"Please bring coffee early morning to room, mommy. I have some place to go."

And oh boy, did he ever have a place to go. He needed to get there. He had to be the first person in line, standing right at the front doors, tapping his foot, the very second that one specific, very important bank building unlocked its doors for the day.

This cheque was burning a hole in his pocket, but it was just useless paper until it was cashed.

Violet... she had to double-take those words.

Her brain just... stalled.

'To... his... ROOM?!'

She screamed inside her own head, feeling her face get all hot and dizzy just from the thought. Her heart immediately started doing a thump-thump-THUMP against her ribs, way, way too fast.

Because the last... the last two times... she had dared to enter that room, she... she had seen things. Awful things. Embarrassing, filthy things that she really, really should not have seen.

Things that made her whole face go hot and red, just thinking about them. Things that involved... his stuff... and naked... and... spinning like helicopter. She had nightmares about the spinning.

But...

But... still. She bit her lip. Hard.

No matter what. No matter what she had seen, or what she was afraid of seeing... if this... if just performing one, simple, normal motherly duty... if bringing him a single, steaming cup of coffee... was going to maybe, just maybe, help "mend" their weird, broken, non-existent relationship...

Then... then... she was willing to do it. She had to be. What other choice did she have?

She was willing to put... somethings... aside. She would just... she would just not look this time. She would stare only at the coffee cup. She would look at the floor. Yes. The floor was safe. The floor was her friend.

"S-s-sure thing," she finally, finally stuttered out, her voice barely a squeak.

Then she gave him a tiny, fast, jerky little nod. She didn't even wait for him to say anything else, she couldn't. She just... fled. She turned around and practically scurried inside her own room, closing the door with the quietest little click she could manage.

But she wasn't fast enough.

Not before Alex got one more look.

He watched her go. He followed her every movement. He looked at her back... that back... one more time. He just... registered the moment. He burned the image of that backless, white satin dress, the way the cheap hall light hit it, the way her wide hips and bare ass cheeks moved and jiggled under it as she ran... he burned that exact image right into his brain.

Click. Saved. A nice little appetizer for later.

Then, and only then, did he finally move.

He climbed the dark stairs up, up, up, towards his own room. He went inside.

Click. He locked the door.

THUNK. He slammed the heavy, old, metal deadbolt into place.

But that wasn't enough. Not for this. He rushed over to his one and only window. Slam! He shoved the rattling glass frame down. Click! He twisted the rusty, squeaking lock.

He stood in the middle of the room, his hand still jammed in his pocket, his heart hammering. He listened. Was anyone outside? In the hallway? No.

He got down on his hands and knees, like a crazy person. He checked under his bed.

Nothing but dust bunnies and maybe an old, lost sock.

He stood up. He went into his tiny, sad little bathroom. He ripped back the cheap, plastic shower curtain with a screeeech of plastic rings.

Nothing but a sad, old, stained bathtub.

He went back out and yanked open his wardrobe, making the hinges groan.

Nothing but... his few, crappy, old clothes, smelling faintly of... well, him.

Finally.

He let out a long breath. He was safe. He was secure. No one was watching. No one could bust in on him.

Then, and only then, did he finally... slowly... pull... his hand... his money hand... out of his pocket.

His fist was all sweaty and white-knuckled and cramped from clutching it so tight, for so long. He had to physically peel his stiff, sticky fingers open, one by one.

He took out the precious, precious, folded-up piece of paper. It was a little damp now, from his own hand-sweat. He unfolded it. Gently. Gently!

He held it up in the dim, yellow light of his one, sad, naked lightbulb. He just... stared at it. He was taking in... the cheque... for all its amazing, beautiful, six-zeroed, glorious glory.

He... he even... lifted it up to his face. He didn't care how weird it was. He had to.

He pressed it right against his nose and took a deep, deep, snorting whiff, right through his nose. He smelled the paper. He smelled the fancy ink. He smelled the faint, weird, leathery smell of the villain's glove.

"Haaa!!!" he breathed out, a huge, happy, shaky, gasping sigh. His eyes were probably spinning.

"The smell... of SUCCESS!!"

Well, honestly, it mostly smelled like old paper, hand-sweat, and maybe... maybe... a little bit of cheap leather... but who cares!

This one, little, white, stupid, slightly-damp piece of paper...

This was more worth than his entire life!!! This was his ticket. This was everything.

He stood there, buzzing, vibrating with pure, unfiltered joy.

He then decided, very firmly, that he was not going to take a bath.

Nope. No way. Not happening.

Was he dirty? Yes. Was he gross and sticky? Extremely. But it just... it just wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth the risk. How could he possibly take a bath? That would mean... leaving... this... this fortune... all by itself, in his room, without his attendance. What if a thief broke in during his ten-minute shower? What if the system was a liar and secretly wanted to steal it? What if... what if a strong wind came and blew it away?

No. The bath could wait.

He just... climbed right onto his bed. Fully clothed. Still grimy. Still with his hand jammed in his pocket, clutching his precious.

He lay there for at least twenty whole minutes, just... vibrating. He was tossing. He was curling. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He rolled onto his stomach and giggled into his pillow.

'I'm gonna do it,' he planned, his brain going a million miles an hour. 'I'm gonna... I'm gonna buy a villa. A huge one. Somewhere in the capital, where all the rich people live.'

'And... oh! I'm gonna hire some maids. But not regular, boring maids. Exotic maids. Yeah. Like, one of those cat-girls! And maybe an elf! A whole bunch of 'em!'

'And I'm gonna grow my harem! I'll have Lily... and Violet... and... and all the other hot girls I can find!'

'And... and... I'll... I'll do some agriculture! Yeah! I'll... I'll... buy a farm... and just... look at it... for the rest of my life. A nice, quiet, rich-guy life.'

'This money...' he thought, his heart soaring. 'This money is sufficient. It's perfect.'

A huge, stupid, giddy smile spread all across his face. He gave his pocket a squeeze. A little "I love you" squeeze to his cheque.

...Was it still there?

His heart stopped.

He had to check. Right now.

He once again yanked the thing out of his pocket. Frantically. Was it still 2 million? Did the numbers change? Did it... dissolve?

Nope. It was still there. Still beautiful. Still six zeroes. Safe and sound.

He sighed a huge, huge sigh of relief. He was about to kiss it, again, when...

"Ohh..."

He... he had forgotten something. Something... important.

He had been so busy looking at the number... he'd forgotten to look at the name. Who was the person... or the bank... that was giving him all this money? That was... probably... a super important detail, right?

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