AN: A-Ahahah this is such shit orz. I wrote it out of pure boredom, and I'll probably delete it if its not liked erwgwergwerg. ;; I had the idea, and I just had to write it down…

Enjoy this shitty and boring AU sob.

Warnings: (For future chapters if continued): Angst, character death, violence, suicidal thoughts, graphic gore, yaoi.

Pairing: 8059

Leaving that heavy heart behind,

He walks, free, like a bird

Undisturbed by the fact

That clipped wings

Meant

No flying.

…

No love for lonely people.

"Bird song";

~*~Chapter one: Introduction, A.~*~

Pathetic days. Pathetic weather.

The boy's a lonely child.

He lets himself be distracted for a second; sure enough, the scraping of the invisible claws at his windows signified the arrival of the wind, closely followed by the beat of the rain and the darkness of the dense clouds. There is a faint hum to the air, like the electricity was jumping around from spot to spot, and although the static is dancing, whole forks of white appear to tumble down from the sky and try to strike whatever earth it can. He blinks, un-amused as a particular bolt of lightning fell close to his house, and he looked the other way. It is too dangerous to be outside… but then again, inside is not much safer.

The house is lurching. Beams, once erect, lean lazily to the side in their old age, and in some places, they seem so delicate, that to even look at them will make them fall. This morbid belief actually led him to NOT look at them. The windows are nearly out of their panes, and he doesn't know how they are taking this battering so well. The roof is creaking, and their was buckets strewn about with collected the streams of water which peaked through the cracks of the slate, only to slide into the house, making the walls sweat and leak; he hated it. He hates the house, he hates the worn out sofa, the lack of nice things to sleep on, everything. But, as he scuffs a hand against his cheek to wipe away some stray dirt, he remembers; god hated him for some reason, and had cursed him to live with his mother… whom he hadn't seen in a while now.

He should care more.

"Mother?" He calls out. There is no response- at least, not immediately. Instead of hearing his name back, or hearing some sort of recognition noise, he hears a strangled sob emerge from the kitchen, and his expression falters. He doesn't bother calling her again, and instead fixates his stare on the floor. He didn't want to hear that… but, going outside was not an option. He presses his fists again his ears and closes his eyes, and for a split second, everything is muffled; the storm is whisked away, the sobbing vanishes, and the surge of blood throughout his body is the only thing he can hear, before his walls begin to break down, and the noise appears again. Damn it… He couldn't escape what he was trapped with.

"M-Mother..." He gets up from his chair, careful not to tread on nails, and tip toes around the buckets, debris, and other things, until he reaches the kitchen, which is submerged in darkness. His dull green eyes peer about, and his messes up his hair nervously, threading his fingers through his silver locks whilst trying to pinpoint her exact location. Ah, she's on the floor again—by the cupboard. He tries to penetrate the gloom with a pitiful stare, but even then, his emerald gaze can only pick out legs and hair spilling onto the tile. His breath hitches.

"You ok in here?" It was a stupid question, surely. The sobbing gets louder, and the figure on the floor tenses. He almost recoils, almost, but he digs his heels into the spot. "I asked if you are-"

"D-Don't come near me." The voice sounds unused in a while. "…Please."

He could almost imagine the hands flying up to keep him away, but he doesn't move an inch, save to lean against the creaking door post.

"W-What happened-"

"Leave me alone, please."

"But, you have to tell me, rig-"

"Don't concern yourself with it, p-please!"

"But I want to help!!"

"You can't help!!"

These conversations, this format, this biting tone; it was all common, a near daily occurrence as it were. The invisible barrier between them is strong, pushing him away, telling him to run, but he doesn't move. To see her in this state, again, was slowly tearing him apart… but, she was all he had, right? If he gave up on her, and she gave up on him, there would be nothing left for either of them… and so, he sets his mouth in a determined line and turns his gaze downwards.

"Every time…" He breathes in shakily. "Every time you are not allowed to see him, you can't sit there, crying."

Every time she didn't see him, she'd cry.

Every time she saw him, she'd cry.

And she always wanted to see him.

He was a business man, part of an empire, far away from here, far away from this life. The boy had always imagined what his fathers house had looked like; Champaign coloured carpet and matching bronze sofa's would accompany French architect on the outside, with sprawling stone vines and copper brickwork, and Italian on the inside, cream marble with flecked surfaces and a grand fireplace that was always blazing with colour. He'd have a nice car, a sports vehicle in midnight black with an electric blue dash board, and it'd be in a garage the size of the boys entire house. He'd have a giant TV and a automatic cooker and chandelles and curved candles on gleaming glass platforms- that was what his fathers house would be like.

… Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't imagine what his father was like.

His face screws into something bitter, and his breath becomes short as emotion wells up in his chest. He hadn't seen the family in over a year now… yet his mother was hopeful. STILL hopeful. Even though, every time she took the long trip uptown, barely affording the journey as it was, she'd get to the gates of the building to be turned down. And, in turmoil, she'd return home to cry until she was sick… or until the boy stopped her. She wasn't supposed to be like this... surely this is not how mothers are supposed to be? He didn't know better. It wasn't like he had any friends to see other mothers, and it wasn't like his mother had any friends for him to compare them together. He didn't see his father at all, so it wasn't as if he had anything to do with him.

"Please... don't sit on the floor." He walks over to her, now content with the fact she wouldn't mind, and proceeds to slowly help her to her feet. At his touch, she tries to recoil, but he holds her in place fast and prevents her from running away from him, or from running off to do something stupid in her current state. She lashes out at him unsuccessfully, trying to bite him, but he ignores her and tries to drag her as calmly and as gently as he can to the front room, where he forces her to sit down on the sofa with his own hands.

"Calm down!" He frowns at her. He hated this. He detested it. She was still struggling.

"I love you, Hayato, I-I do, but sometimes, sometimes-"

"But sometimes, you wish I'd have never been born." He finishes for her, not a single word harsh or angry. He had heard that so many times now, it was just a 'thing' she said to him every time he did something 'wrong'. He used, USED to run, crying, to anyone or anything, but nowadays, everything was normal, THIS, him having to pin his mother to a sofa in order to get her to stay calm, was normal. He pressed harder into her wrists. She cries out in alarm and lashed out further, but it causes him to pin her back equally back as hard, and even though he knew he was hurting her, he didn't hold back. His anger swirls around his body like poison, and his worry for her and his concern disappears like leaves being washed by the rain, and leaf by leaf, he loses focus. He is a slave to emotion, and he knows this, but reasons beyond him… he can't stop himself.

"Calm down!" He snaps, face hideous. "I swear, calm down-" He was cut off by sheer expression. She tosses her head to the side, sunk back into the cushions, and wore the look of a kicked puppy. He opens his mouth, and closes it. He was becoming the one at fault… shakily, he let go of her, turned his back, and clenched his fists at his side. He heard a shuffling, which signified her sitting up, and she reached out, tugging on the back of his grey hoodie lightly. He doesn't react.

"Nothings your fault…" She wipes her tears away with her free arm. Her wrists were red, but her face was scarlet in embarrassment. "Nothings ever your fault..."

"… I'm going to smoke." He rasps quietly, and he walks away from her, pulling himself out of her grip. He went to the door, ignorant of the storm for once, and put a shaky hand on the door knob. His mother gasped loudly.

"Hayato, Hayato, you are going to come back, right?" She whimpers. That was the question she ALWAYS asked when he left the house.

"….." He doesn't answer. He couldn't be bothered too, it was pathetic to ask a question like that.

He heard an intake of breath, and he knew she was either about to start crying, so he quickly whips open the door, darts out, and then closes it again with a loud 'thud!', not caring to hear what she had to say. . Sometimes, he felt like she was so selfish. But then again, he was there to help her, correct her, and so he took responsibility of her actions upon himself. Next time she wanted to see father, he'd lock her in before she could get out.

He ran.

Outside, now in reach of the storm, he observes the swirls of water and winds around the obstructions by his house, around the bare fields and the slack houses nearby, just as bad as his. He grimaces slightly; 'There is no escaping a cats claws.' That phrase, that odd expression, immediately sprung to mid as he watched the down pour, sheltered somewhat by the small slate overhand of the house, and his mouth quirked into a dry smile. He was indeed a cats play thing.

He starts to walk, the hood over his head damp already, the rain like knives on his weakly clothed body. He walks out into the storm as if it was a summers night, away from that hellish place that held treasured things, almost in a trance. He often ran away, always, as emotion had a strangle hold on him, it was always making him do foolish things. However, this time, he actually felt not like running away, for his mother would be expecting him back (he always came back, after all), but just… walking. Soul searching. Or maybe he just wanted to get away for a little while. And this weather? The roll of the clouds, the hum of the rain, those dancing sparks; they could all be described as peaceful, too.

