Chapter Text
“There you are. Vincent, thank you for getting him.”
Mary’s pale skin folds around a pleasant, formal smile. The air, which was coiling around him like arms aiming to restrain, pulled away as Vincent took his leave.
“Are you feeling better, Rody?”
“Y-yeah. I, uh, was cleaning the W.C. It- I needed to clean it. S-sorry for being, uh, gone. I mean, absent for so long. It won’t- it won’t happen agai-”
“Rody, it’s… fine. Just- that’s not what I asked.”
Mary’s smile becomes slightly strained.
Rody’s collar starts to choke him again, so he tugs at it, not meeting his boss’s eyes.
“I-… I’m alright, thank you for asking.”
Mary nods, though it’s slow.
“That’s good to hear. Are you going to work now?”
“Yeah! Yeah, is there anything you need me to clean? Or, uh, arrange?”
“There are a few stains and the trash needs to be taken out. As for the arranging, Vincent has handled that quite well. Would you take note of the way he arranged the ingredients, cutlery, and whatnot? It’s quite organized, actually. Vincent is excellent at what he does.”
Rody just… nods. His eyes catch sight of the herbs in the kitchen arranged in, what he guesses, the frequency of usage. Salt, thyme, peppers…
Chefs prepare meals and ready their ovens. They don’t pause, Rody notices, as they reach for the items, already used to the ordonnance.
To Vincent.
His eyes look back at Mary. Marianne, Vincent called her.
Not his Marianne, though.
Rody moves for the supposedly full trash can, tying it, lifting it, holding it up until it’s discarded outside and behind the store. The wind meets Rody with a chilling trace along his spine. Something crunches under his worn shoe.
Freezing, Rody silently prays that it isn’t an insect.
Rody waits a moment, unwilling to face the possibility that it might be something like a small beetle or millipede staining the underside of his shoe.
…
It’s a cigarette butt. Rody exhales in relief, though the lithe fingers of the hush draft trace his bones still.
Clinging to the bitter, familiar kiss of the wind for mere seconds more, he pulls away.
The aroma of the kitchen pulls him in, as savory as he always recognizes it to be, despite the bitter flavour sticking to his tongue like bile.
…
The rest of the day goes by quickly.
It’s either that, or Rody can’t remember anything else as he reminisces on his couch.
Rody doesn’t think too hard on it, trying to convince himself he has a choice on that matter in the first place.
Staring at his roof absent-mindedly, watching the insects in the corner, or just… looking, he doesn’t think about much.
Not about the wind trying to get his attention with its loud, chilling wails, or the fact that rent is due soon.
Not about Vincent, or Mary, or Lex.
Not about Manon, even if he wants to.
Not about anything at all, really.
Rody likes nights like these, where nothing plagues his mind.
It’s calming, almost. If it’s something in the first place, that is.
Watching his vision blacken at the edges as sleep wraps her arms around him, as does the wind, now warm instead of vengeful, he pulls the knitted blanket over himself.
Rody closes his eyes.
He takes a breath.
Once, twice, thrice.
He’s asleep by the fourth.