Duo left the house, dressed in Heero's slightly-too-big clothes, his hair brushed and braided. He looked up once, from the street. Heero held his gaze for a moment before Duo raised one hand in farewell and smiled a crooked half-smile before turning and disappearing down the road.
Heero stared out the window for some time, almost hoping Duo would come back, although he knew that Duo definitely wouldn't be back today and probably not for another week, at best. He stayed at the window though, hoping. When Duo did not come back and Heero had stood at the window for almost an hour, he gave up and got dressed.
After making a "raid" in his parent's bedroom for money and packing himself a lunch, he left the house and got to school well before the first bell rang; the model student.
That afternoon, he again hurried home from school, not eager to seeing his parents but about a plan he had come up with during math class. He had been able to conceal his bruised ribs at school, but because of the bruise on his face and the cut on his neck, he had just barely avoided being sent to the nurse, making the excuse that he had fallen down the stairs.
A few drops of rain landed on his head and he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to stare up at the sky. The grey clouds bunched together like sheep and the occasional clap of thunder only heightened his feeling of excitement. The rain could be helpful, after all.
He burst in the front door at the house as he had the day before. He was about to head up to his room, when he found that he was hungry and changed his course for the kitchen.
As he neared the kitchen, he heard his mother's voice and smiled, unconsciously. He pushed open the door silently, for he had learned long ago never to interrupt his mother when she was talking to anyone.
Staci was talking on the phone, leaning against the counter, and punctuating her words with vague sweeps of her hand. Heero stood quietly in the doorway, his snack forgotten. Staci's back was to him and she obviously hadn't heard him come in. Heero listened with interest to her one-sided conversation. He wasn't allowed to interrupt, but he'd never been told anything about listening.
"Oh , I don't know what to do with the little brat sometimes. Well, yesterday he was supposed to meet us at a little get-together -- oh you know, that dinner at the Mitchell's -- anyway, we told him to be there, right after school, and he never came! Yes, he was here when we got home. Dion told me he punished him," she tittered. "Yes, right before he passed out. I've got the worst headache from last night. I'm just glad the brat knows enough to get to school by himself. God knows what kind of trouble we would be in if he didn't show. Oh no, private tutors are too expensive. Besides, the school is free and it gets him out of my hair for a few hours.
"Oh, Julia, you can't be serious! You and Charles don't want a baby. You get fat and ugly, you get morning sickness, and labor is really painful; besides that, a few months after they're born, you can start to get really sick of taking care of them. Trust me, honey, I know. I wish I'd never had Heero. I should have taken the pill as soon as I found out I was pregnant. God knows it wouldn't have been the first time..."
Heero closed the door wordlessly. Any doubts he had about leaving, well, so much for them. At least he wouldn't be missed, though it wasn't much of a consolation.
He stole up to his room, wondering why he was bothering to be quiet and doing it anyway.
Once in his room, he dumped the contents of his backpack on the bed, and after glancing at them, swept them to the floor. He pulled open the closet doors and the drawer on the nightstand, and began to pile things neatly on his bed, next to the backpack, going over a short mental checklist all the while. Blanket, clothes, food, here he added a bag full of granola bars to the growing stash. coats, brush, and money. He carefully took out the thousands of credits that he had been storing away for several years and counted the neat, rubber-banded stacks. Nearly ten thousand dollars in hundred, five hundred, and thousand credit bills.
He packed everything into his backpack, putting the money at the very bottom. When he finished, he grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper and scribbled one word on it. He set the paper on his nightstand, then took one last look at his room. Picking up his backpack, he turned and left his life forever.