3:58 P.M. – Diablo's Office
The room was still. Dimly lit. Every sound echoed louder than it should have — the hum of the air vent, the slow tick of the wall clock, the subtle creak of Clark's shoes against the polished floor.
Clark stood in front of Diablo, tense, confused, frustrated.
He had locked the door.
Closed the blinds.
Asked him if he was dating someone.
And now just stood there — stiff, unreadable, cold on the surface… but something underneath that glare wasn't anger.
It was something else.
Clark's breath hitched.
He took a deep breath, then finally said it.
"Why do you care?"
Diablo's eyes flicked toward him. "What?"
Clark raised his chin, forcing his voice to stay steady. "About me and Hakuro. About gossip. About anything."
"You're my assistant," Diablo replied automatically.
Clark didn't back down. "No. Not buying it."
Diablo narrowed his eyes.
Clark stepped forward now, no longer scared, but… annoyed.
"You avoid eye contact. You protect me in meetings. You let me sleep here and pretended it never happened. You gave me your shirt—"
He paused. "Then acted like it meant nothing."
Diablo remained silent.
Clark took another breath. "You act cold, but when I'm not looking, you're… not."
His fists clenched slightly at his sides. "So tell me the truth. Just once."
His voice dropped to almost a whisper.
"Why do you care so much?"
Silence.
Diablo looked at him — fully now.
No mask.
No scowl.
Just a strange, unreadable tension in his eyes. Something tight and restrained. Something he didn't want Clark to see, but couldn't hide anymore.
He opened his mouth.
And for a moment—
Just a breath of a second—
His expression softened.
He looked at Clark the way no one ever had before.
Like he was seeing something fragile.
Important.
Like he wanted to say something real.
Then—
He stopped.
His gaze flicked away.
His mouth closed.
The tension returned.
"…It doesn't matter."
Clark's heart dropped. "What?"
Diablo turned his back. "Forget it."
Clark stepped forward again. "No. You were going to say something."
"It was irrelevant."
"Then why did you stop yourself?"
Diablo's voice was low now. Controlled. Too controlled.
"Because it's not something you need to know."
Clark stared at him. "Why not?"
"Because you're not ready," Diablo answered.
Clark felt like someone had punched the air out of his lungs.
He waited — hoping, praying for some kind of explanation.
But Diablo was done.
He turned toward the window, cold again, arms folded.
The silence wrapped around them like fog.
Clark stood there, still, heart pounding in his chest.
He didn't understand.
He didn't want to leave.
And yet—
He couldn't stay in that silence anymore.
He slowly turned toward the door.
---
4:07 P.M. – Outside the Office
The hallway lights were too bright.
Too ordinary.
Clark walked in a daze past his coworkers, ignoring Zara's wave, ignoring the curious glances, the subtle whispers.
His legs carried him back to his desk, but his mind was elsewhere.
> You're not ready.
> Forget it.
> It doesn't matter.
Then why did it feel like it mattered so much?
He sat down heavily in his chair, pressing his palm to his chest.
His heartbeat was loud.
Too loud.
His fingers curled near his collar, as if instinctively guarding his neck.
But there were no fangs this time.
No bite.
Just that look.
The one Diablo gave him before he almost said something real.
Clark stared at his screen.
Nothing made sense anymore.
And yet…
His heart beat harder in his chest.
> That wasn't just confusion back there, he thought, pressing his lips together.
> That was something else.
> That was something I've never seen in his eyes before.
He exhaled, long and slow.
> Is this… something more than fear now?
> Am I starting to feel… something for him?
His eyes widened slightly at the thought.
Then he covered his face with both hands and whispered—
"…Oh no."