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He dusted every corner he could find, humming a happy tune. He pushed games into their proper spots on the shelves and made up the feather bed in the guest room. The grand piano was glossed and tuned, the sheet music hidden in the bench. Small chandeliers were shined and lit, their light casting shadows on the marble walls. When all the preparation was done, he grabbed his cloak and went out the door.
A few hours later he returned with a suited man, asleep on his shoulder. Gently rolling him into the guest bed, he blew out the lights and closed the door. In the kitchen he whipped up some batter and placed it in the fridge before returning to his own bed.
He woke up before dawn, dressing in his usual black shirt and trousers with rolled up sleeves and the normal accessories. Going into the kitchen he pulled out the batter and put it into the waffle iron and proceeded to clean and cut fruits of all sorts. He didn’t know what his guest liked, so he decided to make a whole buffet. He pulled out the oatmeal from the top cupboard and the bread and jam from their places. He was removing the biscuits from the oven when he heard a thump coming from the guest room. He quickly set out the plates and cups before going to the waffle iron to remove the third batch of waffles. The man stumbled out of the guest room with wide eyes. He froze when he saw the kitchen and the man in it.
“I was just making breakfast. Please, sit down.” He gestured to an empty chair at the bar. “I don’t know what you like for breakfast, so choose whatever you’d like.”
The frozen man continued to stare at him, his mouth opening and closing silently. “W-who- what-,” he stopped.
“Oh! I apologize. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Stephen.”
“Do I know you?”
“No, I don’t think so.” He reached into the fridge for the orange juice.
“Oh. No, wait- Why am I in your house!? Why did you kidnap me!? Do you want ransom?”
“Do you want breakfast?”
“No, I don’t want breakfast!” The man’s face was turning a peculiar shade of red. Stephen frowned and began to put everything back into the fridge.
“Do you want money? I have lots of money. Here, let me call my banker.” The man pulls out his phone. Stephen’s brow furrowed.
“I can’t connect. Why can’t I connect? This thing is supposed to be unlimited!”
“You are mistaken. I don’t want your money.” He walked past him. The man followed him down the hall. “Well what do you want then? Anything you want, you can have it. Except my yacht. And my stock shares.”
“I told you I don’t want your money.”
“You can have my wife.”
Stephen paused. “Your wife? Really?”
“Yeah! She’s young, pretty, and I’m never home anyway.”
“You are so sad. All I want to do is play a game.”
“A game? Like I go hide and you hunt me with a knife kind of game? I’m not sure I want to play.”
“Sad and stupid,” Stephen muttered to himself. He opened the door to the game room, revealing shelves of games interspersed with comfortable chairs and bean bags.
“Here. Pick any game you want.”
The man just looked at him. “You make a pathetic supervillain.”
“And you watch way too much Marvel.”
“You look like a supervillain. You even have scars. The eyepatch is a bit overkill, though.”
“Please pick.”
“Fine.” He pulled out Candyland. “There, I picked. Can I go home now?”
“What color do you want to be?”
That night, once his guest had gone to bed and locked the door, Stephen pulled out his briefcase from the closet. Looking at all the paper that was inside, he sighed and went to the kitchen counter. Spreading out his work across the bar and opening his laptop, he started his work that was due the next morning.
Despite how he acted, the man’s words hurt him. Even his own coworkers avoided him like he had the plague. It wasn’t intentional on their part, but nobody wanted to invite the socially awkward man who was missing an eye to their luncheons.
At midnight when he had finished his work, he silently picked the lock on the guest door and shuffled the sleeping man back onto his good shoulder. He grabbed his cloak and left the house. Maybe next weekend would turn out better.