Raindrops hurled themselves at the double-layered glass that filled the windows of the two-bedroom house that sat dark and quiet in the deep night. The splattered droplets slid down the glass, aided by gravity, pooling on the sill below a hand protruding from the window, palm raised to the coal black sky.<br/><br/>There Hector sat, perched on the window seat, the hard button sewn into the cushion digging into his hip, the uncomfortable feeling coupled with the soothing, repetitive drumming on his skin as the rain hit it. He leaned forward, sleeve dipped in puddle on the sill, and stared up at the heavens. He ignored the rain that peppered his face, focused on the lone star that could be seen through a gap in the clouds.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Hrm. Good thing I patched the hole in the roof.</span>Hector mused as he withdrew into the house. He shook off his sleeve and left the bedroom, the door shut behind him. He tramped down the stairway, hands deep in the pockets of his white jeans as he strode into the small kitchen that connected via archway into the sitting room. His black moccasin shoes clacked on the tiled floor as he opened the fridge and took out a carton of apple juice. He flopped into a chair facing a oaken table for four.<br/><br/>The empty places reminded him of his childhood, and, not for the first time, made him recall his travels around the planet's continents. He unscrewed the cap of the carton and swigged from it, swishing the juice around in a bored way as he swallowed. He cast a disgusted glance at the patch of mould in the corner above the cooker, and the tea stains all over the table. It still galled him to be here, surrounded by old memories.<br/><br/>He could almost see his mother pottering about the kitchen, and allowed himself a half-hearted smile. Gently, Hector kicked his chair back and stood, and perched himself on the sitting room sofa instead. A spring pushed back against his weight, making Hector frown again. The old place was definately falling apart, even as he waged his one-man war on it. He groaned and pushed a stray lock of his blonde-brown hair off of his forehead.<br/><br/>He had sat back and tried to relax when the oppressive feeling returned. Sitting up slowly, Hector sipped from the carton and looked around the room. He felt watched, like something was pressing down on his shoulders and neck. Then it came, that odd feeling in his head. It was like an empty space, a void in his soft thinky-muscle. It was the same feeling as he had felt just before he was attacked in Harajuku a few years ago.<br/><br/>Hector shuddered, flicked on the TV with the old remote, and tried to settle down. Jeremy Kyle's dulcet tones blared out as he ranted at yet another dysfunctional couple, drowning our their every protest. Hector tried to lose himself in the show, but for the rest of the night, the sense of eyes on him remained.