He has to walk far. Its far to any kind of civilisation, and soon enough, the glow of the city draws near, and as he always does when he sees the city, his eyes light up in emerald fire. He loved it there. His dream was to live there, not in the middle of a lonely field with lonely houses scattered around him oddly, but with REAL people and live a REAL life. He looks back to the blotch that is his house. And then to the light up paradise. And he isn't going back for the rest of the night, he decides. His grey hair now sleek and a mottled shade of black almost from the damp, he breaks into a run towards cover, as the onslaught of natural fury gets too much; but he's grinning. This thrill was like being chased by a killer, him being the prey, of course. And he loved the thrill sometimes. Simplistic as it was, he always thought of himself as a being on the run, a fugitive, one of those no-restriction children, and even though life bit, he enjoyed the biting every now and again.

The biting drew blood on occasions.

He runs past a stone block, and electric box, and thinks he needs to go in. Something precious could be in danger. But he reasons it'll still be there when he goes back, so he continues.

The rain had to stop soon. It had to.

On arrival to the city, he sees the streets still full with life, brimming with the essence of 'human', even if it is raining down hard still. Everyone has umbrellas or Macs or folders or news papers, and he had his hood, which was soaked through right now, and he felt like a drowned rat. He ignores it. After all, the rain is nothing, no matter how hard it falls. It's just rain.

He finds himself wandering around, looking at neon signs and people eating in fancy restaurants. He wanted to eat in places like that too, he wanted to eat things from the sea and fresh things and use those conveyer belts which go around the room with food on. His looking of longing goes unnoticed by the people eating, and he is free to stare on, at the colour, and the splendours of pink shell fish and snowy rice and vibrant green leaves and dark blue water; all crisp and clean looking, and seemingly so expensive, only people with suits and cars and those-watches-which-tell-different-country-times could afford them. He slackens. Maybe his father ate in places like this often. Turning away gingerly, he walks onwards, trying to shove the thought of hot food in every colour out of his head.

The more he walks, the richer it gets. Cell phones fade into PDA's and laptops, and peoples suits turn into tuxedos and the cars become slick and shiny in the greyness. He ignores it all. Sometimes, he could pretend he was one of these people, in this district because he belonged here, however, reality would always set in when someone would give him a funny look. What was a scruffy teenager like him doing there? How did he get there? Same old questioning looks. He always looked back. Secretly, he hated these people. He hated them just for the sole reason that he was not like them, that they complained when there car came in the wrong colour or there hair was messed up by the wind or that that golden, jewel encrusted ring had a shade of purple on the owner didn't like so they wanted another one. They had no idea what it was like beyond their lives. He suddenly bristles at a man leaning against a wall, who is staring at him, and he makes a snarling expression at him. The man looks disgusted, and walks on in a huff. The boy mumbles something obscene under his breath, before feeling a range of emotions flicker through him, embarrassment at his initial reaction, the because he knew they were staring at his appearance, and horror at the fact the police might have been called. However, nothing happens. He walks on.

A fork of lighting.

Everything is lit up in glorious white light, before it fades into the distance; and after it, slow but steady, there is the roll of extraordinarily deep thunder which rattles the poles and buildings. People stare. There is silence, before suddenly, the wind picks up ferociously, stronger than before. The rain, troublesome as it was, shifts, and he is momentarily blinded by its power- its getting worse?! He makes a somewhat startled cry as the rain morphs into half rain, half hail stones, and the wind whips him painfully. People all around, if they were walking, began to run, and if they were running, they ran faster. They disappeared into buildings, around corners, everywhere; this was more than a storm. Some kind of hurricane?! It wasn't even the season for it yet! He looks back to where he walked from, all the way back, and thought about his mother and his house. She'd be terrified, and it made him terrified for her, but he couldn't go back, not in this weather. He runs too now, as fast as he can, almost tripping up. He should have stayed at home. The only shelter he can see not occupied is the doorway to a closed bank, too late for it to be open, and he scrambles under the shelter, breathing hard, and watches as the streets seem to swell with rain. The house, the house. Every fibre wanted him to go back, but he had to stay; but his mother, and the house—he looked hesitant. He stared back out of it, body shaking from the cold, and starts forward, stops, and then goes to the edge of the shelter. Go home. Go home. He had too. He ran out into the rain again-

-At least, he tried to.

He felt a hand tug him back in, and he stumbles back into the shelter, flustered, and swivels around. He hadn't even noticed there was someone there.

