The first name that I had was Little One. It was from my mom- she refused to really name me. Said "It'll be easier when you leave." And it was easier. With no name, I had no reason to go back. It wasn't that she ignored me, she just didn't want me to live her life. She told me that when I was five. She said, "I made some mistakes. Bad mistakes. I want you to go make your own mistakes. Not mine."

When I was three, mom taught me how to read. When I was five, I wanted to go to school. Mom thought it would be great, but I didn't have any paperwork. I was a shadow child, not born in a hospital, someone who had nothing. So mom taught me herself when she wasn't working. I grew up speaking English around my mom and French around everyone else, so she taught me how to write in both of them. She taught me math and science from thrown out textbooks. She taught me what was right and wrong from her bible, though she didn't believe a word of it herself. I soaked everything up like a sponge. I read whatever I could get my hands on, public libraries now being where I spent all of my time when mom wasn't home.

When I was seven, I asked what my mother what she did for a living. She told me that she made men happy. I was confused and she clarified saying that she slept with men. Being seven I had no idea what that meant. It was a few more weeks until I figured it out, when I got stuck in our worn down apartment from a rainstorm. Mom had made me promise not to go out in the rain, as I could get sick and she couldn't afford me getting sick, so I had to promise to stay in the house. I was reading the worn out bible, the only book that I hadn't read so many times that I memorized it when I came upon the word "prostitute." I was curious and turned to a dictionary, knowing that I had read the word before. I found the word and read the meaning. Later that night I asked mom if she was a prostitute. She bluntly answered yes. We never spoke of it again.

Mom worked hard, but there were some bad seasons. She always made sure that she had a roof over my head, though that sometimes meant that I didn't get food. The worst was when I didn't eat for a week. That was the first time I picked someones pocket. I was eight. I was on my way home from the library and it was dark outside. I remember I walked past a young man with his wallet sticking out of his coat, and without thinking I ran into him, slipped my hand around his wallet and snuck it behind me. "I'm so sorry, sir." I quickly spoke in English, trying to make it seem like I was a lost tourist kid. Even at eight, I was pretty good at lying. He bought it, quickly saying that it was alright as I ran off. When I got home, I showed mom, who was furious.

"You don't steal wallets." She told me with a tired voice. "People notice that and we can't use the cards at all." She took the small thing from me and contacted the owner. She gave it back, but not after I had swiped the cash from it.

I guess that was my second name, Pickpocket. It was easy, like breathing. I would walk by people and take out their wallets, go around the corner, snatch the cash and discard the rest, never stopping. I'd go to a store and get the marked down bread and eat it all before I got home. I never told my mom, but she was sharp. Instead of seeing me grow weak and sluggish each time she couldn't afford food, she saw me stay at the scrawny, half-starved state that I was normally in. She never said anything about it though. I started only eating half of what I had gotten and leaving the rest on the table for her. I think that was around the time that we started drifting apart. I started staying out longer and leaving earlier, staying just long enough to sleep, maybe shower if the water wasn't turned off and change clothes. I started providing for basic necessities for myself as time wore on.

I was only caught twice, once when I was still eight. I picked the wrong man, the up and coming in a local gang. Everybody knows everybody in the underground, but he had come from a different town and joined because a cousin suggested him. I did my normal routine: pick, walk, grab the cash and drop the wallet, but I didn't know that he was being traced. They cornered me before I could spend it and they gently persuaded me with their guns to join them at their base. At their base, they told me to back off, but if I was interested in a few years, they would be willing to take me in.

After that, I upped my game. I would take the wallet, take the cash and then reverse pick-pocket the wallet right back. I never took more than 20 euros from any one person and I figured that was enough to let me sleep easy every night. Well as easy as you can sleep when you're out in the open on park benches or in alleyways. I was never homeless, I just didn't go home. Mom never said anything about it, if she said anything at all. I would still bring food home every once in awhile, but that became sporadic. But she was never home when I was. I think I saw her a grand total of three times after I turned nine.

The only other time I was caught was because of a blond idiot.

I had just turned ten. I had been walking through a fancier district, one that I didn't feel bad about taking 30 to 40 euros depending on the amount they had on them. It was a fall day, the air was crisp and cold, and I knew it would frost that night. I was hoping to maybe be able to buy some heat packs so that I could move my fingers in the morning. I stopped behind a bench that held a nice younger blond lady. She sat there, staring off into the distance, her bag right next to her, open wide to prying fingers. My own prying fingers quickly located her wallet, pulled it out, and opened it. I was extremely disappointed to not find any cash, but I quickly zipped it back up and was about to put it back when I heard an annoying voice behind me yell, "What are doing to Mother's bag!?" I whipped around to find a boy around my age running towards me, his blond hair flying in the wind behind him. I dashed off down the street, but the boy was already too close and he grabbed my arm. I tried to push him off of me, but he held on.

