Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou romantica.

This is something I just thought of…yes, I do get random ideas that come out of nowhere…those are the best ones to write since they don't require effort…they just come to you.

This is also my first story where Egoist runs the show. I don't know why I haven't done one before this since Hiroki is my favorite character, but anyway, here it is.

Chapter 1

"I've been trying to locate him for seven years now. I've been trying every orphanage in every prefecture looking for him." The thirty-eight year old woman sniffed as she dug another tissue from her purse. It seemed that crying was all she'd done for the last decade or so, ever since she'd abandoned her son to the storm all those years ago.

At age fourteen, she'd been kicked out of her home for her pregnancy. She hadn't seen the father since the one night stand they'd had a few months before. She grimaced as she recalled trying to survive with a newborn and no money. She'd given up one night, when a hurricane swept the building she squatted in and her child away while she'd gone out to steal food.

When she'd found her home and child gone, she considered it a blessing in disguise. She returned home, saying the baby had died. The family welcomed her back then. Years passed and she was married off. But after awhile guilt began to eat at her. When she had a second child, she couldn't help but remember the first.

When this one turned five and started school, she began using the time he was in class to search orphanages. After the first year she knew that her little Hibiki was too old to still be in one, if he hadn't been adopted already. Now she was just looking for signs that he'd been there.

Kusama Orphanage was the last one on the list. She had been to every other orphanage in Tokyo by now and was getting ready to give up. She was now too far south to make trips every day and get back before her husband and son missed her. But she was going to have one last try.

"Do you have a picture of your son, Kisu Hibiki?" Father Kusama asked.

"Yes." She reached into her purse once more and pulled out a rumpled, old photograph. It showed a child less than a year old with a mess of black hair and bright blue eyes. He wore ratty baby clothes from a secondhand store, all she could afford, but he still smiled happily at the camera.

The father looked at it for a brief moment, then whispered in shock, "Nowaki."

I know starting another story is a bit silly, but this came to me this morning and I had to write it. Please review and tell me if I should continue it.