Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The air was warm and carried the scent of fresh flowers that fine afternoon in Paris. The threat of rain hung overhead, but it wasn’t predicted to rain until later that evening. The crowds kept the street filled with a soft murmur of conversations. An adult child helping their elderly parents carry their groceries home. A busker playing a violin for tips from tourists and passersby alike. Even a young couple whispering about their upcoming date night could be heard.

All that noise did little to drown out the thoughts of one young lady. Walking down the street with her eyes downcast and a slight hesitancy in her step was the daughter of two of Paris’ most exacting food critics. Marianne Vacher, known to her loved ones as Manon, was not feeling the bright mood of the people around her.

See, the issue was that she had recently ended her relationship with her boyfriend Rody Lamoree. He was a great guy, don’t get her wrong! He was as devoted to her as a dog was to their owner and he was quite handsome. Not to mention that bright smile of his…

But there was something far more pressing that pushed Manon into ending her relationship. Rody was…well he wasn’t anywhere near ready to have a girlfriend. He treated her well, mind you! She often felt like a princess at times given how much attention he lavished onto her. But therein lies the problem.

Rody worked himself to the bone and had given up a lot of his dreams and aspirations. Any time he seemed to be getting ahead in life he just simply threw it all away. All because he wanted to make Manon happy. So, he’d work menial jobs for a pittance and skip out on meals at times just so he could buy her some little trinket that had caught her eye. The interests he used to blather on and on about were thrown to the wayside in favor of whatever Manon was interested in.

While Manon couldn’t doubt that Rody’s heart was in the right place when he did those things, she also couldn’t stand what doing those things meant. The way he often worked himself into the ground until he somehow managed to drag himself into a more workable condition. The way he opted to scarf down unhealthy fast food instead of taking the time to cook something more nutritious at home. Although given the burn marks on his ceiling from the time he tried to make her popcorn for their at-home movie date, she couldn’t entirely blame him for avoiding the kitchen.

He lived in a run-down apartment that was notorious for being behind on getting maintenance work done, all so he could scrimp and save just to make sure he had a shoestring budget for himself, and he had plenty to use to take care of her. Well, Manon couldn’t take that anymore.

It felt wrong and cruel to just end things with Rody. She still couldn’t get the image out of her mind of his eyes getting dull while filling with tears and the hysterical tone in his voice as he begged her to stay. The way he got onto his knees and literally begged her as though she was the only reason he got up in the morning. The only reason he breathed and did everything that he did. That everything was for her…

Manon knew that was likely true and she knew that was how Rody felt but…She couldn’t in good conscience stand there and watch the one she loved so dearly deteriorate before her eyes. He deserved a better life than that and Manon wasn’t sure how else to get him to see that than to simply not be a part of it. For now, anyways. She would give him some time and a little space to grow up.

Maybe if he made some changes, she would take him back but…She wouldn’t string him along or get his hopes up too high. Rody needed to change because he wanted to change, not because he wanted to take her out to dinner. So, she ignored his phone calls that he thought would win her back over. She didn’t send him a thank you letter when he dropped off flowers at her doorstep to celebrate her first article being picked up by a magazine. She didn’t write letters to him that she knew he’d reply to with all the love he could muster into his pen…

It hurt to see him hurting so much. It hurt to see him when he worked those shifts at La Gueule de Saturne and how his face lit up when he expected to see her at the door only to deflate when he saw that it was just another usual customer. It hurt to hear him talking to his boss as they closed up the restaurant. How Rody had begged for just a small raise so he could take Manon out on the town in the style that she deserved. The sheer desperation in his voice to make things right in the only way he knew how...

‘What ever am I to do? He’s not getting any better and…,’ Manon paused when she found herself in front of a shop she didn’t recognize.

The shop was called Le Vin de Circé and it looked quite tidy out front. Over the top of the cherrywood door was a light blue awning. The windows were made of the same cherrywood as the door and complimented the wrought iron tables and chairs outside of the shop. The tables had umbrellas over top the same shade of blue as the awning. Even the walls of the shop’s exterior complimented the whole thing with its combination of stone and cream-colored siding.

Within the shop’s display window was a delectable variety of desserts. There were macrons in every color Manon could think of and then some. Rich looking mille-feuilles layered with heavenly looking cream and chocolate. Even the cakes looked tempting with their garnishes of fresh fruits and piped icing. And was that a croquembouche in the-

“See something you like, dear?” A woman’s voice caught Manon’s attention.

She turned to see a middle-aged woman standing in the doorway of the shop. She wore a light blue dress that came to her ankles and a white apron over top of it. Her brown and gray hair was tied back into a neat bun that was covered by a white scarf that was dotted with embroidered flowers. Given the jam stain on her apron, or at least Manon hoped that it was a jam stain, this woman must work at the shop if not own it.

“O-oh! Forgive me madam. I was just lost in thought,” Manon smiled politely after realizing that she had been staring a bit at the woman.

The woman walked forward and took Manon’s hands into her own, “You needn’t apologize mademoiselle. Come, tell Auntie Madeleine all about your troubles.”

“I-if you insist,” Manon replied with a slightly anxious smile.

“And I do. Come, come. I have some coffee in the back and I’m sure that my helpers could mind the shop for me while we talk,” Madeleine replied as she led Manon into the shop.

The inside of the shop was decorated much like Manon had expected. Little tables with delicate tablecloths over top and vases of fresh flowers on top of each table. The walls were lined with photographs of desserts and flowers. The walls were also papered with a delicate fleur-de-lis pattern in that same white and blue color scheme Madeleine had picked for her shop's exterior. It gave the shop the grandmother’s kitchen type of vibe that allowed the customer to feel welcomed and at home before they shelled out their cash for whatever baked treat caught their eye.

“Tristan! Isolde! I have a guest, so watch the shop for me,” Madeleine called as she led Manon towards the back.

The man at the counter, Tristan, gave a lazy wave as he returned his attention to the magazine in his hands. His bright eyes, a color that was a brown with a bit of a purplish-reddish tone to it, was two shades lighter than his mop of hair. His rich tan looked especially nice against the blue uniform he was wearing. The woman, Isolde, snatched the magazine from his hands and rolled it up before smacking Tristan on the head with it. Her bright silver eyes contrasted sharply against her deep black hair. Despite her petite stature, it looked like she could pack a hell of a smack with that magazine.

“Yes Madame Olivier! We will make sure that all customers that come in are tended to and that the shop is clean,” Isolde replied as she made Tristan stand up.

Tristan bowed to Madeleine, “If I may be excused to tend to the trash in the back.”

Isolde rolled her eyes as Madeleine waved a hand, “By all means dear, but please come back on time. I may have another job for the two of you.”

Before Manon could ask what sort of job Madeleine was talking about, she was led to the back area of the shop. She passed by the kitchen, which smelled heavily of vanilla and baking spices. Maybe Manon would bake something when she got home. Baking always set her mind at ease…

Chapter Text

“Now, what brought you over here dear?” Madeleine asked as she poured hot coffee into a delicate cup for Manon. Much like the rest of the shop, the cup and saucer were also decorated with some sort of floral pattern.

The older woman placed it before Manon before pouring herself a cup. Manon stared at the coffee as she fixed it to her taste preferences.

“W-well…I was thinking about someone,” Manon replied as she accepted a napkin from Madeleine to rest her spoon on.

Madeleine smiled after taking a sip of her coffee, “A someone? A monsieur, perhaps?”

Manon’s cheeks flushed as she took a sip of her coffee to avoid speaking. Was it that obvious?

Madeleine laughed as she set down her own cup of coffee, “Ah, it is a monsieur! Is this monsieur someone we are in love with?”

“W-well yes but-” Manon sighed as she set her cup of coffee down. “I…I had to break up with him.”

Madeleine’s eyes widened slightly before her mask of loving grandmother returned to her face. She gently took Manon’s hands between her own.

“Did the monsieur cheat on you dear?” Madeleine asked with a slight edge to her voice. “I can always ask Tristan to teach him a lesson on your behalf.”

“N-no!” Manon shrieked. She shook her head and felt startled by the volume of her voice. If it were any other man than Rody that might have been a possibility but…Not him. He was too devoted to allow another woman to enter his mind in that way.

Manon took a calming breath in the awkward silence. Madeleine didn’t seem bothered by Manon’s outburst but instead eyed her up with an interested look. Similar to how a wolf eyes up a choice lamb in a flock.

“N-no…Rody would never! He…I just had to break up with him he…I couldn’t stand seeing what he was doing to himself…” Manon replied after she finally found her voice.

Madeleine shifted her hold to offer Manon one of the tasty looking butter biscuits on the table. Manon accepted with an apologetic smile as she bit into the delectable treat. It practically melted in her mouth. It was so buttery!

Madeleine tented her fingers as she watched Manon, “Doing to himself? What do you mean dear?”

Manon sighed as she set down her tasty treat, “W-well. He…he isn’t taking good care of himself. He takes good care of me but…”

“But he doesn’t show the same level of care for himself, is that correct?” Madeleine asked before she took another sip of her coffee.

Manon nodded as she moved her hands to her lap and scrunched up part of her skirt between her hands. She felt tears come to her eyes at the thought of Rody. How tired he’s been looking. How he worked himself too hard and how he gave and gave and gave until…

A soft tap on her shoulder drew Manon’s attention. She looked over to see Isolde holding out a handkerchief to her. It was lacy and pink with a little brown bear on the corner. Manon accepted it with a watery smile.

“M-merci*.”

“De rien*,” Isolde replied as she awkwardly patted Manon’s back. “Men are nothing but trouble and they aren’t worth your tears.”

Manon shook her head, “I can’t say I fully agree. Rody is worth it.”

Madeleine leaned forward as she watched the two interact, “This monsieur Rody, how much do you love him?”

Manon returned her gaze to the woman before her. The question threw her off guard. How much did she love Rody? Why would she even ask such a thing? She broke up with Rody because she couldn’t stand to see someone she loved so dearly kill himself through overworking!

“I love him very dearly-” Manon was cut off by a soft click of Isolde’s tongue.

Madeleine sent the younger woman a sharp look that had Isolde pouting and crossing her arms. The older woman then took Manon’s hands once more.

“That much is clear dear, but how much do you love him? What would you do if you were given the chance to help him see himself as worthy of the things you see him as worthy of?” Madeleine asked as she gave Manon’s hands a gentle squeeze.

Manon looked up to the woman, “I’d give anything I could. I-I tried talking to him. I tried giving him ultimatums, the cold shoulder, everything! But…nothing worked so…”

Madeleine laughed softly, “Not everything mademoiselle.”

Manon furrowed her brows, “What do you mean?”

Madeleine gestured to the shelf behind her, “There may be a way to help monsieur Rody become the man you want him to be…for a price.”

Manon looked at the shelf closely, or well as closely as she could from across the room. Lining the shelf was a plethora of bottles and jars containing various liquids and creams and-

Manon’s stomach dropped as a cold feeling started to settle in her chest. Her face paled as thoughts started coming to her mind.

“Y-you’re talking about sorcellerie*…” Manon’s voice sounded distant to her. As though she was a mere observer to what her body was doing and saying. What was this strange feeling?

Madeleine stood as she released her hold on Manon’s hands and walked over to the shelf. She plucked up a jar and looked at it lovingly before turning to face the two younger women in the room.

“Why yes, sorcellerie. That’s my specialty here. With a gentle nudge, that monsieur Rody will be the man of your dreams,” Madeleine made a slight shoving movement as she spoke to emphasize her point.

Manon looked at her lap as thoughts started swirling in her mind. Rody, working as hard as ever, before someone waves a magic wand and he disappears in a puff of smoke only to leave a frog behind. Or him being captured and tossed into a large cauldron to be turned into some sort of potion or-

Isolde put her hand on Manon’s shoulder before she spoke, “Relax. We aren’t going to hurt the plouc*. Just give him the kick he needs to go in the right direction.”

“S-shouldn’t that motivation to change come from within?” Manon answered as she gripped the handkerchief tightly. “If it’s forced onto him, he won’t be able to-”

Madeleine laughed softly once more, drawing attention back to her. She set the jar back down onto the shelf before pulling out a book instead. She flipped to a page near the middle before speaking once more.

“Force? No, no, no mademoiselle! We will merely train him so that he learns whatever it is you need him to,” Madeleine walked forward to place the book onto the table.

The pages shown depicted two imps poking a person with pitchforks as the person on the page danced. On the other page was a list of what must have been ingredients or an incantation. Manon couldn’t quite make out the language that the book was written in. Clearly it didn’t come from the same family as French…

Manon looked at the page, imagining Rody as the person being pierced like some finely cooked steak before tearing her eyes away. She looked up at Madeleine after what felt like an eternity.

“It won’t hurt him…right?” Manon’s hesitancy only made Madeleine smile and Isolde huff.

Isolde accepted her handkerchief back from Manon. She then huffed out, “Only if he’s an idiot.”

Manon looked down and trembled. Sure, she knew Rody was a former prodigy student. He had gotten into university on a scholarship for heaven’s sake! But he also had thrown that opportunity away as well…

Madeleine patted Manon’s head, drawing the young woman’s attention once more. The matronly smile made Manon relax slightly.

“You have my word that monsieur Rody won’t have any lasting damage done to him. I can’t guarantee that he won’t face trials, or punishment should he prove to be stubborn but…What else do you have to lose dear? Why not at least try?” Madeleine’s voice was so calm and motherly that Manon allowed herself to let go of her worries. Rody would be fine! They promised that he would be fine! And if by the end of this Rody wound up becoming the man she knew he could be…Maybe a little pain would be okay…

Chapter Text

After paying for her refreshments and her “service package”, Manon was sent away with a boxed-up slice of cake. It looked incredibly delicious going into the box, but she knew that was part of the charm of it. It had to look extra scrumptious for Rody to eat it without questioning what was in it. Granted it was being given by Manon, so he’d likely eat it without a second thought regardless. Which while comforting in this context was also disturbing because of what else that would imply.

The layers of cream held some sort of magic to them that would get Rody on track to becoming a more responsible adult. One that could balance work, his goals and his relationship without running himself into the ground.

Manon felt guilty about essentially drugging her ex-boyfriend…but it was for his own good! He would wind up dead if she didn’t take action now and…Manon didn’t know if she could survive seeing him buried during the prime of his life…

Manon had written a letter instructing Rody to eat every last crumb, every last lick of cream and savor it. A letter that told him how much she loved him but wanted him to do better for himself. That he had to take better care of himself and to stop putting others first at the expense of his own hopes and dreams.

Those instructions were part of the charm that in combination with the magic cake would hopefully help Rody become the man Manon knew he was capable of being. She loved his general puppy energy but…He did have quite a bit of growing up to do still and Manon wanted to marry a man not a toddler she had to clean up after.

Manon walked into the apartment building and up the creaky steps to Rody’s apartment. She knew that he was at work this hour and had even peeked at the lunch rush at the restaurant to make sure of it. She was sure that the head chef Vincent Charbonneau had spotted her spying on Rody but…the man didn’t confront her. He may have given her an odd look, but nothing suggested that he held any malice towards her. Nor did he do anything to confront her about watching Rody work.

Thankfully the auburn-haired man hadn’t spotted her. Otherwise, her plan wouldn’t work.

She stood before his door and found the key he kept hidden behind the ugly potted plant in the hallway, just as he had done when they were dating. Manon idly thought she’d scribble down a reminder for him to pick a more discreet hiding place for his spare key but opted to instead focus on her mission. There would be plenty of time later to work on his lack of concern for his own safety.

She shoved the key into the lock and pushed the door open before flicking on the light. It was just about what Manon had expected but not nearly as bad as she thought.

There were dishes piled up in the sink and the stovetop had scorch marks on it. She tested the stove and found that only one burner was working properly. Inside the fridge was a six-pack of beer, two eggs and half a wedge of cheese. The pantry was just as bare, containing only some salt and pepper, a quarter of a bag of flour, a box of hot cereal and a little shaker of paprika.

‘Rody, just what are you feeding yourself?’ Manon thought as she closed the door to the cupboard. Maybe she should also leave him a grocery list to at least help push him in the right direction.

‘No, no. Rody has to do it himself,’ Manon reminded herself as she fished out the last clean fork from his cutlery drawer. She set the cake, fork and letter onto the table where she knew he would find it.

Manon glanced at the piled-up laundry and could smell a dampness in the air that came with leaks that hadn’t been tended to. A part of her had wondered if she had dodged a bullet by breaking up with Rody but she shook her head. No. She was going to see to it that he changed for the better!

She readjusted the pillow on his couch and took a moment to spritz it with the perfume she kept in her purse. She also made sure to fold the blanket that had been tossed onto the ground and give that a spritz as well. Manon had been told that by getting Rody to think of her while he ate that the magic would be stronger and wouldn’t take as much of a toll on him.

A part of her had wondered if Madeleine was lying to her but Manon had already paid a pretty penny to the woman. Even if it turned out that she had only given Rody some overpriced cake, maybe that gesture of kindness would be enough to get him off his ass and back on track to reaching his goals.

She took one last look at the apartment and bit her lower lip. Manon could remember the last time she was here. How Rody had tried to make her popcorn for their movie date only to burn half of it. He insisted on taking the burnt portion to make up for her taking action to put the fire out. Her cheeks still got warm any time she thought about how he had held her close that night and spoke about his intentions to start a family someday.

‘With luck Rody, you’ll make that dream come true,’ Manon thought as she lifted the envelope with her letter inside to leave a kiss on the front of it. She set it back down beside the boxed cake and made her way out of the apartment.

Tempting though it was to try and help him clean up, Manon knew that Rody had to learn to do it himself without being prompted. That was part of the conditions Manon had set when the spell was being created. Only when Rody met all of the requirements would he be fully freed and hopefully then he’d still be in love with Manon. Then the two of them could finally have their happily ever after!

Manon shut off the light and locked the door behind her before putting the spare key back in its hiding place. Maybe soon she’d hear from Rody or see the fruits of her labor. But until then she’d leave it in the hands of fate to see if he’d actually learn or if the effort would only prove to be fruitless.

Chapter Text

Rody was practically dragging his feet as he walked his bike back up to his apartment. Today’s shift at La Guele de Saturne felt extra-long for some reason. The customers felt extra impatient, and it felt like the dishes couldn’t come out quick enough. He was lucky to avoid having a dead plate tonight but…that just meant that he didn’t have a dinner to look forward to.

He didn’t trust the leftovers that Vince had given him, so Rody had tossed them when he got close to the apartment building. Something about those meals just left him feeling sluggish and unsatisfied. Technically they were perfect but…there was always something missing. Something about them that at times made his stomach feel heavier and his chest feel a little hollow.

Rody shoved his key into the lock on his apartment door and pushed it open before turning on the light. He noticed something had been placed on the table next to his phone and quickly put his bike to the side before shutting his door.

He sniffed the air, and his heart started to beat a little faster. Was that-

“Manon,” Rody whispered as he picked up the envelope on his table. A silly grin grew on his lips as he noticed her handwriting and the kiss mark next to his name. He pressed his lips to the kiss mark and all the memories he had of kissing her started to come to mind.

He sat down on the couch and inhaled the scent of her perfume deeply before he carefully opened the letter and pulled it out of the envelope. A part of him felt embarrassed that Manon had seen his apartment in this state. Normally he had time to prepare for her visits and would clean his apartment until it practically shone. But to see it in its current, sloven state? His face started to feel uncomfortably warm like it did when his mother used to chew him out for tracking mud in the kitchen or letting Brie onto the couch…

Rody flicked the letter open and read it quickly, tracing the side of the paper with a finger as he imagined Manon writing the letter.

‘Dear Rody,

It wasn’t easy to say, but I stand behind my decision to end things with you. You haven’t been taking good care of yourself, and I need to know that you won’t drop dead without me around.

So, I will give you one last chance. If you can prove to me that you can keep a clean house, cook for yourself, care for yourself and both set and reach goals for yourself (and only for yourself, not just to be able to please me), I will gladly take you back.

But if you can’t accomplish these tasks then you will not have my hand back in yours anymore. This is your final chance Rody, so please don’t squander it.

Enjoy your cake. I picked it special for you so please enjoy every last crumb and bit of cream. I hope that the next time we meet we can pick up where we left off.

Adieu-Manon XOXO’

Rody hugged the letter to his chest. Manon had written him a letter! But…

He pulled the paper away to read it over once more as a guilty feeling sunk into his stomach. So that was it, huh. Manon had given him another ultimatum…Her last ultimatum.

Rody shook his head, ‘Don’t let her down this time stupid! She’s nice enough to even do this much for you!’

Rody reread the bottom part of the letter before setting it aside to pull the boxed slice of cake to him. He pulled the ribbon and allowed the sides of the box to fall away to reveal the cake in question.

His stomach growled at the sight of it. It was a soft sponge cake with a creamy filling and icing that smelled heavily of vanilla. There were bits of strawberry, blueberry, cherry and peach layered between the cake and cream. On top were even more pieces of strawberry, blueberry, cherry and peach with a drizzle of vanilla sauce on top. Clearly Manon spent good money on a delectable little morsel like this!

Rody picked up the box and scooped himself a forkful of the cake, “I promise Manon, that I’ll repay you for this cake.”

He shoved the bite into his mouth and moaned softly. The cream, despite the heavy vanilla scent, was a perfect balance of creamy texture to sugar and vanilla flavors. It cut the sharpness of the fresh fruit and made the cake that much more tender. Rody closed his eyes as he thought of Manon. How she went to a fancy bakery just for him. Selected this heavenly treat just for him. All to surprise him and give him one last chance!

Rody popped another bite into his mouth, shuddering slightly as a warmth grew on his cheeks. She still loved him! She had to! Why else would she do something so kind? Something that wouldn’t be done for a mere ex-boyfriend.

Rody licked the cream from the side of his mouth before taking another forkful. While cake for dinner wasn’t the best idea, it was definitely much nicer than the leftovers Vince had been giving him. This cake was full of love and well…it wasn’t bitter like Vince’s cooking.

As Rody ate, he thought hard about Manon’s words. How she wanted him to do better and be able to take care of himself without her around. How she wanted him to live someplace clean and to work on goals that meant something to him…

‘But she means the world to me! Why wouldn’t I work towards making her happy?’ Rody thought as he speared a tantalizing piece of peach and munched on it. The juice reminded him of that delicious drink Manon liked.

But he had to admit that maybe Manon had a point. He did need to keep a tidier space if only to keep himself from stressing so much when he had her over. No point in worrying over having to deep clean everything when there wasn’t anything to deep clean, right? And maybe he wouldn’t have to worry so much about date nights with Manon when all the best restaurants are fully booked if he knew how to make a meal without burning something.

Rody scraped a bit of cream from the side of the box and licked it off of the fork. He wasn’t quite sure where to begin to work on the laundry list of things Manon expected of him. It was a pretty extensive list that had their own little laundry list of things that had to be done to accomplish them. There was a part of him that told him that it was way too much work and that he’d just have to move onto another woman. One who had more patience for him but…

Rody took another bite of cake, chewing as he thought more deeply. How many failed relationships did he have under his belt now? His cheeks burned in shame as he looked over at the guitar next to the couch. The very same guitar that Rody’s father had used to propose to Rody’s mother. The same guitar that had been passed down with the hope that Rody would be able to do the same…

Rody swallowed the bite of cake thickly and set it aside before standing up to fetch himself a beer from the fridge. He pulled out a can and popped it open before shutting the fridge door. Maybe at some point this week he’d get something else to keep in the fridge but…that would just cut into the amount he could save to take Manon someplace nice and-

Rody swallowed a mouthful of beer thickly and licked off more cream from around his mouth. He looked down at the cake as the gears kept turning in his pretty head.

This is likely what Manon was talking about, wasn’t it. How Rody was willing to do without so much just to lavish it on someone who felt uncomfortable with it. Rody knew that if the roles were reversed that he’d beg Manon to take better care of herself. That she needn’t work so hard for his sake and that-

Rody swallowed another mouthful of beer before he sank back onto the couch. He hiccuped slightly before resuming his makeshift dinner. There was no point in ruminating on the what-ifs now. He had one last chance and he couldn’t afford to blow it. Not now. Not after everything he had sacrificed to get as far as he had which…really wasn’t much now that he sat down and thought about it but-

Rody munched on some of the berries from the cake to distract himself. He could deal with the heavy thinking later. It was getting late and he still needed to try and get some semblance of sleep before he went into work tomorrow.

Maybe tomorrow he’d ask Vince again for a raise. If only to afford some groceries to try and make a dent in that list of things Manon had wanted him to do. Maybe his boss would even be nice enough to teach him how to…Actually, maybe Rody shouldn’t ask his boss to teach him how to cook.

Unlike Vince, Rody had perfectly functioning taste buds and an aversion to bitter tastes. Rody didn’t want to be serving his lady love something bitter when she deserved much better than that.

Rody wound up licking his makeshift plate clean as well as the fork, savoring every last little crumb and dollop of cream as per Manon’s instructions. He licked his lips and made sure that his face was clean before he got changed into something more comfortable to sleep in. Tomorrow morning he’d get started on that list but for tonight…He just needed rest.

Rody was out like a light before his head fully hit the pillow. His stomach felt fuller than usual and the smell of Manon’s perfume filled his head with warmer thoughts than usual. The last thought he had before falling asleep was the hope that he wouldn’t have another one of those horrid nightmares again.

Chapter Text

“Well, well, well. This is the monsieur that made the little mademoiselle cry, huh? I was expecting someone more…impressive,” a voice purred as Rody’s eyes started to adjust to the darkness around him.

He was seated at a table and dressed in his waiter uniform. The table was covered in a white tablecloth but there was no setting in front of him. He was tied to the chair and his mouth wasn’t covered. His legs were also left free but given the awkward angle of the chair he knew that there was no point in trying to stand up or run.

“H-hello? Who’s there?” Rody called as he looked around the darkened room. It was like he was in the restaurant overnight…”C-can someone untie me please?!”

A woman’s voice replied as he felt a hand grip his shoulder, “So the plouc wants to be untied, hm? What have you done to earn such a reward?”

Rody looked up and swallowed thickly as a hot red stained his cheeks. Standing beside him was a petite woman with long, black hair and bright silver eyes. She was dressed in a bodysuit that showed off tantalizing bits of skin. The woman noticed Rody’s blush and slapped him.

“Keep your eyes off of me you pig!” The woman hissed as she turned away from him.

Rody’s cheek stung, and he returned his gaze to the table, “S-sorry!”

The woman growled lowly, “You should be sorry! I don’t know what that woman sees in you.”

Rody was about to ask if the mystery woman was referring to Manon when he felt a hand on his other shoulder. He hesitantly looked up to meet the magenta eyes of a man. The man had a richer tan than Rody and had hair that was two shades darker than his eyes. Rody’s face burned once more when he noticed that the man was wearing only pants and not a shirt.

“Like what you see, mon ami*?” The man teased as he cupped under Rody’s chin and gave it a soft squeeze.

Rody averted his gaze once more, “I-I just! Wh-why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

The man chuckled as he ruffled Rody’s hair, earning him a sharp glare from the auburn-haired man.

“Relaaaax. We’re just here to discuss a little…business with you,” the man continued as he reached down to pinch Rody’s cheeks. Rody attempted to bite the man’s hands but was met by the woman sharply tugging Rody’s hair and making him yelp.

“Keep those nasty teeth to yourself unless you want to lose them you worm,” the woman hissed once more as she twisted her hold on Rody’s hair and made him yowl in pain.

Rody felt his hair slip from the woman’s grip as tears came to his eyes. He spat out, “Wh-what do you want with me?! Why am I here?!”

The man sat on the table and tilted Rody’s chin upward. He cooed softly at the waiter in his hold, “Don’t you know? Your girlfriend sold us your soul in exchange for making you a better man~”

Rody’s face paled slightly as his eyes widened. He inhaled sharply and tried to say something. Anything! But…He opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out. Tears came to his eyes once more. Manon had sold his soul?! What?! No, no, no, no…This had to be a nightmare! This wasn’t real! This-

The woman yanked on Rody’s hair once more and made him yelp. She smirked before letting go of his hair once more.

“That’s right,” the woman cooed as the tears finally spilled over Rody’s cheeks to splat against the table beneath him and into his lap. The woman caught a tear with her finger before licking it off. “You’re our little plaything now~”

Rody shuddered as he strained against his restraints. He squirmed as the two other occupants in the room laughed at his struggling. He kept trying to push and pull and contort himself before another sharp tug on his hair made him stop.

Rody sobbed softly, “B-but I never…How?”

The man softly smoothed Rody’s hair as he shushed Rody, “Hush now. You agreed when you every so diligently devoured that treat your girlfriend left for you. You had every opportunity to throw it away, but you didn’t. You glutted yourself like a greedy pig, so now we get to reap the rewards.”

Rody shivered as he was petted like the man’s beloved pet. Manon. He had to think of Manon. Of how much he loved her. How much she-

The woman sniffed angrily, “Trust me you pathetic whelp, we don’t like this arrangement either. So, if you want this to go smoothly, you better listen to us and do exactly what we say.”

Rody opened his eyes once more and kept his gaze on the man as he spoke, “B-but what am I supposed to do? I-I don’t even know what the deal is?!”

The woman waited for the man to get off of the table before she grabbed the back of Rody’s head and slammed his face onto the table. She grinded his face against the tablecloth as she hissed, “You best make eye contact with whomever you’re speaking to, whelp.”

“B-but you slapped me last time!” Rody replied, his voice muffled by his cheeks being smushed against the table.

The man laughed darkly as he eased the woman’s hand away before lifting Rody’s face from the table and setting him back into a more comfortable position. Rody could feel blood running down his face from where his head hit the table. The heavy smell of iron made him feel ill.

The man snapped his fingers, and a golden set of scales had appeared on the table. Another snap and a tiny version of Rody and Manon had also appeared on the table. The man lifted each miniature person onto the scales before speaking to Rody.

“See this scale?” The man asked and waited until Rody nodded before continuing. “This scale represents just how much importance you place on yourself and how much you place on your lady love.”

The side of the scale the miniature Manon was on had a plethora of little hearts added to it that tipped her side of the scale downwards sharply. A part of Rody panged at seeing the miniature Manon wince when her part of the scale hit against the table.

The miniature Rody’s end of the scale rose upwards sharply and launched the tiny version of the waiter off of the scale. Rody inhaled sharply before the mini version of himself was deftly caught by the man.

“As you can see, you place all of your importance onto Manon and none of it onto yourself,” the man explained as he pet the mini Rody’s hair with a finger. The tiny version of the waiter looked startled, but thankful to be safe from being launched once more.

Rody gulped as the man continued and snatched a few of the hearts from the mini Manon’s side of the scale and set those and the mini Rody back onto the other side of the scale. Soon the scale tipped and both the mini versions of Manon and Rody held on until the scale fully balanced.

The man smirked as he looked at Rody, “Our job is to make this happen. To give you balance in your life so that in the end this will happen.”

He snapped his fingers, and a little bridge formed between the two platforms. The mini Manon and mini Rody ran across the bridge to meet in the middle. They both held hands and smooched with little love hearts popping up beside them.

Rody smiled softly. Oh, how he wanted to be able to kiss his sweet Manon again!

The man snapped his fingers and the scales, hearts and mini versions of Rody and Manon disappeared. The only thing left behind was the table and the growing bloodstain from Rody’s head injury.

The woman scoffed as she entered Rody’s field of vision, “Do you get the picture now, idiot? We get you into fully functional adult territory then you get the girl.”

Rody blinked as he kept his gaze firmly on the woman’s eyes as he spoke, “But what’s this about my soul? I…I don’t remember that being mentioned in the letter…”

The woman huffed once more as the man pet Rody’s hair. The waiter wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t just having another nightmare or not. But if it was just a dream, he wouldn’t have felt the pain…right? All this petting and pain was starting to make his head spin.

The man smirked, “Tell ya what. If you can successfully win Manon back, then you get to keep your soul. If not…then it's ours to do whatever we please with it.”

The woman rolled her eyes but fixed Rody with a sharp look, “Well you disgusting worm? Do we have a deal?”

Rody nodded as he felt the man continue to pet his hair. Something in his gut sunk at the realization of what he had done, but the deed was done. He stiffened when he felt the man sink his teeth into the side of Rody’s neck. Before he could scream, the woman did the same thing on the other side of Rody’s neck.

Rody’s vision grew dark, and he could feel himself slump against the seat he was tied to. Hopefully this was all just a terrible nightmare and he’d wake up just fine.

Chapter Text

Rody gingerly touched each side of his neck. There were twin marks against his neck that looked like vampire bites from those horror movies he hated. There was faint bruising from where his neck was sucked against. His fingers trembled as the realization of what had happened last night crashed over him. That was no dream or nightmare…It was real…

A pair of fingers snapping in his ear caught Rody’s attention. He turned to face the man from last night, who was leaning against the wall of Rody’s bathroom. The man smirked at the surprised and angry look on Rody’s face.

“About time you got up sleeping beauty! We’ve got a busy day planned for you,” the man purred as he approached Rody to ruffle his hair once more.

Rody swung a fist at the man only to be met with a whoosh of air. He yelped in surprise when the man grabbed Rody around the waist and bent him over his knee. Rody squirmed before he felt a hand swat against his ass, making the waiter yelp.

“Is that any way to treat someone trying to help ya brat?” The man smiled a cruel smile as he smacked Rody’s ass a few more times.

Rody tried to muscle his way out of the hold before eventually the swatting stopped. He slumped against the man’s lap, blinking back tears as his face burned a bright red.

The man smirked as he patted Rody’s ass, making the waiter whine softly, “Get up now brat. Unless you’d like a repeat performance at work?”

Rody scrambled to his feet, wincing at how sore he felt. As much as he wanted to deck the man for laughing at his misery, Rody wasn’t eager to be humiliated like that again. And in his own apartment too! Talk about cruelty!

He didn’t want to risk a repeat performance at his job. Especially not in front of Vince! His frie-boss would kill him! O-or something. Or dock his pay yeah probably that last thing. Vince was nothing if not above using Rody’s meager paycheck and risk of lowering it further to keep him in line.

There was a knock against the doorway as the woman’s voice echoed, “Send that fucker out when he’s decent. I don’t wanna wait around all morning.”

Rody raised a brow as he turned to face the man. The man stood up and dusted his pants before speaking, “We’re starting you on your quest to win back your girl. Which will begin by teaching you how to make some sort of breakfast and tackling those dishes in your sink.”

“You do realize that I can burn cereal…right?” Rody questioned as the man walked towards Rody’s shower.

“Not when we’re done with you! Don’t worry, we’ll start easy on ya! Now take a shower. Isolde can’t stand a smelly human,” the man gestured to the shower.

Rody’s face flushed once more, “Th-then get out! I don’t need an audience and I’m not a baby! I can wash myself!”

The man huffed as he snapped his fingers, and a wrench appeared in his hand. Rody closed his eyes as the man approached, half-expecting the man to beat him with it before the man opened Rody’s hand and placed the wrench inside of it.

Rody cracked open an eye and noticed the wrench was now in his hand. He raised a brow and looked at the man with a confused look.

The man gestured to the showerhead, “It's leaking and your first job on your journey is to fix it!”

“Can’t you just-”

Rody was interrupted by a swat to the ass which made him yelp once more. The man laughed at Rody’s misery and subsequent glare.

“Nope!” The man chirped as he patted Rody’s head patronizingly. “This is your journey, not mine! So, get to work human!”

Rody huffed as he looked at the showerhead. Hopefully Vince wouldn’t kill him for being late. This might take him a while to figure out.

Chapter Text

After fighting with the showerhead for what felt like ages, Rody was finally able to take a shower. It felt nice to actually have proper water pressure for once, but the temperature left much to be desired. Ah well. At least he was clean.

Once he was dressed in his uniform and his hair was combed, he walked into the main living space. Standing by the stove was the wo-er Isolde. She was tapping her foot and holding a spatula in her hand.

“What took you so long?!” She snapped as she gripped the spatula a little tighter. “Don’t you know that it's rude to keep a lady waiting?!”

Rody rubbed the back of his neck, “S-sorry. Your friend had me fix the showerhead first…”

Isolde marched up to Rody and grabbed his ear before dragging him over to the kitchenette. He muttered a few “ow”s as he was dragged like some naughty schoolboy caught skipping class to buy candy at the corner store.

The man snickered as he watched Isolde manhandle Rody.

Isolde pointed the spatula at the man and snarled, “Don’t you start laughing now Tristan! I can make you feel the same discomfort this worm is feeling right now!”

Tristan rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. Rody snickered himself before Isolde swatted his ass with the spatula. Rody yelped sharply and covered his abused backside to try and avoid further damage.

“Your first lesson will be learning how to make scrambled eggs,” Isolde huffed as she eyed up the auburn-haired man in front of her. Cowering like some pathetic little worm. Good. At least he’s starting to learn his place.

Rody groaned, “I just told your friend here-”

Tristan chucked, “We’re not friends, mon ami. She and I are just co-workers.”

Rody gave him a glare before rolling his eyes. Tristan snickered at the waiter. Something about pushing the man into acting like some bratty teenager seemed to amuse Tristan, and Rody wasn’t super eager to figure out what was so funny about it. Not after how their encounter in the bathroom went this morning.

“Anyways, as I told your associate here-” Rody was interrupted when Isolde gave him a harsh look. One that made him close his mouth quickly to avoid digging his grave any deeper than he already had.

“It doesn’t matter what you told Tristan earlier! You listen to what we say and do as we say, got it? Now start cracking those eggs. There better not be any pieces of shell in it,” Isolde ordered as she raised the spatula once more.

Rody quickly scurried to his fridge and pulled out the two eggs he had left in his fridge. Isolde clicked her tongue in annoyance as Rody dug out the only clean bowl he had left and took the emergency fork out of the bottom of his cutlery drawer.

Isolde crossed her arms as she watched Rody bumble about. Before he could tap the egg in his hand against the side of the bowl, Isolde grabbed his wrist.

Rody looked back and braced himself for another swat when his hand was moved to the flat surface of the counter next to the bowl. He looked at her with a confused look.

Isolde huffed, “If you crack the egg against a flat surface, it lessens the possibility of getting shells into your eggs.”

Rody nodded and followed Isolde’s instructions and allowed the egg to flow into the bowl. He sighed in relief that no pieces of shell were swimming in the freshly cracked egg. He repeated the process with the second egg while Isolde watched him like a hawk. A bead of sweat trailed down the side of his neck. Was this how the chefs felt when Vince was hovering over them at work?

Tristan watched on in amused silence. As tempting as it was to give Rody’s ass another swat to make him mess up, he didn’t want to make Isolde mad. The two of them had been working together long enough to know that she would make good on her promise.

Isolde barked over at Tristan, “Why don’t you do something useful for once and make a grocery list for this loser?”

Rody pouted, “I’m not a loser!”

“You don’t even have bread in your fridge! I don’t wanna hear it from you!” Isolde snapped.

Rody muttered about beer being a liquid form of bread before getting another swat to the ass. He bit back a yelp before Isolde grabbed the salt and pepper from his pantry.

Tristan snatched up a piece of paper and pen before he started nosying about Rody’s fridge and pantry. He scribbled down a list while Isolde had Rody season his eggs before beating the eggs with a fork.

“Do you even have any butter?” Isolde huffed as she looked in the fridge.

Rody laughed nervously before Isolde swatted him with the spatula again. She then snapped her fingers and tossed the small knob of butter that had appeared in her hand into the frying pan.

Rody turned on the only working burner to get the butter to melt before continuing to beat the eggs.

“There better not be tons of white streaks in your eggs,” Isolde sniffed.

“Or else what? You’ll spank me again?” Rody replied with an unamused look.

Isolde crossed her arms, “I could make you piss yourself at work instead if you’d prefer. Right in the middle of service.”

Rody beat the eggs harder. He’d rather not try and question the woman beside him again. Rody could practically imagine the tongue lashing he’d receive from Vince if that were to happen.

‘What? Your mother never toilet trained you? Are you some kind of dog who pisses where he sees fit?’ Rody’s face burned at the mere thought.

“Your butter is hot so start scrambling,” Isolde ordered, drawing Rody out of his thoughts.

Rody poured the eggs in and winced at the way the butter splashed up onto his bare arm. He sucked in a deep hiss and turned to run cool water over his arm at the tap. Isolde clicked her tongue as she took over scrambling the eggs. The heat was definitely a bit too high so the eggs were cooking quicker than they should be.

“Next time I’m letting these burn,” Isolde huffed as soon as Rody was done washing off his arm. She gestured for him to take the spot next to the stove and watched him clumsily mimic her scrambling motion in the pan. Yup. Those were very much overcooked eggs.

Rody nodded and smiled, “Thank you.”

Isolde blinked as she turned away, a faint blush on her cheeks, “W-whatever! It’s only proper that you thank me you miserable wretch! I’m doing you a favor by even agreeing to teach you anything!”

“Awwww, someone’s embarrassed,” Tristan sang in a teasing tone.

Isolde grabbed Rody by the arm and threw him at Tristan as she shouted, “Shut up you pig! This is why I hate men!”

The two men crashed into a tangled heap by Rody’s front door. The vibrations knocked the wall clock down onto the floor with a soft crunch. The front plate covering the clock’s face had a nice crack in it now.

Rody sighed deeply. This was going to be a long day.

Chapter Text

“You better have a good reason for being late Lamo-...Why do you look like that?” Vincent’s scolding tone turned to confusion once Rody had fully entered the restaurant.

Rody had rushed through the street on his bike and almost flipped over the curb. His uniform and hair were more distinctly ruffled than before and he was wincing. The bike seat felt extra uncomfortable after his…encounter this morning. Not to mention the nice burn he was sporting from his attempt at making scrambled eggs. Luckily, he was able to bandage his arm and scarf down the subpar eggs before he had to rush into work.

Rody scratched the back of his neck as he felt Vincent’s eyes boring holes into him, “W-well I had to fix up my shower this morning and breakfast didn’t go how I planned.”

Vincent put a hand on his hip and arched a brow, “You had to fix your shower? Don’t you have a landlord that can hire someone to do that?”

Rody gulped as he nervously fidgeted, “W-well he’s not the best with that kinda stuff so it’s usually up to the tenants to get the ball rolling…”

“...” Vincent remained silent as he took a closer look at Rody. More specifically Rody’s neck. Were those…hickeys? Just what the hell did his waiter get up to last night?? And why did Vincent care?

Rody blinked as he glanced at the clock, “E-er Vince-”

“It's Vincent,” Vincent corrected automatically.

“R-right!” Rody smiled, “S-shouldn’t I get to work now?”

Vincent turned around and responded in his usual dismissive tone, “Yes. Now go take out the garbage and sweep up out front. We can’t have our standards slip just because you’re too busy playing handyman.”

Rody saluted and scurried off to the back with an, “On it Chef!”

Vincent watched Rody scurry off with an unreadable look. Something didn’t seem right here. Rody never willingly tried to cook unless a woman was involved and last that Vincent had heard (unwillingly mind you. The things he did for that pesky waiter of his!) Rody was single. Unless he somehow found someone new to date in the short time since his last breakup but…

Vincent’s brows furrowed, ‘No. He doesn’t have that lovesick puppy look on his face. It must be something else.’

He was going to get to the bottom of this. But not because he cared about Rody mind you, no matter how much the waiter in question made his heart race. Vincent couldn’t have a waiter that was performing at a sub-par rate…Well moreso than usual but that was besides the point! Vincent had a world class establishment to run here and he couldn’t necessarily do that if his one and only waiter was in a dangerous situation.

Chapter Text

The lunch rush felt like it would never end. As soon as he got one table fully cleared, another party was ready to take the newly cleaned table. It did mean he’d get some nice tips though! He was that much closer to scoring a nice dinner with Manon and-

Tristan’s voice echoed in his head, “Don’t forget, you have groceries to buy and a sink full of dishes to tackle tonight.”

Rody held back a sigh. Right. He had chores to do after work today. Why did the universe feel it was fit to torture him like this?

As he worked, Rody could feel the familiar sting of Vincent’s eyes watching him. Sure, Rody knew he made quite a few mistakes on the job (well more than a few but who was counting, really?), but he didn’t need a babysitter! He learned a few tricks from his twenty-eight other jobs and didn’t need to be micromanaged like he was some teenager working their first job!

But Vincent was like that with everybody who worked for him, so Rody tried not to let it bother him that much. Besides, Rody pestered him with questions everyday so it all kinda balanced out…right? It wasn't like Rody was going to keep this job forever anyway. This was only a temporary stop on the road before finding something a bit more...lucrative.

Vincent took a drag of his cigarette as he watched Rody work. Not an unusual pastime of his these days, but he had extra reason to be vigilant today.

Rody had winced each time he had to bend over even slightly and took great care not to brush his backside against anything. Although Rody brushed it off whenever a customer would ask if he was alright, Vincent knew that Rody must have been injured somehow outside of that burn on his arm.

Vincent took another drag and looked over at the chefs working diligently at yet another order ticket Rody had brought in. He couldn't let his vigilance over the kitchen falter just because his only waiter wasn't entirely acting like himself now.

“Manet! I thought I told you that we were using bias cuts and not straight ones in today’s dish!” Vincent snapped as he walked over to the offending chef.

The chef in question trembled, “Y-yes chef! I-I’ll redo these!”

“You better,” Vincent hissed. “Now back to work!”

“Yes chef!”

Rody came up to the window and collected the latest round of sides. He gave Vincent a small wave before returning to serve his table. Vincent gave him a curt nod in return. At least the bumbling oaf was still capable of working in spite of whatever he got up to last night.

“Your sides,” Rody said as he handed out the plates to the two-top table he was currently waiting on. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

The woman at the table looked at the bottle of wine Rody had on his other serving tray and asked, “What can you tell me about today’s wine selection?”

Rody opened his mouth to immediately answer that it was white wine today but something else came out of his mouth instead, “Today we’re serving a Sauvignon Blanc to accompany today’s chicken dish. The lightness of the wine will allow the herbs that the chefs used to shine but the crispness of the wine will also give a fresher finish to the dish.”

Both customers looked impressed by Rody’s answer and accepted a glass from him. Rody was more surprised that those words came out of his mouth. How did that just come out of his mouth?

Rody heard Isolde’s voice in the back of his head, “You’re welcome dummy. I can’t stand seeing idiots flounder and you need those tips to buy your groceries.”

Rody sent her a mental thanks before he went to ring out the customers standing at the register. Maybe Rody could remember that when he took Manon out for dinner? That a white wine like that went well with that fancy chicken with the herbs and lemon that Vincent was serving today.

Vincent was watching and listening very closely. How did Rody know that was why Vincent went with a white wine today? Usually, he used a red to accompany a richer dish but given the changing of the seasons Vincent decided to switch to their lighter menu to take advantage of the fresh produce of the season. He half-expected Rody to say, “It’s white!” or come toddling over to Vincent to ask for some sort of acceptable answer.

That settled it. Vincent was keeping Rody after work to get some answers. He didn’t like the way his gut churned when he noticed these new oddities with his waiter. And no, it wasn’t worry or anything! Vincent just…wasn’t eager to have to hire and onboard another waiter so soon! Yeah…that was all it was.

Chapter Text

Closing time couldn’t come soon enough! Rody’s shoulders sagged as he finished throwing away the last of the trash from the kitchen. Despite the larger capacity garbage can, it still felt like every other time he went to clear a table he had to empty it again. It must have been because of how busy today was. Lunch was super busy, and dinner felt like it was twice that busy. Dishes flew out faster than Rody had ever seen them fly out before and he could have sworn he had seen Vincent tending to a table or two out of the corner of his eye.

Rody had a very generous amount of tip money today to take home with him. Maybe it was something about his approach or maybe people were feeling extra loose with their wallets or something, but Rody never took this much home before! Maybe he would be able to set some aside for his surprise for Manon after all…

“Rody, a word please,” Vincent’s voice interrupted Rody’s train of thought. The auburn-haired man tucked the money away safely in his pocket before making his way to the back.

He waved brightly at the chefs making their way out of the restaurant, each one exhausted from their own duties under the iron fist of Vincent. He got a nod of acknowledgement from one or two of them, but not a single wave back. Ah well, maybe next time! At least he wasn’t totally ignored like usual. Any progress was better than none.

Rody made his way to Vincent’s office after a quick scan of the kitchen showed no sign of the raven-haired chef. It must be serious if he was being called to the office instead of being spoken to in the kitchen or dining room.

“You wanted to see me, Vince?” Rody chirped as he stood in front of Vincent’s desk. The man in question was putting out the remnants of his latest cigarette in the ugliest ashtray Rody had ever seen in his life.

“It’s Vincent,” Vincent corrected automatically as he met the waiter’s gaze.

Rody waited not so patiently as Vincent stared at him. There were times it felt like Vincent was dissecting him with his eyes. Cutting him open to see what made the auburn-haired man tick. But maybe he was just imagining things! Surely his boss-

Vincent finally spoke after what felt like an eternity, “What was that in the dining room during lunch?”

Rody blinked, “What was what? I-if you’re talking about me knocking over the water pitcher, I already said I was sorry and-”

Vincent waved a hand dismissively, “Not that. With the customer and the wine.”

“The wine?” Rody felt a bead of sweat start to form at his temple.

“Yes, the wine. More specifically how you knew why the pairing worked when just last week you couldn’t tell the difference between Champagne and Merlot,” Vincent continued in that indifferent tone of voice of his. His eyes, however, had that prodding look to them that made Rody squirm slightly.

Shit. What was Rody supposed to say? Oh, it was just one of the voices in his head that was actually some sort of demon or something his girlfriend sold his soul to so he could be changed into a better man! Yeah, that sounded really rational Rody. It totally won’t have Vincent calling the police to drag your ass to the nearest mental hospital!

Rody sweated slightly and a nervous grin cracked onto his face as he gritted out, “W-well you see…I-I was trying to learn wine pairings to win back Manon!”

Vincent leaned back in his chair and fixed Rody with another one of those looks. His disbelieving but intrigued to see where you were going with this kind of look. Rody scratched the back of his neck as he continued, “Y-yeah you know her parents are food critics and all-”

“I’m well aware. They’ve reviewed here before,” Vincent replied with a dismissive tinge to his voice. He knew far more about Marianne Vacher than Rody could even dream of knowing.

“Right right,” Rody felt a little guilty about lying but Vincent didn’t need to know everything that went on with Rody’s life. It wasn’t like they were dating or anything right? Besides, Rody figured that deals with demons were firmly outside of normal employee-boss conversations anyways so no point in mentioning it. Besides it wasn’t like it was a full lie anyways! He was planning on winning Manon back but…not through having an increased knowledge on wine pairings. So, it was like a half-lie at most, a quarter lie at the very least. Yeah, now Rody wasn’t feeling nearly as guilty.

Vincent raised a brow at Rody’s hesitancy. Clearly more was at play here, but Rody wasn’t willing to say anything. So, it was the long game then, eh? Fine. Vincent was more than capable of playing the long game. Why else would that pesky Manon still be around to continue to be some unreachable object for Rody to pine over and try to reclaim? It wasn’t because Vincent had changed his mind last minute and decided that killing the woman would make Rody heartbreakingly sad and thus emotionally unavailable for a relationship. Don’t be so silly. He just…didn’t have the right recipe in mind to make the woman into! Yes, that was it. He couldn’t win Rody over with a subpar dish now, could he? No, no, no. Not Vincent Charbonneau, the renowned chef!

Rody looked at the clock on the wall, “Umm, is it okay if I go? I-I still have to get some groceries and I don’t want all the shops to be closed before I get there.”

Vincent waved a dismissive hand, “Fine. Go. But I expect more answers out of you tomorrow.”

Rody wished Vincent a good night before beelining out of the restaurant and hopping back onto his bike. He still felt a little sore, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as earlier today. At least he wasn’t stuck with the pain for the foreseeable future.

Vincent watched Rody leave and watched as he nearly smacked face first into a lamp post before correcting himself. Vincent sighed. Sometimes he wondered whether that idiot really could survive on his own. Hopefully Rody hadn’t stumbled into some sort of shady business. Vincent wasn’t lying when he said that he wasn’t in the mood to find a replacement waiter so soon and…Well not having Rody around meant that he couldn’t test his theory…

Chapter Text

After circling around what felt like half of Paris to go shopping, Rody finally made it home. He dragged his bike and bags of groceries upstairs sluggishly. Man, he was tired! Who knew having to buy so much food in one shot could be so exhausting? Why did people have to go crazy like this? This is why he preferred going to Mime Joyeux for his meals…

Rody’s door opened for him, revealing Tristan. Just who Rody wanted to see after a long day. The asshole who left him feeling sore all day.

“About time you showed up! Were you slacking off somewhere or something?” Tristan teased as he stepped aside to allow Rody into the apartment.

It was still just as messy as when Rody rushed out this morning. Guess it really was all up to him to fix everything and clean everything up, huh. It would have been nice of the two nuisances to at least gather up the garbage for him to throw away or something.

Rody huffed as he set the bags of groceries in the kitchenette, “I had all this shopping you two insisted that I do not to mention I got held up at work.”

Isolde looked over the list she had practically shoved at Rody before he left and compared it to the groceries he had purchased. She watched him as he put everything away, correcting him with a sharp look and even sharper tongue if he tried to put something in an “incorrect” place.

“And why, pray tell, is there more beer here? You already have five left from last night,” Isolde clocked onto the extra six-pack Rody had placed into the fridge. Rody looked a bit annoyed.

“What? I’m an adult. I’m allowed to buy myself a treat here or there,” Rody grumbled as he put away the eggs and shut the fridge door.

Tristan patted Rody’s head patronizingly, “See? You’re learning already! We do need to treat ourselves to something nice on occasion.”

Rody swatted Tristan’s hand away and was thankful not to be swatted in return. Instead, the man just stuck his tongue out at Rody playfully as the auburn-haired man was dragged over to the sink full of dishes by Isolde.

Isolde tapped her foot impatiently as she gestured to the sink full of dishes, “Sure, you can remember to buy beer, but you can’t remember to do dishes?! When was the last time you did these, huh? How can you live with the smell of rotting food and putrid grease?”

Rody rolled his eyes, “It’s not that bad…”

Isolde narrowed her eyes, “Oh it’s not that bad, eh? How about we give you a taste of what we can smell?”

Before Rody could protest, Isolde snapped her fingers. Instantly Rody could see what she meant. Everything smelt sharper than before and his eyes started to water. Hell, he could even smell the grease and sweat lingering on himself from working a shift at the restaurant. There was even an undertone of alcohol from all the wine he had to serve. He went to cover his nose and mouth, but Isolde held his hands away from his face.

“Now do you get it? Just because you’re unable to smell how shitty this place is doesn’t mean that others are spared from it. Think a little harder about how inconvenient that is on others for a change. Do you really feel comfortable knowing that your lady love had to deal with this stench when she dropped your cake off yesterday?” Isolde scolded as she watched Rody cough and struggle against her hold. The tears in his eyes came from more than just the coughing alone.

“A-alright! You win! You win!” Rody choked out with a guilty look, “I-I’ll clean up! Just make it stop, please!”

Tristan snapped his fingers and Rody sagged in relief. It didn’t help with the lingering smells trapped in his nose, but the onslaught of foul odors was at least far more muted than before. Had it continued he might have actually thrown up and…Yeah that wouldn’t end well. Especially given that Isolde was right in front of him. He shuddered at the thought of what she might do to him if the worst-case scenario had actually happened.

Isolde shoved Rody forward and against the sink. He winced at how his hips banged against the edge of the counter but bit his lower lip to keep himself from yelping.

“Well!? Start scrubbing or else you get another round of your punishment,” Isolde growled when Rody didn’t immediately grab the new sponge and soap he had purchased.

The waiter didn’t need to be told twice! He turned on the tap and started scrubbing. He hated the feeling of washing dishes. The slimy remnants of food left behind. The greasy slick on the bottom of some of the plates…Why did he let it get this bad?! But at least he had a sponge to act as a barrier against the more gross sections that he had to clean. No longer did he have to attempt to wash dishes bare handed.

The soap was at least a nice lemony scented one. The scent was strong enough to cut through the nasty odors that arose each time Rody shifted another dish but…He shuddered and thickly swallowed the bit of sick that he burped up at the memory of just a few moments ago.

‘Keep it together, Rody,’ he reminded himself mentally. ‘They can’t break you. They won’t break you.’

He set each cleaned dish aside in his new drying racks. They weren’t the most high-quality things, but they at least got the job done. Part of him was expecting Isolde to scold him and have him hand dry each dish after they were done but she merely continued to supervise him. At least he had that going for him.

Tristan, on the other hand, was writing on yet another scrap of paper. Where did he keep finding those? Rody shook his head. Maybe it was best not to question it.

“Alright dummy, once you’re done you can get started on your next cooking lesson,” Isolde finally said after what felt like an eternity of silence. Rody would even take listening to that stuffy old man music Vince played at the restaurant over the only noise being breathing and the sound of dishes being scrubbed and put aside to dry.

“Won’t that make more dishes for me to do later?” Rody asked as he finally broke into the layer of cutlery on the bottom part of his sink.

Isolde sniffed, “Naturally. But if you do them after dinner you won’t have another mess on your hands like this. Unless you need another reminder of-”

Rody shut the water off and ran to the bathroom. He slammed the door shut before he could be followed inside.

Tristan and Isolde both stood outside the door and shared a look. They idly wondered what Rody’s problem was until they heard the sound of retching. Ah. Now that made sense.

“I think you went a little too hard on him, Isolde,” Tristan sighed as he leaned against the wall outside of the door.

Isolde pouted as she crossed her arms huffily, “Well now he has a nice reminder of why keeping his space clean is important. Anytime he thinks of slacking off he can remember that.”

Tristan winced at a particularly violent retching sound coming from the bathroom, “Yeesh. I think he heard you.”

Isolde knocked on the door, “Pull yourself together you pathetic mess of a worm. We aren’t done here.”

After what felt like an eternity, Rody finally emerged from the bathroom. He still looked a little green around the gills, but otherwise stable for the time being. He went to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand before Isolde produced a handkerchief and wiped his mouth off for him.

“Honestly. You’re such a baby,” Isolde huffed as she pulled away from Rody. “Now back to work. We’ll alter dinner plans to make it easier on you.”

Rody put a hand over his stomach, “D-do I have to eat?”

Tristan patted Rody’ back, “Afraid so bud! We can’t have you getting all weak and sick on us! Unless you wanna let all that hard work your girlfriend put in go to waste~”

The mere mention of Manon steeled Rody’s nerves as he returned to finish his task of washing the dishes. He couldn't, no he wouldn’t let her sacrifices be in vain! This was Manon we were talking about! The reason Rody got up each morning! The reason he worked as hard as he did to try and impress her! The-

Isolde flicked Rody’s arm when he got wrapped up in all the thoughts of Manon, “Get to work!”

Rody sighed a shaky sigh. When would this nightmare end?

Chapter Text

After a dinner of broth and bread, the lightest thing he thought he could keep down with ease, Rody quickly washed everything up. Never again did he want to allow the dishes to pile up like that.

He hiccupped slightly but swallowed thickly. No. Don’t think about it again. He wanted to keep his dinner down tonight.

“Decent work today, whelp,” Isolde spoke in an indifferent tone as she filed her nails. She held her hand out to inspect them before returning to her task.

“D-does that mean I’m done-” Rody was cut off when Tristan clapped a hand against Rody’s back.

Tristan grinned at the death glare Rody sent his way. The man spoke in a sing-song tone, “For tonight anyways human! We still have a long way to go with you~”

Rody bristled at the way the man slung an arm over his shoulders, but kept his mouth shut. Rody wasn’t in the mood for another one of the tricks these two could pull.

“We need to get you to a point where you can make a decent meal consistently, can keep your space clean without prompting, maintain a budget without depriving yourself of necessities just to please your girl, and see to it that you can keep from self-sabotaging,” Isolde spoke as she noticed the unspoken question in Rody’s eyes.

Rody’s shoulders sagged as he looked dejectedly at the ground, “That’s going to take forever to accomplish…”

Tristan patted Rody’s back, “Well we did make one breakthrough! You’ll be on top of your dishes at least now and that’s often the chore most humans hate the most!”

Isolde shrugged, “Not to mention it could prove handy for that job you currently have. Maybe you could have extra leverage for negotiating for a raise if you can wash dishes and serve well?”

She did raise a good point. Having more skills that he could bring to the table meant that Rody was more valuable to keep around and thus worthy of a higher pay rate. That was something Rody could recall from his hospitality classes in college. That it was sometimes worth it to shell out some extra money to keep an employee who could wear many hats.

But at the same time a hardass like Vince likely wouldn’t agree to give Rody more money over something so trivial. Not unless Rody wanted to change his position into something like being a chef but…Vince was especially scary when he was laying into one of the chefs over some tiny infraction that jeopardized the dish or the fabric of reality or something. Both seemed like the same thing to Vince. As scary as he was to Rody when Rody was just doing his thing as a waiter, he could only imagine how much scarier Vince would be if Rody were to become a chef.

‘Lamoree! You call this a sear! Let me show you how a chef is supposed to sear meat.’

Rody shook his head to clear the mental image of Vince holding Rody’s face over the burner like that one chef a few weeks back. What was his name again…Ah! Boucher! That was it!

Isolde snapped her fingers, and a clean set of pajamas appeared on Rody’s table. He gingerly picked the top, feeling the soft fabric beneath his fingers. It was a light green set with frogs on it. A little cutesy for Rody’s taste but maybe Manon would think they’re cute! She always mentioned having a soft spot for cuter things...

“A little reward for actually accomplishing the tasks we set for you today,” Isolde explained as Rody got that excited puppy dog look on his face. She could practically see the fluffy ears on top of his head and tail wagging. The mental image would be adorable if the man in front of her wasn't so irritating.

“I get to keep these! For real!?” Rody exclaimed, practically vibrating on the spot.

Tristan grinned, “Yup! Good boys get treats and naughty boys get punished~ So keep that in mind when we tell you to do something.”

Isolde motioned to Tristan, “We’ll be taking our leave for the night. Make sure you sleep as we will be back bright and early tomorrow for another attempt at making eggs.”

Rody hugged the new pajamas close to his chest as he saw the two to the door. No tricks? No ulterior motives? Huh. Maybe Rody could get used to nice presents like this. Not that Manon had never given him gifts before! But…not necessarily something along these lines.

“G-good night!” Rody called as he watched the duo head down the hallway.

He closed the door and grinned to himself. Finally. Some alone time! He peeled off his uniform and tossed it aside before pulling on his new pajamas. They felt just as nice on his body as they did when he was just holding them. At the very least these fit properly and would keep him relatively cool compared to the thicker pajamas Manon preferred to dress him in. Something about the plusher fabric making his chest much more comfortable to sleep on…The thought of sharing a bed with her once again made his face warm and a silly smile creep along his lips.

He then opened the fridge, half tempted to enjoy a beer to celebrate his hard work before he remembered that he had to be up extra early tomorrow for more lessons. Rody deflated as he shut the fridge door. Great.

Instead Rody shut off the light and laid on the couch, just staring at the ceiling, ‘What will tomorrow bring?’

As his eyes started to flutter shut, Rody could only send a hopeful prayer that tomorrow would be easier than today. Surely Manon wouldn’t be insulted by such a wish…Right?

Chapter Text

When Rody opened his eyes, he found himself dressed in his waiter’s uniform once more. His shoulders sagged slightly. Even in his dreams he couldn’t escape work, huh? Maybe he should talk to someone about that…

He took a look around the space he was in. He was standing on a table with a white tablecloth over the top of it. Much like the one he was seated at last night only…

Rody blinked as he looked around the room. Ah, so it was another one of those nightmares where he was tiny huh? He could add that to the list of things he needed to talk to someone about.

He looked down from the ledge of the table, wincing at how far of a drop it would be to reach the floor. Definitely way too high for him to jump and he really didn’t want to feel that…Rody didn’t want to risk feeling that pain like he had in his nightmare last night…

“Oh Rody, just look at you,” a familiar voice caught Rody’s attention.

Rody looked up at the other side of the table. His heart gave a leap as a warmth spread over his cheeks. He scurried over to the other side of the table as quickly as his little legs could carry him.

“Manon! Is it really you?” Rody called as he looked up at the figure of his girlfriend.

She was her normal size thankfully. Rody wasn’t sure what he’d do if she was little like him! His protective urges would have gone into overdrive and-

Manon grabbed him gently and lifted him up like he was her pet hamster or something. Did she even have a hamster? Maybe he should ask her when he saw her in reality again…Or they could raise one together before-

She looked at him with a sad look that made Rody’s heart ache. He placed his hand against her thumb and looked up at her with a concerned look.

“M-manon? Why are you so upset?” Rody asked in as loud of a voice as he could muster. He doubted that his voice would reach her if he spoke in a quieter volume.

Manon’s eyes got teary and she bit back a sob. Rody went to rush to comfort her, but she shook her head. He paused but continued to look at her like a dog looked at their owner when they were crying. He hated to see his beloved so upset and he couldn't just do nothing here! He had to find a way to make her smile again!

Manon sobbed softly, “Don’t you get it? You keep focusing on me and only me. You keep cutting yourself down just to build me up and…Why there’s hardly anything left of you and…I just can’t watch you do that to yourself anymore!”

Rody shook his head before he made another attempt to rush forward. He had to make his Manon feel better! What kind of man would he be if he just left his lady to cry like-

Rody was stopped when Manon set him back onto the table. He stared up at her with confusion painting his features. What was she doing?

“M-manon?!” Rody shouted as she turned away from him.

Manon shook her head as she set her shoulders, “We can’t continue like this Rody! You need to build yourself back up before you can even have any hope of seeing me again!”

Rody ran to the edge of the table as his heart started to beat louder and louder. No, no, no! She wasn’t-she couldn’t be-not now! Not when he needed her most! Not when-

Rody was stopped when a fork came down dead in his path. He skidded to a stop before he could crash into it. His own frightened face was reflected in the shiny silver of the fork.

He looked behind him and shuddered. Standing on the other side of the table was a shadowy figure holding a knife. Not a kitchen knife but the kind used in a fancy restaurant. One that could cut especially tender cuts of meat with ease…

“Well, what do we have here?” A familiar voice purred. Rody knew that he could identify the owner of the voice, but something was keeping him from putting a finger on it. Like some sort of…subconscious block or something…

Rody steeled himself as he balled his fists, “W-whoever you are, you can fuck right off! I’m not in the mood for some sort of sick joke!”

The fork was lifted upwards before it came crashing down again. Rody only just barely dodged the cutlery before it could spear him. His left shirt sleeve tore down the center from the shoulder down, but at least he wasn’t bleeding.

The shadowy figure cackled, “A little on the small side, but you’ll make for the perfect appetizer~”

Rody shivered and shook his head. No. This was no time to freeze up! He had to get moving he-

“M-manon! A little help please!” Rody shouted as he turned to the side of the table Manon had previously been at.

His face paled when he saw just another table beside him. On top of the table was a steaming plate of grilled hanger steak. Wait…underneath the plate…was that…?

Rody sunk to his knees at the sight of the locket he had given Manon underneath the plate. No, no, no, no! She-she wasn’t-that couldn’t be-

The fork being lifted upwards caught Rody’s attention once more. He hastily rose to his feet but tripped on a fold in the tablecloth. He looked down. When had it gotten so tangled up?

“First your girlfriend, then you. Truly a perfect meal for one with a refined palate like mine,” the voice cooed in a mocking tone as the fork moved into position.

Rody closed his eyes and braced himself as he heard the rush of air.

Chapter Text

Rody bolted upright as he felt his stomach. He didn’t feel any blood or holes but-

He felt cold sweat gluing his bangs to his forehead and his lungs burned. The air in the room felt too thin. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe!

Rody gripped his hair tightly as he curled up in as small of a ball as he possibly could to protect his soft belly from the imagined fork that was intent on piercing him. His head went between his knees as his rapid breaths made his chest heave. Inoutinoutinoutin-

He jumped when he felt a hand on his back. Rody turned around hastily and almost sent himself over the edge.

“Easy now, it’s just me,” a familiar voice reassured as a set of hands gripped onto Rody’s shoulders.

Rody squinted in the dark before his eyes finally focused on the two magenta lights in front of him.

“T-Tr-iii-” Rody’s throat felt too tight to fully choke out anything. He tried to push something out but only choked once more.

One of the hands left Rody’s shoulder to take his hand to rest it against a very warm chest. A very bare chest at that. One that felt very toned against Rody’s palm.

Once Rody’s hand was in place, the hand moved to rest against Rody’s heaving chest. The auburn-haired man watched as a heavy feeling started up in his stomach and his lungs started to burn. He was going to die-he was going to die-he-

“Follow my breaths,” the voice spoke in a very even tone. One that would be comforting to some but…

“Bu-wha-” Rody furrowed his brows. How could he follow someone’s breath when the air felt so thin and-

Rody felt the hand on his shoulder squeeze, “Rody. Listen to me. Follow my breaths. I’m trying to help you.”

Rody felt tears come to his eyes and ducked his head. He heard a sigh and a soft snap of fingers.

A warm, yet heavy weight settled around his shoulders. Rody looked down. There was some sort of blanket wrapped around him, but it felt much heavier than a normal blanket. It also felt a lot warmer than a normal blanket as well.

“I need you to listen to me, Rody. You had a nightmare. Nothing in it was real.”

Rody felt the blanket between his fingers. It was so soft. He kept rubbing the small patch between his fingers and felt the strange floaty feeling start to dissipate.

Rody looked up to meet the magenta lights once more. His eyes finally focused on the rest of the face that the lights had belonged to.

“Tr-trist-aaaaan?” Rody’s voice was strained, but not nearly as choked up as before. He couldn’t quite get rid of that tight feeling in his throat.

Tristan finally smiled a slightly amused smile, “About time you noticed! You’re lucky it's only me and not some robber.”

Rody huffed and mustered enough strength to look semi-annoyed by the teasing. He could feel the air start to grow heavy enough that he could get a full breath or two in much easier than before.

“There’s our little grumpy pants!” Tristan teased as he finally straightened up to his full height. He could feel Rody’s eyes follow him as he made his way to the fridge.

Rody spoke after what felt like an eternity to him, “W-why are you here?”

Tristan opened the fridge and turned on his heel slightly as he gave Rody a fake wounded look, “Is this how you treat someone who goes out of their way to check on you? No wonder you don’t have any friends!”

Tristan pulled the fresh bottle of milk from the fridge and shut the door before Rody could come up with a response. Rody had friends! There was Vince! Well…Vince was his boss and only seemed to barely tolerate his company at times…but Vince didn’t fully reject him! And there was Manon! She may have broken up with him and said she didn’t want him in her life right now-

Rody looked down at his hands. Sure Vince and Manon were the only two people who immediately came to mind but there were surely more….right? His old college friends would likely want to…Actually if Richard was any indication of how the others would feel and his words at the dinner party accurately reflected their feelings about Rody…

A soft ding of the microwave caught Rody’s attention. The auburn haired man looked up to see Tristan pulling a mug from the microwave and stirring it with a spoon. A slightly sweet scent hung in the air followed by the warmth of cinnamon.

“Here we are! The perfect thing to keep those nightmares at bay!” Tristan chirped as he closed the microwave door.

His steps weren’t audible against the floor and only the rustle of clothing and the movement of the magenta lights of his eyes let Rody know that Tristan had moved.

‘They mentioned something about my soul…This sorcellerie they seem to be using…Just what was Manon doing?!’ Rody’s thoughts were interrupted when the warm mug was eased into Rody’s hands.

He looked down at the mug with a slightly nervous look. He could see from the pale moonlight that filtered through the living room window that the milk Tristan had pulled out earlier made up the majority of the cup’s contents. He could see flecks of something floating on the surface of the milk and that still didn’t explain the sweet aroma that started to perfume the air.

Tristan tapped the side of Rody’s hand gently, “Go on. Drink up! You don’t want it to get cold on ya!”

Rody could see from the slight twitch at the corner of Tristan’s lip that the man was starting to lose a little patience. He looked back at the drink skeptically.

“You mentioned my soul the other day…Will this-” Rody was cut off when Tristan huffed.

“Come on now,” Tristan gave Rody a slightly stern look, “what do I stand to gain from taking your soul now? Besides, I’m still bound by the contract and until the terms of it are completed, it's yours to keep.”

Rody still looked hesitant, “Forgive me for being paranoid, but it's not like it's your soul up for grabs here.”