"You are not really thinking about going out in that, are you?"

The voice was smooth and organised- a business type person, those who he hated above all. However, adjusting his eyes to the gloom, he saw that in fact, it was a boy. Just like him. He blinked in surprise.

"Mind your own business." He spits, and goes to run again. He's yanked back in.

"You'll end up ill and maybe dying. That's a ferocious storm." Said the boy. "Is it worth it?"

All black. He was wearing all black and a deep blue tie, and suave shoes which almost gleamed in the half-light. He had one of those watches- the country ones, one of silver and gold hands, and it was stark and glittering against his seemingly tanned skin. His eyes glowed in the half light as if he was some kind of predator, but it wasn't a harsh glow, unlike the others, whose was fierce at the fact a stranger was keeping him back. The second boys hair was black and seemingly undisturbed by the rain- in fact, had this guy even been in the rain at all? With his grey hoody clinging to his skinny frame and his general appearance of someone who had been on the street all there life, it was a horrific contrast.

"Why do you care?" The poorer boy hisses, but inside, nervousness was eating him. The other boy frowns.

"It's human to care for everyone." He says simply.

"You're a rich idiot, leave me alone, and go back to your mansion." His voice is venom. He had to go to his mother, who was probably worried sick for him, worried about where he was in this ferocious storm and probably prepared to go look for him. He shuddered at the thought. "I'm gone."

He goes to run again, but this time, his wrist is grabbed. "Where are you running too?" The other, taller by tilts his head to the side in genuine curiosity.

"Let me go-" He struggles frantically. "I gotta' get home!" He huffs and puffs, his chest heaving with the effort of trying to break an iron grip. It isn't working.

"I'll take you home!" The tanned boy says cheerfully. The first one chokes.

"You don't know me or where I live, and I sure as hell won't tell you, you pervert!" He fumes, tugging now weaker than before. He just wanted to get back, and out of this rapists- which he seemed to be- grip. Panic was starting to set in, however. He was in possession of cigarettes, which were illegal, and this guy seemed really strong; was he going to get beaten up and turned in for being in this area?! He whimpers, very, very quietly. Everything was getting kind of scary. The other frowns a bit at his expression, but then smiles again.

"I always help people, even strangers." He explains. "I can't help it, especially when I see people looking so helpless." He holds up his hand to show he means no harm, letting go of the first boy, who immediately tenses and bristles like an angry cat.

"I'm Yamamoto Takeshi!" The richer one is still smiling. "It's nice to meet you, Mr…."

"Mr. I'm-not-telling-you."

"That's a long name!"

He really cannot tell if the richer boy is being serious, or not. It worried him a little, but he shrugs it off easily.

"I have to go. My mom will be worried." He frowns, turning around. "Don't stop me, I have to run fast-

"Then you are in luck. You have good timing."

"What?"

"Listen." Yamamoto points to the ceiling. The other stops talking, and listens gingerly. There is a noise, like a quiet purring, and it thrums in the air. He turns to its source, to find a dot on the main road, far away, that seems to be growing bigger and faster as seconds ticked by. Suddenly, it becomes a loud revving sound, and a blur in the distance, just a scarlet smudge, begins to grow bigger, getting noisier and noisier, until he can identify it as a car, and he stares in wonder. It's a beast. Flashy red with faded black accents, its headlights glow like a lions eyes at night, and it tears through the road as if it was made of paper. Even the rain seems to avoid it, and as the noise gets unbearably loud, the poor boy takes a step back. The car grinds to a stop in front of them, the engine still purring, and the wheels gleaming like diamonds. Yamamoto is grinning.

"She's nice, right?" He's talking about the car. "I'm not allowed to drive her, but, she's still nice."

The first boy is shell shocked. This car… the other didn't look any older than he did! How did he have a car already- oh right, he was rich. Complex pleasures where something within grasp for him. Regardless, he still scowls, folding his arms over his chest whilst still eyeing the monster of a car before him. The windows were tinted so he couldn't see the driver, but he assumed the other had some kind of chauffer. He really hated this kind of people.

"I'm not getting in a strangers car." He says simply. "I'll walk."

"You talk like I am going to do illegal acts to you." He says that whilst grinning, which worries the first even more. "I'm harmless, see?" He makes what he hopes looks like a cat face, with his 'paw' up by his face in the traditional Japanese lucky cat pose. The first stares bluntly. This guy was an idiot.