"Let go!" I yelled at him in French but he just looked at me and I realized that his eyes were so blue they were almost purple.

"You shouldn't steal from people." He told me as he held my arm tight. "It's not nice." I glanced down at his clothing. He had a semi-expensive jacket, hung over a private school uniform. Probably some rich bastard's child. I glared at him, an expression that had his hand around my arms trembling, but he didn't let go.

"What would you know," I spat at him. "You've probably had three meals a day, everyday for your whole entire life. This is the first time this week that I am going to get to eat, 'cause I had to spend all of the rest of what I made so I could get another shirt so I wouldn't freeze at night. So I'd gladly like you to refrain from telling me what is or isn't nice." My voice had risen until I was shouting at him, garnering the attention of those around us, but I really didn't care at the moment. There was a moment while the rich bastard held my arm, and then he was hugging me and crying.

"THAT MUST BE TERRIBLE!" He yelled while I was unable to breathe. I tried to push him away but he just held me tight. "YOU MUSTN'T WORRY ANYMORE! WE'LL BRING YOU HOME WITH US AND YOU CAN HAVE THOSE THREE MEALS A DAY IF YOU WANT!" I finally struggled out of the idiot's embrace and pushed him to the ground.

"I DON'T WANT YOUR PITY!" I yelled at him in English. He looked at me confused and I realized why and repeated it in French while glaring at the tree near me. I realized that I still had the wallet in my hand and I threw it at him. "Here, take it. There is nothing in there that I could use anyway." I turned and walked away, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket. It was three sizes too big but it was warm, and that was all that mattered.

"WAIT!" The blond idiot yelled after me, but I ignored him and kept walking before someone realized that I was a pickpocket, and called the police on me. The blond idiot ran up behind me and pulled me to a stop. "Wait, please." he said as he breathed quick from running. "I wasn't pitying you. I would really like you to come home with us." He put his hands on both of my shoulders and stared right into my eyes. "We have an extra bedroom you could use and we can feed you warm food, and even if you don't want to stay you should come anyway, because its only me and mother and the maids, and it's kinda lonely, but I think you would love it there." I opened my mouth to protest but my stomach growled out of frustration. I wasn't lying when I said I hadn't eaten since last week. I looked back up into the blond's eyes to tell him no for a final time, when I stopped. There was a passion burning in his eyes, something that I had only seen in the men who prowled the night, but unlike their passion, the blond's was pure. He was concerned for me, even though I had tried to rob his mother. It took my breath away and I hung my head in defeat.

"Fine," I muttered, mad at myself for giving in so easy. "I'll come with you." I heard a laugh and then the idiot hugged me and spun me around.

"AH! I'M SO EXCITED THAT YOU'RE COMING!" By the time that he put me down I was dizzy from oxygen deprivation and the spinning, but I don't think the idiot noticed. He grabbed my hand and started dragging me towards his mother, who had been making her way towards us slowly. "Come on, we have to get home soon. It looks like mother's tired." I followed along, only stopping briefly to pick up the wallet that the blond had left on the ground when he came after me the second time. When we met up with his mother, I held out the wallet, while looking away.

"I'm sorry I took it." I said simply. I wasn't going to explain my reasoning or promise that I wouldn't do it again, because I knew I would do it again. I had to eat somehow. The lady took the wallet and smiled at me, and I could see that the blond was right. She was tired. But the idiot started babbling on like he didn't even notice.

"Mother, I invited him to have dinner with us! And you should let him stay for tonight, so he won't freeze." I looked at the ground as the woman replied.

"Ah, René. Shouldn't you ask his parents if he can come over?" She questioned him gently.

"My mother doesn't care." I answered bluntly. "I don't think I've seen her for three months now." I slid my gaze up to the mother's face. Her blue eyes were filled with tears and I could imagine the idiot also crying for me too. I shrugged and tried to put my freezing hands in my pocket, on to find my left one was still in the idiot's grasp.

"You can stay as long as you need to, okay?" The mother was telling me. I didn't tell her that I was leaving tomorrow, never to come back. I shivered and the boy next to me noticed. He let go of my hand to wrapped the scarf he wore around my neck. My hand felt really cold without his in it, but he took it back before I could put it into my pocket.

"Come on, Mother. It's getting late." The idiot said and he started dragging me again away from the park. It didn't take very long to get to his house, the idiot talking the whole way there about how I was going to love it there. One of the maids looked me up and down when I walked in, but she lead me to where I could get a warm shower.

"Just leave your clothes by the door and I'll dispose of them." She told me. I looked up at her with fear in my eyes.

