The notebook remained locked in the bottom drawer of his desk for a week. It was lucky to have made it that far; he had considered tossing it out. Nothing dramatic, perhaps simply leaving it out so a maid would dispose of it, or he may have even went as far as to put it in the garbage can himself. Though he did have to admit, it would have been easier to just leave it where it lay on the street.

Either way, it didn't get used. If the notebook had had a mind of its own, it would have been dismayed at the prospect; this wasn't how it was supposed to go! It had only come into existence to be used, and not being used was not fulfilling its purpose.

As if Kaiba had the time to cater to the needs of a notebook. Ridiculous.

The whole thing seemed like a stupid, half-assed attempt at a joke anyway. Death Note? A notebook of death? Honestly, who did they think they were fooling?

Kaiba was not a curious man by nature. In fact, he hadn't been curious about something for years, and even then it had been mundane and entirely not worth it. But there was something nagging about that ridiculous notebook.

His fingers stilled only momentarily on the keyboard, and he tore his eyes from the screen long enough to spare a quick glance at the drawer. Still closed; still locked, the keys dangling innocently from the keyhole. He gave a derisive snort, and continued his work.

Ridiculous.

Seconds ticked by, moments passed, hours dragged on, and finally Kaiba looked at the drawer again. The curtains fluttered; the CEO didn't bother turning around as he said, "Can I help you with something?" His tone was venomous, as though his idea of help included something painful.

Heavy, clunking footsteps sounded as Kaiba's guest obliged and made his way around the desk. Was it a he, even? 'It' would perhaps be more apt, if the leathery-feathery wings were any indication.

Kaiba leaned back in his seat, steepling his fingers expectantly, not taking his glare from that smiling face.

His guest chuckled. "Straight for the throat, eh?" His mouth didn't move when he spoke; Kaiba narrowed his eyes a bit more. "Hoo, and that's quite a glare you've got on you. Hard to believe you're still a kid." Rubbing the back of his great head, the it added, "Though I guess in your society, you're technically an adult, aren't you? Kid couldn't run this all by his lonesome." An arm was raised to gesture vaguely at Kaiba's office.

"I don't believe that answers my question," the boy snapped.

"No, it didn't," he agreed, another rumbling, hacking chuckle escaped his throat. "I notice you haven't used it."

Finally, to the point. "Ah, so you're here for the notebook."

"Not so much as you'd think." He patted his side fondly, the belt and holster holding a carbon copy of the notebook swaying at the contact. "Already got a new one. I'm just here to check up on you."

"So you're following me." Though he had heard much stranger things from much stranger people, Kaiba couldn't keep the acid from saturating his words.

"Have to," the guest announced. "The Note ties us together, you and I. Wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't check on you and that note once in a while."

A sneer. "Your job?"

"A shinigami has to keep tabs on his notebooks when he's not reaping." Again with his eerie laugh.

The gears in Kaiba's head turned. "Reaping," he repeated scornfully. "So, what, you use this Death Note to collect souls to pass into the afterlife?"

"Something like that."

Kaiba scoffed again, a smirk twisting his lips as he reached down and deftly unlocked the drawer, slipping the notebook out of its hiding place and onto his desk. "And by giving this to someone else, you succeed in getting that someone to do your job for you." He gave his own mirthless chortle, steepling his fingers again. "I'm afraid I don't work for free."

The guest's grin widened, unnervingly sharp teeth glinting in the fluorescent light. "And they say you humans are stupid."