"You are still a stranger. I don't trust strangers."

"Aha, you live in the moor area, right? Outside of town, with all the little settlements?" Yamamoto drops his 'cat' pose. The grey-haired one gasps.

"H-How did you know that?!" He seethes.

"Well, you don't look so flashy!" He nods. "And you were amazed at my car!"

The first boy stammered, but didn't say anything. It was true. With this mangled appearance in contrast to the others, he must have been like a homeless person. This was just odd. This GUY was odd. So happy and cheerful… whilst all around them, the sky was trying to kill them with the harsh weather. He blinks. The other copies him with a bemused face. No really, this guy was an idiot. The first boy circles him, taking in his appearance, his reaction to the circling (which is, of course, smiling and craning his head to follow the other but not moving at all) and his general composition. He can't find any mean intent, so he stands up straight. A car beat walking in a storm any day… right?

"….Are you sure?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Of course!" Yamamoto shoves the boy towards the car, and he dashes to its side frantically, not wanting to get wet, to open the doors; he discovers they are fly-away doors, and lift up rather than out- how flashy. He hops in, shivering, whilst Yamamoto gets in the other side, slipping the door shut quietly whilst he bangs his. In front of him, there is a black wall separating him and the driver, and in front of Yamamoto, there is a screen- it has a digital picture of roads on it. The first one stares as if this is something out of this world.

"You live…" Yamamoto touches the screen, and he scrolls around, the streets moving on the digital map, until he scrolls and the roads disappear, and the entire screen goes green. "…Here." He points to the green. "There are no roads here."

"…There are no roads." He repeats to confirm this, and he searches the others expression for malice or cruel amusement. There is none, and it surprises him. The tanned one touches 'confirm' on the screen, and the car whirrs to life, and although on the outside, the engine noise is loud, inside, there is nothing. Yet again, he is surprised. He looks around the car in interest and discovers that the seats are leather, the stereo is integrated into the walls and even in the ceiling, and everything is jet black with clean, red circles here and there. It was amazing, really; everything was so… comfortable? To his side, he can hear the other humming a song softly to himself, with his eyes closed. The first one wonders who the hell this guy is, and why the hell he was so happy at a time like this. He gathers courage.

"Is there actually someone driving?"

"Hmm! I gave them the co-ordinates through the sat-nav."

"Is your family rich or something?"

"Hmm! Mom and Dad work a lot, sometimes, it gets lonely."

"You a single child then?"

"Hmm! Its just me."

Hesitation.

"I'm Hayato Gokudera, by the way."

The other opens an eye, still grinning, but he stops humming.

"Hayato Gokudera…" He mouths, staring at the ceiling. "Never heard of you!" He says it in a somewhat sad tone despite sounding happy still, as if he actually expected to KNOW who the other was. Gokudera nearly sighs in annoyance.

"I'm nobody." He says simply.

"Well clearly you are somebody." The other shoves his hands into his pockets and closes his eyes again. "You exist, right?"

"Really?"

"Really."

Gokudera frowns, but its not harsh. What an odd sense of humour this was, but, he couldn't help but find himself slightly distracted by the other. It was amusing, as odd as it was, being in a car with someone you had known for around half an hour. And although the hate was still there, for this was a being so much higher than him, he couldn't help but somewhat… feel like he had known him so much longer.

There is silence, but it's not a bad silence. It's a silence of thought and aural procession and wonderment, and whilst Yamamoto looks like he has fallen asleep, the only thing indicates that he hasn't being that his breath wasn't slow or deep, but entirely neutral, Gokudera was still somewhat stressed as he remembers what he was in the car for- to check up on his mother.

And to his shame, he forgot to visit the shed. Damn it…

He was such an idiot for running away, walking, at night in weather like this, leaving his mother, and the shed. If he could, he would have chose to shrink into those soft leather seats right there and then. Embarrassment was scrawled all over his face.

Disappointment disappointment disappointment.

The tanned one opened an eye, and stared at the others flushed appearance. He was so scrawny; what sort of life did children out here live anyway? Turning to the window, he saw not only the never ending curtain of water, but the seemingly never ending stretch of baron land which the car skid across. He frowns. What a nasty area. Turning back to Gokudera, he is about to open his mouth and say something to interrupt the others trail of thought, however, something stops him. He eyes him carefully and refrains from commenting on the land, the bits of strewn wreckage on its marred surface, or his thoughts on the existence of such a place. A home was a home was a home, right? He notices the other boy shivering, and sees him hiding his mouth in the front of his hoody. The tanned one tilts his head again.

