2:30 P.M. – Top Floor Lounge, Oblivion Holdings Inc.
The office buzzed with its usual cold efficiency. Phones rang, papers shuffled, and executives passed each other like ghosts in designer suits.
But inside the private executive lounge — a sleek, glass-walled room only a select few had access to — things were much quieter.
Diablo sat near the corner window, a steaming black coffee untouched at his side, reviewing numbers that didn't need to be reviewed again.
He wasn't focused.
His eyes flicked toward the hallway outside his office every now and then — toward Clark's desk — though he'd never admit it.
> Why hasn't he come in yet?
> He's only five minutes late.
> That's not late.
Still…
Before Diablo could spiral into deeper thoughts, the glass doors of the lounge opened with a soft hiss.
Hakuro stepped in.
Impeccable as always — light gray suit, silver hair tied back loosely, eyes calm and far too knowing for Diablo's liking.
"You're early," Diablo said, not looking up from his papers.
"Don't sound too happy to see me," Hakuro replied, pouring himself a cup of tea from the buffet.
Diablo's eyes narrowed slightly. "You weren't invited."
"True. I just had a feeling."
He stirred his tea calmly.
"Is that what you're relying on now?" Diablo asked. "Feelings?"
Hakuro smiled. "I figured I'd match the energy in this room."
Diablo went quiet.
Hakuro took the seat across from him, sipping his tea.
"Still drinking coffee that looks like it came from a void," Hakuro said cheerfully. "Very on-brand."
Diablo didn't respond.
Hakuro leaned back, tilting his head slightly. "So. How's your assistant?"
There it was.
Diablo's eyes twitched. "Fine."
"Just fine?" Hakuro asked, one brow raised.
"He's doing his job," Diablo said. "Nothing more. Nothing less."
Hakuro sipped again. "Hmm."
Silence.
Then—
"You know, I heard from one of your receptionists that someone was seen smiling last night."
Diablo's jaw tightened just slightly. "You've been snooping again."
"Not snooping," Hakuro said smoothly. "Just… observing."
He placed his cup down gently.
"That assistant of yours," he continued, "is interesting. He doesn't flinch when you speak. He argues. He trips over furniture. He breathes too loud."
"Your point?"
Hakuro smiled. "You're still letting him live."
Diablo's eyes narrowed. "Barely."
"Barely is still not killing," Hakuro countered, eyes sharp now. "Which, for you, is basically affection."
Diablo turned back to his report. "If you came here just to be annoying, leave."
But Hakuro wasn't done.
"You know, I saw him this morning."
That made Diablo look up, just a little.
"He looked tired," Hakuro said. "And he smelled faintly of your cologne."
Diablo didn't answer.
Hakuro leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice lowering just slightly.
"You left him something, didn't you?"
Silence.
A small smile crept onto Hakuro's face. "You're changing."
"I'm not."
"You are," Hakuro said softly. "And you hate it."
Diablo said nothing.
His fingers curled around his coffee cup.
---
Meanwhile – 2:45 P.M., Clark's Desk
Clark blinked at his inbox, rubbing his temples.
Another message from Zara:
> ZARA: You okay? You look like you just saw your tax records.
> CLARK: Diablo gave me 28 folders and a death glare. So… average Thursday.
He sighed, then reached down to adjust his bag.
The polo was still inside.
He hadn't returned it.
Mostly because… how do you return something that wasn't really given?
Still, he caught himself glancing at Diablo's door. Again.
He was curious.
But also not suicidal.
So he stayed put.
---
Back in the Lounge – 3:00 P.M.
Hakuro stood up, straightening his blazer.
"Well," he said. "I'll leave you to your denial."
Diablo didn't reply.
As Hakuro walked toward the door, he paused — turning back one last time.
"Oh, and Diablo?"
Diablo looked up.
Hakuro's eyes were calm but piercing.
> "The more you try to suppress it, the faster it grows."
Then he left.
The door hissed closed behind him.
Diablo stared at it for a long moment.
Then turned back to his report.
Only this time, he wasn't reading at all.