One word. One single word that changes everything at once. It rouses him from his deepest slumber and it sends him racing out of the house at odd hours of the day, flinging out limbs to signal taxis. It was a call, to abandon any and all plans. He comes running.
The word slips through a pair of lips, from right under a sharply pointed cupids bow, it slides down the chapped surface and tumbles into the air. One word, like mist it spreads through the air.
He is a cursed man; hypnotized, the trigger being a single syllable and he must bow to the speaker's every will.
He doesn't want to seem like he is a lapdog, but he fears that's what he has become; a slave, he is crippled. For the truth is, that there is very little he wouldn't do for the man that speaks his name––but only for that man, mind you.
The man that gave him everything and nothing.
Without whom, he would be gone––he would have simply stopped existing, so long ago.
So he comes. He pays his debt in favors and untidy shoelaces and rumpled jumpers and hopes that one day that man may realize what he means to him.
He doesn't hold his breath.