Tristan snorted as he reached under the mug and pushed it up slightly towards Rody’s lips. The auburn haired man returned the stern look he got with a stubborn glare of his own.

Tristan clicked his tongue before he spoke, “What? Are you some secret lore master or something? Got a grandfather who was a priest?”

Rody took a sip, ignoring the soft pat to the head he got for complying. The warm, creamy milk felt good going down. The hint of cinnamon added to the warm, fuzzy feeling. Was that…honey? When did he buy that? Did he buy that? Rody couldn’t quite remember. He was pretty tired while he was shopping today, so it was likely he bought some without fully registering it. All he really focused on was finishing the task, getting home, and putting the leftover cash (a whole 20 euros) into his fund for Manon.

“Non, no priests in my family,” Rody finally spoke as he met the man’s gaze, “musicians yes. But nobody associated with the church.”

Tristan patted Rody’s head once more, ignoring the way Rody bristled under his touch, “Don’t you worry that pretty, empty head of yours then. Accepting our treats isn't going to damn you more than you already have been.”

Rody took another swig of his drink to avoid speaking further. He was far too tired to try and pick the brain of some demon, was Tristan even a demon? He didn’t look anything like the gargoyles that hung out at the corner of the cathedrals in the city and they were meant to be modeled off of demons…No. Tristan looked more like those sculptures of Lucifer…the ones that his ex-girlfriend Noelle had said looked very sexy and liked to sketch. Rody could remember that Noelle had asked him to pose like one of the statues to sketch him one time…He never did get to see how that piece turned out now that he thought about it.

Rody set down the empty mug on the little table. His tired gaze met Tristan’s once more. The other man (was he a man technically? How did that even work? Would Vince know?) didn’t even look slightly tired. In fact, he seemed a lot more energized than he did during the daylight hours.

“You’re staring,” Tristan smirked as Rody’s cheeks started to color a bright red and his eyes widened slightly.

The auburn-haired man turned his head away as Tristan snickered, “Like what you see? I may not have the…assets that your petite Manon has but…I can surely teach you plenty of-”

Rody sniffed, “I don’t like men!”

Tristan rested a hand on his hip and arched a perfectly manicured brow, “Uh huh. Right. Keep telling yourself that.”

“What’s that supposed-”

Rody was cut off when Tristan snatched the heavy blanket back and draped it over his shoulder. He gave Rody a peace sign and a teasing grin.

“Sleep well! We won’t go easy on you just because you didn’t sleep, ya know~” Tristan laughed before he suddenly disappeared.

There was no poof of magical clouds. There was no whirl of flames in the middle of the apartment. There wasn’t even some mysterious wind that made Rody shut his eyes. Tristan just disappeared suddenly, as though he had never been in the apartment to begin with.

Rody looked at the empty mug on the table and sighed. He really hated doing dishes.

Chapter Text

This morning’s shower was definitely way too hot to be comfortable, but Rody knew he needed to take it anyway. His hair still felt a bit sticky from the sweating caused by his nightmare last night and sticky hair wasn’t the easiest thing to style. He might not keep the neatest home, but he could at least make himself look put together. His tips were always more plentiful when he looked like a well-adjusted adult rather than a slob and…Well Rody now had more than one reason to need all the extra money he could get.

For starters, he still wanted to save up to take Manon someplace nice. Even if she didn’t take him back on the spot, Rody still wanted to give it a try. He couldn’t just give up on the one woman who had given him so many chances!

Rody squirted a generous amount of shampoo into his hand and scrubbed his hair while thinking, ‘But would she even want to go to dinner if I don’t do everything on her list? How would she even know if I did everything? Does she get updates from those two or-’

Rody paused in his scrubbing as his mind went elsewhere. Did Manon know about Tristan and Isolde? Was that where those two pests went after declaring their business with Rody done for the day? Were they updating her on his progress to see if it was worth talking to him or accepting his invitation to dinner or not?

Rody’s eye twitched as he stepped underneath the scalding hot spray of water from his newly fixed showerhead. He could understand Isolde talking with Manon. Afterall, both were women as far as Rody was concerned. Manon also had a lot of lady friends, or at least acquaintances that were ladies. Rody had been dragged around on enough shopping trips to know that Manon was a very well-liked woman amongst her fellow women.

It was Tristan that Rody had the issue with seeing Manon. Now, Rody didn’t consider himself the jealous type. He wasn’t one to worry about some other guy swooping in to steal his lady love. For one thing, Manon was a loyal girlfriend! She had never cheated on Rody, nor did she even really mention other guys around Rody whilst they were toge-

Rody paused once more. His hand half-way to the whittled down bar of soap he preferred to use.

‘But as far as any man is concerned, Manon is single,’ the darker part of Rody’s mind reminded him. ‘She’s not fully yours anymore. She’s free to see who she wants, when she wants.’

Rody grabbed the soap and started scrubbing at himself harder than he usually would.

It wasn’t like Rody didn’t consider himself a decent catch or anything! He had his charming smile and his ability to play the guitar and sing well! Er well, he did need to re-tune his guitar since it has been about two weeks since he last played it, and it sounded slightly out of tune then.

Rody huffed as he continued his diligent scrubbing, “What’s he got that I don’t have? It’s not like he’s any taller than me or stronger than me.”

A lie, Rody was sure of it. He knew Tristan was stronger than him. Given how he picked Rody up so easily yesterday morning, as though Rody was some mere toddler compared to Tristan…Rody shook his head.

‘Even so, strength isn’t everything! He-he,’ Rody’s train of thought derailed when he noticed how hard he was squeezing the remnants of his bar of soap. Whoops!

He set the mangled remains of his soap down and stepped under the spray to rinse off. As nice as it was to feel clean, Rody couldn’t help but compare himself to his male tormentor.

Tristan wasn’t the ugliest guy Rody has ever met and…Rody wouldn’t admit that the guy was attractive. That would be gay and Rody…well he wasn’t gay! Even if this Tristan guy and Vince were unfairly attractive looking! Er well, they could get chicks with their looks! And Rody was just noticing that! Yup! Totally not gay to think that way about his fellow men that way at all!

There was something about both of them that made Rody feel slightly uncomfortable around them but not in a necessarily bad way. It was like there was a hint of…something Rody couldn’t quite place his finger on. As if there was something not so safe about either of them…

There was a hard knocking against his bathroom door that made Rody jump slightly.

“We’re here for your next lesson you pest!” Isolde’s voice, while muffled slightly by the door, was loud enough for Rody to hear over the shower’s spray.

“A-alright! Just give me a few! I’m almost done!” Rody called back as he made sure that he wasn’t a soapy mess. He hated the feeling of dried soap against his skin.

Isolde’s eyeroll was practically audible in her reply, “Well hurry it up then! You take longer than my grandmother in the morning and she’s dead!”

Rody rolled his own eyes as he muttered to himself, “Slave driver.”

Rody shut the water off, which had finally started to drop in temperature to something much more comfortable. How long was he in there for? He shook his head. He had to get ready for work.

Whilst Vince might be tolerant of his antics, Rody knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it if he was late twice in a row. Er well, as late as he had been yesterday. Fifteen minutes wasn’t necessarily Rody’s personal record for being late during his tenure at La Gueule de Saturne (that was actually two hours and fifteen minutes late after Rody had managed to flip his bike and himself off of a bridge and he had to convince the paramedics sent to retrieve him that he wasn’t trying to end his own life), Rody knew that Vince wouldn’t tolerate such tardiness twice in a row.

He could only imagine what Vince would have Rody do as punishment for being that late again. Aside from threatening to doc his pay, yesterday Vince had let Rody off relatively easy by having him handle the garbage and sweep out front. Rody still felt aches in his back after having to scrub down the deep freezer the last time he was super late.

As Rody finished drying himself off, one thought came to mind, ‘It’s going to be another long day.’

Chapter Text

With his freshly styled hair, his uniform looking decent enough, a freshly shaved face and a spritz of that lemon cologne he got on sale, Rody was ready to face the day. Or at least as ready as he could be considering he had two demons (were they actually demons? He might have to ask them at some point) in his apartment and a boss that could give said two demons a run for their money. Sometimes Rody wondered if he was being punished by some higher power for his past transgressions.

He patted his cheeks a few times to make sure he was fully awake and alert before he finally left the bathroom. Rody didn’t want to try and attempt whatever Isolde had in mind whilst half-asleep. He might not have an apartment left if that were to happen.

By the time Rody made it to the main living space, he was starting to question whether it was a good idea to continue this whole thing or not. Sure, it was only day two but something in his gut told him that it wouldn’t be any easier than yesterday…

“There you are! We need to work on your timing,” Isolde sniffed indignantly when Rody met her by the stove. She once again had a pan on the working burner, a spatula in her hand and that harsh look that Rody was growing accustomed to seeing.

Rody yawned into his hand, “Well sorry I don’t have magic that can make me get ready in two seconds.”

Isolde glared and tightened her grip on the spatula but refrained from smacking Rody with it…For now anyway. She would likely misuse it like yesterday at some point.

The auburn-haired man looked at the empty pan, “What are we making today?”

Isolde turned Rody around and nudged him towards the fridge, “Eggs.”

“Again?! But I made them-”

“And you overcooked them,” Isolde interrupted as she gave Rody a sharp look when he didn’t immediately finish the short walk to the fridge.

Rody grumbled as he made his way to the fridge, “And you made me burn myself. Excuse me for having needs.”

Before Isolde could even make it half-way to Rody, the spatula raised to smack some manners into the waiter, Tristan had grabbed her wrist. She wheeled around on her heel and gave Tristan a glare that would make a weaker man cower in the corner.

Tristan smirked and spoke with a relaxed tone in his voice, “Calm down, both of you. He has a point. Humans are more delicate than we are, and he does require a certain type of care we don’t. But the petit monsieur does need to learn to pay attention to his food when he’s preparing it.”

Isolde sniffed indignantly as she wrenched her wrist from Tristan’s grasp. She then handed the spatula to Tristan.

“Well fine! We’ll see if he does better learning from you then!” Isolde pouted as she marched her way over to the front door of the apartment.

Tristan raised a brow, “And where are you going?”

“Out!” Isolde punctuated her scream by slamming the apartment door shut behind her. The wall clock fell from the wall once more and added another crack to the already damaged face cover.

Rody and Tristan watched Isolde leave. Neither one felt inclined to run after the woman as they heard her stomping her way down the hall and to the stairs leading outside. The air felt a lot lighter after she had left. Like all of the angry tension had followed her out the door.

Rody blinked as he finally pulled two eggs out of the fridge. He looked over his shoulder as he spoke to Tristan, “I still have to cook eggs, right?”

Tristan shrugged, “I mean we could. We could cook them in a different way to keep ya from going insane.”

Tristan gestured for Rody to grab the butter from the fridge and follow him back to the stovetop. Rody complied but couldn’t help but wonder what the man had in mind.

Tristan grabbed the bread Rody had left on the counter and pushed it towards Rody. The auburn-haired man raised a brow at the action.

“Do you like egg sandwiches?” Tristan asked at the confused look he received.

“W-well I used to get them from Mime Joyeux when I was in college,” Rody admitted as his gaze shifted from the eggs in his hand to the loaf of bread on the counter in front of him.

Tristan clapped his hands, “Wonderful! Then we can have you try to make one!”

Rody set the eggs behind the bread so they wouldn’t roll off of the kitchen counter before he turned to face Tristan.

Rody’s voice sounded hesitant, “D-don’t you think that this is a bit…ambitious? I-I mean I wasn’t able to make good eggs yesterday-”

Tristan waved a hand, “So what? You think they make perfect eggs every time at Mime Joyeux? They just get ‘em cooked, slap on some cheese and fixings and then call it a day.”

Rody looked like he was about to argue further, but he closed his mouth at the flicker in Tristan’s eyes. There was that hint of danger again. Rody shifted his weight to try and make it more difficult for Tristan to grab him like he had yesterday.

Tristan gestured to the cutlery drawer, “Well? Get yourself a knife to cut yourself some bread for this sandwich and to get yourself a bit of butter to grease your pan.”

Rody pulled open the drawer and pulled out his only sharp knife, a steak knife. His other knives were merely either butter knives or knives just sharp enough to cut a cooked chicken breast. Tristan didn’t comment on the knife, but he did scribble a note down on a scrap of paper he had on the counter to his left.

Rody held the knife above the bread and looked to Tristan before he spoke, “H-how much do I need to cut?”

Tristan tapped Rody’s hand to have him lower his grip to the handle of the knife before easing that same hand right over the bread, “I’d say here is good. We don’t want you going hungry at work.”

Rody sawed the bread loaf at where Tristan had directed Rody’s hand. Tempting though it was to just try and chop the damn thing like a maniac, Rody knew a few things about knives. He had watched the chefs in the various service industry gigs he had worked over the past seven years to know how to at least cut bread properly. It was thicker than the thin slices he knew that a more deft hand could slice, but Rody wasn’t too bothered. He was feeling especially hungry this morning after having such a light dinner last night.

After leaving the bread to the side, Rody sliced off a bit of butter and tossed it into the pan before turning the burner on. While it sucked that only one burner was functioning properly, Rody knew that he wasn’t going to be cooking anything super fancy or complicated any time soon. Not if he continued to stumble over supposedly easy things like making scrambled eggs. By the time things were getting more complex, he’d either already have moved into a much nicer apartment with newer appliances or he’d have enough money to get a replacement stove.

As the butter melted, Rody cracked the eggs into a bowl he fetched from his cupboard. His knife was placed into the sink to be washed once he was done cooking.

“We could either leave them whole like this, or you could scramble them. It’s up to you,” Tristan spoke as he watched Rody work. His magenta eyes watched the auburn-haired man intently.

Rody hummed, “I think I’ll leave them alone then. I don’t feel like scrambling today.”

He grabbed the salt and pepper and seasoned the eggs like yesterday, but opted to put a touch more salt in this time. Rody felt that the overcooked eggs yesterday were a touch bland and needed an extra little something, so hopefully this would be the thing he needed.

The butter bubbled slightly, so Rody added the eggs into the pan. He couldn’t hear the same hissing sound that he did yesterday.

“Little early, but nothing terrible,” Tristan pointed out as he and Rody stared at the pan. “Next time give it another thirty seconds or so. You need a slightly harder bubble to know it’s hot.”

Rody hummed as he watched the eggs. The whites were slowly starting to cook as the soft sizzling sound started up at last. There was something calming about the sound. It reminded him of simpler times. Of how his mother would make him breakfast before school and how the hardest part of his day used to be deciding whether he wanted apple or grape juice with his breakfast.

Rody wondered what his childhood self would say if he were to see him as he is now. An adult but one that dropped out of college and was working a menial waiter job for a meager paycheck. A man without a girlfriend, nevermind a wife to have and to hold. A shitty apartment rather than a nice home. No children to call his-

“Give them a flip, the whites are cooked enough to handle it,” Tristan’s voice pulled Rody out of his little mental spiral.

Sure enough the egg whites were nicely cooked and only starting to slightly brown at the edges. Definitely much nicer looking than the time Rody tried to make breakfast in bed for his ex-girlfriend Claudette. Those wound up making hockey pucks look anemic in comparison.

Rody managed to scrape the eggs off of the pan and flipped them over, cracking the yolks in the process. Ah well. Runny egg yolks weren’t the best thing on a breakfast sandwich when you wore a white shirt anyways. Vince would probably make him stand in the bathroom and scrub the stain out should Rody show up with egg yolk stains on his uniform shirt.

After another tap on the shoulder, Rody shut off the stove’s burner and transferred the cooked eggs to the bread. He slapped the other piece of bread on top and called it a day.

“Not bad human. These look a lot nicer than yesterday!” Tristan chirped as Rody helped himself to his freshly made breakfast.

Rody spoke with his mouth full, “Wha’s the plan for later?”

Tristan hummed, “We were planning on having you do the laundry today. Something a lot simpler than the other plans we have for you, but a necessity.”

Rody swallowed thickly as he looked over by his wardrobe. He had to admit that the dirty clothes were starting to pile up a bit. Usually he’d let it go just another day or two longer…but he wasn’t in the mood to argue.

“I’m guessing Isolde will be helping with that if you helped me with this then,” Rody commented as he set the dirty pan into the sink with one hand and kept a firm hold on his sandwich in the other.

Tristan shrugged, “More than likely. Sorry she’s in a mood today. I think she expected things to go more quickly than they have been.”

Rody took another bite of his sandwich before speaking once more, his voice muffled by his mouthful of food, “I tried to warn her. I’m not a good cook.”

Tristan shook his head, “Don’t worry too much about it. You will learn at the pace you learn best at. The more we try and rush it, the worse off our progress as a whole will be. She just gets impatient because she’s young and eager to prove herself.”

“What do you mea-” Rody was cut off when Tristan took the rest of the sandwich and shoved it into Rody’s mouth. The auburn-haired man chewed as he was pretty much shoved to the door. His trusty bike (or his horse as he affectionately referred to it as) had the handlebars eased into his hands before he was unceremoniously shoved out the door.

“Don’t be late!” Tristan called before the door slammed shut.

Rody swallowed his breakfast and sighed deeply. He looked down at the floor.

“Could I at least have my work shoes?” Rody called through the closed door.

The door opened just enough for his shoes to be thrown at him before it slammed shut again. Rody sighed once more. Today couldn’t possibly get any weirder…Right?

Chapter Text

The morning air felt a tad chilly as Rody pedaled down the street. Not that the cooler air bothered Rody at all, but it was just something that reminded him that summer hadn’t fully arrived yet. It made the ride to work feel extra invigorating if anything.

He could smell the heavenly smells of bakers firing up their latest rounds of baked goods and breads. The first batches of the morning were likely already cooled off and ready to be sold as soon as their doors were open.

Rody waved to the older man who ran the flower shop at the end of his street. Henri was a kindly gentleman in his late fifties who took over running the flower shop after his wife had passed last fall. Rody had often checked in on the man as per the late Annette's request. She was kind enough to help Rody figure out the language of flowers so he would stop accidentally insulting his dates by buying the wrong flowers, so the least he could do is make sure her widower husband was still well.

“Ah Lamoree! I didn’t expect to see you up this early. What’s the occasion?” Henri called as Rody skidded to a stop in front of the flower shop.
Rody cocked his head slightly, “Early? What do you mean?”

Henri chuckled, “Why it’s barely five thirty my boy! Has your clock finally stopped working?”

Rody blinked. Ah. No wonder it felt a bit chilly outside and there weren’t nearly as many people out and about. He usually didn’t leave the apartment this early…Nor did he usually get up and get ready this early as well…

Henri was starting to give him that slightly concerned paternal look that made Rody squirm. Why did he have to be so damn observant?!

“Oh, you know! I was hoping that if I make more of an effort to show up early that my boss might finally agree to give me a raise! Then I might be able to buy more flowers from you,” Rody replied, suppressing a guilty twinge. While that might be true, Rody wasn’t actually intending on showing up to work this early…Nor could he start talking about nonsense regarding demons without looking like he had lost his mind.

Henri reached over and patted Rody’s hands, “You’re a good kid, Lamoree. You remind me of myself at your age.”

Rody’s face grew a bit red, “Monsieur Duval, weren’t you already married and had a child by the time you were my age?”
Henri waved a dismissive hand, “You will find the right girl sooner or later Lamoree. And I expect you to bring her over so I can give you both my blessing.”

Rody’s mind immediately went to Manon. He could already hear her melodious laughter and eagerness to meet the florist behind the lovely bouquets Rody had gifted her with. He could practically see her sitting at the little table Henri kept in the back, sipping on a cup of coffee as she listened to Henri babble about stories of long-gone days. He could see her eyes glittering as Henri pulled out album after album of old photographs and mementos from bygone days.

“I won’t keep you Lamoree,” Henri’s voice pulled Rody out of his musings. The older man was returning to his task of watering the flowers outside the front of his shop.

“It was nice to see you again Monsieur Duval,” Rody replied as he remounted his bike. “Will I see you at the upcoming festival next week?”

Henri smiled as he waved Rody off, “But of course! My grandchildren have spoken of nothing but the festival for the past week! What kind of grand père* do you take me for?”

Rody grinned back, “Just making sure! I didn’t want you to forget!”

Rody rode off on his bike towards the restaurant as the excitement of a festival coming to town washed over him. It was an informal thing that the local businesses had started just after the war had ended. Something to celebrate the coming of summer and the homecoming of their loved ones from the front. Rody could remember begging his parents for extra pocket money so he could buy extra candies at his favorite stalls when the festival came to town.

Maybe Rody could convince Vince to let him have the day off to actually enjoy the festival? Or he could somehow convince Manon to meet him at one of the pop-up cafés for a light lunch? Not necessarily as a date, much as Rody would like that, but…maybe she wouldn’t say no if it was proposed as just a friendly meet up between friends?

Friends…Rody could definitely use a few more of those. But he could worry about that later! Right now, he had a job to get to and two demons he had to deal with in order to win back his girlfriend!

With both thoughts in mind, Rody sped off towards his job. He was serious when he told Henri that he was planning on asking Vince for a raise…Well maybe not today but…Perhaps showing up earlier than usual would start to get Vince to soften up his hard no into a more tentative maybe. Yeah…Rody could work with that.

Chapter Text

Rody skidded to a stop in front of La Gueule de Saturne, just as the sun was reaching the point in the sky to make the ground below look bathed in a rich golden color. The clouds looked like pink globs of cotton candy against the rich orange sky caused by the rising sun. The upper half of the sky was still purplish from the fading nighttime.

He looked over at the horizon with sparkling eyes. Rody normally didn’t get to watch the sun rise. He was often either rushing about trying to get ready for work or he was still asleep. The soft sounds of songbirds beginning their morning tunes added to the magic of the moment. Maybe getting up early would be worth it if it meant he could see more sights like this? Rody locked up his bike in his usual spot so his trusty steed wouldn't be stolen from him. It would suck if he had to walk to work just because he was being slightly careless.

“What are you doing here so early, Lamoree?” A familiar voice questioned from just behind Rody.

The auburn-haired man jumped slightly before he pivoted on his heel to see who was speaking.

“O-oh! It’s just you Vince! You scared me there!” Rody breathed a sigh of relief. It was only his boss, nothing to be too afraid of!

Vincent gave Rody a flat look as he corrected Rody automatically, “It’s Vincent.”

Rody waved a dismissive hand, “Yeah, yeah boss.”

“You never answered my question,” Vincent replied as he continued with his standard morning opening routine. The front door was being tested to ensure that the bell still worked and that the hinges didn’t need lubrication. He couldn’t run a successful restaurant if he had squeaky hinges or a broken bell now, could he?

“Right, right,” Rody replied as he watched Vincent with interested eyes. It wasn’t often that he got a chance to watch Vincent in action, so Rody took every little opportunity that came his way. There was something almost cat-like in the way Vincent moved. A fluidity and sureness that only added to that mysterious appeal Rody was thinking about earlier…

Vincent paused and stared Rody down with that impassive look on his face. Only Vincent’s dark eyes betrayed a slight hint of curiosity. He put a hand on his hip as he waited for Rody to actually respond instead of just staring like an idiot all day.

Rody blinked and a bit of color flushed his cheeks, “S-sorry! I just got up earlier than usual, so I figured that I’d come in early! You know, just in case you needed help with anything!”

Vincent remained silent as he continued to scrutinize Rody and his words. That feeling came up again in his gut. That heavy feeling that something wasn’t quite adding up or that Rody wasn’t being entirely truthful with him. That still didn’t explain the dark circles under Rody’s eyes nor the remnants of marks on either side of Rody’s neck. While the bruising from yesterday had mostly faded, there were still what looked like some sort of bite or puncture marks left behind. Just what the hell was Rody even doing after work to get marks like those anyway?

“...,” Vincent turned around as he gestured for Rody to follow him.

Rody complied like the loyal pooch he was often compared to. Vincent led Rody inside the restaurant and towards the back to Vincent’s office. The path was starting to become familiar enough to Rody that he didn’t necessarily need Vincent guiding him like he was a lost child.

The chefs were starting to file in from the back entrance and each one was setting up at their assigned station. There wasn’t a single word spoken, but each one knew what their tasks were based on the listed menus left at each station. They must have learned Vincent’s recipes by heart to be able to start their prep-work right away.

Whatever sounds were starting up in the kitchen were quickly muffled when Rody shut the office door behind him. He hesitantly approached the desk where Vincent was now shuffling through some papers left on his desk.

Rody was about to ask Vincent why they came back to the office when Vincent’s voice cut through the heavy silence, “We never finished our conversation yesterday.”

Rody put a hand to his chin as he crossed his arms in thought, “Our conversation yesterday? Oh! You mean where we were talking about whether we’d rather fight a dozen chicken sized dinosaurs or one dinosaur sized chicken! Because I still stand by-”

“Not that,” Vincent interrupted before Rody could go on another tangent about how he would train the dinosaur-sized chicken to be his steed and make a fortune off of selling the oversized eggs to interested restaurants. “Our conversation about how you knew about why yesterday’s wine pairing worked and how you were behaving strangely yesterday.”

Rody blinked and a hint of fear flickered through his eyes. A flicker that Vincent noticed but didn’t comment on.

Rody met Vincent’s eyes after a moment of hesitation, “W-well like I told you yesterday, I’m trying to learn about wine pairings to win back Manon. Maybe she’d appreciate being with a more cultured man and well…It’s better to try and fail than never to have tried at all.”

Vincent wanted to call Rody out on his bullshit. He really did. He could hear the way that deception coated his tongue and dribbled off of every word. He could see the way that Rody could barely meet his eyes. The actions of a guilty man. Normally, Rody never had trouble meeting Vincent’s eyes.

“Is that all?” Vincent questioned as he drank in the way Rody jumped and tried to hide that little fact. The way his eyes flickered about like a rat caught in a trap.

Rody nodded and smiled a nervous grin that didn’t meet his eyes the way his usual grins did. As delectable as that cornered and wild energy looked on Rody…It did little to quell the hints of worry that were starting to converge in Vincent. As much as Vincent tried to rationalize it as merely being the typical worries a boss would have if their employee wasn’t acting like their usual self…Vincent knew that there was more to it than just that.

Rody waved a hand, “W-well if that’s all you needed to-”

Before Vincent could continue his interrogation, a knock sounded on the door. Rody was kind enough to open the door to let in one of the chefs. Which one was it again…Ah that was right! It was Louvet! Rody could tell since he was the one with the pierced right ear!

“Chef,” Louvet spoke with a raspy voice, “we have a problem. There’s an issue with the burners on Rousseaux’s station and the pilot light is refusing to reignite.”

Vincent rose from his position and immediately stalked forward with that cat-like precision Rody was thinking about earlier. Only this time the intensity read more like a lion than a mere house cat.

“Show me,” Vincent spoke in a clear and firm voice. His take charge voice.

Louvet nodded as he led Vincent into the kitchen. Rody remained in the office as he was sure he shouldn’t get involved in the burner fiasco. Despite being able to make a semi-decent egg sandwich this morning, Rody was sure his usual luck with open flames would quite literally blow up in his face. And he really didn’t want to have to pay for hospital bills on top of trying to balance all these tasks to keep his soul out of the clutches of two demons intent on keeping it for themselves.

Chapter Text

Luckily the stove was fixed before the lunch service could begin. The chaos was enough for Rody to slip away into the dining room without Vincent trying to interrogate him any further. Making sure that the entire building wouldn’t blow up proved to be a much higher priority than trying to figure out why the hell Rody looked like he hadn’t slept properly last night or why he suddenly had some sort of moment where he sounded like an experienced sommelier yesterday.

The restaurant was as busy as yesterday’s lunch rush, so Rody didn’t have time to pester Vincent with questions like usual. It also meant that Rody was safe from Vincent trying to turn the tables on him with a sudden question of his own. While it meant that Rody’s source of entertainment at work was off the table, it also meant that he wouldn’t have to divulge more than he wanted to.

Rody wasn’t even sure what he could say about his current situation to begin with! It wasn’t like he was given a contract or a rule book or whatever by the two nuisances that seemed fixated on either remaking him into a better version of himself or torturing him for their own amusement. Would saying anything at all mean that his soul was automatically forfeit and that his hard work thus far would be for nothing? Would it force whomever he told about this deal to be trapped in it as well?

As much as Rody found Vincent to be an intimidating cheapskate at times, he also found that he liked Vincent. Well, liked him in a friendly with the boss kinda way! Not in a wanting more than being friends with the boss kinda way! Nope! There was no hint of attraction on Rody’s end towards Vincent! No matter how much Vincent’s face had that model-like look that Rody found himself drawn towards staring at when things were slow…

“Excuse me, but are you going to just stand there or are you going to take our orders?” A voice pulled Rody out of his thoughts. He shook his head before returning his attention to the group seated at the table he was standing in front of.

“Forgive me! What will we be having today?” Rody asked as he slipped into his usual customer service tone.

While Rody was busy tending to the dining room full of customers, Vincent was keeping a very close eye on things in the kitchen. He was a little unnerved by the incident with the burner and pilot light on Rousseaux’s station earlier. It unintentionally brought back something Rody had said to Vincent earlier. Something that made Vincent more uncomfortable than he cared to admit.

‘Nah, it’s just-isn’t that worrying? Like if something happens to the building it’s all gonna be gone-’

Vincent had dismissed Rody’s concern that day not just because there was lots of work to be done that day, but also because Vincent had assumed that such a thing would never be a possibility. He was always on top of making sure that all of the equipment in the kitchen was in proper working order and that any issues would be fixed both properly and quickly. But…

Knowing how close they could have come to disaster had Louvet not bothered to say something…Vincent knew that hiring that one was a good idea. Louvet was sharp and quick to point out when something was wrong, even if it meant possibly getting on Vincent’s bad side. Without that boldness the entire building could have easily exploded and taken out everyone inside of it as well. Perhaps he needed to reward Louvet for his quick thinking today.

Orders were coming and going quickly enough to keep the entire kitchen busy, but not busy enough for mistakes like the one Manet had made yesterday with his knife cuts. The chef in question was being extra mindful, which meant that Vincent wouldn’t have to be nearly as nitpicky with each dish that was going out into the dining room.

Rody was in top form today despite looking like he hadn’t slept properly last night. At least he wasn’t wincing like yesterday. He hadn’t dropped a single plate, nor did he give Vincent that lost puppy look that often came before one of his off-topic questions he loved to bother Vincent with. Although…Vincent did find himself wondering why a part of him felt a little upset that Rody wasn’t looking for an excuse to come back into the kitchen to bother Vincent with questions like usual. That little thought would be shelved until Vincent was home for the evening with that bottle that-

A sharp shriek and the sound of glass shattering made everyone in the kitchen stop what they were doing and look towards the dining room. Vincent gave his chefs a sharp look and barked, “Stay here. I’ll investigate.”

He strode out of the kitchen with his shoulders squared and his head held high. Part of him was expecting to walk into a customer trying to give Rody a hard time or some sort of argument between patrons.

What he didn’t expect to see when he walked into the dining room was the sheer pandemonium going on around him. Patrons were shouting. Some were trying to clear away from the center of the dining room while others circled around the center table. From the shock of auburn hair that Vincent could see in the gaps in the crowd, Rody was at least safe albeit very close to the ground.

Vincent managed to nudge his way forward to take in the sight before him. An older patron, one of their regulars, was lying on the ground. His dining partner, his granddaughter, was weeping into the shoulder of a nearby patron. Said patron was doing his best to awkwardly pat her back comfortingly while also ignoring the pointed looks his date was sending him.

Rody was kneeling beside the old man and was taking his pulse whilst looking at the cheap watch on his wrist.

“What happened here, Lamoree?” Vincent’s voice caught Rody’s attention. The waiter looked up with an unusually serious look on his face.

“I was getting this table their sides when the old man slumped over. He went pale and his heartbeat isn't there. It's stopped,” Rody replied with a shakiness to his voice that didn’t match the steadiness of the hand checking the older man’s pulse.

Vincent clapped his hands, “Then I will kindly ask that everyone please stand aside. I will call the paramedics, and we need to allow the professionals space to work with this gentleman.”

Rody nodded, “I worked at a pool one summer. I can at least try and keep him stable until they get here.”

A woman’s voice called through the crowd from the back left corner, “E-excuse me! I’m a nurse! I can also help!”

The crowd stood aside as a taller woman quickly joined Rody by the older man. She immediately took charge by opening up the man’s shirt and starting chest compressions.

Vincent was at the phone in what felt like the blink of an eye. He shook his head before quickly dialing for the paramedics. He wouldn’t allow one of his patrons to die just because he was starting to feel overwhelmed by the panic of the crowd around him.

The crowd was continuing to talk loudly amongst themselves. Some more panicked than before while others were watching as though a soap opera was unfolding before them. A sharp whistle drew the crowd’s attention while Rody continued to assist the nurse in keeping the old man’s heart from stopping completely.

A raspy voice called, “You heard the man. This ain’t a soap opera! Now kindly head to the side of the room so the lovely lady and our waiter can keep the old man safe.”

Louvet had dared to emerge from the kitchen and could feel the eyes of his co-workers on his back. Rousseaux was right behind him and nodded serenely. The much taller red head almost looked like a bodyguard to the more boisterous blond in front of him.

“That’s right folks,” Rousseaux’s voice was like a crooner’s voice. Calm and deep and so soothing to listen to.

Sensing the weight of the situation, the crowd opted to listen to the two men instead of trying to argue. The old man’s granddaughter was escorted to the restroom to clean up her face by an older woman from a nearby table. Everyone else made space so the nurse and Rody wouldn’t be at risk of being trampled while they tended to the old man.

Finally, a sense of calm started to ease into the restaurant. The crowd’s noise settled into a more muted whispering. Louvet and Rousseaux had made their way back into the kitchen. Their jobs were done. They had backed up their boss in his time of need.

One could only hope that the dining room would remain calm when the proper authorities arrived.

Chapter Text

After what felt like an eternity, the authorities were finally done loading up the old man and getting his panicked granddaughter settled in the ambulance. The nurse who was assisting Rody was finishing telling the team her assessment of the man’s condition while the rest of the patrons were starting to settle down.

Some opted to finish what courses they had in front of them and cancel the rest of their order. Luckily the chefs had enough sense to not cook anything while the pandemonium was going on. Otherwise, a lot of good meals would go to waste…

Other patrons decided to allow their orders to go through and would gladly wait for their meals. After all of the excitement from earlier, a few folks were feeling a little hungry. Besides, it wasn’t like it was an everyday occurrence to have a medical emergency in the middle of one of Paris’ most popular restaurants. Why allow something so out of the ordinary to ruin what was left of a good time?

After talking briefly to the paramedics about what he had witnessed before the old man had lost consciousness, Rody was back to tending to the remaining customers in the restaurant. Rationally he knew that the old man was going to the hospital and would be treated for whatever it was that had caused his heart to stop beating. Rationally he knew that he and the nurse had done everything they could with what supplies they had available in the restaurant to keep the old man’s heart beating.

That still didn’t do anything to ease the guilt that was gnawing its way through Rody’s stomach. He hated the way his stomach clenched and bubbled.

‘You could have done more. You should have done more,’ echoed in his mind over and over again. The fact that it was being repeated in his own voice made it feel that much worse.

The nurse eventually returned to her table and stopped to pat Rody on the arm. She whispered to him, “The old man will be just fine.”

Rody sighed in response, “That’s good. You really saved the day there.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” the nurse replied as she met his guilty gaze with a steady one of her own. “Your chest compressions were excellent in terms of depth and rhythm. Plus, your stamina allowed you to continue when I had to stop. I must thank you for assisting me.”

“Thank you,” Rody smiled a weak smile to the woman. He was thankful that the nurse had decided not to speak about the matter further. Despite her kind words, Rody knew that it would take some time to unpack everything that was swirling around in his mind. The middle of a busy lunch service wasn’t the time or place to deal with an emotional breakdown.

Vincent had handled the more public relations side of things with his usual charismatic charm that only really appeared when he was dealing with customers. That easy smile and reassurance that everything would be just fine and that he prided himself in having staff that could handle emergencies just like the one that had just occurred.

Of course, it did little to quell that feeling in Vincent’s gut that somehow the day was cursed or something. He could understand having the stove malfunction or a customer having a medical emergency, but to have both happen on the same day? Just mere hours apart?

‘Something is seriously wrong here,’ Vincent thought as he was finally free to escape to the back alley. He was desperate for a cigarette after all of the reassurances he had to dole out and questions he had to answer.

Yes, the old man would be fine. No, it was nothing to do with the food. Yes, they would be safe after eating their meal. Yes, Vincent was aware that his waiter was trained in CPR (a white lie. He knew Rody had worked lots of odd jobs before his service industry jobs, but not necessarily what kinds of jobs.). No, Vincent was not going to harass the old man or his granddaughter about payment for their meal. He had a fund set aside for such emergencies should it be necessary.

Vincent flicked his lighter and took a long drag of his cigarette before exhaling an equally long wisp of smoke. The feeling of smoke in his mouth almost made up for the lack of taste on his tongue. It was days like this that he especially wished for functioning taste buds if only to distract himself further from all the stress that was making his temples pound.

The timing couldn’t have been poorer. First Rody shows up to work yesterday marked up and barely able to walk properly without wincing. Then he goes and speaks as though he had been a sommelier when both Vincent and Rody know that such knowledge wasn’t within Rody’s wheelhouse. Today wasn’t much different from Rody showing up to work early and showing off a skill Vincent wasn’t even aware that his waiter even had!

If Vincent were a superstitious man, he would start to suspect that some sort of sorcellerie was involved. That his auburn-haired waiter was meddling with forces he wasn’t meant to meddle with for some unknown reason.

But such an idea was preposterous! Vincent knew that sorcellerie was just old folk tales spun into pitches to sell junk and snake oil to unsuspecting people. He could remember being a youngster and believing some older woman could restore his sense of taste if he had just drunk some sort of potion she had concocted. Said potion was just turmeric tea with a hint of honey that the woman poured into a bottle and charged him the entirety of his weekly allowance for.

Vincent took another drag of his cigarette as he thought, ‘It’s all just a coincidence. Nothing more.’

He watched the smoke he had exhaled curl and dissipate. It was just a bit of an unlucky streak, nothing more. Everything would return to normal by tomorrow. Vincent was sure of it.

Chapter Text

The lunch service had ended rather uneventfully. Customers filed out of the restaurant after paying their bills and a few felt kind enough to give Rody a nice tip. The empty plates had been cleared and the scraps left behind were emptied into the trash can.

The full trash can had been emptied into the dumpster in the back and Rody could still smell the lingering tobacco scent left behind by Vincent. That mingled with the general aroma of rotting garbage did little to boost Rody’s already down mood.

One of the little rats that liked to eat out of the restaurant’s garbage scurried from underneath the dumpster. Rody watched it scramble through the fence to the building on the other side. Sometimes he felt like that little rat. Hunting for scraps just to get by and being hunted by cats intent on eating him alive…Or at least it felt that way given his new circumstances.

Rody rubbed the side of his neck as he rested his back against the brick wall behind him. He couldn’t feel any divots that would point to the marks on either side of his neck being actual puncture marks. To the outside observer, it was just another set of moles on Rody, and he certainly had more than his fair share already.

He stared up at the sky and watched the clouds roll by lazily on the faint breeze. The air had warmed up considerably compared to this morning and it was certainly shaping up to be a nice day. Rody could remember, though barely, his college days and how when the weather grew nice, he would rush out to the nearest park as soon as possible. He would bring his guitar and play to his heart’s content while watching the people stroll through the park.

Sometimes he would make some tip money and that would pay for his lunch. He’d scarf down a greasy burger and some fries while enjoying the fresh air before having to subject himself to what felt like another endless round of lectures and assignments. A part of Rody regretted leaving that life behind him. Maybe if he had just stayed in school, he wouldn’t be stuck working menial jobs for table scraps. Maybe he’d make more than enough money to stay in a nicer apartment. Maybe he’d have enough money to treat Manon the way she had deserved to be treated. Maybe…

“Lamoree! Chef wants to talk to you,” a voice broke Rody out of his mental spiraling.

He looked over and noticed that one of the chefs was at the backdoor. Which one was it again…Slit on the left eyebrow…Oh! It was Donadieu! That was it!

Rody gave Donadieu a sheepish grin, “Thanks! I’ll be in in a minute. I just needed some air after…Well, you know.”

Donadieu shrugged, “Suit yourself. I’ll let Chef know you’re just taking a breather.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Rody replied as Donadieu turned around to re-enter the kitchen.

Donadieu looked over his shoulder at Rody. He looked like he had wanted to say something but thought better of it, so he returned to his task of delivering the message to Vincent.

As the heavy door clunked shut, Rody exhaled a deep sigh as he rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palms. He felt so tired and wanted to do nothing more than just curl up on his couch and sleep for a week straight. Was this normal? He had made a few rescues during his lifeguard days but…None of them left him feeling like this afterwards…

Was this something that Manon was talking about when she had said she had noticed something odd in his moods? No, that didn’t feel right either…Rody didn’t really start to notice these down and tired feelings until after Manon had…

Rody shook his head as he pushed himself away from the wall. He was still on the clock after all, and Vincent seemed desperate to talk to him if he was willing to send one of the chefs after him. As much as Rody wanted to avoid it, he would have to actually talk to Vincent rather than try and hide like some child avoiding punishment.

He took a few deep breaths and squeezed his hands into fists until he felt his nails dig into his palms. The pinch allowed Rody to feel more centered and grounded than before. That previously tired and disconnected feeling morphed into just feeling tired.

Rody took one more breath before returning inside of the restaurant. All he could hope for now was that his conversation with Vincent would end terribly. He really wasn’t in the mood to try and find job number thirty on top of trying to accomplish everything Manon had wanted him to do. Rody doubted that those two pests that wanted his soul would do anything to make job hunting any easier on him should he screw this one up…

Chapter Text

The short walk to Vincent’s office felt like it would never end but also felt too short at the same time. Rody barely had time to think of what he was going to say to Vincent let alone properly shove his emotions to the side. It was times like this where Rody regretted feeling things at all. Why couldn’t he be cold and emotionless like Vincent? Maybe then things would have actually worked out for Rody…

Rody took the time to actually knock on the door rather than just barge in like usual. He wasn’t even entirely sure Vincent was going to try and continue the line of questioning he had been attempting to get Rody to answer over the past two days. For all Rody knew, Vincent could just be checking to make sure Rody was stable after the events of this afternoon. While that may sound like Vincent cared for Rody’s well-being, the waiter knew that-

“You may enter,” Vincent’s voice was its usual cool tone. Vincent likely needed to know whether he would have to send Rody home or not.

At least Rody had that going for him. It was a sense of normalcy in the wake of what was quickly becoming an overwhelming deluge of changes all at once.

Rody opened the door slowly and closed it behind him quietly. He kept his gaze lowered to the floor to look at the ugly rug underneath Vincent’s desk. He still didn’t understand where Vincent’s aesthetic taste came from but…It did give him an excuse to not meet Vincent’s piercing gaze. Rody didn’t even need to look up to know that his boss was giving him that look. The one that prodded and poked at Rody, looking for weaknesses or simply trying to dissect the waiter. That look that tried to see what made Rody tick.

“Y-you wanted to see me, sir?” Rody kept his voice low as his eyes flicked up briefly to see Vincent sitting behind the desk.

Vincent tented his fingers as he continued to examine Rody. His usually bright energy was nowhere to be seen. The scraps of food in the dumpster seemed livelier than Rody did at this moment. The air around Rody felt like the life had been sucked out of it and left behind a grayish miasma that drained the energy from him further. His slumped shoulders and dark circles under his eyes only added further evidence to Vincent’s theory that something was going on outside of work that was bleeding into his work performance.

Vincent couldn’t get Rody to meet his gaze, which was especially unusual. Sure, Rody would glance away if he was feeling flustered by something Vincent had said, but he always returned the eye contact once that fluster had passed. The fact that those grayish-green eyes were focused on the rug instead of Vincent’s face was enough for the chef to rise from his desk and walk around the front of it instead of simply sitting behind it.

Rody blinked and jumped slightly when he saw the neat black shoes of Vincent enter his field of vision. They were standard non-slip shoes in black but likely cost more than Rody could reasonably afford. Not on his salary as a waiter anyway.

“Look at me, Lamoree,” Vincent ordered in his usual stern tone.

Rody bit his lower lip before finally wrenching his gaze off of the floor to meet Vincent’s eyes. The man in question was leaning against the desk and resting both hands on either side of him. His intense stare was impossible to escape once Rody finally made eye contact with him. There was something almost hypnotic about Vincent’s dark eyes. Like Rody could feel himself getting lost within their depths as he searched for those tiny flickers of emotion that Vincent’s eyes would always betray long before his body language would.

Rody’s face started to grow warm when he realized that he was practically ogling his boss. What was he? Some high-school girl watching her crush from afar? He was a grown-ass man dammit and Rody was gonna solve his problems like one!

Rody’s voice came out far more strained than he cared to admit as he asked, “W-what did you wanna talk about?”

The slight stutter over the first word had Vincent arching one of his perfectly manicured brows and tilting his head ever so slightly. If his gut wasn’t churning over thoughts of something odd going on with Rody before, it surely would be now.

Vincent kept his voice even and cool as he spoke, “I think you know exactly what I’m calling you in here for, Lamoree.”

Sweat started to bead at Rody’s temples as he swallowed thickly and audibly. The way his eyes dilated and flickered with a hint of fear only served to increase Vincent’s intrigue.

“T-today’s lunch service?” Rody replied in a much higher voice than usual. He cleared his throat and looked away from Vincent, who had shifted from leaning against the desk to standing up straight.

Vincent approached more quickly and quietly than Rody had expected. It felt like only a blink and Vincent was already in Rody’s personal bubble. The chef’s cold hand brushed the bangs from Rody’s face in an unusually tender movement. Rody’s heart started beating quicker as his cheeks burned a brighter red color. He could already feel the flush spreading to his ears as he could only mutely watch Vincent.

Vincent’s brows furrowed as he met Rody’s gaze. His voice was surprisingly tender, “Are you sure you’re well, Lamoree? You really haven’t been acting like your usual self the past two days.”

Rody blinked as the gears started to turn in his head. Was Vincent…actually worried about him? Was that why he kept trying to get Rody to talk? Huh. Guess he wasn’t as much of an emotionless hardass as Rody initially thought, huh?

“Like I said…I-uh…I really haven’t been sleeping well and-” Rody answered as he felt the nervous sweat drip down the side of his neck. Did Vincent always keep his office this warm or was it just Rody?

“Are you certain it’s just that?” Vincent questioned as he finally pulled his hand away from Rody’s forehead. While it didn’t feel like his waiter had a fever, it still didn’t explain his sudden blush nor why he was so nervous all of a sudden.

Rody wasn’t even sure what to say. He was honestly touched that someone as impressive as Vincent actually…cared about someone as pathetic as him. That Vincent deemed Rody someone worthy of such a rare, tender action…

Vincent sighed softly, “Lamoree, if you’re struggling you can say so. You don’t have to push yourself to the brink like this.”

Rody tilted his head, “W-what do-”

“You’re crying.”

“H-huh?”

Rody touched his cheek and pulled his hand away as though it had been burned. Sure enough it was wet, and he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. When had that started? He didn’t even realize…

Rody reached up and scrubbed at his eyes with his palms. He inhaled a sharp, shaky breath as he attempted to ground himself.

Vincent clicked his tongue as he returned to grab the tissue box off of his desk and pulled out a few. Why did he even bother trying? This emotional connection stuff was way outside of Vincent’s comfort zone…

Vincent grabbed Rody’s wrist and pulled it away from his face as he spoke, “Use these instead. We can’t have you rubbing your face raw.”

Rody sniffled as he accepted the tissues from Vincent with a watery smile, “Th-thanks Vince.”

Vincent didn’t bother correcting Rody this time as he watched the auburn-haired man wipe away his tears. As much as Vincent wanted to deny it, something inside of his chest hurt when he noticed Rody crying. Did Vincent push too hard? Did he say something wrong?

It took a moment, but Rody finally breathed out a much steadier sigh as he tossed away the used tissues into Vincent’s trash can. He met Vincent’s concerned gaze a lot easier than before.

“I..I’m sorry you had to see that,” Rody replied as he rubbed at the back of his neck.

Vincent remained quiet for the moment as he allowed Rody a bit of space to compose himself. There was no point in pushing further if Rody was still at risk of breaking down again…Or breaking down into an inconsolable state.

“Like I had pointed out,” Vincent started as he opted to keep his hands to himself this time, “you appear to be pushing yourself too hard.”

Rody huffed deeply as his shoulders dropped, “I have to work hard if I’m going to get everything I need to done.”

Vincent raised a brow once more as he crossed his arms over his chest, “What do you mean by that?”

Rody silently swore at himself for speaking carelessly. But at the same time though…maybe Vincent would be understanding of at least part of the story…

“W-well, I need to make a lot of changes if I wanna win Manon back! And I wanna get a move on before she has a chance to change her mind!” Rody replied with that goofy, love-sick grin he always got on his face whenever he spoke of or even thought of Manon.

“I see…” Vincent replied as he allowed himself to breathe a slight sigh of relief. At least Rody wasn’t caught up in something dangerous. He was just being an idiot like usual. Why did Vincent even bother worrying about him in the first place.

Rody felt himself getting turned around by Vincent and being pushed out of the office. Rody looked up over his shoulder at his boss and asked, “Er Vince?”

“It’s Vincent,” Vincent corrected as he finally opened the door before them.

“Right, um what are-”

Rody was pushed out of the office before he could even finish his question. He turned on his heel to face Vincent, who was giving him an impatient look once more.

“If you continue to push yourself to the point where it is impacting your work performance like it has been, I will have no choice but to fire you,” Vincent answered in a colder tone of voice than usual.

Rody grit his teeth and balled up a fist as he growled lowly, “So you want me to just stay the same then? And lose out on my one chance of finding love?”

Vincent sneered cooly, “I don’t care what you get up to outside of work so long as it doesn’t interfere with your work performance, which it has been. I’m not here to coddle your ego.”

Rody pivoted on his heel as he marched towards the back door.

“Where are you going?” Vincent asked as Rody grabbed the door handle of the backdoor.

“Getting some air,” Rody snapped back as he ripped the door open and slammed it shut behind him.

What was he thinking? Vincent didn’t care. Vincent never cared about Rody or his problems. He was as much of a hardass as Rody always pegged him as. But…Rody still needed this job if only for the money. He didn’t have a backup job lined up yet so he couldn’t immediately walk out on the job like he was so tempted to do.

Vincent huffed as he carded a hand through his hair and dug out his trusty pack of cigarettes from his pocket. As he pulled out a cigarette, he noticed the chefs staring at him. Ah. They were an audience to the little argument between him and Rody then. How lovely.

“What are you staring at? Get back to work!” Vincent snapped before turning on his heel and retreating into the office.

He could hear the hurried scurrying of his employees scrambling to continue their much-needed prep-work for tonight’s dinner service. Good. At least he had some employees that still listened to and respected him.

And here he went and wasted sympathy on that pesky Rody! All for it to be for nothing! Vincent knew he had to make the waiter pay for talking back and making Vincent worry over nothing. He just needed to figure out what would be an appropriate punishment to get his point across. He was the boss here, not Rody. And the waiter needed to re-learn his place in the restaurant.

Chapter Text

Dinner service passed in a hazy blur. Rody channeled whatever remaining frustrations he had into getting dishes to customers quickly and cleaning up just as quickly. He put on his polite smile and customary customer service voice to mask his true feelings, much like any practiced worker in the service industry would do.

Glass after glass of wine was handed out. God Rody needed a drink when he got home. He had eleven cans of beer left in his fridge and at least a few of those would be in his belly soon enough. He could almost taste the hoppy goodness and feel the foam against his tongue.

“Your mains,” Rody said as he dished out the last of the mains to the four top table closest to the door.

“Thank you!” The older woman at the table replied before she and her table mates started to enjoy the next course of their meal.

Rody could feel Vincent’s eyes on him as he worked. The usual stinging sensation felt more like a burn this time. As though Vincent’s glare would be enough to make the waiter spontaneously combust.

Rody continued to ignore Vincent. Despite the fact that he would have normally pestered the man in question with at least eight questions by now, Rody made it a point to avoid speaking to Vincent. Not after being rudely shoved out and made to feel like a fool just because Rody was trying to better himself.

‘Starting tonight, I’m looking for a new job,’ Rody decided mentally as he handed a table their ordered desserts.

Fuck Vincent. Fuck this place. He wasn’t getting paid enough to be verbally abused by some hack of a chef with a superiority complex. If Rody didn’t know that Vincent was just as painfully single as Rody himself was, Rody would have pitied Vincent’s wife. It must suck to be married to a man with as tiny of a dick as Vincent. That must be part of why he’s such a nasty-

Rody’s train of thought was cut off when he noticed that the next round of sides was ready. He grabbed the plates and nodded in thanks to the chef who had placed them in the pickup window.

The chef nodded back. Rody thought for a moment. Ah, it was Louvet! He tended to be the most overtly social when it came to Rody. Maybe Rody should see if the blond chef was interested in doing something after work one night? Just as a thank you for making his time at the restaurant feel less like Hell.

As Rody scurried off to deliver the sides, Louvet could feel the intense look Vincent was giving him. The blond rolled his eyes and returned to his station without comment. He was in no mood to deal with the aftermath of the lovers’ quarrel his boss just had with the waiter boy.

Vincent ignored the urge to call out Louvet for rolling his eyes. He knew the older man would just chew him out later. The two of them had worked together at one of the many restaurants Vincent had used to work at while he was putting himself through culinary school. Louvet was slightly older and had helped train Vincent when he was still just learning his way around the kitchen. The blond had also stepped in and disciplined Vincent when necessary.

Vincent knew that if given the opportunity that Louvet would cuff Vincent over the head and scold him for being a hard ass just like the good old days. So Vincent would do his best to avoid giving Louvet that very same opportunity.

Vincent still hadn’t come up with a suitable punishment for Rody for talking back earlier. It had to be both humiliating and effective. Something that would remind the auburn-haired brat who was really in charge around here.

Vincent eyed up the dingy floors and got an idea. Yes. That would do perfectly. If Rody didn’t learn respect after this then nothing would be able to pound that lesson into that thick head of his.

Chapter Text

Dinner service ended without incident, which compared to the excitement during lunch service felt very anticlimactic. Rody gathered the leftover dishes from the dining room and scraped off the scraps before setting the dishes to be washed.

He gathered up the last of the trash and walked out back to throw it into the dumpster. Part of him idly wondered how many more times he would have to do this. Maybe he would get lucky and find a job where he wasn’t expected to haul garbage until his entire body ached.

Rody took a moment to look up at the darkening sky. The bright lights of Paris kept him from seeing nearly as many stars as he could when he used to visit his grandparents out in the countryside. When he was little, he used to dream of what lied amongst those stars like in those science fiction stories the older boys used to talk about a lot. Now there was talk of people launching things amongst the stars with the hope that humans themselves may someday be among them.

Maybe he could get a job…Nah. Now Rody was just being unrealistic. They would pick someone smart to do something like that. Besides, he’d be ancient by the time they actually got around to doing things like that and…Well impressive firsts should be done by young people and not fossils like he would be by the time space travel for people was possible.

After dusting his hands off, Rody returned inside of the restaurant. He was confused to see only Vincent left in the kitchen. Where had the chefs gone? Wasn’t it a bit early for them to have left for the day?

“Where did everyone else go?” Rody asked as he watched Vincent finish filling up a bucket with hot water and some sort of cleaning solution.

Vincent picked up the bucket and a scrub brush before plunking the bucket down in front of Rody and handing the waiter the scrub brush.

“I had them leave early for the day,” Vincent answered before he gestured to the floor. “It just means they won’t get in your way while you scrub these floors clean.”

Rody looked between the scrub brush in his hand and the bucket a few times before the light bulb went off in his head.

Rody met Vincent’s unimpressed gaze with a confused one of his own, “Don’t we have a mop?”

Vincent snorted, “We do. But for being a general nuisance and for forgetting the pecking order in this establishment, you will be scrubbing these floors by hand.”

Rody almost dropped the scrub brush as he stared at Vincent with a dumbfounded look.

“Floors? By hand?”

“Well yes,” Vincent replied to Rody’s sputtering. “Once the kitchen floor is properly cleaned you will be expected to clean both the restroom floors and my office floor.”

Rody tossed the scrub brush into the bucket as he gestured to the floor, “Do you know how long this will take?! I already have-”

Vincent scoffed as he waved a dismissive hand, “Whatever plans you have after work will have to be rescheduled. If it was that important to you, you should have thought of that sooner before mouthing off to me.”

Rody opened his mouth to argue further but quickly shut it at the dark look Vincent gave him.

“Start scrubbing Lamoree, unless you want your pay to be docked as well,” Vincent ordered before he turned on his heel and retreated into the office.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Rody flipped off the door with both hands. He was certain Vincent wouldn’t see it. Although he could probably sense it like the creepy fuck he could be sometimes.

Rody groaned as he knelt down beside the bucket and extracted the scrub brush from the hot, soapy water. He carefully scooted the bucket towards the back door to try and make his job as easy as possible. Vincent would likely make him rescrub the entire floor if he noticed Rody had tracked any kind of scuff or footprint on it.

A part of Rody wanted to say screw it and just walk out of the restaurant. Screw Vincent and his ego trip! But…

Rody started scrubbing at the stains by the back door as he allowed his mind to wander. Vincent was a lot more patient with Rody than his past bosses were. He would have been fired from all of his previous jobs on the first day if he had made half of the mistakes he had made there that he did here.

Getting customer questions wrong, ending up with dead plates for being too slow, crashing into Vincent when he first got his roller skates (and Vincent subsequently threatening to shove said skates so far up Rody’s ass he would pick the laces out of his teeth if Rody didn’t learn how to use them properly), hell even the time Rody tried to do a trick shot to get the garbage into the dumpster faster and knocking Donadieu out with the trash bag instead.

Vincent had every reason to fire him but…For some reason he didn’t. He would even go out of his way to make sure Rody was actually eating proper meals and…

Rody scrubbed a little harder than before. Why did Vincent even bother keeping someone as unprofessional as Rody around? Rody wasn’t always the brightest crayon in the box, but he was far from as stupid as most people thought he was. Rody knew that the reviews regarding customer service were pretty shitty lately. All thanks to Rody himself. Granted, how was Rody supposed to know which snail farm Vincent sourced the snails for the escargot from just off the top of his head? That particular critic was very unfair in Rody’s humble opinion.

Rody knew those reviews meant a lot to Vincent. The number of reviews plastered on the wall of his office, each little ding against the restaurant underlined and circled. Notes along the margins for how to improve and further perfect his craft in that god awful handwriting Rody could barely make out. It was obsessive in a way that Rody felt himself both disturbed by and almost felt…familiar in a way. Rody couldn’t quite put his finger on it so he decided to ignore it in favor of getting this totally unfair chore out of the way.

The rhythmic scrubbing was most definitely boring and reminded Rody of how thankful he was to have carpeting back home at his apa-

Rody snapped his head up sharply to look at the clock hanging over the entryway to the dining room. He winced at the time reflected on the clock. There was no doubt about it. He was going to be very late getting home tonight and…

Rody’s face burned as he remembered the punishments he had received yesterday. He really didn’t want to be spanked again. He wasn’t some toddler that got caught eating sweets before dinner! Nor was he a schoolboy that got caught writing swear words in the back of his schoolbooks. He was a grown adult, and he didn’t deserve to be punished in such a demeaning way!

But Rody also knew that if he were to pick between having two demons be mad at him or having Vincent be mad at him, he’d rather have the demons be mad at him. Sure, they could be creative with their punishments but…They also didn’t sign his paychecks. And there was the little fact that Rody was pretty sure that Vincent could find a way to properly butcher two demons and also have like eight different ways to serve up their remains should he be pushed to do so. That’s something they taught in culinary school, right?

So Rody got back to scrubbing the floor like his life depended on it. Which it might should he keep pausing or getting lost in thought like he had been. Hopefully Vincent wasn’t too mad at him once Rody was done cleaning up. He really didn’t want to be ganged up on by two demons and an angry Vincent…

Chapter Text

Isolde paced up and down the length of Rody’s main living space impatiently whilst Tristan lounged on the couch reading one of the magazines Rody had left on the table.

“Where is that idiot!? Does he know what time it is?!” Isolde screamed aloud as she continued her frantic pacing.

Tristan shrugged his shoulders as he flipped to the next page in the magazine, “He has a job, so he’s probably being held up by something there.”

Isolde sniffed indignantly, “You’d think he would have called to say he was running late or something!? I’m turning that miserable little wretch into a worm and crushing him the next time I see him!”

Tristan rolled his eyes as he lowered the magazine to watch Isolde continue her pacing.

“He might not be able to call us,” Tristan pointed out, “there may not be a phone at his job. Or he might not be allowed to use it for personal matters.”

Isolde paused in her pacing and turned to face Tristan. Her angry face flushed a bright red color, and her silver eyes glinted dangerously. Tristan didn’t shift in his position, nor did he look intimidated by the petite woman in the slightest.

Isolde tapped her foot as she gestured wildly and shouted, “Why are you defending him?! We’re supposed to be after his soul and literally whip him into shape, remember?!”

Tristan set the magazine back on the table and stood up. His eyes flickered dangerously as he approached his younger co-worker. Isolde backed up until her back was pressed against the front of the kitchen counter.

Tristan spoke in a low voice, “You seem to forget the old saying that you can gather more flies with honey than vinegar. I hate the man just as much as you do, but I know that if we can get him to trust us that he won’t fight to keep his soul. He’d simply let us have it so long as he has that girl back on his arm.”

Isolde shivered as the aura around Tristan refused to lighten up. Sometimes she forgot that Tristan was of a higher rank than her. His easy-going mask was too good sometimes.

“F-fine, you can continue to play the ‘good guy’,” Isolde broke the eye contact between her and Tristan as she crossed her arms over her chest. “But I refuse to even pretend to kowtow to that-that worthless plouc. I bet his soul isn’t even that useful to us.”

“Not to one interested in women such as yourself,” Tristan purred as he finally took a step back from Isolde. “But I for one could certainly think of many uses for him.”

Isolde sniffed as her gaze returned to the clock, “Well what are we to do then? We can’t wait for him all night.”

Tristan shrugged before tucking his hands into his pants pockets. He turned on his heel and returned to his perch on the couch.

Isolde drummed her fingers on the countertop as she thought. Given the late hour, it would only be Rody, and his boss left at the building. Possibly only Rody even depending on how strict his boss was.

“Why don’t we go and retrieve him?” Isolde suggested as she looked back over to Tristan.

Tristan had resumed his earlier activity of reading the magazine, but he glanced over top of it as he replied, “Retrieve him? And risk blowing our cover in front of a human that we aren’t assigned to? Are you that desperate to rise in the ranks?”

Isolde placed a hand on her hip, “We go in disguise, pretend he is needed for some family emergency and then we return here. From there we can punish the whelp for wasting our time and get him started on his task for the evening.”

Tristan hummed noncommittally as he flipped another page in the magazine. He had to admit that he was curious about the restaurant Rody was employed at. Perhaps he could find a co-worker of Rody’s to strike a side deal with? A two-for-one deal so to speak. Tristan did need a few new souls to tend to his domain after all…

“Oh fine, we’ll go pick up our mutt from the pound,” Tristan finally relented as he tossed the magazine back onto the table. He stretched as he stood up. As Tristan lowered his arms, his hair and eyes dulled to a slightly more muted color of his natural hair and eyes color. His clothing changed into a more casual outfit consisting of a dark shirt underneath a leather jacket and a dark denim pair of jeans. He snapped his fingers and slipped the pair of dark sunglasses on that had appeared in his hand.

Isolde smirked triumphantly as she snapped her own fingers. Her long, black hair was restyled into a pair of twin buns and her previously revealing bodysuit was replaced by a more modest cream-colored sweater and a long brown skirt. She fished the spatula out of Rody’s cutlery drawer before following Tristan to the front door.

“He’s going to regret making us wait,” Isolde purred as Tristan opened the front door.

Tristan grinned back as he replied, “I sure hope his boss is there. I’m sure he’d love to hear about how his waiter has been ‘skipping his alcoholics anonymous meetings’.”

Chapter Text

Rody’s back muscles twitched as he continued his grueling task of scrubbing the floors. At the very least he passed inspection for the kitchen after only two redos of the entire floor, so he was allowed to start cleaning the floor in Vincent’s office.

Rody mopped the sweat from his face with his apron before he rested the soiled garment against his shoulder. The drips of sweat was what had gotten him in trouble the two previous times and he really didn’t want to have to redo another room again.

Vincent was perched on the corner of his desk as he watched Rody work. The way Rody’s muscles rippled with every movement. The way the sweat matted Rody’s wild tangles of auburn hair. The tremors in his back and hands from over-exertion. But most importantly of all was the expression on Rody’s face. One of defeat with a glint of spite in his eyes.

‘Good, he’s learning then,’ Vincent thought as he took a drag of his cigarette and tapped the ashes into his ashtray. There was something intoxicating about putting an annoying brat like Rody back into place. A more depraved man than Vincent would have had Rody do more or wear something demeaning, like a maid dress, while cleaning. But Vincent had no need for such cheap tactics. The aches Rody would feel for at least the next day would be more than enough of a reminder to watch his tongue while at work.

Rody’s hand was starting to cramp up from the grip he had on the scrub brush. But he didn’t want to stop and get screamed at or made to instead lick the floor clean. Well…maybe not that last part. Vincent was obsessed with keeping things clean and hygienic and having Rody lick the floor would be just the opposite of that.

Cool indifference kept meeting fiery resentment whenever their eyes met in the cramped office. Even the office door being open didn’t do anything to lessen the building tension in the room. The only thing that this punishment seemed to cement was Rody’s desire for a new job. One where he’d be treated more fairly. One where he wouldn’t be expected to slave away on his hands and knees well past when his shift ended just because his boss’ oversized ego was bruised.

Just as Rody was about to sit up and tell Vincent where he could shove the scrub brush Rody was still holding, there was a knock against the front door of the restaurant. Both men shared a confused look. Who would be coming to the bistro at this time of night?

Vincent extinguished his cigarette and exhaled the last remnants of smoke from his mouth as he eased himself off of the corner of his desk. He gave Rody a stern look before he ordered, “Stay put, Lamoree. I’ll go see who it is.”

Rody set the scrub brush down as he rocked back onto his heels. He felt a cramp in his legs that kept him from fully standing, so crouched like this would have to do for now.

“But what if it’s a thief? I mean you saw the newspapers! The bakery down the street was robbed only three nights ago,” Rody replied as he struggled to fully pull himself off of the floor.

Vincent rolled his eyes as he crossed the floor to offer Rody his hand. Rody’s firm grip was enough to make Vincent raise an eyebrow as the waiter grabbed onto his shoulder and used it to right himself.

“Do you really think I’m incapable of handling a common thief?” Vincent asked as he watched Rody dust off his pants. Right onto the rug. Vincent was so having Rody clean that up.

Rody gestured between his more muscular form and Vincent’s more svelte one, “I mean no offense Vince-”

“It’s Vincent.”

“Whatever!” Rody rolled his eyes before he continued, “Point is I think I can take a punch from a thief better than you can.”

There was another round of knocks against the front door, this time sounding much more impatient than the first set. Vincent pinched the skin between his brows and nose as he took a deep breath in and out.

“Lamoree, you need to learn to take orders. I will handle this,” Vincent finally spoke after taking a moment to compose himself.

“B-but-” Rody was cut off by the dark look Vincent gave him. Rody wisely chose to close his mouth as he drew his shoulders in and cowered ever so slightly. Just enough to make Vincent smirk.

Vincent gestured to the office floor, “You can keep on working on your task. If I need your assistance, I will call for you.”

With that Vincent left the room before Rody could even reply. Rody snatched up the scrub brush and raised it to toss it at the back of Vincent’s head before he sighed deeply and lowered his arm. Rody rested his aching hand against his sweaty forehead.

He couldn’t attack Vincent. Not with his back turned to Rody like that. If Rody were to go after his boss, (not that he actually wanted to! Even if the idea was incredibly tempting right now.) he would want to face Vincent. Fight him whilst looking him in the eye the way a man was supposed to fight. Not take the easy way out like a coward.
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Vincent straightened out his chef’s coat while he composed himself on the short journey to the front door. A part of him was hoping that it was just some solicitors he could shoo away or a lost tourist that was desperate for directions to the nearest hotel. Both of those were much simpler to deal with than whatever Rody was thinking about.

Vincent did know about the robbery of the bakery down the street given that he was at home in his apartment at the time the robbery took place. He had heard the bakery’s alarm go off and he looked out the window in time to see a pair of men run out of the bakery and down the darkened alleyway on the other side of the bakery.

He was the anonymous caller that had initially called in the robbery to the police. Not because he wanted to help his competition down the street, no no. But because Vincent didn’t want to run the risk of those thugs targeting his restaurant next. So why not tackle the problem before it becomes a problem?

But Vincent shook his head and cleared his mind of thoughts about thieves and their potential targets. The money had already been cleared from the register and safely tucked away for Vincent’s trip to the bank tomorrow morning. Instead, Vincent slipped on his usual customer service mask. A charming facade that served to de-escalate most situations. It was only when he got push-back that he had to pull out his usual stern self.

Vincent looked through the glass of the front door at the duo standing just outside of it. There was a man, about the same height as Rody but not nearly as muscular, with brownish hair that almost had a purplish hue if the light of the streetlamp was anything to go by. His darker, more rebellious looking attire made the hairs on the back of Vincent’s neck stand on end. Something about him made Vincent wish he had slipped more than a paring knife into the palm of the hand hidden behind his back.

The woman in the pair was dressed more sensibly in her light sweater and long skirt. Her hair was as dark as Vincent’s, but hers had a much cooler tone to it. There was something about those piercing silver eyes that made it seem like she was looking through him rather than at him.

Vincent carefully opened the door enough to only partially squeeze himself into the doorway. No sense in letting two strangers in well after the restaurant was closed, right?

“Bonsoir*,” Vincent started as he smiled his charming smile, and his voice took on the slightly syrupy tone that often made female patrons giggle and fan themselves. “We are unfortunately closed for the evening. Is there something I can help you with?”

The man replied, “Bonsoir, monsieur. We were wondering if a Monsieur Rody Lamoree worked here.”

The gears in his mind started turning as Vincent processed the question. They were here for Rody? But why? As far as Vincent knew, Rody didn’t have much of a social life. It was one of the many things Rody complained about as he leaned against the window into the kitchen and spilled his guts to Vincent, who had no choice but to listen to his slacker waiter complain about his lot in life. Surely Rody would have mentioned something sooner if he had company over for once in his life. Especially if that company included a woman.

“Is there a reason why you’re looking for him?” Vincent asked as he kept up his customer service voice. Something in his gut was screaming at him that there was something wrong with the two people standing before him.

The woman piped up this time, “We were sent by his parents to check in on him. They hadn’t heard anything from him lately and as friends of the family we decided to do a welfare check on their behalf.”

There was a heavy silence that followed the woman’s words. That gut churning feeling continued in Vincent’s stomach. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Vincent’s tone shifted to one of concern as he furrowed his brows, “Welfare check? What do you mean by that?”

The woman sniffled as tears came to her eyes. She buried her face into the mysterious man’s chest. The man simply patted her head before wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders.

The man replied in a quieter voice, “He hasn’t spoken to his parents in months, and they naturally got concerned. Especially after hearing second-hand that he had recently gotten his heart broken. So, we went to his apartment to see if he was there and…Well it wasn’t good what we found there.”

Vincent put a hand to his chin in thought, covering his mouth slightly. That didn’t seem right. Sure, Rody was upset whenever he mentioned Manon and his breakup with her but…He equally got excited and happy whenever he talked about their past dates and his plans for the future. He sounded so hopeful and determined…He used words that didn’t sound like words used by someone who was giving up…

But then again Vincent was the audience to Rody’s bouts of self-loathing and disappointment with the course his life was taking. How Rody had hoped that he would be farther ahead in life by now. How he had so many regrets about dropping out of college and being stuck working dead-end jobs just to scrape by. And there was that bandage on his arm…

“Would you be so kind as to excuse me for a moment?” Vincent asked as he finally returned his gaze to the duo outside of his door.

