Warnings: language, future boyxboy, adult themes, angst, alcoholism

Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or anything mentioned in this chapter other then the plot.

Pairing/s: main Seiner, AkuRoku, Pence/Olette.

She was puking her guts out when I came in. Just leaning over the bowl vomiting whatever alcohol she'd had that morning. From what I could see it seemed to be a cocktail of various drink, but then again I can't be sure. I'm not an expert on what vodka looks like when it's regurgitated.

That's what I see mostly. The door. The bathroom door. If someone told me to draw her I'd draw a door. That's pretty much what she is. Or broken furniture. Smashed glass.

I sigh. Loudly. She still didn't notice me. Still leaning over, head resting on the side, a scratchy moan escaping her lips. I coughed. Still no movement.

"Mom?" I asked. She seemed to notice me then, tilting her head towards me giving me a decent look at her bloodshot eyes and dishevelled appearance: vomit dripping from her hair, mixing in with the grease and various hair dye, dark circles which could have been from lack of sleep, or running eyeliner. I wince.


At least she remembered my name. I walk forward, ignoring the overpowering stench and lean down to her level, lightly touching her shoulder.

"Yeah mom. Come on, let's get you cleaned up," I say, trying to sound reassuring. She shakes her head and I lean back to avoid being struck by vomit.

"No. No no...I sstill have a drink," she slurs. I nod.

"I know you do mom, but it'll be a lot stronger once you wash your hair," I say. She swivels her eyes to mine.

"Sstronger?" she asks. I nod again, all the while leading her toward the bath. I check there's a towel near by. I'm in luck.

"Yeah mom. Much stronger," I say. I guide her head towards the bath. She tries to pull away.

"Get offf me," she says.

"You need to wash your hair mom," I say, this time more sternly. It seems to work and I reach with my free hand for the shower head.

"Ya...ya know what Hay-ner," she says, her hair under the stream. I sigh.

"No mom. I don't," I say. She doesn't answer. I grab the shampoo and pour it onto her hair once the water has removed most of the chunks. I rub it it until I'm sure there's none left then rinse.

"Hayner?" she asks quietly. I turn off the water.

"What mom?" I ask. I reach for the towel.

"My head hurts," I begin to towel dry her hair, pausing at these words. I can't help it. She sounds so lost.

"I'll get you something for it in a minute mom okay?" I say reassuringly, patting her hair with the towel. She turns to face me, a drunken smile upon her face. Her hand reaches out and cups my face.

"Your sso good to me" she whispers her eyes glazed over slightly. I look away. I wish I could say the same to her. But it would be a lie. I swallow the lump in my throat and place my hand round her waist, dragging her upright.

"Come on mom, let's get you to bed," I say. She doesn't answer, and I take it as a yes. She stumbles after me as I walk to her room, dragging her with me before lying her down on her bed. She reaches out to me and I grab her hand, placing it by her side.


I ignore her, turning off the light and shutting the door. I collapse against it. She'd promised. She'd promised she'd stop drinking. I should have known that six years as an alcoholic didn't vanish over night, but something inside of me hoped, just hoped that when she'd promised, she'd actually been been telling the truth.

I stand, and rub my eyes with my sleeve. I'm not crying. Because I'm a boy. Boy's can't, don't and won't cry. They were just kind of itchy that's all.

I reach for my phone automatically before remembering that there would be no point. Roxas was busy. Of course hanging out with that new boy was more important then hanging out with his best friend of seven years. I'd be stupid to think not. I mean I've only known him for most my life and he's known that red-head for a month. No comparison really. Boyfriends obviously come before bestfriends. When I get a boyfriend I'll keep that in mind.

My other options are also busy. With each other. I have no one to call, no one to talk to so I decide to do something else to take my mind off the fact my mother is lying, drunk and incoherent, feet away from me.

I make my way into the kitchen, eyeing the army of empty bottles lined up along the counter. I count them. There's seven. The worst is 40%. That's good. She normally has Absinthe. Roquette 1797, a personal favourite.

I grab each bottle, one at a time, and drop it from a rather substantial height into the bin. The sound of the glass smashing is quite satisfactory.

