Chapter 1:

The silence pressed in on him from all sides, smothering him like a thick fog as he walked through the heart of the sleeping town, his echoing footsteps the only thing that disturbed the night. Moonlight mingled with the harsh glow of the streetlamps placed periodically down the narrow street, creating a false orange which illuminated the dilapidated townhouses and run-down corner stores. A lone cricket chirped once, the sound ringing out before silence engulfed him once more.

He loved this time of night, almost morning but not quite; when the whole town was asleep and it was so quiet you could hear yourself think. It was just him, by himself.

Alone...just the way he liked it.

He passed well-kept gardens, carefully manicured lawns, and gleaming cars. The further out he went from the rich part of town the less people seemed to care about the state of their lawns, and the fact that the paint on their house was peeling a little, and their cars were a bit dirty.

Normal people.

But then again, what exactly was normal? Nothing in Squall's life had everbeen 'normal', and he didn't think it ever would be. Especially since it happened.

He must have been quite a sight; a youth about the age of nineteen striding furiously down the street at four a.m. in the morning. One hand stuffed into his pocket and the other balancing our boxes, eyes downcast, staring with intense concentration at his feet but not really seeing anything; lost in his own thoughts.

He learned the importance of watching where he was going about 2.7 seconds later when his foot collided with the curb and he fell unceremoniously over, landing on the hard concrete with a resounding thud. The boxes he had been holding flew from his hand and tumbled onto the street. He let out a little 'oof' as the wind was knocked out of him, and his hand was chewed up from where he had tried to break his fall but found it trapped in his pocket. He had brought it out too late to stop his fall, but early enough to prevent himself from smashing his face into the pavement.

He groaned and let out a string of colourful curses, before picking himself up off the pavement and nonchalantly brushing bits of dirt from his trench coat. He shrugged and

straightened his shirt, trying to look as if nothing had happened, which made no difference since nobody had been watching him anyway. He sighed and bent over to pick up the scattered boxes, checking them over to make sure their cargo wasn't damaged. His hands were bleeding and bits of grit and dirt were stuck in them. He brushed his hand hard against his jeans and the little stones came out. Then he watched as his skin healed itself in seconds, leaving no trace of the cuts except for a bit of dried blood. He picked up the boxes and began making his way down the street again.

He wondered if they even missed him. His mother had died giving birth to him and his father hated him for it. He never gave up the chance to tell Squall that he wished it had been the other way around and Raine had lived instead of him. He often had too much to drink and got himself into a drunken rage, in which Squall was all too happy to disappear for a couple of hours to give his father time to calm down and sleep off the alcohol. He'd wander around town by himself. He didn't have any friends, since people tended to think he was odd since he hardly ever spoke, and his unblinking gaze made people uncomfortable. People usually just pretended he wasn't there, and that was just as well for him, since that was the way he preferred it. As long as he didn't get attached to anyone, he couldn't hurt anyone, and he, in turn, could not be hurt. It was simple. That's how it had been his whole life. Eventually, he had just stopped attending school, and slowly the phone calls home saying that he had skipped classes – again– ceased to exist.

He made his way down another alley, this one a bit cleaner than the last, and searched his pockets for his key. He finally found it and, after inserting into the lock, pushed his way into his apartment. The smell of cigarette smoke filled his nostrils, causing him to sneeze, before he shut the door behind him and locked it once more. He still hadn't gotten rid of that awful smell, thoughtfully left behind by the apartment's previous occupants. He had never smoked in his life, although he had tried it once, and it had made his throat so sore he vowed not to smoke again. Plus, it smelled bad and made your teeth all yellow. He emptied his pockets on the small table behind the door and walked into the living room. Nothing fancy: just a couch, small TV, coffee table, and a couple old magazines and books. There wasn't a cooking appliance in sight.

Squall didn't have tons of money, so he didn't bother getting a fancy apartment that he wouldn't need. He had enough money to be comfortable, though. He worked a night shift at the local hospital as a janitor part time, and that was enough to pay Seifer and buy himself some new clothes once in a while. He crossed the room in a couple strides and opened the mini fridge. It was almost completely empty, except for one box identical to the ones he had bought from Seifer earlier that night. He placed the new boxes carefully in the fridge and took out the old one, tipping it over and emptying its contents into his hand. They seemed to be plastic juice boxes or bags, with what looked like fruit punch in them. He took one of the little bags and put the other two in the fridge. Carefully opening one of the bags so he wouldn't spill a drop, he tipped back his head and downed the contents in a couple huge gulps. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and heaved a great sigh of contentment, before collapsing on the couch and falling into a deep sleep.

The sun was rising.