He didn’t believe the woman’s crocodile tears for a second. She would have been crying much sooner if it was out of genuine concern for Rody but…It still didn’t help that now Vincent’s mind was going down a path he really didn’t want it to go down.

“But of course, we’ll wait for you out here,” the man replied as he continued to “comfort” his “distressed” friend.

Vincent shut the door and locked it behind him. There was no point in allowing two complete strangers into his closed restaurant so late at night. Especially if it turned out that the duo were lying about Rody being…But that still didn’t explain what they wanted with him and why he came to work injured yesterday.

He marched back to his office, his mind swirling round in circles. The duo were lying about something, his gut never steered Vincent wrong before. But then again Rody had been acting strangely the past two days and all those self-loathing filled rambles…Vincent had to get an answer out of Rody himself. That would be the only way to settle the doubts that were now starting to crop up in his mind.

Chapter Text

Rody heard the click of Vincent’s shoes against the tile of the kitchen floor and straightened up. His back crackled from being hunched over in an awkward position for so long. At the very least the office floor and the rug were significantly cleaner. Not that they really needed more than a quick polish to look better than when they were first installed.

Rody turned just as he heard Vincent enter the office. The auburn-haired waiter spoke in a tired, yet proud tone, “Isn’t it great, Vince? I think I outdid myself this time! I didn-”

Rody paused when he noticed the odd look on Vincent’s face. Was that…concern? And Vincent wasn’t carrying himself like the picture of confidence like he had when he left the office. What had happened out front?

“Vince?” Rody was more surprised that he hadn’t been corrected by Vincent the first time, let alone getting away with the nickname a second time. What the hell was going on here?

Vincent finally met Rody’s increasingly confused gaze. The slight tilt to his head only reminded Vincent of a dog more than usual. The way Rody’s eyes, those greenish-gray eyes, wordlessly searched Vincent’s face for any hint of a clue as to why Vincent was so quiet and disturbed.

Vincent finally spoke after what felt like an eternity of silence, “Let me see your arm.”

Rody arched a brow, “My arm?”

“Yes,” Vincent replied as he held out his hand. “The one you burned yesterday.”

Rody hummed as he took a few steps closer to Vincent, “Ooookaaaay? But why do-”

Rody’s voice died in his throat as he felt the cool touch of Vincent’s fingers on his arm. A soft, strangled kind of gurgle escaped his lips as his skin reflexively started to get goosebumps due to the much colder touch against it.

Vincent gently traced down the length of the remnants of the burn Rody had covered up yesterday. Vincent’s dark eyes narrowed as he turned Rody’s arm slightly to get a better look at the pattern of it.

Rody’s cheeks flushed as he finally managed to find his voice once more. His gaze was averted as he finally spat out, “What are you looking for?”

“How did you say you got this again?” Vincent ignored Rody’s question entirely as he continued to examine the tanned flesh of his waiter.

“Come on Vince, I told you yesterday! I burnt myself by accident when trying to make myself breakfast,” Rody pouted slightly. “Don’t you listen to me when I talk to you?”

Vincent looked up from Rody’s arm to meet the gaze of his flustered waiter. Rody sighed softly as his blush started to die down.

Vincent chose his next words carefully, “And you’re…positive it was an accident?”

Rody wrenched his arm from Vincent’s grasp quickly, as though Vincent’s touch burned more than the butter did yesterday morning. The flush returned to Rody’s cheeks, but for a much different reason.

Rody’s voice trembled as he growled lowly, “Do you really think I’d do something like that? For what? Attention? Sympathy?”

Vincent straightened up and his face returned to its usual passive mask. Clearly he’d have to approach this differently if Rody’s reaction was anything to go by.

“Considering the fact that you had a mental breakdown in my office today, I have to ask,” Vincent replied as he carefully watched Rody’s movements.

Rody’s eyes widened as he balled his fist to his side, ‘What’s Vince trying to say? That he thinks I’m losing it? That I’m crazy enough to..to…”

Rody looked past Vincent over towards where the front entrance was and questioned, “Who was at the door?”

“Does it really matter?” Vincent answered with a question of his own. He stepped to the side to keep Rody’s eyes focused on him rather than the front entrance to the restaurant.

Rody gestured towards the door and Vincent as he sputtered, “W-well obviously yes! It does matter when you come back acting all weird! Like you think I’m gonna do something stupid to myself!”

Vincent crossed his arms as he raised a brow, “Can’t a boss care about the mental wellbeing of his employee?”

Rody turned away from Vincent as he spat, “Considering the fact that you never cared before when I’d tell you how shitty my life is? Why should you care now?”

Vincent uncrossed his arms slowly as he watched Rody’s shoulders start to tremble. Vincent listened as Rody’s breath hitched and a soft sob escaped his lips.

Vincent approached quietly and hesitantly reached out a hand to place it on Rody’s shoulder when the waiter whipped around. Tears glittered in the light of the office as they dripped from Rody’s cheeks and splattered against the clean office floor. The ruddy flush on Rody’s cheeks that was spreading near his eyes only added to the patheticness of the look on his dear waiter’s face.

“Rody,” Vincent’s voice was soft as Rody scrubbed at his eyes with his hands.

“Wh-why do you care when I’m just trying to make it better?” Rody’s voice was strained as he choked out a reply. That hurt tinge in his voice only added to the guilt that was starting to claw its way from Vincent’s stomach to his chest. Vincent hadn’t meant to make Rody cry…

Vincent furrowed his brows as a concerned frown graced his lips. He wordlessly fetched the tissue box from his desk and watched Rody mop his face with a few more tissues.

Vincent awkwardly patted Rody’s back as he blew his nose into the tissue. It was obnoxiously loud and wet sounding, so Rody likely did it on purpose to annoy Vincent. Rody knew that Vincent found most sounds relating to bodily functions to be utterly repulsive.

Vincent sighed softly as he finally answered Rody’s earlier question, “There were two people at the door. There still are. They claim that your parents asked them to conduct a welfare check on you.”

Rody’s head snapped up so suddenly that Vincent was surprised that he didn’t give himself whiplash. Rody looked over at Vincent with the most confused look Vincent had ever seen on the man’s face.

“What? Why would…I literally talked with my mother on the phone last week! I…I sent her money so she could go with my father to the opera. They hadn’t gone in years and…I know money is tougher for them than it is for me and…” Rody’s voice trailed off as he curled into his usual thinking position. His one arm crossed over his chest, holding the elbow of his other arm as he covered the lower half of his face with his hand.

Vincent raised a brow as he digested Rody’s words, ‘He’s spoken to them recently? Then why would-’

Vincent looked towards the entrance of the restaurant once more as his eyes narrowed dangerously. He was kicking himself for being played like a goddamn fiddle by two strangers who wanted to do God knows what with his waiter. How could he have let his guard down enough for that to happen? What dirt did those two have on him?

“Vince? What did they look like?” Rody’s voice pulled Vincent out of his thoughts. The chef looked over to see the intent look on his waiter’s face.

Vincent answered as his gaze flickered back over to the door briefly, “A man and a woman. The woman had dark hair and the man had very unusual hair.”

Rody’s hands lowered to his side as he sighed deeply. His shoulders slouched as he got that ‘kill me now’ look on his face.

“I should have known they’d fucking show up here,” Rody grumbled as he carded a hand through his hair.

“So you know them,” Vincent replied as he watched Rody start to pace up and down the length of the office floor.

Rody laughed a short, sarcastic bark of a laugh, “Know them? They’re the ones trying to work me into the ground so I can be a better man!”

Vincent raised a brow, “Come again?”

“You know, teach me how to cook, and clean, and whatnot!” Rody listed off as he tapped against a finger on his one hand to represent an item that he listed off.

“Are you…paying them to do this?” Vincent’s voice betrayed the utter confusion he currently felt.

Just what the hell did Rody do outside of work?! And why did it have to involve shady people that made Vincent feel on edge?! Why couldn’t Rody just be part of a book club or something like a normal person????

Rody snorted, “Oh I’m paying them alright…”

Vincent turned towards the door to the office, “Would you like me to ask them to leave, Lamoree?”

“So, I’m demoted back to Lamoree? And here I thought-”

Rody’s teasing voice was cut off by the sharp glare Vincent leveled him. Rody at least had the decency to look sheepish and curl in on himself slightly.

Rody finally spoke up in a much quieter voice, “I can handle them, Vince.”

Vincent put a hand on his hip and arched one of his perfectly manicured brows, “Are you sure? I have no problem with escorting nuisances off of my property.”

“They’re gonna keep coming back no matter how many times you kick them out,” Rody replied as his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Besides, I don’t want them spreading lies about me to our customers.”

Vincent remained silent as he retrieved a slip of paper from his desk and scribbled something on it before handing it to Rody. Rody tilted his head as he tried to decipher the chicken scratch handwriting of his boss.

“What’s this?” Rody asked as he lowered the paper.

Vincent gave Rody a sharp look before he explained, “It’s my phone number.”

Rody did a double take between the paper and Vincent. The waiter’s cheeks reddened once more as he stammered, “W-wait if this is-”

Vincent glared sharply as a light dusting of pink spread across his cheeks, “Don’t be an idiot! I’m giving you my personal number in case you need to be rescued from those two reprobates outside!”

Rody blinked. Oh? Oh! Ooooooooohhhhh. That made a lot more sense now.

“Thanks Vince,” Rody smiled gratefully as his blush started to die down.

Vincent turned away as he reflexively corrected Rody once more, “It’s Vincent.”

Rody waved a dismissive hand, “Whatever. You’ll come around to liking it eventually boss.”

With that Vincent put a hand on Rody’s shoulder and started to steer him out of the office. Rody looked back at the bucket of water and scrub brush still left on the floor.

“Don’t you want me to finish up?” Rody asked as Vincent continued herding Rody out the door like he was a drunk in a bar that stayed way past closing time.

Vincent spoke as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I think you’ve had more than enough punishment for tonight. Besides…I still don’t trust those two to be outside of my bistro at this late hour for longer than they have to be.”

Rody and Vincent soon reached the main entrance to the restaurant, much too soon for either’s liking. But…neither one wanted to have any more trouble today than they’ve already had.

“Remember, if they give you too much trouble…just call me, okay?” Vincent spoke in a low enough voice that he was certain the two hooligans outside of his bistro couldn’t hear him.

“Thanks Vince, for everything,” Rody replied with a smile that made Vincent’s cheeks warm ever so slightly. Why must that smile make him feel all…warm and fuzzy inside? Maybe Vincent needs to schedule an appointment with a doctor soon…

Vincent unlocked the door and stepped aside to let Rody out of the restaurant. The auburn-haired waiter squared his shoulders as he walked outside to what felt like his certain doom. Well at least it felt like it until he put his hand in his pocket and felt the slip of paper Vincent had written his phone number onto.

Rody turned slightly to give Vincent a wave goodbye, a wave that Vincent returned with a curt nod. Ah well. Maybe next time he’d get a more lively reaction out of Vincent.

Rody grabbed his bike before he felt an arm sling over his shoulders.

“Oh Rody~ We have a lot to talk about when we get home~” A male voice purred into his ear.

Rody sighed deeply. It was going to be another sleepless night, he was sure of it.

Chapter Text

“Do you have any idea how long we had to wait for your sorry ass!” Isolde shouted as the trio finally made their way into Rody’s apartment.

Rody rolled his eyes as he wheeled his bike into a secure spot and snarkily replied, “Well excuuuuse me, princess! Some of us have to work for a living and can’t just make things appear out of thin air!”

Isolde glared as Rody stretched and pulled a semi-clean set of more comfortable clothes out of the drawer of his wardrobe. His uniform practically clung to him thanks to all the sweat his punishment from Vincent had worked up. There was so long even Rody, who’s hygiene habits were less than stellar while single, could stand just being in sticky, sweaty clothes. His newly fixed up shower was practically begging for him to take a quick rinse.

Isolde brandished the spatula in her hand as she continued her annoyed rambling, “Well you do owe us a major apology for wasting our time! Don’t you realize that we have much more important things to do than teach some overgrown toddler how to clean up after himself!”

“Then go and do those things while I’m at work,” Rody replied in an indifferent tone as he stalked his way to the bathroom. He shivered as his socks squished against that damp part of the rug left behind from when his bathroom had flooded out. He really needed to bug the landlord about replacing that at some point…

Rody opened the door to the bathroom only for it to slam shut in his face before he could enter it. He pivoted on his heel to meet the increasingly angry face of Isolde. Despite remembering what she had done to him yesterday, Rody wasn’t in the mood to play along with her foul mood and cower like she had wanted him to. Instead, Rody straightened up and crossed his arms to emphasize his greater size. He wasn’t going to let some pipsqueak that wasn’t as tall as his shoulder push him around.

Isolde held the end of the spatula under Rody’s chin, trying her best to make the threat more intimidating than it looked. It would have been much more effective if she had a blade but…She couldn’t harvest Rody’s soul that way. Not until the terms of the deal were met.

“You seem to forget what you’re dealing with, whelp. We’re the ones in charge, not you,” Isolde hissed as her cheeks burned brighter at the bored look Rody was giving her.

Rody eased the spatula from under his chin with just two fingers as he replied, “And you seem to forget that humans have free will. I don’t have to listen to you. I only choose to so I can get what I want from you.”

Isolde continued to glare as she looked behind her and shouted, “Tristan! Aren’t you gonna help me out here?!”

Tristan’s voice echoed from the living room, “You’re doing great sweetie!”

Tristan chuckled from his resumed lounging position on Rody’s couch as he flipped through the previously abandoned magazine. Isolde’s frustrated “Ugh!” like she was a teenager told that they weren’t allowed out late on a Friday night only amused Tristan further.

Isolde whipped back around at the sound of Rody snickering at her. She raised the spatula to smack him in the face only for Rody to catch her wrist before it could make contact with him.

She blinked at the cold look in Rody’s eyes. Where had that come from?

“Now you listen to me,” Rody’s voice was dangerously low and rumbly as he pulled Isolde closer so he could threaten her properly. “If we’re going to make this work, there need to be boundaries. You two will not bother me while I’m at work. You won’t bother my boss. And you will not continue to beat me like I’m some naughty dog that shat on the rug, alright?”

“And if we don’t?” Isolde snarled back despite the tremor in her legs. She wasn’t going to allow some weak, pathetic human threaten her like that.

Rody’s voice chilled her to her core as he whispered, “I will find a way to make the Hell you crawled out of seem like paradise.”

With that, Rody let go of Isolde’s wrist and turned around. He made it safely into the bathroom and breathed a sigh of relief.

Rody hated having to pull that side of him out. He was trying his best to be a nicer guy after all, especially after…Rody shook his head. No. There was no point in dwelling on it. The past was in the past. All he could do now was move forward.

He stripped out of his soiled uniform and shivered slightly at the rush of cooler air against his very warm skin. Immediately the removal of the sticky clothes felt like a weight had been lifted off of Rody’s shoulders. He could breathe a little easier as he stepped into the tub and pulled the shower curtain over to keep water from spraying all over the dingy floor.
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Isolde pouted as she paced around the living room and Tristan continued to read the magazine. Her frantic pacing didn’t seem to distract Tristan from whatever article he was currently engrossed in reading.

“Can you believe the nerve of that-that-that whelp!? Threatening me?! Me! The one who is trying to teach him how to cook!” Isolde complained as she continued her pacing.

Tristan rolled his eyes as he reassured in a mostly bored sounding voice, “Oh calm down. He had a bad day, we all do. He’ll be back to cowering and pissing himself in your presence tomorrow.”

Isolde stopped in her pacing as she put her hands on her hips and glared at Tristan. Tristan continued reading the magazine as though he couldn’t sense the burn of Isolde’s glare being focused on him.

“Thanks again for the back up there, by the way!” Isolde sniffed sarcastically as she gestured to Tristan’s relaxed position. “You’re even lazier than he is!”

Tristan lowered his sunglasses and peered over the top of them at Isolde as he replied with a cheeky grin, “Anytime, honey! You need to learn how to hold your own on solo missions anyways.”

Isolde ripped the magazine out of Tristan’s hands as she continued to rant, “Didn’t you hear him? Trying to order us to stay away from him at certain times of the day and demanding we stop punishing him? How entitled could a person get?”

Tristan sat up and rested his elbows on his knees as he shrugged. His eyes followed the magazine in Isolde’s hands as she continued to gesture and pace to let out her frustration against Rody somehow.

Tristan blinked as he fully processed what Isolde had said, “Wait…he set a boundary?”

Isolde stopped in her tracks as she looked over at Tristan, “He specifically said not to bother him while he’s at work and leave his boss alone. Why?”

Tristan stood up and grabbed Isolde’s shoulders. Instead of looking fearful or annoyed he looked…happy? Isolde furrowed her brows in confusion as she tried to read Tristan’s expression.

“Didn’t that girl say that he had trouble setting boundaries? That he let people walk all over him in an attempt to be a nicer person?” Tristan questioned Isolde further.

Isolde looked away from Tristan as she thought aloud, “I…I think so? Why does that matter?”

Tristan let go of Isolde’s shoulders as he walked to the center of the room and excitedly raised his arms as though he had just won some sort of award. His grin was so wide that Isolde thought that it looked painful.

“Don’t you get it? He’s making progress on the more internal aspects of the deal,” Tristan explained as he noticed the confused look on Isolde’s face.

Isolde folded her arms across her chest as she tilted her head and furrowed her brows. Tristan sighed heavily at the continued confusion.

Tristan pulled Manon’s letter off of the table and pointed to a section near the center of the letter, “See here? Where she wants him to be able to take care of himself? Setting and maintaining boundaries is a way of taking care of himself. Her intentions were not just for his physical well-being, but his mental and emotional well-being as well.”

Isolde huffed, “Like you had said earlier, it could just be a fluke thing and he’s back to being a cowering whimp tomorrow.”

Tristan grinned an evil grin as he used his other hand to pick up a different magazine from Rody’s table. One flipped to the interview the magazine had done with Vincent regarding the success of La Gueule de Saturne. Tristan held both items as the gears started to turn in his head.

“Why don’t we just keep pushing and testing those boundaries then? Maybe sweeten the deal with these two?” Tristan suggested as he pulled a picture Rody had of Manon off of the table and put it in the hand containing her letter. “See just how far Rody Lamoree is willing to push himself if he thought that his beloved Manon and Vincent were in danger.”

Isolde’s eyes lit up and a gleeful smile appeared on her face. Sometimes she liked working with Tristan and it was moments like this that reminded her of exactly why she enjoyed it. He could be downright diabolical when the mood struck him.

Tristan smirked as he set the magazine, letter and picture back on the table as he raised his hand, “But don’t think I will let him get away with speaking to you like that. We can’t let him develop too much of an ego too quickly now.”

Tristan snapped his fingers and the sound of the toilet flushing and Rody’s subsequent scream echoed through the apartment. Tristan and Isolde shared an evil snicker. Sometimes their job was just too much fun.

Chapter Text

The clock ticked monotonously as Manon finally settled in for the night. Her day was quite full between running errands in the office for her magazine editor to having to rush downtown to interview victims of the latest string of thieves targeting local eateries for her side-gig as a crime reporter for a small local paper.

She sat before her vanity, brushing her long brown hair with smooth strokes with her light pink brush. As much as Manon loved her long hair, it did require a lot of maintenance to keep it looking as lovely as it did.

As she brushed her hair, Manon’s thoughts turned to the one man that had been on her mind all day-Rody. She wondered if he had actually eaten the cake she had left for him. But remembering his level of devotion and appetite had Manon shaking her head. How could she have doubted it? Of course he would eat it!

Manon’s mind turned to the ritual she had watched and participated in that would hopefully help Rody become the man she knew he could be. The one she saw flickers of when they were dating…
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
“Are you sure this will be safe, and it won’t hurt him?” Manon asked as she watched Madeleine stir the large pot on the stovetop.

Manon had initially expected the potion that would make up the base of the cream to be brewed in a large cauldron in the middle of the room. Seeing it be brewed up in something so mundane felt…a little disappointing if Manon was being honest. That part of her that still clung to the fantasy stories of her childhood was honestly hoping for something more…well stereotypically magical!

Madeleine opened a jar and sprinkled in a little powder that made a puff of pink smoke rise into the air. The older woman smiled as she replied, “As I’ve said before mademoiselle, there will be no permanent harm to your beloved monsieur. He will come out of this stronger and more capable than ever before.”

Manon couldn’t help the small jump her heart made at that last statement. Her cheeks warmed as she could already picture it now. Rody, dressed in a clean set of stylish clothes and his hair properly combed. Him holding a bouquet of flowers he had lovingly picked out just for her. He would talk about his new job as being an events coordinator for one of the top hotels in Paris as he took her out to dinner. The way he’d hold her hand and listen to every word she had to say with that lovesick look on his face. But she’d also get to hear about the actual Rody and not just the man he tried to cobble together just to please her…

Madeleine tapped her wooden spoon against the top of the large pot after turning off the burner it was set on.

“While we let this cool down, we shall get the written contract in order,” Madeleine said, pulling Manon out of her daydream.

Manon nodded as she followed Madeleine out into the sitting room once more. At the little table, Tristan had just finished setting up a roll of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a pair of glass pens. One was a deep midnight blue and the other was a bright cherry red.

“Excellent work Tristan, you may return to your previous task,” Madeleine stated as she gestured for Tristan to return to the front of the shop.

Tristan bowed with a hand over his chest, “As you wish, Madame Olivier.”

Tristan straightened up and gave Manon a sly wink before he returned to the front area. From the sound of things, business was starting to pick up slightly and Isolde was tired of having to tend to the entire place by herself.

Manon felt her cheeks warm up slightly. Tristan was a fairly handsome man but…He wasn’t Rody. That’s for sure. He didn’t have that same warm, charming demeanor that Rody did…

Manon looked down at the parchment. She squinted slightly to try and read the text but alas. It too was in the same language as the potion recipe was in Madeleine’s grimoire. Well that certainly made things a lot easier to understand, huh?

Madeleine smiled as she took up one of the pens, “You needn’t worry about the part above dear. That will be for me to handle. All you need to do is write down below what you would like your monsieur to work on and we will be able to work your intentions into the mix.”

Manon thought carefully. Was she really prepared to do this? To just sign some contract, she couldn’t read the full terms of? And for what? A man who was her ex-boyfriend and by definition someone she should no longer have any positive feelings towards anyway. And yet…

Rody was unlike any of her other boyfriends. He was kind and attentive. He listened to her every word and looked at her as though she had personally hung the moon and the stars in the sky. He did his best to provide her with the things she loved, even at such a great expense to himself…

Manon accepted the pen from Madeleine after just one more moment of hesitation. If she was clear in her intentions and her writing, then Rody would be safe right? No harm would come to him so long as she doesn’t want him hurt.

Manon dipped her pen into the bottle of ink and started to write in the designated area all of the information that it had requested:

Name of intended subject: Rody Lamoree
Current occupation of intended subject: Waiter at La Gueule de Saturne.
Goals for intended subject:
Be able to prepare meals for himself
Be able to keep a clean space without prompting
Be able to set goals and work to reach them
To stop self-sabotaging himself in the name of pleasing others
To be able to keep himself healthy (physically, mentally, and emotionally)
To be happy with himself whether he is in a relationship or not
To reach the potential that he keeps denying he has

Manon felt a lot better once she had put down her ideas in ink. They were things that Manon felt Rody could reasonably achieve. Maybe not entirely on his own but…Maybe a gentle nudge would get him to ask others for help for once. He tried to shoulder so much on his own that…

Manon sighed softly as she thought, ‘Rody. I can only hope this will finally help you. Maybe this time we can make us work.’

Madeleine looked over the information Manon had written down and smiled. The ink dried rather quickly and was a lovely midnight blue color.

“Just sign on the line dear and wait out front. I will handle the rest from here,” Madeleine gently ordered as she pointed to a line at the bottom of the page.

Manon took a breath before she finally signed her name on the solid line. She was doing this for Rody. It was her last and only chance to help him. He would be just fine…Right?
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Manon finally set the brush down and ran her fingers through her hair. Finally pleased by how silky her hair now felt.

She stood up and walked over to her plush bed. She never really noticed how empty it felt when she didn’t expect someone to come over and share it with her. Manon’s cheeks warmed when she remembered the few times she had Rody spend the night at her place. How warm he felt when she slept next to him. How his chest made the perfect pillow. How his arms wrapped around her, and he’d whisper sweet nothings in his sleep…

Manon plucked up the teddy bear from next to her pillow, a gift Rody had given her the first month they had started dating. He had proudly presented it to her after winning a test of strength game at a fair. He had mentioned how the bow around the bear’s neck had reminded him of her favorite headband…

Manon held the bear close as she flopped back onto her bed. Soon enough she’d have the actual Rody back in her bed. They could be happy like they were in the early days. She wouldn’t have to worry so much about whether he could take care of himself and…

Manon smiled as one last thought crossed her mind, ‘It would be nice to see him happy with himself for once. I know he could be successful if he just allowed himself to reach his fullest potential.'

Chapter Text

Rody finally felt clean after a good scrubbing. After that sudden burst of hot water, which he will find a way to make Tristan and Isolde pay for causing, his shower was comfortably warm. The warmer water helped to soothe some of the aches in his muscles.

Rody opened his medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of painkillers. These ones were still in date and he pulled two out of the bottle before returning the mostly empty bottle to the shelf it came from. He shut the medicine cabinet and winced at his reflection.

There were dark circles under his half-lidded eyes. Even his hair seemed deflated by the exhaustion that was starting to crash over him. It was days like this that Rody wished he had made better choices in life. Maybe if he had just been a little smarter or worked a little harder, he would be in a much cushier job. One that didn’t make him feel like existing hurt too much once he clocked out for the day.

Rody sighed as he turned away from the mirror. He could lament over his lot in life later. Right now he needed to get some food in his stomach so he could take his pain pills. If there was one thing that he could remember his parents drilling into him as a kid, it would be the importance of making sure he had food in his stomach before he took his medicine. Unless it was one of the few that needed an empty stomach to work, but Rody was nothing if not a robust man. He rarely got sick in the first place, so medicines like that never proved to be an issue for him.

Rody stretched his arms over his head, humming softly as he did so. He couldn’t wait to crash on the couch and get some shut eye. Maybe for once he could sleep without one of those horrid nightmares waking him up so suddenly.

“Finally! You really have no respect for other people’s time, do you?” Isolde snapped as Rody shuffled into the living space.

Rody yawned, “Well excuse me for being considerate. Your friend here said you hate stinky humans and I took a shower so you wouldn’t have to deal with me being sweaty and gross.”

Isolde pouted before she grabbed Rody’s wrist and dragged him over to the fridge. Rody trudged along behind her, dragging his feet across the carpet just enough to make Isolde grumble under her breath, “Slow, ignorant oaf.”

Rody smirked at the way the tips of Isolde’s ears got red. Getting under his skin was going to be fun if it was this easy! Why, she was even easier to rile up than Vince!

“So what are you making me cook tonight?” Rody asked as he watched Isolde look through the fridge. “I have to get some sleep still so I don’t pass out at work tomorrow.”

Isolde grumbled as she closed the fridge door and stalked over to the cabinets that made up Rody’s little pantry, “Something quick since you decided to waste all of our instruction time like an idiot. Do you know how many people would kill to have an opportunity like this?”

Rody rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the fridge. She was even worse with the scolding than his mother was whenever it came to his schooling. Granted he was a prodigy child afterall, so obviously the expectations when it came to schoolwork and his future were much higher than that of his peers’ parents. Not that Rody would ever tell his mother how that had made him feel and how those feelings affected his feelings of self-worth (or rather his lack thereof). His mother was far too kindhearted and had sacrificed more than enough raising him that Rody could handle keeping things like that to himself.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of people just frothing at the mouth at the mere thought of having someone march into their home unannounced just to beat and belittle them in their own home,” Rody replied sarcastically, earning an amused snort from Tristan.

He looked over at the other man, who had resumed his preferred perch on the couch. Yet again he was reading one of Rody’s magazines.

Isolde pivoted on her heel and put her hands on her hips as she glared at Rody. If looks could kill, all that would be left of Rody would be stains on his fridge and carpet. And maybe on the ceiling as well.

“Well what do you suggest then if you’re feeling so fucking entitled tonight?” Isolde hissed as her eyes took on a dangerous glint.

From the way her hand and lip twitched, it was clear she had wanted to do more to Rody than just insult him. But at the very least she was keeping from hitting him again. Not that Rody expected that to last long. He knew he was dealing with the supernatural here, some sort of otherworldly beings that wanted his soul. Their ability to respect any kind of boundary he sets or requests he makes is definitely going to be nonexistent until Rody finds a way to make them respect his boundaries and requests.

Rody shrugged, “I could always just make a sandwich and call it a night after cleaning up. Cooking isn’t always gonna be the gourmet stuff Vince makes.”

Isolde marched up to Rody and thrust the spatula onto his chest. He caught it before it could hit the ground. She then turned around and marched out of the apartment like she had this morning. Stomping like a toddler about to throw a temper tantrum.

Tristan snickered as he watched her leave, “She never considers the easy route.”

Rody decided not to comment as he pulled out the deli meat and cheese he had picked up yesterday alongside a little leftover mustard from his last Mime Joyeaux order. He still wanted to take his pain killers before going to bed if he wanted to try and get any semblance of proper rest. The aches in his muscles would only interfere with his ability to get proper rest and…Well Rody had already pushed too many of Vince’s buttons today.

If Rody showed up to work tomorrow looking tired or fell asleep on the clock, then Vince probably would make good on his threat to fire him. Then what? Rody was lucky enough to get this job! He doubted any other boss would look at his track record and decide to hire him…

Rody pulled out his steak knife once more and sliced off two thick slices from the loaf of bread on his counter. He then used it to slather the mustard over one side of each slice. He stacked a few slices of meat and cheese onto one slice of bread before placing the other one on top of it, mustard side down.

Rody set the knife into the sink to wash after he was done eating and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. He filled it up with water from the tap before he walked over to the couch.

Tristan hadn’t budged, so Rody sat on the arm of the couch before taking a large bite of his sandwich. He would put away the meat and cheese once he was done eating as well.

“And she acts like you can’t do anything, huh?” Tristan commented as he flipped the page of the magazine. His tone was light, but Rody couldn’t quite make out his expression. Half of it was hidden by the magazine and he was still wearing the dark sunglasses, so his eyes wouldn’t even be able to give him any clue on Tristan’s mood.

Rody swallowed thickly before he replied, “I mean I don’t know what crawled up Isolde’s ass today, but she’s being pretty-”

Tristan interrupted as he flipped another page in the magazine, “Not her. Manon.”

Rody coughed as he swallowed his next bite of sandwich a little too quickly. He guzzled down half of his glass of lukewarm tap water to clear the lump in his throat. Rody set the glass down a little harder than he meant to.

Rody glared over at Tristan, “You don’t know Manon. She would never-”

“But why would she have us come in and teach you then? Why bother if she thought you were capable of teaching yourself?” Tristan replied with more questions, as though he hadn’t just said that the love of Rody’s life thought poorly of him.

Rody set his sandwich down onto the table and stood up. He walked to the other side of the couch to loom over Tristan. Tristan snorted but didn’t look or feel threatened by Rody’s presence.

Rody snatched the magazine out of Tristan’s hands as he snarled, “You know NOTHING about Manon, okay? She may have been worried, but she doesn’t think so little of me. Why else would she have stayed with me as long as she has? Why else would she even consider giving me another chance when there are literally thousands of other men in this city that are better than me?”

Tristan flipped over to lay on his stomach. He propped his head up on his hands as his elbows dug into the arm of the couch. He looked more like a girl ready to engage in gossip at a sleepover than a man who was speaking so lowly of another man’s sweetheart.

“Is that so?” Tristan cooed in a sickly-sweet tone that made Rody grit his teeth and ball up his fists once more.

“It is so!” Rody growled as he felt his face start to heat up. Promise to be a nicer guy be damned! He wasn’t going to stand here and let some-some demon bad mouth his girlfriend!

Tristan chuckled as he shook his head, “Ah Rody, don’t you get it? In her eyes you aren’t a man anymore! You’re some helpless little toddler that needs to be coddled and taught how to do big boy things! Why else would she agree to sell us your soul?”

Rody glared as his hands twitched. The urge to punch that smug look off of Tristan’s face was growing by the second. Or yank on his hair like Tristan and Isolde had been doing to Rody. Manon deserved better than to be slandered like that!

Rody could feel tremors going up his body as he continued glaring at Tristan. He snapped, “Get out!”

Tristan raised a brow as he cocked his head, “Pardon? Je ne-”

“You understand me perfectly fine you son of a bitch!” Rody cut Tristan off before he could continue. “Get. Out. I will not have you in my apartment if you are gonna try and manipulate me into thinking poorly of my girlfriend!”

Tristan chuckled darkly once more, “Denial! Oh how pathetic! Don’t you recall? She dumped your sorry ass! Oh how much you must have screamed! Did you cry? Did you beg her like the pathetic whelp you are?”

Rody grabbed Tristan by the jacket and yanked him upwards. Rody got in his face as he snarled, “GET OUT! I’M IN NO MOOD TO DEAL WITH YOU AND YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!”

Tristan’s brows raised in surprise as a smirk grew on his lips. He chuckled once more which had Rody removing one hand from holding his jacket to wind back for a proper punch.

Tristan snapped his fingers and all of a sudden Rody’s anger disappeared. Instead he felt a crushing, suffocating sadness overtake him. Tristan’s jacket slipped from his grip and sobs started to rip their way past Rody’s lips.

Rody took a few steps back as he held himself in a tight hug as more and more tears fell despite his best efforts to hold them back. His sobs grew more hysterical the more he tried to hold them back. Rody’s knees gave out and he collapsed onto the floor.

“Wh-wha-” Rody was cut off when Tristan rose from the couch and started laughing darkly.

As Tristan approached, Rody quickly clawed himself back until his back was pressed against the wall near the front door. Rody couldn’t get his legs under him to stand. Soon Tristan was looming over him and there was a dangerous glint that Rody could just barely see through the dark lenses of the sunglasses.

“Oh how deliciously pathetic! You must have been quite the sight when she dumped your sorry ass! Making an embarrassment of yourself and her in a public place by crying like this? Aren’t you supposed to be a man?” Tristan continued to tease and he reached down to grab Rody by the shirt.

Rody grabbed onto Tristan’s wrist with both hands as he continued crying. Rody then was picked up and slammed back against the wall, his feet dangling a good two feet from the floor. Tristan gripped Rody’s throat with his other hand and let go of Rody’s shirt.

Rody’s grip shifted to the hand around his throat. His sobs only made breathing that much more difficult. He couldn’t pry Tristan’s hand from his throat and his legs still refused to cooperate properly.

Tristan grinned a nasty grin as he watched Rody struggle. Oh how deliciously fun this was! Rody was sure to make an excellent addition to his collection back home~

Tristan cooed in that sickly sweet tone, “Poor widdle Rody! Your widdle girlfriend dumped you and now you can’t even hold yourself together! She’s probably already shacking up with a real man instead of a widdle crybaby like you!”

Rody choked out, “Sh-shut up! G-get out!”
Tristan continued to hold Rody, increasing the pressure against Rody’s throat ever so slightly. Just enough to make Rody’s face start to turn reddish and his sobs to become more choked sounding.

“Listen good and listen well,” Tristan spoke in a cruel, mocking tone as he reached up his other hand to stroke Rody’s cheek. “You don’t get to make the rules here. We do. You signed up for this. You agreed to this. Now you’re gonna be a good boy and listen to us grown-ups. Unless you want a repeat of this at work, you’ll apologize for being so rude.”

Rody shook his head as best as he could. No. He wouldn’t back down. Rody gave as best of a glare as he could muster in spite of the tears. In spite of the sobs still threatening to rip him in two. In spite of the air feeling as thin as it had last night. He would not back down so easily.

Tristan’s eyes widened as he watched Rody. Well now, he was proving to be exceptionally stubborn. It was a good thing Tristan was just as stubborn himself.

Tristan hissed in a cool voice, “Did you just shake your head no? Are you trying to play hero now? Or are you trying to pretend to be a big boy when we can all see the pathetic baby you truly are?”

Rody choked out, “Fuck you!”

Tristan let go of Rody’s throat and let him crumple to the ground. Rody inhaled as deeply as he could. He still couldn’t stop crying. He still couldn’t hold back the sobs. He still-

Tristan smirked, “I think I’ll listen and leave now.”

Rody looked relieved in spite of the tears. At least until Tristan didn’t make any movement to leave. Instead he just gave Rody a long look.

“I think leaving you like this for the day will be punishment enough,” Tristan cooed as he snapped his fingers once more.

Rody felt his chest tighten and the sobs, which hurt before now felt excruciating. Every little disagreement he had ever had with Manon flashed through his mind. Every time she gave him the cold shoulder. Every time she had compared him to another man she had known or one of Rody’s old college friends. Their breakup. Everything just washed over Rody until the misery was so thick he was drowning in it.

Tristan grinned as he watched Rody breakdown and curl up into a ball on the floor. The deliciously pathetic sobs. The way the tears rolled down his blotchy cheeks. The snot mingling with the tears to make Rody’s face an absolute mess.

Tristan walked past Rody and opened the front door and said one last thing to Rody. “I hope you can find a way to explain to your boss why you can’t stop crying.”

With that Tristan left and closed the door behind him. Rody had uncurled himself and tried to reach out his hand before Tristan had left. Words couldn’t come to his mouth, only a pathetic gurgle between the heavy sobs.

Rody held his head in his hands, gripping his hair tightly in white knuckled fists. Just what the hell was he supposed to do now? How was he going to tell Vince about what had just happened?

‘Oh by the way boss, a demon made me have a nonstop emotional breakdown! I literally can’t stop myself from crying even if I wanted to!’

Yeah that would just go over swimmingly! Rody dragged himself over to the couch and gripped onto the fabric to start dragging himself into a standing position. His knees trembled like they wanted to give out once more, but Rody kept himself standing.

He shuffled slowly over to the counter to grab the meat and cheese. He couldn’t let his food spoil just because Tristan felt the need to be a major dick. Rody knew he would just be smacked around more and sent out to the store in this state as punishment for “being lazy”.

Rody knew he was upset when Manon had dumped him but…Was he really this upset at the time? Rody shook his head. No. No. He was having his emotions manipulated by some demon on an ego trip. He wasn’t this devastated.

Rody finally put the deli meat and cheese away and collapsed onto the couch. His sobs hadn’t died down, but lying down did feel nice after everything he had experienced today. He weakly reached out and plucked up what was left of his sandwich and scarfed it down. He followed it with the two pain killers he had left beside the sandwich. Crying made swallowing his food and medicine difficult, but the rest of the water in his glass made everything glide down his throat much easier.

Rody felt the tears slow when he was drinking the water. A part of him felt a little better. He could remember his father having Rody drink lots of water when Rody was little and very upset over something. What had his father said the reason was again?

Rody shook his head. That didn’t matter now. He still had to clean up and…and…

Rody just didn’t feel like it. He was drained physically and emotionally. He could just leave it until tomorrow. Tomorrow the mess would still be there. Tomorrow he might feel a bit more stable with sleep and-

Rody shook his head in spite of the new wave of sadness that had spiked up. No. He had to get it down now. In spite of the way his body protested, and his mind begged him to just curl up on the couch and cry until he finally passed out, Rody stood up from the couch.

He grabbed his used glass and shuffled over to the sink. Rody set the glass in the sink, turned on the water and splashed his face a few times with the warm liquid. The warmth felt comforting in spite of the ache in his chest and how his body trembled. His sobbing was at least muffled when he scrubbed at his face.

Rody grabbed the dish soap, squirted it onto the sponge and made quick work of the knife and glass. He hated the way his hands shook as he worked. He almost nicked himself a few times as he was washing up the knife. As if he was being directed to do so…

Rody set the knife and glass onto his drying rack. He turned around to shuffle back to the couch when the world started to tilt on him. Rody stumbled and fell to the ground. The last thing he could recall was the rough feeling of the carpet against his tear-soaked face before everything went black.

He exhaled a shaky sigh as unconsciousness overtook him. Finally, his body and mind had had enough. Whether he wanted to or not, Rody fell asleep on the floor.

Chapter Text

When Rody opened his eyes, he found himself lying on the floor of the dining room at La Gueule de Saturne. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. Rody knew he had to be dreaming given that he was in his waiter’s uniform once more and he knew that he hadn’t fallen asleep in his uniform. At least not this time.

Rody stood up and looked around the room. Everything was set up for a proper dinner service from the tablecloths to the place settings and even the wine glasses on the table. Rody sighed in relief at the realization that he at least wasn’t tiny this time. Those dreams always made him wake up especially anxious.

‘What am I even doing here?’ Rody wondered as he looked around the empty dining room. The street outside was unusually quiet and Rody couldn’t hear any sounds of prep work coming from the kitchen.

Rody gave the dining room another cursory look before he called out, “Hello? Is there anybody here? Vince?”

Silence followed Rody’s question. Rody crossed his arms as he gave the place another once over. There was a creeping feeling in his gut that there was something seriously wrong here…

Rody decided that instead of just standing in the dining room he should start looking around the rest of the restaurant for any sign of life other than him. So he started to walk towards the restrooms to cross those off of his list first.

As Rody walked closer to the restrooms he started to hear a noise. It was small and quiet but a noise he had recognized once away.

‘Is that…someone crying?’ Rody mused mentally as he quickened his steps to the restroom.

He paused just outside of them and listened closely. The sobbing was coming from the men’s room thankfully. Dream or not, Rody had no intention of running into the women’s room. He had no idea if his subconscious would find a way to punish him for it…

Rody raised a hand and gently pushed the restroom door open. He paused in the doorway as he took in the sight before him,

Curled up in a ball in the corner of the bathroom by the sinks was a little boy. He wore a light blue sweater and tan shorts with little black shoes. From what Rody could see, the boy had the same auburn colored hair that Rody had. The boy had that same tanned skin that was dotted with moles too…

“Umm, hello? Can I help you?” Rody asked aloud, causing the boy to suddenly jump and look up.

Rody could feel his heart start to beat quicker as he stared back into the face of this boy. Those green-gray eyes and the two moles under the one eye only cemented Rody’s earlier theory. This little boy…was him. Somehow…

The child shook his head and pressed his back against the tiled wall as sobs continued to rip through his tiny body. There was something in the action that made Rody’s heart ache. He couldn’t remember ever being that frightened as a child and yet…Something within him started screaming at him to comfort the poor kid.

Rody approached the boy slowly and crouched down onto the floor once he got closer. He figured that if he got onto the kid’s level that maybe he’d feel less intimidated and might talk to him.

Rody spoke once more, “What’s your name?”

The boy sniffled as he wiped a few tears from his eye, “R-rody Lamoree. I-I’m five years old and…and…”

Rody winced when the child version of himself started crying once more. He quickly pulled off his apron and held it out to the crying boy.

“H-hey now, there’s no need to cry! Here, dry those tears with this. It’s a little softer than your hands are,” Rody offered, much like Vince had offered him the tissues in his office earlier…Er well in the waking world anyways. Was that how it worked. Rody wasn't sure.

The child Rody shook his head as he pushed Rody’s hand away, “No! No! I-I don’t want it! I don’t deserve it!”

Rody lowered his hand and set the apron aside as he tilted his head. Didn’t deserve it? What did he mean by that?

“Rody, what do you mean? Why don’t you deserve it?” Rody asked, feeling strange that he was using his own name to address somebody else. Did it count as somebody else when it was the child version of yourself?

Rody shook his head. Now was not the time to try and decipher weird dream logic! He had a kid in need of comfort here!

He waited patiently for his child self to finally pick his head up. Rody restrained the pained look on his face to see the visible distress on the poor boy’s face.

“I-I messed up and-and Maman and Papa are gonna be mad and-and…” Child Rody broke down into heavy sobs once more as he curled back into a little ball.

Rody made soft shushing noises as he easily plucked the boy up by his underarms. Despite the weak resistance the action had earned him, he eased the boy to rest his head against Rody’s shoulder and softly started to rub up and down his back.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh. Ne t’inquiète pas*. There’s nothing you could have done that your Maman and Papa can’t forgive,” Rody cooed in a soft, rumbly voice. He knew it was true. Rody couldn’t remember a single thing his parents would have hated him for at this tender age at least.

The child Rody sniffled pathetically before he screamed, “B-but I…I don’t know what I wanna be when I grow up and…and everyone else in class does and-and I’m supposed to be the smart one! Wh-what am I if I’m not the smart one!?”

Rody bit his lower lip as he held the boy in a tight embrace. He hung his head as he tried to figure out what to even say in response to that. He couldn’t remember feeling the pressure that young to make something out of himself but…Then again Rody couldn’t remember all of that kinda stuff from his childhood as easily as he used to either. Hell, he could barely remember parts of his college days and that wasn’t nearly as many years ago as this.

Rody started humming a soft tune as he continued to rub the boy’s back. While he may not have an answer right now, that didn’t mean he intended on letting the kid continue to feel upset.

Rody straightened up carefully as he spoke, “Let’s go to the kitchen mon enfant*. We can have some water and see if the chefs left behind some cake. Would you like that?”

The child Rody shook his head as he wrapped his little arms around Rody’s neck. He replied in a voice that made Rody’s heart crack, “Don’t deserve cake.”

Rody continued to hum softly as he slowly made his way out of the restroom and towards the kitchen. The boy’s tears were soaking through Rody’s vest and shirt and there were sure to be snot stains on his vest but…Well it’s a dream. Rody could easily tell Dream Vince where to shove that vest if he was even around to complain about it.

“Nonsense,” Rody whispered softly as he paused to sit on one of the tables. He eased his child self back enough to meet the tear-soaked gaze of the boy in his arms. Rody continued, “Even if you never figure out who or what you want to be as an adult, that doesn’t make you unworthy of nice things. Why, I know plenty of adults who don’t even know what they want to do with their lives!”

The boy tilted his head as a soft, “Really?” passed his lips. Rody nodded as he ruffled the boy’s hair.

“Yes, really. Would a grown-up like me lie to you?” Rody replied with a reassuring smile.

The child Rody looked away and pouted as he crossed his arms, “Maman and Papa lied about Père Noël* being real.”

Rody winced slightly. Now he remembered. He was overly eager for Christmas Day and accidentally walked in on his parents setting up the Christmas presents that “Père Noël” had gotten for him. Well, the bright side from that was that Rody got to meet Brie that very same night and sleep with her nestled up next to him. She was such a small puppy then…

Rody waved a dismissive hand, “W-well, even so! I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m not the kinda guy who lies to little kids.”

Rody knew that in and of itself was a lie. He played into the Père Noël thing every Christmas just to protect the innocence of children who deserved not to have that innocence ripped away from them like he had as a kid. And there was that time that Rody had to-

“Monsieur? I…I think I’m ready for that cake now,” the child Rody’s hesitant little voice drew Rody out of his thoughts.

Rody stood up, swinging the child version of himself to rest against his hip. The boy gripped onto Rody’s vest and Rody swore his heart would give out based on how much it swelled from something so small, so innocent. Rody never wanted to have a child more than he did now…If this was his child self though, did that make him narcissistic? Who cares? Not Rody, that’s for sure!

“Let’s go then, mon enfant. Nothing makes me feel better than a nice slice of cake after feeling so upset,” Rody replied with a reassuring smile. His smile only widened at the small smile he received in return.

The child Rody asked in a soft voice, “C-could we have milk with the cake instead of the water? I-I know it’s good for me and all the water…”

Rody replied with a tender voice as he tickled the boy’s stomach, “Why not? You need to drink plenty of milk to grow up big and strong!” The silent “because you’re me and I know you need it” would be Rody’s little secret. He couldn’t help but smile at the little giggles the tickling earned him.

With that Rody decided to continue his way to the kitchen. His child self wrapped his arms around Rody’s neck as Rody carefully stood up from his perch on the table. He pressed a kiss to the crown of the boy’s head before he slowly started to walk towards the kitchen.

Just as Rody reached the door, he heard his child self pipe up, “Th-thank you, monsieur! F-for everything.”

Rody looked at the boy fondly and smiled. He replied in a gentle voice, “You’re welcome, mon enfant.”

Rody pushed open the kitchen door as the world faded to white.

Chapter Text

Vincent stalked up and down the length of the dining room of the bistro, glancing up at the clock every time he completed another lap of pacing. Rody was late. Very late. We were talking past his previous record level of late.

Vincent huffed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. What actually went through that waiter’s head? Did he not realize what time it was?

Vincent turned to make another lap down the dining room as the possibilities started to race around his mind. Did Rody fall into the River Seine again? Did he wipe out on his bike in the street? Did someone jump him on the way in? Did-

Vincent’s eyes widened slightly as he recalled the last time he had seen Rody. How Rody left with two strangers that made Vincent’s gut churn. Two strangers that somehow played the calm, cool and collected Vincent Charbonneau like a fiddle.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could you let yourself be so stupid?,’ Vincent scolded himself mentally as his gaze shifted between the clock and the doorway. He hoped to find Rody running through it any second now. Hopefully with a thousand apologies spilling out of his mouth for being so inconsiderate.

Vincent felt his blood start to boil. What did those two reprobates to his Rody? Waiter! His waiter! That’s totally what Vincent meant to think! Rody was just his waiter! Nothing more, nothing less!

Vincent just wasn’t in the mood to put out another ad for a waiter so soon. He already had a reputation for having a high turnover rate for his waitstaff, which made it difficult to even find a candidate before Rody had applied in the first place. Rody was clearly desperate for the job when he had applied, otherwise the high turnover rate might have been a giant red flag to the auburn-haired man.

Vincent tried to push those thoughts about Rody out of his mind several times this morning but…It felt like a lot of things were just reminding him of Rody. Was this the universe trying to tell him that something was wrong with his waiter?

“Charbonneau? Everything alright out here?” A raspy voice asked after the kitchen door swung open.

Vincent pivoted on his heel. Standing in the now open doorway was Louvet, the only one of the chefs brave enough to address Vincent by his last name rather than as Chef or Boss. Of course it was him. Why wouldn’t it be? He loved to bother Vincent whenever Rody wasn’t around to do it. Vincent shuddered internally at the thought of the two of them ever ganging up on him. He’d never hear the end of it.

“Louvet. What are you doing out here?” Vincent answered with a question of his own. His brow was raised and he crossed his arms over his chest.

Louvet didn’t look at all intimidated by Vincent’s look. He gestured to Vincent’s annoyed look as he spoke, “Can you blame me? What kind of mentor would I be if I didn’t check in on you when you get all huffy over the waiter boy?”

Vincent rolled his eyes, “Don’t call him a boy. That just means he can’t be blamed for his mistakes and when he’s being an idiot.”

Louvet approached Vincent and gave him a look as he replied, “Au contraire. I certainly remember a certain boy who was exceptionally accountable for his mistakes and insisted on learning from them.”

Vincent’s cheeks flushed slightly as he huffily turned away from Louvet’s almost teasing grin. He didn’t need to be reminded of his time as a trainee. Those days belonged firmly in the past where they belonged in Vincent’s opinion. A part of him regretted ever hiring someone who knew him so intimately before he became the chef he is now.

“He’s exceptionally late,” Vincent stated as he looked at the clock while he waited for his face to cool down into its normal pale coloring.

Louvet hummed noncommittally as he also looked at the clock. Every second ticking by sounded like a death knell to the two chefs underneath the clock. Each one knew damn well that every second counted when it came to making sure that everything was ready for lunch service.

“I can hold things down here,” Louvet stated as he kept looking at the clock.

Vincent whipped around with a confused look on his face. Louvet refused to meet Vincent’s stare no matter how much those dark eyes of his tried to burn a hole into the side of Louvet’s head.

Vincent questioned Louvet in a quiet voice, “What are you talking about Louvet?”

Louvet looked over with a raised brow as he put a hand on his hip, “Isn’t it obvious? I would have thought that the prodigy Vincent Charbonneau would know exactly what a lowly sous chef like I mean.”

Vincent narrowed his eyes dangerously, but chose not to respond. He was hardly in the mood to deal with Louvet’s riddles this morning. Not with only two hours before lunch service is set to begin with no sign of Rody.

“Look, you’re worried about him. Don’t deny it. I’ve known you since you were barely out of highschool Charbonneau. I know how you get,” Louvet started as he finally met Vincent’s gaze. The cool, disinterested blue of Louvet clashing with the fiery void of Vinent’s eyes.

“What’s your point?” Vincent spat out as he stared down at his shorter mentor.

Louvet clicked his tongue in annoyance as he reached up to tap the back of Vincent’s head, “Watch your tone. You may be in charge, but I’m still the mentor here. My point is that if you’re that worried, go find him.”

Vincent rubbed the back of his head as he huffed, “And leave the restaurant right before lunch service starts? You may be my mentor, but you sometimes give terrible advice.”

Louvet held firm as he argued back, “Charbonneau, your head isn’t focused on lunch service at all. How can you expect the plates coming out of your kitchen to be up to your standard if all you’re thinking about is Lamoree? Did all those hours in the kitchen of Chef Bourbain teach you nothing about why focus is so important? Or did you forget about how your mistake nearly cost her one of her stars?”

Vincent and Louvet continued to stare one another down. Neither one willing to budge. There was a reason why they worked so well together some days and so poorly on other days.

“Go check his apartment and drag his ass in if need be,” Louvet explained before he gestured back to the kitchen. “I will make sure everything is prepared for lunch service.”

“And if I return and Lamoree isn’t with me?” Vincent asked as he listened to Louvet’s order carefully.

“Then you can file a missing person’s report and I’ll serve lunch and dinner in his stead,” Louvet replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

Vincent raised a brow, “But you hate serving. You put yourself through culinary school purposefully to put your serving days behind you.”

Louvet whapped Vincent on the back of the head once more before he replied, “If that boy is missing, then you won’t be in a good headspace to serve yourself. You might be the boss, but you forget that you have people here who can help you.”

Vincent sighed heavily, “You won’t back down until I leave.”

“No, I won’t,” Louvet replied as he turned Vincent around and started shoving him towards the door. “You signed up for this when you hired me.”

Vincent rolled his eyes, “Only because you begged me to. You have three daughters to put through college and three weddings to pay for, as you’ve so kindly reminded me.”

Louvet gave Vincent one last shove out the door before he spoke, “Go. Bring our waiter boy back and whip him into shape. Unless of course you want to watch me with my poor shoulder strength try and balance that serving tray.”

“Amusing idea, but you have a point. We have a reputation to uphold and your customer service skills are even more abysmal than Lamoree’s,” Vincent replied as he finally relented as he turned in the direction of Rody’s apartment.

Louvet gave a short wave as he watched Vincent walk down the street with purpose. Once Vincent was out of eyesight, Louvet pulled off his hair cover and wrapped it around his neck. He closed the front door and marched into the kitchen.

Louvet clapped his hands three times, “Alright. Chef went to fetch our waiter. In the meantime we have a lunch service to prepare for. Rousseaux, make sure the prep work for the appetizers are done. Donadieu, you’re on desserts. Boucher, you’re taking my usual spot of assisting Faucher with making sure all our sauces are right.”

A hand rose from the back as a small voice piped up, “Umm, why are you taking charge?”

The rest of the chefs turned to look towards the mousy young lady in the back of the group. Their newest hire prior to Rody, Lavigne. She was fresh out of culinary school and came in on a recommendation from a friend of Vincent’s. Said friend wanted to make sure she had made the right choice in career and wanted to toughen her up, so why not send her to work in the toughest kitchen this side of the River Seine?

Louvet smirked, “As sous chef I take charge when our boss isn’t in the building. Or do they not teach the meaning of each title in culinary school anymore?”

Lavigne had the decency to blush as she lowered her hand. The man next to her, Faucher, patted her shoulder consolingly. Faucher had agreed to take on the role of her mentor despite her attempts at getting Louver’s attention. A part of her was jealous that most of his attention went to Vincent…

“If there are no more questions, we need to make sure everything is ready to go before Chef returns. Let’s hustle people, there’s no time to stand around looking pretty,” Louvet ordered with a clap of his hands once more.

Louvet smiled as he watched the kitchen spring to life. Sometimes he really enjoyed his job.

Chapter Text

The stairs leading up to the floor Rody’s apartment on creaked ominously as Vincent walked up them. After stopping on the ground floor and asking for directions from the bored looking woman sorting the mail for the various occupants of the apartment building, Vincent was pointed in the right direction of which apartment was Rody’s. At least he didn’t live too high up the building. Less stairs Vincent would have to drag him down as he hauled that lazy slob to work.

Vincent’s nose crinkled as he took in the sight of water dripping from the ceiling into one of the corners of the wall. Mildew was left along the wall and the entire building smelled of musk and decay. No wonder Rody practically bathed in cheap cologne! He must need to after living in this rathole for so long…Vincent could already feel his skin crawling just from his short time in the building. He would need a much longer bath tonight than usual to truly be free of the general filthy aura this place had.

Vincent restrained the twinge of sympathy that sprung up on him suddenly as he looked around the interior of the building closely. The carpets in the hall were heavily worn and stained. The wallpaper in the halls were stained by cigarette smoke and mold. Vincent couldn’t even tell what patterns were meant to be on either the carpeting or the wallpaper both were so faded. Both of them must have been put down when the building was first constructed…however long ago that was…It was a far cry from his own modern apartment above the bistro.

‘Now I see why he’s constantly pestering me for a raise. He needs the money to get out of here,’ Vincent mused as he continued his trek through the dilapidated building.

He knew that if he was in Rody’s position that Vincent would be equally desperate if not more so to get out of a place like this. Was that part of why Rody sometimes got those melancholy looks on his face? He didn’t live somewhere nice enough to take someone home to? Was that why Rody always offered to go out places whenever he tried to get Vincent to hang out with him after work? Rody didn’t have a place he deemed worthy of someone like Vincent seeing…

Vincent just felt unclean walking down the hallway. As though some sort of foul miasma was in the air that tainted everything it touched…Everything except for Rody that is. There was something so bright about that man that didn’t match the place he called home…A warmth that contrasted the damp and cold feeling all the leaks from both the water pipes and windows caused. A level of care within the man that contrasted from the heavy neglect of the place he slept every night.

Soon enough, Vincent arrived at his destination. Right next to Rody’s front door was a very ugly potted plant. One of those fake plastic abominations with a very tacky design on the pot. Vincent knew it must be because Rody was just absent minded enough to kill a real plant if he left it outside. Vincent noticed a glint of silver next to it and reached behind the plant. When he withdrew his hand there was a silver key in his grasp. Vincent felt his eyebrow twitch.

‘Did that damn idiot really hide a spare key to his apartment behind a plant in front of his own front door?’ Vincent thought before trying the key in the lock.

The key slid in with ease and with a simple turn, Rody’s front door popped open. Vincent pulled out the key and shook his head as he thought, ‘That idiot is going to get himself killed one of these days.’

Vincent slipped the key into his pants pocket before he pushed the door open the rest of the way. Instantly he was hit by the smell of damp carpet and laundry in desperate need of washing. Vincent fought the urge to cover his nose in spite of how the smell almost made his eyes water. If Vincent hadn’t lost his sense of taste, he was sure he’d be able to taste the putrid odor somehow it was that pungent.

After a deep breath, Vincent steeled his nerves and walked into the apartment. Thankfully nothing crawled out from under the beat up couch or crawled down from the ceiling. He was at least spared from two kinds of pests on his hunt for the pest he signed the paychecks of.

“Lamoree, there better be a good reason for-” Vincent called. He stopped when he took in the sight before him.

Rody was lying on the floor about halfway between the little kitchenette and the couch. He was on his side and hadn’t reacted at all to Vincent opening the door, or calling his last name. His skin was thankfully still its usual coloring, so it wasn’t cardiac arrest or illness that had made him pass out.

Vincent closed the door behind him before walking over to where Rody was lying. He knelt down beside Rody, taking note of the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest. There weren’t any signs of any blood or bleeding wounds on Rody although…Vincent’s eyes narrowed at the sight of bruising around Rody’s throat. Bruising that looked a lot like a hand…A man’s hand.

Vincent reached out and shook Rody’s shoulder as he called out once more, “Lamoree. It’s time to wake up. You’re late for work.”

Rody didn’t move or even show any sign of having heard Vincent’s voice. Vincent huffed as he eased Rody onto his back. The bruising was that much more noticeable now that Rody was on his back. Vincent already had an idea of who left those marks behind and was rapidly coming up with ways of disposing of the male pest that had disturbed him and Rody last night. Disposal methods much more devious than the ones that had cropped up when he considered taking out that pesky Manon Vacher.

Despite Vincent moving him, Rody still remained fast asleep. Odd. Very odd. Rody usually sprung up quickly whenever someone was trying to wake him up. At least he was that way whenever he tried to sneak off someplace to take a nap at work. Vincent has caught him snoozing in some of the oddest places and would often wonder why that was. Glancing briefly over at the well worn couch, Vincent concluded that Rody probably didn’t even own a bed.

But worries over what furniture his employee did or didn’t own wouldn’t help him here. Right now the clock was still ticking and both of them were needed back at the restaurant for everything to start running smoothly. If the reviews were bad enough when Rody was serving, Vincent could only imagine how much worse they would be if Louvet was the one running around the dining room.

Vincent shook both of Rody’s shoulder’s as he shouted, “Lamoree! Wake up already!”

But Rody slept on as though Vincent wasn’t there shaking him and shouting his last name. It was only the rise and fall of his chest that let Vincent know that Rody was in fact still alive. For now anyway. If he didn’t somehow respond to Vincent that may not be the case…

Vincent felt Rody’s forehead with his cool hand. While Rody’s skin felt warm to the touch, it wasn’t a feverish kind of warm. No, it was the usual warmth that Rody’s skin always had. At least Vincent knew that Rody wasn’t sick. That was a relief. At least Vincent didn’t need to haul his employee to the hospital or to an emergency clinic.

Vincent growled lowly as he stood up. Frustration was building up and made his temples start to throb. He had to find something to wake Rody up with. Neither of them had time to waste in this dingy, cramped apartment all day! There was a lunch and dinner service to tend to! Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered going out of his way for someone who was so-so…unprofessional!

Besides, focusing on his annoyance allowed Vincent to keep that tiny part of him that was super worried quiet. Worry wouldn’t help right now. Focus and frustration would. Worry could be dealt with later tonight over a bottle of wine.

With a heavy sigh, Vincent resigned himself to the task of finding something within Rody’s messy apartment that would be loud enough to wake Rody up. Rody owed him big time for even coming to fetch him for work in the first place, never mind taking the time to wake him up properly instead of just leaving a pink slip on Rody’s slumbering face. At least Vincent was giving him some sort of chance to wake up and explain himself. He wouldn’t normally do this for an employee. Not even for someone he had known for ages like Louvet…

Chapter Text

When the white light faded, Rody found himself standing in a park alone. He looked around and couldn’t find the child version of himself anywhere. Not in his arms, not on the ground standing beside him, not even hiding in a nearby bush! Rody was about to start calling for him when he heard the soft strumming of a guitar.

Rody hummed softly as he started to follow the music. The tune felt so familiar to him but he couldn’t quite understand why…Had he heard the song somewhere before? There was the whisper of a memory begging to be released but…Rody couldn’t quite fully grasp it.

Soon Rody found himself standing in front of a large fountain. The fountain was stone and decorated with an angelic motif. Rody could remember a fountain like that being close to his childhood home. But it was the person sitting on the edge of the fountain that really caught Rody’s attention.

It was a boy with the same colored hair as Rody as well as the same tanned skin dotted with moles. The boy was older than the last one Rody had encountered given his taller frame and slightly different hairstyle. Although by how much could only really be determined once Rody actually talked to him. He was holding a guitar that looked just a tad too big for him and was strumming it as he softly hummed some sort of tune.

On occasion the boy would pause and scribble something down in the worn looking notebook in front of him. Afterwards he would return to his strumming. He would change the key or try different patterns until something felt right to him. At least based off of the way his eyes glittered and his face lit up.

Rody finally spoke up after listening for a few more moments, “You’re quite talented, kid.”

The boy looked up, those familiar green-gray eyes and two moles under the eye just confirmed Rody’s suspicions. It was yet another younger version of himself. This time his younger self was dressed in longer slacks, a white button down and a light green sweater vest on top. His shoes were a nice black pair of loafers in a style Rody hadn’t seen in at least a decade, if not more. Rody could somewhat remember wearing outfits like that when he went to grade school.

The boy held the guitar closer to him as he squinted his eyes and asked in a suspicious tone, “Who are you?”

Rody held up his hands, “Hey, I’m not here to hurt you. I’m just…your average waiter enjoying his lunch break. I couldn’t help but hear your music and followed it.”

“I’m Rody, and you?” The boy replied as he seemed to relax ever so slightly.

Rody grinned, “Ah, it seems we share a name then. Our mothers must have excellent taste!”

The child Rody brushed some of his hair aside as he answered, “Well naturally! It’s an awesome name so we gotta do awesome things to live up to it!”

Rody sat next to his child self, feeling the cool stone against his legs and on his palms. He couldn’t quite tell what his subconscious was trying to tell him by continuing this theme of encountering his younger selves. Maybe it was the universe trying to point him in the right direction or say he had unresolved issues from his childhood that were holding him back?

He listened to his child self strum a few more chords. Rody wished he had his own guitar with him. Maybe they could have played a duet or he could have given the child a proper music lesson. Maybe that would have helped Rody figure out what was going on.

“So what are you working on?” Rody asked his child self as he could pick out a few of the chords that his child self was trying to string together. Rody often used those very same chords when he was composing music.

Child Rody blushed as he held the guitar closer, “W-well…Papa said that he proposed to Maman with this very guitar, and he hoped I could do the same thing someday so…So I’m practicing and trying to learn how to write songs so I can propose with the perfect song.”

Rody smiled softly. That was also his intention. He kept writing song after song, these days for his beloved Manon. Maybe once she took him back he would finally be inspired and write her the right one. The one that would get her to say yes…

“I just…I dunno if I can though,” child Rody’s voice pulled Rody out of his own musings. He looked over to see the boy holding the guitar with an unsure look on his face.

“What do you mean?” Rody asked as he quirked a brow, “You already have an ear for music! Most little boys I’ve met can’t even play something in tune and here you are putting chords together-”

Child Rody shook his head as he grumbled, “Not that! Papa has been teaching me those things!”

Rody tilted his head before he questioned his child self further, “Then what are you worried about?”

“I…” Child Rody paused as he set the guitar safely beside him. He curled up his legs to his chest and hugged them tightly before he continued, “I don’t think I’ll ever find a wife…”

Rody felt something inside of himself crack. That tone of voice. Something so somber and defeated sounding…Rody hated to hear a tone like that in the voice of a child. And yet Rody often remembered hearing himself have that same tone in the waking world, especially when-

Rody shook his head and slapped his cheeks lightly a few times. He had to get it together. It wasn’t about him right now. He had a kid that needed comfort here. Even if that kid was somehow a version of himself, Rody didn’t have the time to care about the semantics. His inner paternal instincts were begging him to do something to fix this.

Rody reached over and wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders before pulling him into a side hug. He could feel the boy stiffen up and idly remembered being very oddly against physical affection at…well Rody couldn’t quite tell how old the boy was but it took him a while to get back into the touchy-feely sort of person he was as a very young boy.

“I know you’ll find somebody. Finding love is a tricky thing. Something that takes time and effort and a lot of patience,” Rody reassured as memories of his failed relationships started to bloom forth in his mind. Nicolette, Adelle, Rebecca, Ma-

The child shook his head and sniffled as tears came to his eyes, “No, no. Not for me I…Girls like boys who know what they’re gonna be in life and…I still don’t know who I want to be and-and…”

Rody turned and allowed the boy to bury his face into his chest. Rody could feel the tears soaking through his shirt and vest once more as sobs ripped through the boy’s scrawny frame. Rody held him tightly as he bit back the urge to cry himself. He had to push his own pain back. It didn’t matter right now. Someone else needed comfort.

Rody spoke in a quiet, soothing voice, “Hey now, you’re young. You have time to decide these things. I know adults who have changed their minds hundreds of times about who they want to be or what they want to do with their lives. All those adults have also found love of their own.”

“Th-then am I just stupid or ugly or-” the boy was cut off when Rody gave him a particularly tight squeeze.

“Non, non. None of that now. You are far from the ugliest kid I’ve ever met, nor do you seem stupid,” Rody firmly interrupted as he carded a hand through the boy’s hair. It was so silky and well cared for. When was the last time Rody’s own hair felt like that…

The child Rody rubbed at his eyes as he sobbed, “B-but it’s true! Wh-why else would she have left me? Wh-what did I do wrong to make her leave!?”

Rody wracked his mind, trying his best to remember his early childhood. Did he have a girlfriend that young? Possibly. But he couldn’t quite pin down a name or face.

Rody shook his head once more before he returned to the task of trying to make the boy calm down. He made soft shushing noises as he rubbed the boy’s back.

Rody spoke in that same soft voice as before, “Shh, shh. It’ll be okay. I know your heart feels like it’s completely shattered right now and that nobody else could ever come in and fix it. But trust me when I say that those feelings will fade. Time will help you heal and meeting new people, even just friends will help you even more.”

The boy looked up with watery eyes at Rody. The sight made Rody’s heart ache once more as he wiped the tears from the boy’s face with his apron.

Child Rody whimpered, “B-but she was different. She was gonna be the one…”

“What do you mean?” Rody asked as he furrowed his brows and tilted his head. There was an odd feeling building up from the pit of his stomach.

“She was so nice and kind and sweet! And she gave me so many chances and-and I…I just keep wasting them and disappointing her and-and-” The boy buried his face in his hands before more sobs wracked his body.

Rody felt sweat start to bead at his temples. No, no, no. He couldn’t possibly be-how would he even-

Rody took a shaky breath before he questioned the boy, “Wh-what was the girl’s name?”

It felt like an eternity before the boy finally looked up at Rody. Those green-gray eyes full of tears and his face all blotchy. The boy sniffled and wiped a few away with a shaky breath of his own.

“Well you would know, wouldn’t you. Manon is why we’re so upset,” child Rody replied as he stared at Rody.

Rody felt his heart drop at those words. A ringing grew in his ears and the world started to tilt back and forth. Back and forth.

He saw his child self look concerned and reached out to him. But the last thing Rody registered was falling backwards into the fountain. It felt deep, too deep to be an actual fountain. Water filled his lungs and everything faded to black before Rody could try and pull himself to the surface.

Chapter Text

“Up…Ge…Lamo…” Rody’s brows furrowed as he tried to make out what was being said to him. That voice. It sounded so familiar…Where did he know that voice from?

“Lamoree…Wa…up!” There was a shaking of his shoulders that he hadn’t noticed the first time. Was that him doing the shaking or someone else?

There was an annoyed huff and Rody heard the sound of footsteps walking away. A somber feeling rose up in Rody’s chest. Just great. Whomever was with him had just left him. Alone. Like Rody always was. Maybe…just maybe that was how he was meant to be…Alone.

Rody wanted to move. To sit up and say something, anything but…He sighed internally. What was the point? Why bother? What could he possibly say that would make everything better? Would whomever was in the room with him even care?

Tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks. Rody couldn’t even bring himself to sob or curl up or anything. He had no energy. No drive. No desire to do anything except lay there and cry and just…He wanted to be alone. He wanted whomever was in here to just give up and leave him. Why bother pretending that he had friends? Why bother pretending that he had any bright points left in his life?

He had lost the love of his life due to his own inability to be anything other than a pathetic mess. He couldn’t keep a space clean even if something as important as his immortal soul depended on it. He worked a dead-end job that he constantly wound up disappointing people at. He dropped out of college and likely would have flunked out…Pathetic. That’s all Rody felt that he was. A pathetic waste of space.
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Vincent sighed as he straightened up from his crouched position. Rody didn’t keep very much in his apartment that could help Vincent wake him up. Part of him expected someone as noisy and sociable as Rody to have some sort of noisemaker left over from a party or something! Even an alarm clock would be better than nothing!

Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. He didn’t even want to know what time it was. He didn’t want to acknowledge how much time he was currently wasting. Vincent looked over in the direction of where Rody was laying.

Vincent knew Rody would be far too heavy to just carry back to the restaurant like this. Just dragging him as is would look entirely too suspicious for Vincent’s liking as well. The last thing he needed was his reputation to plummet because it looked like he had murdered his waiter and was dragging his corpse away to hide it or something…

Vincent suddenly remembered that Rody had some sort of kitchen space. There must be a pan and some sort of utensil Rody used to cook with. A wooden spoon or a spatula or something. It felt almost fitting to wake him up using kitchenware given Rody was late for his job in a restaurant.