"Could you at least leave the jacket?" I asked. She looked like she was about to say no when I pulled my trump card. I looked down at the floor and made my eyes water. "It's alright, I guess. It was the only thing of Papa's that I have left." I said as I shrugged my way out of it, slowly as if I was afraid of letting it go. The maid quickly said that I would be able to keep it, she would only wash it and the clothes, even though the shoes would have to go. I breathed a sigh of relief after she left. I never did know my bastard of a father, but he's helped me out a lot.

I quickly showered, making sure to wash the old dust and sweat from my body as well as the grease from my hair. When I finished I dressed in the clothing that they gave me, something of the idiot's I guessed. It was fine. I hadn't gone through puberty yet, so my breasts had yet to fill out, even though boxers did feel a little weird. I was led to the dining room where the idiot was already sitting with his mother. I slipped into the seat across from the boy and we started on the soup that had been set already.

There was silence as we ate, and my wet bangs kept getting in my face. About half way through the meal, the idiot's mother started talking just to be polite.

"So what's your name?" I looked up at her before looking back down onto my plate.

"I don't have one." I muttered into my soup. I tore off another chunk of the rich bread that they had given me and dipped it into the liquid.

"What do you mean, you don't have a name," the idiot asked and stood up. He pointed at me with his spoon. "Everyone has a name!" I stuffed the dripping bread into my mouth as his mother corrected him.

"Maybe he doesn't want to tell you what his name is." She chided gently.

"Nope," I said, my mouth half full. "I don't have a name. Mother refused to name me, said it'd be easier for me to leave when I had to." I shrugged as I swallowed and tore off another piece of bread. The idiot and his mother both stared at me like I had grown a second head, but that happened often, so I let it slide and continued eating.

"You need a name!" The idiot's statement took me off guard and I choked on the bread. After I had gotten my voice back I glared at him.

"I don't need a name." I said. His mother was still staring at me. "I've lived just fine for the past 10 years without a name." But the idiot wasn't listening to me.

"How about Charles?" He asked. "Or Mathias? What about Jacques?"

"No! No! No!" I said.

"Why, do you not like my names?"

"NO!"

"Why not?"

"Because I'm a girl!" I shout at him. Both him and his mother were shocked.

"Then why is your hair cut like that?" The idiot asked, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Because then people with think that I'm a boy."

"But why would you do that but insist that you're a girl?" His mother had at least caught what I was hinting at.

"René." She warned, glaring down at her son. He looked up at her as if he was going to fight with her, but decided against it at last minute. The table had descended into an uncomfortable silence until René's mother cleared her throat.

"What about Alex?" She asked quietly. I was about to protest when she continued. "It can be used as both a girl's and a boy's name. And it's at least something that we could call you while you're here." I felt like protesting, but I let them have their way.

"Fine." I agreed. And that is how I earned my third name and my first true name.

After the meal I followed René to his room, bored with nothing else to do. He turned on the television and I watched it in awe. He put a movie on, and I watched the cartoon move around on the screen, surprised that it was in a different language.

"What language is this in?" I asked René. He looked at me, and a light bulb suddenly flicked on.

"Japanese." He said as he started messing with the television. "I forgot you can't speak Japanese! I've learned since I was little since Outo-san is Japanese. Sorry!"

"It's alright!" I said trying to reason with him. "I was just wondering what language it was in!" René had just finished changing the video cassette and another movie (this time in French) started playing.

"There, now that's better, right?" René looked at me and smiled. It was strange to be smiled at. I smiled back and then turned to the screen again.

As the movie was ending, the maid came in and told the two of us to get ready for bed. I got up to leave, suddenly feeling a reluctance to do so. I stood by the door, mentally arguing with myself. I had slept in unfamiliar places before, most much more dangerous. This should be no different. I debated for too long and René caught me stalling at the door.

"Are you going to be alright?" He asked. I mentally screamed yes and begged myself to move away from the door, but my body betrayed me and meekly nodded no. René ran at me and hugged me, this time without crushing or spinning me. "It's alright. I don't think mother or the maid will mind you sleeping here tonight."

Minutes later we were snuggled up into the blankets, me on one side of the bed, René on the other side. We lay with our faces facing each other, and then giggled at our sudden closeness. "Alex?" René asked. I stared at him, his bright eyes almost glowing in the dark.

"What René?" I asked as I snuggled closer into the pillows and blankets. René reached up and brushed his hand against my face.

"I'm really glad I met you today." He smiled. At me. I felt like I should be floating on the clouds and I smiled back.

"Hey René?" I asked him when I could open my mouth through my smile. He had been staring at me but seemed to break out of his trance when I said his name.

"Yes Alex?"

