Again

Chapter 06

When Wayne entered the office that morning, his eyes were immediately drawn to the unfamiliar coffee cup sitting on his meticulously cluttered desk. The cup stood out among the neat piles of papers and scattered pens like a strange offering. He moved closer, his steps measured, almost hesitant. His name was scrawled in black marker across the lid. A quick check on the label revealed it was a latte, and tucked beneath the cup, he spotted a small card.

Wayne sighed before flipping the card over. One simple message stared back at him: Dinner later?

His brow furrowed as he scanned the room. There wasn't a hint of who had left it. He turned to Luke, his co-worker, sitting at the adjacent desk, typing away with a casual disinterest in the world around him.

"Luke," Wayne called, tapping the edge of the cup. "Do you know who left this?"

Luke didn't even glance up. "Yeah. Burns. From finance."

Wayne suppressed a groan. "Of course," he muttered under his breath. "That smug is unreal."

The rest of the day dragged on, weighed down by the endless pile of paperwork that seemed to multiply on his desk. By late afternoon, the office had emptied, save for Wayne and the oppressive silence that now wrapped itself around him like a heavy cloak. He rubbed his temples, the tension from hours of work gnawing at his patience.

Just as he was about to lose himself in another report, Ashe appeared at his desk. Wayne barely noticed him at first, lost in the monotony, until the soft tap of fingers on the edge of his desk broke his focus.

"Your reply?" Ashe's voice was almost too cheerful, his lips pulled into a hopeful smile.

Wayne's irritation, already simmering, boiled over. His response was flat, cold, and final. "No."

Ashe blinked, his smile faltering, but the persistence in his eyes remained. "Why?"

Wayne gestured to the mountain of paperwork that consumed his desk, his annoyance evident in every movement. "This," he snapped. "I'm drowning in backlogs. The department head decided it's all my responsibility, and I can't just drop it."

Ashe stood there for a moment, uncharacteristically quiet. He looked at the papers, then at Wayne, who had already turned back to his work, his expression hard and resolute.

"What if I help?" Ashe asked, a touch of vulnerability slipping into his voice. "Would that make a difference?"

Wayne stilled, his pen pausing mid-signature. He glanced up at Ashe, something between skepticism and surprise flickering in his eyes. Without a word, he picked up a stack of files and handed them to Ashe, giving quick instructions as though this were an ordinary request, not a sudden shift in their strained relationship.

Ashe sat down at the desk opposite Wayne, settling into the work. But as he sifted through the papers, his gaze kept flickering back to Wayne. He watched the way Wayne's brow furrowed in concentration, the way his fingers tapped rhythmically against the desk in thought. For the first time, Ashe saw him not as the boy his mother compared him to, but as someone dedicated and hardworking—a quality he couldn't deny. The realization hit him with a strange mix of guilt and admiration.

The hours crawled by, and when they finally finished, the clock read 8:00 p.m. Wayne stretched, wincing as his stiff muscles protested. His exhaustion was palpable, but before he could fully relax, a cold sensation pressed against his cheek.

"What the hell?" Wayne jerked, startled.

Ashe stood there, holding out a cold drink, an apologetic smile playing on his lips. "Thought you might need this," he said softly.