With that Vincent turned on his heel and purposefully chose to ignore the squelch of the carpet as he turned. He really needed to talk some sense into Rody. The state of his living conditions, the fact he was breaking down into tears so easily, the fact that he was willingly choosing to spend his personal time with very shady people… Something was wrong with his waiter and Vincent needed Rody to do something to fix it. He couldn’t…

Vincent shook his head as he thought, ‘I’m not falling for that oaf. I’m not! I only want him to do a good job. His performance is reflective of my bistro and I don’t want to continue to be embarrassed by his subpar performance.’

Vincent squared his shoulders and started the short walk to the kitchenette. The sooner he could get the two of them out of this apartment, the better. All of this mildew and musky odors were starting to scramble his brain. The mold was making him think things he shouldn’t. Yeah…that was it. No wonder he pegged Rody as having some sort of brain damage. The mold must be affecting him too…
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Rody could hear the footsteps approaching once more. Hopefully they would just be leaving. Rody didn’t have any desire to try and interact with anybody today. He didn’t feel like cobbling together a mask of his usual cheerful self…

There was a rustle of clothing and a cool hand rested against his cheek. A thumb brushed under his eye, wiping a few of the tears away. A part of Rody felt horribly guilty for still crying. Whomever was here shouldn’t be wasting their time trying to comfort him. Someone who was irreparably broken…

A soft whisper followed the tender touch, “Rody. What happened to you?”

Rody pried his tired, tear-filled eyes open to confront whomever was trying to talk to him. His eyes widened when his gaze traveled from the hand on his cheek up the arm that the hand belonged to and up to the face of-

“Vince?” Rody hated how tiny and weak his voice sounded. The way that his tears started to pick up on their own and how his face was starting to burn. Just great. His poor boss had to witness yet another crying fit.

Vincent kept quiet as he helped ease Rody into a sitting position. Questions kept popping up in his mind, but none of them felt very appropriate to ask. ‘Why were you on the floor? What happened last night? Where are the two people you were with? Did they hurt you? Did-’

Rody held himself in a tight hug as he hung his head. He trembled as Vincent could faintly make out the little mantra Rody was mumbling to himself, “Keep it together. Stop crying. Keep it together. Stop crying.”

Over and over again. His voice cracking at points as the tears seemed to be winning the little war going on in Rody’s head. Rody’s breathing picked up and his chest started to heave slightly.

“K-kee-keep i-” Rody’s voice instead broke into heavy sobs as he buried his face into his hands.

Vincent’s hand was still hovering in the position Rody’s face had once been. The chef wasn’t sure what to say. What could he say? Heavy emotions weren’t his strong suit. He hadn’t cried himself in over twenty years at this point…

Vincent lowered his hand as he looked around the room for something, anything that could possibly get Rody to stop crying. A tissue or something! Vincent noticed a box of tissues on the table. That would do nicely.

“Lamoree,” Vincent started before he was cut off by Rody moving quickly. Vincent closed his eyes, expecting the worst when he was pulled into a tight embrace.

Vincent felt his face start to burn and he stiffened up. He wasn’t used to affection like this. He hadn’t been hugged like this since he was a child…

Rody sobbed into Vincent’s shoulder. The tears were already starting to soak through Vincent’s chef jacket. Christ, how much was Rody crying?! How could Vincent already feel those hot tears burning his shoulder?

“Don’t leave! P-please! I-I’ll be good!” Rody sobbed, his voice muffled against Vincent’s shoulder.

Vincent sighed as he pushed Rody’s face away enough to make eye contact. Rody’s face was a mess and Vincent didn’t want to even guess how much snot was plastered against his previously pristine coat.

“I’m not leaving,” Vincent replied in a firm voice. “I was just getting you tissues. Your face is a mess.”

Rody covered his face with his hands and wailed, “Fuck! I knew it! I am ugly! This is why she left me! Because I’m a hideous freak!”

Vincent smacked his palm against his face and dragged it down before he grabbed Rody by the shoulders. The waiter inhaled a shuddery breath as he pulled his hands down enough to meet Vincent’s steady gaze once more.

Vincent waited until he could see Rody’s eyes before he spoke once more, “What has gotten into you? Lamoree, you aren’t some hideous monster.”

Rody shook his head, not trusting his voice anymore. The ones in his head were too loud. They made him want to say such nasty, vile things about himself. He just wished they’d shut up. Leave him alone. He shifted his hold from Vincent to instead hold himself tightly. Tight enough to leave bruises on his upper arms but Rody didn’t care. The pain would ground him.

Vincent noticed the blanket on the couch and got an idea.

“I’m going to grab something, okay?” Vincent kept his voice low. Rody was more than loud enough for the both of them. Besides, given how he was shaking so hard anything louder than a whisper might break him completely.

Rody whined a soft, needy whine as he reflexively reached out and held onto Vincent’s wrist. Vincent placed his hand over Rody’s and rubbed a small circle onto it with his thumb.

Vincent spoke once more in that quiet tone that Rody seemed to be listening to more closely than before, “I’m just grabbing the blanket from the couch. You can watch me. I’m not leaving you alone.”

Rody let go of Vincent’s wrist slowly. As though he was savoring the fact that he had actual human contact. That in and of itself concerned Vincent more than anything. Why was Rody so…clingy all of a sudden? And with Vincent no less! Weren’t they screaming at each other just yesterday?

Vincent moved towards the couch, half-expecting Rody to somehow cling to his leg or grab him again. Instead, he just stayed put like an obedient dog told to stay. Those green-grey eyes followed Vincent’s every move intently. It was…odd. Vincent couldn’t quite put a finger on how that fact made him feel.

Vincent reached down and grabbed the blanket. It was fairly thin but it should do what Vincent needed to do. He turned around and met Rody’s confused gaze. The auburn-haired waiter was still crying (just how many tears could Rody’s body reasonably make?) and his trembling had at least settled into something calmer than the violent tremors from before.

Vincent then walked over to the kitchenette and looked it over.

“Where do you keep your glasses?” Vincent asked as he looked over to Rody.

Rody shakily pulled himself to his feet and stumbled over to Vincent. Rody opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a glass before handing it to Vincent.

Vincent accepted it with a snort, “You could have told me you know. You didn’t have to get up.”

Rody remained silent but held onto Vincent’s sleeve as he looked to the side. Vincent furrowed his brows in confusion. What was going on with his waiter?

Rody spoke in a small voice, “‘m sorry…”

Vincent sighed a somewhat fond sigh as he reached up to ruffle Rody’s hair, “Don’t be. Just tell me what we can do to calm you down.”

Rody leaned into Vincent’s touch despite the voice in his head that called him disgusting and pathetic for seeking comfort. From his boss no less! And yet, Rody felt slightly less alone now that Vincent was here…

Vincent chose not to comment and instead opted to fill the glass with cold water. It took a moment for the tap to actually produce water cold enough for Vincent’s liking. But he chose not to make a comment that would make Rody breakdown more than he already had.

“Here, drink this,” Vincent ordered softly as he passed the glass over to Rody.

Rody took the glass between his hands, ignored the way they trembled, and drank half of it in one gulp. The cold water felt like a balm against the stifling tightness in his throat. He felt his tears start to slow while he drank the water.

Vincent watched Rody drink the water as though his life depended on it. Vincent’s gaze drifted to the bobbing of Rody’s throat and he had to swallow a bit of drool that pooled in his mouth. The urge to sink his teeth into that neck had Vincent half-tempted to do something he might regret. But…He didn’t want Rody to look like more of a mess than he already did. He needed to make Rody somewhat presentable and definitely more emotionally stable before taking him into work.

Rody drained the glass quickly and sighed a content sigh. He bit his lower lip to try and keep the threat of tears at bay. He had to calm down. Rody’s head was starting to hurt from all the crying and sobbing he had been doing since he woke up.

Vincent took the blanket and draped it over Rody’s shoulders. Rody took the ends and wrapped it around himself tightly as he hung his head. He breathed in the lingering remnants of Manon’s perfume and felt some of his resolve waver.

‘I can’t keep watching you ruin any semblance of progress you make with yourself while trying to make me happy, it’s exhausting-’ Manon’s voice echoed in Rody’s head.

Rody held himself tighter. He was trying, wasn’t he? Wasn’t that what mattered? Trying counted more than succeeding? That one learns more from failures than successes?

Vincent’s voice pulled Rody out of his head, “You’re shaking again. Talk to me. You’re getting into your own head too much.”

Rody laughed a bitter laugh, “You always complained I never thought enough. Now I’m thinking too much? Make up your mind Vince.”

Vincent rolled his eyes as he took the glass from Rody and refilled it with water. The pass back over to Rody was much smoother than the first time.

Rody drank a bit more slowly this time, savoring the coolness in his mouth and paying attention to how it traveled down his throat. He tried to block out the way his traitorous mind kept trying to bring up his old arguments with Manon.

‘Why do you only take on these menial jobs? You’re smarter than that Rody. I know you are. You can complete your own tax forms without an accountant.’

‘Why can’t you ever take a hint? I don’t want you to work yourself half to death just to buy me jewelry. You could be using that money to finish getting your degree.’

‘You’re so-’

Rody snapped out of his mental spiral when he felt Vincent’s hand on his shoulder. Rody turned his head so quickly he felt a little dizzy. Vincent’s gaze was steady as always but…The flicker of concern in those eyes had Rody trembling once more as guilt made his stomach turn.

Rody covered his mouth and ran as quickly as he could to the bathroom. Vincent followed after him, slipping through before Rody could even attempt to close the door behind him.

Rody knelt down before the toilet as he heaved into the bowl. Cool fingers pulled his hair back to keep them from being covered in bile. Rody shuddered as his stomach rejected what little remained within it.

Vincent kept his head turned away as he listened to Rody wretch and cough. Vincent patted Rody’s back in an attempt to comfort him. A part of him wondered if it was even worth it to try and drag Rody over to the restaurant today. Physically and emotionally his condition was deteriorating before Vincent’s eyes.

Rody eventually managed to spit out the last of the bile from his mouth. He shuddered before reaching out for some toilet paper to wipe off his mouth. Once he was satisfied that his mouth was clean enough, he tossed the soiled toilet paper into the bowl. He then closed the lid and flushed it to remove the evidence of his bout of illness.

Rody rested his head against the closed toilet lid as he continued to allow Vincent to pat his back. Rody’s eyes slipped shut as he sighed a deep sigh. He was so tired. No, more than tired. Exhausted.

His head still buzzed with nasty insults and the pointing out of his imperfections. His face burned as the realization that he literally vomited in front of his boss and needed this same boss to hold his hair back to keep him from making a complete mess of himself. But Vincent didn’t say anything about it.

Vincent didn’t say anything insulting or snarky to Rody. But…he also didn’t say anything kind or comforting either. Rody bit back a dry laugh. Why did he expect anything different? Vincent wasn’t one for comfort. He didn’t come here to comfort Rody. He didn’t come here because he was worried about Rody’s well-being. He just wanted to make sure that the only sucker he had to serve tables could do just that.

Rody allowed the comforting urge to sleep to overtake him. Vincent be damned. Rody was too tired to try and fight over whether he was going to work or not. He was too tired to listen to whatever lies Vincent would tell him to slap a Band-Aid over the bullet holes in Rody’s shattered self-worth.

Vincent sighed heavily as he watched Rody’s breathing finally even out and the last tears slip down his cheeks. He knew that Rody was in no condition to work. At least not for today. But…Vincent huffed as he brushed Rody’s bangs back from his face.

He couldn’t leave Rody here by himself. Not in this state and not at the risk of Rody getting hurt again by those two reprobates. They could hurt him more than merely choking him out or even-Vincent shook his head. No. They wouldn’t get their hands on him again. Not on Vincent’s watch.

Chapter Text

When Rody awoke, he found himself in a room he hadn’t been in in years. His bedroom from his childhood. Rody looked down and sighed in relief. At least he was an adult and he wasn’t stuck in that tiny form that often plagued his nightmares.

Rody wondered why he was here of all places when he heard the sound of a child sobbing once more. Rody looked over at the closet and slowly opened the door.

Curled up in the corner was the same boy Rody had seen in the bistro. Rody sighed deeply. Was this his subconscious trying to tell him he messed up? That he was being dumb and made himself worse somehow? Something in his gut had him feeling like that was the case.

Rody knelt down as he held his arms open to the crying child as he cooed, “Hey buddy. Why are we crying?”

Rody was immediately rewarded when his child self quickly buried himself into Rody’s tight embrace. Rody pressed a kiss to the crown of the boy’s head as he felt the boy’s tears start to soak through his uniform top.

“I-I-It huuuuurrrtss,” the boy wailed as his tiny chest heaved with sobs.

Rody pulled back from the embrace slightly as he pushed the hair out of his child self’s face. Rody tried to figure out whether the boy meant physical pain or not.

“What hurts, mon enfant?” Rody asked in a soft and almost cooing tone.

“E-everything!” The child Rody cried as he rubbed at his eyes.

Rody shushed the boy softly as he scooped the boy up into his arms. Rody eased himself into a standing position and walked the two of them out of the claustrophobic closet. Rody instead sat down on the tiny bed (er well it felt tiny to him now that he was a grown adult. It felt a lot bigger when he was a little boy, just like the one in his arms).

Rody spoke once more, “What can we do to help you feel better, mon enfant?”

The child Rody sniffled as he rested his head against Rody’s shoulder. The boy shrugged as he started to fiddle with Rody’s untied tie. Rody gave the boy a gentle hug to try and finally settle down the trembling.

Rody started to hum a soft tune, one he could remember his father singing to him whenever Rody was especially upset. A tune he knew his child self would recognize with ease.

Rody continued humming as he eased the child into a more comfortable position. Once he had done so, Rody swayed slowly side to side in a rocking motion. Idly he missed the old rocking chair that used to be in this room. But it was given to a neighbor that had just had a new baby and…Well at the time Rody was getting a little big to need being rocked to calm down.

But Rody knew his child self would appreciate the sentiment. That this version of him was young enough to still be held comfortably. One that could and would find the rocking more soothing than the slightly older boy Rody had encountered earlier.

Rody sang in a soft, soothing voice as he continued to rock the boy gently,

“Bonne nuit, cher trésor,
Ferme tes yeux et dors.
Laisse ta tête, s’envoler,
Au creux de ton oreiller.
Un beau rêve passera,
Et tu l’attraperas.
Un beau rêve passera,
Et tu le retiendras.”*

Rody allowed the last note to hang a little longer than usual as he checked to see if he had successfully calmed his younger self down. He allowed the note to finally end when he noticed that the boy was sleeping at last.

Rody smiled softly before he pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead. He moved slowly as he stood back up to properly tuck the boy into bed. He pulled back the thick duvet and laid the boy against the plush pillow. Rody snatched up the stuffed bear that had fallen to the floor and placed it next to his child self. Just as he predicted, the boy immediately clung to his beloved toy.

Rody pulled the duvet back over the boy and gently tucked him in. He mimicked the motions he could remember his parents performing for him when he was this small. Rody gave the boy one last pet to the hair before turned to shut the light off.

Rody paused when he felt a little hand grab onto his. Rody looked over his shoulder to see that his child self had unconsciously grabbed his hand. Rody smiled a fond smile as he sat back on the bed beside the boy and continued to stroke his hair.

The moment was a softer, quieter moment than the ones Rody had experienced when he was awake. Having some form of outlet for his paternal instincts left Rody with a sense of peace and a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, a little piece of himself felt better after providing this care to a version of himself.

Rody felt the same dizzy feeling as before and laid back against the bed. He could see his vision start to flicker and darken, making it difficult to make out the little stars painted on the ceiling of his childhood bedroom. Rody felt tears well up in his eyes as he shut them. He didn’t want to wake up so soon. He wanted to stay here. A place he felt safe and secure for once in what felt like an eternity without it.

But Rody knew that it wasn’t realistic. That he had to face reality and do what he needed to do in the waking world. Besides, maybe he could find a way to return here instead of facing his nightmares? That would be nice.

Rody’s last thought before he allowed the darkness to overtake him was a small hope, ‘I hope I could experience this for real someday. I…I wish I could have a family again.’

Chapter Text

When Rody opened his eyes, it was to Vincent gently shaking his shoulder. Rody glanced over to meet Vincent’s steady gaze.

“You’re awake,” Vincent noted as he withdrew his hand from Rody’s shoulder.

Rody nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He didn’t feel any tears at the moment, but he didn’t trust that to last long. Not with his current track record.

Vincent nodded his head towards the sink, “We should get your mouth washed out. Leaving bile on your teeth isn’t very good for them.”

Rody nodded mutely once more as he peeled his face off of the toilet seat’s lid. With a shaky sigh, Rody eased himself into a standing position. Vincent offered his arm as something sturdy for Rody to cling to as he straightened up.

Rody’s face flushed once more. He really hated this feeling. Like he was being babied or treated like a small child, especially by someone like Vincent. The man was his boss, not his babysitter! It wasn’t his responsibility to take care of him when it was clear Rody was incapable of it.

Rody opened his medicine cabinet, pulled out his minty toothpaste and his slightly worn down toothbrush before shutting it once more. He turned on the tap and wet his brush before squirting a generous glob of toothpaste onto the brush. He opened his mouth and started brushing more vigorously than Vincent had thought he was capable of being. The chef idly expected Rody to be too out of it to handle it himself.

Vincent hovered nearby in case Rody broke down again, but otherwise refrained from entering Rody’s personal space. He could tell by the way Rody bristled slightly at being helped up that the waiter was quickly approaching a different kind of breakdown. Sure, Vincent knew he could hold his own in a fight but…that still didn’t mean that he felt comfortable hurting Rody, even in self-defense. Especially knowing that Rody wasn’t in a right state of mind and knowing that Rody was potentially being hurt by those two strangers from the bistro last night…

Soon the sound of Rody spitting out the toothpaste caught Vincent’s attention. Rody wiped off the residue with the back of his hand before he shut the water off. Vincent wrinkled his nose. Sometimes Rody’s habits absolutely disgusted him.

Rody put away the toothpaste and his toothbrush before he turned around to face Vincent. Neither one was quite sure what to even say to break the awkward tension that was building up in the room. What could one say without making the tentative peace shatter?

Rody spoke first when he asked Vincent, “Let me guess, you want me to go into work now, right?”

Vincent placed a hand on his hip and shook his head before he responded, “That was my initial intention…But I don’t think it would be the best thing to do now.”

Rody felt a flicker of hurt spring up in his chest at the hesitancy in Vincent’s tone. He bit his lower lip and averted his gaze. Rody’s hands twitched as he resisted the urge to hug himself. He wasn’t a child. He didn’t need a hug to make everything better…

“Heh, I can’t even do that right,” Rody muttered as he felt his shoulders start to tremble and the tears started to well up yet again. “Why do you even bother trying with me Vince?”

Vincent sighed a heavy sigh as he carded a hand through his hair. ‘He’s doing it again. He’s tearing himself down,’ Vincent mused as he watched Rody try and pull himself back together.

The soft patter of tears against the dingy tiled floor let Vincent know exactly how well Rody was doing on that front. Vincent needed backup of some kind. He really wasn’t the best at this whole comforting others thing. But who could Vincent even turn to in this situation?

An idea flashed in Vincent’s head before he asked Rody, “Are your parents around during the day?”

Rody’s gaze snapped upwards quickly and his breathing quickened. He shook his head and allowed himself to hug himself tightly.

“A-and let them see wh-what a failure I am? T-to show them th-that all of their sacrifices they made…That everything they did was f-for nothing! V-Vince that’ll kill them!” Rody rambled with a slight hysterical tone tinging his voice.

“How about siblings? Do you have any of those?” Vincent questioned as a part of him idly hoped that wasn’t the case. The world didn’t necessarily need more of Rody Lamoree, one was more than enough in Vincent’s opinion.

Rody laughed a quick, harsh sounding laugh, “Nope! My parents saw how much of a screw-up I was and decided not to try again. I mean let’s be real here Vince! W-who would want another fuck-up like me around?”

Vincent looked down and Rody snorted.

“See? Even you can see it. I…I was a mistake,” Rody laughed another harsh laugh that started dissolving into heavy sobs mingled with a more hysterical sounding laughter.

Vincent returned his gaze to Rody, who shifted his hold from his arms to hold over the top of his head in a protective manner. Rody kept sobbing and laughing as he slowly allowed himself to sink onto the bathroom floor.

Vincent approached slowly as Rody’s laughs dissipated and the sobs took over. Rody curled up as tightly as he could as his breath became shuddery and full of gasps for air. Vincent knelt down as soon as he got closer to Rody. He didn’t try to touch Rody nor did he do anything to open himself up for Rody to initiate physical contact.

“A failure. Worthless. Pathetic. Waste of space. Waste of air. U-” Rody was cut off in his self-loathing rambling when Vincent did something quite unexpected.

Vincent held Rody close, both of them remaining quiet as their heartbeats started to race due to the closeness. Vincent moved his hold so that one arm was around Rody’s mid-back and he could run his fingers through the hair on the back of Rody’s head with the other.

Vincent finally found his voice after a moment, “You aren’t any of those things. Whomever told you those things are lying to you. Whatever happened to you to make you say these things and feel this way…I-I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to experience those things.”

Rody shivered as Vincent’s words washed over him. Did he really mean those things? Rody returned Vincent’s awkward embrace and held him equally as tight as Vincent was holding him.

‘He’s just saying those things to make sure you won’t do something drastic before your next shift,’ a darker part of Rody’s mind whispered to him. ‘How could someone as perfect as Vince ever care about someone as flawed and broken as you?’

Rody bit his lower lip to stifle some of the sobs that threatened to rip him asunder. He hung his head low and tried not to listen to that darker voice.

Vincent noticed the shift in Rody’s mood so he decided to continue talking, “Whatever’s going on in that head of yours…you can tell me about it. I’ll listen. I always listen whenever you go on one of your tangents about anything and everything.”

Rody averted his gaze to look at the open doorway behind Vincent. That was true. Rody did talk to Vincent a lot at work about all sorts of things. Things related to the job, things not related to the job, how Rody was feeling-

‘So you’re just going to continue to inconvenience him then? How pathetic! What kind of man can’t handle his own emotions? What man even cries like a pathetic little baby to begin with?’ The darker voice continued as Rody shook his head and the tears picked up their previously quick pace once more.

“Rody, talk to me,” Vincent spoke once more as he could feel Rody’s tremors pick up once more. “Tell me anything, please. I need to hear your voice.”

Rody opened his mouth to reply when the darker voice whispered once more, ‘Keep it shut. You have nothing of value to say.’

Rody closed his mouth and shook his head once more. He slumped his shoulders at the sigh that passed Vincent’s lips as an even worse feeling washed over him. Rody could just add Vincent to the ever growing list of people he had disappointed.

Vincent eased his hold on Rody and shuffled back enough to take in Rody’s defeated appearance. He was very over his head here. Vincent wasn’t even sure who to ask for advice when the phone started ringing in Rody’s living room.

Both men jumped at the noise and Vincent stood up quickly. He dusted off his pants before he spoke to Rody, “I can answer your call if you’d like.”

Rody nodded. Good enough for Vincent at this moment. At least Rody still responded to him at all.

Rody pulled himself off of the ground and followed Vincent out of the bathroom like a loyal pup followed their owner. Neither one spoke as they reached the living room. Vincent gestured for Rody to sit on the couch as he picked up the phone.

“Hello? Is there anybody there? It’s Donadieu. Y-you know, from the restaurant you work at,” a voice echoed from the phone’s receiver.

Vincent pressed it to his ear as he replied, “It’s your boss and yes, we’re both here. Why are you calling?”

Donadieu’s voice replied in a concerned tone, “W-well lunch service started and…Well we were all getting worried when you didn’t return, Chef. Louvet is out on the floor tending to customers with Rousseaux.”

Vincent’s shoulders slumped slightly. He really hadn’t anticipated that dealing with Rody would have taken this long. He owed his staff big time for this one.

“Forgive me, but the situation here is…not as ideal as I would like it to be,” Vincent replied as he carefully watched Rody. Rody was curled up on a corner of the couch, his back turned to Vincent and his body trembling from holding in all of the sobs that were trying to bubble up.

“Oh…Can I try talking to him?” Donadieu offered with a soft sort of tone in his voice.

If Vincent was a man who cried, he would have felt teary-eyed from the relief those words brought to him. His prayers were answered! Maybe the universe wasn’t nearly as cruel as he had initially thought it to be.

Vincent replied, “You can certainly try. He’s…he’s not talking to me and that’s not his norm.”

Donadieu’s voice immediately shifted to a concerned one, “Oh, then please. Put him on. I received counseling training when I was still undecided for my major in school.”

Vincent put his hand over the bottom half of the receiver when he called to Rody, “It’s Donadieu. He wants to talk to you.”

Rody snuffled as he uncurled himself and crawled to the other end of the couch closer to Vincent. He accepted the receiver from him and pressed it to his ear.

“Lamoree? Is that you, mon ami?” Donadieu’s voice was gentle and light, a contrast to his usual anxious tone.

Rody hummed softly, not trusting himself to avoid saying something stupid to the chef. He had already screwed up by saying all that stuff in front of Vincent…

“I see, so you’re not up to talking. That’s okay! My younger sister had and still has periods of time where she doesn’t say a word. Do you feel up to listening for a bit then?” Donadieu’s reply came as soon as he registered the soft hum Rody had made.

Rody hummed once more, curling up slightly on the new cushion he was now perched on top of. He clutched onto the phone like it was a lifeline.

Vincent opted to fetch Rody another glass of water while he was still on the phone with Donadieu. If nothing else, Rody needed to stay hydrated. All of the crying he had been doing was sure to leave him in desperate need of water.

“Okay mon ami. You always tell us stories about your experiences, so I will tell you about one of mine! You may not know this about me, but my family had an artist in it that used to restore paintings that would hang in churches! So as a child I used to sit in my uncle’s studio and watch him restore paintings to their former glory!” Donadieu kept his voice soft and soothing. Rody kept the phone close as he pictured the excited look on Donadieu’s face. It was no secret that Donadieu’s faith was very important to him.

Vincent set the glass of water down on the table in front of Rody and turned to see if he could do something about the mess that was Rody’s apartment when he felt Rody’s hand take his.

Vincent looked down to meet Rody’s fearful gaze. Vincent sat down beside him, which allowed the auburn-haired waiter to settle down. Good. Hopefully Donadieu was able to work his magic.

“My uncle would sometimes bring me to the churches if he was working on murals behind the pulpit. There was even a time we went to one out in the countryside that had a painted ceiling! Each one was so peaceful and yet the insides were all so different!” Donadieu continued, knowing somehow that Rody was hanging onto his every word.

Rody still had yet to relinquish his hold on Vincent’s hand, and the tears were still present in his eyes, but…His tremors were starting to die down at last. Vincent couldn’t quite tell what Donadieu was talking about but whatever it was seemed to be doing the trick.

Donadieu continued his soft, soothing rambling, “I like to think of people in the same way. We all have an inner peace to us and are beautiful in our own unique ways. Sometimes we feel worn down and need the gentle touch of a master artisan to bring us back to feeling our best and looking our best. Just as the paintings can’t restore themselves, we need someone to help us at times.”

Rody could feel the tears start up again, but for a different reason. His heart was starting to feel uncomfortably full. It was…nice being on the receiving end of someone’s passionate rambling for once. As if Donadieu had specifically picked this topic to make Rody feel better, even if only a little bit.

“So please, Rody. Let those around you help you repaint the parts in need of repainting. Let them help you repair your damaged frame. Let them hold onto the repaired frame as you apply gold-leaf to it. The canvas of your life is so beautiful and needs to be continued to be painted by your hand. But we can’t neglect your past in favor of only looking forward. Even if it’s only to me or Chef, or a parent, or lover, or somebody, anybody! Let them know what can be done to make those repairs and how they can help you paint in the next section of your canvas,” Donadieu’s words had Rody covering his mouth to muffle the soft sobs coming out of him. He had no idea the chef in question was so…so…poetic.

Donadieu spoke one last time, “Rody, you can hear me still mon ami, right?”

Rody hummed weakly, nodding despite the fact that Donadieu couldn’t see him. He could hear a relieved sigh on the other end of the phone.

“Good, can you hand the phone back to Chef? I think you need a moment to process everything, okay?” Donadieu’s soft order was immediately followed. Rody handed Vincent the receiver as he reached out to the table in front of him and started guzzling down the glass of water Vincent had fetched him.

Vincent accepted the receiver as Rody leaned against Vincent. He tuned out the somewhat noisy gulping of his waiter in favor of listening to Donadieu.

“You wanted to speak to me, Donadieu?” Vincent asked as he reached his free hand up to pat Rody’s shoulder.

Donadiue replied quickly, “Yes, Chef! I-is Lamoree…Is he alright?”

Vincent looked at Rody closely. The auburn-haired man was setting down the now empty glass onto the table before returning to leaning his head on Vincent’s shoulder. He looked up at the chef through his tear-matted lashes, his tears were finally starting to slow down and the tremors were dying down.

Vincent returned his hand to Rody’s hair as he replied, “He’s getting there and…Thank you. For everything.”

There was a beat of silence before there was a soft laugh over the other end of the phone.

“Is the great Vincent Charbonneau actually thanking a lowly-”

Donadieu was cut off when Vincent growled, “Don’t push it.”

“Right, right, my apologies Chef. But…let me know if Lamoree needs another chat. This place isn’t the same without our waiter,” Donadieu’s handwave and slightly nervous look were both so clear in his voice that Vincent could practically see them now.

Vincent huffed, “I will. Now, will you kindly get back to work. I highly doubt-”

There was a slam of a door on the other end of the phone and Vincent could make out Louvet’s voice barking, “Donadieu! You can chit-chat later! We need those desserts like yesterday!”

“Y-yes sir!” Donadieu stammered before he quickly spoke to Vincent one last time, “G-goodbye Chef!”

Vincent hummed a noncommittal hum before he heard the click of Donadieu hanging up the phone. Vincent set the phone’s receiver back down onto the base, not removing his hand from where it was gently scratching against Rody’s scalp. Rody was practically melting into the touch. How long had the man gone without such…simple affection?

Vincent looked over at Rody, taking in the way Rody’s breathing started to even out. The tears had fully stopped, but he was still dealing with residual sniffles. Good. At least he was getting to a much calmer state than before.

Rody still hadn’t said a word, but from the look on his face Vincent could tell that Rody was thankful that Donadieu had called. Maybe Vincent would keep the man on the payroll after all. If only to ensure he had someone on staff that could somehow read Rody’s mood and tell him exactly what he needed to hear when Vincent himself couldn’t make a breakthrough.

Vincent looked at the clock and finally spoke, breaking the calm silence that permeated the air between them, “I’ll make you something to eat. You’ll need your strength to recover.”

He expected Rody to complain as it was no secret that Rody often found Vincent’s food to be overly bitter. Instead he was rewarded with a soft, “Thanks Vince.”

Vincent turned away to hide the soft flush of his cheeks and the grin that fought its way to his lips. He had never been happier to be called that silly nickname by Rody.

Chapter Text

Vincent was very thankful that Rody had gone grocery shopping the other day. He had plenty of ingredients to work with as he prepared lunch for Rody. He had the man in question go and wash his face in the bathroom while Vincent worked on his prep work.

Given how Rody had gotten ill earlier, Vincent decided that a simple soup would hopefully help to settle Rody’s stomach. Plus the texture wouldn’t be an issue for Vincent himself when he was inevitably badgered into eating as well by Rody. If only he could actually taste his hard work…

Vincent shook his head as he continued to chop onions for his mirepoix. No. There was no point in ruminating on the what-ifs and what he had no control over right now. He needed to focus on the task in front of him: Making sure Rody Lamoree was stable once again.
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Rody splashed more water onto his face and scrubbed lightly. The cooler water felt like heaven against his raw skin. Had he really cried that much? Rody could hardly recall…

He paused in his scrubbing to look in the mirror. Yeesh. No wonder Vincent had pretty much pushed him into the bathroom to get cleaned up!

Rody took note of how blotchy his skin looked and the tear trails that looked practically burned into his skin. There was a tired look in his blood-shot eyes that often followed an intense burst of emotions like this. The bruises on his neck didn't help matters either. Rody exhaled a shaky, shuddery sigh. He truly looked pathetic. Like a washed out rat almost.

“Like my handiwork?” A familiar voice teased in a quiet whisper.

Rody whipped around, balling his fists as he saw Tristan leaning against the wall next to the closed bathroom door.

Rody hissed quietly, “What are you doing here?”

Tristan chuckled quietly as he drank in Rody’s haggard looking appearance, “Can’t a guy come and check in on a dear friend?”

Rody opened his mouth to scream when Tristan snapped his fingers. Rody winced, expecting another increased bout of sadness but…Nothing. He tilted his head as he looked around the room.

“That’s better,” Tristan spoke in a more normal volume. “Now that pesky boss of yours can’t interfere.”

Rody grit his teeth as he snarled, “What did you do to Vince?!”

Rody rushed forward and swung a punch right at Tristan, who easily sidestepped and allowed Rody to punch the wall instead. Rody inhaled a sharp hiss as he held his aching hand. He glared at the man who was now sauntering past Rody to the other side of the bathroom as though he owned the place.

Tristan snickered, “Relaaaax. I just temporarily soundproofed the room so we can chit-chat without an unwanted audience.”

“What do you want?” Rody spat as he resisted the urge to take another swing at Tristan.

Tristan picked up Rody’s bottle of hand soap and tossed it lightly in his hand for a moment, humming softly as he thought. Rody crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently.

“Well?” Rody prompted once more as he felt his blood pressure start to climb the longer he was stuck in this room with Tristan.

Tristan caught the hand soap before he decided to grace Rody with an answer, “Isn’t it obvious? I’m checking in to see whether you had learned your lesson or not. But given how you took a swing at me, clearly you need another lesson.”

Rody continued to glare at Tristan. He wasn’t going down without a fight. Rody refused to be that scared wimp he was on the first day anymore.

Rody clicked his tongue in annoyance, “Let me guess, you’re gonna spank me again? Or maybe you’ll make me feel even more depressed than you did yesterday?”

“Both are quite tempting, but no. Not this time anyways,” Tristan replied as he finally set the hand soap down to instead sit on the lid of the toilet as he eyed up Rody like he was a choice steak.

“Then what are you going to do to me?” Rody snapped as he continued glaring at the man with an intensity that would ordinarily make someone fear for their life. Given that Tristan was more than likely some otherworldly being…Rody was probably as scary to him as a kitten was to Rody.

Tristan looked Rody up and down and smirked, “Hmmm, how happy was your childhood?”

Rody marched towards Tristan and snarled in his face as soon as he was close enough, “Don’t even think about it you sick fuck! How would I even begin to explain that to Vince? Aren’t you supposed to hide what you are from people or something? Isn’t that why you and your bitch of a coworker showed up in a disguise?”

Tristan shoved Rody back as he rose up from his perch. He reached out and caught Rody by the shirt before shoving Rody onto his knees. Rody bit back a panicked yelp before Tristan leaned down to snarl back, “Don’t you ever call her that again! And I don’t care what the fuck you tell that boss of yours! Do you think he’d even believe you if you were to say something?! He already thinks you’re one incident away from a mental asylum so go ahead! Spout off some nonsense about demons!”

Rody spat right into Tristan’s face, smirking as the man had to wipe his face clean. Then he noticed the dark look on Tristan’s face.

Tristan grabbed Rody by the throat once more, picked him up and rushed to slam Rody back against the wall. Rody let out a pained gasp as the back of his head against smacked against the tiled wall behind him.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Tristan growled as his eyes glowed dangerously and the lights in the bathroom started to flicker.

Rody bit down the shiver of fear that traveled down his spine to instead smile a shit-eating grin as he replied, “Not just funny. Hilarious.”

Tristan squeezed Rody’s throat tighter, making Rody choke as the auburn-haired man grabbed onto Tristan’s wrist with both hands. Tristan grit his teeth as he continued glaring at Rody intensely.

“I think I’ll go ahead and make good on my threat,” Tristan hissed.

Rody panicked. There was no snap to warn him this time. He felt the room start to get bigger and himself grow smaller. His whimpers increased in pitch as his clothes started to loosen on him.

Tristan chuckled darkly as he watched Rody squirm. Tristan made sure to keep a firm enough grip on Rody’s throat to keep choking him in spite of his magic being hard at work.

Rody yelled, “C-cut it out! I-I’m seri-ack!”

Tristan smirked before he cooed in a teasing voice, “What’s wrong? You were so high and mighty before! Do you not like being cut down to proper size?”

Rody’s chest heaved as he kept trying to pry Tristan’s hand off of his throat. He closed his eyes as the growing room was starting to make Rody feel ill. He couldn’t even guesstimate how much of his age Tristan was taking off of him. All he could focus on now was now much weaker he felt and how much the fear was starting to grow inside of him.

Suddenly the door to the bathroom opened and Rody could breathe once more. Rody fell to his hands and knees and panted heavily.

“Lamoree? Didn’t you hear me? I had been calling you for the past fifteen minutes,” Vincent’s voice caught Rody’s attention.

“V-vince!? W-wait it’s not! I-I can explain!” Rody stammered as he finally opened his eyes to look at Vincent.

Vincent arched a brow as he crossed his arms, “Explain what exactly.”

“Why I look and sound like-” Rody paused as he felt his throat and took in the sound of his voice. It was…normal? Why was it normal?!

Vincent knelt down and placed his hand against Rody’s clammy forehead. He searched Rody’s face for some sort of explanation for what Rody was talking about. Rody was shaking again and-

Vincent’s eyes narrowed. The bruising on Rody’s throat looked a lot darker than it did before. But he chose not to say that to Rody. Not now. Not when it looked like Rody was two seconds away from a panic attack.

Rody looked at his hands, shaking his head before he squeaked, “I…I thought he…that I…Vince, how old do I look?”

Vincent tilted his head as he replied, “You look as old as you did before you came in here. What’s going on here?”

Rody laughed that same hysterical laugh he had earlier as he held himself tightly, “That sick son-of-a-bitch! He tricked me! Fucking bastard!”

“He? Lamoree, who are you talking about?” Vincent questioned as his voice hardened slightly.

Rody stood up suddenly and gestured to the door, “Tristan! That fucking rat bastard! No, worse than a rat bastard! At least rats are cute! He just shows up and decides that he’s not done fucking with me and-and…”

Rody’s voice died down when he noticed the concerned and stunned look on Vincent’s face. Rody’s arms dropped as his heart started to hammer in his ears and a cold feeling started to build in his stomach.

“You think I’m crazy,” Rody whispered, his eyes wide and the tears from earlier were threatening to spring back down his cheeks again.

Vincent stood up slowly before he gently took hold of Rody’s shoulders. Rody refused to meet Vincent’s gaze. He couldn’t bring himself to see just how wild he looked reflected in Vincent’s dark eyes.

Vincent replied after a moment, “I don’t think you’re crazy…But I also don’t think you’re well either. Lamoree, talk to me. What’s going on here?”

Rody hiccupped as the tears started tumbling down his cheeks, “Y-you won’t believe me. You’ll just throw me in an asylum! I-I’ll rot there for the rest of my days!”

Rody laughed that hysterical laugh from earlier as he held himself tightly. Vincent looked as lost as he felt. What had happened in the bathroom? Why couldn’t Rody hear Vincent calling for him?

Rody suddenly snapped his gaze up to meet Vincent’s as an idea came to mind. Rody spoke in a shaky voice, “Vince! Um, can you stay in here for a second?”

Vincent shrugged, “I mean I could but-”

“Great! Great! Um, I’m gonna go out and close the door! C-could you try and shout when I do?” Rody implored as he looked at the bathroom door intently.

Vincent furrowed his brows as he replied slowly, “I suppose I could…But what-”

“Great! Just um, trust me on this!” Rody replied and before Vincent knew it, Rody had left the room and shut the door.

Vincent rolled his eyes and put a hand on his hip. Just what was Rody planning?

“Lamoree? What are you planning?” Vincent asked aloud as he looked straight at the door.

Silence followed Vincent’s question. Vincent furrowed his brows.

“Lamoree?” Vincent raised his voice to a slightly louder tone.

Again he was met with silence. Vincent walked up to the door and pounded on it as he shouted, “Rody! Answer me! What the fuck is going on here?!”

Vincent started to feel a nervousness prickling in his stomach. He still didn’t hear a peep out of Rody. Just what was Rody playing at?

Just as Vincent raised his fist to start pounding on the door again, Rody opened the door.

Rody tilted his head, “Vince? I thought I asked you to yell?”

“What do you mean?! Couldn’t you hear me?! I…” the gears started turning in Vincent’s head before he looked at Rody.

Vincent gestured behind him, “Switch with me. I have a theory I would like to test.”

Rody’s eyes widened slightly as fear flickered through their greenish-gray depths. Vincent grabbed Rody’s shoulders and gave them a soft squeeze.

“It won’t be for long. Just a few moments like you had given me,” Vincent reassured as he gave Rody his best reassuring look.

Rody swallowed thickly as he looked in Vincent’s eyes. Rody couldn’t repress the fear that bubbled up in his chest. What if Tristan showed up again and tried to-

Vincent gave Rody’s shoulders another squeeze. Rody blinked before he nodded. Rody knew that Vincent wouldn’t let him get hurt. He had inadvertently just saved Rody’s ass just a few moments ago without even realizing it! And that was without being able to hear Rody and Tristan’s conversation.

Rody whispered, “And if I sound scared…will you-”

Vincent nodded, “You have my word. I’ll come in and rescue you from whatever is making you scared.”

“Thanks Vince,” Rody smiled a watery smile as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

Vincent rolled his eyes but opted not to comment on Rody’s continued usage of that nickname. He switched places with Rody and waited for Rody to close the door. Rody gave Vincent one last look before he finally shut the door.

Rody inhaled, ready to shout through the door when he felt a hand grab him by the scruff of the neck.

Rody yelped sharply before he heard a voice whisper in his ear, “We aren’t done here yet~”

Rody glanced behind him to meet the evil grin on Tristan’s face. Rody swallowed thickly as he trembled. He wished Vincent would just suddenly sense something was wrong and open the door. Rody really didn’t trust the look on Tristan’s face.
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Vincent waited for a moment. Then two. He huffed as he couldn’t make out anything Rody could possibly be shouting through the door….

Then a horrible feeling entered Vincent’s gut. He couldn’t hear anything Rody was shouting through the door. Which means that Rody could possibly be in danger and Vincent wouldn’t know until he opened the door.

Vincent grabbed the door handle and twisted it. He sighed in relief. Thank goodness it wasn’t locked. Vincent wasn’t sure he had the brute strength required to break down the door and he wasn’t sure Rody had the tools required to take the hinges off.

“Lamoree! What’s going o-” Vincent cut himself off when he gripped onto the doorway. Everything shifted sharply around him. He glanced around, noticing that everything suddenly seemed much larger than it had before…or rather that he was suddenly much smaller than before. His clothes even hung on his frame much more loosely than before.

Vincent stared at his hands. Marks and scars he had gotten from years in the kitchen were gone. Left behind were…

“What? Why do I look like-Wait why do I sound like-” Vincent heard a yelp and turned his head.

Rody was pinned to the wall, not looking much better than Vincent himself was. Some sort of unseen force was holding Rody against the wall. Rody seems to have been under whatever kind of strange…whatever it was that seemed to be affecting Vincent if the fact that Rody looked much younger than he had when Vincent saw him just mere moments ago.

Vincent narrowed his eyes as he shouted to Rody, “Lamoree! What’s going on here?!”

Rody met Vincent’s gaze and gasped sharply, “V-vince!? Why do-”

“Nevermind that! What the fuck happened here and why do I look like I should be in secondary school!” Vincent snapped, his voice cracking under the strain he put his vocal chords under. Yup. That was it. Totally not because he was hallucinating about being a teenager all of a sudden.

Rody got a determined look on his face before he opened his mouth and chomped down on whatever unseen force seemed to be pinning him to the wall.

Vincent heard a sharp hiss before Rody was tossed to the far corner of the bathroom. Rody shouted a sharp yelp once more as the wind was knocked out of his lungs. He slid down to the ground in a crumpled heap. Vincent rushed to Rody’s side.

“Lamoree!” Vincent shouted as Rody groaned. Vincent stood in front of Rody, scanning the room for whatever force seemed to be messing with them. “Show yourself you coward!”

Vincent couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped his lips when he was pulled up into the air by his chef’s coat. His feet dangled off of the ground by far too much for Vincent to feel comfortable with. Vincent glared as he kicked his legs out to try and get whomever or whatever was holding him to drop him. If he could find something solid, he could find a weak point to hit.

“Time for your timeout,” an odd voice hissed into Vincent’s ear before he was tossed out into the hallway. Vincent bounced off the carpet before he slammed into the wall. He slumped to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Vincent was grabbed by his hair and shouted as he was pulled upwards. Vincent glared as he felt a hand wrap around his throat before the grip on his hair was released and he was suddenly slammed back against the wall.

Vincent bit back a cry as the back of his head hit the wall. He shut his eyes, trying to convince himself that this was all just an odd dream. That he would wake up safely at home. That this wasn’t actually happening.

“Let him go!” Rody’s voice caught Vincent’s attention. Vincent looked over to see Rody holding his shoulder and panting heavily. His eyes were unfocused due to whatever pain he felt.

Vincent felt an overwhelming sense of worry wash over him. Whether it was how much younger Rody looked or the fact that he was injured or some sort of combination of the two didn’t matter. All Vincent could focus on now was making sure Rody got out of this okay.

Vincent opened his mouth to ask what it was that Rody could see before he was suddenly dropped. Rody rushed over to check on Vincent. Vincent stood up shakily as soon as Rody was by his side.

“Vince! Are you-” Rody cut off when both of them suddenly felt the room around them shift once more.

Their eyes met once more, each one thinking the same thing, ‘I need a mirror.’

Both rushed back into the bathroom to check the mirror on Rody’s medicine cabinet.

Reflected back at them were…well themselves. The versions of themselves that they were very accustomed to seeing by now. Whatever kind of hallucination they had been having had finally worn off. They both were back to looking like their normal adult selves.

Vincent broke the silence when he turned to Rody and asked, “What the hell just happened?”

Rody got back into his thinking position as he looked to the side. Not quite the answer Vincent was looking for, but Vincent also wasn’t willing to push it. His head was starting to hurt from everything that had happened and it wasn’t even evening time yet!

Rody looked back at Vincent before he spoke, “What did you want to talk to me about earlier?”

“...” Vincent got his usual deadpan look on his face before he asked, “...You’re joking, right? We wind up sharing a hallucination and you refuse to even acknowledge it.”

“I’m not denying that it happened!” Rody defended as he waved his hands in front of him. “I just-”

Rody was cut off when his stomach growled loudly. Rody’s cheeks flushed and Vincent sighed a tired sigh.

“That’s what I was going to talk to you about earlier.”

“My stomach?”

“No! I finished the soup.”

“Oh…Thanks Vince.”

“It’s Vincent.”

Vincent left the bathroom as Rody started sputtering. Rody followed after Vincent as he complained, “We share a hallucination and you won’t even let me use your nickname?!”

Vincent rolled his eyes as he replied, “It’s not my nickname. It’s a name you forced upon me.”

Rody pouted as he grumbled about how unfair Vincent was under his breath. Vincent sighed deeply. Sometimes he wondered whether he was smoking something other than cigarettes when he had first hired Rody. That was the only way that Vincent could reasonably explain half of the weird things that had gone on in his life ever since the auburn-haired man entered his life. Their shared hallucination will now top that list and Vincent couldn’t foresee anything overtaking that any time soon.

Chapter Text

Lunch was a very quiet affair. Neither Rody nor Vincent felt up to talking as they ate. Rody felt dissatisfied because the soup, like the rest of Vincent’s cooking, left a bitter taste lingering in his mouth. Vincent felt dissatisfied because the texture wasn’t quite as smooth as he would prefer it to be but…Rody also didn’t own a functioning blender or a chinois to make the soup’s texture smoother so Vincent forced himself to suck it up and deal with it.

Vincent silently put away the leftover soup while Rody scrubbed the dishes clean and set them aside to dry. Vincent stood by the fridge for a moment while Rody kept looking around the kitchenette for any excuse to keep quiet. Neither one wanted to be the one to break the silence between them. Simply because only one thing remained on their minds: Would they hallucinate again? Hopefully not as the entire thing had left both of them feeling far more shaken than they would ever admit to the other.

Rody decided to bite the bullet when he said, “So you had long hair in secondary school…Why did you decide to cut it?”

Vincent sighed as he turned around to face Rody. Rody was leaning against the counters as he met Vincent’s gaze. At the very least Rody appeared to be more stable than before lunch if the absence of tears and trembling was anything to go by.

“Seriously? We just went through…I don’t even want to know what we actually experienced but…The first thing you ask about is my hair?” Vincent questioned as he put a hand on his hip and leveled a harsh look at Rody.

Rody shrugged with a lopsided grin on his face. That did nothing to answer Vincent’s question, but…Seeing Rody smile brightly like he usually did helped quell some of the residual worry that was lingering in Vincent’s chest. Like everything might actually turn out alright after all. At least the two of them were falling back into their usual banter.

Vincent finally decided to answer Rody after a moment, “I needed to cut it. It’s not a very professional look to have long hair in a kitchen, especially for a man.”

Rody quirked a brow as he retorted, “You never say anything about my hair and mine is on the longer side.”

“You seem to forget that I’m not actively asking you to cook anything and the actual time you have with a plate with food on it is relatively minimum. Besides, I’ve seen you tie your hair back on multiple occasions before serving,” Vincent responded.

“You got a point there Vince,” Rody hummed as he drummed his fingers on the counter behind him.

Vincent opened his mouth to correct Rody when there was a knock on the door. The two shared a confused look. Who could that be at this time of day? Rody was supposed to be at work at this time and given his meager paycheck it wasn’t like him to order something to be delivered to his house…

Rody walked towards the door as he gestured for Vincent to relax. Vincent rolled his eyes and walked towards the kitchenette to grab Rody’s steak knife, just in case. Rody shook his head. Sometimes he never really understood his boss’ paranoia.

Rody grabbed the door handle and opened the door.

“Hello?” Rody greeted as he poked his head out the door. “How can I help…you…”

Vincent gripped onto the knife tighter as he listened to Rody’s voice trail off. He didn’t like the way his gut churned at the slight tremor in Rody’s shoulders.

Vincent appeared beside Rody and narrowed his eyes at the person behind the door. Or rather people behind the door. It was the same two people who had manipulated Vincent into handing Rody over to them last night. The very same people Vincent suspected of not only leaving all of those bruises on Rody’s neck but also causing the deterioration of his emotional fortitude.

The woman spoke up as soon as she noticed Vincent, “Oh, you have company! Why didn’t you say anything Rody? We could have picked up some lunch for both of you before we came over.”

“Why did you come over to see him at this time? He’s usually at work at this hour,” Vincent questioned as he very purposefully straightened his posture out to take full advantage of the fact that he was the tallest one of the four of them.

The man spoke up this time, staring directly at Rody as he spoke, “Well he was doing so poorly last night that we kindly suggested that he takes the day off today. He was such a trainwreck, but he insisted that we head home for the night since his place was in no condition to host any guests. So we wanted to give him an opportunity to compose himself before we came over to check on him.”

Rody caught the glint of something dangerous in the man’s eye and wisely kept his mouth shut. Vincent didn’t miss the way Rody’s eyes widened, nor did he miss how Rody had grabbed his hand.

Rody stepped aside to let the man and woman inside, keeping his head hung low as he trembled. He didn’t know what was worse, the threat of being subjected to whatever these two had in mind for him or the possibility of Vincent being caught up in the middle of all of this. Rody shook his head. No. He wouldn’t let Vincent get caught up in it again. Not after seeing him get tossed around like a rag doll…

Vincent watched the two “guests” carefully. He didn’t buy their cover story of being “concerned family friends” like they tried to sell him on last night. If they really were that concerned about Rody, then they would have shown up much sooner or they would have somehow spent the night with him. Maybe they could have helped him get the space cleaned up instead of just using it as a means of continuing to whittle down what little shreds of self-esteem or self-worth that Rody still clung to.

“Well, now that we’re here, why don’t we get started on one of the projects you need to get done to make this space more livable?” The woman suggested as she set down a small black purse next to the couch.

Rody rubbed the back of his neck, “I mean it’s kinda embarrassing to try and do laundry with my boss here. And he and I already had lunch…”

Rody kept his gaze averted as he started to sweat. Having three sets of eyes on him, all watching him so intently, made Rody feel more self-conscious than he normally did. What should he do? What could he do? He had an audience and they were expecting him to do something and-

Vincent’s hand, which was still in Rody’s hold somehow, gave Rody’s hand a gentle squeeze. Rody gave a soft squeeze back before they let go of each other’s hand. Somehow Rody felt a little more grounded than he had before.

Vincent spoke up in a calm voice, “I can assist you in clearing out the garbage. You were kind enough to allow me to stay over for lunch on your day off, after all.”

“You don’t have to-” Rody was cut off when Vincent gave him a sharp look.

“I want to help you,” Vincent interrupted in a firmer voice.

The woman smiled as she rose from the couch. She gestured for her companion to rise as well. Vincent watched them with a skeptical look. He didn’t trust the smile on the woman’s face.

The woman spoke in a gentle voice, “We could help as well, right Tristan?”

Tristan grinned an easy grin, “But of course Isolde! But first we need to get some cleaning supplies from the car. Would one of you lovely gentlemen be willing to help me retrieve them?”

Before Rody could open his mouth, Vincent replied, “I’ll go with you.”

Rody looked over at Vincent in shock. Was Vincent out of his mind?! Didn’t he remember what Tristan had done to them earlier? Why was he-

Then Rody realized something and a cold feeling washed over him. He could remember Vincent shouting “Show yourself coward!” in the bathroom earlier. If he was shouting that…Did that mean that he couldn’t see Tristan earlier? That he wasn’t fully aware of how much of a threat this demon disguised as a man could truly be?

“Er I could-” Rody was cut off when Isolde grabbed onto his hands and pulled him in the direction of the bathroom.

“Why don’t we get started by gathering the garbage down here? This way we can make quick work of making this place much more comfortable to live in,” Isolde spoke in a syrupy tone that made Rody feel ill when he heard it. The glitter in her eyes had Rody start sweating once more. There was no doubt that she knew the exact kind of curse or whatever Tristan had placed him under and thus knew how she could make it worse to make Rody suffer even more.

Tristan went to wrap an arm over Vincent’s shoulders, but the chef started walking towards the door before Tristan could make contact with him. The man smirked as he followed after Vincent.

He looked back to give Rody a teasing wave before the door shut behind him and Vincent. Time for the real fun to begin.

Chapter Text

Vincent walked down the hallway with purpose in his step. His face was a cool mask of indifference as he tried to ignore the man walking behind him.

Tristan was smiling a lazy smile and walking with his arms crossed behind his head. As though he wasn’t on his way to get cleaning supplies to help Rody get a start of getting his apartment into a more livable condition. There was something about the man that made Vincent feel on edge and it wasn’t just the man’s unusual colored eyes. They weren’t hidden by sunglasses this time, so Vincent got a good look at their unnatural brightness and purplish hue. Sure, they were a shade of brown but Vincent had never seen eyes like those before.

Vincent was about to reach the entrance to the stairwell when he felt an odd tugging feeling in the pit of his stomach. He paused, holding a hand over his stomach before he noticed the room starting to tilt and grow around him once more. Just as it had back in Rody’s bathroom.

Vincent turned around, noticing how Tristan was giving him a worried look and how Vincent no longer looked down to meet Tristan’s gaze. They were eye level now.

Tristan furrowed his brows as he asked, “Are you alright there? You look a little pale.”

Vincent shook his head as he felt another tug and he was slightly shorter than Tristan now. Vincent did his best to hide the growing alarm on his face, but he noticed a knowing flicker in Tristan’s eyes. This bastard must be aware of what was happening, but was choosing not to say anything.

Vincent turned around, ignoring how much looser his work uniform felt before he answered Tristan, “I-I’m fine. Just…I need some fresh air…I think the mold is starting to get to me.”

The odd feeling passed from Vincent’s stomach and he blinked. Suddenly he was back to normal, as though he was only imagining what had happened just seconds ago. Vincent grit his teeth as he opened the door to the stairwell. He wasn’t lying when he said he needed fresh air. It had been a while since his last cigarette and the feeling of smoke in his mouth might help dispel the worry that was now taking root in the back of his mind.

He was fine. It was just the mold and nothing more. It must be the case. Rody hallucinated the exact same thing as him and-

Vincent was about three steps down the stairs before the odd tugging sensation overtook him once more. He stumbled and would have fallen down the stairs had Tristan not grabbed him by the arm and pulled him upright.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’re shaking and stumbling over yourself,” Tristan asked in a worried voice that Vincent felt wasn’t genuine. Vincent tried to ignore the fear that was starting to mingle with his worry as the tugging sensation pulled twice more. He hated how vulnerable this left him feeling, especially since he was in the arms of a man he didn’t know or trust.

Vincent spat out, “I-I said I’m fi-”

Another tug and Vincent shut his mouth with a soft squeak. He caught a sight of a twitch at the corner of Tristan’s lip. Vincent hated the lack of mirrors in the area. He needed to know the extent of the damage.

Tristan suggested in a voice that tried to hide some very obvious mirth, “Would you like me to carry you down? You keep shaking.”

Vincent ripped his arm out of Tristan’s grip and took two more hesitant steps down the stairs. He rubbed his wrist and closed his eyes.

‘You’re fine. Nothing is wrong. You’ll open your eyes, and everything will be back to normal,’ Vincent told himself mentally as he slipped a hand into his pants pocket to hold onto the handle of the steak knife he had safely tucked away into it. He had wrapped it in his handkerchief to keep the sharp metal from tearing a hole into his pants.

Vincent opened his eyes and sure enough he was right. He was back to his normal self. Vincent then picked up the pace and started taking the stairs more quickly. He had to get out of here. He needed space to breathe. Fresh air. A smoke. Something to keep him grounded and away from the nonsense.

Vincent reached the first landing and heard Tristan right behind him. The other man called, “Come on now, don’t be stubborn. You keep acting like there’s something scaring you.”

“I’m not scared of-” Vincent turned on his heel as he spoke and felt a very sharp tug that left him eye level with Tristan’s chest. Vincent trembled slightly as the fear started clawing up from his stomach and into his throat.

“You don’t sound so sure of that,” Tristan cooed a soft coo as he reached down to ruffle Vincent’s hair. Vincent slapped Tristan’s hand away and took a few steps back.

Vincent glared a sharp glare before he growled, “You know there’s something happening to me, don’t you.”

Tristan tilted his head, feigning a confused look as he shook his head. Vincent growled a soft growl before he felt another tug and watched Tristan grow just a bit taller.

Tristan questioned, “Something is happening to you? Whatever do you mean?”

“S-stop teasing me! Y-you know I keep getting younger suddenly and-and then it stops and I go back to normal and-” Vincent paused when the tugging sensation left and he was back to his normal self. Vincent held onto the sides of his head and gripped onto his hair tightly. Just what the fuck was going on here?!

“I think you are working yourself too hard, monsieur,” Tristan replied as he approached Vincent. “You look perfectly fine to me.”

Vincent let go of his head as he looked over to level a harsh glare at Tristan. Tristan kept on smiling a pleasantly confused smile but his eyes held a cruel knowledge to them. Vincent felt his stomach grow cold as he instinctively took a step back.

Vincent whispered, “You’re doing this.”

Tristan cocked his head and asked in a syrupy voice, “Me? What are you talking about? I’m just walking down the stairs with you. What could I possibly be doing to you?”

Vincent felt a few sharp tugs and watched as the world grew around him once more. Eye level with Tristan, then below his chin, then to his collar bones, the middle of his chest, slightly under that. Vincent kept back pedaling until his back hit the wall behind him. Another tug and he felt like he was practically drowning in his uniform.

“Y-you know what you’re doing to me!” Vincent piped up, ignoring how different his voice sounded to before. He fumbled to pull the steak knife out of his pocket and pointed it at Tristan. His shaking hands and wide eyes certainly didn’t make Vincent feel any more intimidating. He normally wasn’t like this…

A blink and Vincent watched the room return to normal. He gripped the knife tighter, his hold felt a lot firmer and his arm wasn’t shaking. Tristan’s gaze flicked between the knife and Vincent’s eyes. Tristan feigned another worried look as a more mirthful look entered his eyes.

“Give me the knife, sir. You’re not in your right state of mind,” Tristan started as he held out his hand. Vincent resisted the urge to take a swipe at the hand and instead kept it level with Tristan’s forehead. At the very least he would have a visual indicator for how much height he was losing and, more importantly, have an idea of where to stab Tristan should whatever silly game he was playing continue.

Vincent kept his voice cool and steady as he spat back, “I am in my right state of mind so don’t try to convince me otherwise. What are you and what are you planning on doing with my waiter?”

Vincent kept a firm grip on the knife as the tugging returned and he watched as the point of the blade moved down to be level to Tristan’s throat. Vincent wouldn’t let this man take control of the situation. Not when he had so many questions and a potential danger in front of him. No. Not potential. An actual danger. A threat to the safety of both Vincent and Rody.

Tristan chuckled darkly, dropping his mask of confusion. He gave Vincent a slightly impressed look as Vincent felt a very sharp tug that left the tip of the blade level with Tristan’s stomach. Vincent gripped onto the blade with both hands, shaking but still refusing to back down.

“Aren’t you perceptive? We can’t have that now can we?” Tristan cooed as he stepped closer to Vincent.

Vincent glared as he watched Tristan carefully and snarled, “Stay away from me! I will-”

Tristan easily ripped the knife from Vincent’s hands and plucked Vincent up. Vincent kicked his legs and reached out for the knife Tristan held away in his other hand.

“Give that back!” Vincent snapped, ignoring how childish his voice sounded as he struggled to escape the very firm grasp Tristan had around his waist.

Tristan clicked his tongue as he cooed in a teasing voice, “Ah, ah, ah. Little boys shouldn’t be playing with knives~ You could hurt yourself or someone else~”

Vincent screamed, “I’m not a little boy! I’m a grown adult and a trained chef! I-”

Vincent bit back a shriek as he felt another tug and Tristan grinned a wider grin. Tristan kept the knife teasingly out of reach as he watched Vincent struggle.

“What’s wrong Vinny? Are you gonna cry? Beg for that pathetic little waiter to come and rescue you?” Tristan teased as he watched Vincent continue to struggle and push against him.

“Don’t call me that! My name is Vincent! Vincent! And I don’t need Rody to rescue me! I can rescue myself just fine!” Vincent snapped back as he eyed up Tristan’s arm that was holding him.

Before Tristan could continue teasing him, he let out a sharp yelp when Vincent sunk his teeth into Tristan’s forearm hard enough to draw blood. Vincent could feel the warm blood entering his mouth and stain his face. There wasn’t any taste to it, but that just made it easier for Vincent to keep his mouth firmly on Tristan’s arm.

Tristan glared as he shouted, “You fucking brat!”

Tristan then swung his arm hard enough to launch Vincent to crash against the wall. Vincent could feel the tugging feeling fade and he quickly scurried to put the pieces of his uniform that had fallen off of him when Tristan grabbed him back on.

Tristan stalked over to Vincent, who had yet to wipe the blood from his face. Vincent looked ready to pounce when Tristan grabbed Vincent by the throat and slammed him back against the wall. Vincent growled lowly and leveled the harshest glare he could muster at the demon before him.

“I’m going to be merciful and let you go this time little chef. But don’t expect any mercy from me next time. I’m not letting a hack like you take away my prize,” Tristan snarled as he tightened his grip on Vincent’s throat.

Vincent managed to choke out, “I-I’d rather die than let you take him from me!”

Tristan’s eyes widened briefly before he laughed a cool laugh, “Tempting but I’ll leave you with something else.”

Vincent was about to question what Tristan meant when he felt an odd feeling wash over him. His mind was starting to get…fuzzy. What was happening this time?

Vincent felt Tristan release his throat and Vincent was eased onto his feet. He stumbled slightly holding his head, desperately trying to keep that fuzzy feeling at bay. Memories of the last fifteen minutes or so were starting to slip away no matter how desperately Vincent tried to cling onto them.

Tristan wrapped an arm over Vincent’s shoulders and escorted him down the stairs. Vincent complied instinctively, holding a hand to his head as his other gripped onto the stairwell tightly. Tristan remained silent as he led Vincent outside and didn’t stop walking until the two of them reached an alleyway beside Rody’s apartment building.

Once they were there, Tristan let go of Vincent and the fuzzy feeling started to fade from Vincent’s mind. He shook his head to clear the fuzzy feeling and looked around him.

“What the-? H-how did I get outside?” Vincent asked as he looked over to Tristan, who was able to pull his concerned mask on with alarming speed.

“Why you were acting very funny back in the apartment so I escorted you outside to get some fresh air. I think you should go home and get some rest. The mold in the building really isn’t good to be exposed to for so long and…Well we both know how good at cleaning things like that Rody is,” Tristan replied, coloring his voice with concern that practically dripped off of every syllable.

Vincent’s hands lowered from his head as a concerned look creased his brow. He looked over to see Tristan still holding that worried mask on perfectly. Vincent then lowered his gaze to the sidewalk.

Vincent spoke in a low voice, “I…What was I doing? I…”

Vincent held a hand to his temple and creased his brow, desperately trying to remember anything from before but…Nothing. He couldn’t even remember what was said back in the apartment when Tristan and Isolde had arrived let alone what he could have done that got him dragged outside.

Tristan hummed, “You kept saying something about shrinking or feeling younger or something along those lines. It really was starting to get Rody and Isolde worried so I volunteered to get you some air.”

Vincent’s gaze snapped over to Tristan. Tristan didn’t budge nor did his expression change. Vincent could feel a guilt start to settle in his stomach that had him hovering a hand over it. Tristan tilted his head slightly, hiding his mirth a lot better than before.

“Go get some rest, monsieur. We can take care of Rody from here,” Tristan’s voice was velvety soft. It was nowhere near as enjoyable as Rody’s voice was to Vincent but…

Vincent shook his head, “I-I really shouldn’t…Lamoree does need all of the help he can get…”

Tristan rested a hand on Vincent’s shoulder and hid a smirk at the alarm on Vincent’s face. Vincent felt a soft tug in his gut and watched the world flicker to being a good bit bigger than him ever so briefly before it returned to normal again.

Tristan continued in a syrupy voice, “Please monsieur. Rody would feel awfully guilty if he made you even sicker than you are now.”

Vincent looked down at his hands, panting softly. They looked normal. What was happening to him? Was this…Was he having some sort of psychotic break? Vincent sighed softly as his shoulders dropped in defeat.

“I…I suppose you’re right. I’ll get some rest and come check in on him later,” Vincent replied in a defeated voice as he shrugged himself out of Tristan’s hold.

Tristan nodded as he refrained from patting Vincent’s back to add, “You’re making the right decision mon ami. Rody will be in perfectly good hands while you go and take a nap or something.”

Vincent scoffed as he turned himself in the direction of his bistro and apartment, “I’m not going to nap. I’m going to make sure those idiots who work for me haven’t burned my restaurant down while I was away.”

Tristan’s eyes flickered briefly and allowed himself a brief grin before his concerned mask returned to his face. He watched Vincent walk down the street with purpose, but reveled in the slight panic Tristan was able to catch in his scent.

Tristan snickered to himself as he turned to enter the apartment building once more, “Oh you needn’t worry about coming back Vinny. I know a few things that will keep you nice and busy.”

Chapter Text

Isolde smiled a cold, cruel smile as she continued to drag Rody into the bathroom. Rody winced as he stepped into the damp patch in front of the bathroom door once more. He hated the feeling of wet socks!

Isolde shoved Rody inside and shut the door behind her, still smiling that cruel smile that made Rody’s insides grow cold and a nervous sweat start to form at his temples.

“Now we can finally get down to business without risk of being interrupted,” Isolde cooed as she started to approach Rody. Every step she stepped forward, he took one back.

“S-stay back!” Rody spat, trying his best to muster up the courage he had last night. But Isolde’s soft giggling was eating away at his fortitude.

Isolde continued to coo in a simpering tone, “Aww what’s wrong? Where did all that bravery go? Or were you trying to play tough because you don’t wanna look like a big dumb baby in front of your little boyfriend~”

Rody’s face started to burn as he shook his head and sputtered, “Wh-what are you-I’m not-I don’t like men that way! I…Vince is my boss! I work for him and he-”

Isolde clicked her tongue as Rody’s back pressed against the wall behind him. Rody trembled as he kept looking around for something, anything to make his escape with. His breathing started to quicken and his heart started beating wildly as Isolde drew closer and closer.

“Really now? Then why were you holding his hand earlier? Why did you seem to cling to him like he would make everything better? Did you really move on from your beloved Manon so easily?” Isolde continued to question in that simpering voice that made Rody feel ten times worse. Isolde held his face in her hands, a touch that made Rody start to tear up once more.

Rody trembled as the tears started to tumble down his cheeks. He shook his head frantically as he spat out, “Of course not! Wh-why else would I ever agree to-”

“Sure didn’t look like it to me. Why if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re one of those greedy types. The ones that can’t decide whether men or women are better so you desire both,” Isolde interrupted with a soft purr.

Isolde drew her hand away to lick Rody’s tears off of the back of her hand. Rody shivered as her words started swirling around in his mind. No. That couldn’t be right. It wasn’t right!

‘I dunno, Vince is awfully pretty. Just like how you find Manon pretty,’ a traitorous part of Rody thought. He shook his head. No! He didn’t think Vince was pretty! He-he was just noticed that Vince was attractive enough to get a lot of attention from women! O-other guys did that too!...Right?

Isolde laughed a cold, cruel laugh as she put her hand back onto Rody’s tear stained cheek and pulled him so he’d be eye-level with her, “Oh what would your precious Manon say if she knew what a freak you were? How much do you think she’d worry if she knew you wanted your own boss?”

“I-I don’t! I-I…Vince is just being nice! He-” Rody cut himself off as he looked away from Isolde’s almost hypnotic gaze. Vince was being nice to him…Why was Vince being nice to him? That…Rody wasn’t sure. It felt like more than Vince just trying to patch him up enough to go to work but…

The traitorous part of Rody’s mind piped up once more, ‘Just admit it! You want him to help take care of you! You like when he’s here cooking meals while you clean! It feels right!’

Rody shuddered as he felt Isolde pinch against his cheeks. He hesitantly met her gaze once more.

Isolde cooed softly, “Tell me the truth Rody. You aren’t only interested in women. You can tell Auntie Isolde anything.”

Rody blinked and shoved Isolde away from him. He could feel her nails scratch against his cheeks, but not nearly enough to draw blood. Just enough to leave a nice visible mark on his face. Rody straightened back up as he squared his shoulders.

“Don’t ever refer to yourself as that around me again you sick fuck! It’s disgusting and I’m not some child!” Rody shouted.

Isolde flipped her hair back into place after catching her footing. A part of her was impressed Rody was able to shove her as far as he had. Maybe she would find a use for him in her domain after all? There was always plenty of heavy lifting she and her ladies needed to have done.

“You certainly throw tantrums like one. You also can’t keep a clean space like one and last I checked you can’t cook, just like a child. The only thing grown about you is that body of yours,” Isolde sneered as she gestured to him.

Rody snorted, “And let me guess, you can easily cut me down to size to match what you see? Your associate did that to me earlier so it won’t have as much of an effect as you think it will.”

Isolde smirked, “Maybe not to you, but how would that boss of yours or Manon react to seeing the real you? The weak, defenseless child who has to cling to someone just to feel motivated enough to even shower regularly.”

Rody glared as he crossed his arms. He raised a brow as if to dare her to even try. He hated how he felt a sweat start to form at his temples and how his traitorous heart started hammering away quicker than before.

‘Oh Rody, just what did you do? I really can’t date you now.’

‘And here I thought you couldn’t get more pathetic. Just go home Lamoree. It would ruin my reputation if people thought I hired children to work here.’

