I try to go into the office at least five times a week, although, between the hundreds of idiots working for me, that number is usually higher.

Today was no different. I had arrived at the Kaiba corp. building at around 9 in the morning and left at nearly 7 pm.

My secretary called out to me as I walked out the door. She wasn't saying anything important so I ignored her and continued on my way out. I hadn't called my limo driver yet. There was a burger place where Mokuba liked to eat from time to time just a few blocks away. It was nice enough night.

There weren't a whole lot of people out on the city streets around this time. Everything looks a little lonely, with the occasional noisy restaurant, bursting with enough life to fill the sidewalks for miles and miles.

The place is called Bobby's. It's not a very creative name, but that's fine. I hate seeing people vest so much energy into a tacky name. The interior, once I walked in and a little bell rang, looked a little greasy, filmy. I wiped my hand against the side of my coat after touching the door handle. On either side of me were people at tables, laughing and eating. I suppose you're meant to share places like that with friends.

They have a counter out in front of the kitchen, with a little cash register set up and a menu written in chalk on the wall above. A girl stood behind the counter, with red hair pushed up inside a paper cap. She rubbed sleepily at the freckles on her face. "What can I get for you tonight?" she asked. She looked thoroughly unimpressed with me. Tonight I didn't mind.

I ordered something that sounded fattening and monstrous. I asked for it to go.

She brought it out a few minutes later, concealed inside a white styrofoam box. I opened the box, and inspected the burger. It looked greasy and lopsided. I left.

I walked all the way back to the Kaiba corp. building where the limo waited or me.

Once at home, I asked one of the maids to find Mokuba for me. She reported back, some 5 minutes later to say he wasn't home. I looked down at the Styrofoam box and eventually left it on the counter, with a note saying for Mokuba, saying I picked up some dinner for him.

I don't know when he got home, but when I woke up at 5 the next morning, the box was gone as was the burger. Mokuba didn't usually wake up until well past when the sun had risen and so I rarely saw him in the morning.

I looked again at the counter and noticed the grubby little sticky note from the night before was stuck near the sink and had Mokuba's writing on it. It read "Sorry was out late with some friends last night, thanks for the dinner. I ate it for breakfast. P.S. I've got people coming over tonight. You have been warned."

I scowled. I'll be the first to admit my aversion to having company over. Privacy, I have learned though the years, is invaluable. But we fought over this often. And I didn't like fighting with Mokuba. So I left the house and planned to work late.

I arrived around 6 in the morning, and only my decent employees were in the building. I nodded at the few I passed but did not say hello. The elevator ride up to my office was always longest in the morning I had found. The box crept slowly past each floor, afraid to wake anything up.

The big glass windows from my office showed off the sky, and the sun pushed passed the surface of the city and made everything glow for a moment or two. But all I had was a moment or two to watch it. I liked to lean back in my desk chair to watch the sun rise. I let my neck stretch against the chair back and extended both my arms so they fell over the armrests. Then the sun was up and it was over. I turned my chair around, leaned forward and began to type. My

I'm used to long days, and am even able to enjoy the sensation of using up time. Another hour in the office means another hour I won't be home by myself or worse, home hiding from Mokuba's rowdy friends. I don't have to talk to reporters at press conferences, I don't have to shake hands with strange men at parties. I could sit behind my desk and develop software all day, listening to only the comforting click of typing.

I mentioned this to Mokuba once. He told me I needed to get out.

During the half hour I took as a lunch break, he called me on my cell phone.

"Bonjour!" he said. I told him that he didn't know how to speak French. I heard him sigh on the other line.

"Whatcha up to?" he asked. I told him I was going to go back to work in a few minutes.

We were both quiet.

"well.." he began "I've got some people coming over later. Hope that's okay with you!" I muttered something.

"Who?" I asked finally. I could feel his pause.

"Oh you know. Some old friends. I ran into Joey Wheeler at that party the other day! I haven't seen him in ages!" and he laughed nervously.

I rubbed my temple. "If you are planning on bringing him into our home, then at least come out and say it".

Mokuba was quiet or a moment. "Joey, Yugi, you know, that crowd. They're all coming. "

I pressed a knuckle into the center of my forehead and said "You're an adult. Do what you want."

"It'll be fun. Don't worry. "

I was quick to declare that I would be working late. He waited until I almost told him I needed to go and hung up, but last second he chimed in, "You know Seto, I'd like it if you were here. I think it would be good for you to have something outside of work".

I bit my tongue. I didn't lash back. Instead I kept holding the phone to my ear and took it, in ready to spit it all out the second he was off the line.