The blank cheque rested on the rickety bed of Tito's bedroom. He had brought it back with the promise that he would think about it. The ride home was short and silent. Within this short span, the only valid piece of information that Tito got was that the stranger's name was Mangat Acharya and he was some big shot lawyer.

While stone-face had been thoughtful enough to drop Tito home and spare two days for him to come to a decision, Tito's mind was in loops. The mere thought of posing as someone's sibling sounded insane. Add that to the fact that he had to lie for a year. And it was a recipe for disaster.

Not that Tito minded.

He liked the fact that he would get paid for whatever hell he would be put through. It smelled like easy money. A shortcut to bliss. But it also made him somewhat fearful. He wasn't ready to get caught in another person's web of lies.

"What should I do, Simba?" he asked the eight year old rag that licked his feet clean. Its little, pointy black nose rubbed against Tito's pants, sniffing for any source of food. Tito chuckled as he tried to keep Simba off from his man parts.

"It tickles, you mad dog," Tito laughed but the dog paid him no heed. Simba was on a mission of his own. His tail wagged furiously.

Rescued at two months, Simba was a sad example of a Pariah dog. With one leg gone, the poor thing limped like a three legged pony. He continued to sniff around Tito as if he was in a frenzy to find food. At eight years, Simba was like a big bundle of energy that Tito had a hard time getting off himself.

Grabbing his collar in one hand and an old tin can that served as Simba's bowl, Tito poured the leftover pasta he had brought home. Once set on the ground, the old dog gobbled down everything, licking the can clean.

"If only you were this obedient at all times," Tito sighed, watching over his pet happily. Simba was Tito's only companion, one that brought him rats for food, listened to his daily babbles and comforted him when he felt sad.

When Simba finally finished, Tito laid out a worn out blanket on the floor for him to sleep. "Now will you listen to what happened to me today?" Tito asked nicely, partially pleading. He had a decision to make and he needed his only family to give some suggestions.

All he got was a snort and one tail wag in return.

Moments later, soft snores reverberated in the air. Damn dog, Tito let out a grunt before making himself comfortable on his own bed. The cheque stared back at him, beckoning him, mocking him, tempting him. It was insane how a single piece of paper with a lousy signature on it was giving him ideas that never bothered him before. It made him both excited and panicky. And now the only person, or a dog in his case, he could have told his big secret to was sound asleep.

"Enough headache for one day," he muttered to himself, slapping the thin paper on the window sill.

It could fly away for all he cared.

~~~~~~

What was the time? Midnight, half past midnight or hours till sunrise, Tito had no idea. He was busy drooling over his dream of a bright future when the sound of something unlocking snapped him out of his daze. Tito had always been a light sleeper. After sleeping on the street as a child for years, his senses were honed to the point that he could pick out any odd sound over the noise of cars and people.

And right now his senses were telling him someone was trying to pry open his front door. Tito blinked a few times in an effort to remove the sleep away from his eyes. His vision was still hazy but not hazy enough to miss the silhouette of two limbs coming from underneath the door.

Tito stilled his breath, silently listening to the struggles of the person on the other side of the door. Chances were someone was trying to break inside in hopes to steal from his house. A thief stealing from another thief, Tito smiled to himself, now that was new. Or maybe it was one of his friends trying to sneak up on him. Or maybe -

Before he could figure out who was the halfwit that came uninvited, there was a click and the door jerked open. And along with it came the familiar stench of alcohol and weed.

Instantly Tito's smile slipped.

"Heyo son," a man saluted from the entrance, "Mind giving your old man a hand? I might have a few too many drinks."

"Why the fuck are you even here?" Tito snapped. The only time that bastard ever visited him was to ask for a favor or when he was short of cash.

Guessing it was either one of the two, Tito flicked the lights on and went straight for the drawer where he kept his stash. Behind him he could hear soft footsteps staggering on the floor. "Can't a father come to see his child after so long?" the old man asked.

Bullshit, Tito internally screamed as he shot him a glare. It was only then his gaze landed squarely on the man's face he once called father. Bald head, black eye, cut lip, brown eyes. Unfortunately the same eyes that Tito shared with him.

Other than that he looked like the same fucked up man that Tito knew. All bruised up and battered. Fresh blood stains adorned his dirty jumper accompanied by a scraped knee.

Nothing that Tito hadn't seen before. He had spent the majority of his life tending to those injuries when he was too young to even understand what the terms alcohol, debt or abuse meant. The words were as foreign as their meanings. Now that he was old enough and his dictionary had expanded, Tito was content with being alone. And Simba (who was now wide awake and currently looking at his master with concern).

"How much do you want?" Tito asked sharply, waving his wad of cash in front of his father.

Like a snake to a charmer, his father's eyes flitted to the green bills. Tito didn't miss the hint of drool as he licked his lips clean. "Son, you are amazing. I always knew you were a kind soul."

Tito rolled his eyes. "I am not your son," he said, plucking half of the notes and handing it over, "And for the record, this had nothing to do with kindness."

"Can I have the whole bundle? I promise I won't show my face for two month."

Tito cocked an eyebrow at the suggestion. He was aware his father would eventually come back later, seeking for more. But for now, two months sounded promising.

"Two months," Tito reminded pointedly, his eyes cold with a look of warning. Part of him had no idea why he did what he did but over the years Tito had figured that it was better to give his father money rather than have him snoop around the house. Or worse, go to loan sharks for cash. Tito had firsthand experience how scary those guys could be and seeing as to how his father always signed his name in place of family, the cycle used to be endless until he began to steal.

"Here," he handed over the cash.

With greedy fingers, his father immediately snatched the band of money, placing kisses over it, smelling it, slapping his face with it. Practically hand raping it. Tito didn't wait to see what else a man could do with a currency strap. Without wasting another breath, he dragged the outsider away from his home and waved goodbye.

"Try to never come back. Or better fall on your face and die." Tito closed the door with a bang, making a mental note to change the lock again.

Slowly he made his way back to the bed but his sleep was long gone. The cheque was still in one piece at the exact same spot where he last left it. Tito picked it up and this time he carefully placed it in the safety of his pocket.

Opportunity seldom knocks at the door.

~~~~

A/N: What is the most weird name you have heard for a pet?