Rody shook his head. No. No. Even if she did make good on her threat, Rody knew that Vince and Manon wouldn’t reject him. They’d be concerned yes, but not reject him. They would want to help him find some sort of cure and return him to his normal self!

Isolde laughed once more, “Oh if only you could see yourself right now! Trying so hard to act all tough when you’re tearing apart at the seams!”

“Get the fuck out! If you aren’t going to help me start cleaning this fucking shithole I live in then leave!” Rody screamed. He had enough of these mind games. He had more than enough reminders of how pathetic he was already. He wouldn’t be able to do or accomplish anything if he was too busy being belittled like this.

“What did you just say to me?” Isolde asked in a low, cold voice as she glared at Rody. Her previously teasing demeanor was thrown out the window for something a bit more threatening.

Er well as threatening as a shrimp like her could look to Rody. Honestly Rody could easily pick her up and drop kick her if he wanted to. Kinda tempting now that he thought about it. He wondered how far he could make her fly.

Rody smirked as he took a few steps forward, “You heard me. If you aren’t going to help me, then leave. I don’t have time to waste on listening to some shrimpy magician with a degradation fetish try to make me feel even shittier about myself than I already do.”

The room started to grow colder and colder. Rody could see his breath starting to everytime he exhaled. Isolde’s eyes had an eerie glow to them and a wind started to whip around the room that gave her hair an odd floaty effect. But Rody refused to cower. He refused to grovel on his knees and prostrate himself whilst he begged for forgiveness.

“I’ve made men taller and more impressive than you explode for less than what you’ve said,” Isolde hissed as she raised her hand.

Rody felt himself get pulled up into the air and he felt a jolt of fear down his spine. It was odd just floating there as though he didn’t weigh anything but…Not being on the ground meant that it would be tougher for him to fight back should Isolde try to hurt him again.

Isolde walked closer to where Rody was left suspending, her gaze not growing any more tolerable as she drew closer. Rody could feel a tightness in his throat that kept him from making more than pathetic whimpers and whines. He wanted to tell her off. To leave him alone. To just fuck off somewhere for the rest of the night.

Isolde moved her hand downwards sharply and Rody smashed onto the floor. He hissed as he rolled to grab his shoulder, which had taken the brunt of the impact. He couldn’t feel any blood against his hand, but it hurt way too much to not be broken or dislocated.

Isolde stomped her foot onto his chest, keeping Rody effectively pinned to the floor and causing him to cry out a sharp cry. She smirked as she listened to his pained whimpers and how his tears splattered against the tile. Such music to her ears.

“Will you be a good boy now, or do I need to continue?” Isolde asked as she stared down at Rody, smirking a smug smirk. He was right where he belonged in her mind. A mere pest stuck under her foot, looking up at her with pain in his eyes and whining so pathetically. It was what he deserved for daring to speak to her so rudely and for trying to go up against a power he was far too weak to counter.

Rody managed to choke out, “F-fine, I’ll stop. J-just get off of me.”

Isolde hummed a content hum, “There, now was that so hard? Now be a good boy and start gathering up the garbage. There’s more than enough in this apartment to keep you busy for the rest of the night.”

With that Isolde finally removed her foot from Rody’s chest and the temperature in the room started to normalize once more. Rody struggled to sit up, still holding onto his injured shoulder tightly. His arm shook small little tremors and his hand twitched. Definitely injured pretty badly. He did essentially fall from a decent height and smack onto the ground pretty hard.

Isolde shook her head and snapped her fingers. Rody winced but then opened his eyes when he realized that his shoulder stopped hurting. He looked down and sighed in relief when he noticed that he at least still had his shoulder and arm intact. She then snapped her fingers and a box full of trash bags appeared in her other hand.

“Now that you’re not injured due to your own stupidity, take these and get to work. You’re making me tired,” Isolde sniffed as she watched Rody peel himself off of the floor.

Rody smiled a gentle smile, “You know…you can be pretty nice sometimes. Maybe I’d listen more if you showed your nice side rather than your-”

Rody cut himself off with a shriek when Isolde threw the box straight at his head. He ducked and allowed the box to sail into the trash can. She turned around with a huff and a blush staining her cheeks as she shouted, “G-get to work before I break both of your shoulders and both of your legs!”

Rody fished the box out of the trash can and sighed as he listened to Isolde march out of the bathroom. He honestly wished the day would end already. His head was starting to hurt and he really just wanted to curl up on the couch and sleep for the next week or so. But at least Vincent was here. Rody wasn’t sure what he would do if Vincent wasn’t here.

Chapter Text

As Vincent walked down the street back to La Gueule de Saturne, he couldn’t help but feel increasingly worried. A few times as he was walking that strange tugging sensation happened in his stomach ever so briefly before letting up just as quickly. Enough so that it made Vincent feel slightly dizzy and he vomited into one of the public trash cans.

When he had wiped his mouth clean with his handkerchief, he started shaking when he noticed blood on the handkerchief as well. What had happened during that time he had blacked out?!

Vincent made sure the rest of his face was thoroughly cleaned before he continued on his journey. Maybe Tristan was onto something when he suggested that Vincent try and sleep this off? But…Vincent still had far too much work to do to just skip work to sleep. He might trust Louvet, but not nearly enough to have the man run the whole restaurant for an entire day. The last thing he needed was a repeat of the incident from his days as a trainee…

Vincent sighed in relief as soon as he arrived at the restaurant. The building was still standing and there was no sign of any fires or riots. At least it looked like lunch service progressed without any major hitches.

Vincent pushed the door open and the bell rang, alerting Louvet who had just put down the last piece of silverware on the last table. Everything looked to be in proper order for tonight’s dinner service.

“Welcome back Charbonneau, I see Lamoree isn’t with you. I’m guessing it’s as bad as Donadieu had said,” Louvet greeted, taking in Vincent’s tired looking appearance and lack of Rody by his side.

Vincent huffed as he allowed the door to close behind him, “He’s somewhat stable for now but…I really hate that I had to leave him there.”

Louvet straightened up and rubbed at his shoulder as he rotated it. As much as he knew he would regret it tomorrow, Louvet knew Vincent well enough to know that he himself wasn’t in a condition to serve either and well…Louvet didn’t want to recreate the incident that left him with this sore shoulder in the first place should something happen to Vincent in the dining room during dinner service.

Vincent inhaled a sharp breath as he felt that odd tugging sensation in his stomach once more. Louvet moved quicker than Vincent had ever seen him to hold Vincent upright. Vincent felt his breath quicken when he noticed that he was now eye-level with his mentor.

“Shit Charbonneau, what the hell did you get into? I haven’t seen this face since you first started training under me,” Louvet commented as he wrapped an arm over Vincent’s shoulders.

Vincent looked at Louvet with a surprised look, “W-what do you mean?”

Vincent bit back a surprised yelp when he felt another tug in his stomach. Louvet swore under his breath as he grabbed Vincent and held him in a bridal carry. Vincent trembled as he closed his eyes.

Louvet whispered quietly, “The others are having a smoke break in the back alley, so we should be able to make it to your office without an audience.”

Vincent nodded as he felt Louvet start speedwalking towards the kitchen. Louvet hoisted Vincent a little higher to safely kick the kitchen door open. Vincent opened his eyes to give Louvet a glare.

“Can you not kick my doors?” Vincent grumbled as Louvet continued the short journey to Vincent’s office.

Louvet snorted, “I think your doors are the last thing that should be on your mind considering you look young enough to date one of my daughters right now.”

Vincent’s stomach grew cold. What did Louvet say? Vincent looked at the hand holding onto Louvet’s coat (when did he do that?!) and felt his breathing quicken at the sight of it being much smaller than usual.

Louvet luckily did not have to kick open Vincent’s office, but he did kick the door closed behind them before he helped ease Vincent into a standing position. The blond chef walked in a circle around Vincent, taking mental notes as he did so, ‘He’s definitely younger, no doubt about it. The entire shape of his face is much softer, his hair is styled differently, hell he even looks much more well-rested than usual. Something is definitely wrong here.’

Vincent finally found his voice after a moment, “Wh-what do you mean that I look young enough to date one of your daughters? I-I’m in my late twenties!”

“Before yes,” Louvet countered as he paused to cross his arms over his chest, “but now you look like you should be entering secondary school this fall. Charbonneau, there’s something going on here.”

Vincent shook his head wincing at another tugging sensation in his stomach. Louvet gestured at Vincent as though that alone made his point.

“Christ what did Lamoree do? Dabble in sorcellerie or something?” Louvet questioned as he watched Vincent struggle to adjust his oversized chef coat.

Vincent closed his eyes as he rubbed at his temples. All of this was getting to be too much for him. First Rody was acting weird and now he was…Well Vincent didn’t even know what was happening but-

Vincent’s eyes snapped open, “He tricked me.”

“Who? Lamoree? You give me fifteen minutes with him and I’ll-” Louvet cut himself off when he felt Vincent grab his arm.

He looked over his shoulder at Vincent and repressed a wince at seeing his protege in such a reduced state. Every paternal instinct he had was screaming at him to go beat whomever did this to him to a pulp whilst simultaneously screaming at him to find something more appropriate for Vincent to wear.

“No, not him! The guy with him, Tristan!” Vincent explained as he tugged on Louvet’s arm to try and pull him back from the office door. Try being the key word as Vincent couldn’t even make Louvet budge.

Louvet’s eyes narrowed and grew cold at the mention of the second name. He eased Vincent’s hands off of his arm and knelt down to grab the shrunken chef by the shoulders.

“Are you certain that’s his name?” Louvet asked in a very serious tone that had Vincent feeling more on edge than he was already.

“Positive,” Vincent answered almost immediately. The tugging sensation ceased for a moment and he felt nauseated once more as he returned to his normal size.

Louvet swore under his breath once more as he carded a hand through his shaggy blond hair. Vincent put a hand on his chest and sighed in relief. At least he was back to normal, but how long that would last would be anybody’s guess.

Louvet finally looked over at Vincent and asked, “Do you think you’ll be safe if I step outside for a moment?”

Vincent put a hand on his hip and rolled his eyes, earning him a whap to the back of the head from Louvet. Vincent rubbed it as he replied, “I may be turning into a child at random, but I’m not mentally turning into a child. I’m more than capable of staying in my own office and being safe about it.”

“Well excuse me for worrying then! I just need to get something from Donadieu,” Louvet snapped as he made his way back to the door.

Vincent opened his mouth to give a sarcastic reply when he felt a very sharp tug and found himself practically drowning in his uniform. Louvet plucked Vincent up and set him onto the office chair.

“J-just stay here and try not to…nevermind,” Louvet ordered as he straightened back up.

Vincent huffed a very dejected huff. There was a part of him that wanted to reach out and grab Louvet’s hand to make him stay, but…Vincent shoved that thought very firmly to the side. Louvet had an idea on how to solve this…little problem and Vincent didn’t think he could handle spending the rest of his life being like this.

Louvet ruffled Vincent’s hair before he turned around. He called as he walked towards the office door, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Vincent resisted the urge to ask Louvet to hurry back but…Given the way Louvet quickened his step perhaps Vincent didn’t need to. Vincent leaned his head back against his office chair and closed his eyes. He felt so tired…Maybe a quick nap wouldn’t hurt.
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Boucher jumped when the back door opened, revealing Louvet. Faucher caught Boucher before he could leap into the dumpster in fear.

Rousseaux clocked onto the slightly worried look on Louvet’s face and asked, “Is everything alright Michel?”

Louvet grimaced, “Come on Gabe, you know I hate my given name. Anyways, I need to borrow something from Donadieu for a moment.”

Donadieu looked up from his crouched position where he had been playing with the two stray cats that liked to hang out by the dumpster. He loved to play with the cats during his breaks. Donadieu rose and the cats scurried off, disappointed that their favorite human had stopped giving them attention.

“Something from me?” Donadieu questioned as he watched Louvet approach him.

Louvet nodded as he held out his hand and asked, “May I borrow the holy water you keep on you at all times?”

Silence filled the small alley. The rest of the chefs looked amongst themselves. Holy water? What was Louvet even talking about?

Rousseaux noticed a glint in Louvet’s eye and sighed. Ah, so that’s what it was. Rousseaux made a mental note to check in on Louvet after dinner service. Things always got dicey when Louvet got that glint in his eye.

Donadieu reached back and unclipped something from his neck and pulled something out of his chef coat. He withdrew his hand to reveal an ornate vial. It was silver with an angelic motif to it, but one could clearly see a clear container with water inside of it within the ornate silver decorations. He handed the vial to Louvet, who nodded in thanks.

“I’ll bring this back in a moment. I just need to test a theory I had,” Louvet explained as he backed up to the door. He opened it and quickly shut it before anyone could ask him any questions.

Manet shook his head and took a drag of his cigarette as he muttered, “I don’t get paid enough for this weirdness.”
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Louvet took out the spare tea kettle they kept in the upper cabinets, just in case a customer or one of the employees needed some tea. He opened the lid and splashed a little of the holy water inside of the kettle.

Louvet quickly opened the door to hand Donadieu the vial back before shutting it just as quickly, ignoring the way that his co-workers looked at him. Let them think he was going insane. It just meant that there would be less of them asking what he was up to in the first place.

Louvet stepped over to the sink and filled the rest of the kettle with water. He could remember from his early religion lessons that holy water could never be diluted, but expand that blessing even when added to very large vessels of water. This property would allow Louvet to make a very special tea for his currently afflicted boss.

As Louvet set the kettle onto the burner and cranked the heat on to hopefully get the water boiling before they had to put the pedal to the metal on getting prep-work for dinner done. Louvet then went to the pantry to fetch his preferred flavor of tea, a lemony tea with a hint of cinnamon. Given his boss’ lack of taste, he didn’t have a favorite tea like the rest of them did but…Vincent often appreciated when Louvet would share his since the smell of his was especially appetizing to him.

Louvet fetched two cups to pour the tea into and prepared the tea for steeping. Louvet wanted to ensure that everything was prepared so all Vincent would be expected to do was just drink the tea and wait it out. With luck it should help ease whatever was causing Vincent’s…bouts of de-aging. It certainly was an odd one, but not the oddest thing Louvet had ever seen.

As soon as he heard the first whistles of the kettle, Louvet quickly shut the burner off and returned to preparing the tea. It wouldn’t take long and hopefully Vincent would feel up to giving him some answers. The mention of that name had set Louvet on edge. It took every ounce of willpower he could muster not to just shake Vincent until he told Louvet where Tristan was.

Louvet sighed softly to himself, “It can’t be the same one…It just can’t be…”

Soon enough the tea was ready and Louvet grabbed both cups. He walked back into Vincent’s office and closed the door behind him a lot more gently than he had earlier. A soft smile graced his lips when he noticed that Vincent was snoozing in the desk chair. Louvet set the tea cups down before he gently shook Vincent’s shoulder.

Vincent moaned softly and rubbed at his eye as he woke up. He looked around, huffing when he noticed that he was still criminally tiny and looked up at Louvet.

“Louvet? Wh-where did you go?” Vincent yawned and stretched. He blinked when he suddenly found himself back to his normal self. Louvet chuckled but turned around to give Vincent some privacy as he readjusted his uniform.

Louvet replied with his back turned, “I was just borrowing something from Donadieu and made us some tea. You looked like you could use it.”

Vincent cleared his throat and Louvet turned back around. Vincent’s cheeks were flushed and he had opted to reclaim the office chair. Good enough for Louvet. It probably was the safest place for Vincent to be until he had finished the tea.

Vincent took the cup closest to him and held it between his hands. It was moments like this that reminded Vincent how poor his circulation could be sometimes. Maybe he could add that to his list of reasons to see a doctor soon.

Louvet picked up the other cup and took a sip of his tea. The taste of lemon and cinnamon always put him at ease. It reminded him of the cakes his mother used to bake when he was a child.

“What’s tea supposed to do to fix this?” Vincent asked after what felt like an eternity of silence. It wasn’t an unpleasant silence but…It didn’t feel the same as silence when he was around Rody.

Louvet smiled softly, “Just trust me on this.”

Vincent grit his teeth as he felt a tug, he gripped onto the arm of his chair tightly. Vincent hated the constant shifting in perspectives. At this point he was willing to try anything to make it stop.

Vincent closed his eyes and took a hearty gulp of tea. It was was tasteless as always but-

Vincent opened his eyes and would have cheered if he was the type of man who cheered. He was back to his normal size and didn’t feel that heavy feeling in his stomach any more. Maybe that heavy feeling was what made that tugging sensation he felt on and off this afternoon?

Louvet set his mostly full cup of tea down with a serious look. It looked like his theory was correct. How unfortunate.

“Charbonneau, I’ll ask this again. Are you certain that the man you saw at Lamoree’s apartment was named Tristan?” Louvet questioned as his face took on a more serious look.

“Positive,” Vincent replied before he took another sip of his tea. The hot tea chased any remnants of worry or guilt from his body. What did Louvet do differently this time? Teas never made Vincent actually feel at ease like this! Only wine could usually do that…

Louvet clicked his tongue in annoyance before he grabbed his tea and took a swig of it. It scalded his tongue slightly, but Louvet accepted it as the consequences of his actions. There were far more pressing things on his mind now than how hot his tea was.

Vincent noticed the grim look on Louvet’s face and decided to bite the bullet as he murmured, “I’m guessing you know him?”

Louvet laughed a raspy, low laugh, “Know him? He’s the rat bastard that my ex-wife not only cheated on me with, but left me for. So yes, I know him pretty damn well.”

Vincent remained silent and looked away as he took another sip of tea. He wasn’t that surprised to hear that Tristan was a homewrecker. He seemed like the type that got a kick out of stealing someone’s partner just to prove that he could do it. But to do it to someone like Louvet? A man who worked hard to provide the best life he could to his family? That felt exceptionally cruel! Or well it felt exceptionally cruel to Vincent since he had known the guy for about a decade at this point.

Vincent set down his tea cup suddenly as a thought came to mind, “Did Tristan…mention having a partner he worked with?”

Louvet noticed the shift in Vincent’s demeanor and set his own cup down. He turned to face Vincent straight on and nodded. Alarm bells started to ring in the blond’s head. Just what the hell was their waiter doing?!

“Her name’s Isolde and…Well she’s just as nasty as he is, only more obvious about it. What happened to you is only a mere appetizer to what they’re truly capable of,” Louvet informed as he watched the panic start to grow in Vincent’s eyes.

Vincent stood up suddenly. Louvet eased Vincent back down into the seat, which earned him a very sharp glare from his protege. Louvet refused to let go of Vincent’s shoulders, effectively trapping the younger chef in his seat.

“Let me go Louvet,” Vincent growled lowly as he seriously contemplated just headbutting Louvet’s stomach to get him out of the way.

Louvet replied sternly, “You aren’t going after them Charbonneau. Do you really want to be subjected to one of their spells again so soon? They won’t stop at just making your age yo-yo. They could shrink you into non-existence. They could kill you and resurrect you over and over and over again. They could even make it so you fade from existence and only leave the memory of you behind.”

Vincent snapped back, “I don’t care about my fucking safety here Louvet! They have-”

“I care about your fucking safety Vincent! Do you think I want to bury my fucking son before he’s even thirty!?” Louvet shouted back.

Louvet let go of Vincent’s shoulders and took several steps back. The blond covered his mouth and looked away. Vincent rose quietly as he stared at his mentor. The way his shoulders started shaking. The way Louvet curled in on himself to make himself seem even smaller than before.

“Do you…really see me as…?” Vincent couldn’t even bring himself to finish his question. There was a part of him that felt so touched it made his throat feel tighter than before.

Louvet lowered his hand as his gaze snapped over to Vincent. He answered immediately, “Of course I do! Why do you think I get on your case so much? You’re more than just a protege to me. You have been ever since that first day at Chef Bourbain’s place.”

Vincent felt a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. That long? Louvet had seen him as a son for that long? Vincent couldn’t even remember his own father…The man had passed before Vincent could even form concrete memories and his mother hadn’t felt comfortable talking about the man nor the circumstances around his passing…

Vincent could practically hear his inner child crying tears of joy and begging him to go and hug the man tightly. But Vincent didn’t. Instead he-

Louvet’s surprised look softened. He moved so quickly Vincent couldn’t register what had happened until he felt arms wrapping around him and…Why did his eyes burn so much?

“We can’t just go charging in without a plan,” Louvet whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to risk losing what’s left of my family…”

Vincent hated how weak his voice sounded when he replied, “I-I can’t just leave Lamoree there alone either! They could easily do what you described to him and…I promised him that I wouldn’t let him get hurt again…”

Louvet replied quietly, “And we will rescue him but…We can’t be hasty and you know it. Lamoree is tough. He can handle himself for a little while longer.”

Vincent felt a cold feeling in his gut but…He knew Louvet had a point. Just charging in without a plan would only make things end horribly. Not just potentially for him and Louvet but for Rody too. Who’s to say that Tristan or Isolde are above just killing Rody when someone gets too close to extracting him from their clutches?

One thing was for sure though, Vincent wouldn’t let Tristan or Isolde keep Rody. Not while there was still a breath in his body.

Chapter Text

Manon smiled as she made her way down the street. The sun was shining so brightly and the air felt nice and warm! She was fortunate enough to have met up with one of her former classmates and had lunch with her in a little bistro downtown. Manon knew she had to try and replicate that chicken dish at some point. The blend of tarragon and butter still made her mouth water ever so slightly whenever she thought about it.

Her notebook was tucked firmly under her arm, containing drafts of her latest batch of articles for her magazine job and newspaper side-gig. She still had to run these by her editors but…Well Manon had a feeling that she had another round of successes on her hands!

As she walked, Manon found herself in a familiar part of the city. A part of the city she would often walk down to when she went to visit-

She heard a grunt and the sound of a trash bag being tossed away into a dumpster. Manon’s heart skipped a beat. She knew that tone anywhere.

Manon walked a little quicker than she would have liked to have admitted. She had to investigate the noise to see if her hunch was correct.

As Manon rounded the corner, she collided with a very solid and very warm body. A set of hands reached out to catch her before she could hit the pavement.

“H-hey are you-” a very familiar voice stopped and Manon opened her eyes.

Greenish-gray met warm brown. Manon’s cheeks warmed as she realized that she was being held in a romantic looking dip. The way the sunlight hit his skin…

“R-rody?” Manon stammered before she was pulled into a tight hug. Her face pressed against his chest and she closed her eyes as she breathed in his familiar scent.

Rody’s voice cracked as he whispered, “Manon. Chérie*, I…I missed you so much…”

There were drips of hot water in her hair and the way his breath hitched let Manon know all she needed to know. Instinctively she wrapped one arm around Rody and reached up to cup his cheek with the other.

Manon studied his face closely. Her touch was light as she was trying to be mindful of the scratches on his cheek. The dark circles hadn’t faded just yet but…He certainly didn’t look ready to drop dead like before…

Rody nuzzled his cheek against her hand as he trembled. He had to savor this touch for as long as he possibly could. He wanted this. He wanted her! He wanted to hold her tight and never let go again!

Manon spoke after what felt like an eternity of silence, “Rody, I…About our breakup I…I must apologize. I never meant to hurt you. I just…I can’t stand seeing someone I love so much hurt themselves so much and…”

Rody’s hold on her tightened as he whispered to her, “Shhh, chérie. I-I understand. You know I get the same way when it comes to you…”

Eventually they loosened their hold on one another to simply just take the sight of the other in. Rody thought that Manon had never looked prettier. Her stylish outfit, her silky hair, her slightly glossy lips.

Manon thought that Rody looked just as handsome as ever. His hair looked especially clean though he was starting to get just a touch of stubble on his face. Perhaps it was just that five-o-clock shadow that men who shaved got? Manon couldn’t help but notice how the one scratch on Rody’s right cheek left a trail that ended at his bottom lip. His…soft lips…

Before either one could stop themselves, Rody and Manon drew closer again. Manon tilted her head slightly as her and Rody’s lips finally met. She shifted her hold to wrap her arms around his neck as Rody held her waist with one arm and played with her hair with his free hand. One kiss turned into two, then three, then-

Manon found herself being hoisted onto the closed dumpster lid and she wrapped her legs around Rody, effectively trapping him. His hands rested on either side of Manon’s hips as Manon tangled her hands in his hair. She tugged lightly, causing him to moan softly and open his mouth just enough for her to sneak her tongue in. Rody shuddered. Oh how much he wanted this!

But as soon as things were starting to get a bit more…heated Rody suddenly pulled away as he held his stomach. Manon looked confused and a little hurt.

“Rody? What’s wrong?” Manon asked as she eased herself off of the dumpster lid.

Rody opened his mouth to say something when the same sensation that overcame him in the bathroom earlier when he fought Tristan washed over him. He watched as Manon covered her mouth with both hands as Rody quickly found himself suddenly losing height. A lot of height.

“M-manon! I-uh-I-I can explain!” Rody stammered as he tried to hide just how frightening it was to suddenly be about as tall as his girlfriend’s shoulder.

Manon cupped Rody’s cheeks in her hands as she sputtered, “E-explain?! Wh-what do you mean? Rody, what’s happening to you?”

Rody opened his mouth to answer Manon’s question but quickly closed it to stifle a yelp as he lost more height. Manon held onto him tightly, trembling as Rody felt more tears crop up. Why did this have to happen now?! In front of Manon of all people?! He hated this. He hated that Manon got to see just how pathetic he was. What was it that Tristan had said? That he was making Rody's insides and his outsides match? Yeah. That felt about right...

Rody whimpered, “M-manon I…I…”

Rody couldn’t finish his sentence. He broke down into heavy sobs in Manon’s arms. All Manon could do was hold him close as his tears soaked through her shirt. She had to hold onto him tightly. It was the only thing she could possibly think of to prevent him from disappearing before her very eyes. She pet his hair, his soft, soft hair, in a bid to comfort him.

“Oh Rody,” Manon whispered as she felt him stiffen up slightly at the feeling of her tears hitting the top of his head, “I-I’m so sorry my darling. I…I feel that this is my fault.”

Rody wriggled his way out of Manon’s hold, which was made a bit easier after he lost a bit more height. Great. Now he was about up to Manon’s waist. How embarrassing. If this kept up he’d have to be held by her in order to even attempt to make eye-contact…

Rody shook his head as he grabbed Manon’s hands in his as he reassured her with a gentle smile, “Chérie, it’s not your fault at all! My angel you have nothing to apologize for. You’re not the one who made this happen to me.”

Before Rody could say any more, the feeling passed and he was suddenly his normal size again. He regained height just as rapidly as he had lost it. Rody put a hand to his head, swaying slightly as he tried to regain his footing. Manon held his shoulders as he righted himself.

Neither one was sure what to say. What could they say?! One second they were kissing and the next they had to worry about Rody somehow shrinking out of existence only for that to suddenly reverse the second after that?! It’s not like there’s a manual out there for how to help your shrinking boyfriend or anything-

Manon suddenly snapped her fingers, missing the way Rody winced at the sound. She smiled at Rody as she took his hand, “I think I know how to keep this from happening again! Are you able to come with me?”

Rody quickly thought back to his apartment, er well more importantly the two demons inside of his apartment. Two demons that could and would use their powers on him from afar to torture him as they see fit…But then again, he was good and finished throwing away the garbage and it has been ages since he had last seen Manon…Maybe a little break wouldn’t hurt?

“Sure, I was just finishing up a little cleaning and could use a break,” Rody replied, his face flushing as he immediately classified this as a date with Manon. Yup. It was totally a date. It was the only thought that could keep him from freaking the fuck out and hyperventilating right now.

Manon smiled an even brighter smile. Rody thought he’d go blind it was so bright! But he wouldn’t mind being blinded by this beautiful angel. She was the reason he was willing to put up with being the punching bag of two demons after all!
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Manon walked with purpose down the street, feeling rather thankful that the streets were pretty empty as she recognized the neighborhood that they were in. They were getting close to Rody’s job and well…From Rody’s own admission he was taking the day off because of a different set of issues and she didn’t want to get him in trouble with his boss. Well that and the other reason…

That other reason being that about halfway down this block Rody had wound up shrinking to the point where it was much faster and easier for Manon just to carry him rather than force him to walk. So she wrapped him up in his oversized clothes and carried his shoes in her other hand as Rody rested his head against her shoulder.

She could feel his intense blush burning against her neck, even with the scarf acting as a barrier between them. Not that Manon could really blame him! He barely looked four years old at this point and well if the roles were reversed Manon knew that she would be mortified. No. More than mortified. She’d probably have dropped dead from the sheer shock alone let alone whatever kind of panicked response Rody would have had…Granted, it probably would have felt nice to be cradled in his arms the way Manon was currently cradling him.

Just as she walked by La Gueule de Saturne, the front door opened. Manon sweated slightly, unable to fully hide Rody as the one man she didn’t want to see Rody looking like this had suddenly stopped in the doorway.

Rody waved shyly as he chirped, “Hi Vince!”

Vincent’s face looked crossed between total shock and looking like he wanted to stab somebody. He blinked, shook his head and then pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes.

“Lamoree, how many times do I have to tell you that my name is Vincent and not Vince?” Vincent huffed.

Rody shrugged before he returned to his previous task of idly fiddling with the end of Manon’s scarf. An action that cemented Manon’s decision that she very much wanted children in the future. Preferably with Rody as he was just so stinking cute right now that Manon wanted to eat him up!

Vincent gestured for Manon to follow him inside. She hesitated for a moment but followed regardless. Given that Vincent wasn’t at all freaking out right now and that Rody had acted so much like his usual self around him, maybe Vincent was already aware of whatever was making Rody shrink.

Vincent made his way to the kitchen and held the door open for Manon. She entered and looked around, marveling at the clean kitchen.

“I cleaned up the floors yesterday,” Rody chirped, earning him a soft kiss to the crown of his head from Manon. He grinned a lopsided grin at the affection.

“I can see that. You did a lovely job Rody,” Manon cooed as she continued to follow Vincent into his office.

Did the praise make Rody feel more like a preschooler being praised by his teacher than a man being complimented by his girlfriend, yes. Yes it did. Did that matter at all to Rody? Not entirely as it was still Manon who was complimenting him.

Vincent nodded to the blond man who left the office after taking one look at Rody. Rody peaked over Manon’s shoulder to wave to the man. The man nodded back in response. Rody pouted.

Vincent closed the door behind them to allow them some semblance of privacy. Manon looked around the office. It was definitely a more chic office than she had been expecting. But she could see how a place like this wasn’t necessarily designed for holding more than a few people at a time.

Vincent finally spoke, “Care to explain what had happened?”

Manon looked down at Rody as she answered, “Well I was walking by his apartment and we greeted each other like old times. The next thing I knew he shrunk and then regained his size.”

Rody’s flushed face and the hint of a blush on Manon’s face told Vincent that their greetings like old times involved far more than just saying hello to one another. A part of him felt horribly jealous of the woman holding Rody but…Vincent quickly squashed that jealous feeling down. He could nurse those feelings over a bottle of wine later. Right now he had a waiter to fix.

“We were going to see someone Manon knew to fix this and then…Then I got little and I haven’t turned back,” Rody added with a glum look,

“Someone you knew?” Vincent questioned as his gaze flicked from Rody onto Manon.

Manon sighed, “Yes. I…I know someone who can perform sorcellerie and well…I was hoping that she’d be willing to help me lift whatever kind of spell is doing this to Rody.”

Before Vincent could question Manon further, Louvet returned with a hot cup of tea. The sweet smell of peach filled the air as Louvet closed the door behind him.

Louvet tilted his head towards Vincent’s chair as he suggested to Manon, “I’d say we put the little guy down there. It’ll be a lot safer for him to be seated there than swaddled in your arms once I give him this.”

Manon looked unsure, but complied nonetheless. What other option did she have here? She wasn’t sure how much longer Rody would even be like this and…She didn’t want to think about trying to run with him to see Madeleine. It was too far from here and…Manon didn’t want to run the risk of the pile of his clothes to be empty when she got there.

She carefully arranged the clothes to give Rody some sense of dignity as he squirmed in the seat slightly. As embarrassing as it was, he did enjoy having Manon fuss over him. Maybe he should get cursed more often.

Manon straightened up after pressing one last kiss to Rody’s forehead before stepping aside to allow Louvet to approach. Louvet held the cup in his hand and knelt down to be closer to Rody’s current eye level.

“It’s hot and the cup is a bit heavy for you right now, so I’ll hold it steady for you to take a sip,” Louvet explained before he straightened up. Rody nodded as he peered inside of the cup. It was a warm orange color and the sweet smell made Rody relax further.

Rody then did as Louvet instructed and carefully took a sip of the tea. It felt hot going down, but it was more comforting than scalding. Like he was being given a warm hug by Manon or Vince-

Rody blinked, suddenly noticing that he was back to his normal height. He shook his head. Where had that thought about Vince come from? Why did his brain equate him to Manon?

Isolde’s words came back to mind, ‘I’d say you’re one of those greedy types. The ones that can’t decide whether men or women are better so you desire both.’

Louvet handed the cup to Rody, who accepted it with a grin. Manon held herself back from launching herself at Rody to hug him tightly. As tempting as it was, Manon didn’t want to overwhelm Rody. Especially if the tea only turned out to be a temporary fix…

Vincent spoke after a moment, “I’m guessing you left Tristan and Isolde back at your apartment.”

Rody grinned a sheepish grin, “Maaaaaaybe?”

“Meaning yes,” Vincent replied as he rolled his eyes.

Manon tilted her head as she asked, “Tristan and Isolde? The workers from the bakery? Why would they be at Rody’s apartment?”

“Bakery?” Vincent and Rody questioned simultaneously. They met each other’s gaze briefly before looking away. Their cheeks both flushed ever so slightly.

Louvet barked a hollow laugh as he turned away, “I should have known she was involved!”

The other three occupants of the room shared a confused look. Louvet carded a hand through his hair once more and took a few breaths to compose himself before he turned back to face the trio once more.

“My ex-wife Madeleine. She is a known practitioner of sorcellerie and I’m not at all surprised she has those two doing her dirty work,” Louvet explained when he noticed the confused faces around him.

Manon crossed her arms and tilted her head as she pondered, “But why would she get her employees involved in helping Rody? Are they helping him clean or teaching him or something?”

Vincent’s eyes narrowed as he posed a question of his own to Manon, “How do you know what that would entail, but not the full details?”

Manon met Vincent’s gaze as she answered, “Well…I paid her for a slice of cake that would give Rody a nudge in the right direction for when it came to fixing his life up. She never explained how it would do so, only that it would.”

Rody set down the cup of tea as he cried, “You paid a witch to cast a spell on me?! Manon, how could you?!”

“Rody you were tearing yourself apart and not doing anything to patch yourself back up! I-I didn’t want to see you work yourself into an early grave!” Manon replied as tears came to her eyes.

Rody stood before he crossed the room and gathered her into his arms. Rody could feel Vincent glaring daggers at him but Rody could care less. As hurt as he felt…Rody couldn’t bring himself to remain upset with her for long. Manon did seem truly upset by this revelation…

Louvet sighed deeply, “I’m not at all surprised that she didn’t give you all of the details. She’s also known for crafting unfair deals with her clients.”

Vincent continued his questioning of Manon when he asked, “What did she tell you? Did she show you anything that could have hinted at this?”

Manon pulled away from Rody and wiped off her face with her handkerchief. She could feel Rody rubbing her back and he was likely making that worried little puppy face that always made her feel ten times more guilty whenever she had done something that had hurt him. Yet each and every time, he forgave her as easily as he breathed…

“Sh-she told me that she would whip up a potion that would encourage him to reach certain things that I wanted him too,” Manon started to explain as she felt Rody cup her cheek. He brushed his thumb down from her cheekbone to her jaw, comforting her enough to continue. “These weren’t bad things, mind you! I just wanted to make sure he could take better care of himself and…and stop throwing away any and all personal progress just to please me in some sort of way. I…I love you Rody, but it hurts me to see you whittle every little part of you away in a bid to keep me happy.”

Rody laughed a small, bitter laugh as he hung his head, “I can’t say I blame you for turning to her, Manon. It would take some sort of magical interference to ever make something out of a pathetic freak like me.”

Rody found himself stunned when he felt a slap on both of his cheeks. His face stung as he noticed that both Manon and Vincent (when the hell did he move and get so close?!) had the hands positioned in post-slap position.

“D-don’t you ever say that about yourself again Rody!”

“Lamoree, you are many things but a pathetic freak isn’t one of them.”

Vincent and Manon shared a look after they had simultaneously scolded Rody. An odd sort of look flashed between their eyes and immediately one another understood at least one thing: Rody Lamoree meant something to them and they refused to allow him to keep belittling himself so easily.

Louvet looked over at Manon and asked, “I’m guessing she showed you her grimoire?”

Manon nodded as she lowered her hand and rubbed it. She didn’t want to hit Rody but…She just felt so angry and hurt by his words that she couldn’t think of much else to do…

“She showed me a specific set of pages. On one part of the page was a picture of a man who was being made to dance while two little imps poked him with pitchforks. The other part had some sort of strange text that I couldn’t understand…” Manon answered as she got on her thinking face. Rody always found the slight pout she got while thinking to be so adorable and so kissable. He honestly wished that there was less of an audience so he could-

“Anything else you can remember?” Vincent added as he placed a hand on his hip and carded his hand through his hair with the other.

Manon hummed, “Well as part of the spell I guess it was, I set my expectations onto some sort of scroll that doubled as a contract. The terms were in that same language I couldn’t understand from her grimoire but…She kept insisting that nothing bad would happen to Rody and that I should just sign it and…”

Her silence spoke for itself after that. Rody felt the hurt multiply and his chest felt tight and prickly. How could his beloved Manon, his chérie, just…sign something without being able to see what it entailed? For all any of them knew, she could have agreed to have Rody be the plaything of two demons for the rest of eternity! His chest went cold…

Rody trembled as his hand went to the side of his neck, drawing Vincent’s attention.

“Lamoree?” Vincent called, looking slightly confused.

Rody felt the spot where Isolde had bitten him as he said in a shaky voice, “I-I had a dream after eating that cake. Tristan and Isolde were both in it and said that-that my soul belonged to them. They bit my neck and when I woke up both marks were there and-and I…I still can’t believe that they made me agree to it…”

Louvet sighed a deep sigh as he shook his head, “This certainly complicates things. We need to find a way to get our hands on Lamoree’s contract to see what the entirety of his deal entails. In the meantime, we need to find some sort of way to keep him protected against whatever kind of tricks Tristan and Isolde have planned for him. I’ve dealt with those two enough times to know that once they dig their claws into someone that they won’t let go so easily.”

Louvet turned and walked over to the window. His shoulders slumped slightly. This wasn’t going to be an easy one to solve. Not with both of them involved. Whatever needed to be done to extract Rody from his deal had to be done quickly. Otherwise…Well he wouldn’t allow himself to think about that. There were far more pressing matters at hand and he would do his best not to show his worry to the younger three in the room.

He knew that they needed to lean on each other to get through this mess. Rody needed all of the help he could get and that started with making sure his support system was on board and wouldn’t kill each other when Rody’s back was turned. Although given the looks that Manon and Vincent were giving each other, which Louvet could see reflected in the window before him, that might be an even harder ask than extracting Rody from his contract without a fight.

Chapter Text

The trio quietly made their way back to Rody’s apartment. Manon clung onto Rody’s arm while Vincent kept his arm across the back of Rody’s shoulders to rest his hand on Rody’s left shoulder. Rody’s face was quite pink, but luckily for him neither Vincent nor Manon felt the need to comment on it. At least he had that going for him.

It was agreed back at the restaurant that both Manon and Vincent would keep quiet about what they now knew about Rody’s current situation. They just had to pretend that everything was normal and that Rody didn’t promise his immortal soul to two demons in exchange for some cooking lessons, cleaning supplies and a shiny new and improved self-esteem.

Rody snorted in his mind, ‘Yeah right. As if those two would be able to help build up my self-esteem. If anything they seem to be actively making it worse.’

Rody’s apartment building loomed overhead, casting a dark shadow on the three of them below. Manon’s hold on Rody’s arm tightened and Rody wrapped an arm around her waist. She rested her head against his shoulder, not missing the slightly jealous glint in Vincent’s eye.

Rody broke the silence when he whispered, “I really hope they left.”

“If they haven’t, you at least have backup this time,” Vincent reassured as he squeezed Rody’s shoulder.

Rody felt a bit more confident now. He knew that Vincent could easily hold his own in a fight, especially now that whatever odd spell that had affected the two of them was now lifted…He thinks. Rody wasn’t quite sure what Louvet had done but that heavy feeling wasn’t in Rody’s stomach anymore and he didn’t feel those random bouts of sadness like before. But who knew how long that would last?

Rody held open the front door to the main entrance and allowed Vincent and Manon to enter first. He then stopped at the wall mailboxes to retrieve his mail. His nose wrinkled at the sight of two bills and three advertisements. All three advertisements were marketing the same fad diet and trying to insinuate that the reader (in this case Rody) would be in dire need of it as-

Rody crumpled up the ads and tossed them into the lobby’s trash can a little more violently than he had intended to. He could already feel Manon’s concerned stare and Vincent’s unreadable one being focused on him. Rody shoved his hands into his pants pockets and kept his head down as he caught back up with Vincent and Manon on the first landing. Rody kept quiet as he unintentionally took the lead.

Rody just felt so tired and…He really hoped that nothing would make him snap. The last time he did wound up not only inconveniencing him, but it also inconvenienced Vincent. Between having to deal with Rody’s emotional outbursts and their…dreadful curse…Rody wouldn’t be surprised if Vincent hated him by the end of the day. And then Rody had to go and get Manon involved and…

Rody felt Vincent’s hand on his shoulder and he felt Manon’s hand on his other arm. He stopped walking about halfway down the hallway leading to his apartment. Did he really want to do this? Did he really want to bring them both into what could easily turn into a bloodbath if Rody couldn’t watch his mouth (which given his dull headache that was starting to grow ever sharper was a very strong possibility)?

“You don’t have to come in with me,” Rody stated as he tried to keep his voice even. He couldn’t bring himself to look at either Vincent or Manon. He knew that he couldn’t keep himself from breaking when he met their eyes. He had to stay strong. It was the only way to keep him safe.

Manon shook her head before she replied, “We want to come with you. Rody, you can’t shoulder this alone.”

Rody bit his bottom lip as he clenched his fists in his pocket. He could feel a slight tremor in his arms and he wanted nothing more than to just hide somewhere and sleep for a week. Maybe if he did that then Vincent and Manon would be safe.

Vincent noticed Rody’s silence and tremors, knowing exactly what was on Rody’s mind.

“We’ll be fine. I doubt they’ll try anything, especially if they remain under the impression that Manon isn’t aware of what’s going on,” Vincent quietly reassured as he squeezed Rody’s shoulder.

Rody wanted to believe Vincent, he really did but…Something in his gut told him that Tristan and Isolde were far more aware of their plans and who knew what than they let on. Sure, it could just be Rody being paranoid after everything he had gone through in the past three days (has it really only been three days? It felt like three years!) but…Rody doubted that. He couldn’t let his guard down. Not when he had the two people he cared about most in Paris right beside him.

Rody swallowed thickly and started walking once more. As much as he didn’t want to return back to his apartment, what real choice did he have? Sure, he could replace just about everything in that apartment eventually but…He didn’t want to leave his trusty steed (his bike) nor his father’s guitar behind…Not the two things that brought him so much comfort when he had nobody to hold or talk to.

Before they knew it, they were in front of the apartment door. Rody checked the doorknob and found it unlocked. He groaned slightly at what that would imply. He felt Vincent give his shoulder another squeeze and he felt Manon give him a peck on the cheek. A small shrivel of warmth bloomed amidst the frigid, icy feeling that his anxiety had caused. At least he wasn’t alone this time…

With that last thought, and a deep breath in and out, Rody twisted the doorknob once more and pushed the door open. Come what may, there was only one thing he had on his mind. No matter what the risk was to him, he wouldn’t let anything happen to Vincent or Manon.

Chapter Text

When the door finally opened, Rody stepped inside first. If there was going to be any kind of mystical retribution because he had opted to step out and get his curse lifted, Rody wanted to take the brunt of it. He’d already been cursed and hexed and injured by the pair of demons enough times by now to know that he could handle it. What was a bit more pain, right?

“Well, well, well, look who finally came back home,” A familiar voice huffed.

Rody noticed that Isolde was leaning by the kitchen counters whilst Tristan was nowhere to be seen. That never boded well. Between the two of them Rody would rather know where Tristan was given his…recent cruel streak. The last thing Rody wanted was to suddenly be subjected to that de-aging curse again…Or have it combined with something that affected his memory. Then he really wouldn’t be able to look either Manon or Vincent in the eye ever again.

Rody replied with a slight grumble in his voice, “Well excuse me for trying to reestablish my social life. I have guests over.”

Vincent and Manon entered, both pretending that they hadn’t heard Isolde’s snippy tone with Rody. As much as Vincent wanted to stab the demon and Manon wanted to follow that up with a smack with a steel chair…Neither one wanted to reveal their knowledge quite yet. Not until they could find a way to get the upper hand.

Isolde plastered on a fake smile as her gaze flickered over to Rody with a glint in her eyes that promised him a new world of pain once Vincent and Manon left. But for now she had to play the role of civil guest, something that Rody would take immense pleasure in for as long as he could.

Manon looked around the apartment. True to his word, Rody had cleaned up the piles of trash that were there when Manon came over just a few days ago. His sink also was clear of dishes. Not a bad start, but…Well Manon wouldn’t dwell on what caused Rody to clean up. A guilty twinge in her stomach let Manon know that she likely wouldn’t be able to sleep very well tonight. At the very least it looked like Rody was doing more than just being the punching bag for two irritable demons…

“Where’s your buddy Tristan? I thought the two of you were a package deal?” Rody asked, smirking slightly at the annoyed glimmer in Isolde’s eyes.

They both knew she couldn’t lash out with an audience around. Not if she wanted to maintain her cover anyways. As much as Rody knew he would pay for this later, he knew he had to savor every little opportunity to get in some sort of dig in or annoy her he could find. It only felt right after everything she had done to him over the past three days.

Isolde somehow managed to keep her smile on her face as she replied in a faux happy voice, “Why Tristan had to run out to get some more cleaning supplies! Your apartment is quite the trainwreck and you really don’t keep anything around that would be useful to keeping it as clean as it should be.”

Rody, for his credit, managed to keep a grin on his face despite the way his jaw clenched. It took everything in him not to respond to Isolde’s obvious attempt to rile him up. He wouldn’t blow up. Not in front of Manon. Vincent well…He and Vincent had a fight yesterday so it wouldn’t be nearly as disastrous if Vincent saw Rody get a little hot under the collar.

“In the meantime, why don’t we try and get started on dinner? There’s no point in trying to work on an empty stomach,” Manon suggested with a slightly nervous smile.

Rody immediately fell into lovesick puppy mode as he nodded and smiled that goofy little smile that always made Manon giggle. He hung onto every little trill of her laughter. It would be a happy sound he could think of whenever things felt too tough with Tristan and Isolde. That cute smile, the way her eyes sparkled, and even the soft breathiness her voice got anytime she had been laughing. All endearing qualities that she had to remind him of why he was so determined to fulfill his end of the bargain in the first place.

Vincent sighed softly as he adjusted his sleeves, “Then we better get started. Lamoree, if you would be so kind as to assist me.”

Rody’s eyes glittered and he didn’t miss that for a brief moment it looked like Isolde swallowed a lemon. Good. She once again gets denied the opportunity to abuse him with a spatula as he tries to learn how to cook. Rody could get used to this!

“A-are you sure Vince? I mean I’ve burnt cereal in the past,” Rody replied with a slightly sheepish look.

Vincent gave Rody a sharp look as he replied, “The point is that you learn so you don’t burn every dish you try to cook and the only way to learn how to cook is to get practical experience. Theoretical know-how can only take you so far in a kitchen.”

Manon noticed the odd look in Isolde’s eyes and decided to take action. She grabbed the other woman’s hands and suggested, “Why don’t we talk while these two work? I’m really curious about your job with Madame Olivier!”

Isolde’s eyes briefly flashed in panic before her mask of joy returned. Vincent noticed the flicker of fear in her eyes and filed that little tidbit away for later. Even if he couldn’t always be here to protect Rody, that didn’t mean he couldn’t supply Rody with valuable information that could prove to be the difference between life and death.

“But of course! What is it that you were curious about?” Isolde replied as she allowed Manon to drag her to Rody’s couch.

Rody could almost cry he was so relieved. With Manon keeping Isolde occupied and Vincent taking on the role of teaching Rody some sort of valuable cooking skill, Rody was spared from Isolde’s wrath for at least a little while longer. The longer he went without another round of her specific brand of torture, the better.

Manon chirped, “Well, what kind of baked goods are your favorite to make? You certainly have a large variety in the shop.”

Rody could feel Vincent’s eyes on him, so the auburn haired waiter turned to meet the cool stare of the dark-haired chef.

“What’s wrong Vince?” Rody questioned as he tilted his head.

Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose as he answered, “It’s Vincent and I can’t find any sharp knives in any of your drawers or cabinets.”

Rody furrowed his brows as he scooted over to the drawer Vincent was inspecting. Rody took a look inside as well. It was definitely his cutlery drawer! Not like he had enough sharp knives to warrant owning a knife block nor did he really cook enough before to need more than one sharp knife but…

“H-huh? I could have sworn I put it away after it was dried,” Rody mumbled as he got his thinking face on.

He pulled up his silverware organizer, a gift from his mother from when he had gotten his first apartment. Rody looked underneath it to see if maybe he had misplaced his trusty steak knife but it wasn’t there either…

Rody set the organizer down as he looked over at Vincent, “Did you use it at all after lunch?”

Vincent crossed his arms as he closed his eyes in thought. A part of him could vaguely recall having the knife on him at some point but…where it went and what he did with it escaped him. Could that be connected to the blood he had wiped off of his mouth earlier? But whose blood was it and why was it on his mouth?

“I…I can’t really remember…” Vincent replied hesitantly. Why couldn’t he remember? Surely he’d know where he put something as important as the only sharp knife in Rody’s house, right? How else were they supposed to proceed with Rody’s cooking lessons if there wasn’t a knife to start teaching him knife cuts with?

Rody patted Vincent’s shoulder reassuringly, “Hey, don’t worry about it. We still have the leftover soup from lunch! We could figure out something else to make it a bit more substantial.”

Vincent didn’t feel at all reassured by Rody’s touch or words. Instead a bit of guilt settled in the pit of his stomach. How could Vincent have lost something of Rody’s, especially considering Rody had so little to his name to begin with? While Rody didn’t seem at all bothered by the loss of his only sharp knife, it still didn’t sit right with Vincent.

The chef looked over at the clock briefly and nodded to himself. Yes. That would do wonderfully. There was plenty of time to accomplish this task.

Vincent looked over at Rody before he stated, “I’ll be back shortly.”

Vincent started to make his way to the front door. Rody followed Vincent with a confused look on his face. He could feel Manon and Isolde’s eyes following after him and a soft pause in their conversation about desserts. Rody turned slightly to give Manon a soft wave, which reassured her enough to return to her conversation with Isolde.

“Where are you going?” Rody asked with a small sliver of fear tinging his voice.

While he loved Manon very dearly, Rody wasn’t sure how well she would be able to hold her own if Isolde decided that she was done playing nice. Rody knew that he would buy Manon as much time as possible for her to get away safely but…The look in her eyes earlier told Rody that she would refuse to leave him behind in the lady demon’s clutches. But if Vincent was around, both he and Rody could at least work together to fend Isolde off so Manon could run to safety or call in backup.

Vincent waited until he and Rody were in the hallway and the door was closed to respond, “I’m getting you an actual knife set.”

Rody blinked, “Wh-huh? A knife set?”

“Yes Rody. Like the kind the chefs and I use at the bistro. You honestly can’t expect to get very far in learning how to cook if you only limit yourself to what you can cut with a steak knife,” Vincent explained in an impatient voice.

Rody felt a nervous sweat crop up as he spat out, “A-aren’t those super expensive though?”

Vincent shrugged, “Does it really matter? I somehow misplaced your only sharp knife, so it’s only fair that I give you something to replace it.”

Rody felt his cheeks grow warm. Vincent really cared enough to do something so…nice for Rody? Why did that feel so…good? Rody knew that he probably would be bullied into getting proper knives at some point. So if Vincent gifted him the knives now…maybe Rody could be spared whatever kind of “persuasion” Tristan or Isolde had in mind when that topic came up. Plus the money that would have gone towards those knives could be allocated to a different project…

“Thanks Vince,” Rody smiled a soft smile that made Vincent’s heart start beating just a bit quicker than before.

Vincent turned away to hide the fact that his own cheeks were starting to grow warm and his insides were starting to feel like a warm puddle of goop, “I’ll try not to take too long.”

With that Vincent made his way to the stairwell, walking with a sense of purpose and a poise that Rody could only dream of having. Rody sighed somberly. Sometimes he found himself feeling horribly jealous of Vince. How could he not be? Vince was not only younger than Rody, but also far more successful both financially and socially. The list of Vince’s accomplishments were long enough to wrap around the city twice over whereas Rody didn’t have enough accomplishments to count on one hand.

But Rody also knew that stewing in jealousy wouldn’t actually solve anything here. Vince was trying his best to help Rody here, so Rody could at least shove that jealousy aside for now. If someone had seen him and Vince last week and told them that they would be teaming up to foil the plans of two demons, they might have had that person committed to an asylum for saying something so outlandish. But now…Well now Rody was actually living that outlandish scenario. At least he knew that if something serious ever came up again that he could count on Vince wanting to help him out.

Rody sighed softly as he turned around to re-enter his apartment only to feel a very familiar hand grab his shoulder.

“Why don’t we have a little chat outside, Rody?” Tristan purred into Rody’s ear.

Rody shivered slightly at how Tristan’s hot breath tickled his ear. Rody glared at Tristan sharply. Where did he come from? And why couldn’t Rody hear him approaching?

“And if I don’t want to?” Rody questioned as he felt Tristan start to increase the strength in his grip on Rody’s shoulder. Not nearly enough to hurt him but…enough to remind Rody about who had the greater physical prowess here.

Tristan cooed cruelly, “Then I guess your girlfriend wouldn’t mind hearing about how you’re practically drooling over your boss.”

Rody’s eyes widened as his blush deepened and his heart started pounding harder than before. What? No, no! Rody wasn’t interested in Vince like that! It was just-Well how could Rody not notice that Vince was a good looking guy?! Other guys noticed those things too right!?...Right?

Rody turned around to face Tristan, who was smirking at the sight of Rody’s reddened cheeks. Rody narrowed his eyes into a harsh glare, which wasn’t nearly as effective given how red he was in the face and how the tips of his ears were starting to go pink.

“Fine. But keep your voice down,” Rody grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Tristan wrapped an arm around Rody’s shoulders, grinning at the harsh glare Rody was giving him in return.

“Oh alright. I’ll be a good boy for now,” Tristan responded as he and Rody started to make their way to the stairwell.

Rody didn’t like the way Tristan was holding him nor the smug look on his face. The demon in question was up to something…Something that Rody knew would end badly. He could only pray that Vince and Manon were spared and that it would only be Rody taking on the entirety of whatever Tristan had planned. Rody didn’t want either of them to fall to the effects of a curse again…Especially not Vince. He looked more than shaken enough for a lifetime.

Chapter Text

The sun was starting to get lower in the sky and the air was starting to get cool. Rody could feel a slight shiver go up his spine at the sudden change in temperature, but other than that he was fine. The cold never really seemed to bother him anyways. It must be part of his more robust immune system or something…

Rody opened his mouth to ask Tristan what he had wanted to talk about so badly when Tristan stated, “We should head somewhere a little more private. I don’t want us to be overheard.”

Rody snorted as he looked around, “We’re on a public sidewalk in Paris. It’s not like there’s many places around here that we could chat without someone hearing a little bit of our conversation.”

Tristan looked around the area himself. Either he was ignoring Rody or he was trying to come up with some sort of ominous response that would make Rody nervous. Both seemed very possible given Tristan’s shift in mood. Wasn’t it just the other day that Tristan was kind enough to help Rody settle down from a panic attack triggered by a nightmare? Where had that Tristan gone? And how could Rody somehow convince him to be nice like that again?

Tristan still had a hold on Rody and dragged Rody alongside him as he walked down the nearby alleyway. Rody looked over to the dumpster and blushed. It wasn’t that long ago that he had Manon seated on the lid and was-

Rody touched his bottom lip and smiled that goofy little smile that always graced his face on matters relating to Manon. Er well the more positive matters relating to Manon anyways. Her lips were still as soft as ever and he was able to taste the slight bitterness of the coffee she preferred alongside the tang of whatever kind of fruit filling was in the dessert she had with her coffee when he had kissed her. The way she wrapped her legs around him and had caged him in so that there was no real choice other than to keep kissing her…

“This will have to do,” Tristan’s voice pulled Rody out of his fantasizing about Manon and their activities earlier. Rody looked over with a grumpy look on his face. This had better be something super important. Rody hated to be interrupted when he was thinking about Manon, especially after getting to see her and hold her and-

A whap to the back of the head brought Rody back to reality once more. He glared at Tristan as he rubbed the back of his head. The demon in question had finally removed his arm from around Rody’s shoulders to cross them behind his own head. Tristan grinned a smug, teasing grin in spite of Rody’s glare.

“Finally! Does that widdle girlfriend of yours really distract you that easily?” Tristan teased with a cruel glimmer in his eyes.

Rody moved a lot quicker than Tristan had anticipated. Before the demon could fully register it, Rody had Tristan pinned to the wall in the alleyway next to the dumpster. There were only two inches of height between them but…Given the harsh look on Rody’s face it felt more like twenty. Tristan looked at Rody with an almost impressed look on his face. Perhaps he really didn’t think Rody was capable of actually taking him off guard like that or he thought that Rody wouldn’t think to do so after the events of the past two days. Given that Tristan had literally had control over how old or young Rody looked for a little while there…It was clear Tristan was mostly banking on the latter assumption.

“Don’t. Even. Think. About. Hurting. Her,” Rody growled each word in a low voice, each syllable dripping with anger. His eyes had that wild and dangerous look to them that made them look more silvery than green.

“What’s wrong? Scared I’m gonna make your girlfriend teeny tiny like I did to you earlier?” Tristan cooed in a simpering tone that had Rody clenching his teeth and narrowing his eyes dangerously.

Rody pulled back an arm to deliver a punch to Tristan’s gut but it was blocked by Tristan’s hand catching it. Tristan chuckled at the increasingly angry look on Rody’s face.

Tristan tilted his head as he asked in a cruel, almost childish voice, “Does she really have you whipped so badly that you’re willing to throw away your promise to be a nicer guy just to defend her honor?”

Rody opted to keep quiet and just let Tristan keep running his mouth. The more Tristan kept talking and taunting, the easier it would be for Rody to find reasons to beat the snot out of him. The easier it would be on his conscience to allow the anger to overtake him and vent his frustrations in a more…physical way. Manon didn’t have to know what Rody was planning or doing at all times. He wasn’t her child or pet no matter how devoted he was to her. Rody was still his own man who could make decisions on his own and right now he was deciding which one of Tristan’s teeth he would knock out first.

Tristan continued his mocking questioning, “What’s wrong? Manon got your tongue?”

Rody wrenched his fist out of Tristan’s grasp and raised it to aim for Tristan’s face. Just as Rody thought it would finally make contact, Tristan disappeared and Rody’s fist slammed into the brick wall instead. Rody bit down a yell until only a low whine passed through his tightly pressed lips. He could feel blood starting to bubble up from his scraped knuckles and he cradled his hand close to inspect the damage done more closely.

Rody sighed in relief that there wasn’t any discoloration or pain that would have indicated a broken bone. Just a couple of bleeding scrapes that a few bandages could cover up.

Rody felt a set of hands on his shoulder turn him around before he was slammed back against the brick wall. Rody blinked away the little floaty lights he saw when the back of his head made contact with the wall. When he managed to clear up his vision, Rody could who had pinned him so violently to the wall. It was-

“M-manon? Ch-chérie? Wh-what are you-” Rody was cut off when Manon placed a finger to his lips.

She shushed him softly before she whispered in a needy voice, “Roooodyyyy. I want you. I need you.”

Rody was confused. Where was Tristan? Why had Manon shown up and pinned him to the wall so violently? Where had that strength come from? Wh-

Rody’s thoughts were interrupted once more when he felt Manon snake a hand up underneath his shirt and she drew closer. Rody’s head was starting to spin as his stomach twitched at the ghosting of her fingers over his sensitive skin. Her lips captured his and she nibbled on his bottom lip to draw out a few low moans out of Rody.

She pulled away just enough to whisper, “Do you like that, Rody?”

Only the voice wasn’t Manon’s voice. It was Tristan’s.

Rody trembled as he tried to pull “Manon’s” hand from underneath his shirt but his traitorous body wouldn’t comply. He felt the hand go up to his chest and rest over his racing heart.

“Isn’t this interesting? You’d let that sweet girlfriend of yours just manhandle you and in a public space no less,” Tristan cooed, his face and body still resembling Manon’s.

Rody couldn’t muster the same anger as before. Not now. Not when he was staring at what looked like Manon. Not when.

Rody was pulled in for another, deeper kiss this time and his mind was filled with nothing but the desire to continue. He could still feel the hand underneath his shirt caressing his pec to draw soft shivers out of him. Those soft lips Rody was starting to crave more than anything pulled away, making Rody whine needily.

“Although…I do wonder whether you’d also like this,” Tristan chuckled.

Rody felt the hand grow colder and larger underneath his shirt. The shivers intensified as he could suddenly smell the smoke of a cigarette and feel a familiar intimidating frame keeping him pinned to the wall.

Rody opened his eyes, seeing Vincent standing there rather than the form of Manon. There was a part of his mind that was screaming at him that this was wrong. He didn’t like Vince that way! He didn’t like men that way! He-

“You like this, don’t you Lamoree,” Rody could hear Vincent’s voice this time.

Rody let out a shuddery protest, “I-I don’t! I-I’m not-”

Vincent chuckled a low chuckle that had Rody’s face burning and shifting his footing ever so slightly. Rody knew Vincent could tell exactly why Rody had repositioned himself given how close they were.

“Your body says otherwise,” Vincent continued as his cold hand continued to paw around underneath Rody’s shirt. “You want a taste so desperately, don’t you?”

Rody shivered as he closed his eyes, shaking his head frantically. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be felt up in an alleyway. He-he wanted to be someplace warmer, safer, more private. He-

Rody’s eyes snapped open when he heard the chuckles shift from Vincent’s voice back into Tristan’s. Tristan still kept the visage of Vincent, smirking all the same as he teased, “I knew I was right. You do like both.”

Rody found enough of a voice to protest, “G-get off of me! I-I don’t want this!”

Tristan chuckled a dark chuckle. Rody could only watch as he saw an odd glimmer in the eyes of what looked like his boss. The hand withdrew slowly from underneath Rody’s shirt, sending more shivers up and down Rody’s spine.

A quick motion had both of “Vincent’s” hands grabbing the backside of Rody’s thighs and lifting him up high enough for Rody to wrap his legs around “Vinent’s” waist. Rody had no warning before his lips were captured in another kiss.

Rody could taste the bitterness of the soup from earlier mingled with the tobacco of the cigarettes Vincent loved to smoke. Rody wanted to push Tristan away. To make him stop but…Rody found himself practically melting into the kiss. He found himself wrapping his legs around “Vincent’s” waist and running a hand through that dark, soft looking hair that was the envy of most men in the kitchen.

A soft nibble on his bottom lip prompted Rody to moan a soft moan and allow “Vincent’s” tongue to enter his mouth. Rody wanted air. Needed air. But…This felt far too good to stop.

There was a war going on his head right now. A part of him was repulsed that he would allow a man, a man that looked like his boss no less, just manhandle and makeout with him in a public space. But there was another side of him that screamed back that this felt good so who cared. A third side chimed in that it wasn’t the first time Rody had noticed that a man was attractive and wanted his attention, so shut up first side you ignorant fuck.

“Rody? Are you-”

All of a sudden Rody was pulled straight out of his makeout session by the voice of Manon suddenly at the other end of the alleyway.

Rody could see from here the shock on her face and how she had started shaking.

“M-manon! Chérie, it's not what it looks like!” Rody exclaimed as he pushed on “Vincent’s” shoulders to let him down.

Tristan complied, straightening out the chef coat and looking triumphantly at Manon.

Manon marched up to Rody and slapped him much harder than she had back in Vincent’s office. Rody held his injured cheek and kept his gaze focused on the brick wall that he had previously been pinned against.

“H-how could you?! Is-is this some kind of sick game to you?! Do you lead all women on like this only to run around and-and sleep with your bosses on the side!?” Manon shouted in a hurt voice.

Rody brought himself to look at Manon and felt his heart snap in two, no three million little pieces. Tears were running down her face, her pretty, pretty face. An angry flush had blossomed on her cheeks and she was shaking.

Rody whispered, “Manon, please. I-I would never-”

Manon sniffed indignantly, “Oh really? You would never what? Never think you’d get caught? Unfortunately for you I saw everything! I saw how you pretty much invited your boss to stick his tongue down your throat and moan like-like some cheap whore!”

Rody winced as tears started to spill down his cheeks and a cold feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Rody fell to his knees and reached out to take Manon’s hands but his own were slapped away.

“Please, Manon, please! I-I’m sorry! I-I tried to fight it! I really did!” Rody cried, still reaching out to her and getting his hands slapped away each time.

“Did I ever mean anything to you?” Manon spat before she slapped Rody’s face once more. “Did you even care about me? Or did you like having a cover story so you could go around bedding half the men in Paris without judgement?”

Rody held his cheek, trembling underneath Manon’s tear-filled yet harsh glare. Rody bowed his head as he moved his hand from his cheek to his chest. His lungs were burning from his heavy sobbing.

Rody cried, “You mean everything to me! Manon, I wouldn’t agree to sell my soul just to trick you! Chérie-”

“Don’t ‘chérie’ me! Rody Lamoree you are the scum of the earth. Don’t bother trying to call me or I will call the police and tell them exactly what kind of man you are. We’re done. I was a fool to give you this last chance,” Manon replied coldly as she turned away from Rody.

Rody didn’t try to reach out to Manon. He didn’t rise off of his feet to try and follow her to beg for her forgiveness. He didn’t even say anything in response to her. He sat there with a growing numbness washing over him as the tears continued to fall.

As soon as Manon was a good way’s away, Tristan returned to his normal appearance and he patted Rody’s shoulder.

“You really fucked up this time, huh Rody?” Tristan cooed as he watched Rody continue to cry quietly.

Rody didn’t look over or respond. What could he even say? What difference would it make?

Tristan chuckled as he crouched in front of Rody, “Guess that means you’re stuck with Isolde and I for a good while longer, huh?”

Rody broke into heavy sobs, burying his face in his hands. He didn’t fight against him when Tristan nudged Rody to rest his head against Tristan’s shoulder. He didn’t shrug off the arm Tristan had wrapped around his heaving shoulders. Rody just wanted to curl up and soak in any shred of comfort that was offered to him after…

Rody didn’t care about what that meant for the state of his soul or whether his contract was now voided. He didn’t care whether he would be killed now and be forced into the role of plaything for two demons for the rest of eternity. He didn’t even care if he spent the rest of the night in the alleyway.

His Manon. His reason for everything. His will to keep going in spite of the overwhelming odds. She was done with him. Had tossed him aside like the trash that Rody had tossed out earlier. And Rody didn’t know what was worse. The pain he felt after getting his heart ripped out so brutally or the fact that he felt he had deserved this pain.

Chapter Text

Manon didn’t wait to see if Rody would run after her. She just kept moving farther and farther away from a section of the city she would never dare to step foot into again. Away from the man who had her worried over nothing! He would be perfectly fine! He had that boss of his to suck face with after all! He didn’t need Manon to do that anymore!

How could he be so-so-so selfish!? Wasn’t Manon more than enough for him? Why did he need to have both Vincent and Manon to fool around with? What happened to his whole spiel about waiting until marriage before having sex? Was that just a lie to cover up the fact that Rody was likely getting speared by his boss after work?

Manon paused in her mindless wandering. She found herself in front of a very familiar restaurant. No. Not the one Rody worked at…well not now anyways. This was where they had met. It felt like it was only yesterday that they had first met…
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It was raining that day and Manon had just finished her last class for the day. It wasn’t easy being one of the only women in her journalism class but she had to make sure that her writing skills were polished to perfection. Both of her parents were renowned restaurant critics and in order to follow in their footsteps Manon knew that she had to be able to craft reviews with her pen that were as dazzling as the dishes she would get to sample.

Her next assignment was simple enough. She had to conduct an interview with someone working in the service industry. Her parents had such excellent connections that she wouldn’t have to worry too much about not having enough candidates to choose from. Of course her only worry was that whomever she was interviewing wouldn’t be completely honest with her. Not because they wanted to be maliciously deceptive or anything! No, no! But perhaps they might bend the truth to avoid upsetting her and by extension her parents.

Manon rested her head on her hand as she watched the rain splatter against the window. Maybe she couldn’t rely on her parents for this one.

‘Now what am I going to do?’ Manon thought as she continued to watch the rain.

She noticed movement out of the corner of her eye and looked over to see that a strawberry milkshake had been placed in front of her. Her eyes traveled up the arm to see a rather handsome man standing before her.

His eyes were a lovely shade of greenish-gray that complimented his tanned complexion. His auburn hair was cut in a short, choppy style that was in fashion amongst some of the other young men at her university. The two moles on his one cheek led your attention back onto those expressive eyes of his. He wore the same bright teal colored top that the rest of the wait staff wore, which went very well with the black slacks he wore.

“U-um, I don’t recall ordering this,” Manon smiled politely. Maybe she had ordered this? No, that didn’t seem right. She would have remembered if the waiter who had escorted her to her seat was this cute.

The waiter rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly as a soft blush tinted his cheeks a warm pink color. He explained in a nervous voice, “I-I um…I noticed that you looked upset and…Well milkshakes often make me feel better and well-Sorry!”

Manon giggled softly at his fluster, which only made him blush harder and looked even more flustered. So he was just trying to be nice? How adorable!

Manon decided to have mercy on the poor man and replied, “Why thank you! That was very kind of you…”

“R-rody! Umm, my name is Rody. Rody Lamoree,” the waiter stammered as he almost dropped his serving tray. Just from looking at him, Manon could tell he was getting sweaty palms from being so nervous.

Manon was about to introduce herself when a bark came from the front of the little restaurant, “Lamoree! Flirt on your own time! You still need to bus table seven!”

Rody jumped slightly, actually dropping the serving tray this time. He hastily picked it up as he rushed off with his own call of, “Coming Madame Gusteau!”

Manon watched Rody scurry off and giggled as she pulled the strawberry milkshake closer to her. She took a sip of it as she thought, ‘Maybe he’ll agree to be interviewed for my assignment. He seems nice enough.’
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One interview had turned into getting coffee at the university café, which funny enough they were both in the hospitality program! Or well they used to be. Rody had recently had to drop out due to financial problems at home and opted to work in the service industry to hopefully save up enough money to finish paying for not only his degree but whatever extra expenses came up with it.

“So what do you want to do once you get your hospitality degree?” Manon asked as she passed another sugar over to Rody.

Rody accepted the sugar packet and his cheeks flushed from the brief contact their hands made. Manon smiled and giggled, which made Rody’s face light up.

Rody shook the sugar packet to ensure it was good and loose enough to pour into his coffee before he spoke, “Well…I know I want to do something with the restaurant industry but as for what I’m not quite sure. Maybe I’ll open up a food truck or something…”

Manon tilted her head slightly as she took one of the buttery cookies from the plate sitting between them, “A food truck?”

“Yeah! A restaurant on wheels! Think about it! It could be an entirely new and untapped industry just waiting to happen!” Rody exclaimed, gesturing excitedly as he spoke. He got a bit too excited and stood up part way through his rambling.

Rody blinked, realized that people were staring at him and he sat down with a heavier flush on his cheeks than before. Manon patted his arm comfortingly.

“Well the novelty of the idea alone would surely bring people in,” Manon commented as she dipped one of the cookies into her coffee. Rody watched as she took a bite. He looked like he thought was in the presence of an angel.

Rody mumbled, “W-well I mean I haven’t quite decided on what it would even sell…I can remember Papa mentioning that they were very popular after the war ended.”

