Lonely Existence

A/N: Hello all *waves.* I'm beginning the process of editing/revamping this story and moving it over from Fanfic.net. Please be warned, this story is rated M for a reason. You name it.. It's probably in here eventually. This story contains a lot of yaoi. So if you don't like boyxboy... You may want to rethink reading it and exit stage left because there is lots and lots and lots of yaoi in this.

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh. I wish I did, but I don't. I also do not make any money off of these stories. Just for fun. I swear. I also do not own any of the songs in this story.

Please note that this chapter is quite short, but the others are much longer. I hope you enjoy it. Please vote and comment. I love them both. Thank you for reading and for your support! Now onward to the story.

It's true what they say. Money cannot buy love. Thousands of adoring fans and kiss asses.. sure, but not love. Nor can it buy true friends. None of the people that call themselves my 'friends' would give a damn about me if I were broke. The life of fame, parties, concerts, and red carpets must be the loneliest life in existence. There are times I wish my agent had never discovered me. The only pleasure I have in this life, the only thing that brings me peace and slight happiness is my guitar. None of the other bullshit comes close. When I play, I am able to escape reality for a short time and find solace in the music.

I hear my manager's voice paddling on and on about my schedule and required appearances for the rest of this week and next week. A never ending annoyance grating on my very last nerve. I have no idea what he is saying. I ceased providing him with my attention a while ago. A sigh escapes my lips and I roll my eyes.

"Hey!" My manager hollers, slapping me on the knee. I glance up at the brunet with ice cold cerulean eyes. "Pay attention," he scolds me. I let out an exasperated sigh, my eyes locking on his.

"Fine. Where do I have to go next?" I ask picking up a pen and acting like I cared. I have become quite good at that. Even if I don't pay attention, the result is still the same. He whisks me off to wherever I need to go and gives me further instruction there. I suppose it would be easier to just listen when he initially informs me, but you know... that would just make things too damn easy for him.

"You have a concert in Domino, Japan," Seto advises; his eyes scanning the small black handheld digital planner. I swirl the black pen on the notepad in front of me. The ink glides onto the paper, making an intricate design as I doodled mindlessly.

"When is the concert?" I ask him.

"It is six days away. We are leaving for Domino tonight. Your things are already packed," an arrogant smirk crosses his thin lips.

I dropped the pen and raised my gaze to meet his once again, "If it is that far off, why are we leaving now?"

"Because I say so," Seto retorts. I narrow my eyes at him. Dick.

I run my hand through my hair and ask, "Are we taking the jet?"

He nods; the smirk never leaving his face. My manager is such a prick. Don't ask me why. That story is just too long to get into. There are way too many reasons to list regarding why he is a prick. A shorter response would require the query of what makes him likeable? The response to that is nada! There is nothing likeable about this guy. Regardless of whether he possesses a winning personality or not, the reason I put up with him is because his is the best manager in the industry. I assume the cost of success is your personality; at least it was in his case.

I shift in my seat and inquire, "What time do we leave tonight?"

"Right now," Seto pulls me to my feet. I stretch my leather clad limbs; a loud obnoxious yawn escapes me. Seto glares. I internally smirked. Oh how I love to push his buttons. Well might as well get this over with. I pick up my guitar case and stride out of the dressing room, ensuring to bump into my pain in the ass manager. Seto grunts and glares at me over his shoulder.

"You coming?" I turn to ask him with a snarky tone, a smirk of my own crossing my lips. The only response I receive is a curt nod from Seto before he follows me out of the dressing room and to the awaiting limo out back.