"We need to go to sleep." I said, a yawn punctuating my sentence. René followed suit and we snuggled down again.

"Good night Alex." I opened my eyes and stared at him. I almost didn't know how to answer before I remembered from reading in a book.

"Good night René." I turned around and started breathing deeply.

It was around 2 in the morning when I woke from the nightmare. I've always had them, but they still terrify me. They also usually woke me up right before someone was coming near me, so I can't hate them too much. What was disorienting was that I was laying on a super soft bed, not the hardwood floors of my mother's apartment. And it was warm, unlike the concrete street ways that I usually frequented. I opened my eyes and took in as much of the room as I could. There, in the pathway of a beam of light, sat all of my clothes, clean and folded.

I quietly sat up, looking back to make sure that I hadn't disturbed René. He was sleeping soundly, hugging a teddy bear that I hadn't noticed earlier and was drooling on his pillow, a soft snore escaping his mouth. All in all, he looked pretty cute. I knew that I wasn't going to get back to sleep anytime soon, my nightmare bringing back all of my paranoia, so I slowly made my way out of the sheets which had gotten tangled around me while I had slept and I made my way towards my clothes. I quickly stripped out of René's borrowed clothing and pulled mine on, finding the familiar overly largess of my coat comforting. I quickly made my way across the floor to the corner across from the door and under the window. I unlatched the window out of habit, though it left it closed to keep the draft out. With my exit ready and my entrance watched I was able to slip back into a slight semblance of sleep.

"Alex?" I heard a voice and then some rustling. "Alex why are you all the way over there?" I felt a presence move towards me and my body acted without thinking. I jumped up and pushed the window open before I realized what I was doing. I had one leg over the edge and I was readying myself to jump when I felt a tug on my sleeve. I looked back at René, who had a pretty good handful of my jacket. I woke up just enough to realize that if I left, I'd leave the jacket behind. I breathed and pulled myself back into the room and shut the window, making sure that I had locked it. I turned back to René and muttered an apology.

Before he could answer, a maid opened the door and told us it was time for René to get ready for school. I left as he got dressed and I followed a maid out to the breakfast table, where there was already food. I helped myself to a small bite of a scone, since I was still full from the night before. René followed in shortly after with his mother behind him. He was talking nonstop about birds, and even eating didn't stop him from speaking five million miles an hour. After they were done eating, they stood up and started towards the door. I followed until René got to the door. He turned around as if he had suddenly forgotten something and put his hands on my shoulders and stared directly into my eyes. Again. I looked up at him. "Can you promise to be here when I get back?" He asked. I knew I couldn't and I knew he knew I couldn't promise it.

"No." I told him looking straight into his almost purple eyes. "But I do promise that I will come back, eventually." He smiled. At me. And then he hugged me like he had last night, calmly, lovingly. I hugged him back for a minute before giving him a shove. "Alright, now go to school. You'll be late if you stay any longer." He looked a bit stunned for a moment before he smiled again and ran off and waved. I waved back, even though I knew he wouldn't have seen me.

"Alex." I turned around and looked at René's mother, who was staring me down. "Where do you go to school?" She asked, her voice very quiet. I shrugged.

"I don't." I said as I stared at where the blond idiot disappeared. "Mother taught me to read, though. And my maths. I do like reading. A lot. I do it whenever I have time." I smiled up at the fair lady and smiled. "Thank you for having me, Mrs. ..." I suddenly realized that I didn't have any idea of who this lady was.

"de Grantaine. Anne-Sophie de Grantaine." She smiled down at me. Her name wrote itself down in my mind, and I knew I would never forget it. Or her.

"Thank you Mrs. de Grantaine." I said. "Now I think I'd better be going. I don't like sleeping in the same area twice, you know." I smiled at her and opened the door and left, thinking that I would never see the purple eyed idiot or his tired mother ever again. However, fate has a funny way of twisting people together.

A/N: Hey~ So I know I have like three other stories in the works that I haven't updated in months, but this story has been growing on the sidelines for about the same amount of time. I think this is my favorite Ouran story I've written thus far, and it feels so very different from my other writings. It has a special place in my heart, and I know that that I probably wont give up on it, though it will take me forever to update (you have been warned).

Please review. I know it gets annoying when people ask for them, but they are really helpful with becoming a better writer. Let me know if you love it, if you hate it, if you hate me, or if I've made a mistake. Seriously, I'm dyslexic, so I will not see the error, even if I have spell check on.

And last, but not least, I do not own Ouran High School Host Club. That honor goes to the lovely and talented Bisco Hatori.

Edit (4/25/15: Fixed all of the verb tenses. Now it won't be switching from past to present. Sorry about any confusion that might have arisen.)