Battling the loss you live for (Frerard)

Part two - wherein Mr Way is a dick but he makes damn good coffee

Chapter two - wherein Mr Way is a dick but he makes damn good coffee

A/N: I feel shitty and I'm losing my mind. Excuse the crappy writing.

Love my skittle babies.

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"Happy?" was Frank's first angry word as Mr Way opened his door.

"Relatively," Mr Way said dryly. "Finish my accounts tonight and I'll be all smiles."

Frank scowled. He hated the sarcastic sod. Frank didn't understand why his company had put him on this guy's case if he was late with his accounts. The bastard had no excuse.

Frank shoved past him and sat down at the table, pulling his pad and pen out of his bag.

He had no idea why this particular client always insisted that Frank came to his house to do his work. Granted, sometimes he did need to ask Mr Way questions that would be hard to answer down the phone, or make the man bring him all of his receipts for the past month, but sometimes it was just unnecessary, and Frank suspected he was asking him over just to irritate him.

Mr Way sat down on the other side of the table to Frank, and Frank flipped back to the page he had last reached with him. He began working, occasionally having to ask Mr Way questions, but for the most part, just sitting in the seemingly perpetual quietness adding and subtracting while Mr Way sat opposite and read his book. Frank silently bet with himself that it was some stupid book of straight romance filled with awful sex scenes.

But when Mr Way shifted in his seat, Frank was mildly disappointed to see that the book was Shakespeare's 'Hamlet'. Frank stared at the book. He wasn't sure whether to respect Mr Way more or just to hate him even further. By the looks of it, Mr Way was nearly at the end of the book, and in the early night, he had only just started. It had been hours.

Apparently slightly unnerved by being stared at by Frank, the man put the book down, stood up and silently slipped out of the room. He didn't return for about a minute, but when he did, he carried two cups of coffee.

'Greedy shit,' Frank thought. He wanted coffee. Jesus, he wanted a cup of coffee so much.

"Made you a coffee," Mr Way said quietly, and pushed the second mug across the table to Frank.

Frank stared at the coffee. "What?"

"I'm sorry I kept you here for hours. I'm sorry about your daughter. I made you a coffee."

Okay. Okay, maybe Mr Way wasn't so bad. All Frank's assumptions about him so far had been wrong. But he was still keeping Frank at his house late into the night when it was rather obvious that all Frank wanted was to go home and go to sleep.

Mr Way was an odd case. He had been late on his accounts even before he called up Frank's company. Frank had been shoved on the job because they thought he could do it quickly. He was fucking annoyed about that. Mr Way was late, and he had no good reason. He deserved to go to jail, really. Frank had no clue why the company even agreed to take him in as a client if he was late. There were only so many reasons that would be counted as legitimate to have not done your accounts at this time of year.

Mr Way looked at Frank expectantly. Frank was still just staring at the coffee. He blinked, then curled his fingers around the handle of the mug, slowly lifted up the coffee and cautiously sniffed it. Not detecting any form of poison or drug, he took a sip.

It was nice.

Frank nodded and smiled slightly. "Thank you."

Mr Way smiled back. "You're welcome."