"You have clothes to change out of, right?" He asks quite innocently. Gokudera snaps to attention and is somewhat offended.

"I'm not some tramp!" He hisses. "I have more than one set of clothes!" That anger flares up again, even if he knows it is only him. Yamamoto holds his hands up in surrender again.

"I didn't mean it like that! I was concerned; you're shivering, after all."

"Don't be concerned about strangers."

Gokudera turns to the window, and breathes against it deeply, creating a misty scene which fades into the murky grey of outside. He'd never get the mind set of someone well-off, so he didn't even bother- after all, he'd never be 'well-off', and so he didn't need to think or understand someone who was. He watches mud take flight from the spinning of silver rims against the earth, and recognises where he is.

"Go left." He instructs. The other boy stares at him, before nodding and keying in the directions on the screen. The car shifts. He saw no land mark whatever—in fact, he barely saw anything. There was a house, or the remnants of one, and a caravan, and a car of some sorts (but what sort of car didn't have a hood for the engine?), some mounds, more houses dotted randomly around the place—but, everything looked the same, no matter how hard he stared. And good god, he stared hard, trying to figure it out. The grey haired one was bemused at the expression of utter concentration, but mistook it for some kind of disgust deep down. He flushed under the comfort of his hood. It was embarrassing.. it was embarrassing because he was afraid of being judged.

"Stop."

The car skids to a halt, sending a flurry of torn dirt and thick water into the air, surely messing the car up as it went. Gokudera didn't feel guilty in the least- he could just clean it, right? If he had a car like this, he probably had a personal cleaner. Yes, he had nothing to feel guilty about.

"We're here. Thank you, good bye." He bows his head, and goes to get out the car, but kind of doesn't want to leave the thick leather, the warmth, and the smell of freshness. But he has too… he has to. The other inclines his head, with that same smile.

"It's no problem." He grins, almost in relief that the other wasn't too hostile now. After all, they had had a bumpy start. "I can walk you out."

"I'm not a child." He frowns. "I can walk to my own front door."

"But I want to see where Hayato lives." He smiles, looking kind of excited for some reason. The other makes a growling sound in his throat.

"I said thank you. Now, leave me alone, you are not needed anymore."

And with a soft click, the fly-away doors slant upwards, and he is yet again confronted by the howling of the storm and the biting of the wind. With out looking back, he closes the door, shoves his hands into his pocket, and walks briskly up to the house that looked as if it had been randomly placed in a deserted field, and hid underneath the rim of the houses roof. He never had his key, never, so he'd have to kick in the door again—

"Hey, it's actually kind of big." Sounds a voice next to him. He jumps, nearly hitting the ceiling, and hisses violently. Yamamoto still has the same cheery expression, and he is holding an umbrella that is as sleek as his car. Even his umbrella's were more upper-class than the other boy. He felt embarrassed once more at the simple pleasure of having a mobile shelter.

"G-Go away!" He yowls, pushing the other violently into the rain. Yamamoto looks confused.

"Hmm?" He blinks. "What's wrong?"

"Go back to your car and drive off, I don't want to following me like a fucking pervert on heat, so leave me alone!!" He's hostile again. Being followed by someone who looked constantly like a puppy was rather annoying, especially when he didn't know the said puppy. Scowling furiously, he kicked his door open loudly, and slammed it just as hard back. He didn't want the other seeing how he lived. At all. That was just degrading—he felt like a pigeon compared to an eagle. A common scum bag such as him didn't deserve the attention of someone—he was being self-sympathetic, and that was never a good thing.

He surveys the house, which has more holes in the roof, and this time, there are no buckets to catch them. The floor is getting damp and foul smelling already, and he walks around the falling fountains from above towards the kitchen, cutting across the living room carefully. No sign of his mother so far. Entering the gloom of the coldest room of the house, he peered about, his eyes sparkling in the grim light. There was nothing, and the sound of running water was the only noise. His heart stuttered a bit, and he felt it flutter in his chest uncomfortably. Swinging his head around to her room, he peers in, an finds it to be empty again. And then to his room. Nothing. Not a single soul in the house. He got nervous.

"…Mom?" He blinked, voice quivering. "Mother?"

He stood still, and bit his lip hard.

The argument. The damn arguing all the time.

And the way he had left…

"Hayato…"

He doesn't answer.

His mother was gone.