Author's Note:

First story. Don't feel the need to be gentle, for constructive criticism is helpful; not harmful.

I don't own anything. Don't sue. I'm broke enough as it is.

Wow, I just realized that note seemed very serious and cold. I promise I have a warm, and funny personality. Just ask my psychiatrist. She says I'm quite charming with the straitjacket on.

Joey's POV:

As a homeless teenager, there are two things keeping me in the same realm as a "normal" one: a gym membership, and the couch surfing program.

For those who aren't the adventurous type, couch surfing is a program that you join online (thank god for public libraries with computers), where one can open their home to a guest traveler for one or multiple nights. In my case, I stay at a generous host's home for one or multiple nights.

This program is my home life now.

I've been staying at different places for about 2 months. The gym membership keeps up the act of "traveling from out of state to see my relatives", thanks to the free showers, and soap. It even provides a home when I can't find a host.

The rhythmic crunching of my sneakers on the snowy-covered pavement pushes my pace as I walk faster to escape the biting cold on my ears. I keep replaying my final moments at home in my head.

Getting kicked out of your parent's home isn't something I'd really like to think too much about, but, I came home to a grocery bag of a few loose articles of clothing (still reeking with the stench of an earlier drunken rampage), and a charred clump of pictures. Pictures of me and my friends, me as a baby, me and my mom, and many others, all melted together with a sloppily written: "GET LOST FAGGOT" on a post-it note on my previously "hidden" porn magazine.

I stare into the sky and smile at the bright moon in front of me, seemingly guiding my way somewhere safe and warm. I close my eyes and imagine a cup of warm cocoa waiting for me, just like my previous host had.

It wouldn't be hard to figure out I was kicked out and am homeless from talking to me for more than five minutes; I am pretty open with strangers.

Nobody cares about me enough to do anything about it.

I kicked a pebble along my journey to the next home I would be staying at. This is a nice neighborhood… I hope the neighbors don't think I'm causing trouble or something and call the police. Ah, finally, the right street.

Usually, the profiles are straight-forward: Description of things to offer along with a picture or two. This guy though… No picture. Simply asked for a request a day in advance along with some information about weight, height, and other random questions. Some sort of experiment for his company he is asking for his hospitality.

Okay, it's stupid. But he is the only one who was hosting for the night. I didn't want to sleep in the gym again. Not when Christmas is coming soon.

Pulling out the piece of paper with a scribbled address, I mumble the numbers as my pace quickens in anticipation.

"three-twenty…"

"three-thirty…"

"Here it is, three-f-"

Who the hell… This can't be right. No person with this much money would accept scum like me off the street… I check the address again and keep looking between the paper and the property.

This isn't a house. It's a mansion.

Excitement builds. Maybe I'll have a true bed. Maybe they will feed me! Mayb-

My thoughts are interrupted by my current host opening the door. The piercing blue eyes, the tall and threatening figure. The worst of his features, prominent now: the devilish smirk.

My enemy: Seto Kaiba.