Wake up. Caffeine. Smoke. Work. Crash.

The stagnant cycle of a CEO left one bitter — one's eyes sullen from exhaustion, their lips pressed into a tight frown, and their voice hoarse from shouting at their worthless associates. Such was the blessed yet accursed life of Crocodile.

Wealth, fame, power — he possessed them all. Entire businesses could rise and fall at his whim, and even lives could be altered in an instant. They all feared him, but they naturally were drawn to him. In other words, he had never been one to yearn for companionship unless it promised fortune. But, upon Crocodile's pedestal erected by clever deception and the hands of fools, he found himself profoundly isolated. It drove him to madness.

In a desperate attempt to escape it, Crocodile buried himself in as much work as he could, but his inner turmoil only intensified by the passing days. He had even begun to yearn not for the once familiar scent of ash and whiskey but for the homely aroma of a kitchen in use and the comforting scent of freshly laundered clothes — the love of another.

His desire for these things ultimately overwhelmed him — he had to have it, and he knew he could, but he also knew that to make these fantasies come true, he'd have to let others in.

He didn't know where to start, but you did — someone who would come to be the love of his life.

When the relationship started off, you doubted how long it'd last. As cooperative as Crocodile was with your demands, he was hardly the ideal man: unloving and selfish to his very core. But, over time, he had mellowed out from his cynical tendencies and became the more suggestible, albeit sarcastic, man you know now.

Today was a rare occasion: he had finished work the previous day and got to spend the morning with you. Mornings with Crocodile were something you had begun to look forward to. It was a front-row seat to his humorously grouchy moods in the morning.

"Morning." His dead voice rang out behind you as he strolled by, snatching up a mug to pour himself a cup of coffee.