Work Text:
The shift was as long as they usually were, but it felt so much longer. Maybe since it was a Friday, everyone had decided to go out at once or something. Whatever the reason, it was bad news for Rody; he barely kept up with everyone on normal days. He got a new record for people who left without finishing their meal, and he hadn’t even taken a spare minute to bother Vince in the back like he usually did. In the last hour of his shift, he was frankly surprised to see Vince coming from the kitchen himself; for a moment, Rody thought he was definitely about to be fired, which would’ve sucked. Thankfully, instead of firing him, Vince made his way to the people waiting at the door and sat them—eventually taking their orders and helping Rody hand out others. It was a relief, even if they still struggled a little. But no one else left.
The moment the last customers were out of the bistro, Rody groaned and sank into a booth, resting his forehead against the wood. He had to clean the tables anyway, so what was some extra sweat? Everything felt dirty and hot. It didn’t help that it was summer.
From a few feet away, he heard Vince say, “Good work,” and when he turned, Rody noticed how he subtly braced himself against the window between the rooms. He wasn’t the only tired one, then—and Vince hadn’t even been there the whole time.
“So, raise?” It would be basic decency at this point. However, Vince just hummed in response, giving him a look before walking to the back. With a scowl leveled at the swinging kitchen doors, Rody stood to clean. After that, he could get out of there.
Because nothing in this job was easy, it took Rody two trips to empty the garbage; at one point, he’d just started piling up trash next to the can instead of taking the full bag out—which was efficient in the moment, but a pain in the ass afterwards. Throwing the last of it into the dumpster, Rody leaned over and put his hands on his knees. Near the door, Vince stood leaning against the wall outside. He hadn’t even bothered to help, instead just leisurely smoking his damn cigarette as he watched Rody. At Rody’s glare, he held his hand out as if offering the cigarette to him, and Rody rolled his eyes. He shrugged, and Rody walked to stand next to him. Resting his head back against the wall, he looked at the bright, cloudless sky. On normal days, it would be lovely, but today, Rody scowled up at it for its role in the hot, exhausting day. Then, he turned his eyes to Vince again—who was looking forward, seemingly at nothing in particular.
“You need another waiter,” Rody said.
“Are you quitting?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”
With another shrug, Vince flicked ashes onto the cement. “You survived, didn’t you?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He only barely did, he thought. If Vince hadn’t come, he might’ve thrown himself into a stove fire or ran into the middle of the street hysterically. Not that Rody would ever thank him for his help; it was his fault he’d been doing it alone in the first place. When Vince didn’t reply with anything but another hum, he groaned, “Vince.”
He caught how he rolled his eyes at him, which made his frown deepen. Asshole. “The ad is still out there,” Vince eventually replied.
“If you don’t give me a raise, I’ll quit.”
“You’re lying,” he glanced over at him. “You’re too desperate.”
Rody grumbled. It was true. Mostly. He did like working there for some reason, despite the shitty work conditions and tasteless food. What would he do without a weird boss to bother between customers? Vince had that careful middle ground between a lenient, chill manager that would eventually run the place to the ground with their poor business decisions, and the kind of bosses like he had that one time he tried janitorial work at an office building—that is to say, scary ones. Not that Vince wasn’t a little scary, but he grew less-so the more Rody bugged him. But, in the end, he did mostly stay because he didn’t know where else to go.
“Stop pouting,” Vince called out, his eyes narrowed at Rody. Sending a glare back, he twisted his mouth—even though he wasn’t pouting in the first place.
“Jerk,” He mumbled, looking at the sky again and sighing. For a long moment, they both stood there in comfortable silence. Then, Rody knocked their shoulders together, pressing his arm into Vince’s, which earned him another glance. It wasn’t as confused or apprehensive of a look as it would’ve been when Rody first started; recently, it started to become slightly less uncommon for them to make some sort of contact. Like it or not, Rody was naturally a bit of a physical contact type of person. At least when it came to the people he cared about. Begrudgingly, Vince had somehow become someone he kinda cared about or something. He didn’t like thinking about it too hard.
“You do fine,” Vince assured him, dropping his cigarette to the ground and snuffing it out under his shoe. “I can help you when you need it.”
“I’d like the help more often.”
“I’ll think about it.” When Rody tried to level his annoyed gaze at him, Vince stared back, eyes intense like they always seemed to be—well, that or blank, but not much outside of those two options. He told him, “You’re capable,” and the tone made Rody a little more warm in the heat.
“What?”
“If I didn’t think you could handle the job, you wouldn’t have it.” Even though it was a shitty food service job that most people could probably do, Rody did feel a bit of pride at the…praise? Reassurance?
“Thanks,” he mumbled out, “but that doesn’t change anything.”
Vince hummed, turning to face Rody more. His hand reached, strangely, towards him before it halted in place. Looking between Vince and his hand, Rody raised his eyebrows. As he brought it back to his chest to cross his arms, Vince said, “If you ask me to help you, I will.”
“Oh?” Rody gave him a suspicious once-over. At Vince’s firm nod, he pursed his lips. When Rody thought about it, he didn’t really need help most of the time. He didn’t want to force Vince to ignore his own job just for him—even if it often seemed like that job was just to stand there all day and smoke. It felt like Rody should be doing more to help Vince, then, instead of focusing on himself. Which was an absurd thought, because Vince was just his boss, and why did Rody need to worry so much about him suddenly? The question was rhetorical, because, again, he didn’t want to think any harder about why his brain started to shift like that.
