Four Eaton stood behind his desk knowing he was going to have to stay at the office late to avoid the girls who managed to have some petty work to do until he walked out of his big oak doors. The thing was he had nothing left to do, and it was only early evening. He huffed quietly. He could easily fire those stupid girls, but for what reason? Writing seductive notes and sliding them under his door or leaving them on his desk? For twirling their hair around their finger and pushing their breasts out of their shirts when they saw him?

Perhaps harassment would work. He was way over agitated to leave his office and go to the lonely place he called home.

Four dreamt of a short, stubborn little thing with an adorable pout greeting him at the front door, who scolded him for being late and making her wait while the food got cold but yet lovingly taking his coat and hanging it up and greeting him with a warm kiss.

If that were to happen it would all be because of the wrong influence. When people think of him they think of money and control, playboy looks with girls hooked on his fingers. It wasn't like that at all, not even close.

In a way he was the boy version of a fangirl, with roles reversed. Instead of dreaming of someone sweeping him off of his feet, he dreamt of sweeping an adorable mess off of their feet and squishing them in his arms and never letting go.

He stretched in his expensive office chair, folding his arms above his head and exhaling slightly.

But of course, like any other obsessed fan, those dreams were just dreams. His dream girl didn't exist. Money was going to be his family and he had to accept that. Maybe he could get a dog or something.

~

He dropped his keys into the bowl on the coffee table, letting the sound of his heavy footsteps echo through the quiet, dark home. He sat down on the soft couch to untie his dress shoes, tossing them to the door and reaching for the paper he had brought in with him. He preferred it out of all of his entertainment options.

He scanned the stuff he was uninterested in, politics and such. And when he found nothing to spend a couple minutes reading, he tossed the paper with his keys.

His stomach growled and he padded softly toward the kitchen where he cracked himself an egg in a hole on a piece of toast, letting the sizzle of the butter murmur through the home. A Popeye Egg was what his mom called them. He grinned a little at the memories of his mom. He didn't have many, but the ones he had were pretty good.

He took his egg and went back to the couch, staring into space as he ate. He didn't feel like doing anything. He was simply lonely.

The newspaper was face up and it was then that Four saw the little thing in the corner, a couple hundred words stuck in the bottom corner of the last page of the city's paper. It read "Summer Daycare Closing" in bold. As he skimmed through the words he found the girl who owned it was simply out of money and the community was sad to see it go.

He frowned. The little place shouldn't have to close because of money. That seemed to be the only thing the whole world cared about; money and the people who have it. Well, he thought, screw the world. He would get that place back up there by donating money. It seemed like a good place and good people should always be rewarded.

With that settled, he went to bed accomplished, knowing that in the morning he would have done something awesome and that in return made him feel awesome.