Reaching into the cupboard, I pull out a glass. It's dirty and I contemplate just leaving it. She wouldn't notice...no. That would be cruel. I clean it, dry it and pour in some water. I can't give her any painkillers, she's still too drunk. I worry sometimes, if giving her advil after she drinks does her more harm then good. I read somewhere that it can cause the stomach to bleed...

I shake my head. No point in thinking of that now. I grab the glass, spilling some over the edge, the water hitting my fingers. I ignore it and open the door to her room. She's still lying there, fully clothed, tangled beneath the covers, her hair forming some sort of wet, obscene halo around her head.

I place the glass on her bedside with a thunk. She doesn't wake. I leave. It's not like she'll miss me.

After a few moments thought, I decide to go shopping. We need some bread...and milk. And a new light bulb. And a new window. And carpets. Flat. Life.

Well I can get the bread and milk anyway. Maybe the light bulb too if I'm lucky. Which I'm not.

I scrawl a barely legible note telling her where I am. It's not like I expect her to wake up in time to read it, but I feel like I have to do it anyway. It makes me feel more...normal.

I grab some money from the pot in the kitchen, shove it into my jeans and walk into my room.

It's a pretty boring room as far as rooms go. I've not got any posters and the walls are light blue. The carpets grey and burned in various places and the only things of any actual colour are my mirror, my struggle bat and my skateboard. I'm quite proud of my mirror. I somehow managed to scrounge picture of me and Roxas, Olette and Pence together. They're stuck clumsily, with tape, but I don't care. I like it how it is.

I grab my skateboard and walk out, locking my door behind me. From past experience, having your room wrecked by your mother on a regular basis makes locks a god-send.

I walk out the front door, locking it behind me, noticing for the first time that my hand smell distinctly of vodka and vomit. I can't do anything about it though, so I walk down the steps of my flat and jump onto my board.

I think I would just about die without my skateboard. It's practically become a third foot to me. Sometimes, when it all gets to much for me, when the fact that I am looking after my mom sinks in and I really need to talk but no one's really available, I just skate. Hit the ramps and rails. Funny that, ever since Roxas started dating that red-headed prick and Pence and Olette staring dating..well, each other, I've been skating a lot more then I used to. Hell, I'm practically a regular at the park now. Not as popular there though ever since I refused to drink. Enough of that at home thanks, I came here to forget. I didn't say that obviously. Just said I didn't drink. That's almost like admitting your gay to these people. They act like I tried to kiss them.

I see the store approaching and look round to see if there's anyone nearby. There's not. I smile slightly in anticipation of what I'm going to do.

I angle my right foot on the board, sliding my left on the centre of the tail. I ollie, flicking my foot, causing the board to spin in mid air. I land back on the board, jumping onto the curb slightly flushed, a dizzy smile on my face. Who knew a kickflip could cheer you up so much?

Still smiling, I slow to a stop, kicking my board into an upright position. Yeah, I'm just that awesome.

I speed up as I walk into the store. I don't particularly want to be kicked out for carrying a skateboard, so I decide to just avoid being seen. Not the best of plans considering how many members of staff are working there and how large the skateboard itself is, but the best I can go on.

I reach the bread and grab the cheapest loaf. It's all the same to me, and it's not like my mother's going to complain. I walk past the rows or alcohol without a second glance, instead heading towards the milk. I grab semi skimmed. I'll be the only one drinking it so...

Damn. I realise that I have to pay. Holding my skateboard. I decide I don't really care, and walk to the nearest cashier and begin glaring, like I dare him to say something. To his credit he doesn't flinch. He merely gazes at me, a casually bored expression on his face like being glared at is a regular occurrence. It probably is.

"That'll be 6.98 please," he says, hand held out. I curse inwardly. Since when was bread and milk so god-damn expensive? I hand him a tenner and pocket the change, before shoving the bread and milk hastily into my rucksack. So what if it gets squashed? It'll still be edible. I mutter thanks to the cashier and walk out awkwardly, my board hitting against my leg almost painfully with each step.

I take a breath as I step through the sliding doors, dropping my board and stepping onto it. I feel free, the street blurring as I passed, the air hitting my face and hair so fast my lips began to dry.

