a grassy area which bordered a small copse of trees. The shed was a little way away from the nearest street of houses but it seemed people had previously used this place to dispose of unwanted goods. Behind the shed was an assortment of junk including a half buried chair, a broken table being swallowed by long grass and nettles and a dented TV. From there Yuki had rescued the couch and lugged it into the shed.

Now it sat in the centre, and he was almost proud of it. This little space he had found, where there was no noise and no people, and he had a lovely, if sagging, couch. He sat back against the cushions and breathed deeply. Somewhere like this... it was really what he needed, he thought. He liked walking because it cleared his head, but in walking you encountered people, and he would sometimes panic thinking he recognised them. But this place, whilst lacking the constant bustle of the children's home, also protected him from people.

It was dusty and dark, and full of useless, broken things. But it was comforting and safe and peaceful. And it was his space.

Yuki kicked off his shoes and curled his legs beside him on the couch. It was very relaxing. A cold Sunday morning, nowhere to go... and somewhere he could feel safe.

Yuki closed his eyes and sank deeper into the couch as the tension left his muscles...

An hour later he jolted awake. There was a crashing sound coming from outside. Grunts and bangs and angry cursing. He sat straight up, his mouth dry and his back as stiff as a rod. The violent noises were coming closer and Yuki wanted to grab his shoes. He wanted to be as far away from that man's anger as possible. But his hands, bent tightly into fists, had seized and he couldn't move them. He sat frozen and terrified.

There was a great wrenching sound and suddenly the iron door was moving. Someone was coming in. And there was nothing Yuki could do but wait.

..

So... here we go again! Thank you to anyone who's reading this.

I think this may be quite a slow-burner... firstly because maybe it will be longish... and also because I'm very slow and lazy...

Please let me know what you think!