Manon hummed in thought. The idea sounded like one a child would come up with. Half-baked and not properly thought out logistically. But on the other hand she had to give Rody credit for creativity. He knew that the market wasn’t flooded with the idea and he would have been able to bank on people looking for novelty and people who craved a bit of nostalgia. Although…

Manon pondered, “Would it be legal though? Since it would technically fall under being a food vendor and they don’t want food vendors on the streets anymore.”

Rody rested his head on his hand and snagged a cookie from the plate. He nibbled on it as Manon watched the gears turn in his head. She could see several emotions flicker through his eyes as he thought. At least he wasn’t a total idiot like his classmates made him out to be.

Rody finally spoke after he had finished his little snack, “Well picnics aren’t illegal. I could prepare meals to be enjoyed on a picnic, park in a park and sell those. I could even sell blankets to have the picnic on in case people don’t want to get grass stains on their clothes.”

“Are you sure you didn’t study law? That sounds like the kind of loophole a lawyer would point out,” Manon teased, enjoying the way Rody seemed to hang onto her every word.

Rody laughed a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. Manon had to admit, there was something charming about this man’s raw honesty and exuberance. The way he wore his heart on his sleeve loudly and proudly.

“I-I mean I used to be sweet on a girl who studied pre-law,” Rody explained with a slightly sad smile. He jumped as soon as he noticed what he had said and quickly waved his hands as he nervously added, “N-not that you’d want to hear me ramble about another girl or anything! I-I know it’s not really-I mean-...I’ll be quiet now.”

Manon reached out and took his hands in hers, making Rody’s face burn so hot she was surprised it hadn’t combusted by now. They were clammy from his nervous sweating but…the way they instinctively enclosed hers in a gentle squeeze told Manon everything she needed to know. Rody Lamoree was an affectionate man, one given to great passions and emotions. He was a dreamer who looked like he could reach his dreams if given the opportunity. Maybe that was what Manon needed instead of one of the young men from an established family like her parents had been suggesting. He was certainly much cuter than those wastes of breath.

Manon smiled a gentle smile as she asked, “Rody? Would you like to go out for dinner some time? I’d love to spend some more time with you.”

Rody’s eyes widened and he smiled such a wide smile Manon was sure that it hurt. He looked excited. Almost like a puppy being shown their favorite toy.

“I-I’d love to! Wh-what time? Where would you like to go? I umm…I can get flowers and-”

Manon laughed sweetly as she placed a finger over Rody’s lips, “Relax silly. You don’t have to worry so much. I’ll take you to my favorite haunt this Friday night at around six o-clock. I get out of class then and we can chat more.”

Rody had looked at Manon like she had just given him a million euros. She knew that he was practically bursting with excitement but was trying his best to restrain it in a public space. While she may not wind up staying with him long term, at least the interim would be a nice one. It could help her forget about her last disastrous relationship with that ass Richard from her economics class.
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Manon sighed softly as she allowed herself to sit in one of the outdoor seats. The umbrella over the table was in that same teal color that was a major part of the restaurant’s branding. Something about the owner being enchanted by a diner she had seen in America and wanting to bring that vibe to Paris.

Manon heard the jingle of the bell to the restaurant’s front door and watched as a waitress dressed in a bright teal dress approached her. She handed Manon a menu as she greeted, “Welcome to L'Américaine à Paris! Is there anything I can get you to start?”

Manon smiled a slightly somber smile as she replied, “I’d like one of your strawberry milkshakes if you still have them, please.”

The waitress smiled brightly, “But of course! The strawberries are especially fresh this time of year! I’ll go put that in with the chef right away!”

Manon watched her retreat back inside and allowed herself to sigh. Even when she was upset with him, Manon couldn’t help order something relating to Rody. He had unintentionally gotten her hooked on the damn things and…Well why not have one as a last hurrah before she swears off of the things entirely? She needed to start her life anew and that would start with her getting rid of everything that she had that came from Rody.

Manon knew herself well enough to now that if she let anything remain behind that she would just be tempted to go back to him again. She would go back no matter how many times he had hurt her with his behavior. Because Manon was just as pathetically in love with Rody as he was with her.

Chapter Text

Rody laid on his couch, just staring up at the ceiling. His thin blanket was strewn over him and did little to offer him any sort of warmth or comfort. The lights were off and he couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than just lay there. His head was pounding but he didn’t want to even stumble his way to the bathroom to take a painkiller. He didn’t even want to get a drink. Not water. Not even the cold beer in his fridge that was calling to him like a siren.

His eyes felt rubbed raw and his throat hurt from all the sobbing. In short, Rody felt like shit. How could he not? Manon had brought his hopes up only to rip them away from him so callously…But he couldn’t blame her. Not really. From her perspective he was unfaithful to her. He had another man’s tongue in his mouth and had his legs wrapped around another man’s waist as though his life depended on it.

The one mercy that Rody had going for him was that Isolde and Tristan weren’t there to add to his misery. Instead he had allowed Tristan to lead him back upstairs and tuck him onto the couch and Isolde had shut the lights off on their way out. It was an oddly kind thing to do, an almost human kind of kindness but…Rody couldn’t be bothered to think about the semantics of what constituted human behavior and what constituted demon behavior. He just wanted to lay on his couch until he rotted away completely.

He heard the jingle of keys and his door lock unlocking before it was pushed open. Rody moaned softly to himself. Just great. Now he had to look Vincent in the eye and explain everything that had happened.

Vincent had noticed that the lights were off and flicked them back on. Rody huffed as he pushed himself into a sitting position. He really just wanted to sleep for a month at least. If not longer. Reality sucked and he just wanted to get away from it for a good long while.

Vincent set the bag in his hand down onto Rody’s kitchen counter. It presumably contained the knife set he had been talking about getting Rody. A darker part of Rody kept whispering about what he should do with those new knives.

‘Go ahead. Take them. Use them to get rid of all that pain you’re feeling. You know you want to,’ the darker part of Rody’s mind whispered.

He looked down at his hands, remembering his nightmare about his skin being marked up like cattle ready for slaughter. The darker part of his mind kept whispering about using those knives to follow the pattern he had seen in his nightmare-

“Didn’t you hear me? I asked where Isolde and-” Vincent’s voice cut through Rody’s spiraling ever so briefly. He had been talking? Huh. Rody wasn’t sure why he couldn’t hear it…

The darker part of Rody’s mind whispered once more, ‘He sounds mad. Can’t you do anything other than upset the people around you? Useless waste of space.’

Rody curled in on himself ever so slightly, holding himself in a loose hold. He missed the way that Vincent’s face shifted from his typical slightly annoyed expression to one that’s more concerned.

“Lamoree?” Vincent kept his voice low. Had whatever Louvet given them worn off? No. That didn’t seem right. Vincent knew well enough that if that were the case that both of them would likely be-

Vincent shook the thought away. No. Thinking about it would only jinx them…Not that Vincent really believed in that superstitious nonsense. But…given how much has happened that challenged Vincent’s previous beliefs that the supernatural didn’t exist in the first place…perhaps a little extra caution wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Rody could feel Vincent’s eyes on him but Rody couldn’t bring himself to respond. What should he say? What could he say? Oh Manon dumped me because she thought we were making out next to a dumpster! She saw how much I liked having your tongue down my throat and decided that I was too much of a freak to stay with! Both of those statements would go over so well that Rody would get promoted to customer! How thoughtful of Vincent to promote him when Rody was feeling his lowest!

Vincent could see the skin rubbed raw around Rody’s eyes and the outline of a hand against Rody’s cheek. There was also some slight bruising on his lower lip. As though someone had bitten it while kissing him…

“Lamoree, what happened after I left?” Vincent asked after putting his hands on Rody’s shoulders. He didn’t miss the way Rody’s shoulders stiffened up underneath his touch. He didn’t miss the way Rody’s eyes flickered between regret, resentment and desire before they settled on that cold, flat look they had before Vincent made physical contact with him. Now Vincent really needed some answers.

Rody remained silent as he silently wished that Vincent would just give up. That he would declare Rody too much to handle and just leave him. Alone. With that brand new knife set that was calling to Rody in a louder and louder voice.

‘Use us Rody. We can make everything better. We can make it so you never have to feel pain again.’

Vincent spoke in a firmer voice, “Lamoree. Are you even listening to me? Or are you-”

Rody finally mustered up enough strength to ask, “Vincent, why do you even bother with me?”

Vincent’s eyes widened and his hold on Rody’s shoulders loosened. Rody never addressed him by his actual name. It was always chef, or boss, or Vince…but never Vincent. What the actual fuck was going on with his waiter?!

“Lamoree…”

Rody allowed himself to smile a somber smile as the tears came up once again. He closed his eyes and allowed them to tumble down his cheeks once more.

“I’m a disappointment. I fail every time I try to better myself. I fail every time I try to find love. I…Vincent, I’m just not meant to have nice things. I’m not meant to have people around me who care. I…Fire me,” Rody’s voice was flat as he spoke. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

Vincent furrowed his brows before he spoke, “I’m not firing you. You haven’t done anything yet to warrant it.”

Rody snorted, “Yet being the key word here.”

Vincent rolled his eyes and silently cursed himself. Why did he have to say yet? He really was out of his league here when it came to this emotional comfort stuff. That was more someone like Manon’s territory.

Vincent suggested, “Do you want to call-”

Rody’s eyes snapped open and a fearful look briefly flashed over his face before it settled back into the somber one that made Vincent nervous.

“She doesn’t want me to call her. She…Vincent, she said she’d call the police if I called her,” Rody explained in a strained voice, trembling slightly.

“What?” Vincent breathed, looking even more perplexed than earlier. Manon and Rody couldn’t seem to get enough of each other before Vincent had left. Any and every excuse to touch one another was taken. Honestly if they felt more shameless, Vincent wouldn’t have been surprised if they had started kissing in front of him. What had happened while he was away to change that?

Rody laughed softly, a cold and hurt little laugh, “She thinks I cheated. That I betrayed her. She…”

Rody started shaking harder, sobbing softly as he curled up into a little ball on the couch. Vincent looked to the side as he digested that little tidbit. Rody? A cheater? Impossible. Rody was loyal to a fault. Loyal to the point where it was detrimental to his health both physically and mentally.

Vincent opened his mouth to question Rody further when Rody started laughing that hysterical, hurt laughter again.

“He went and forced himself onto me. He pinned me there and touched me and shoved his tongue down my throat and-” Rody was cut off when he felt Vincent’s hands on him once more. He suppressed a shiver at the memory of what Tristan had done with those very same hands. Those cold, calloused hands that had somehow lit every nerve on Rody’s chest and stomach on fire…

“Who did?” Vincent questioned despite having a pretty good idea of who the “he” Rody was referring to was. Vincent tucked away the fury that was starting to build up in his gut. Anger wouldn’t help Rody right now.

Rody’s voice came out small as he whispered, “Tristan.”

Vincent took a deep breath. Then another. Then another. By the fourth deep breath he felt less likely to go on a homicidal rampage. Not that Tristan counted as a human. No. Vincent was more so talking about how the urge to slaughter one Marianne “Manon” Vacher was starting to build up once more.

Rody continued speaking as he uncurled himself enough to look at Vincent’s conflicted face, “Manon saw it and she assumed the worst and…I can’t blame her. I r-really can’t.”

Vincent stood and moved to sit beside Rody on the couch. He swallowed a thick lump in his throat before he hesitantly wrapped an arm over Rody’s shoulders. He could feel Rody tense up and before Vincent lost his courage, he pulled Rody to rest his head against Vincent’s chest.

Both remained stiffly still, their hearts rapidly drumming away at the suddenness of the act. Vincent could feel his face starting to burn and he knew Rody was no better. The heat on his cheeks was starting to seep into Vincent’s chest as the waiter’s tears started to soak through Vincent’s chef coat.

Vincent spoke quietly as he started to relax enough to start rubbing Rody’s arm, “Why can’t you blame her? If I…Well if I was your part-I mean if I was her I’d…Well I’d be angry that someone violated you. I’d be angry at Tristan, not you.”

Rody mumbled something quietly into Vincent’s chest. Vincent tilted his head ever so slightly.

“What was that?”

“I-I said,” Rody spoke a bit more loudly this time, “I…I enjoyed some of it…”

Vincent huffed as he moved his hand to start scratching against Rody’s scalp lightly, “Doesn’t matter how much you enjoyed it or not. You can have a physiological reaction to the touches or kisses but…Rody, if you didn’t agree to it then that doesn’t matter. You didn’t consent. Therefore, you didn’t cheat. Not that you would have been able to cheat in the first place.”

Rody picked his head off of Vincent’s chest and stared up at Vincent with a confused look on his face, “Wh-what do you mean? O-of course I-”

“Lamoree, you two are broken up and were broken up long before this had even happened. There was no relationship between you two other than being exes,” Vincent explained as he moved his fingers to scratch behind Rody’s ear.

Rody looked away. He hated that Vincent was right. He hated admitting that while he and Manon loved each other very much or well had loved each other very much…they weren’t in a relationship. Did it feel any more right that Rody partially enjoyed having what felt like his boss’ tongue in his mouth while the love of his life watched him? If he didn’t know that Manon had cared about him, if her feelings for him were hidden, would that have made it any more right?

Vincent could see the gears turning in Rody’s head so he decided to continue talking, “Lamoree, answer me honestly. Do you really think you’d be happy if she reacted like that if she had walked in on something not nearly as…physical? Do you think she would have reacted the same way if the touching was more than touching?”

Rody shook his head before he spat out, “It doesn’t matter! What does matter is that I messed up. I probably damned myself for all of eternity because it felt too good to be sucking face with a fucking man. Like I was some fucking freak or something.”

Vincent narrowed his eyes. Rody was about to question why Vincent was starting to look so angry when he was suddenly shoved flat on his back against the couch. Vincent kept him pinned by his shoulders, the light of the ceiling light casted a shadow that made Vincent’s face a lot more intimidating from this angle.

“Don’t you ever call yourself a freak in my presence again,” Vincent growled lowly. There was something akin to hurt in Vincent’s glare that made Rody’s stomach drop.

Rody blinked and looked up at Vincent, “You…Vince, do you like men?”

Vincent scoffed and looked away. Not a verbal confirmation but it was enough for Rody to take the hint. Vincent wasn’t as straight as Rody had initially assumed. And yet…

Rody knew exactly why Vincent would keep something like that quiet. While being homosexual wasn’t illegal, it hadn’t been illegal since 1791 or something, the acts associated with homosexuality were. Society wasn’t accepting of the idea of a man loving a man or a woman loving a woman. There were few places where such a thing could be practiced safely and the locations of those places were a carefully guarded secret.

Rody could remember a young man in his year back in college who had been found kissing their history professor. The young man was brutally beaten to the point where he was left in a medically induced coma for four months before his parents decided to pull him off of life support. The professor…Well the professor took a long walk into the ocean, his pockets laden with stones, and was never seen again.

If there was even some sort of whisper of an idea that Vincent could even be suspected of liking men, then there’s no telling how much his reputation would be damaged. Everything he had worked so hard to create, all of his hard work, everything would be for naught. If he wasn’t arrested, then it was likely Vincent would be killed…The exact reason why Rody himself was afraid of what his reaction in the alleyway implied.

The fact that over and over and over again Tristan and Isolde had teased him about liking both men and women. The fact that Rody found himself getting excited by and looking forward to being close with Vincent. Even the mere fact that Rody had clocked onto the fact that Vincent was attractive…

Rody shivered as the tears multiplied. He didn’t want to see Vincent get hurt. Who else could have seen what had happened in the alleyway? Would Manon say any-No. She wouldn’t. Not without putting Rody at risk. She could have easily said something and the police could have taken Rody away while Vincent was still at the store but…

Rody looked over at the bag Vincent had left on the counter. The knife set. The beautiful, beautiful knife set. The knife set Vincent had picked out just for him. The knife set that would finally, finally set Rody free from this cycle of torment.

Rody wriggled against Vincent’s hold, catching the chef’s attention immediately.

“V-vince? Could you let me up? I-I have to piss,” Rody asked, smiling a weak and slightly uncomfortable smile. He squirmed just a bit more to try to sell his little lie.

Vincent looked at Rody in disbelief, but he slowly withdrew his hold on Rody. There was a voice in Vincent’s head telling him that Rody was lying but…At the same time, Vincent didn’t necessarily want to wind up covered in and having to clean up urine just because he didn’t want to let Rody use the restroom.

As soon as his hold was loose enough, Rody dove off of the couch and tried to dash towards the knife set on the counter. Try being the key word as Vincent had immediately clocked onto Rody’s scheme and had tackled him to the floor. The two rolled to the side towards the front door.

Vincent wrapped his arms around Rody, effectively pinning his arms to his side. Rody squirmed, trying to shake Vincent off.

“Let me go! Let me fix this!” Rody shouted.

Vincent tightened his hold on Rody as he snapped back, “I’m not letting you kill yourself!”

Rody sobbed a heavy, hysterical sob, “Please Vince! I’m hurting so much and I-I can’t keep going like this! I don’t have anything left to live for!”

Vincent used the sudden pause in Rody’s squirming to pivot and slam Rody against the door. The auburn-haired man gasped. Where did that strength come from?

Vincent was also surprised but chalked it up to the adrenaline. It was said to do crazy things to people in dire situations and this most certainly counted as a dire situation.

Vincent reached around to Rody’s front, unbuckled his belt and whipped it off in one fluid motion. Rody’s face started to burn and he started shaking. What was Vincent planning to do? Was he-did Tristan somehow change places with him? What was-

Vincent then looped the belt around Rody’s wrists and tightened it to the point where Rody couldn’t slip them out. Vincent wrapped a bit of the belt around his hand to keep the belt taut enough to prevent Rody from wiggling free. He then tugged hard on the makeshift leash, knocking Rody to the floor.

Rody winced and turned around to see Vincent holding onto the belt tightly. Rody flexed, trying to break through the belt but it was no use. The leather was too nice, too new to give out the way an older belt would. He cursed under his breath. Of course it was new. It was part of one of the outfits Manon had gifted him after her latest shopping spree. An outfit he wore with pride because she had picked it out special for him.

“Let me go!” Rody shouted once more, struggling to get to his feet. Vincent tugged the belt once more, keeping Rody on the floor.

“Not until this fixation on ending your own life passes,” Vincent replied coldly. He started to make his way to the couch, dragging Rody behind him. Rody squirmed as he tried to keep his pants on his hips without the help of his belt. The last thing he wanted was for Vincent to see what kind of underwear he was wearing.

Before he knew it, Rody was dragged back to the couch and the belt was tied around the leg of the couch before Vincent then sat back on the couch. Rody was effectively trapped. He might have been strong enough to knock Vincent over should he get enough motivation behind him but…Even Rody doubted that he had the strength to pull a whole couch with Vincent on top of it.

Rody groaned as he hung his head. So much for his initial plan. Still…There were plenty of ways Rody could think of to actually get the job done. He had a few painkillers left in his medicine cabinet. Not enough to finish him off, but combined with the eleven beers in his fridge? That should be more than enough to-

“Say Vince, do you think I could-”

“No.”

“B-but you don’t even know what I was gonna-”

Before Rody could continue pleading with Vincent, the phone had started to ring. The two men shared a look, who could that possibly be? Given that Rody’s hands were currently…unable to pick up the phone, Vincent decided to answer it. Rody huffed as he watched Vincent pick up the phone and position himself so he could both talk on the phone and keep a very close eye on Rody.

“Hello? Is there anybody home?” A raspy voice called over the phone.

Vincent rolled his eyes as he replied, “Why are you calling Louvet?”

Louvet snorted, “Well excuse me for worrying about my chef and my waiter after seeing the two of you almost cease to exist!”

“We would have been fine. Those two idiots need us alive after all,” Vincent retorted, feeling very much like he was back in his early days as a trainee. Louvet had that sarcastic tone in his voice that only showed up when he was especially worried. Vincent had heard it more than enough times when Louvet would patch him up after Vincent nicked himself while learning how to do certain cuts more quickly.

“No, they need Lamoree alive. You are an obstacle to them, so they won’t show the same level of mercy to you that they would to him,” Louvet explained as the sound of shuffling papers could be heard.

Rody squirmed and pulled against the belt that kept him trapped as he whined, “Let me talk on the phone! It’s my phone after all.”

Vincent rolled his eyes once more as he retorted, “And let you attempt to strangle yourself with the cord? I wasn’t born yesterday.”

There was a beat of silence on Louvet’s end of the phone. Both Vincent and Rody started to sweat slightly. Shit. That wouldn’t bode well for either of them.

“Charbonneau, do you think you can drag Lamoree down here? I think he’s in need of a good talk with a certain someone,” Louvet’s tone of voice was a lot more stern than usual.

Vincent remembered that tone very well. He rarely had to bring it out but…He could remember Louvet using that tone any time Vincent was being especially hard-headed about something that Louvet found particularly dangerous. Or when Louvet would hear Vincent talk about himself poorly.

Vincent huffed, “It’ll be tough but…I think I can.”

Louvet spoke one last time, “Then I’ll be over in five minutes to assist you.”

“Louvet you better not! What about-” Vincent cut himself off when he heard the click on the other end of the phone line. The bastard had hung up on him.

Vincent set the receiver down a bit harder than he had intended as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Why did all hell have to break loose so close to dinner service? Didn’t anyone take the fact that Vincent was trying to run a business seriously?

Vincent glared over at Rody, who had enough decency to flinch and cower like a scared pup. Those bright eyes of his sparkled in the light. Well it was at least a nice change from the flat and dead look in them earlier.

“H-heh, Vince? B-buddy?”

“Don’t Vince or buddy me, Lamoree. You’ve not only managed to derail lunch service, but dinner service as well. Something that will have consequences.”

Rody started sweating nervously as he stammered, “V-vince, come on boss! W-we can talk about this!”

Vincent crossed his arms as he stared down at Rody coldly. He snarled, “You’re getting your pay cut this week.”

Rody slumped and sighed a very defeated sigh. Just great. First his girlfriend dumps him and now his boss cuts his pay? Could this day get any worse?!

“Glad to see that the two of you are still getting along,” a familiar voice teased.

Vincent and Rody both jumped and looked over at the now open front door. Tristan was leaning against the doorway and Isolde was one foot inside of the apartment. Just great. The troublesome twosome were back again. Just what Rody needed right now.

Chapter Text

“What do you want?” Rody hissed as he attempted to rise to his feet. The shortness of the belt stopped him dead in his tracks.
Thanks a lot for that Vincent! Now he was just a sitting duck waiting for Tristan or Isolde to start wailing on him again!

Vincent rose from the couch and stood in front of Rody, glaring at Tristan and Isolde as they both made their way inside and closed the door behind them. At least they were kind enough to try and muffle the noise of whatever scuffle would be going down. The last thing Rody needed right now was to get evicted because of too many noise complaints due to all of the screaming that had likely been happening over the past three days (was it really only three days? It felt much longer than that to Vincent…).

Tristan snickered, “Now is that any way to speak to someone who’s trying to help you?”

“Help me?!” Rody shouted as he peaked around Vincent’s legs. He briefly gave Vincent a sharp look and flicked his gaze down to the belt that was keeping him captive. Rody then returned his glare to Tristan especially, the smug looking bastard. “You two have done nothing but beat and belittle me this entire time!”

Isolde put a hand on her hip as she returned Rody’s glare with one of her own and growled, “You seem to forget that you would be content to wallow in filth in this dank little apartment and eat garbage! If not for us, this shit hole would be even shittier! And you would still be incapable of at least scraping together an almost semi-decent breakfast!”

Rody winced and looked down at his lap. She did have a point. Rody wasn’t necessarily the most…tidy guy around and had trouble getting up the motivation to really clean unless he was expecting a girl over. And well…why bother learning how to cook when he lives in Paris? One if not the food capital of the world! He was spoiled for choice when it came to places to eat out or order takeout from, so why subject himself to kitchen failure after kitchen failure?

Vincent’s voice pulled Rody out of his little mental spiral as Vincent snapped back, “He doesn’t need the two of you to learn how to fix either of those problems. Even if he did, there’s a much better teaching method out there than threatening to turn him into a child just because he isn’t being blindly obedient.”

Tristan huffed sarcastically, “Which thanks for finding a way to break out of it by the way! The two of you were supposed to be subjected to that for at least another day or two, but you had to be oh so clever and get that old man involved!”

Vincent’s eyes narrowed as Rody’s widened. How did he know about Louvet and how this got fixed?

Isolde noticed the frightened look on Rody’s face and pointed to the side of her neck, “We didn’t just mark you to seal the contract you idiot. We marked you so we can keep an eye and ear on your activities to prevent you from doing something like this. Getting unnecessary people tangled up in what should be only your mess.”

Rody’s frightened look intensified to one of pure horror. Was that how they always seemed to know when to appear before him to kick him while he’s down and spit on him for good measure? Was that why now Vincent was on their radar as a target? They knew he would help Rody for…Well whatever secret reasons Vincent was inclined to help Rody for. What went on in Vincent’s head was not necessarily something Rody wanted to try and unravel right now. Not with two very dangerous beings in his apartment while his hands are tied and the only thing standing between him and them was his very human and very scrawny boss.

Vincent kept his cold gaze on the two demons by the front door. His gut feeling was correct. These two were indeed far more dangerous than their initial appearance would lead one to believe. It was probably what they banked on in order to get what they wanted out of people. Disarming their targets by appearing as conventionally attractive people and playing into any and every little insecurity they could find. At least that’s the read Vincent got from what little he’s seen them interact with Rody.

“It was bold of you to assume that your plans would have been kept a secret for long regardless of whether Rody said anything or not,” Vincent scoffed as he gestured at Rody. “Do you think I would just allow him to be subjected to curses like the one earlier and not attempt to break him free of it?”

“Aww Vince! You do care!” Rody chirped, smiling a bright smile.

Vincent rolled his eyes as he replied, “You’re my only waiter, Lamoree. It’s a pain to try and run the kitchen and dining room at the same time. Besides, it would ruin my reputation if our customers thought I was hiring children to work for me.”

Rody pouted. Well there goes his idea of Vincent somehow getting soft on him! He was still just as much of a prick as he always was…even if he did do some randomly kind thing for Rody here or there. Talk about running hot and cold with somebody. But…it wouldn’t be Vincent if he didn’t have some sort of snarky comeback for any stupid little thing Rody had said.

Tristan stretched and yawned, “Lovely though it is to watch the two of you flirt with each other-”

“We aren’t flirting!”

“I keep telling you I don’t like men that way!”

Tristan rolled his eyes and continued after Vincent and Rody had interrupted, “As I was saying. Lovely though it is to watch you two flirt with each other, we have more important business to attend to. Namely, finding a way to get the two of you to forget all about whatever methods that old man told you about countering our magic. And if we have time, maybe get Vinny here to forget all about whatever he learned about your deal.”

Vincent backed up closer to Rody, reaching down to untie the belt from the leg of the couch. Rody stood up slowly, but couldn’t seem to get around to be in front of Vincent. The chef was very intent on keeping Rody behind him despite Rody clearly being the one more…physically built for a fight like this. Perhaps it was because Rody’s hands were still literally tied or perhaps it was just Vincent being stubborn about his promise to keep Rody safe from earlier. Either way, Rody felt guilty. It was his mess, not Vincent’s. Vincent should be forced to get hurt just because Rody had unwisely chosen to sell his soul to two demons to try and win back a woman who now hated his guts.

Isolde purred softly, “Since Tristan got him all to himself earlier, I think it’s my turn to play with the chef~”

Tristan smirked in response, “Sounds fair to me. Rody and I have some…unfinished business to attend to.”

Vincent reached behind him and unlooped the belt from around Rody’s wrists. Rody hid the relief on his face and instead balled up the belt in his fist. At least he wasn’t going into his showdown with Tristan unarmed.

Tristan smirked before saying in a sing-song voice, “Rooodyyy~ Let’s go somewhere more private, hm?”

Tristan snapped his fingers and he disappeared. There was a soft yelp and Vincent turned, only to find that Rody was no longer behind him. Vincent felt panic start to build in his stomach as his chest started to feel just a bit too tight.

“Rody?!” Vincent shouted before he heard Isolde start to giggle cruelly.

“What’s wrong chef boy? Missing your pathetic whelp of a boytoy already?” Isolde cooed in a simpering voice that made Vincent’s bloodlust skyrocket.

Vincent quickly crossed the distance between the couch and the bag on the countertop. He reached inside and popped open the case containing Rody’s new knives and pulled out the first one his fingers touched the handle of.

Vincent withdrew his chosen blade and pointed the long chef’s knife at Isolde as he snarled, “I’m no boy anymore.”

Isolde giggled despite the blade being pointed at her, “And what do you plan on doing with that, hm? Making dinner?”

Vincent moved a lot more quickly than Isolde had expected. She was barely able to step aside to avoid the long swipe Vincent took at her with the knife. While he missed hitting her throat, something that would have taken her out of the fight completely, Vincent did manage to take a nice slice through her bicep.

She shrieked and stepped back, holding her injured arm and allowing the blood to drip all over Rody’s carpet. There was a nice splash of blood across Rody’s front door that Vincent would offer to clean up later. After all, it was his mess and it was one Vincent was quite happy to make.

Vincent felt a bit of the blood that had splashed on his face, wiped some of it onto one of his fingers and licked it off. He savored the fearful and disgusted look on Isolde’s face. He may not have been able to taste the blood, but he might as well get some sort of enjoyment out of this.

“Y-you freak! You’re disgusting! Do you think Rody would ever want to be around you knowing you like the taste of blood!?” Isolde shouted as her eyes took on an odd glow. The room grew colder and a wind started to whip around the living room.

She pulled her hand back from her arm and her wound was already healed. How disappointing. But that just meant that Vincent could hack away at her as long as he liked, or at least until he grew tired and the new knife was properly broken in.

Vincent chuckled a low chuckle, making Isolde raise a brow. Usually men were intimidated when she brought out the glowing eyes and ominous wind. And yet here was Vincent Charbonneau, laughing as though he had been threatened by a pigeon.

Isolde snarled, “Why are you laughing?!”

Vincent smiled a sly grin as he eyed her body up, looking for the next spot to take a swing at. His mind’s eye already had a few marks around her pale flesh, like the exercises he had to do in culinary school. The amount of times he had to break down large hunks of meat into something more workable and easier to eat would truly come in handy.

Vincent allowed himself one small, cruel laugh, “I just think it’s funny that you believe you’ll be telling Rody anything.”

Isolde’s eyes narrowed as she raised her arm, lifting Vincent up into the air. Unlike Rody he didn’t panic. Instead he remained calm, cool and collected. The exact opposite of what Isolde wanted. She wanted him sniveling and begging for mercy in front of her like the pathetic hack that he is.

“Is that all you can do? Make people float? No wonder you have to rely on that pathetic bastard Tristan to do the heavy lifting. You’re even more pathetic than I initially thought,” Vincent added with a smirk.

Isolde squeezed her hand, making Vincent gasp and the knife slipped from his hand. His hands went to his throat as he struggled against the choking sensation he felt. Isolde smirked before she moved her hand quickly to throw Vincent against the far wall. He slammed against it hard and slid down the wall into a crumpled heap.

Isolde approached him slowly, savoring the way he trembled as he tried to pull himself off of the floor. Vincent swayed slightly as he stumbled onto his feet. It felt like the world was constantly tilting back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He could barely focus his gaze onto Isolde, who was making a big show out of approaching Vincent as slowly as she possibly could. Vincent swore at himself quietly. How could he have dropped the knife?

Isolde pushed her hand forward, slamming Vincent back against the wall. He tried to pry himself off of it, but no matter how hard he pushed he couldn’t get enough traction to actually make a difference. The pressure against him was making it harder and harder to breathe and he was starting to see little black dots floating around in his field of vision.

“What’s wrong? Can’t handle it? I thought you were all big and tough, but you’re even weaker than that pathetic little waiter boy you want so badly! Why I bet he could overpower you so easily, you’d probably even welcome it,” Isolde teased as she loosened up the pressure slightly and lifted her hand up.

Vincent slid up the wall, watching in horror as his feet left the ground with such ease. He had to find a way to turn the tables here. He refused to go down without being able to do more than merely scratch her.

Isolde smirked as her features changed into Rody’s. Vincent hated the way that his traitorous heart started to beat harder at the sight of a confident, smug look on what looked like Rody’s face. Isolde lowered her hand and allowed Vincent to slide down the wall enough for her to grab him under the thighs and pin him to the wall in the exact same position Tristan had pinned Rody in.

“What’s wrong Vince?” Isolde asked, her voice sounding identical to Rody’s and grinning a sly grin at the way Vincent’s cheeks started to turn pink. “Don’t you like it when I hold you this way? Didn’t you stare at me while I was cleaning your floors yesterday, imagining what else these muscles of mine were capable of?”

Vincent tried to wrestle himself free of the position he was forced into but…Given that his feet were off of the ground and he was pinned too close to kick against Isolde…

“Don’t you dare use his face and voice against me,” Vincent hissed, watching the amusement grow on what looked like Rody’s face as Vincent kept trying to fight.

Isolde purred in what sounded like Rody’s voice, “Don’t fight it Vince. Let me make all of your wildest dreams come true.”

Vincent swallowed thickly as the pressure of the hold on the backs of his thighs increased and he could feel Isolde putting her face closer to his. No. He wouldn’t. This wasn’t right! This wasn’t Rody! He wouldn’t-

Vincent’s eyes snapped open at the sudden realization. If it was actually Rody he wouldn’t have minded…No. No no no no no. Not him! Why him?! Why did that auburn-haired oaf have to-

Isolde continued to purr in Rody’s voice, “Come on Vince~ You know you want to. Maybe this time you’ll actually taste something~”

Vincent was about to protest when the front door opened.

“Charbonneau, I’m here to-” Louvet’s voice cut off when he took in the sight before him.

Vincent’s cheeks colored a bright red as he sputtered, “Louvet, it’s not-this isn’t what it-”

Before Vincent could say any more, Louvet started approaching slowly. Vincent felt his heart beating more rapidly as a cold feeling settled into his gut. Why couldn’t Louvet have come sooner?! Why did he have to show up now when Vincent was trapped in this compromising position?!

“Well, well, it looks like-” Isolde was cut off when Louvet finally came within arms’ length of the pair.

Louvet tucked his hand into his pocket and quickly withdrew it before pressing it against what looked like Rody’s back. The hold on Vincent was instantly pulled away and there was a quick blur of movement where the disguised Isolde had been standing. There was a brief sizzle of meat and the smell of burning flesh that permeated the air. An unholy screech filled the air before Isolde appeared as her usual self by the front door. She had her back firmly turned away from the duo by the far wall and her breathing was the kind of heavy panting that came when one was seriously injured.

Vincent looked at Louvet’s hand, noticing that he was holding a silver cross in it. It looked tarnished from where it touched Isolde’s back and a few wisps of smoke rose up from it. Louvet was glaring at Isolde the entire time, he was as firm and intimidating as he could make his 5’5” stature look.

“I should have known that the two of you wouldn’t be able to restrain yourselves for long,” Louvet commented as he moved his hand with the cross in it towards Isolde.

Isolde eyed the cross with disdain as she got her breathing settled into a more normal sounding pattern. That just added further confirmation to Vincent’s suspicion that it was something special Louvet had done that was able to break whatever kind of magic Tristan had cast over him and Rody earlier.

Isolde snarled, “Shut up you freak! You seem to forget who helped you when you were even more miserable than that pathetic whelp we’re chained to now.”

Louvet didn’t rise to her bait and instead placed himself firmly between her hard gaze and Vincent. The cross was held out to act as both barrier and weapon should Isolde try anything funny.

Vincent furrowed his brows as he asked, “What are you talking about?”

Isolde laughed a cold, cruel laugh as Louvet held onto the cross a little tighter. She eyed up Louvet, trying to find some sort of weak point to shoot a spell at him to get him to drop the cross.

“Didn’t you know? Your precious little mentor here didn’t always look like this,” Isolde started, smirking at the harsh glare Louvet was leveling at her.

Louvet growled lowly, “You forget the terms of our deal.”

“The deal you oh so rudely had broken when you divorced poor sweet Madeleine? You’re a very cruel woman Michelle,” Isolde cooed, smirking at the way Louvet’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed a deep red.

Vincent noticed the way Louvet’s shoulders started to tremble and decided to speak up, “I don’t see any woman here other than you.”

Isolde laughed a cruel, high laugh once more. The noise was starting to get on Vincent’s nerves and he idly wondered if he could make a break for the rest of the knives on the counter while she was laughing. But…he also couldn’t stand there and not defend his mentor against the taunts of the cruel woman before them.

“Oh you don’t know? Michelle here was born as a woman. She hated her body oh so very much. She cried and cried about how she was really a man trapped in a woman’s body, she pleaded for anybody to come in and change her body into the one she felt she deserved. Well, Madeleine was willing to hear her calls. And what does this ungrateful bitch do? She divorces the one who enabled her to live out her freakish desires to live as a man,” Isolde explained, watching as the panic started to grow on Louvet’s face.

He snarled back in a low voice, “Fuck you! This was decades ago! As far as anyone is concerned, Michelle Louvet never existed!”

Isolde giggled, “For now anyways. If you keep interfering where you don’t belong, we can make it so the magic that keeps you happy goes away. You can go back to living as a lonely, miserable woman and everyone will see the fraud you truly are.”

Vincent stepped forward, standing between Louvet and Isolde. Louvet’s eyes widened. What was Vincent doing?

“Such a thing won’t be happening,” Vincent spoke in a cold voice of his own. “You heard him. This woman you keep talking about never existed and never will. Magic or not, he’s still a better man than that pathetic oaf you are intent on partnering with ever will be.”

Louvet’s eyes grew slightly teary. Vincent was defending him? He was still referring to Louvet as a man despite Isolde’s words? Maybe…maybe he underestimated his protege on this one. He forgets that Vincent is a grown man sometimes and well…Vincent was old enough now to hear things like that and make his own decisions rather than blindly follow the opinions of others.

Isolde snickered, “Will you say the same thing if those glamor charms are taken away and she reverts back to how she was meant to look? When she gets that lovely rack back that she traded away for that pathetic flat chest she covets so much? When her-”

Vincent snatched the cross from Louvet’s hand and pointed it at Isolde as he shouted, “Either you leave or I find a way to make you eat this fucking cross!”

Isolde huffed as she turned away, “Fine. Be stubborn. But don’t come crying to me when your precious ‘Daddy’ goes bye-bye.”

With that Isolde disappeared. No puff of smoke. No burst of flames. Nothing. The temperature of the room returned to normal and what little breeze was present left the room with Isolde.

Vincent lowered the cross, panting slightly as he tried to will his heart rate down to something more manageable. He jumped slightly when he felt Louvet’s hand on his shoulder. He looked down into the troubled eyes of his mentor.

“Are you alright?” Louvet asked, his raspy voice quaking much more than Vincent had ever heard before. He didn’t like the troubled look on Louvet’s face. Such a look didn’t suit the man Vincent had spent his career looking up to.

“I should be asking you that,” Vincent replied as he handed the cross back to Louvet. “She was being especially vile to you.”

Louvet shook his head, “You get used to it after a while. I…I should get re-used to hearing such things. I…I’ve heard it enough growing up so what’s the rest of my life, right?”

Vincent watched the way Louvet held his arm and how the trembles went up his arm. Vincent grabbed Louvet by the shoulders and reassured him, “You won’t have to worry about that. It doesn’t matter what you look like, you’ll always be the same man to me.”

Louvet shook his head and smiled a somber smile, “It’s not that simple Charbonneau. It’s easy for you to say those things because you…you were born in the proper body. You don’t know what it’s like to look in the mirror and just see…Vincent, if they follow through with their threat I…You wouldn’t like to see what being trapped in that body does to me.”

“Still…”

Louvet huffed as he reached up to wipe away the few tears that sprung up, “Enough about me and my past. Where’s Lamoree? He was with you.”

“That oaf took Lamoree with him to who knows where,” Vincent admitted, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I couldn’t stop him.”

“Nor should you even have attempted to,” Louvet replied as he gave Vincent a pat on the shoulder. “Not unarmed and not without the proper knowledge and training. As much of a jokester as he seems…Tristan is not one to be trifled with. Like I mentioned earlier, him messing with your age is only a mere appetizer to what his true power is.”

There was a flicker in Louvet’s eyes that sent the message home to Vincent. It was Tristan’s handiwork that had allowed Louvet to live in a body he felt more comfortable in. That must be why Louvet knew how to counter their spell work. He must have gone through his own shares of trials with them in order to earn whatever enchantment was placed on him.

Vincent sighed, “What do we do then?”

Louvet looked at the cross in his hand and spoke in a firm voice, “We need backup and we might have to close the restaurant for a bit. I know that’s all of our livelihoods but-”

“Done. Neither of us would be able to focus on running the place and the others are certain to notice that something odd is going on as well,” Vincent’s reply came without any hesitation. Louvet hid a small smirk with his hand. How much more obvious could his protege be about his crush?

“Then we head back to the bistro. There’s still an hour before dinner service is due to start and we need to gather our forces,” Louvet ordered in a firm voice. He took the lead out of the apartment, knowing that Vincent would be following behind closely. The shutting of the apartment door only reinforced that notion.

Louvet touched a spot on his right shoulder and sighed heavily. Sometimes he regretted allowing himself to get so tangled up in dark things like this. That priest wasn’t kidding when he said that the demonic never forgets a face and won’t hesitate to strike when one’s guard was at their lowest. But…Louvet wouldn’t let Vincent suffer their wrath the way Louvet himself would. He wouldn’t be breaking the promise he had made to Vincent all those years ago when he had first started working in the kitchen: Louvet wouldn’t allow his protege to get hurt whilst he was still around to protect him.

Chapter Text

Rody whipped around, looking frantically around the space he had been transported to. It was a cold, dank room made of stone walls, a stone ceiling and a stone floor. He could hear drips falling from the ceiling and pooling in a puddle in the corner. On the far wall was a set of iron chains ending in thick cuffs. The chains looked long enough for whomever was locked in the cuffs to be able to keep their feet on the floor, but that was about it. The only real lights were the torches that were strategically placed on the walls. Enough to illuminate the more grim aspects of the room, but it was still dark enough to conceal a weapon or attack until it was too late to do anything to stop it.

“Welcome to part of my humble abode,” a familiar voice called, catching Rody’s attention.

Rody pivoted on his heel to face Tristan, his fists clenched tightly and the urge to punch Tristan’s daylights out growing rapidly. The demon looked a lot more comfortable being in his own domain if the fact that his magenta hair and eyes were much brighter than when he was around Rody in his apartment. Tristan’s grin revealed sharper looking teeth and a much more dangerous look in his eyes.

Rody shouted, “Why did you take me here?! And where’s Vince?!”

Tristan put a hand to his chest and gave Rody a fake wounded look as he gasped, “Is Vinny the only thing you can think about? Poor sweet widdle Manon. Replaced already and it hasn’t even been two hours since she dumped your pathetic ass.”

Rody swung a wild punch at Tristan, who dodged with practiced ease. He let Rody swing at him again, side stepping this one as well. Tristan caught the third punch Rody threw at him and twisted Rody’s arm behind his back before he pinned Rody against the nearest wall.

Rody let out a sharp yelp as he hit the wall. Most of the wind was knocked out of him and if it wasn’t for the harsh hold Tristan had on his arm Rody might have fallen to his knees. His nose started to bleed from the impact against the wall. A metallic taste entered his mouth, likely from when Rody sniffled and the blood rushed to the back of his throat. He hated when his nose bled like this. The last one he had was when he was on a beach date with Manon. It was hot and it felt like it would never stop bleeding…

Rody winced at the pain he felt in his chest at the mere memory. It was hard to believe that the tenderhearted and gentle handed Manon who had lovingly tended to his nosebleed that day was the same Manon who had cruelly screamed at him in the alleyway and slapped him for what she perceived as infidelity on his part. And yet…Rody knew he had his own dark side. As much as he put Manon on a pedestal and made an angel out of her, he had to be somewhat realistic here. There was only so much that a person could take before they snapped.

Tristan drew closer to whisper in Rody’s ear, “You’re in my turf now, which means that you play by my rules~ And rule number one is that naughty boys who try to hit me get punished~”

Rody was about to ask what Tristan meant when he felt an odd feeling wash over him. His vision started to blur and he felt lightheaded. Rody felt Tristan’s hold on him loosen up enough for Rody to push himself away from the wall. Or well, attempt to anyway.

Instead, Rody found himself falling backwards into Tristan’s arms. Rody shivered against the chills he felt running up and down his body as a dull ache started to settle in his muscular limbs. A warmth bloomed on his cheeks and Rody could feel a tickle in his throat. He coughed once and then…He couldn’t stop coughing. Tristan laughed a soft laugh as he patted Rody’s back.

“Wh-what did you do to me?” Rody gasped once his coughing finally started to settle down. He sneezed a few times, prompting Tristan to laugh once more.

“Haven’t you ever had the flu before?” Tristan smirked as he brushed Rody’s damp bangs from his sweat covered forehead. The heat rolling off of him let Tristan know that the fever was settling in perfectly.

Rody tilted his head in confusion. Flu? What was Tristan talking about? Rody never gets sick! His immune system is very strong, so strong that whenever he is taken to see a doctor (often for an injury and only if he’s absolutely forced to mind you) the doctor always comments on how they’ve never seen an immune system quite as good as Rody’s.

Tristan chuckled, “Guess not. Enjoy being sick while I get some work done.”

Tristan easily dragged Rody out of the dank room and down a long hallway. Rody stifled his coughs in his hand as he shivered. Everything felt so cold around him. Wasn’t Hell supposed to be super hot? His mind felt fuzzy and all he wanted to do was curl up and sleep until this odd feeling passed. The achiness in his limbs was very different from his muscles being sore from overworking them…Was this how most people felt when they got sick?

Tristan eventually stopped in front of a large door and pushed it open as he dragged Rody inside. Rody felt too out of it to really protest. So long as he was able to rest he didn’t care where they went. His shivers had yet to die down and he could feel sweat starting to drip down from his forehead down his neck. He would definitely need another shower or something when he got home…

Tristan had dragged Rody into what looked like an office, complete with a desk made of a very dark colored wood that Rody couldn’t quite remember the name of at that moment. Enemy? Electricity? No, no…Ah. Ebony! That was it. The ebony desk was complimented by the matching wood making up the frame of the ornate chair behind it. The cushioning on the chair was a deep red color that reminded Rody of dried blood.

Tristan plopped Rody unceremoniously onto a couch that was the same deep red color as the cushions on the ornate chair. Despite looking about as ugly as the couch in Vincent’s apartment, this couch was much more comfortable. Tristan grabbed a throw pillow and tucked it under Rody’s head before pulling the blanket from off of the back of the couch over Rody’s aching body.

Tristan then grabbed a box of tissues and a little wastebasket before setting both well within arms’ reach for Rody. The auburn-haired waiter furrowed his brows in confusion as he snuggled underneath the warm, thick blanket. The fuzzy underside felt like a slice of Heaven against his feverish, aching skin.

“You’ll need those for all the sneezing and how much your nose will run for the next few hours. I plan on just enjoying your misery while I get some much needed paperwork done,” Tristan explained. He patted Rody’s head after he had spoken, earning him a pathetic groan from the shivering waiter. Tristan snickered as he turned away from the waiter.

“Hours? What about Vince? Or my cooking lessons or cleaning?” Rody asked, his voice sounding a lot scratchier than he had anticipated. He swallowed thickly and it felt like he had swallowed a mouthful of glass. How did his throat start to feel so sore so quickly?!

Tristan smirked as he spoke, “It’s simple really. You already did some cleaning today and your cooking lessons will start in earnest tomorrow after you’re all rested up. With a little luck, the fever will help destroy any memory you have of whatever protections that old man has been trying to teach you.”

Rody moaned softly as he felt his eyes start to feel extra heavy. Tristan smiled a soft smile, one that made Rody relax further. Yup, Rody must truly be sick in order to feel relaxed around this psychopath.

“That’s it, Rody, rest. Take a nice, long nap. By the time you wake up, you’ll feel all better,” Tristan cooed before Rody turned over to face the back of the ugly couch rather than Tristan’s ugly face or at least that’s what Rody thought of it anyways. He knew Tristan was handsome but…well his ugly personality definitely knocked off like a million hotness points off the attraction scale.

‘Yeah he must have done something to scramble my brain,’ Rody thought to himself as he closed his eyes. ‘There’s no way I’d ever find that asshole hot. Not after everything he’s done to me, Manon and Vince.’

Rody’s ragged breathing evened out and his tense shoulders finally relaxed. Tristan watched as Rody lost the fight to keep himself awake, exactly what Tristan had been hoping for. Now the demon would have much less interference with his little plan.

Tristan walked over to the shelf next to his desk and pulled out a thick, red binder, which he placed not so gently on top of the desk. Scrawled across the front of the binder in very neat cursive writing was Rody’s full name. Tristan opened the binder, smirking at the thought of what information he could glean from it.

Every client of Tristan’s had their own binder, which would not only contain a copy of their contract but also every little bit of information about the client in question that Tristan could ever need. It contained everything from the client’s dietary choices to their clothing sizes to known allergens (a fun if albeit too easy of a control method for Tristan’s tastes). The especially juicy tidbits were towards the back of the binder, which contained special sections relating to the client’s greatest fears and insecurities as well as a detailed list of all of the client’s memories.

Tristan contemplated messing with Rody’s more recent memories but…No. That would make things far too easy for him. If he just crossed out the memories that were negative relating to him and Isolde and crossed out the good ones relating to Vincent and Manon, then Rody would be far too easy to manipulate into doing his and Isolde’s bidding. Where was the fun in having a contract with somebody if he didn’t have a challenge when it came to breaking them apart completely?

He had to admit that Rody was far more resilient than the first day had initially led Tristan to believe. Although, given that Rody’s first reaction upon seeing Tristan just suddenly appear behind him in the bathroom was to take a swing at him…perhaps Tristan should have known that Rody would be tough to crack.

The fears were a lovely starting point for Tristan to come up with some new ideas on how to try to start breaking Rody’s mental fortitude down further. Some of them were a little expected things like monsters in horror movies or an old fear of loud thunderstorms as a child. Bringing an old fear back to the surface wouldn’t necessarily be too difficult. All Tristan would have to do is cross off the age that Rody had fully conquered the fear and it would become an active fear once more.

‘But where’s the fun in that? He still has that stupid support system that could make him feel better,’ Tristan mused as he continued to flip through the fears section.

Tristan paused when he noticed a very familiar name in the fears section. Oh? What’s this?

‘So he’s had some trouble with the boss, huh?’ Tristan thought as he read the name emblazoned across the top of a fresh sheet.

The one and only Vincent Charbonneau got a page all to himself. A little list of incidents at that job of Rody’s that had set the waiter’s mind at unease around his boss. The slap after Rody had gotten injured while taking out the trash, watching a co-worker get his face held over a hot burner, realizing that his boss had constant eyes on the goings on in the dining room thanks to a hole in the wall that led into Vincent’s office. All of those lovely nightmares that featured Rody being prepared to be eaten by his boss. That oddly hungry look Vincent would sometimes get when looking at Rody from a certain angle…Hell there was even that fearful reaction the one time Rody was caught trying to snoop around Vincent’s bedroom in his apartment and hadn’t heard Vincent sneaking up behind him.

And yet…there was also a section detailing certain qualities of the man in question that Rody found attractive. That same tall, looming frame was something Rody simultaneously found both enviable and super hot. Those usually cold, impassive eyes whenever Vincent was caught off guard or felt something strongly enough to have emotion flicker through them were another feature Rody could be both horrified and attracted to simultaneously.

“Rody Lamoree you really are a freak,” Tristan chuckled to himself as his eyes continued to travel down the list of fears and attraction points.

That’s when an idea struck him. A deliciously devious idea that had Tristan grinning a horrid grin that could easily make one’s stomach as cold as ice. If he found a way to make Rody even more afraid of Vincent, found a way to make those fears outweigh any positive feelings Rody had towards the man, perhaps then Tristan could effectively sever the other half of the base of Rody’s support system. He had already managed to make Manon desire to cut ties completely with Rody, so how hard could it be to make Rody want to cut ties completely with Vincent?

Tristan looked over at Rody’s slumbering form on the couch, watching as he shivered from the chills caused by the fever wracking his body. The demon smirked as he thought, ‘Maybe a few more of those nightmares would be just the push I need to get this brat isolated.’

Tristan cracked his knuckles. While dreams and nightmares were never his specialty during his days as a demon-in-training, he didn’t graduate at the top of his class or climb to the rank he has just by looking good. He just needed to find just the right combination of ingredients to nudge Rody in the direction Tristan wanted and let Rody’s mind take care of things from there.
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When Rody opened his eyes, he found himself standing in the dining room at La Gueule de Saturne and wearing his standard waiter uniform. He groaned as he rested his head in his hands, ‘Can’t my dream-self pick something other than this uniform to wear? Why do I keep waking up here? I-I’ve gone to so many other places that work isn’t the only thing that could-’

Rody looked around the dining room, which had been set for lunch service. He couldn’t hear any noise coming from the kitchen, which wasn’t unusual for his dreams. Usually it was him and maybe one or two other people in them these days. They were much more crowded when he was a kid…Maybe because Rody wasn’t as fearful of speaking in front of crowds as he used to be when he was younger? Yeah, that was probably right.

Rody was about to wander further into the restaurant when he smelled something…odd. It smelled like someone had left a slab of beef outside of the fridge for a month accompanied by an oddly fruity undertone that made Rody feel slightly ill. Ever since Isolde had messed with his sense of smell to “encourage” him to wash the dishes, Rody found that his stomach was just a bit touchy when it came to harsh odors.

Rody could smell that the foul odor was coming from…the kitchen? What could be in there that was making that smell and what did that have to do with his dream? Rody sighed deeply, “Guess I should check it out, huh.”

After a deep breath, ignoring the way the pungent odor left a rotten taste in his mouth, Rody steeled his nerves as he walked towards the kitchen. Every step closer meant that he could finally put this mystery to rest but…Every step closer also made his hands start to shake. His heart started to pound louder and louder. Faster. Faster. The drumming beat of his heart felt more akin to that experimental hard rock group that had played at the last bar he had gone to. Heavy, fast and way too loud for Rody’s liking.

Rody’s sweaty palm pressed against the cool door and for some reason he couldn’t muster up the courage to push the door open. Why couldn’t he do it? He was plenty strong enough. He’d done this hundreds of times in the short time he had been working for Vince so why wasn’t he-

Rody felt a set of arms wrap around his chest and pull him back against a cold chest. Rody stiffened up as he felt shivers shoot up and down his spine. He watched in horror as a knife dragged up his arm, lying flat against his skin. It wasn’t cutting into him, not yet anyways. The blade was safely turned away to prevent any cuts but…That still didn’t mean that Rody wanted to have something so sharp running up his arm.

The cold blade journeyed further up over Rody’s shoulder to rest against the side of his neck. Rody’s heart beat even faster as the sharp edge of the blade was turned to rest against his skin. His stomach felt even weaker when he felt a small scratch and could feel some of his warm, precious blood startling to trickle from the wound. The metallic scent mingled with the putrid odor of rotten meat and spoiled fruit, making Rody gag. The blade cut a little deeper, spilling more blood and burning in the wave of Rody’s gagging.

A dark chuckle in his ear in a very familiar voice had Rody trembling in fear, “Careful now. We don’t want to waste all of this nice blood. How else will we make a decent sauce to accompany the meat.”

Rody whimpered softly, “V-vince?”

Rody felt the knife leave his throat before he was turned around, his heart plummeting into his stomach that his suspicions were confirmed. Vince was indeed standing behind him only…His once pristine chef’s coat was covered in bloodstains. Far too many to only come from the cut on the side of Rody’s neck. Rody kept a hand clamped over the wound on his neck as his gaze rested on the red smudge next to Vincent’s mouth.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this day, Lamoree? How I tried so hard to feed you well so I could have even more meat to work with? But that picky palate of yours made things…difficult. So I’ll have to make do with you as you are,” Vincent spoke in a cruel tone that Rody had never heard before. It had a slightly sweet edge to it that made Rody feel even sicker than before.

“V-vince? What are you talking about?! Th-this isn’t like you!” Rody stammered as he started backing away from Vincent.

Vince chuckled another dark chuckle, walking forward towards Rody as Rody backpedaled into the kitchen. Rody slipped on a puddle on the floor and scrambled backwards.

Rody looked down at his hands and uniform, shaking even more at the sight of even more blood soaking him. But that all wasn’t from his injury. It couldn’t be! So where-

Rody started to hyperventilate as he took in the sheer carnage around him. Bodies. Bodies were scattered around the kitchen. But not just any bodies. These were the bodies of all nine of the chefs that worked for Vincent.

Dior, the man who had helped Rody learn how to use his roller skates properly, was slumped against the wall next to the entryway to Vincent’s office. A meat cleaver was embedded in the center of his skull, his head tilted downward because of the weight of it. His previously white blond hair was stained red with blood and brain matter. Most sickening of all was the absence of his left hand and the chunk cut out of his right thigh.

Next to the backdoor was Beaumont. Sweet innocent Beaumont. She had recently announced that she was expecting a baby and that she intended on working in the kitchen for as long as her pregnancy would allow her to. She even mentioned a baby shower that she was inviting everyone to, including Rody. Beaumont was split in half. Her torso was propped against the door with her legs and what remained of her stomach lying two feet in front of her. Her expression was almost peaceful looking. As if she had just fallen asleep.

Lavigne, the newest chef, was lying near Beaumont. Lavigne had an attitude and often complained about how buddy-buddy Louvet and Vincent were. She had vented to Rody one time about how unfair it was that Louvet only seemed to be openly kind to Vincent rather than her. Rody wasn’t able to see why she was so fixated on him given that Louvet was so strict and was at times even scarier than Vince but…Rody was able to empathise with not having his feelings being reciprocated by the one he loved. Lavigne had several knives embedded in her back and the sharpening rod for those very same knives rammed through her skull. One of her hazel eyes had popped out of her skull and dangled by the optic nerve, resting on the floor in front of her.

Manet, the serial skirt chaser and jokester, was in the doorway to the walk-in freezer. Rody could remember a time when Vince was laying into him and Manet was standing behind Vince, making exaggerated faces and moving his hand like a puppet opening and closing its mouth. Rody had to cover his mouth to keep from bursting out into laughter. Any time Vince turned around to see what was so amusing behind him, Manet would duck down just underneath the counter by the serving window. Which worked until both he and Rody started howling with laughter. Vince had made the two of them scrub all of the floors in the bistro as punishment for their antics.

Poor Manet was now hanging off of a meat hook, which was impaled through his chest. There were bite marks up and down his arms and a slit across his throat. From the look of his hands, Manet had tried to fight back until the bitter end at the very least.

Boucher, the fearful chef Vince had threatened with heat, was now lying halfway into the oven. The smell of burnt flesh mingled with the general pungent stench of blood and rotten meat that created a toxic miasma in the kitchen. Boucher was often very jumpy and Rody had unintentionally scared the daylights out of the poor guy on several occasions. But Boucher also made very delicious jams that he would share with his co-workers. Rody used his first jar of strawberry jam to make himself sandwiches in the morning to avoid having to actually cook anything. Anxious though Boucher was, he was fundamentally a very sweet guy once he was comfortable around you.

Faucher was next to Boucher. The two were as thick as thieves with Faucher being the talker of the two. Faucher was Boucher’s cousin, as he liked to explain and mentioned how even as kids he would look out for his older cousin (which would make Boucher blush and stammer out apologies for being a nuisance). Rody could remember being tasked with setting up decorations in the dining room for some sort of event the bistro was hosting. Faucher had been roped into helping Rody set everything up and he had graced Rody with stories about holiday parties from years ago. Rody could still remember how red in the face Rousseaux and Louvet had gotten when Faucher revealed that the two of them were stuck under the mistletoe at a Christmas party and weren’t able to escape until they kissed. The whole foot of height between them made it awkward until Louvet had finally gotten annoyed by the teasing and ordered Rousseaux to just pick him up to get it over with. The two had disappeared into a storage closet and weren’t seen for the rest of the party.

Donadieu, kindly and spiritual Donadieu, was crucified against the back wall. His head was raised upwards and a gentle smile was on his face, accepting his fate with the kind of godly patience the man was well known for. Aside from their most recent conversation on the phone, Rody could remember feeling discouraged one evening after a particularly rough shift. The customers had felt extra mean that day and one table had even thrown their drinks onto Rody because he was taking too long to get their mains to their table (despite the fact that they had been seated for maybe five minutes and they had yet to actually give him an order). Donadieu had sat and listened to Rody vent, patting his hand all the while with the patience of a saint. He then went on to tell Rody about a time Donadieu went fishing with his grandfather and how despite his best efforts, the fish just weren’t biting. His grandfather had reassured the young Donadieu that even when his patience is tried and things get frustrating, not giving up in the face of adversity is not only the right thing to do but also the godly thing to do. Rody wasn’t religious himself but…there was something comforting about how Donadieu would say that he would pray for Rody or on his behalf.

Rousseaux was lying underneath the serving window and his vibrant red hair was dulled by the blood pooling around him. The slices on his skin made it look as red as his hair. The tallest of all of Vince’s employees, the man could easily be mistaken for the most intimidating of them all as well. But Rousseaux was one of those gentle giant types. He had a soft spot for animals and would help Rody shoo out any rats that tried to sneak into the kitchen. Rousseaux would often take Rody’s side in petty arguments that cropped up amongst the staff with a simple, “Us red-heads have to stick together.” Seeing him cut up and lying so close to the ground made Rody feel especially frightened. How could Vince take out someone so tall and strong?

Louvet was the last one Rody had seen and he was arguably one of the worst off. He was lying on his back on one of the prep tables, his stomach and chest cut open to reveal what was left of his innards. His right arm from the elbow down was missing and there were a few cuts on his face, highlighting the milked over color of his dead eyes that were turned towards Rody. Louvet was a strict and stern man and despite his short frame, Louvet could hold his own very well should he be pushed. Rody could remember that a customer stayed late and kept trying to give Vince a hard time. No matter what Vince had said, the customer just wouldn’t back down. It was getting to a point where Rody was starting to feel very uncomfortable and there were cracks in the confident exterior Vince was putting on. A few especially harsh words were all it took to have Louvet fly out of the kitchen, knife in his hand, and start giving the customer a taste of their own medicine. Rody had heard swears he had never heard before come out of the blond chef’s mouth and the way the customer started to cower would make one think Louvet was actually as tall as Rousseaux. It took a good fifteen minutes to get Louvet to back off of the customer so they could safely leave with a very firm order to never return and their tail tucked between their legs. On his way back to the kitchen after that, Louvet had stopped to pat Rody on the arm and mutter an apology over Rody having to see that. Before Rody could even reassure the man that it wasn’t an issue, Louvet had promised to make him lunch the next day to make up for it. It was the best chicken Rody had ever had in his life.

Rody looked up at Vince in horror, memory after memory pouring in relating to the people slaughtered around him. People who had worked with Vince so closely, some for at least a decade if not more. People who had their own lives and personalities and…Gone. All gone. Just like that. People who Rody was starting to realize may not have completely ignored him as much as he thought…

“H-how could you?! Th-these were-They all-Wh-why?!” Rody sputtered, looking fearfully around him. He could almost hear the screams and sounds of carnage. He could practically see the scene play out. How Vince had initially tried to go after Manet first but Louvet intervened trying to talk sense into him only to earn a knife to the gut. How Rousseaux fell after trying to avenge his closest friend. How Manet had tried to get Lavigne and Beaumont out to the back door before they were butchered before his eyes. How once Faucher had been disposed of in the oven, Boucher willingly joined him. Donadieu being crucified. Dior being whacked before he could reach the phone before he could call for help.

Vince smiled a cruel smile as he reached down to haul Rody to his feet. He plunged the knife right into Rody’s stomach, holding the waiter close as Rody coughed up mouthfuls of blood onto Vince’s soiled chef’s coat.

“None of them had the taste I was after,” Vince whispered as Rody felt his consciousness fade. “But maybe you will.”

Rody’ last thoughts before he blacked out was the weak hope that maybe, just maybe, he could meet all of these slaughtered chefs again in the next life. Maybe he could actually get to know them better and…Rody’s eyes slipped shut as tears ran down his face. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so lonely that he’d be willing to cling to a homicidal maniac for comfort.

Chapter Text

After finishing up her dinner of a strawberry milkshake and a piping hot cheeseburger with a side of fries, all foods that reminded Manon of Rody, she paid for her meal and tipped the waitress generously before she started on her way home. She had three albums worth of photographs, a couple of pieces of jewelry, a few dresses and a teddy bear that she needed to dispose of if she wanted to thoroughly remove all traces of Rody Lamoree from her life.

As she pushed herself up and away from the table and scooted the chair back, Manon could feel her previously relaxed mood start to disappear. She could make out the form of one Vincent Charbonneau starting to make his way up the sidewalk past the restaurant. Two steps in front of him was Louvet, who was rattling off a list of things the two of them needed to gather or something like that. Manon couldn’t quite make it out not because of the distance between them, but because of how hard her heart started to beat. Not because of a mere crush. Not anymore. But because of pure, unadulterated rage that came from being a scorned woman.

“Vincent Charbonneau you bastard! I need to have a word with you!” Manon shrieked as she started to march towards the two chefs.

Vincent bristled immediately and shoved Louvet aside when he attempted to step between the two. Vincent replied snidely, “Ah Marianne Vacher, perfect timing. I needed to speak to you as well.”

The only thing standing between the two of them and having a full out brawl on the sidewalk was the fact that they were in public. But an argument, on the other hand, would be perfectly fair game.

“Look, now is not the time to argue over whatever silly thing set you two off-” Louvet was cut off when Manon glared at him sharply.

“It’s not some silly little thing! This absolute whore of a man made out with my boyfriend and likely would have gone even further in a public alley if I hadn’t have noticed them,” Manon snapped, her words dripping with righteous outrage.

Vincent scoffed, “Newsflash you ignorant sow, you dumped him! You didn’t even have the decency to say that the two of you were in an exclusive relationship before you flew off the handle at him for being violated by another man!”

Manon put a hand on her hip, “So you admit it then! You forced yourself onto my man and-”

Vincent shouted, “He’s not an object and he was never yours to begin with! With the way you treat him it’s no wonder he’s as much of a fucking trainwreck as he is!”

Louvet whistled a loud sharp whistle after pushing the two apart. Both glared at the blond chef as he crossed his arms.

“Enough! Both of you! You can argue over who gets to bone Lamoree after we rescue him from whatever hellhole that demon transported him to,” Louvet spoke in a very firm and paternal tone. He didn’t even raise his voice, he didn’t need to. There was something about the way the man stood with authority that made Manon and Vincent back down for just a moment.

Manon turned around with an indignant sniff, “You go on ahead then. Cheaters like him-”

Vincent grabbed Manon by the shoulder and turned her back around despite the startle yelp she let out. He then pulled her close enough to snarl right in her face, “No, you are helping us get him back! If you hadn’t been stupid enough to sell his soul, we wouldn’t be here in the first place! We wouldn’t have to worry about whether we’ll find him dead or alive!”

“I did what I did because it was what sounded best for him!” Manon defended, ignoring the raised brow she got from Louvet in favor of returning the icy glare Vincent was leveling at her.

“Best for him? Best for him!? More like best for you! If you actually cared about him you would have tried working with him to change instead of hiring shady demons to do the dirty work for you!” Vincent growled as he idly wished he had one of the knives from Rody’s place on him. Louvet be damned, this woman deserved a world of pain for causing this mess in the first place.

Manon held her ground admirably as she shoved Vincent off of her. She had her fists raised and was ready to use them should Vincent even attempt to grab her again. Vincent eyed her sloppy stance and knew that one good sweep of his leg would knock her right to the ground. The two of them eyed each other like wild animals ready to pounce at one another. If they weren’t on a public sidewalk, they might have started circling one another.

“You don’t think I’ve tried working with him!? He’s exhausting!” Manon shouted back as her hands trembled with barely constrained frustration. Her cheeks were bright with an angry flush and if looks could kill, Vincent would be a stain on the sidewalk. “Even if he takes one step forward he takes eight steps back because he thinks if he keeps cutting out parts of himself that it’ll make everything better!”

Before Vincent could respond, Louvet finally snapped, “Enough! Both of you! If we even want a chance of getting Lamoree back, then we need to work as a fucking team here! All this arguing can and will get someone killed!”

Louvet’s voice had cracked as he shouted, causing him to start coughing. Vincent started patting Louvet’s back as the blond struggled to control his breathing. Vincent knew that Louvet didn’t shout due to some damage done to his throat back in Louvet’s youth. Knowing what Vincent knew about his mentor now…perhaps that damage was more intentional than the blond chef let on.

Manon looked down as she started to properly digest the older man’s words. She recalled earlier that day how quickly Rody had been affected by whatever magic spell that the demons had cast on him. The frightened look in his eyes as he held onto Manon tightly. As though she was the only thing that could keep him from disappearing completely…

What else could they possibly be doing to Rody? As angry and hurt as Manon felt because of Rody, she didn’t want him dead either. He still had parents that loved him dearly and that she knew would be devastated to lose their one and only child. She knew that there were still plenty of co-workers, both current and former, that did like Rody well enough. He…he always downplayed it but…Manon knew that Rody would be missed dearly should anything bad happen to him.

Vincent sighed as he realized that Louvet raised a good point. Every second spent arguing was just another second that Rody was forced to endure whatever sorts of torture that Tristan and Isolde could come up with. For all Vincent knew, Rody could be stuck in some sort of torture chamber where he had to actually use that brain of his to solve puzzles in order to get out. Or Rody could be forcibly shrunken to the size of a mouse and forced to escape from hungry animals to gather supplies to change himself back to normal. Or he could be chained to a rock and be forced to watch a vulture eat his liver, which would regrow every day in order to be eaten by the vulture all over again.

Louvet noticed the somber yet more calm demeanor on the duo and decided that it was good enough for him. Comfort could come later. Right now he had to get the duo over to the restaurant so he could gather some much-needed supplies from Donadieu and potentially recruit members to their rescue party. Even though there were dangers to travelling in a larger group, there were equally as many dangers to travelling in a smaller one. Besides, depending on what kind of torture that Rody was going through he might not be comfortable around either Vincent or Manon for any extended period of time. Having a few safer options for Rody to trust enough to leave Hell with the rescue party wouldn’t necessarily be a bad idea either. Louvet knew he was likely out of the picture where that was concerned given the vendetta Tristan and Isolde had against him…but he also equally doubted that Rody would reject someone as godly and patient as Donadieu or as motherly as Beaumont.

But they could hash out those details later. Right now Louvet had to make sure that he could get Vincent and Manon to their destination before the arguing started up again. Or they killed each other. Either one seemed possible given the dark looks they kept shooting each other when they thought that Louvet wasn’t paying attention. Time was not on their side right now and the more time they wasted on pointless arguing, the more damage would be done to Rody’s already fragile mental and emotional wellbeing never mind his physical condition.
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By the time they reached the restaurant, it was about half an hour before dinner service was set to begin. The bell chimed as Vincent opened the door to allow himself, Louvet and Manon (unfortunately) to enter the dining room. The sound of the bell ringing drew the attention of Rousseaux, who had been acting as a look out for Louvet while the rest of the chefs handled whatever prep-work remained undone when Louvet had left to assist Vincent. Rousseaux had been working on checking the inventory of ingredients and comparing them to the menus Vincent had planned for the rest of the week. Ordinarily, Vincent would handle inventory himself but…He wasn’t going to complain about it right now. Not when Rody was potentially being boiled alive in a sea of lava.

“You’re back,” Rousseaux noted as he took in the grim look on Louvet’s face. “Everything alright Mike?”

Louvet shook his head, “Gabe, you remember those two…troublesome individuals that you had helped me chase out of the apartment back when Charbonneau was still a trainee?”

Rousseaux sighed heavily, “Don’t tell me they’re back. I still haven’t fully regained my hearing in my left ear after our last tussle with them.”

Vincent was stunned. They had dealt with Tristan and Isolde before this? Louvet was open with that little fact as soon as he saw what they had done to Vincent earlier but…The fact that honest and kind Rousseaux was able to keep something as big as this a secret was rather shocking. The man struggled to even hide what he was getting his loved ones for Christmas for heaven’s sake! How was he somehow able to hide the fact that he had a showdown with demons almost a decade ago?!