I close my eyes for just a second.

And find myself strewn across the street as I come to hit something very hard and very human,

"Fuck," I mutter, sitting up and grabbing my abused head. I look up only to see...oh it's him.

"Watch it lamer,"

Seifer. Of course it was him. It was almost cliché. Who's Seifer? Only the hottest prick I've ever met. I'd date him if I didn't hate him so much. And vice versa. The hate part anyway. There's absolutely no way he likes me. Everyday I see him. Everyday he is a complete asshole to me. Everyday he talks down to me, berates me, insults me, makes me want to kick various objects...

"...are you even fucking listening?"

I blink.

"What?" I say, glaring up at him. He shakes his head angrily, his beanie slipping slightly with the movement. I watch as he rams it back down onto his head.

"I said that you should skate at the fucking park, not on public streets. Are you deaf or something lamer?" he said, snarling. It was at this point that I realised two things.

1. The bread is definitely crushed.

2. I'm still lying on the ground.

These thoughts are interrupted by the presence of a fist...no wait a hand shoved in my face. I flinch automatically and stare questioningly at it.

"Just fucking take it," I look to see Seifer glaring down at me. Taking into consideration the fact he was in a position to smash my face in, I did as he said, finding my self pulled abruptly to my feet.

"Thanks," I mutter looking away. He scoffs.

"You're like a woman," he said. I look at him.

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?" I question him. He smirks.

"Your light. And small. Like a woman," he said matter-of-factly. I sneer.

"Shut up. Just because your overly tall," I said. I could have done better. I left my self wide open...

"Your just short," ...for that. I sigh.

"Seriously, shut up. Don't you insult me enough at school? Get your kicks some place else," I say, with finality, and make to grab my board. He laughs. I straighten.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

"Go get your kicks some place else? Like I'd get kicks from you chicken-wuss. You just happen to be convenient when I want to hit something," he said, smirking. My glare intensifies.

"Go and hit a wall, I've heard it's good for you," I say. There's a silence and I think he's shut up. I'm wrong.

"Where's your friends? I thought you were their bitch or something," I'd like to know that too...

"You sound like your speaking from experience. Where's your bodyguards, forgot to pay them this month?" I say angrily. He just had to mention that didn't he.

"For the last time, they're not my fucking bodyguards," was that a twitch on Seifer's face?

"For the last time, I'm not their bitch," I say, grabbing my board and preparing to skate.

"Huh. Then why else are they hanging out with you? Not like you got anything to offer..."

I hit him. It really hurt. I learnt two things then. One, Seifer had a face like freaking steel. And two, he had a fist like freaking steel. The second one was just reaffirming that fact, I'd felt it many times before.

I knew he was going to hit me when he swung his fist back, so I really should have moved. To be honest I think I wanted to be hit. Don't ask why. It's all too phychological for me to think about. Next thing I knew he struck me. I swear I could hear the crunching between his knuckle and my cheek bone, and my head swung back so fast I practically had whip lash. I'm once again on the floor, and this time I knew he won't be helping me up. I glare up at him, in slight disbelief. His face isn't even hardly marked, just a red patch across his cheek. My own cheek feels like it's on fire. I think the bread may not be bread anymore, just crumbs.

"That all you got?" I say, in an idiotic act of bravado. Who actually said those kind of things?...apparantly I did. I don't know what I was expecting him to do, but let's just say I wasn't entirely surprised when he grabbed me by my T-Shirt. I was slightly surprised when he pulled me eye level to him, my feet almost dangling, toes barely touching the floor. I do the only thing I can do. Stare back at him.

In those thirty seconds I learn many things. I learn that Seifer's eyes are actually quite pleasant to look at. I learn that his facial feautes are all quite nicely symetrical. And I learn that the milk carton in my bag has been crushed to the point of bursting and is trickling out and down my back and legs. Seifer seems to notice this as well and drops me. He says something, but I don't catch it.

Well this is just great. I rip open my bag grabbing the offending item and throwing it to the floor all the while cursing under my breath.

