The office was too quiet for a Friday morning. Zayn hated that. Silence in an IT firm did not mean peace but meant something was broken or about to be. He sipped his tea, eyes scanning the error logs on his screen. Another failed deployment. Another virus buried in someone else's code. Probably ignored.
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow over rows of desks and monitors. The hum of servers in the adjacent room was the only sound that felt honest.
"The new hire starts today," his manager shouts from the other side of the floor.
"Senior front-end developer. You'll be working together on the dashboard rebuild," the manager mentioned to Zayn.
Zayn had not cared about it. He always preferred working alone. He says people are messy and always mess up his coding.
The elevator dinged. He glanced up. There he was.
Tall, sharp jaw, blond and black mix of hair, a three-piece shirt, bulky. Eyes scanned the room like he was assessing threats. Zayn didn't like him instantly. Something about the way he walked. He was too confident, like a model and too calculated. Like he already owned the place.
"Zayn....ZAYN!", the manager called.
Zayn stood reluctantly.
"This is Owen. He'll be joining your team."
Owen extended his hand. "Nice to meet you."
Zayn shook it. Firm grip. Not smiling. "Sure."
They sat down at adjacent desks, monitors flickering to life. Owen unpacked his laptop, plugged into the network, and started typing like he'd been here for weeks. Zayn watched from the corner of his eye. No questions. No orientation. Just diving in.
"Did you get the repo access?" Zayn asked, not looking up.
"Already cloned it," Owen replied. "Just looking at the component structure again. It's hard."
Zayn's jaw tightened. "It's the basics. You'll get used to it."
"Basic much," Owen muttered.
Zayn turned to face him. "You got a problem with the code?"
Owen shrugged. "Just saying. It's not exactly intuitive."
"It wasn't built for intuition. It was built to work."
Owen smirked. "Guess we define 'working' differently."
Their manager walked by and noticed the tension. "You two are on the dashboard sprint. The deadline's tight. Let me know if you need anything."
Zayn didn't respond. Owen gave a polite nod.
The rest of the morning was quiet but not peaceful. They worked in parallel, occasionally clashing over some choices. Owen wanted animations and transitions. Zayn wanted speed and stability. Owen suggested a redesign. Zayn shut it down.
By noon, Zayn's patience was decreasing.
"You keep rewriting my backend calls," he said, standing behind Owen's chair.
"They're inefficient," Owen replied without turning. "I'm upgrading it."
"You're breaking the data flow."
"I'm fixing the user experience."
Zayn leaned in. "You're not here to fix anything. You're here to follow the structure."
Owen finally turned. "I'm here to make things better. Even if that means rewriting your crappy codings."
Zayn't fist clenched. He hadn't felt this kind of irritation in years. Not since the last time someone challenged his authority in the streets, not the office.
He walked away before he said something he couldn't take back.
Lunch was worse. They ended up at the same table in the breakroom, surrounded by other employees chatting about weekend plans and tech conferences. Zayn sat with his sandwich, and Owen with his salad, both sitting in silence.
"Were you always this territorial?" Owen asked out of the blue.
Zayn looked up at him. "Are you always this arrogant?"
Owen smiled. "Only when I'm right"
Zayn didn't respond. He stared at the wall-mounted TV, where muted news headlines scrolled across the screen. Another child missing. Another investigation stalled. The city was bleeding, and here he was, arguing over code with a stranger who didn't know when to shut up.
But something about Owen questioned him. The way he was moved. The way he observed. Like he was used to danger. Like he had seen things.
Zayn had seen things.
He returned to his desk, trying to focus. But Owen's presence was a constant distraction. Every keystroke, every comment, every unsolicited opinion grated on him.
By 4pm, they were in a meeting with the higher-up team. Owen dominated the conversation, pitching ideas Zayn had already dismissed. The others nodded, impressed. Zayn sat back, arms crossed, jaw tight.
After the meeting, he cornered Owen by the coffee machine.
"Like the spotlight, huh?"
"I like the results." Owen pouring his coffee slowly.
"You're not even a part of this team, you are in the training process."
Owen turned to face him and went closer to him. "Maybe, but while I'm here, I'm not going to pretend that a bad code is good just to make you in peace."
Zayn stepped closer. "You don't know what peace looks like."
"Neither do you." Owen's eyes narrowed.
They stared at each other, the brewing of coffee was the only sound between them.
Then Owen walked away.
Zayn stood there, fist clenched, heart pounding. He didn't know why this guy got under his skin so fast. Maybe because Owen reminded him of himself before the mask, before the gang, before the blood.
Or maybe because Owen was dangerous. Not in the office, somewhere else.
Zayn had seen men like him before. Calculated, controlled, fierce. Capable of violence. He didn't know Owen's story, but he could feel it. Like a vibration beneath the surface.
He returned to his desk, opened the coding, and tried to focus. But all he could think about was how Owen had looked at him.
Like he knew.
Like he saw something.
And Zayn didn't like being seen.