Rousseaux noticed the look on Vincent’s face and asked Louvet, “I’m guessing they’re targeting Chef as revenge for last time?”

“Not quite,” Louvet answered as he shook his head. He crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly before he continued, “Their current deal is with our waiter.”

Rousseaux didn’t seem surprised by Louvet’s answer. He had seen the oddities in Rody’s emotional state yesterday and had overheard Louvet’s conversation with Donadieu earlier. Apparently the religious chef was worried about Rody’s sudden onset of depression and was trying to come up with some more comforting anecdotes and advice to try and lift the younger man’s spirits.

Rousseaux could remember how odd Louvet’s moods would get whenever the troublesome twosome were around. He’d be perfectly fine one minute and the next Rousseaux would have to hold him back to prevent him from running into traffic because they were making him hear some very, very untrue things designed to hit every single one of his insecurities at once. A part of him wondered if all demons were partially blind given the fact that the girl kept saying that Louvet was a lying woman, with her smug partner cooing some sort of nonsense about how Louvet was plenty short enough to pass as a woman rather than be recognized as a man.

Rousseaux knew his partner very well, they were raising his daughters together for Christ’s sake! Rousseaux knew exactly what Louvet looked like underneath his uniform and well…He was very much a male. Not a very tall or stocky one, but a male nonetheless.

“Mike, you’re going after them, aren’t you,” Rousseaux knew the answer to this question already given that glint in the blond’s eyes. Anything relating to…those two already put him on edge, but seeing them try and mess with someone Louvet had pretty much claimed as one of his children? Louvet wasn’t called Papa Bear just because he was a pain to wake up when it was cold and ate his toast with way too much honey.

“Gabe, you know I can’t let them get away with this. If they return Lamoree after they fully dig their claws into him, he’s not going to be the same waiter we all know. He…He could be convinced to do anything and I do mean anything,” Louvet replied, holding his arm as he spoke.

Rousseaux rose from his seat and crossed the distance between the two of them in three strides. He placed his hand between Louvet’s shoulder blades and brushed his thumb down the edge of the closest shoulder blade.

Vincent spoke after what felt like an eternity of tense silence, “Are you willing to help us, Rousseaux?”

Rousseaux turned on his heel and looked down at Vincent, a part of him wincing at that lost and worried look on the man’s face. It brought back some painful memories of Vincent’s days training under him and Louvet all those years ago and…Well, Louvet wasn’t the only one with a soft spot for the chef he had practically helped raise for almost a decade now.

Rousseaux smiled a kind smile as he replied, “Do you even have to ask, Chef? I’m almost insulted that you’d think I wouldn’t want to assist you.”

“Well we are dealing with demons here,” Manon pointed out, ignoring the pointed look Vincent was giving her and the way Louvet rolled his eyes at Vincent’s shift in mood.

“Demons or no demons, I would rather be guillotined than ever think of not backing my Chef,” Rousseaux laughed softly earning him a light punch to the ribs from Louvet.

“Gabe, we talked about this. You know that even the concept of your death makes me…uncomfortable…,” Louvet grumbled as he felt Rousseaux shift his hand to pull Louvet in for a brief side hug.

The two older chefs led the way into the kitchen quickly, which left Vincent and Manon with no opportunity to even ask the pair what that was all about. Vincent was slightly surprised that two of his chefs were more than likely dating but…given it was Rousseaux and Louvet? Vincent was less surprised. In fact, he’d probably be more surprised if they weren’t dating given how close the two men were and how they gave off that aura of “married couple with kids”.

When the door was pushed open, the kitchen went quiet. Whatever idle chatter had ceased at the mere sight of their boss being back in his kitchen. At the very least all of the necessary prep-work was done. All that needed to be done was seat customers, get the tickets prepared and served.

Donadieu noticed the lack of Rody in the group that had entered the kitchen and looked to Louvet. The blond chef shook his head and tilted it towards Vincent. Donadieu caught the very brief glint of worry in Vincent’s eye and sighed softly to himself.

Before he could even ask, Manet beat Donadieu to it by asking Vincent, “So where’s ol’ Rodykins? Does he just not work here anymore?”

“He still works here Manet, he hasn’t been fired yet,” Vincent replied, which made the chefs all share a look. It was no secret that Vincent went through waitstaff faster than a table could polish off a bottle of Merlot. Given the scarcity of the wine in question and the increasing taste for it…it was almost scarily impressive how quickly Vincent’s waitstaff had a turnover.

Beaumont put a hand to her chin as she thought aloud, “But if he isn’t with you and he isn’t here, then where is he?”

Before Vincent could even answer that, a loud crash interrupted their conversation. It sounded like someone or something had run right through the front windows in the dining room. Louvet passed the cross back to Donadieu, who traded it for a pair of rosary beads that Louvet wrapped over his hands to act as brass knuckles. Dior grabbed the cleaver he had used to break down the pork for tonight’s main course and slid his boning knife over to Beaumont. She took the knife and grabbed the one she was using to chop the mirepoix for tonight’s sauce base and the soup that was tonight’s appetizer.

Lavigne took a heavy saucepan from the stove after heating the bottom of it for a moment, leaving the bottom nice and hot and ready to beat someone with. Manet grabbed a ladle and a pot big enough to shove someone’s head into, the mischief in his eyes let the others know exactly what he was planning on doing to the intruder. Rousseaux snagged his chefs’ knife and a pot lid to act as a shield. He allowed Donadieu a moment to draw a cross on the front of the lid after wetting his fingers with holy water.

Faucher reached underneath the station and pulled out two large sheet trays and handed them to Boucher. Boucher’s hands were shaking, but he knew he could both smack and deflect blows with these. Faucher grabbed a dusty wooden paddle that looked more fit to fire up pizzas in an Italian place than find regular use in a high end French restaurant. True, nobody used it for cooking but it did come in handy when they had to knock away the wasps’ nests that always formed by the back door every summer. Was it a dick move to send it flying over the fence and into the back area of the burger joint next door? Yes. Was it also the perfect revenge against said neighbors for not only insulting Beaumont for being a woman working in a professional kitchen and refusing to apologize for it? That was an enthusiastic yes!

Vincent was handed a knife by Dior, who could see the dangerous look forming in his boss’ eyes and knew that perhaps his boss had some…unwelcome company follow him here. Vincent took lead and didn’t bother waiting to see if his chefs would follow after him. He knew they would. That’s what they were trained for after all.

Vincent took in the sight of the glass scattered across the dining room floor but he couldn’t pick out what had caused it. There were no stones or bricks lying amongst the shattered glass and he couldn’t see any blood or bodies lying amongst the debris to make it a person, so then who or what-

“Chef! Above!” Faucher shouted as he swung the wooden paddle.

Vincent jumped out of the way just in time for Faucher to smack the dark blur that had dropped from the ceiling just above where Vincent had been standing. The blur flew towards the back wall but stopped part way. Faucher swore under his breath and gripped onto his weapon tighter.

The blur morphed into some sort of beast that none of the chefs could properly identify. It stood on four legs that were shaped like the legs of a hound but ended in large hooves. On its curved back lay a pair of leathery bat wings, which were currently folded. If they unfurled, they would likely be able to touch both walls on either side of it with the tips of the wings with ease. Its head rested on a long neck that had spikes going down along its spine. The head was as long as a horse’s but ended in a mouth that opened up both like a normal mouth and down the middle like some sort of demented flower. The sharp teeth inside of it promised that whatever went inside of that mouth wouldn’t be coming out in one piece…if it came out at all. Its eyes were pure white so one couldn’t fully place where it was staring unless you were right in front of it. Its pointed ears twitched at every little sound and swiveled to listen more closely.

Boucher trembled at the sight of the beast, his sheet pans clattering against one another to the rhythm of his trembles. The jittery, metallic sound was the only sound other than breathing that filled the room.

One breath, two. Then the beast let out a strangled howl that sounded like a wolf howl mixed with a man screaming. It charged right at Louvet who managed to land a punch right underneath the beast’s jaw to send it flying off to the side. The beast let out another strangled howl, this time sounding more pained than before. Louvet looked at the rosary beads and noticed the thin layer of black soot that covered the part of the beads that had touched the beast’s skin.

Donadieu held out the cross in front of him, which the mere sight of made the beast snarl and start to smoke. The man started to pray aloud, “Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil.”

The beast growled a feral growl and lunged towards Donadieu. Rousseaux batted it away with the pot lid and swung his knife. The blade left a small cut beside the beast’s left ear and a deep black ooze started to leak from the wound. The air started to fill with the putrid odor of rotting meat and human excrement.

Without a word passed between them, the rest of the chefs figured out their game plan. Keep Donadieu safe while he prayed aloud. His words seemed to cause the beast a lot of pain, if not weaken it. Perhaps if he finished the whole prayer, it would leave.

“May God rebuke him, we humbly pray,” Donadieu continued before ducking to avoid the beast jumping at him once more.

Beaumont used her dual-wielded knifes to take a few more slices at the beast. The cuts that landed allowed more of the foul-smelling ooze to leak onto the carpet. It congealed into thick masses on the carpet.

“And do thou, O Prince of the heavenly hosts,” Donadieu kept the cross within eyesight of the beast as best as he could. It was unnaturally quick but…the wounds and prayers were starting to slow it down.

Dior took a swing with the cleaver; it missed but it made the beast jump farther back and away from Donadieu. The holy chef took a deep breath before he continued, “By the power of God, thrust into hell Satan.”

Boucher held the sheet trays up in the shape of a cross, which seemed to be effective enough as the yowls and howls of the beast intensified. Lavigne batted it away from Boucher with her hot saucepan, the hot metal added the smell of burning flesh to the cacophony of horrid smells in the air.

“And all the evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls,” Donadieu seemed to be reaching the end of his short prayer.

The beast grew more frantic in its attempts to get Donadieu to stop praying. Manet swung the ladle quickly and rapidly, keeping the beast backpedaling into a corner. Vincent accepted the cross from Donadieu, trading it for the knife.

Vincent approached slowly, Louvet was assisting Manet in keeping the beast cornered. He had taken off one set of rosary beads to wrap them around Manet’s ladle. The holy objects were doing an excellent job of keeping the frantic beast trapped.

Vincent raised the cross with both hands and swung downward with enough force to somehow crack right through the beast’s skull. The cross was embedded into the beast’s skull, a torrent of black ooze and brain matter leaked over Vincent’s hands as he heard Donadieu call out, “Amen.”

The beast gave out one last, loud howl that made the building shake before it exploded. Its leathery skin and black ooze covered the walls, floor and ceiling. Vincent, Louvet and Manet were absolutely drenched in the foul ooze except for the fist Louvet still had the rosary beads wrapped around and the ladle Manet had the other set of rosary beads wrapped around.

There was a ring of the bell over the door and everyone turned to see the older man paused in the doorway. His eyes met Vincent’s and the man stammered, “I-I take it you’re closed for tonight, monsieur?”

Vincent put on his best customer service face and voice and clapped his hands together as he replied, “Why yes monsieur, we are unfortunately closed for this evening. I do apologize for the inconvenience but as you can see, my staff and I have been dealing with a rather inconvenient pest problem.”

The man didn’t even want to ask what kind of pests the chefs had been dealing with. No amount of rats could ever produce a level of carnage this extensive… He simply turned around and walked right back out the door. Dior walked to the door and flipped the sign to say “Closed” before he let out a sigh of relief.

“Chef, forgive my tone, but what the actual fuck was that and what’s going on?” Faucher questioned as he lowered the wooden paddle in his hands.

Vincent sighed a deep and tired sigh. Louvet patted his arm sympathetically. Both knew that they had a very, very long night ahead of them. One that would hopefully end with the safe return of their dear waiter Rody.

Chapter Text

When Rody opened his eyes, he realized that he was still dreaming. For starters, he was still in his waiter uniform. Secondly, he was tied up in the freezer at his job. And thirdly, and most importantly, he couldn’t feel his left ear. He squirmed against the ropes restraining him and noticed dried blood by where his head had been resting. Well that helped explain the lack of feeling in his ear…

Rody couldn’t get the ropes to budge no matter how hard he flexed or tried to reposition himself. If only he had something sharp to cut the ropes with or something to burn them so he could escape! Rody squirmed some more, trying to feel if he had that book of matches he had bought the other day in his apron pocket. While Rody didn’t smoke, he worked with several people who did so it wasn’t a bad thing to carry with him at all times. Offering someone the chance to light up their cigarette would mean that maybe down the line they would remember when he had done them a favor, so they could return it…or something. Or it was just a nice thing to do. Both reasons felt about right to Rody.

Rody’s face fell and he sighed deeply. The book of matches weren’t in his apron pocket. So now what? How was he going to get out of this one?

Rody looked around the freezer one more as he blinked away the light layer of frost that was starting to form on his eyelashes. How long had he been laying here unconscious? It wasn’t that cold in the freezer, was it? Rody was never good at telling how cold it was either inside of a freezer or outside. It’s part of why his mother always scolded him about trying to go outside without a coat every winter from the time he was about two until he got into college.

Rody spotted a saw in the corner that was used to break down larger chunks of meat into more manageable pieces for the chefs to prepare. Rody could remember having to hold the tray while Dior broke down what felt like an endless slab of beef. But then again, the leftover beef bourguignon was especially tasty that day. So maybe it was a little worth it to help the chef out.

Rody wriggled his way closer to the saw. His legs were too numb to fully support his weight to stand up, but at least they had enough mobility to actually allow him to inchworm his way closer to the saw. There was something humiliating about having to move this way but…at least Rody was alone and didn’t have an audience to his suffering.

‘At least Vince isn’t here to see this,’ Rody thought as he had almost reached the saw. He wasn’t sure how useful the blade would be in cutting the ropes from the angle it was set at but…Anything would be better than nothing at this point.

Just as Rody had his thought, the door to the freezer swung open. Rody could hear the click of fine black shoes against the icy metal of the freezer floor. Fine black shoes that sounded like they were worth more than what Rody made in a week.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to be awake so soon,” a familiar voice commented as Rody felt himself get rolled onto his back.

Rody looked at the foot that had been planted on his chest and allowed his gaze to travel up the leg and to the face of the person who had him pinned down.

Rody whispered, “Vince?”

Vincent smiled a cruel smile as he idly toyed with the knife in his hand. His cold gaze was raking over Rody’s trembling body and Rody swore he could see marks appearing over it that resembled the lines a butcher would mark on large hunks of meat before they were broken down.

Vincent noticed the look on Rody’s face and knelt down to tilt Rody’s chin up with the flat end of the knife. Rody could feel tears starting to well up as the memory of the last nightmare started to crash over him. All the blood, the screams, the manic look in Vincent’s eyes…

Vincent clicked his tongue and teased, “What’s wrong Lamoree? You were so eager to help me prepare a delicious dinner earlier.”

Rody’s breathing quickened at Vincent’s words. He could feel the cold knife moving slowly to caress his cheek tenderly like a lover would. The dull edge felt even icier than the floor he was pinned against. Rody couldn’t suppress the shiver that went down his spine or the flood of tears that ran down his cheeks even if he wanted to. He did want to. But something was keeping him from expressing what he wanted to express. From feeling what he wanted to feel.

“It’s very kind of you to attempt to help with seasoning…but we usually do that after the skin has been removed from the meat,” Vincent purred as he turned the knife to slit a small cut on Rody’s cheek.

The blood ran down Rody’s cheek to his chin before splattering against both the floor and his uniform top. The salty tears made the wound sting even more than the frosty air around them did. He watched in horror as Vincent curled a finger and dragged it up from Rody’s chin to the injured cheek. The blood and tears collected in a small well in Vincent’s curled finger and the chef licked it off with relish. A traitorous part of Rody’s mind idly wondered what else Vincent could do with his tongue before the rational part of his brain took over.

“Th-that’s sick! You’re sick!” Rody spat as he finally managed to muster up some of the outrage that was building up in a pit in his gut.

Vincent hummed lowly, “Even so, you were the one who offered to be useful. Now you finally can be, as the main ingredient in the dish that will finally bring back my sense of taste.”

Rody felt his heart beat even harder as Vincent drew away and straightened up. Rody watched as Vincent reached down to pull Rody up by his shirt. Rody bit Vincent’s closest hand and was rewarded with having his head be slammed hard against the freezer floor.

He saw stars swimming through his fading vision and Rody heard Vincent mutter, “Fine then. We do this an even easier way.”

Rody was about to question what Vincent was talking about when he saw a glint of metal before he heard a sickening splatter and felt an odd lump in his throat. Rody opened his mouth but only blood came out of it. He could tell by the lack of knife in his field of vision what Vincent had done.

Vincent pulled the knife out of Rody’s throat and watched as the waiter’s precious life source started to drain onto the floor. Rody felt sticky and he couldn’t even muster up a whimper or yelp. His vocal cords must have taken far too much damage to work properly. He could only mutely watch as his vision started to fade. He heard Vincent put the knife onto the table and felt himself get lifted onto the table. He was dragged so that his right arm was in the path of the saw blade.

“Just remember, you did this to yourself. If you hadn’t been so hung up on that woman, none of this would have ever happened,” Vincent’s voice sounded like it was coming out of a tin can.

Rody allowed the darkness to overtake him as the last thing he heard was the saw turning on. Even if it was just a dream, there were some things he couldn’t stand to see. One of those things being the sight of his boss gleefully hacking the limbs off of Rody’s body with the intention of making a meal out of them.
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Rody sat upwards with a yell. He put a hand over his heaving chest as he tried to control his breathing. He was trembling and felt incredibly damp from all of the sweating he had been doing.

It was after a deep, calming breath that Rody realized that he wasn’t in a dream. He flopped onto his back and he sighed a relieved sigh. He snuggled his face against the very plush pillow his head had landed on and-

Rody sat up once more and looked behind him. That…wasn’t the pillow he fell asleep on. He also looked at the duvet he had been snuggled under. It most certainly wasn’t the one he had thrown over him by Tristan…

“Wh-where am I?” Rody whispered to himself as he felt a very nice mattress underneath his hand. It felt like his body was sinking into it but had enough firmness to it to prevent him from being swallowed up by it completely. Definitely not the couch he was laid on earlier! This mattress felt way more expensive than anything Rody could ever hope to afford!

He looked around the room more intently and found that he was in a very nice looking bedroom. Er well, nice if you had the same furniture taste as Vincent or Tristan that is. The room was painted in a warm cream color with a contrasting dark wooden floor with a fuzzy red rug thrown into the center of it. The bed felt large enough to accommodate three other people inside of it while Rody still laid there and upon further inspection the headboard was made of the same wood as the floors. There was a large wardrobe in the corner and a fireplace on the far wall that made the room feel warm and cozy.

Rody noticed a side table close to the side of the bed he had huddled into and opened the top drawer. He peered inside before quickly shutting it with a reddened face. Inside were far too many packages of condoms, a few odd bottles and some sort of plastic thing that looked like a dick. Rody could slap himself for being foolish enough to look inside the drawer of a demon’s side table. What was he thinking? Of course someone like Tristan would have something like that in his side table instead of something normal like a diary or a bedtime read or hell even a sandwich would have been much more preferable to what Rody had just seen.

There was the sound of a door opening beside Rody and he heard a woman’s voice chirp, “Ah, you’re awake! Perfect! Master Tristan asked me to make sure you were awake and had a bath!”

Rody turned to face the woman who was talking to him and he felt his entire face burn like it was about to combust. Standing in the doorway was a beautiful woman in a very skimpy maid outfit. She wore thigh-high stockings that hugged her thick thighs in a way that was meant to make the viewer’s mouth start to water. The only oddity with her uniform outside of the short length of her skirt was the fact that there was no front piece up top, so her entire chest was exposed for all of the world to see.

Rody looked away quickly and used his hand to shield his vision, earning him a set of soft giggles from the scantily clad woman.

“Aww, what’s wrong? Do you not like what you see?” The woman cooed as she drew closer to Rody.

Rody swallowed thickly before he replied, “M-my mother said to never stare at a woman without her top on. I…I’m supposed to wait for my future wife and-”

The woman grabbed Rody’s head and pulled it to her chest, smiling as she stroked his hair. He made a strangled noise that had the woman laughing once more.

“I see, a momma’s boy huh?” The woman teased as she held Rody close. She smiled a smile that made Rody feel ten times more uncomfortable before she cooed, “I could be your new Mommy.”

Rody quickly pulled himself out of the woman’s hold and stood up before taking a few steps away from the woman, “N-no thank you! I’m waiting for marriage!”

The woman turned and watched Rody intently. He could feel her undressing him with her eyes and he tugged at his shirt’s collar nervously. He could feel her gaze continually drift to a certain area and he tugged down the front of his shirt to try and block her view. The action caused her to laugh at his shyness and he tried to make himself seem smaller.

“I suppose that can wait until after your bath,” the woman smiled as she walked around to start ushering Rody into the bathroom. “Although I was ordered by Master Tristan to help ensure you are thoroughly cleaned so-”

Rody quickly bolted into the bathroom and turned around to stand in the doorway as he nervously reassured, “Oh that won’t be n-necessary! I-I’m really old enough to wash myself and well I don’t want you to be away from your other duties for too long!”

The woman laughed as she approached Rody once more, laughing that mocking laugh that made Rody feel like he was a schoolboy being teased by one of the secondary school girls from his neighborhood. He remembered how they used to tease him for being shy and would threaten to kiss him if he didn’t clear out of their preferred smoking spot.

Rody watched as the woman stopped in front of him gestured to her chest, “You needn’t be old enough to wash yourself should you desire it. Master Tristan has granted me permission to make that so. A poor lost boy like you needs a mother’s gentle touch.”

Rody spat out a quick, “No thank you lady!” He then stepped back, slammed the door shut and locked it to prevent her from entering behind him.

He listened closely and heard her sigh before the sound of clicking high heels leaving the room followed. Rody allowed himself a sigh of relief as soon as the footsteps sounded far enough away.

He turned around to take in his surroundings. The bathroom floor was made of a light-colored marble with gold veins running through it. The walls were paneled in a rich cream color with a hint of light blue painted between the panels. The bathtub was thankfully not as ugly as the one in Vincent’s apartment, but it was as obnoxiously large. Too large for just one person to use at a time. Rody ignored the images his mind felt fit to conjure up and decided to try and relax after having back to back nightmares.

He shrugged off his over shirt before pulling off his undershirt, which clung to his skin thanks to all the sweat Rody had worked up. He breathed a deep sigh as he tossed his shirts aside. His pants, underwear, socks and shoes quickly followed.

Rody walked up to the bathtub and felt the water inside. It was pleasantly warm to the touch and he could smell that some sort of fancy soap had been added to the water. What other reason could there be for the water to smell like a bag full of sweets and be a warm lavender color? He could even hear a soft crackling sound that made him relax. Almost like someone had found a way to light a crackling fire in the bathtub.

He stepped inside the tub and allowed the water to flow over his tired body. Something in his gut told him that dunking his head under the water would be a terrible idea, so he leaned it back against the rim of the tub. He couldn’t deny that the warm, sweet-smelling water felt really good right now. Especially on his shoulders.

Rody stared up at the ceiling as he thought, ‘I wonder what’s next? Tristan must be planning something big. He…he wouldn’t do something as nice as getting someone to run a fancy bath for me if he wasn’t going to get something out of it.’

But for now Rody would enjoy his peaceful bath and breathe in the lovely smelling soap. The sweet raspberry scent reminded him of those raspberry candies that Manon liked to get from the corner store. She would feed him some candies as he watched her brainstorm ideas for a magazine article and he would nod at whatever idea she came up with. All of them sounded incredible coming out of her mouth and Rody found the topics she wrote about much more interesting than when other people wrote about them. It must be all of the love she puts into her articles!

Rody closed his eyes as he breathed a heavy sigh. He hoped that he could somehow win her back over or at the very least find a way to make her happy again. He didn’t want all of his memories of Manon to be tainted by the harsh words she had thrown at him in the alleyway. He…well he felt that he didn’t deserve to feel heartbroken this time. Maybe…maybe he was doing a bit better than he had thought. Perhaps he should thank Vincent for that pep-talk earlier? Provided he doesn’t try to make Rody into a meal that is.

Chapter Text

The black ooze was incredibly difficult to wash out of…well everything! At least until Donadieu got the bright idea of making up a batch of cleaning water with a bit of holy water. Once that was done, the mess was a lot easier to clean in terms of actually getting the gunk up. The scale of the mess was an entirely different story.

“Ugh, I think we’ll still find traces of this shit around here for the next week at least,” Dior grumbled as he continued to wash up the soiled silverware.

Manet called from the bathroom, “At least you didn’t get it all over you! I hope this doesn’t leave me in a hairy situation! I just went to the barber two days ago and I don’t think he’ll be happy that all his hard work got ruined because some monster decided to blow up because Father Donadieu talked about God!”

Manet was in the men’s room with Vincent and Louvet trying to wash off whatever they possibly could of the gunk that they were covered in earlier. Donadieu had been kind enough to share some of his holy water to make the task of cleaning themselves up just a bit easier.

Louvet wiped some of the goo from underneath his chin before he replied, “You’ll live. We were pretty fortunate that nobody got hurt by that damn thing.”

Vincent remained silent as he continued to try and scrub his hands clean. Sure, he did what he had to do. It was either the lives of his team and himself or that beast but…Why did he feel so…guilty? He’s had to do plenty of butchering in culinary school so…why was this so different?

Beaumont was gathering up all of the stained tablecloths, napkins and even whatever clothing got splattered by the beast exploding. Her days of helping her grandmother hand-wash their clothes every summer when they went camping actually proved to be quite handy! Lavigne was gathering up the last of the glassware and silverware for Dior to finish washing up.

Faucher, Boucher and Donadieu were busy scrubbing down the chairs, carpets and walls while Rousseaux taped up the shattered windows and swept up the last of the broken glass on the floor. Manon had opted to help put away the washed dishes to make up for her inaction during the battle. She wanted to help but…something had prevented her from moving. It had felt like her legs were made of lead…

Faucher passed Donadieu another clean rag and asked, “How did you know that prayer would work on that…whatever that thing was?”

Donadieu dipped the rag into the water and wrung it out before he replied, “Well…it felt like an overwhelming dark and malevolent presence. I…My grandparents always told me that if I felt such a presence around me that the word of the Lord would protect me.”

Donadieu hung his head slightly as he returned his attention to the ooze that was coating the baseboards. Faucher sensed the somber mood in his cleaning partner and wisely decided to drop it. The holy man would talk about it when he was ready to and…well Faucher didn’t want another argument with a co-worker on his hands. He…he had more than enough of those at the last kitchen he had worked in…

Boucher wrinkled his nose as he tossed another soiled rag into their soiled rags bucket. Despite covering his nose and mouth with his hair cover, the stench was so powerful it was cutting through it as though his mouth and nose weren’t covered at all. The gooey and sticky texture just added to the overall unpleasantness of the cleaning job but…at least he was alive to complain about cleaning. His boss and co-workers were all so…brave and useful and…Boucher just stood there nervously making a cross with sheet pans. He wasn’t bravely slicing or dicing at the damn thing! He…

Rousseaux patted Boucher’s head as he reassured, “You did well back there. Keeping that cross sign on the beast let Chef finish the job. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“H-how did-” Boucher was cut off by a snort from Faucher.

“You were mumbling your thoughts aloud again dummy,” Faucher informed, snickering slightly at how his older cousin jumped slightly and got that nervous look on his face.

Manet stretched once he was done hosing himself off, there was something odd about being only in his boxers and a tank top around his boss and his boss’ right hand man but Manet wouldn’t dwell on it too much. At least he was clean now.

“Louvet, I gotta ask ya something,” Manet chirped as he watched the blond continue to wash the goo out of his hair.

Louvet hummed, not really a response to most but Manet has worked with him enough to know what Louvet’s various hums and grunts meant. He wasn’t much of a talker when he was focused on something he deemed important.

Manet picked up one of the hair clips Louvet had placed on the counter and asked, “Why do you pin your bangs back with bunny clips?”

Louvet pulled his head from underneath the sink’s tap, his hair draped over his face and making him look like a wet dog. He brushed aside a bit of his hair to make eye contact with Manet as he replied, “My daughters gave me them for Father’s Day one year. I’ve worn them ever since.”

“Oh…Duh! I kinda forget you have kids sometimes,” Manet laughed as he set the hair clip back down. Louvet rolled his eyes and returned to his task of making sure his hair was completely clean.

Manet then looked over to Vincent, who had that odd look on his face as he stared at himself in the mirror. That was…very unlike his boss. Usually Vincent would be the first one done cleaning himself off and be back to making sure everyone was getting their tasks done but…It looked like his boss had only really touched his hands…

“Chef? You alright there?” Manet asked. He didn’t move from his spot next to Louvet as the last time Manet had unintentionally startled Vincent had the jokester pinned to the wall with a knife at his throat.

Louvet shut off the tap and wrung his hair out into the sink as he looked to Vincent on the other side of him. The blond chef straightened up before ordering Manet, “Kid, go get the tea kettle on and my tea stash, would ya?”

Manet pouted, grumbling under his breath about how just because Louvet was the second oldest in the kitchen didn’t mean that Manet was a kid. But the brunet did as he was asked and trudged out of the bathroom to go get the tea kettle boiling and that lemon tea that Louvet enjoyed so much.

Louvet waited until he was sure that Manet was out of earshot before he said, “You did what you had to do. If you hadn’t taken that thing out, it would have taken one of us out.”

Vincent snorted a derisive snort, “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one with blood on his hands.”

“You forget that my hands aren’t as clean as you think. Rousseaux, Donadieu and I all fought in the war you know. You might have been too young to remember the war years but…none of us have clean hands,” Louvet replied in a voice Vincent rarely heard from the blond. One filled with regret.

Vincent sighed softly as he looked at his mentor. Vincent may have been a child when the war ended, but he did have vague memories of having to be evacuated from his old hometown because the fighting got too close. His mother had lost family to the front lines…

But at the same time Vincent knew that his experiences were very different to whatever Louvet, Rousseaux and Donadieu experienced. He didn’t know where Louvet or Donadieu were stationed or what their roles even were…but Rousseaux would talk about it more freely. He talked about travelling with his unit to try and liberate Norway. He talked about being taken by surprise by the Germans late at night. What he didn’t really talk about was his experience as a prisoner of war in one of those godforsaken camps. He put on a good face, but…Vincent could see something hollow in the man’s eyes whenever he noticed someone had spotted the numbers that were tattooed just below his elbow on his right arm. It was why Vincent always ordered extra chef coats with longer sleeves for the red-haired giant.

Vincent was about to ask Louvet a question when the blond continued speaking after what felt like an eternity of silence, “I was in intelligence as a runner. I…My job was to get intel from point A to point B so Allied communication lines wouldn’t go dead…That intel was to be delivered safely by any means, and I do mean any means, necessary.”

Vincent got the message loud and clear. Louvet, much like Vincent just now, had to make a quick decision about whether it was better to take a life or not. While the scale was drastically different, perhaps millions of lives depended on Louvet’s decision while only eleven on Vincent’s, the decision still remained the same. Both chose to do what it took to stay alive, even if it meant taking the life of another to do so…

“Does it…get easier?” Vincent asked quietly in a voice that painfully reminded Louvet of when Vincent was just a trainee. He was so young then. So fresh-faced and innocent. It was hard to remember that Vincent wasn’t that young sixteen year old working his first kitchen job anymore. He was a grown man with his own successful restaurant he was running.

Louvet crossed his arms and spoke slowly, “You start to feel less guilty about it, yes…But it will take time and I’m not going to sugarcoat this for you. Where we’re going and where they’re holding Lamoree…it may be necessary to take the life of another one of those things. I…I will do my best to try and spare you from that burden as much as I can.”

Vincent didn’t necessarily like the sound of any of those things…well aside from the fact that eventually he might be able to live with his decision. Vincent was the boss here and well it was his job to handle the tough things that his employees shouldn’t. Being the one to end the lives of some monsters that were hellbent on stopping them from rescuing Rody should be his responsibility and his alone. He…he wouldn’t wish this guilt onto anybody. Well maybe not anybody. He certainly would wish this horrible, crushing guilt onto two certain individuals who were behind this whole mess in the first place.

Louvet grabbed the spare washcloth and dipped it into their blessed washing water and started wiping off some of the black ooze from Vincent’s face. Vincent batted Louvet’s hand away and took the washcloth from him before continuing the job himself. Louvet snickered under his breath. Sometimes getting Vincent to do what he wanted was just too easy.

Dior sighed contently as the last of the dishes were finished being washed up. He set the last few aside to dry and dried off his soaked hands. If there was one thing he hated, it was the feeling of the skin of his hands getting all wrinkly from being in the water for so long. As he was drying off his hands, he watched Manon put away a few more dishes.

She sighed softly, “How could I possibly rescue Rody if I just…freeze like that?”

Dior leaned against the sink and looked at her before he replied, “Relax, it caught all of us off guard. The only reason we were able to react is because we’re used to having to help break up fights. A lot of us have worked more than one kitchen job where knowing how to do so was necessary.”

Manon set down the last dish in her hand and straightened up, dusting off her skirt after doing so. A part of her knew that Dior’s words made some logical sense. She worked in an office, not a restaurant or bar. The chances of seeing a physical altercation breakout at the magazine office was slim to none…Well sometimes there were fights amongst some of the ladies in the office when two women were vying for the same co-worker, but Manon did her best to avoid getting dragged into those. She always talked about Rody as her boyfriend so she was never seen as competition by those same women anyway.

But that passionate romantic side of her wasn’t finding that an acceptable answer. Rody would often rush in and do his best to protect Manon from any and every threat he possibly could. From telling off other guys for trying to catcall her to disposing of spiders that tried to make a web in her bedroom, Rody was like a knight in shining armor. He always did what he could to protect his princess even if that meant getting hurt in the process…So why couldn’t Manon return the favor? Why couldn’t she don the armor and pick up the sword in his stead? Why should she wait around for someone else to rescue her prince charming when she could do it herself?

Dior could sense that Manon still felt guilty about earlier so he added, “Why don’t you have one of us teach you how to hold your own in a fight? If those monsters are coming after Chef because he’s close to Lamoree, then you might also be a target yourself. It can’t hurt to learn enough to keep yourself safe.”

“But what about the actual rescue mission?” Manon implored, looking over at Dior with the puppy dog eyes Rody was often powerless against. “I-I can’t just sit here and do nothing! He could be in danger and-and as the one-”

Dior waved a hand, “We’ll likely hammer out the details after everything is cleaned up. Until then, try not to worry too much. Lamoree is a tough guy and I doubt he’ll take whatever they’re trying to dish out lying down. In fact, we might embark on this rescue mission only to find that he’s just about done breaking himself out!”

Manon put on a fake smile, if only to make Dior drop the subject. He returned his attention to the dishes and opted to start drying off whatever moisture remained on them so they could be put away properly. There was no point in leaving behind a messy kitchen to deal with after…well after however long this mission was meant to take!

Manon looked out the window into the dining room where Rousseaux, Donadieu, Boucher and Faucher were putting the finishing touches on their own cleaning tasks. Each one of them proved useful somehow during the fight. Even cowardly Boucher had unintentionally been a support for Donadieu without even realizing it. So where did that leave Manon? What could she possibly bring to the table to even justify going on this rescue mission? She might have known Rody for the longest but…she didn’t know everything about him. She didn’t get all of his stories about his childhood or what some of his greatest fears were. He…he always put on such a positive and cheerful persona around her that there were times that Manon felt she never really got to know the real Rody. He was capable of being vulnerable with her, but only after a lot of coaxing or she somehow got him to let his guard down.

She wasn’t a skilled fighter like Vincent or Louvet. She didn’t have a powerful sense of faith like Donadieu. She wasn’t quick and decisive like Lavigne or Beaumont were. Hell, even Boucher showed some sort of instinct that Manon knew she lacked! Not that she could really name it but…No. The only thing she really had going for her was the fact that she was the one who initiated the contract in the first place. It was her name on the line, even though the details all related to Rody so-

That’s when it hit her. If she could somehow convince Madame Olivier to hand Manon a copy of her contract…then perhaps that intel would prove to be the key to finding where Rody was taken and, more importantly, how to rescue him from there. It might even have some sort of loophole Rody could exploit to free himself from the threat of punishment or the loss of his soul in exchange for whatever lessons Tristan and Isolde had to teach him. But Manon also knew that she’d likely be prevented from going over to Le Vin de Circe, either by Vincent himself or Louvet. Vincent because he didn’t trust Manon and Louvet because he didn’t trust Madame Olivier.

So Manon would have to wait until the perfect moment to slip away arose. A moment where eyes wouldn’t be focused on her and instead focused on something else. As long as she was back before anyone had noticed she had left, then there wouldn’t be a problem right?...Right?

Chapter Text

By the time the bathwater started to grow cold, Rody felt significantly cleaner and significantly more relaxed than before he had stepped foot into the bathroom. He hadn’t heard the clicking of the odd maid’s high heels, so hopefully she wouldn’t be waiting in the room ready to pounce on him. Sure, most men (and some women) would be practically frothing at the mouth for an opportunity to be ravished by a woman with an appetite like her’s but…Rody wasn’t most men. He preferred to take things slow and really make sure that the woman he was dating would be the one he intends on marrying. Yes he could be affectionate but…his brand of affection was on the chaste side of things.

He would kiss a girl’s hand or her cheek or her lips. He would hug a girl. Hell he might even engage in a little intense smooching from time to time and left maybe a hickey or two on a lady when he was younger…But Rody wasn’t ready to have sex yet. He heard people describe it as the most pleasurable thing in the world and would call Rody immature for not having had sex yet but…Well Rody wanted it to be special! He wanted to set the mood with candles and rose petals and-and he wanted it to be with the woman he made his wife. He wanted to carry her into the bedroom to start their honeymoon properly! He wanted it to be in the best possible hotel he could reasonably afford for their honeymoon and…He wanted to know that he was making the right decision.

There was only one first time doing something so intimate and…well Rody wanted to make sure that it went smoothly and he would be happy! He wanted his partner-wife! He meant his wife! He wanted his wife to be completely satisfied and yet still be patient enough with him to coach him through the first time. He may have had a brief talk with his father when he had first started going through puberty but…The mechanics side of things wasn’t really discussed. Only the expectation that his parents had that he save sex until marriage because they really didn’t want to deal with the shame associated with having a grandchild born out of wedlock. Rody was already enough of a disappointment to his parents so at least he could do this right.

Rody pulled the plug and watched the bathwater drain out of the tub as he grabbed one of the fluffiest towels he had ever seen in his life to dry off his torso before wrapping it around his waist. He grabbed a second towel and dried off his hair while he looked around the rest of the bathroom. In front of a mirror was a brand-new brush, still in its packaging, and Rody’s preferred styling gel. A bit…disturbing but Rody wasn’t going to complain. At least he wasn’t being turned into a mouse to be chased by a giant cat.

Rody tossed the towel he had used on his hair onto the pile of his clothes and stood in front of the mirror. He pulled the brush free from its packaging and started to slowly work on detangling the knots in his hair. It was always such a headache, especially given how thick his hair actually was, but having it be free of knots allowed him to style it a lot easier. So Rody decided to suck it up and deal, just like he tried to do with other inconveniences in his life…Try being the key word here, but hey! It was the thought that counts, right?

Rody started from the ends of his hair and carefully worked his way up from there. There was something oddly soothing about the repetitive motion, but he couldn’t let himself relax too much now. He was still who knows how deep into enemy territory and he still wasn’t sure what other tricks Tristan had up his devilish sleeves. Not to mention the fact that he hasn’t seen Isolde yet and she still had plenty to seek vengeance for after he had teased her earlier. He shuddered at the mere thought of seeing her again, knowing full well that her injuring his shoulder would just be an appetizer compared to what she was truly capable of…Not that Rody really knew what either of them were fully capable of.

Soon Rody had his hair fully detangled and it felt dry enough for him to start styling it the way he preferred it. He opened the jar of hair gel and scooped a generous amount onto his fingers before he started applying the gel and moving his hair to make it look just so. That one stubborn piece that never cooperated with him hung in his face, but by this point he’s given up trying to hide it. He often had girls tell him it looked cute, so he decided to just leave it alone. Manon would often play with it when-

Rody paused and pulled his hands away from his hair as he stared into the mirror. That’s right. Manon…Manon wouldn’t be playing with his hair anymore…

Rody shook his head and patted his cheeks. No. He couldn’t think negatively! He would find a way to win her back! He would find a way to explain that what she had seen in the alleyway wasn’t really him cheating on her! But…Rody huffed as his hands dropped to his sides.

Well, why was he going to continue on this path if Manon wouldn’t be the end goal? A tiny voice inside of him whispered, ‘Because you deserve a nice life, even if she’s not part of it.’

Rody rolled his eyes as he thought, ‘I deserve a nice life, huh? What have I done to deserve that?’

‘You don’t need to do anything to deserve nice things,’ the voice continued. ‘Just existing is enough to warrant that.’

Rody huffed and decided he had better things to do than argue with what was likely a sign of him losing his mind. He put the finishing touch on his hair, inspected it from a few different angles, and decided that he needed to get dressed. Hopefully he could find something to wash his clothes in as he doubted that Tristan had anything that would fit Rody properly…or wouldn’t involve having Rody be shirtless or wearing something demeaning until his proper clothes were clean.

Rody recapped the hair gel and turned around to go and gather up his clothes and the wet towel. While he may be a bit lazy and a little sloppy at times (okay so very lazy and very sloppy, cut the guy a little slack here!) Rody was also at least a polite guest. Much as he hated Tristan’s guts and wanted to do nothing more than find a way to punt him and Isolde into the sun, Rody wouldn’t be a rude houseguest. His parents had both raised him to be better than that and for once Rody wanted to prove that he could be the bigger person. Although given that he was literally the bigger person when it came to both of those pesky demons…maybe he was already half-way there.

Rody made sure to shut off the light after exiting the bathroom and he found a small basket to put his clothes and the towel into. He then started to make his way to the wardrobe to see if anything in there would fit him when the bedroom door burst open.

“Ah, the guest is done with his bath! Splendid! Now the fun can begin!” A voice called that made Rody’s eyebrow twitch in irritation. The kooky maid was back. Yipee.

Rody kept a very firm grip on the towel around his waist as he turned to face the maid. She was still in that damn uniform that left her breasts out for the entire world to see and she was still eyeing him up like she intended on devouring every inch of his flesh. And no, Rody wasn’t talking about devouring him the way Vincent had in his nightmares either.

Rody cleared his throat and felt his cheeks grow uncomfortably warm before he spat, “D-do you mind?! I-I’m trying to get dressed and I don’t feel comfortable getting dressed in front of an audience!”

The maid tilted her head as she replied, “Whatever do you mean? Don’t you require further relaxation?”

“I’m plenty relaxed, thank you very much,” Rody snorted before he returned his attention to the wardrobe. He opened the bottom door to try and find at least a pair of shorts or something. He didn’t like only having a towel to protect his modesty.

Rody heard the high heels click closer before he felt a very warm set of hands on his shoulders. He stiffened up as he smelt very cheap perfume right behind him.

“Are you so sure? Your shoulders are so stiff,” the maid cooed in a seductive tone as she gently squeezed his shoulders.

Rody shrugged her off before he quickly turned around and started looking around the room for an escape route of some kind. Or at the very least something to distract the maid.

Rody ignored the way her grin grew at the sight of his reddened face and how he purposefully kept his gaze anywhere but on her. He would ignore her. He wouldn’t feed into her delusion that he wanted to sleep with her. He wouldn’t play whatever game she had in mind. He-

The maid drew close once more, pressing her chest against Rody’s and smirking at the strangled noise he made, “This is why Master Tristan sent me to take very good care of you. You are much too uptight.”

Rody stammered, “W-well why do you let your boss give you a uniform like that?! Surely there’s like a law or something that keeps him from assigning something like that as a uniform!”

The maid stepped back and crossed her arms under her chest, lifting them up purposefully so Rody’s gaze would flick to them. She laughed softly and made a beckoning motion, as if inviting him to come and have a taste of what he deemed a forbidden fruit. Rody looked tempted to hide in the wardrobe and lock himself inside of it until she got bored and left again.

“Master Tristan is half lust demon and he says that surrounding himself with temptation allows him to work on his self-control. This way he is more focused on his work both in the manor and in the human world,” the maid answered as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Rody felt his eyebrow twitch once more. Ah. That explained both everything and nothing about Tristan at the same time. It explained why he was such a touchy bastard that seemed to have an allergy to wearing a shirt, but at the same time did nothing to explain the odd powers he used on Rody.

Rody got an idea as he asked the maid, “He’s half lust demon, right? So why can he make people’s appearance change? Shouldn’t he just be able to make them horny?”

The maid laughed softly at the question. She continued to eye Rody up, almost inviting him to just drop the towel and allow her a full view of what the rest of his body looked like. Rody kept his grip tight on his only means of modesty and continued to wait until she answered his question.

The maid noticed his look and replied, “If you wish to know what I know, I will gladly tell you…for a price.”

Rody was afraid of that. Given how much her gaze kept flicking to his crotch, he knew exactly what type of payment she was looking for. Rody then quickly came up with another idea.

Rody put on a slight smirk and allowed his towel to dip just a bit at his left hip, allowing the maid a nice look at his hip bone. He could tell by how she swallowed that his new plan would work perfectly.

Before the maid could reach out and press her hand to the tantalizing bit of flesh, Rody covered it back up with the towel. He heard her whine and smirked to himself. It was almost too easy.

“If you want it, then you’ll have to earn it,” Rody purred in a low, rumbly voice that had the maid shivering. From the way she rubbed her thighs together, he knew he was getting closer to what he wanted.

“Oh please, I’ll be ever so good!” The maid pleaded, getting on her knees and looking up at him with sad eyes. Most men would crumble at the sight of this, but yet again Rody wasn’t most men.

Rody put a hand to his chin, pretending to think as he allowed the maid a brief glimpse of his other hip bone. She whined needily and Rody had to put his hand closer to his mouth to hide his mischievous grin.

Rody then looked down at her and said, “I’ll give you what you want and then some…but I want you to answer some questions about your boss first.”

The maid nodded her head frantically and her gaze returned to Rody’s crotch as she licked her lips hungrily. Rody knew he had to act quickly before she somehow jumped him.

“You never answered my initial question about why your boss can make people’s appearance change,” Rody continued as he moved around the maid to keep himself just out of her desperate reach.

The maid pouted at his teasing grin before she answered, “Well…different people are attracted to different things…so having the power to change the appearance of his targets will make things easier to progress the way he wants them to. Usually it helps make people finally act upon their baser desires that they have been denying for so long.”

Rody allowed the maid to have a brief peak at his lower thigh, just a small enough one to leave her desperately panting but definitely enough to keep her intrigued enough to keep answering his questions. Just based on how her eyes lit up at the sight of his bare skin and how quickly she got a disappointed, kicked puppy look on her face when he covered it back up allowed Rody to continue with his little plan. A part of him felt guilty for using this poor woman, who likely wasn’t even in her right frame of mind, but at the same time she kept trying to force him into a situation he wasn’t comfortable with. He told her that he wasn’t interested more than once, so the more vindictive side of himself that he tried his best to rid himself of kept whispering to him that perhaps it was what she deserved for trying to disrespect his boundaries like that.

“What other kinds of things does that boss of yours look to do with people? You mentioned that he was only half lust demon, what’s his other half?” Rody continued to ask the maid as he reached out to tilt her chin upwards. He hoped that the smirk on his face read as seductive enough for her tastes.

The maid practically melted against his hand as she replied in a breathy voice, “H-he’s never said what his other half is. I-I think he’s ashamed of it or something. H-he is very insistent on finding lots of ‘talent’ for his staff to keep the manor running smoothly.”

Rody raised a brow as he inquired, “Talent? What kind of talent?”

The maid kept her mouth closed and pointedly looked at his towel once more. Rody rolled his eyes and allowed her another peak at his hip bones, both of them this time. That seemed like an enticing enough offer for her as she quickly replied, “All kinds! Some of us used to work in business, some of us in medicine, I-I think one of us was a nun at one point.”

“You think?” Rody asked in a quieter voice as he pulled his hand away from the woman’s chin.

“Well yes. Master Tristan is very firm with his onboarding process and…certain details about who we were before coming here tend to fade rather quickly,” the maid replied as she tilted her head. That oddly blank look in her eyes made Rody’s stomach drop and a slightly nervous sweat start to bead at his temples.

‘Is that…is that what he wants to do…to me? M-make me into…into a slave like her?’ Rody thought as he flashed the maid a peak at his other thigh, this time just a little bit higher than the other. From the way she licked her lips Rody could already tell she was planning on finding and mapping all of the moles he had on his body with her mouth.

Rody shook his head and put on a more charming smile as he purred, “Why thank you for your information, you’ve been very helpful. Now…I think you deserve a nice reward for being such a good girl.”

Rody purposefully made the words, ‘good girl’ sound much lower and allowed his voice to rumble slightly. His suspicion that saying the words that way would make her practically ravenous for whatever Rody was planning was proven correct when she sprung to her feet and she made a pounce for him. Rody held her back with a hand to her forehead.

“Not so fast,” Rody smirked as he watched her try to paw at his towel. “Could you be so kind as to tell me where some ropes and a blindfold are?”

The maid stopped pawing at him and instead straightened up and looked at Rody like he had offered her a million euros. That excited gleam in her eyes almost had Rody reconsider his plan. Almost. He had to get out of this hellhole before he wound up like her. An obedient doll with an out-of-control libido.

The maid smiled as she led Rody over to the other bedside table. She opened the drawer and pulled out four equal lengths of rope and the requested blindfold. She held the blindfold up and positioned it so from her perspective it looked like Rody was the one wearing it.

“Your first time and you want to be as daring as this? No wonder Master Tristan is so intent on keeping you around,” the maid purred as she shifted the blindfold to the side to send Rody a teasing look.

Rody grabbed the rope and replied with a slight grin, “Actually, I wasn’t going to be the one wearing these. I think they’ll look much nicer on you.”

The way the maid practically threw herself onto the bed and spread her legs while holding her arms up over her head almost had Rody turn away modestly. Almost. He had to keep up his suave, seductive act up just a bit longer. At least long enough for him to grab his clothes and find a safe place to put them on. After that then…well he’ll figure out the rest once he’s dressed as he has no intention of encountering Tristan whilst only wearing a towel like this.

Rody set three of the ropes down and started to wrap the first one around her wrists. He did his best to make sure they were tight enough for her to keep from wiggling free of, but not tight enough to hurt her. He might be trying to keep himself safe from her advances, but that doesn’t mean he wants to injure her in the process. He’s not the kind of man that would hit a woman after all. And no Isolde doesn’t count. She’s a demon and a nasty one at that. Besides, she hit him first so it's only fair that he returns the favor at some point.

He then tied her ankles together, taking extra care to ensure that these definitely would be getting loose. He wouldn’t be able to escape from her if she could run after him. Rody really didn’t want to find out how well this maid could run in heels.

Once her wrists and ankles were tied up, Rody looped one rope by her wrists and hauled her up to tie that one to one of the bedposts. From the way she excitedly moaned, Rody could tell that perhaps she would be far more distracted than he had initially planned for. If he got her into fantasy territory, perhaps his escape would go unnoticed.

Rody then took the fourth rope and used that one to secure her tied ankles to the other bedpost. It was luckily long enough to do so as he really didn’t want to pull this woman’s arms out of her sockets, no matter how uncomfortable she made him feel with her constant advances and undressing of him with her eyes.

Rody then took up the blindfold and positioned himself carefully. He allowed himself to crawl over her on the bed, to see her face light up at the feeling of his body heat washing over her. He smirked at how easy it was to throw her even further down that rabbit hole of lusty imagination. He played the smirk off though as one of some sort of confident sexy man. He…well he may not think of himself as the most attractive guy he knows (that was probably Vince, and no Rody did not feel like unpacking that realization right now) but that didn’t mean that Rody thought he was the ugliest guy he knows either. He was…somewhere firmly in the middle. Average enough to not make small children cry at the sight of him or crack mirrors, but not hot enough to command the attention of an entire room the way someone like Vince could. Rody could just fade into the background and sometimes…sometimes he needed that because being around too many people at once, especially after working so hard for a long period of time, could be a bit much for him to handle. Maybe he should see a doctor about that if he could scrape together the money for it.

He could see the way the maid watched him and writhed under him and vowed never to let Tristan make him into something like this. He refused to be reduced into nothing more than a sex-crazed puppet for some demon with a fragile ego to play with however he saw fit. Rody would rather be killed than become that.

“I’ve heard that depriving you of the senses can make other ones stronger, so why not put that little theory to the test,” Rody purred as he playfully waved the blindfold and watched the maid’s eyes follow it.

She squirmed in excitement as she moaned out, “Mmmm, Master Tristan is definitely rewarding me with this assignment. To think I’m the lucky one who gets to deflower you.”

Rody internally gagged at the maid’s words but he somehow managed to keep that disgust off of his face. The next time someone says deflower around him he’ll definitely punch them for forcing him to remember this awkward encounter. Not that he’ll ever tell anybody about this. Not even on his deathbed where such confessions wouldn’t be out of place. Nope. This one was going right to the grave with him.

Rody purred in a low voice, “Now once I put this on you, I need you to be a good girl and be patient while I prepare myself. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

The maid nodded eagerly as her gaze kept flicking to the towel that was still teasingly hanging around Rody’s hips. The small peaks he had let her see as he shifted over her were just tantalizing enough to make her obey, but not so tantalizing that she somehow found a way to turn the tables on him. He really didn’t want to end up being the one tied up and blindfolded here.

Rody slowly drew out the process of tying the blindfold as much as he possibly could. He moved slowly to emphasize every ripple of muscle as he moved, to allow his body heat to soak into the overexcited maid, to make her squirm in anticipation of a pleasure Rody wouldn’t actually be giving her. He could feel her hot, panting breath on his shoulder as he tied the blindfold on as tight as he could.

He shifted his weight to rest in a squatted position and waved a hand as he called, “Can you see anything?”

The maid replied, “No! Oh my esteemed guest, you certainly are good at this!”

Rody smirked. Perfect! Now he had to find some sort of noise to cover up the sound of him gathering up his clothes and leaving the room. And maybe he’ll find something to keep the maid distracted on top of it, just for being so cooperative with him.

“Now can I trust you to be a good girl while I prepare myself?” Rody asked in that low voice that made the maid shiver in delight. He made a mental note to himself to try that voice on other people, just to see how they’d react. Maybe that was how Vince got people to listen to him?

“Oh yes Daddy!” The maid cried out loudly. Rody swallowed the bit of vomit that the maid’s words made him burp up. He made a mental note to never allow a partner to call him that again. It made him feel like a disgusting pervert.

Rody replied in a slightly strained voice, “You wait tight while Daddy gets ready, okay baby girl?”

The loud moan he got in reply made Rody thankful that it was only him and the maid up here. He might actually die of embarrassment if anyone were to walk in on him like this. Or he might be forced to actually do what the maid wanted him to do and then die of embarrassment. Given that this was Tristan’s territory, both seemed equally likely.

Rody crawled to the other side of the bed to retrieve the plastic dick he had seen inside of the other side table. He opened the door and when he touched it, his hand pulled back suddenly as though the thing had burnt him. He shuddered as he thought, ‘Why is it squishy? Why would anyone want something gross like this around?’

But he sucked up a breath and grabbed it once more, no matter how much the feeling of it made him want to vomit. He closed the drawer and looked around the room. He looked over at the fireplace and approached it. Maybe if he got a big enough fire rolling, the crackling noise would help cover up his escape.

He noticed some sort of flat panel on the front of the fireplace and touched it with his finger. Rody jumped slightly when the panel started to show a few little pictures on it with neat labels underneath the pictures. There was one to turn the fireplace on and off, one to make a TV appear (somehow? Rody hadn’t seen any like the one he owned around here anyways), one that made a fridge appear next to the fireplace and one to turn on music. Rody tapped on the little musical note picture and picked out some smooth jazz to play. It would definitely be loud enough to cover up his escape, but also make it seem like he knew how to set the mood. Rody then tapped a little arrow near the top of the panel and it returned to showing the same pictures as before. He tapped to turn the fireplace on and instantly he was rewarded with a warm, crackling fire. If he wasn’t trying to escape the clutches of a maid intent on bedding him, maybe he would have enjoyed sitting by the fire for a little bit.

He tapped back the little arrow once more and clicked the fridge button. Sure enough a little fridge popped out of a panel in the wall and Rody thought he figured out where the TV might be hiding. He shrugged his shoulders and opened it to reveal several bottles of champagne, a few jars of jam and one solitary can of whipped cream. Rody flipped the squishy, gross…thing in his hand over and noticed there was a part on the bottom (was it the bottom? It was definitely a flat space that mimicked where the actual thing would connect to a body) that he could pull open. It was hollow inside. Rody pulled open the can of whipped cream with his teeth and shook it before squirting it into the opening. As much as Rody really didn’t want to even imagine where Tristan had gotten these things or even what all of them could do fully, he had to admit that these tools did come in handy for making sure his escape would go off without a hitch.

Once the thing was filled, which took up a majority of the whipped cream, Rody closed the…hatch on it. He then rewarded himself for his hard work by squirting the rest of the whipped cream into his mouth and swallowing it. He capped the empty can and put it back into the fridge before he tapped the button on the panel to make it return to its hiding place. Was it petty and juvenile to leave Tristan an empty can of whipped cream in his fridge? Yes, yes it was. Was it also deserved for everything that Tristan had put him through thus far? Also yes. If Tristan wanted to insist that Rody was a child inside for some reason, then Rody would retaliate in the way that a child would. It would serve the demon right for being so nasty.

Rody returned to the maid, pleased by how the music masked the sound of his movements. He stood just to the side of his “captive” and positioned his cream filled weapon the way it probably should be positioned if he was actually hovering over her and intending on-Rody shook his head as his cheeks warmed up. Yeah he needed to get out of this place in general. He didn’t like where his mind was starting to go.

Rody purred in the low voice once more, “Open wide baby girl~ Daddy has a special treat for you~”

The maid gasped and opened her mouth eagerly. Rody slid the gross, squishy thing in his hand into her eager mouth and he did his best to tune out the muffled moans she made. He wiped his hands off onto his towel as he watched the maid suck on the gross thing as if her life depended on it. Rody then shook his head and scurried as quietly as he could to gather up his clothes as shoes.

He didn’t care how gross they felt going back on after his bath. Rody really didn’t want his only covering to be a towel in this horny house of horrors. Once he was fully dressed, Rody picked up his shoes and tiptoed to the door. The smooth jazz was doing a nice job of covering up the rustle of his clothing as he moved, but it didn’t cover up the heavy slurping sounds that the maid was making. As Rody reached the door only one thought was on his mind: getting as much distance between him and this room as humanly possible.

Chapter Text

Once all of the glass was swept up and Manet, Vincent and Louvet were cleaned and clothed in their spare clothes (a good chef always kept a spare set of clothes for after working in a busy kitchen after all), the group assembled around one of the dining room tables to both form a game plan and get some answers on what was going on here. They had gathered a few blank pieces of paper from Vincent’s office and taped them together to make a much larger sheet for them to work on. A separate piece of paper was off to the side where they tested everyone’s handwriting. Since Boucher had the neatest handwriting, he was given the task of writing down what information they could gather and what their plan was.

Vincent started their impromptu meeting by looking at the assembled chefs and stating, “As you can see, we were just attacked by some sort of…beast of unknown origin. Given the fact that it doesn’t resemble any known creature any of us have likely ever seen, there’s a possibility that it may not be of this world.”

Faucher shook his head before he spoke, “I certainly have never seen any animal that bleeds black sludge.”

Dior had drawn a quick sketch of the beast and Boucher had labeled the parts as well as noted that the beast bled a black ooze that smelled foul, reacted negatively around religious iconography/prayer and was unnaturally fast.

“That thing really didn’t like when Donadieu started praying, so maybe we’re dealing with a ghost or something,” Lavigne added as she put a hand on her hip in thought.

“Ghosts aren’t solid though and they aren’t able to interact with the living,” Beaumont retorted as she met her coworker’s hazel eyes.

Manet looked at Beaumont in wonder as he asked, “How do you know what ghosts can and can’t do?”

Beaumont shrugged her shoulders before she replied in a nonchalant voice, “My father was the custodian of an old castle in the countryside and he would often see some…let’s just call them permanent guests on property long after the castle was closed to tours for the day. It was like they didn’t realize so much time had passed and they carried on with whatever it was they were on the way to do. He said that he used to hear music in the ballroom late at night and what snippets of conversation he heard led him to believe that the ball was to celebrate a wedding.”

Boucher noted down Beaumont’s theory that the mystery beast wasn’t a ghost underneath a heading he had written out on the far side of their taped together sheets. Even if they didn’t know exactly what it was that attacked them, it would be helpful to get some ideas on how to protect themselves should another one of those things pop up anytime soon. There was nothing worse than feeling like a sitting duck when there was a very obvious threat in the area.

Dior added in his own two cents, “Well what if it’s not a ghost, but something similar to it?”

“Like one of those demon dogs that patrol cemeteries?” Faucher pondered aloud as he listened to the scratch of the pen Boucher was using to take notes. He rested his head on one of his hands as he fought off the urge to sleep. Being so busy today meant that he couldn’t take a quick cat nap earlier in his shift.

“Didn’t one attack a church a long time ago?” Dior questioned as he met Faucher’s tired gaze.

Rousseaux shook his head as he answered, “You’re thinking about the Black Shuck and those aren’t local to here. They’re over in the English countryside, not urban Paris.”

Louvet added, “Those also have long black fur whereas the thing we fought had no fur at all. Just leathery skin.”

Vincent slammed a hand on the table, catching the attention of his chefs. The group grew quiet as they looked to their boss expectantly.

“It doesn’t matter what it is. All that really matters is that we can kill them should another one attack us. There’s likely more where that one came from,” Vincent stated in a cool yet tired voice, a flicker of frustration flashed in his coal-colored eyes.

Beaumont asked quietly, “Chef, this is a great point but…shouldn’t we warn Lamoree too? He may not be here, but he could just as easily be a target as well.”

Donadieu caught a flicker in Vincent and Louvet’s eyes. The holy man decided to bite the bullet when he met Vincent’s gaze and queried, “Lamoree isn’t at his apartment I take it?”

Vincent sighed somberly, “That’s the other issue I was looking to discuss tonight. Lamoree…he’s been kidnapped.”

The reaction from his team (minus Louvet who knew the truth) was immediate and loud. Very loud for this time of night.

“Did they send a ransom letter?! How much is it? I can wire some money from my inheritance fund to help cover it!” Manet questioned as he reached out and grabbed Vincent’s sweater. He quickly realized his mistake from how Vincent’s gaze hardened and a sneer grew on his lips, so Manet let go of his boss if only to avoid getting one of his hands bitten off by the man. Manet held up his hands in surrender and hid behind Rousseaux, who rolled his eyes and smiled a fond yet exasperated smile.

Lavigne squawked, “Did he get tangled up in the wrong crowd or something?! I told him that getting dinner at that shady pizza place two blocks from here was a terrible idea! He probably looked at somebody wrong and now he’s been ordered to take a walk into the River Seine with a pair of concrete shoes on!”

Beaumont looked distraught as she whimpered, “Oh that poor boy. I can only imagine the pain his poor parents must be in. Why if…if anything happened to my baby I…I…”

Beaumont buried her face into her hands and started to cry. It was no secret that she had started to develop a bit of a soft spot for the excitable waiter, especially after he had been kind enough to help her and her husband assemble the new crib in their nursery. He had protested that she didn’t need to pay him as much as she had…but she knew that he was eager to make things right with his girlfriend with a nice dinner, so it would be going to a good cause. Her husband more than agreed and they had even sent him home with a belly full of their homemade ratatouille as thanks. Dior patted her back while Donadieu handed her his handkerchief. Both men knew that her being with child had made the poor woman even more emotional than usual due to the hormonal changes that came with pregnancy.

Donadieu looked at the paper before he commented, “This beast appearing and Lamoree disappearing are connected somehow, aren’t they Chef.”

Vincent crossed his arms and sighed softly. Sometimes he hated how perceptive his staff could be, but…that perceptiveness also allowed them to put out metaphorical fires that Vincent struggled to put out by himself. Just like yesterday when Louvet and Rousseaux stepped in to get the patrons at lunch service to be quiet and give Rody space to assist the nurse in performing CPR. Or how Donadieu could somehow sense Rody’s mood this morning and made a breakthrough with the man on an emotional level that Vincent never could.

“I wasn’t sure how to even phrase this but…yes. They are connected,” Vincent replied as he decided to keep the fact that Rody had made a deal with a pair of demons a secret for now. From the flicker he saw in Louvet’s eyes, he knew that the blond chef would do the same. Rousseaux didn’t seem all that surprised, but he already knew that demons were involved on some level. He just didn’t need to know the full extent of it quite yet. Vincent knew that if Louvet kept his mouth shut that Rousseaux would do the same. It was almost scary how often the two could hash out a plan without even saying a word to one another.

Boucher looked at the sketch of the beast as stammered out, “Y-you don’t think…you don’t think that he was-that’d be silly but! Maybe…he was turned into that-that thing?”

A cold feeling washed over the room at Boucher’s words as they looked amongst each other. Had they…unintentionally murdered their co-worker?! Did he come running into the restaurant because he had nowhere else to go and no one else to turn to to change back to normal? And here they go and mercilessly slaughter him?!

Louvet shook his head before he replied, “Not possible. If he was, then he’d have turned back to normal as soon as the rosary beads had touched him. Demonic illusions always break in the presence of holy objects.”

Faucher huffed as he rubbed at his eyes, “It certainly didn’t feel like just an illusion to me! That thing felt pretty damn solid when I smacked it away from Chef.”

“Even if the holy objects wouldn’t have been effective, then the prayers would have,” Rousseaux added as Boucher added more notes to the paper.

Dior snorted as he crossed his arms, “So are you and Louvet exorcists or something outside of work? How do you know what would and wouldn’t work on a demon?”

Rousseaux shrugged with a crooked grin on his face. Louvet rolled his eyes but his relaxed posture and hint of an amused grin on his lips showed that he wasn’t bothered by Dior’s questions either.

“I mean I did go to Catholic school as a boy,” Rousseaux conceded as he met Dior’s gaze once more. Warm brown meeting a cool gray. “But I know for a fact that demon talk wasn’t necessarily part of the regular curriculum. Otherwise the nuns wouldn’t have had to tan my hide for sleeping in class so much.”

“You’re admitting to falling asleep, in Catholic school, in front of Father Donadieu?! Have you no shame?!” Manet teased with a fake offended gasp that lightened the mood in the room considerably.

Faucher snickered, “He’s not a priest.”

Donadieu kept quiet but averted his gaze with a slightly nervous look on his face. A beat of silence followed. Two. Three.

“You’re a priest?!” exclaimed his astonished coworkers. Vincent kept quiet, but the look on his face was surprised enough to speak for him.

Donadieu waved a hand dismissively as he replied, “Oh that was a lifetime ago. I used to be a man of the cloth, but I’ve been a layperson for decades now.”

Lavigne tilted her head as she posed another question to Donadieu, “But why did you give that up? No offense, but you seem more suited to be a Sunday school teacher than a chef.”

“You won’t remember, I don’t even think you were born yet, but there was a call for all able-bodied men back during the war effort,” Donadieu explained with a somber look on his face. Rousseaux held onto the tattoo on his arm and Louvet put his hand over Rousseaux’s.

Donadieu continued after collecting his thoughts for a moment, “I prayed to the Lord for an answer as my heart knew my country needed me, but my head reasoned that there were other men in the country more suited to it. In the end my answer came when I had gotten word that those…those cruel monsters were…what they did in those camps…I couldn’t stand idly by and not do something. I took that as the sign from the Lord that I had been looking for, resigned from my see and enlisted the very same day.”

The room grew quiet like before, this time more somber and hollow than the panicked silence that came with guilt. Talk of what had happened during the war wasn’t necessarily a taboo in the restaurant but…given that they had three veterans on staff that grew very uncomfortable at the mention of the war…It was one of the few things that Vincent didn’t need to police himself. His chefs were very good at policing each other with this one, with the three veterans in question being the only exception. If they felt comfortable talking then it was a different story.

Rousseaux reached over Louvet to put his hand on Donadieu’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze before he spoke in a quiet voice, “You don’t have to say anymore than that, mon ami. We know that the war is…”

Donadieu met Rousseaux’s concerned stare and the holy man replied, “It was an ugly thing, necessary but ugly. It was unlike anything any of us had anticipated…I was surprised to see you were still able to stand once we…”

“I was intriguing to them,” Rousseaux noted with an odd look in his eyes. “Most people don’t come in my size and…they always wanted to engineer more super soldiers and height was one of those characteristics they sought after. If I was more useful to them dead, I wouldn’t have made it see liberation.”

“But you did survive, that’s what matters now,” Louvet spoke in a strained voice. He kept his gaze on the floor but, given the shaking of his shoulders and slight hitches in his breathing it was easy to tell why. “You lived. You keep living. You live for those who couldn’t and most importantly you live for yourself. You reach for those hopes and dreams that kept you warm when you were in that cold and wretched hellhole.”

Rousseaux withdrew his hand from Donadieu’s shoulder as he looked on worriedly at Louvet. The red-head looked over at Vincent, who merely nodded in response to the silent question the older chef had asked him. Rousseaux tapped Louvet’s shoulder and gestured to the bathrooms and waited for the blond to stand before escorting him over there. If the two stood too close together, if Rousseaux put his arm over Louvet’s shoulders more like the way a lover would rather than a mere friend, nobody commented on it. Some things felt more important than calling out the less than platonic feelings that swirled around the two men.

“What now?” Dior asked, bringing the attention of the assembled group back onto the paper in front of them. “Knowing that the beast wasn’t Lamoree doesn’t bring us any closer to knowing where he is and more importantly how to bring him back safely.”

“We need to do some research and stock up on supplies,” Vincent ordered as he looked over Boucher’s notes with his usual intense look. Several plans were already forming in his head, but he knew that just rushing in blindly would end terribly.

Donadieu cleared his throat and waited until he had the attention of the remaining staff in the room before he spoke, “I still have connections with a few Fathers in the area. They can supply us with the tools necessary to keep ourselves safe while we investigate Lamoree’s disappearance further.”

Lavigne added, “I know that there’s plenty of religious texts in the libraries around here. My cousin studied theology and bragged about how he was spoiled for choice when it came to study materials and sources for his papers.”

Vincent borrowed the pen from Boucher and drew up a chart with two columns. One half was labeled ‘Research Team’ while the other half was labeled ‘Supply Team’.

“We will need more than just crosses and holy water for this operation,” Vincent stated as he drew up another list on the side for supplies. Food, regular drinking water, their holy weaponry, anything that seemed necessary went on the list.

Manet pondered, “Are you sure we’re going to need all of this Chef? It sounds more like you’re getting us to set up for an expedition.”

Vincent stated calmly, “I am. We’re going into the heart of enemy territory and demanding that they hand over our waiter.”

“What?!” Beaumont and Dior shouted as Dior held onto Beaumont protectively.

“Chef, that’s…that’s crazy talk!” Faucher retorted before he walked away from the table to start pacing the room as he continued to speak. “We aren’t the police! We can’t be running around to who knows where trying to do their job and putting our lives at risk! You know that I’m getting married in three months and I don’t plan on being buried so soon before it!”

Vincent rolled his eyes as he responded, “I’m well aware of your matrimonial plans. You keep blabbering about it when I try to get you to listen in our morning meetings.”

Boucher added in a trembling voice, “Y-you’re positive that-that Lamoree has been kidnapped, right? F-for all we know, he could have just left for home! His parents are older and-and they aren’t doing well financially he said…M-maybe he just went home for a bit to help take care of them?”

“He’s very positive,” Louvet’s voice caught the attention of the assembled group around the table. He had emerged from the bathrooms looking a lot calmer than before. Nobody bothered to point out the redness around his eyes or the slight nasally tone in his voice from crying so much. “I helped him fend off the other kidnapper when I went to the apartment earlier.”

Dior shouted, “If you know then why haven’t the two of you reported it to the police?! Why are we-”

“Because these kidnappers are connected to this beast, right?” Donadieu finally spoke as the shock of Vincent’s earlier words wore off of him.

