Jasper nodded slowly. “And what do you do with it?”
Bennett should have lied. He did lie. He just did it in a way that was technically true.
“I ignore it,” he said.
Jasper’s expression softened. “That sounds lonely.”
Bennett looked away. “It’s efficient.”
Jasper did not push. He let the silence exist, which was somehow worse than banter.
Outside, the wind battered the windows. Snow continued to fall, heavy and relentless.
Inside, the room felt too small.
“We should go get dinner before everything closes.”
Jasper nodded. “Sure.”
At the restaurant downstairs,options were limited, but the food was hot, and the tables were full of stranded travelers making the best of it. Bennett and Jasper sat across from each other at a small table near the window. Outside, snow continued its relentless fall, transforming the world into something unrecognizable.
Their knees brushed under the table, accidental at first, then less so when neither of them shifted away.
The server, a tired-looking woman in her fifties, took their orders with practiced efficiency. When she left, silence settled between them. Not uncomfortable, but weighted.
Jasper broke it. “Can I ask you something personal?”
Bennett’s guard went up automatically. “Depends on the question.”
“Why do you work so hard?” Jasper asked. “And I don’t mean the obvious answer about ambition or success. I mean, what are you trying to prove?”
Bennett’s jaw tightened. “That’s more than one question.”
“It’s the same question,” Jasper replied. “Just phrased differently.”
Bennett looked out the window, buying time. He could deflect. Make a joke. Change the subject.
Instead, he surprised himself by answering honestly.
“I’m trying to prove I’m necessary,” Bennett said. “That I can’t be replaced by someone more charming or more flexible or more… easy to work with.”
Jasper’s expression softened. “You think that’s how people see you? Replaceable?”
“I think that’s how the world works,” Bennett replied. “You’re valuable until you’re not.”
“That’s bleak,” Jasper said.
“It’s realistic,” Bennett countered.
Jasper leaned back in his chair, studying him. “You know what I think?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“I think you’re so busy trying to be indispensable that you forget to let people actually see you,” Jasper said. “The real you. Not the competent, controlled version you present.”
Bennett looked down at his hands. “Maybe the controlled version is the real me.”
“Maybe,” Jasper agreed. “But I don’t think so.”
