The Night Within

Runaway

The house was quiet... but not the kind of quiet that meant peace.
It was the kind that made your stomach twist — the silence between shouts, the moment when even the walls seemed to hold their breath.

Yuuki sat by the door, shoelaces loose, a plastic bag full of clothes at his feet. The yellow-ish hallway light flickered once, twice. In the next room, he heard glass break — again. Ayame didn’t flinch this time. She just hugged her pink pillow tighter, her small shoulders shaking as if the terrifying sound had passed straight through her.

Their mother’s voice rose, slurred and sharp. Their father answered with the thud of his fist on the wooden table. It was the same song every night.
And somehow, Yuuki still hoped tonight would be different.

He stood up when Ayame’s quiet whisper reached him.

“Can we go now?”

She was eight — too young to speak like someone already exhausted. Yuuki nodded anyway.

They didn’t take much. A bit of money, her favorite book about constellations, and the cotton sweater that still smelled like lavender laundry soap instead of cigarettes. Outside, the rain had stopped but the air still tasted of metal.

Ayame slipped her small hand into his.

“Do you think the stars can see us from here?”

Yuuki looked up. The clouds hung heavy, hiding everything.

“Maybe,” he said. “We’ll find a place where they can.”

Behind them, another crash — a bottle, maybe. A shout that didn’t sound like their names anymore. Yuuki didn’t look back.

They walked until the streetlights turned thin and orange, until the city started to feel like something new.

And somewhere between one step and the next, the world finally went quiet — the better kind of quiet this time.

The night fell heavier the farther they walked.
Streetlights hummed above them, halos of pale gold flickering in the mist. Yuuki’s shoes were soaked through, his fingers stiff from cold, but he kept his grip on Ayame’s hand tight. The city at night didn’t sleep — it whispered. Cars passed, lights blinked in apartment windows, rainwater ran through the gutters like veins of silver.

Ayame dragged her feet.

“My legs hurt…”

“I know,” he murmured. “Just a little more, okay?”

He didn’t know where “a little more” was. Every turn looked the same, every alley smelled of damp concrete and gasoline. He only knew they couldn’t go back.

They stopped by a vending machine glowing faint blue in the dark. Yuuki checked his pocket — a few coins, not enough for food for both of them. He pressed the button anyway. The can clattered down, warm against his freezing hands.

“Here,” he said, offering it to Ayame. “Drink.”

She shook her head. “You first.”

He almost smiled at that. Almost.

He was about to answer when headlights sliced through the street. A car slowed, its tires hissing over puddles. A woman stepped out — umbrella, long coat, a roll of drawings under one arm. Her hair was messy, tied up like she’d forgotten about it halfway through the day.

She froze when she saw them. Two kids, drenched, shivering, far too young to be out here alone.

“Hey—” her voice and expression softened instantly. “Are you okay?”