Living Homeless

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Disney nor Kingdom Hearts.

Author's Notes: I accidentally replaced this chapter with the first chapter of "Fatherless." Due to the fact that I had to start from scratch, the beginning is a bit different, but I think it's for the better. Expect more revisions!

ONE

He was expelled. Just like that.

The school remarked that his performance was poor regarding the fact that he was tardy every single day, and that he dozed off in class.

Sora didn't even bother arguing with the administrator. He simply picked up his empty backpack and walked home.

He was now in front of the doorstep—he didn't know if he could call it his doorstep. After taking a deep breath and exhaling all the bad thoughts, all the stress, and all the crap that basically happened in his life, he finally walked inside.

The door was unlocked as he expected.

And the woman he called mother was slumped over the dinner table. She was in the same exact position as she was this morning.

The only light in the room was a crack in the window curtains, letting a bit of the sun peek inside the kitchen. Its rays bounced off the empty bottles piled in the sink and the shattered glass shards littering the floors.

"Mom, I'm home."

Sora was actually surprised that she stirred awake and looked at him through the curtain of her chestnut curls.

"Mom…"

Sora's eyes flicked around the woman's surroundings to see what might have caused her to act differently. Bottle in hand. Check. Rolls in her hair. Check. Bathrobe barely hanging onto her thin shoulders. Check.

Then he saw the item out of place.

The house phone was in her hand.

"They called me. You're expelled," she slurred. She stiffly got up and nearly stumbled to the floor as she tried facing her only son.

"Are you trying to follow your old man? Is that what you're trying to do?" she accused. "Are you going to ditch school and then leave me?"

Sora backed up towards the only exit out of this place, clutching the straps of his backpack.

Then she erupted.

"Get out! Now! I don't need you, you piece of shit."

Usually, he calmed her down by saying the nicest things a son could say, but today his body didn't seem to want to respond. Because his mom had a broken bottle in one hand, and it seemed as though she was ready to pierce it into his heart.

He started by saying "Mom." It sounded like a desperate plea.

"GET OUT!" she roared.

And with that, she chucked the bottle at Sora's face. It barely grazed his cheek, because by then, he was already out the door.

Sora was used to walking late at night. He was even used to sleeping on a park bench. At least, that's what he tried telling himself as he shifted uncomfortably on a plastic one at the nearby park.

The truth was he didn't know what to do or where to go. For the past five years, he had lived in fear of his home and in disgust of his school. He had no friends—he didn't want any. Having some would only make him even more dependent than he already pathetically is.

But now he was having regrets. He had absolutely no place to go, and he knew the alcoholic woman meant what she said. She didn't want him back. She didn't even want him in the first place. Every day, she had to remind Sora that he was an accident and that he shouldn't have existed in the first place.

And so Sora assumed this was a postponed abortion that was finally executed 17 years later.

Sora got up and put his face in his hands. His thumb brushed against the cut on his cheek, smearing blood across his face. He sighed and wondered why she missed.

"Hey."

Startled, Sora looked up to be greeted by a teen his age.

"You out?"

It was an odd question. A vague question. So Sora gave a shrug.

"Are you out of your house?"

This time, a tilt of the head.

The teen looked exasperated.

"Do you need a place to say?"

This time, Sora nodded.

He didn't know why he didn't answer the boy with words. He wasn't mute. He could talk. But then he realized that the only person he had talked to over the past five years was his mom.

"Come with me," the teen said.

Sora eyed the stranger. He had a ragged beanie covering his dirty blonde hair, and rags hung onto his thin body. Yet his fierce blue eyes seemed to fill him with a sort of richness, a sort of power. It was those eyes that Sora surrendered his trust to as he got up and followed them.

"I'm Dusti," he said.

Sora didn't bother telling him his own name, because Dusti hadn't asked.

"Alright, let's go home," he said.

Dusti led him through the park and through a few streets until they arrived in front of an abandoned school. Sora didn't even know this place existed, because it was conveniently hidden behind a band of crooked trees and a mini landfill that started to pile up after the small town had started growing into a bigger city.

The abandoned school wasn't abandoned at all. What seemed to be nearly a hundred people were sleeping in individual cardboard boxes. The place was organized in a way that made Sora think that this was some sort of military camp.

The two quietly shuffled past the sleeping bodies until they were out on the other side. It appeared to be the school's back lot.

There was a fireplace blazing in the center with a couple people around it—a young man with flaming orange hair and a girl who was playing with knives. Both had a bored expression in common. It didn't look like they were trying to fight the cold or wishing they were somewhere else. No, they looked like they were lounging.

When Sora arrived, they barely looked up.

"Hey Wakka, Yuffie," Dusti greeted.

"Hey Tidus," Yuffie said back, not too enthusiastically.

Dusti glanced at Sora and then glared at Yuffie.

"It's Dusti," he hissed.

"Right, Dusti," Yuffie repeated, her attention focused more on her knives than on either of the incomers.

Wakka was a bit more friendly about it.

"Sorry, brudda. It's going to take us a while to get used to it," he said apologetically. He stood up and walked over to Sora.

"My name is Wakka. It's not an onomatopoeia—it means watah, so donget mixed up, ya?"

"I don't see the point in you telling him that if he's not going to stay anyway," Yuffie mumbled.

Wakka turned to Yuffie, a frown forming on his muscular face.

"Be nice, Yuffie," he said.

The girl rolled her eyes and reluctantly stood up. She stuck out a hand a bit sarcastically and said "My name is Yuffie, and I am very much pleased to meet you." Yuffie sat right back down and went back to practicing with her knives.

Wakka wrapped a bare arm around Sora's shoulders and whispered "Don't mind Yuffie. She's still sore by the brudda she had feelings for. He left a month after staying here because a cousin of his found him."

Yuffie glared at Wakka and looked like she was about to chuck one of her weapons at him. After a few beats of silence, she said "It's only right that you introduce yourself."

Sora blinked. It's been so long since he'd exchanged such formal greetings, and he was doing it with complete strangers—homeless strangers.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I'm Sora. Thanks for taking me in, I guess."