He was already awake. In fact, he had never gone to sleep, waiting for the bells which alerted the coming of midnight. He was still dressed in his school uniform: a crimson colored dress shirt tucked into silvery white pants with dark brown formal shoes. He was currently pacing at his bed's side on composed, hushed steps. On the bed was a large, old and unused school bag. Inside, he had already stuffed in two pairs of jeans, several plain shirts, a jacket and some socks. He also had his toothbrush in one of the front pockets of the bag and at least ten thousand dollars he had been lucky enough to sneak from his parents. Although the amount seemed large and greedy, it was little compared to the hundreds of thousands his parents earned daily.
His trip would be short, so he didn't plan on bringing any food. The boy was glad he was patient enough to wait until today to leave. He had slowly been parting from his family to make it easier for them when he disappeared from their lives. He knew his parents would quickly get over it in order to keep strong for the companies they supported. His younger brother, however, would find it difficult. After all, it was always just the two of them, living and exploring and having fun together. But, no matter how hard it was for anyone, he knew his family would be safer from the trouble he nearly dragged onto them once he was gone.
He knew of a friend close by who was living on his own in a house large enough to support a regular family. His friend was expecting him, already understanding the reason why. Once he arrived at his friend's house, he would transfer schools to an academy known as Ouran Academy. After that, his family would have no idea where he would be. They wouldn't contact his friend because they didn't know his friend. They wouldn't call the police because they knew he would never stay put and he would just run away again.
The boy stopped his pacing to listen for anyone coming through the hallway. When he heard nothing, the boy walked over to his closet and pushed his feet into the nearest pair of tennis shoes. When he returned to the side of his bed, his eyes scanned the room and settled on a worn piece of piano music. In three small steps, he was in front of the desk on which the music lay. The music was picked up between nimble fingers and then folded and pressed into the backpack. The bag was pulled from its resting place and heaved onto the boy's back.
With everything he needed all set, he stepped out of his room and onto the silver tiling of the ground and the red carpets lining the center of the hallway. The door was shut behind him with a whisper of air and click of metal. At night, his home appeared much darker and scarier than during the day. Everything red seemed to merge together like a flowing river of blood. The tile, although perfectly square, appeared like bone beside the rugs. The paintings hanging along the length of the wall had been turned into frozen, shadowed creatures of the night at the stroke of midnight. It was not an inviting hallway, but then again, it wasn't an inviting night.
There was an individual note for each step the boy took as he traveled down the hallway. When he came to the stairs which curled into the front room below, he stopped to peer back into the shadows he had just emerged from. When he saw nothing, his head twirled in the direction pointing towards his brother's bedroom, the study and his parent's master bedroom. He didn't hear anything. It was all silent. Creeping down the stairs, he opened one of the large, grand front doors. Striding into the night, the boy's hand rose in one last wave towards the home he had known and would soon forget. His eyes were focused on the road before him.
While his thoughts focused on the reasons he had abandoned his family, the time had passed quickly and a familiar house came into view. The boy had arrived at his destination, his new home. The door was opened quickly, as if someone had been watching through the windows for the boy's arrival. From the door came a flood of light, stretching out onto the pavement. A shadowed figure took over, one hand on its hip and the other stretched above his head as it leaned against the door frame, feet crossed casually. The boy followed the shadow's path until he saw the shadow's owner. There was an older boy there, standing at the home's entrance. The older boy's dark auburn colored hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. From what he remembered, the older boy usually wore his hair down. The older boy wore a white t-shirt and old, torn blue jeans. He wasn't wearing any slippers or shoes to cover the obnoxious, neon pink socks he was wearing.
The younger boy was standing awkwardly at the edge of the street, his eyes narrowed against the light's glare. He opened his mouth to talk, but he was cut off.
The older boy gave of a cheeky smile, chuckling softly, "Hello, Akito. Get lost?"
He was home and he was happy. This was the start to the labyrinth of his life. Akito, for the first time in a long time, could look up and smile back.