"..piece of shit, now I have to buy another fucking carton.." I stamp on it "...can't afford it for fuck sake..."

I stop only when I realise that Seifer is watching me with an unusual facial expression. I give it one last kick and sigh, picking up my dampened bag and shouldering it. I turn to face him angrily.

"Thanks," I bite sarcastically. He looks slightly taken back by my behavior. Well let him be.

"Chill lamer. Just buy another one," he said, scowling. I grit my teeth.

"Oh? Just buy another one? That the answer to everything? And what if I can't buy another one" I hiss. He glares at me. I glare back.

"And why," he leans in "the fuck," even closer "not,"

I jump back slightly. It's not like I can say 'oh I can't afford it because my mother has spent the benefits, yes benefits money on drink of various potency'. I was tempted. Just to see his reaction. But when I think about it, I really don't want to give him any blackmail material.

"The shops are closed," I say after a pause. He looks at me suspiciously and I glare back.

"Shouldn't of walked into me then, should you chickenwuss," he spat. I shrug.

"Shouldn't have gotten in the way then, should you dick," I hiss, turning and jumping onto my board, only to find myself yanked off.

"Don't skateboard on a public street," Seifer says, condescendingly. I bite my lip angrily.

"All streets are public," I say. He smirks.

"Exactly. Now walk. As much as I relish the idea of scraping you off the wheels of a car, it's my duty as head of the Twilight Disciplinary Committee to help everybody, even if they are complete losers," he says. I roll my eyes. I wonder what he really would do If I got run over. Probably laugh.

"Fine then. I'll walk," I say, leaping on to my board. I ignore his cursing and flip him the middle finger grinning, turning to face him for a split second. I catch a look of his face. It's a mix between anger, confusion and amusement. Deciding a repeat performance of before is not a particularly good idea, I face the front and keep my eyes on the road, bending my knees slightly. I pick up speed. The milk dampening my legs and back seems to be drying. I skate even faster, hoping for the wind to dry it completely.

I'm not exactly welcomed open arms when I arrive at the skate park. The self proclaimed 'hardcore skaters' glare at me as I skate in. Just because I don't drink and emo music isn't my life. I like music. Love it even. But I don't limit myself. I have more genres then artists on my mp3. Classical, reggae, metal, rave. You name it, I listen to it. Of course I listen to 'emo' music. I just happen to like more then that. James Newton Howard's 'Flying' speaks to me more then My Chemical Romance if I'm honest. But that's just me.

They don't see it that way, and as I arrive an almost eerie silence follows me. I ignore that. I'm here to skate, not to socialise. I position myself at the top of the ramp. And I'm gone. I'm no longer there. Sure I can hear the wheels spinning, feel the wind hit my hair almost painfully. But I'm not there. I'm really not. I'm not thinking per say. That would involve thoughts on my mother, and that's really not a good subject to be honest.

There's this feeling I get when I skate. Like when you ride a roller coaster. You can't help but smile, grin like an idiot even. You're so excited, your heart's beating so fast and you just want to clench your hands and punch the air at the bubble of happiness which wells up inside you. That's how I feel when I skate. And that's not even the half of it. Sure, in struggle matches there's something similar. There's adrenaline (especially when I'm against a larger opponent), excitement, but not to this extreme level. No. This is different.

"Still listening to that shit?"

I stop. The feeling subsides slightly, but I can't help the smile still on my face. I must look weird, smiling at him after he's just insulted. Well let him think that. I don't care.

"Yeah, what of it?" I say. I really shouldn't have answered truthfully to the 'what music do ya like?' question. It's not like I owed them the truth.

"It's shit, that's what of it," my smile falters. The feeling's leaving me. Instead I glare at him. He'd be alright looking if you could see more of his face.

"That's your opinion," I say "which in my opinion, is fucked up,"

I don't stay to see his reaction. Instead I grab my board and go. The feelings leaving even quicker now, especially with the fact I'm going home. To my mom. Who is likely still drunk.