“What?” Vince said then, disrupting the train of thought, and Rody blinked at the questioning look.
“Huh?” He returned.
Shaking his head a little, Vince shrugged and continued, “I’ll see what I can do. So don’t look like a kicked dog.”
With another scowl, Rody said, “I don’t.”
Then, he saw Vince’s hand raise again, drifting towards his face; his thumb pressed at the skin between Rody’s brows like he was trying to smooth out the furrow. “Stop it.” His voice was low as he sported slightly-furrowed brows of his own.
“Stop what?” Rody blinked at him, feeling his face relax a little.
“You wear your heart on your sleeve.” Dropping the hand a little—leaving it still hovering near Rody’s collarbone—Vince seemed to make his expression even more unreadable. Rody had heard something like that before. Almost everyone he got close to said something to that effect—basically saying he was too expressive or something. Too emotional, too intense. That’s how it felt at least. It was subconscious; he hadn’t even realized he was doing anything. He didn’t really get people like Vince, who were hard to read and harder to understand. He didn’t know how to close off his heart like they did.
“I know,” he said in lieu of articulating any of that.
“You look worse,” Vince remarked then.
Rody huffed a self-deprecating laugh. “Thanks.”
“No, I mean—“ Tilting his head, Vince gave a scowl of his own. There was a moment of hesitation before he asked, “Did I upset you?” The crease between his brows surely came back as Rody looked at him, confused.
“What?” When Vince shrugged, still focusing the same intense stare at him as he waited for an answer, Rody said, “No, it’s not like that.” Looking unconvinced, Vince dropped his hovering hand to rest it against Rody’s collar. He looked away and continued, “Don’t worry about me.”
“You’re easy to worry about.”
“Am I?” With a short, slightly-forced laugh, he put his hand over the back of his own neck. “Sorry…”
There was a hum in response, barely audible, and when Rody glanced over again, Vince’s face looked almost angry—somehow, Rody knew he wasn’t, but he couldn’t figure out what was there instead. Vince’s eyes flickered to his own hand and he withdrew from Rody’s space; Rody quickly caught it in the air.
“Are you okay, Vince?”
Instead of meeting Rody’s eyes, his stare was focused somewhere else. It was weird. Before Rody could ask again, though, he said, “Stop frowning.”
The corners of his lips did rise a little as he huffed. “Didn’t answer.”
With a nod, Vince said, “I’m fine.” Catching his gaze again, he returned, “Are you?”
For some reason, Rody felt more breathless under his focus then. “Yeah,” he nearly sighed, and as he gave a small nod of his own, he added, “I’m good.”
Vince mirrored him, and for a long moment, they were almost stuck in time there. Then, there was the smallest shift from Vince—a hesitant lean towards Rody—before he seemed to stop himself. Rody’s mind simultaneously went blank with white noise and also started spinning around with thoughts, and his impulsive fingers gently pulled at Vince’s, bringing his hand back to his collarbone without letting go. If he somehow pulled Vince himself closer with that, it wasn’t his fault. It also wasn’t his fault that the distance was closing completely, since it was definitely Vince who moved forward past the last bit of space until his lips pressed to Rody’s.
It was almost fearful in its softness, like Rody might push him away, and suddenly he wanted to grant him the peace of mind that he wouldn’t—even when his brain reminded him that, yeah, he probably should. With his free hand, Rody fit his fingers over the side of Vince’s head, thumb reaching his cheekbone. Pulling at him, he pressed firmly and felt the way Vince relaxed a little; reciprocating, he held the collar of Rody’s shirt like his own leverage. He seemed to match Rody, following his lead with some kind of conviction.
Then, when Rody pulled away, Vince matched that too, letting go and separating instantly. And for a good few seconds, they stood there in silence. Rody knew he should probably be doing something right now. Maybe grabbing his bike to leave and never return, maybe kissing him again, he had no idea, but he didn’t do anything. In the end, it was Vince who spoke first after what felt like an eternity.
“I’ll give you a raise.” Rody blinked while Vince nodded firmly to himself, not looking at him.
“Oh.” Then, “Because of…?”
Rolling his eyes, Vince crossed his arms again. “No. I was planning to.”
“Oh,” he repeated. He wanted to be happy about it—and he definitely was—but he felt a little too out-of-it at that exact moment to jump for joy. “That’s great.”
Scoffing an almost-laugh, Vince turned to the door back into the bistro. “Right.” If Rody wasn’t imagining things, there was a quirk at the corner of his mouth.
This wasn’t really the kinda thing they could talk about. Not really. It wasn’t the kind of thing Rody thought about either—in fact, a good portion of his school life was spent ignoring the thought of stuff like this. So, maybe it would stay that way. That was probably the best outcome.
Just in case he didn’t get the chance to after this moment, Rody put a hand on Vince’s shoulder to make him face him, and he kissed him again.
Vince might’ve had the same idea, because he kissed back with the same kind of impulsive determination that Rody gave, and it became harder to remember why Rody wouldn’t want to do this. He liked kissing Vince. He liked Vince. He still didn’t feel like thinking too hard about all of that right now.