Wayne fucking hated coffee, that much was clear.

He despised the drink, bitter, most often hot and always leave his tongue all dark and tasteless, pretty much ruining his whole mouth cavity, and it didn't even gave him that much energy anyway, so the only thing that made it somewhat helpful didn't fucking work.

But you, however, for some reason loved it.

You claimed that it keeps you awake, Wayne disagreed, but he never picked a fight over it, because you were always right, always.

Everytime he went out to run errands, you’d call him up, asking him to pick up a coffee for you from the diner you always went to. And although Wayne hated the god-forsaken drink, he always got them for you, because it was you, he wouldn't have done that shit for anyone else.

You didn’t know that he hated coffee though, and would sometimes say something along the lines of: “Why don't you get yourself a cup too?” When he's in the process of buying one for you, and Wayne, would actually get it. Just to experience the fleeting moment of having to sit down across from you, drinking the same drink as you and hearing you say: “Good right?” And him replying with a nod.

Sometimes the agreement wasn't even a lie, because you made everything taste good.

The opposite went for cigarettes, you hated smoking, claiming that the smell would suck the air out from your lungs everytime your nose pretty much as sense it, and with him being a smoker, hearing you say that made him quit.

Wayne rarely said anything affectionate, you both weren't sappy people, but it was clear that he would give up anything for you, keeping you happy, or at least a little satisfied was what gave him purpose.

“Coffee”—Said Wayne, as he placed the paper cup on the table in front of you, watching as your grumpy sleepy expression softened at the sight of the drink. “Need anything else?”—His voice was gruff, deep and thick as if he was annoyed, but he was truly asking if you needed him for anything else, because he would do it.