I open the door. There's no point being quiet. Locking it behind me I drop my skateboard and bag. Although my combats are sticky and almost dry, stiffening slightly, my bag is still completely wet. I walk to the kitchen, an uncomfortable act in itself, pulling off my clothes quickly and shoving them in the wash. I sieve through the clean washing and pull out a clean T shirt and pair of combats. They're both green. It's not like I love the colour green. It's just that my wardrobe seems to consist of allot of green, and people just presume I like it. Whatever. Let them think that.

I wonder what Roxas is doing, right about now. Actually, maybe not. It likely involves that prick, Axel. I see enough of them getting it on at school thanks. My head needs a break. Still, I still wonder. So I do the smartest thing you can do in this day and age. I ignore the fact he's probably busy. I phone him. I wait, my slight anger at being abandoned by my best friend growing on each ring.


I'm his best friend...


...he promised he'd pick up when I call...


...he knows about her...


...but no, he'd rather spend all his time fucking that...

"This is Roxas, sorry I'm not here, I'll...er...call you back or something,"


I knew it was a stupid thing to do as soon as it slipped from my fingertips and smashed into the wall. Throwing your phone at a wall is not the best of ideas, especially when you can't afford a new one. I watched as it shattered, the screen smashing and the back flying off. I just watch it for a few seconds, feeling slightly numb. Then I crawl over and pocket the sim, salvaging what little I could.

"Hayner?" I snap my head up at the noise. She's standing there, her head peaking round the door. If anything she looks worse then when I left her. I swallow.

"Yeah mom?" I ask, feeling slightly nervous.

"What was that noise?" her voice sounds like sandpaper being crunched together, and it's all I can do not to wince.

"Nothing mom...I...er...dropped a plate," I say, hoping she'll buy it. It shows how much she drank when all she did was nod and shuffle back into her room. I sigh heavily with relief. Last thing I want is her screaming at me right now. Meantime I gather my various phone parts and bin them. They're useless to me now. I keep the sim though. I may need it.

Turns out the bread was crushed beyond repair. I kept it anyway and put it in the almost empty cupboard. Ruining my hands through my hair I turn off the kitchen light and head into my room. I can't resist the urge when I go past my wardrobe, to open it and pull out the single object which ruined my life. A tie. It's red, with small yellow flowers dotted randomly across it. All in all it's hideous.

I mean it's pretty morbid in the first place. How many people keep the tie their father hung himself with? Apparently I do. I used to talk to it. Shout at it. Ask why the fuck it had done this to her, to us, why the fuck he'd decided that death was a better choice rather then living with his wife and only child.

Yeah, feel free to laugh. Talking to inanimate objects is a little crazy I guess. I realised it didn't do anything anyway. Was going to throw it away. I didn't. Just kept it hanging in my wardrobe as a reminder. I should burn it one of these days. I'm not ready yet though...not just yet.

I hang it back in my wardrobe, I can't help but run my fingers over it one last time before I close the door. It's silk, cold. I shut the door.

I think it reminds me. Reminds me not to follow in his footsteps. Not the suicide thing. I'm sure as hell not suicidal. Just it reminds me not to give up on her. Not to betray her like he did.

I close my eyes. I think of anything but my wardrobe and my mom's room. I think of the struggle match I have next week. Seifer's playing in it. Maybe I'll get to fight him. It's Friday tomorow. School. I'll get to see Roxas. See I'm good at this. Not thinking...


Review? Thoughts? Suggestions? Any major mistakes/inconsistencies?

I needed to vent so I decided to write an angsty fic...it was supposed to be short, but after planning this monster out I've realised (yet again) I have started an epic multi chapter...well anyhow, there's a taster of what is going to come...I call it a taster, because my chapters are normally abnormally long. But now you have a small insight into Hayner's home life :)...but it's only first chapter...

Which means I need to get typing...

I need a beta to be perfectly honest...someone who will help me keep them in character and all that jazz...any offers??...I'll love you??

Oh and note: I don't know where Hayner's from. I'm English, so easy option would be English, but Hayner sounded so much better saying 'mom' then 'mum'...hence the reason I don't mention currency :D coughavoidancetacticcough

Next chapter: Hayner's eventful school day ¬_¬ ...sound interesting? No. Well this is the chapter where the actual plot will begin (kind of) :D