The group looked over at the holy man, who was standing behind the table much like a preacher at the pulpit. His serene yet commanding aura kept the rest of his coworkers and his boss quiet. He must have been an excellent preacher…

Vincent finally found his voice after a moment, “Yes…they are.”

Donadieu sighed deeply as he carded his hand through his graying hair, “Then that’s why neither Louvet nor Chef reported this matter to the police. If they were to report that a demon had kidnapped Lamoree…then they wouldn’t be here right now. They’d have been hauled off to an asylum for assessment if not immediate imprisonment for being mentally unwell.”

Silence followed Donadieu’s words. He raised a good point. The only reason that the group assembled in the room would even consider demons being real as a possibility would be because of that thing that had attacked them earlier. If a demon could send a beast like that to just randomly attack in the dining room of a fancy bistro, then kidnapping someone like Rody wouldn’t be very farfetched.

Boucher asked quietly, “But…what do they want with Lamoree anyway? N-not that there’s anything wrong with Lamoree but…If I were a kidnapper-not that I am! But if I was…then I’d think Chef would be the better captive…Not that I want to-”

“We get what you mean Boucher,” Vincent interrupted with a slightly stern voice that made the skittish chef hide behind Faucher. “If we were dealing with humans then yes, that would be the case. But we aren’t. We are dealing with demons and we don’t know what their intentions even are.”

Rousseaux added, “Well think about it. Lamoree has been very depressed lately because his girlfriend left him not too long ago. He’s desperate to win her back by any means necessary, we’ve all heard him go on and on about these elaborate plans of his. Someone or something could have easily picked up on his desperation and found him an easy target.”

Lavigne groaned, “But what would they even want him for? He’s not the best waiter around Paris, so it can’t be something food service related.”

“Maybe they just think he looks nice and want him as like a trophy or something,” Manet suggested. He noticed the looks that his co-workers were giving him and his face turned a very lovely shade of pink as he stammered out, “N-not that I think he looks nice! But-but like maybe a lady demon might think he looks nice!”

Rousseaux snickered, “Relax Manet, nobody is going to judge you. We all know about the kinds of magazines you hide in your work bag.”

Manet gasped an offended gasp as he gestured to Donadieu, “You dare to mention something about dirty magazines? Around Father Donadieu?!”

“We never said anything about them being dirty,” Louvet snickered, “that was all you, mon ami.”

Manet sunk into a chair, buried his burning face in his arms and groaned a pitiful groan. Donadieu patted his back with a serene look on his face as he reassured, “There, there. You forget that I was in the military. I am far more familiar with that type of material than you may think.”

Beaumont spoke up as she fanned her reddened face, “R-regardless of what they want him for, the point remains that some nasty demons have taken our waiter and are keeping him as their captive.”

Vincent nodded, pleased by how quickly Beaumont was able to cut through the idle chatter and get to the point. It was one of the few reasons he had hired her in the first place.

“Which is precisely why I had suggested that we form a rescue group and gear up in the first place,” Vincent replied in his usual firm voice. Attention once again focused on him as he pointed to the beast in the center of the paper.

“We need to find out how this is connected to the demons that have Lamoree,” Vincent continued as he looked amongst his chefs. Now it was feeling more like a war table meeting, not just idle or fearful chatter. There was an edge to the look in his employees’ eyes that wasn’t present earlier. An edge that usually only appeared when it was getting close to serving a meal.

Louvet noticed the two columns Vincent had drawn up and suggested, “Why don’t we head out now? Le Bibliothèque nationale de France should still be open by now and if we hurry we can see if they’ll be able to assist us in finding what we’re after.”

Donadieu added, “I can use a pay phone to see if one of my old contacts has some texts we could borrow. If not, then he can at least help us arm ourselves with more holy water and crosses.”

“Then it’s settled,” Vincent stated as he straightened up and looked over his assembled team. “We move out and gather what we can. If you want to bow out, now is the time to do so.”

He was pleased to see that none of them had opted to bow out. Not even nervous Boucher who struggled to even squash a spider if told to do so. Perhaps it was the gravity of the situation or perhaps it was some sort of affection he had for the waiter in question, but something made it significantly easier for the man to be brave enough to stay on what would likely be a perilous mission.

Seeing that nobody had opted to stay behind, the group gathered up their things before leaving the restaurant to head to the library. Outside of Donadieu putting in a call for their more specialized supplies, the rest could be gathered by each person depending on what would be most useful for their mission. Of course, with the ten of them so focused on discussing their mission they hadn’t noticed that the eleventh member of their group wasn’t with them. None of them could have guessed what Manon was on her way to do.

Chapter Text

While the chefs were busy discussing their own plans for rescuing Rody, Manon had snuck out through the back door. Thanks to Rousseaux having to cover up the shattered windows and the darkness of the street, Manon was able to sneak away undetected.

She walked with her head held high and with a purpose in her step that had what few people were out that evening moving out of her way to avoid getting run over by her. While Manon may be a refined young lady, that didn’t mean that she was above using hard looks and light shoulder knocks to get people to move out of her way. It was a tactic she often employed when she went out on one of her shopping sprees, a tactic that often left Rody fighting his way through crowds with his arms full of shopping bags and a thousand apologies passing his lips.

Her plan was very simple. March up to the bakery, ask to see Madame Olivier, and request a copy of her contract concerning Rody’s deal. From there, she can take the copy of the contract to one of the universities to find someone on staff who could translate the body of text above where she had signed her name and put down Rody’s personal information. If Manon knew what the terms of the deal were, perhaps she could find some sort of leverage to either get Rody out of the deal or if nothing else just the means of getting him back.

As much as Manon hated to admit it…Despite everything that had happened when she had discovered Rody cheating on her in the alleyway…She still loved him. She still found that the space beside her felt empty without the auburn-haired dog of a man there to take up that space. She found herself missing the silly songs he would make up on the spot just to make her laugh if she was having a bad day. She was finding herself missing the way he attentively listened to each and every one of her magazine article ideas. How he supported her endlessly, even when she had her own doubts about whether she actually was good enough to work for such a prestigious magazine.

Rody never made her feel like she was Marianne Vacher, daughter of the renounced Vacher food critic dynasty. Her family had been food critics for generations now and they had a reputation for making or breaking new restaurants. In fact, for a few months after La Gueule de Saturne had first opened six years ago a lot of patrons cited the article Manon’s father had written as one of the reasons why they were enticed enough to check it out for themselves.

To Rody, Manon was just…Manon. She could be just Manon. She could be the young lady who loved to bake no matter how bitter her baked goods turned out. She could be the hopeful dreamer with a shelf full of fantasy stories and romance novels that she kept hidden behind more “respectable” literature. Manon could talk about her dreams of a whirlwind romance or being whisked away to some remote castle for a weekend to feel like a fantasy princess and…Rody would somehow find a way to deliver on those dreams. Even if they never quite turned out the way either of them had intended for them to.
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Manon was certainly surprised when found a letter on her doorstep with a bouquet of flowers. She plucked up the bouquet and smelled the delicate aroma of the pink aster flowers surrounded by forget-me-nots. Not a traditional bouquet of red roses, but lovely nonetheless.

She opened the letter and smiled softly at the familiar cursive script on the paper:

‘Dear Manon,

Do you remember when we talked about that story you had read about the princess running away to the seaside to go on a secret date with the lute player from her father’s court? Well my princess, consider this your formal invitation to run away with me.

I found us a nice place to enjoy the ocean and just relax for the weekend. A getaway for you to feel like the lead in your story! Hopefully you would be okay with me bringing a guitar instead of a lute! They’re kinda hard to find on short notice…

Anyway, I’ll be picking you up this evening at around five o’clock to whisk you away to your seaside paradise my fair princess. Hopefully the flowers stay fresh this time.

Adieu with love,
Rody XOXOXO’

Manon smiled softly as she held the letter close to her chest. Rody always did his best to go above and beyond when it came to their dates. Sure, Manon would be just as happy if he had taken her for a simple stroll through the park…but she couldn’t deny that his intentions and how excited he got planning these dates were charming in their own way. The fact that he had listened to her rambling about this latest addition to her collection of romance tales touched Manon even more. Most of the men she had dated would get jealous or act like she was cheating on them for even mentioning that she liked stories like these…But not Rody. He almost took them as blueprints for the kinds of dates she would like.

With that thought Manon went back inside to put the flowers into a vase and to pack up a little travel bag. She was thankful that she had purchased a new bathing suit recently, it was in a new cut that all of her lady friends gushed about and the pattern on it had caught her eye. She had never seen one in such a vibrant yellow before and the stripes on it made her curves pop in a way that would hopefully convince Rody to be a little less shy around her when it came to more…intense physical romance.

If nothing else, at least Manon got an opportunity to get some warm summer sunshine in and perhaps come up with a few new article ideas while on her little excursion with Rody. Now if only Manon could convince Rody to pick a new job, something a little less physical and a lot more suited to that brain he kept trying to hide.
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When Manon opened the door at five in the evening, she almost wanted to start laughing. Rody was standing there with his beat up suitcase ready to go but that wasn’t what Manon found so funny. What was funny was the fact that he had tried to throw together a little costume meant to look like the outfit that the lute player was wearing on the cover of the story. Rody wore brown pants that cut off just below his knee and a white tunic style shirt that looked like it came from an old pirate costume. He wore a pair of black shoes and he had tried to style his hair into the same style as the lute player’s…but Rody’s hair just wasn’t long enough to pull it off properly.

“Are you ready to sally forth and enjoy the healing waters of the sea, your highness?” Rody asked before he dipped into a low bow and took Manon’s hand into one of his. He pressed a soft kiss onto the back of it and looked up into her eyes with an endearing look that made her heart race.

Manon giggled as her cheeks flushed a light pink color, “But of course my good sir. I have a handsome and strong young man accompanying me to keep me safe from any vagabonds or brigands that may accost us on our journey.”

Rody’s face grew pink as he straightened up and allowed Manon to hold onto his arm. He spoke in a slightly nervous voice, “Sh-shall we head out, my lady?”

Manon nodded and she made sure that her door was safely locked before the two of them started to make the short walk down to the train station. The air was pleasantly warm on their short walk and it felt nice to get a little exercise before their train ride down to the shoretown Rody had picked out for their trip.

“I must ask why you chose that specific town,” Manon commented as she and Rody turned the corner and found themselves in front of the train station.

Rody smiled a sheepish smile, “W-well one of my cousins owns a beach home in that town and she was kind enough to lend it to me for the weekend. She said it was a thank you for helping her fix her tire the other week.”

Manon hummed contently. She wasn’t sure why Rody looked so nervous about admitting that little fact. He didn’t need to be super wealthy to make her happy. He did that just by being his usual kind and attentive self.

The two walked up the steps to the ticket booth, ignoring the whispers about Rody’s choice of attire. Manon was just happy to be getting to spend some quality time with her boyfriend and getting to travel. As successful as her parents were, she didn’t often get taken with them on their trips. They had reasoned that these were business trips and that Manon would have gotten bored or into trouble if they had taken her along with them. It wasn’t until Manon was ready to go away to college that she finally got to travel like the other girls her age had.

“Two tickets to Le Crotoy please,” Rody stated after the two had finally approached the ticket stand.

“Will those be one-way tickets or two-way tickets?” The ticket clerk asked without even glancing over at Rody.

Rody replied with a slight smile, “Two way-please!”

The ticket clerk looked Rody up and down and somehow managed to restrain a sneer as he replied, “That will be 0.50 Euros please.”

Rody dug out the proper change from his wallet and plunked it onto the counter. Manon looked over after Rody had paid. She could have easily paid for both of them but…Manon also wasn’t in the mood to have an argument before a weekend long trip. Maybe she could convince him to allow her to pay for dinner as a thank you?

Rody smiled down at Manon as he chirped, “Are you ready to go, chérie?”

Manon nodded and smiled back, which was a good enough answer for Rody. The two started to make the trek over to the platform where their train would arrive. Both knew that it would be an almost two hour ride down to the station at Noyelles sur Mer and they would either have to catch a bus down the rest of the way, take another train down or even rent bikes and bike over. Either way it would be a long trip and Manon was very thankful that she had remembered to pack something to read on the long ride down.
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Manon paused in her little trip down memory lane when she noticed that she had blindly walked all the way to Le Vin de Circe. She recognized the light blue umbrella outside of the shop and the matching awning over the doorway anywhere.

Manon sighed in relief, seeing that the little bakery was still open despite the later hour. From the looks of things, the bakery had more foot traffic compared to the other day when she had stopped in to draw up the contract in the first place. Perhaps what had happened back at La Gueule de Saturne earlier forced their usual patrons to disperse elsewhere for their evening meals? Either way, Manon had hoped that would mean that she could request a private chat with Madame Olivier.

Manon took a deep breath to steel her nerves before she opened the door. The soft jingle of the silver bell above the door caught the attention of a very familiar face behind the counter.

“Ah, mademoiselle! I wasn’t expecting to see you here!” A male voice greeted in an overly cheery tone.

Standing behind the counter was Tristan, dressed in the same light blue uniform that he was wearing when Manon had first met him. There was no magazine in sight this time, but that must be because the bakery had plenty of customers to tend to.

Manon approached the counter and smiled despite knowing that this was one of the two demons who had been messing with her boyfriend. She would have to pretend that he hadn’t tried to make Rody shrink out of existence for now. She had a mission that she needed to complete before those pesky chefs or Vincent started to wonder where she had gone.

Manon replied, “It is lovely to see you again, monsieur. I take it business is doing well this evening?”

Tristan laughed, “A little too well for my tastes. This is the first time I’ve gotten to take a break this evening.”

Manon took in the tired look in the man’s eyes and wondered if he was really drained from using his powers so freely earlier. But she wouldn’t reveal her suspicions for now.

“You poor thing,” Manon cooed sympathetically, which seemed to make Tristan perk up ever so slightly. “I hate to add more to your plate-”

“Your requests are always so delightful mademoiselle,” Tristan cut her off with a bit of a flirty smirk that had Manon unintentionally blushing. “Name it and I will make it so.”

Manon took a moment to compose herself once she had noticed that her cheeks were burning. Sure Tristan was handsome, but he was no Rody. Rody was the one who truly captured Manon’s heart and…unlike him…Manon didn’t plan on straying from their relationship. Tristan seemed to get some amusement out of watching her get flustered, but him being amused meant that he wouldn’t suspect her of planning anything shady or sneaky.

Manon cleared her throat before she requested, “Would it be possible to see Madame Olivier? I would like to continue our discussion from the other day.”

There was a slight flicker of nervousness in Tristan’s eyes, much like the odd flicker that had passed through Isolde’s eyes earlier that evening. What was so scary about Madame Olivier to two powerful demons? Wasn’t she just an ordinary human?

Tristan quickly composed himself as he replied, “B-but of course! I-I will escort you to the back room and let her know that you are requesting her presence. Right this way, mademoiselle.”

Tristan made his way out from behind the counter while Manon walked down the length of it to meet him at the end of it. He held out his arm and Manon took it without a second thought. She was so used to taking Rody’s arm that it felt like muscle memory despite it being the arm of another man. But…there was something different about Tristan compared to the other time she had seen him. He seemed…almost hesitant to fulfill Manon’s request despite the mask of eager obedience he threw on. What did Madame Olivier know that could make him so…nervous? Was it…

Before Manon could continue on that train of thought, she found herself in the same back room as before. The little table and chair were set with care, every little piece of silverware and fine china on the table selected with the utmost discretion to add to the air of sophistication and cutesy charm the place seemed to ooze from its very walls. That same intimidating collection of bottles and jars full of who knows what still gathered on the shelves lining the back walls. Manon both hungered for the knowledge of what exactly was in each and every one of those jars and bottles but the more rational part of her reasoned that if she did have that knowledge that she’d be too frozen by fear to enact her plan. She’d be paralyzed by the irrational thought that someone would turn her into an ingredient for some sort of potion or meal or something! But that was preposterous! Who would even look at a person and consider such a thing?!

“Have a seat mademoiselle,” Tristan purred in a soft yet cheery voice that didn’t at all match the tremor in his hands. “I will go and fetch Madame Olivier for you.”

“Merci beaucoup,” Manon thanked before she sat down at that charming little table. “I do apologize if this is an inconvenience for you.”

Tristan waved a dismissive hand as he replied, “I-it’s no inconvenience at all, really. It’ll only take a moment. Would you like some refreshments for your chat?”

Manon replied after a moment of thought, “Only if it won’t be an inconvenience.”

Tristan didn’t answer whether he would be bringing anything with him other than Madame Olivier when he returned, but something in Manon’s gut told her that he likely would. Perhaps his boss would pretty much demand he do so in order to make the air feel more warm and welcoming than it did right now.

There was an odd tension in the air that didn’t dissipate as she watched Tristan leave the room with an unsureness in his stride that wasn’t there earlier. A part of Manon wondered whether she had bitten off more than she could chew by coming here late at night by herself. Maybe she should have at least told one of the chefs where she was going just in case she ran into trouble but…

Then that would mean that Vincent would get involved because of course he would. He had this odd fixation on her boyfriend that he clearly showed no issue with taking to a more physical level. The fact that Rody seemed to enjoy being manhandled by a man in a public space should have made Manon give up on the auburn-haired man completely. For a moment she had but…Every time she tried to, the memories of their time together would come flashing to the front of her mind. As if her heart was reminding her of why Rody was worth all of the time and effort in the first place. His bright smiles, his tender and heartfelt gestures, the way he pushed himself harder and harder just to make her smile or laugh…

No. Even if things went south. Even if she had to find a way to fight off an entire establishment full of people. Manon would find a way to help Rody. It was the least that she could do after getting him tangled up in this mess in the first place. And perhaps…doing this was also motivated by the selfish desire to keep Rody from falling deeper into the clutches of one Vincent Charbonneau.

Chapter Text

When Rody had finally closed the door to the bedroom, he pressed his back against it and sighed a heavy sigh of relief as he felt himself slide down the dark wood ever so slightly. He might have had a nap that lasted who knows how long but he felt exhausted after having to deal with that maid. But another part of himself felt oddly proud of being able to find a way out of what could have been a very messy situation. He had used the very brain that most people, himself included, seemed to deny that he had. It was…it was like when he was young and would solve the mystery in detective stories before the detective in the story did, the way different clues and ideas melded together to present the perfect solution to him. Even if Rody’s reasoning wasn’t always perfect he got to the correct answer in the end and for the longest time that was all that really mattered.

Rody pushed himself away from the door after taking a moment or two to catch his breath. He then started to take in the space he was now in.

Rody was standing in the longest hallway he had ever seen in his life. The floor beneath him was made of a black marble and like the white one in the bathroom it too had golden veins traveling through it. Over top the marble was a long, thin runner rug in that deep red color that Tristan seemed to like. It had one of those abstract patterns that were supposed to add an air of sophistication to the rug, but in Rody’s opinion they just looked tacky. The walls of the hall had that same dark paneling as the bedroom and in between the spaces of the paneling the walls were painted the same deep red color as the rug. Along the walls were golden candle holders and each one held a lit cream-colored candle. The entire vibe of the place felt more like an evil lair than a cozy home. Hell, it made Vince’s cold and terribly decorated apartment feel much warmer and more inviting in comparison.

‘Where am I?’ Rody thought as he looked down both sides of the hallway. Neither one seemed any more familiar than the other but he knew that he couldn’t stay here for long. If there was one maid that wanted to “devour” him, who’s to say that there weren’t other staff members that felt the same way.

With that thought in mind, Rody turned to his right and started to walk down the long hallway. There were numerous doors lining the hall, but Rody didn’t dare to open any of them. He had heard some…unusual sounds that he’d rather not puzzle out what they were coming from. The breathy groans and loud moans that accompanied the wet slaps he heard on occasion just cemented his decision. The sooner he left this hall the better.

Rody heard his stomach growl and he pressed a hand over it. Damn. He was so busy trying to escape and play along ever so briefly with whatever game Tristan was forcing him to play that Rody had completely forgotten that he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. Well there was the squirt of whipped cream just a few moments ago but…that wasn’t really a dinner. Maybe if he got lucky, Rody could find a pantry or something to satiate his hunger until he could find a way out of here. He wasn’t sure if there were any weird rules that stated that those who eat the food here are trapped here but…he also didn’t want to starve to death either.

As soon as Rody thought that, he smelt something…Something…really delicious. He followed the scent like a dog would, inhaling the aroma of rich spices and something salty so deeply he could practically imagine the taste on his tongue already. He walked further and further down the hallway until he came to a set of stairs. Rody sat on the railing and slid down it, something he had always wanted to do as a child but never found the opportunity as an adult to do. When he reached the bottom, the smell grew even stronger and Rody blindly followed it until he entered what appeared to be a kitchen.

Standing at the stove was a man stirring a pot full of the delicious smelling whatever it was. He was about an inch taller than Rody with long black hair that was white at the ends of it. It looked like someone had run out of ink while coloring his hair. He wore a long, dark cloak and leather gloves from what Rody could see of his outfit.

The man heard Rody step further into the kitchen and looked over at him. Rody found himself staring at the deepest blue eyes he had ever seen. They were the same deep blue color as the sapphires at a high end jewelry store were (not that Rody could afford anything there but it never hurt to look, right?). The deep blue eyes looked extra brilliant against the deep black of his hair and the pallor of his ivory skin.

“Well well, I guess I’m not the only guest dining tonight, huh?” The man commented in a voice that was as rich as honey and made Rody feel slightly more relaxed than before.

“S-sorry for interrupting I just-I couldn’t help but smell your cooking and well-” Rody was cut off when his stomach growled once more. His face flushed at the man’s amused chuckle.

The man shook his head before gesturing to one of the cabinets, “Go grab each of us a bowl. This is just about done.”

Rody walked up to the cabinet and did as he was told. The man seemed nice enough and it spared Rody from having to try and scrape something together himself. The idea that the meal could somehow be poisoned didn’t even cross his mind. He was just that hungry.

Rody passed over two bowls before closing the cabinet once more. He watched with interest as the stranger opened up some odd looking device and scooped out a hefty portion of warm, fluffy rice into each bowl. He closed the lid on the device, likely to keep the warm rice well warm, and laid the oddly flat, paddle-like spoon on top of the lid. He then took the ladle he had been stirring with and poured out an equally generous portion of what looked like stew over top of the rice. The man reached underneath into a drawer and dug out two spoons before passing a bowl and spoon over to Rody.

“Here, eat. You’ll need your strength,” the man ordered before he took a bite of his own meal after taking a moment to stir the thick stew into the rice.

Rody took a spoonful of the thick stew and a bit of rice before popping the spoon into his mouth. His eyes widened at the lovely flavor dancing over his tongue. It was salty, but also slightly sweet. The spices he had smelled made the flavor more complex rather than hot like he had expected. The beef practically melted in his mouth, it was so tender he hardly had to chew it. The carrots, potato and onion all blended together to make this one bite feel warm and comforting. It wasn’t cold and clinical like Vince’s cooking, it wasn’t bitter like Manon’s baking…It reminded Rody of home and he couldn’t help the tears he felt in his eyes at the memory of his mother making him a warm stew on a cold winter’s day after he trudged through the snow after school.

“That good, huh?” The man laughed softly before he took another bite of his own meal.

Rody nodded mutely before he took another bite. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to wolf down the entire bowl. He wasn’t sure what it was but…this was the best meal he has had in a while. So simple and yet…it filled a part of Rody that he wasn’t even aware was empty.

The man continued to talk, seemingly unbothered by his silent dining companion, “It’s not my mother’s curry but…I feel that I did it some justice. She usually uses dark chocolate in hers to make it slightly sweet and richer but…well I prefer the combination of beef with a little apple anyways.:

Rody swallowed his mouthful of food and looked down at his bowl before he questioned, “This is curry? I…I mean it’s not like the curries I’ve seen before…”

The man smiled a patient smile before he asked, “You’re European, right?”

“F-french, but yeah. Why?” Rody replied with a confused look on his face as he looked over at his mysterious cook.

“Then you likely aren’t familiar with Japanese style curries,” the man explained before he took another bite of his meal. He swallowed before he continued to explain, “It is influenced by the Indian curries you are familiar with but the combination of ingredients differs enough to make it unique. Plus this style of curry is much thicker whereas the texture of Indian curries can be as thin as soup or as thick as this is.”

Rody hummed as he nodded, “Well either way, it’s really good. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

The man smiled softly, “Anytime friend. I don’t get an opportunity to really cook for anybody other than myself here so…having someone to actually share a meal with is nice for a change.”

Rody could see that the man looked a little somber, but something in his body language told Rody that he wouldn’t say anything more on the subject. So the two returned to eating in quiet amiable silence. Perhaps after eating the man would be willing to explain what he meant by that, but for now Rody would just enjoy this delicious meal. Something in his gut told him that it would be a while before he had anything this good again, so he would savor every last little morsel he could for the time being.
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After their meal, Rody washed up the dishes as the mysterious man packed up the leftovers. Rody still hadn’t learned the man’s name, but he seemed trustworthy enough nonetheless. The food had yet to kill him or turn him into a newt, so Rody figured that this guy would be safe enough to hang around for the time being.

“So what’s the plan now?” Rody asked as his companion (er well only other seemingly sane person in the building) finally closed the fridge door. The man passed Rody a can of juice and popped his own open.

The man took a swig of his juice before he replied, “Not sure. We should probably start looking for an exit while the master of the manor is away.”

Rody blinked and hesitantly opened his own can of juice. He took a sip, surprised by the oddly sweet flavor of it. It wasn’t a flavor he was used to. Almost watermelon-like with a hint of strawberry…tasty but not his usual pick for a juice.

“You mean that T-” Rody’s mouth was covered by the man, who got an oddly nervous look on his face.

“Keep it down. Saying an entity’s name can make them appear,” the man hissed in a low voice as he looked around the room for any sign of the demon in question. “Didn’t they teach you mythology in school?”

Rody waited until the man removed his hand from over his mouth before Rody replied, “I can’t really remember that far back. But that sounds like a superstition….”

The man rolled his eyes and gestured to the space around them as he explained, “We’re in Hell, in the manor of a demon and you’re trying to deny advice from an expert because it sounds like superstition? No wonder you wound up here.”

Rody almost dropped his can of juice in shock. He looked around the room. No. That couldn’t be right…This place looked too normal to be in Hell. Where was the fire? The brimstone? The pit of boiling lava that sinners were thrown into like the priests of his youth used to preach about?

“Look,” the man continued as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “if you wanna survive here, you have to start digging back into those memories of fairytales and monster stories. Myths are as good as reality here and superstition is the only means of safety.”

“There’s a way out though right? I…I don’t want to be stuck here for eternity,” Rody whispered as he tightened his grip on his can of juice.

The man looked Rody over with a slightly more sympathetic look on his face. Clearly the man was far more experienced in this sort of thing than the auburn-haired waiter was but…Still, Rody felt in over his head on this one. It wasn’t like any of his old service jobs where he could fake it until he made it. This was something far more dangerous…

The man tapped Rody’s can of juice and waited for Rody to take another sip before he spoke once more, “Just stick close to me for the time being. We’ll find strength in numbers and well…I for one don’t want to see what other tricks that sadistic fuck has up his sleeves.”

Rody tilted his head, “But he doesn’t even wear a shirt? What sleeves could he be hiding things up?”

The man rolled eyes as he snorted, “You’re a couple crayons short of a full box, aren’t you.”

Rody felt his brow twitch in irritation but he ignored the snide remark. He sipped at his juice once more to keep himself calm. The last thing he needed was to lose his cool on the only friendly face in this hellhole. Then Rody might really be up shit’s creek without a paddle.

“We’ll head out once we finish these,” the man stated after taking another swig of his juice. “Staying in one spot for too long isn’t the wisest idea in this place.”

“Because of the horny weirdos?” Rody asked with a slightly annoyed look on his face and a soft dusting of blush on his cheeks.

The man covered a slight snicker with a cough before he replied, “I was thinking more about the lesser demons that like to try and jump sinners and eat them. But yes, the bastard who shall not be named’s toys certainly will pose a problem if they catch wind of us.”

Rody remained silent as he digested the man’s words. He didn’t want to even begin to ponder about what he meant by lesser demons. The whole fact that demons were even real to begin with was already an idea that his head was still struggling to wrap itself around despite everything that had happened to him over the past three days. As if he could somehow explain some of it away as just him being over exhausted from working too hard for too long. That his brain was so fried from pushing himself to reach an impossible goal that something within it snapped to cause him to hallucinate. But…

The fact that his boss Vince had also seen what Rody had seen, had felt what Rody had felt, had dealt with what Rody had dealt with…Not to mention the fact that Manon had also witnessed Rody’s more recent, and unfortunate, situation…No. It was way too real to deny it. It felt too solid to be just a hallucination. Everything felt too different and messed with his head way too much for it to be anything but reality…

Rody finished the juice without even realizing it until he tipped the can to his lips and nothing came out of it. The man took the empty can from him and tossed both Rody’s and his own empty cans into a blue bin by the sink. Welp. There was no delaying the inevitable now. It was time to face whatever surprises awaited them in his house of horrors.

“Umm, I never got your name by the way,” Rody mentioned as he started to follow the man out of the room.

The man rolled his eyes before he retorted, “You can’t have my name, but you can call me Masaru.”

Rody groaned, “Is this another superstition thing?”

“Yes, it’s easy for something to have power over you if you give them your name. I’m honestly surprised that the fae haven’t made off with you by now,” the man replied with an oddly serious voice.

“Well fine, just call me Rody then,” Rody replied with a slightly annoyed tone coloring his words.

Masaru smirked, “See? It’s not that hard to adapt to things around here. You’ll learn quickly how much power a name can have in places like this.”

Rody rolled his eyes as he continued to trudge after this latest weirdo he had met on this journey to who knows what. A part of him wondered what kind of substances this guy was into to even think up half of the odd things he had said but…Rody had to admit that maybe odd logic was the only way to effectively deal with an odd situation. He was no expert on the weird or supernatural and this Masaru guy seemed to be the closest thing Rody found to an expert outside of Louvet…Hell even Louvet was a little odd sometimes with little superstitions of his own. Muttering things about about knocking on wood to keep bad things from happening or tossing salt over his left shoulder to ward off bad luck. People learned very quickly not to stand right behind him when salt got spilled, unless they wanted to be suddenly seasoned that is.

But both weirdos were good at cooking and were nice enough despite those little oddities…So maybe Rody would cut them both a little slack. At least until he was safely free from demons for the foreseeable future.

Chapter Text

Vincent sneezed, pausing to blow his nose into his handkerchief. He hoped that he wasn’t getting sick. That was the last thing that he needed to add onto his plate. But given how stressed out he’s been lately and how that stress has skyrocketed just from the events of today alone…Maybe he should add some extra citrus to his smoothie tonight to try and give his immune system more of a boost.

“You alright there Chef?” Dior asked as the group continued to make their way to the national library. It was a bit of a walk from the bistro but…what other choice did they have? The ones closer to them were already closed for the evening.

Vincent tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket as he replied, “I’ll live. I doubt it's anything serious.”

Manet snickered, “Maybe someone is talking about you behind your back, Chef? They do say that causes people to sneeze randomly.”

“Did you pick that up in one of those dirty magazines you were talking about earlier?” Faucher teased, smirking at the way Manet went red in the face and gasped an offended gasp.

“Would you stop mentioning such lewd things around Father Donadieu?! He’s a man of God! He doesn’t need to hear about such filthy things!” Manet gasped as he reached up to cover Donadieu’s ears. Donadieu looked amused, but decided not to add anything to the exchange. He didn’t want to ruin whatever delusion Manet held of him by revealing that he was both married and had not only two kids but a grandchild on the way.

Rousseaux added with a slight laugh, “He’s also the oldest of all of us, so he’s probably seen and heard things that would shock all of us.”

Manet pouted and removed his hands from Donadieu’s ears. The holy man patted his companion’s head with a soft, “There there, my child.”

“Hmph, why can’t the two of you be like that?” Manet pouted as he looked over at Rousseaux and Louvet.

Louvet rolled his eyes as he replied, “Because you’re too grown for coddling and it’s not in our character to do so.”

Rousseaux snickered, “Speak for yourself. You show affection through sarcasm and making someone eat.”

“A method that helped fuel your late growth spurt a little too well in my opinion,” Louvet sniffed with a fake glare. “Pretty greedy of you not to share that height with the man who kept you from starving on the streets.”

“And you’ve said the same thing to Chef before and didn’t mean any of those words,” Rousseaux replied as he playfully punched the blond’s shoulder.

Lavigne spoke up after a moment, “You knew Chef before here?”

Rousseaux and Louvet both shared a mischievous look while Vincent started walking just a little faster to avoid being dragged into whatever sort of petty revenge the two were cooking up. Did he regret having the two men scrub down the entire kitchen after they allowed a pot to explode on their watch? No, but that still didn’t mean that they needed a reason other than pure spite to bring up old memories.

The group matched Vincent’s speed with relative ease, as it wouldn’t look proper in public for him to just run off ahead like a child trying to avoid trouble. The mere fact that he showed a reaction at all was enough to intrigue the rest of the group about whatever juicy tidbit Rousseaux and Louvet were about to reveal.

“Knew him? We trained him,” Louvet revealed, smirking at the slight glare Vincent sent him over his shoulder. “He was fresh out of secondary school when we first met him.”

“No way!” Beaumont exclaimed with an excited gleam in her eyes, “What was he like?”

Rousseaux shrugged as he pretended to ignore the murderous aura that was starting to form around Vincent, “Mmm, he was pretty quiet like now only…Well it was more of a shy quiet than an aloof sort of quiet.”

Louvet snickered, “He was so tiny too. I think he was a little shorter than I am and Rousseaux could easily lift him onto his shoulders back then.”

Beaumont and Lavigne both got that look, that look that people often got when hearing about cute animals or babies. Their soft coos and awws only served to make Vincent’s bloodlust rise more quickly than before. The snickers from Faucher, Dior and Manet only added more fuel to that fire. He half contemplated just firing the entire group of them and finding new chefs to work under him.

“I can remember when he first started the poor thing,” Louvet teased with a slight smirk. “He practically followed me around like a lost puppy.”

“You couldn’t blame him though,” Rousseaux conceded with a slight shrug of his shoulders, “Chef Bourbain was a notorious hardass and she chewed him out far more than he’s ever chewed any of us out.”

Louvet sneered, “Ugh, tell me about it. She had that gorilla of a husband scare the poor thing into cutting his hair short. That fucking gorilla was lucky he had a nose left at all after I was through with him.”

“Chef had long hair?!” Boucher blurted out, covering his mouth after he had spoken. He hid behind Donadieu to avoid the frightening look on Vincent’s face.

Vincent rolled his eyes as he spat out, “It was highly unprofessional for that kind of kitchen. I was planning on cutting it at some point anyway. It was my mother who liked it on the longer side.”

“The longer hair suited you at that age,” Rousseaux added, ignoring the way Vincent was sending him murderous looks. “You hadn’t fully finished puberty at that time so the longer hair suited the more androgynous figure you had back then.”

“I’m a chef, not a fashion model,” Vincent snorted as he bristled underneath the arm that Rousseaux slung over his shoulders.

Louvet smirked as he pointed out, “Looks like we’re here. We can continue to bully Charbonneau later.”

The group entered the library with Vincent hanging back with Rousseaux and Louvet. Dior and Beaumont scurried off to the front desk to start asking the librarian behind the desk about where each section was. Lavigne and Manet headed off to secure a workspace for all ten of them while Boucher and Faucher started to walk towards what they hoped would be the section on religion. Donadieu had stepped off to the side to use one of the payphones outside of the library to contact his priest friend regarding their supply of holy water and other holy objects.

“Must the two of you tease me in front of the others?” Vincent grumbled as Rousseaux ruffled his hair and Louvet leaned against Vincent’s arm.

Louvet patted Vincent’s shoulder as he teased, “Who else is gonna make sure your ego stays in check Monsieur Top Chef Under Thirty for the sixth year in a row?”

Vincent huffed as his shoulders sagged. Sometimes he wondered whether it was worth all of the trouble to keep these two around. Sure, they were both very competent chefs and could easily keep things running smoothly while he was away (not a very common occurrence, but something that happened more frequently since Rody had started working for him) but…Vincent could do without the teasing and revealing of his deep dark secrets from his youth. The last thing he wanted was for his authority as their boss to be undermined because they no longer saw him as an intimidating boss.
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Donadieu had waited maybe two and a half rings before the phone was picked up.

“Hello? This is Father Reims speaking, who may I ask is calling at this hour?” A comforting voice asked over the phone.

Donadieu smiled a slightly somber smile as he answered, “Father Reims, it’s me. Raphaël Donadieu, your roommate from the Pontifical French Seminary?”

The voice sounded slightly more excited as Donadieu heard an immediate reply, “Ah, Father Donadieu it is lovely to hear your voice. How have the years been treating you my brother in Christ?”

“You need not call me Father Donadieu anymore, Father Reims. You know that I gave that life up to serve our fair country decades ago,” Donadieu replied in a slightly somber voice.

“Nonsense. In the eyes of the Lord, you will always be one of us,” Father Reims’ dismissive hand wave could be heard in his voice. That was one of many reasons why Donadieu kept in touch with his old roommate in the first place. His strong faith was enough to bring comfort to Donadieu when he felt that his own faith wasn’t strong enough. “May I ask why you are calling so late at night, mon ami? It isn’t normally in your character to speak this late.”

Donadieu spoke quietly, “I am in need of supplies Father. The demonic have seen fit to make one of my colleagues into a plaything for them.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line. Donadieu knew that being upfront about the presence of the demonic could be risky, especially around members of the clergy without the afflicted in question being present to answer questions. But…the situation was dire and Donadieu knew Father Reims well enough to know that the man would at least be willing to hear him out even if he wasn’t able to help them immediately.

“Father Donadieu, you and I both know how serious of a claim you are making is. I trust your judgement but I still must ask, are you certain that the demonic are involved?” Father Reims finally spoke after what felt like an eternity. At least he was still on the phone.

“Father Reims, you and I both know that I would never claim that the demonic were involved if I thought that the cause was anything else,” Donadieu replied in a voice that left no room for uncertainty. “You know what I was training for before the war.”

There was a soft hum of a laugh on Father Reims’ side of the phone. Even amongst the rest of their class, Donadieu was the most eager to learn how to protect his future flock against the demonic by any means necessary. An eager and protective shepherd despite his softer and gentler approach. It was part of why he was especially effective at supporting the younger or more troubled members of his past congregation in their time of need.

Father Reims’ smile could be heard in his reply, “Very well my layman exorcist, you will be armed for your battle against the demonic.”

Donadieu sighed a relieved sigh before he responded, “Thank you Father Reims. As always you will be in my evening prayers.”

“And you shall be in mine as always,” Father Reims added with the smile still being clear in his voice. “Would you be able to meet me outside of the church later this evening?”

“Yes Father,” Donadieu answered almost immediately. “My colleagues and I have a bit of business to attend to at the national library first but-”

Father Reims cut Donadieu off mid-sentence, “Oh splendid. One of the Sisters needed to return a few materials she had borrowed from there anyway. I shall come over with the supplies at once.”

Donadieu sent a silent prayer to God, thanking Him for allowing someone like Father Reims to remain in his life for as long as this.

“Thank you Father, I look forward to seeing you soon. Safe travels, my friend,” Donadieu responded with a voice that practically dripped with gratitude towards the man on the other end of the phone.

“Good luck my friend and may the Lord give you the strength that you need to help your afflicted colleague,” Father Reims answered before Donadieu could hear the phone being hung up.

The holy man hung his end up as well, stretching slightly to chase the tired feeling out of his limbs. Cooking for so long always made him feel a little too relaxed for something as mentally strenuous as the research project ahead of him. It was one of the few things that had gotten him in trouble in seminary school as a youth.

But that wasn’t important nor worth dwelling on right now. Donadieu had a mission to prepare for and Rody needed him to be in top form. It would be the only way to rescue his dear colleague (and certainly a friend in Donadieu’s eyes) from the malevolent demons hellbent on keeping the waiter in their clutches.

Donadieu took a deep, calming breath before he left the phone booth and entered the library. It was time to offer his own knowledge to whatever pool of information that his coworkers and boss had gathered while he was talking on the phone.

Chapter Text

Manon sat at the table, waiting patiently for Tristan to come back with Madame Olivier. The clock hanging over the entryway into the main salesfloor continued its monotonous ticking. The only other noise Manon could hear was the dull murmur of the patrons enjoying their delicate desserts and complimenting teas or coffees over a delightful conversation. The soft clink of cups against saucers or silverware against plates punctuated each little snippet of conversation that Manon could only really decipher if she strained her ears to listen more closely.

It wasn’t long since Tristan had left, maybe five or six minutes at most but…Maybe it was just the worry about what could be happening to Rody wherever he’s been taken to or perhaps the rational part of her mind trying to warn her that she’s trying to do something foolish when she’ll be in the presence of a woman that could easily turn Manon into a frog if she says the wrong thing. It could even be the jealous part of her that was whispering about her wasting time on a fruitless endeavor while Vincent gets together a little team to go play hero and everyone knows that the hero is the one who gets the boyfriend at the end of the story! The knight in shining armor gets the princess, the small-town boy with sensibilities wins over the big-city girl with a broken dream, the savior of the entire world gets his best friend’s sister who had been pining for him from afar for as long as anyone could remember.

Manon stood up from the chair and pushed it back in quietly as she walked over to the shelves to inspect them a little more closely. All of the jars and bottles looked like they had once held something else but were recycled into holding…well she wasn’t sure what a lot of these things were. There were liquids and creams and odd looking plants inside of a lot of them. She could faintly make out the shapes of claws in one of them and were those…were those little butterfly wings in another? No, that couldn’t be. These were too small and translucent for that…But alas, like the grimoire and the upper portion of the contract everything was labeled in that same unreadable language that seemed intent on teasing Manon.

It wasn’t like they had offered an obscure and weird languages class back in university! Or even if they had, she definitely wouldn’t have taken it. Why would Marianne Vacher, daughter of the renowned Vacher food critic dynasty, author of some up and coming articles that will truly revolutionize the food scene in Paris, need to know an obscure language? What purpose would it serve her other than to be some little bit of trivia to make small talk over at one of those mixers her parents hosted in the vain attempt to set her up with a more “acceptable” partner than Rody. The fact her parents worried more about how many zeroes his salary had than how he treated her gave Manon the exact reason why she wanted to marry him. He cared about her in ways that her parents, blinded by their socio-economic status, were just incapable of.

Manon set down the small jar of what she hoped was just glitter and not ground up souls or something. She was about to inspect another one of the containers more closely when she heard a muffled yelp and a sob. Manon looked over at the far doorway, one she hadn’t noticed from her visit the other day. Could it be? No. Impossible. That…that wasn’t any kind of sound Manon had ever heard Rody make but…that yelp sounded like it had been made by a man…

Manon moved as quietly as she possibly could, thanking herself for being sensible enough to wear her flats today. Even the small heel on her preferred pair of shoes would have made too much noise for her to be properly stealthy. Each step brought her closer. And closer. And closer to the door. That tantalizing door. A wooden barrier barely thicker than three of her fingers put together. The only thing standing between her and some sort of clue. Some sort of revelation that could help her start putting the pieces together.

Manon noticed that the door was open very, very slightly. Just open enough to see a tiny sliver of what was behind it. Manon carefully positioned herself to peer through the sliver.

‘Am I really going to snoop around like some nosy busybody?’ Manon thought to herself before another harsh slap and yelp caught her attention once more.

Manon looked through the sliver to see Tristan kneeling on the floor and holding his injured cheek. Isolde was pressed against the wall behind him, shivering with tears in her eyes. From what little Manon could make out from a distance, there were a few bruises that stood out starkly on the woman’s pale skin. Standing with her back to the door was Madeleine Olivier. Although something about the situation felt…off. Like that grandmotherly aura around her had been replaced with something darker…more sinister…

“The two of you can never do anything right! First you go and make it so I can’t reverse Michelle’s ungodly transformation and now you go and get that bitch involved in our latest contract! It was supposed to be a simple job! You go in, sweet talk the idiot into cleaning house and making good food and then extract his soul before he gets the girl! How am I supposed to continue running this place without any soul energy?!” Madeleine barked, making Isolde tremble harder and Tristan keep his gaze lowered on the floor. His arms trembled and Manon could have sworn she had seen a glint of tears in his eyes.

“M-madeleine please we-” Tristan was cut off when his hair was yanked sharply to pull him off of the floor. Isolde couldn’t even move to help him. She seemed paralyzed by fear. Much like Manon earlier…something in Manon felt a bit of sympathy for the poor thing…but that was quickly muted by the reminder that she was one of the demons being so cruel to her precious boyfriend.

“Do you think a disgusting beast like you has the right to call me by my name?!” Madeleine snarled in Tristan’s face, drawing a few pained whimpers out of him.

Tristan opened his mouth to reply when Madeleine slammed him back down onto the floor and stomped a foot onto his back to keep him pinned against the floor. Isolde’s legs gave out and she crumpled to the floor before curling up into a little ball and sobbing harder than before.

Madeleine ground her foot against Tristan’s back as she continued, “What good is a demon if it can’t even harvest one soul without any issue?! Oh that’s right, you’re only half demon! That pathetic bitch that produced you spread her legs to the first thing that walked by like the common whore she was. And then the world gets stuck with a freak like you! An abomination! She should have killed you the minute you were born!”

Manon could see Tristan trembling and biting his lower lip enough to draw blood. The patter of it mingled with the tears into a puddle on the floor.

“I-I can do better, please! Let me fix this!” Tristan begged, unable to push against the pressure Madeleine was putting on his back. Manon reasoned that it was because he didn’t want to fight it rather than he couldn’t fight it. Maybe…maybe to keep Isolde out of things?

“What’s there to fix?! That bitch is getting a team together and now the girlfriend is getting suspicious as well! The only thing you could possibly do is a total memory wipe of all of them but you’re so weak and stupid that you’ll mess that up as well!” Madeleine yelled back. She removed her foot from Tristan’s back and yanked him by his hair to get him to sit up straight.

Tristan bit back the yelp that threatened to rip out of him. He met Madeleine’s harsh gaze despite how much the dark look in her eyes made him tremble.

Madeleine cooed in a cold voice, “I might be willing to help you and that pathetic whelp start to fix things if you beg me for it.”

Isolde popped her head up to shout, “D-don’t do it! Please, Tristan you-”

Madeleine shoved Tristan aside to march up to Isolde and yoink her out of her curled up position by her hair. Once Isolde was pulled up high enough, Madeleine wrapped her hand around Isolde’s throat and kept her pinned to the wall.

“Don’t speak unless you are spoken to you disgusting little beast! What kind of wrath demon can’t even defend herself?! You cling to a freakish half-breed to keep you safe because you have the same level of power as a newborn demon! And why is that? Because you choose to share energy with a disgusting abomination instead of keeping it to yourself like you’re supposed to!” Madeleine snarled, her voice raising and lowering in volume to perfectly instill the exact level of fear she wanted to instill into the trembling woman in her grasp.

Tristan spoke up suddenly, “I-I’ll do it! I’ll beg, plead anything! Just…just please. Let her go. It’s…it’s my fault that things are this dire…”

Madeleine looked over her shoulder with a smug look on her face, “Much better. But that can wait. We have an uninvited guest to tend to.”

Manon felt her heartbeat quicken as a cold feeling washed over her. She took a step back from the door with an unsure step. How long? How long did she know that-

A blink and then there was a solid presence behind Manon. She couldn’t see Tristan in the other room anymore and-

“I…I’m so sorry mademoiselle,” a voice whispered into Manon’s ear as she felt a set of arms wrap around her.

Manon felt an odd feeling wash over her as her vision started to blur. Everything on her felt like it was made of lead and she slumped back against the solid body behind her. The only steady thing keeping her from falling to the floor.

She looked up slightly, taking in the flash of magenta eyes and a soft and almost remorseful look on Tristan’s face before everything went dark. The last thing she heard was, “I’m sorry things had to go this way.”
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
There was a soft sobbing sound in the distance. That was the first thing that Manon was aware of. The second thing that Manon was aware of was the fact that she was lying against the floor of La Gueule de Saturne, the very last place she had expected to wind up. She pushed herself off of the floor and looked around the dining room.

The windows were perfectly intact and there were no traces of any black ooze or bits of leathery skin anywhere. The walls had been previously caked in it and…now there was nothing. Manon looked around to see if she could identify where the sobbing noise was coming from. It still sounded distant but…

Manon looked over at one of the tables and blanched at the sight on top of it. Kneeling on the table, head buried in his hands, was Rody only…well he was as big as one of those Barbie dolls that her friend’s American cousin loved to chatter about. Cute dolls with cute clothes but…Manon was definitely a little grown to play with them like her friend’s cousin could.

Rody was dressed in his waiter uniform and a part of her wondered whether this was her doing or someone else’s doing. She’d prefer to see him dressed in something more casual or something she picked out for him but…At this point she’d rather have a version of her boyfriend that she wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally crushing or disappearing on her…

“Rody?” Manon asked in a soft voice after approaching the table quietly.

Rody’s gaze snapped up quickly as he scrambled to his feet a little too quickly. He almost tripped over them and Manon reached out a hand and steadied him. Rody’s face went pink but he looked pleased that she was around now.

“Manon! Chérie! I-I’m so happy to see you!” Rody shouted, his voice was likely too tiny for Manon to hear properly if he didn’t shout. The feeling on both of his little hands against her own single one was very odd but…the endearing look on his face had Manon melting.

Manon reached her other hand behind Rody and scooped him up with ease. He jumped slightly at the sudden shift in perspective but quickly relaxed in her hold. There was something both comforting and alarming in how much Rody trusted her.

Manon spoke softly to avoid hurting his ears as she decided to ask him a few questions, “Rody, what happened to you? Why are you-”

Rody smiled a slightly somber smile as he replied, “Tiny? Yeah, embarrassing I know. I…Well he isn’t doing what he needs to do to take better care of me.”

“He? Who’s he?” Manon asked as she unknowingly started to stroke Rody’s hair and cheek with one of her fingers.

The tiny man in her hand squirmed slightly and pushed her touch away enough before he replied, “Rody of course.”

Manon blinked and tilted her head, “B-but you’re Rody! A-aren’t you?”

Rody sighed and shrugged slightly, “Yes and no at the same time. We share a name, we look alike but…well the Rody you know is the man I’m…well I’m a part of him. A necessary part of him that he really needs to take better care of! Why I barely have any of me left!”

Manon still looked confused. A part of Rody? An essential part of him that he’s been neglecting? What was he talking about?

The miniature Rody sensed Manon’s continued confusion so he asked, “What was something you had told Rody not to do when you had broken up with him? What was one of your reasons for dumping him?”

“W-well I told him to stop…breaking himself down to build…me…up…” the gears started to whirl in Manon’s mind rapidly as the Rody in her hands watched her put the pieces together with a slightly amused look on his face as he leaned forward against her other hand.

“Wait you…are you his self-esteem?” Manon questioned as she held the tiny version of her boyfriend a little closer to inspect him a little more closely.

Rody looked pleased as he replied, “This is why he loves you so much chérie. You’re a smart young lady.”

Manon blushed softly as she helped the tiny man balance himself so he could stand in her hands to talk more comfortably. Nice though it was to hold him so close, Manon could also tell that he was a little more than embarrassed at being manhandled like a toy.

“But if you’re his self-esteem, why are you…”

“Tiny?” Rody interrupted as he got that slightly somber look on his face. “Like I said before, he isn’t good at taking care of himself and by extension me. I’m just a reflection of how poorly he thinks of himself or how highly he thinks of himself but…I can’t admit that I find shrinking and growing at random to be very pleasant…”

Manon asked softly, “Is there anything that I can do to help?”

Rody, er well his self-esteem maybe…nah Manon will stick to calling him Rody, patted her hand gently before he replied, “I appreciate the sentiment but…the only way I can improve my condition is if he takes steps to take better care of the both of us. I’ve been trying to get him to take some simple steps when he sleeps but…the waking world just undoes his progress too easily.”

“But what can I do to help him help you?” Manon questioned with a determined look on her face. Rody was momentarily stunned before he shook his head as if to clear away a few thoughts. He patted her hand and gave her a soft smile.

“Be genuine with him. Empty compliments or compliments about superficial things aren’t going to help him in the long run. Things intrinsic about him, the things he thinks people don’t notice, the things he works hard at, those are the things you could start pointing out and complimenting him on. He…he needs to feel like he’s more than just a pretty face or a workhorse,” Rody answered, taking a moment or two to pick out his words carefully.

Manon supposed that made sense. She often felt good when people would compliment her hair or her fashion sense but…well she felt a lot more confident when people would compliment her creativity or her business sense. Hell Rody always complimented her on her ability to strike when the iron was hot for articles about trends and-

Manon blinked as she mumbled, “He…he always compliments me that way. Sure he says the usual stuff about my looks or outfits but…Rody goes out of his way to make sure I know that I’m doing well or that I’m smart or creative or whatever it is that he sees.”

Rody smiled as he looked up at Manon before he replied, “Well of course he does. He doesn’t want anyone to feel as poorly as he does about himself, especially those he cares about. He…He’s got a better heart than he gives himself credit for.”

Manon was about to ask Rody another question when the chime of church bells started to ring. Rody managed to wriggle free of her grasp and safely landed back on the table. Manon was about to ask what was happening when she felt the same dizzy feeling from earlier.

“Our time together is coming to an end, but you’ll be seeing him again sooner than you think,” Rody reassured as he watched Manon try to fight off the dizzy feeling.

“B-but what about you?” Manon asked quietly. “I-if I leave what happens to you?”

Rody laughed softly, “Manon, this is just a dream. I’ll be just fine. The only thing you need to do is wake up chérie.”

Manon was about to ask what Rody meant by that when the world went white. The last thing she heard before being totally consumed by the brightness was Rody's reassurance, “Have faith. We’ll meet again very soon.”
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Manon awoke very slowly, her head still felt foggy and her limbs still felt heavy. The comforter that was thrown over her felt incredibly cozy and the pillows were far too plush to even consider leaving the bed she found herself in. She couldn’t quite tell where she was but…something inside of her told her to keep still. It was safer to pretend to be asleep still rather than alert whomever or whatever was around to the fact that she was awake.

Manon heard footsteps approaching the door to the room she was in and she quickly closed her eyes and turned over before the door opened. She kept her breathing quiet as she heard two people enter the room.

“She’ still out, huh?” A familiar voice commented, sounding semi-remorseful and semi-annoyed at the same time.

“Well you were the one who used angelic grace to protect her on the journey down instead of just teleporting her like you did with that red-headed idiot,” another familiar voice replied with a slightly huffy tone.

The first voice replied as a warm hand gently smoothed Manon’s hair, “Well excuse me for feeling guilt on occasion. It’s not my fault that I was cursed with having an angel for a mother. I didn’t ask to be born an abomination you know.”

The other voice replied with a slightly softer tone, “Easy now Tristan. You know that’s not what I meant.”

Tristan kept petting Manon’s hair, allowing his fingers to gently graze against the skin of her cheek and neck on occasion. It took every ounce of willpower and strength that Manon had not to shiver or shudder against the soft touches against the more sensitive parts of her neck. Manon reasoned that if Tristan was next to her, then the other person talking must be Isolde.

“Look,” Isolde continued in that same slightly gentle voice, “let’s just give her a little time to come to. You’re not doing well and after using angelic grace you’re going to need some actual rest if you want to have any hope of healing your injuries. I barely have enough energy to lend you with my own to tend to.”

Tristan huffed as he finally withdrew his hand from Manon’s hair, “Ugh, fine. I need to tend to my domain anyway. I can’t let our esteemed guest get into too much trouble.”

There was a shuffle of footsteps leaving the room and Isolde’s voice sounded a little more distant as she replied, “Isn’t that why you have so many staff members on hand?”

“Some things are better done yourself,” Tristan retorted as the sound of a door opening could be heard.

The door closed before Manon could make out Isolde’s reply. She waited for a few more minutes before she hesitantly sat up. Manon looked around the room more closely.

The bed she was in was very plush and also very pink. The pillowcases and comforter were both pink, with white lace edging that added to the cutesy vibe. There were a few stuffed animals on the bed as well. The standard array of a pastel pink bear, a white rabbit, a pastel purple fox and a pastel blue sheep. Each one had a ribbon tied around their neck in the same shade of pink as the pillow cases and comforter, and each ribbon also had the same white lace edging too.

The floors of the room were a warm brown wood with a fluffy white rug in the center of it. The walls were painted a pastel pink with white clouds as accent pieces. The baseboards were painted white to match the white dresser, the white dressing table and the white writing desk nestled in the far corner of the room. The bookshelf was a pastel pink and was packed to the gills with books, some of which Manon had recognized as ones from her collection at home. The lights were also very cutesy with pastel pink shades over the light glass fixtures.

Overall Manon got the impression that this room wouldn’t look out of place in a little girl’s dollhouse. It certainly looked like the type of room she would have wanted to design for her own dolls if given the opportunity to do as a child.

Manon gave herself a moment to digest what Tristan and Isolde had been talking about, ‘When they were talking about a guest…do they…Were they talking about Rody?’

Something in her gut told her that was likely true. Afterall, Vincent had been very firm about saying that Rody had been kidnapped and that they needed to rescue him from wherever it was he was taken to. Plus Rody wasn’t the type to run away and hide, even when he was very upset or distraught. He craved companionship far too much to seek isolation willingly…

Manon sighed to herself softly, “At least I stand some sort of chance of finding him now.”

With that thought in mind, and a slightly spiteful part of herself feeling proud that she was a few steps ahead of Vincent, Manon started to try and come up with a gameplan of her own. She may not have gotten what she was after from Madame Olivier, but she wound up with an even better opportunity. It was practically presented to her on a silver platter!

All Manon would have to do is figure out how to sneak out of this place without Isolde finding out. From there, Manon could stealthily follow Tristan back to wherever his claimed domain was (whatever that meant) and presumably find Rody there. Tristan talked about having a guest over and Tristan was one of the ones meant to be holding Rody’s contract so it would only make sense that he’s keeping Rody captive in a place where Tristan could not only track his movements easily but also keep him from escaping.

Manon would worry about the actual busting Rody out of his prison once she got there. If she thought about it too much, then she’d wind up getting indecision paralysis or make some silly mistakes that might wind up getting her or Rody injured or worse. With a little luck, Manon might even be able to rescue Rody before Vincent even gets the chance to set out with his supposed expedition team. The mere thought of beating him without Vincent even realizing that Manon was so far ahead of him filled her with a vindictive sort of glee.

Vincent Charbonneau would come to regret forcing himself onto her boyfriend. Manon would make sure of it.

Chapter Text

Rody walked quietly behind Masaru as they started to make their way down another hallway. It had the same red paint between black paneling as the hallway upstairs. The floors were the same black marble with the gold veins running through them. Even the doors and the red runner rug looked the exact same! The door from the kitchen had led them to a forked hallway and they had decided to walk down the left side of the fork. If it just wound up leading them in a circle, then they would go down the right side. There had to be some sort of exit they could work with! How else could Tristan come and go from this place if he had no business to tend to on Earth?

The only noises they could hear was the sound of their footsteps against the red rug and their own breathing. Other than that the rest of the hallway was deathly quiet. Compared to the noises Rody had heard in the upper hallway this was like paradise. At least he wouldn’t have to worry too much about being suddenly grabbed and dragged into some sort of steamy situation again. Or worse. He might be forced to do those steamy things to his current escape partner.

“What are we looking for?” Rody whispered as they paused in the long hallway.

Masaru listened closely to the sounds around them for a moment before he replied, “I was hoping to either find us a concealed exit or the manor library.”

Rody hummed softly, “I can understand an exit but how would finding a library help us?”

Masaru gestured for Rody to continue following him further down the hallway. Rody rolled his eyes but complied. Guess he’ll have to wait for a moment to get his answer. Then again…Rody was used to having awkward silences and waiting for answers. Vince wasn’t always the most eloquent man when it came to some of Rody’s more personal or strange questions. But at least Vince would answer him. Rody…wasn’t necessarily as sure when it came to Masaru. He was far too much of an enigma for Rody to even attempt at reading the way he could with someone like say Manon or Boucher.

“Well…” Masaru started to explain as they turned the first corner that they came to, “if we find the manor library, there may be some sort of document there that gives us a rough idea of where entrances and exits may be. Even something as simple as an inventory for the manor’s food supply or orders for servants would give us something to work with.”

“And if there isn't?” Rody asked in a slightly nervous voice. Masaru paused to pat Rody’s shoulder briefly before the duo continued to walk down the hallway.

Masaru replied, “Well then we look to see if we find anything useful regarding any weaknesses that the master of the manor has. Perhaps if need be we can find a way to get some information out of his toys.”

Rody winced at the Masaru’s words. There was something so…callous and cruel about referring to these people as toys. Sure, that may be how Tristan saw them but…At the end of the day these were still people. People with thoughts and feelings and hopes and dreams! To refer to them as mere objects felt wrong.

“They aren’t objects you know,” Rody spat, allowing his frustration to bubble over just a little bit. He needed to find a way to get rid of it more subtly. He didn’t want a repeat of the…incident from his college days…

Masaru didn’t seem bothered by Rody’s tone. Instead he simply replied, “I’m well aware but…Well they aren’t necessarily human either. At least…not anymore.”

Rody was about to ask Masaru what he had meant by that when the man grabbed Rody’s hand and started to quicken his pace. Masaru opened the first safe looking door they came across and pulled Rody inside before closing the door behind them. The man pressed his ear to the door and closed his eyes as he listened closely. He pressed a hand over Rody’s mouth to keep him quiet.

Rody listened as well despite his confusion. Right along the corridor he could hear the sound of sluggish footsteps followed by a few sets of quicker paced ones following behind the sluggish pair.

“Oh dear Master, you look so tired! Would you like me to run you a bath?” A soft voice asked, muffled by the thick wooden door that stood between Rody, Masaru and whomever was out in the hallway.

Masaru grimaced and Rody winced. That wasn’t good. If Tristan was back in the building that just meant that their ability to escape undetected had just gotten cut down significantly. Although…if he was tired, perhaps it wouldn’t be nearly as bad.

“No no Master! We must make you something to eat first! A hearty meal is the first step to healing!” A second voice replied as the duo could make out the faint sound of a heeled foot stomping on the marble floor like a petulant child being told that they couldn’t have any more sweets.

A third voice chimed in, “You’re both wrong. Master is a lust demon after all and what he needs is a different kind of rest and relaxation.”

Rody looked absolutely disgusted and Masaru glared at the door as though the intensity of his look could burn a hole right through it and at whomever was right behind it. A part of Rody wondered why Masaru was so angry all of a sudden but then he figured that perhaps he had his own troubles with Tristan in the past. Afterall the guy was a demon, so it wouldn’t be impossible for Tristan to wrack up quite the extensive list of enemies. Especially if he was some eons old being like Rody suspected he was.

A familiar voice laughed a soft and tired laugh, “Ladies, ladies. There’s plenty of me to go around, we needn’t fight. There’s plenty of time to do all of these things! But first I need to check on how our guest is doing.”

Rody started sweating slightly at the sound of Tristan’s voice, ‘Shit, he’s expecting me to be upstairs still. What’s he-’

Rody could feel a cold chill run down his spine and settle in a pool in his stomach. It made his full stomach feel heavy and a numb feeling settled in his limbs. Even if Tristan were to open the door and appear before him, even if his life was on the line-Rody couldn’t move. How could he move? He just…how could someone just-just expect Rody to be okay with-with this!? All of this! This demon expecting Rody to still be upstairs! Expecting to see him bound to the bed by the maid and being used for pleasure like he-he was some kind of-of-To be forced into a situation where he-

The hold over his mouth loosened as a ringing settled in Rody’s ears. The hold shifted to his shoulders but Rody could hardly feel it. All he could focus on was the simple fact that he was expected to be upstairs. Upstairs with the maid that made Rody feel like a piece of meat ready to be devoured. Expected to just be okay with being jumped and-and…

There was a soft hand against his cheek and all of a sudden Rody could feel a sting in his eyes and he finally registered that Masaru was still in front of him. His lips were moving and he kept looking at Rody with a concerned look on his face but…Rody for the life of him couldn’t make out a single thing the man was saying. The ringing in his ears was starting to mingle with his heavy heartbeat and-and the beating was getting faster-faster-faster-fasterfasterfasterfasterfa-

“Rody!” He heard his name and felt a shake of his shoulders and all of a sudden everything came crashing back at once. Rody became very aware of the pressure on his feet against the floor and how chilly the room was. He became very aware of how warm Masaru’s hands were on his shoulders and how the man’s eyes kept searching Rody’s face for some sort of explanation. Something he could do to fix whatever was bothering Rody.

Rody opened his mouth to say something. Anything. To reassure Masaru that he was okay. To tell him that he didn’t have to worry. To-to…

Rody was in Masaru’s arms before he could fully realize that the man had moved. There was a soft whisper in his ear, “Shhh, shhh. It’ll be okay. You’re not going to be hurt by that monster again. We’re getting out of this place, okay?”

Rody shuddered and suddenly he was very aware of his heavy sobbing and how he clung to Masaru like he was the only steady thing in a room that felt like it was tilting to and fro. A part of him felt ashamed of clinging to another man like this. A part of him that kept whispering about how disgusting and weak he was. A part of him that kept picking away at every little weakness or insecurity until the old wounds were reopened and festering. His inability to maintain any meaningful relationship. His inability to hold down a job for more than a few weeks before he inevitably ruined it by being an idiot. How he struggled in college with the sheer amount of work he was expected to do and the ever decreasing timeframe to do it all in. How much he disappointed his parents-

“Rody, can you hear me?” Masaru’s voice was soft but firm enough for Rody to grasp onto. Something solid he could focus on.

Rody nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He might say something stupid. Did he say something stupid? Was that why Masaru was looking at him like that? Like Rody was a hair's breadth away from breaking apart completely? Unless this oddly heavy and cold feeling was how it felt to be broken?

Masaru whispered softly, “We’re gonna stay here for a moment so you can get your breathing under control, okay? Take your time. He’ll be busy for a little while.”

Rody closed his eyes as he felt Masaru’s hand rest against his chest and Rody hesitantly placed his own against Masaru’s. What was that thing he was told just a few nights ago? To feel the breaths? To-to mirror them?

Rody felt the calmer rise and fall of Masaru’s breaths and the steadier heartbeat against his palm despite the thick leather vest covering Masaru’s chest. Rody sucked in a deep, shaky breath and exhaled. He hated the shaky feeling when he breathed but…Rody knew that if he kept going that it would eventually even out. It always had in the past, so why would now be different.

Inoutinoutinoutin-in…out…

Rody glanced up at Masaru, who waited patiently for Rody to continue trying to get his breathing back in order. Rody figured he was being patient because Rody panicking would make their escape more difficult. That escaping alone would be impossible and that only by sticking together would they even stand a ghost of a chance at escaping. A panicking partner was a useless partner and…Rody was tired of being made to feel like he was useless. He was tired of feeling like the universe was kicking him while he was down and still finding ways of kicking him even lower into the ground. Rody was tired of feeling like he couldn’t function whether it be on his own or with other people around him.

Rody finally got a handle on his breathing and straightened up when he felt that he wasn’t going to burst into tears again. His stomach didn’t feel cold and heavy like before, but it certainly wasn’t as light and warm as it was back in the kitchen. It probably wouldn’t settle for a while, at least not until he was able to fully talk out what he was feeling with somebody but…what therapist would even believe half of what Rody had to say? All of this recent demon nonsense would get him landed in a padded room never to see the light of day again. So on his way out, he would have to find some sort of compromise to keep himself from breaking apart like this ever again. Masaru gave Rody a handkerchief and a moment to compose himself.

“You think I’m losing it, don’t you,” Rody mumbled as he wiped his face clean of snot and tears. Rody certainly felt like he was losing it. That his grip on mental stability is going downhill and likely won’t stop until he hits rock bottom and-

“No, I don’t think you’re losing it,” Masaru replied in a firm voice as he kept glancing over at the door.

Rody blinked. What? Why would-That-that can’t be right…

Masaru sighed softly, “Look, you clearly have been through something traumatic recently. Or you’ve had another shitty thing happen on top of other shitty things that finally broke the metaphorical camel’s back. Either way, you are having an emotional reaction to whatever had happened to you. It’s normal to have a response, especially if you’ve been going about your day without doing anything to address the deeper issues those shitty things keep poking and prodding at.”

Rody furrowed his brows in confusion and from the tilt of his head, Masaru could easily see that Rody didn’t quite get what he had been talking about.

“Look, point is I don’t think you’re crazy,” Masaru reassured with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Depressed and in need of a good support system, yes, but not crazy. Two different things here.”

Masaru opened the door and peered outside of it. He looked to the left. Then to the right. Then left once more and then right once again. He motioned for Rody to follow him once it seemed like the coast was clear. Rody sighed softly but complied. Perhaps he’ll get an opportunity to ask Masaru what he had meant later.

“Let’s keep moving. The master of the manor won’t be happy if he finds us travelling together,” Masaru stated as he kept scanning the hallway for any little bit of movement or noise that didn’t come from the two of them.

Rody glanced behind him, almost expecting Tristan to be standing there or one of the brainwashed staff members but…The hallway was empty. Eerily so, especially after the frenzy of activity from earlier. But…Rody also wasn’t sure how long he had been panicking for so it could have been mere moments or hours ago. Time…time does funny things when you aren’t in your right state of mind. At least in Rody’s experience anyway.

Rody looked back forward and sighed in relief at the sight of Masaru still being in front of him. A part of Rody expected to be left alone in the hallway with no idea where to turn! Perhaps…perhaps that was Rody’s sign to stop trying to watch horror movies or read scary stories. He always tried his best to face his fears bravely, just like the protagonists in those stories and movies! But Rody wasn’t the protagonist in a horror movie or scary story. He’d probably be a pretty shitty protagonist that dies at the hands of the monster at the end!

‘The only way an idiot like me would survive is if I get lucky and I know that the universe isn’t that nice!’ Rody thought as he continued to blindly follow Masaru.

“So do you have any idea where this exit or library could be?” Rody asked as the duo turned another corner. Just great. Another identical hallway. How was anyone supposed to navigate around here?

Masaru groaned, “Not really. I just got lucky when I managed to find the kitchen. Took me weeks to actually escape the dungeon.”

Rody tilted his head, “Dungeons? I…I mean I remember getting transported to them but…I was taken out of them pretty quickly by um-y’know. That guy.”

“Do you remember seeing anything on the way out?” Masaru asked as they came to another turn in the hallway.

“Not really,” Rody admitted as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I was more than a little out of it when he dragged me out of there.”

Masaru hummed, but didn’t add anything to the conversation. He placed a hand on the wall and paused. Rody stopped as well and watched the man for a moment. Masaru looked left, then right, then left again and then right again. He sighed deeply, but whether it was out of relief or exasperation wasn’t clear to Rody. He just didn’t know this guy well enough to pick up on his nonverbal emotional cues or body language the way Rody could with either Manon or Vince.

Masaru furrowed his brows briefly before he looked over at a door about three in front of them on their left hand side. He took a few steps over to the door and nodded at Rody. Rody took that as a sign to follow him so he did.

Rody raised his fists while Masaru unsheathed a dagger from a point near his right thigh. They looked at one another and nodded before Masaru slowly opened the door. What other choice did they have? They couldn’t just wander down identical hallways forever. It was time to get some actual exploration done. As the door fully opened, a bright white light filled their vision and neither of them could move. A strong wind sucked them both inside of the bright room and they could make out the door slamming shut behind him. The only thing they could do now was wait until the light faded.

Chapter Text

There was a thunk against the table and Manet jumped in his seat with a soft snort. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and winced at the crumpled paper that he had been resting his head on.

“Glad to see you’re awake sleeping beauty,” Dior teased as he grabbed the book on top of the pile that Rousseaux had brought over to the table. Given his larger size, he could definitely carry at least half a shelf’s worth of books with only a little trouble.

Manet yawned, “Not my fault…Sitting still always makes me sleepy, especially after working as hard as I did for lunch service.”

Beaumont was writing down notes from the two books open in front of her while Lavigne took charge of fetching more paper from the circulation desk when they started to run low. Louvet and Donadieu were both reading from the same large book while Donadieu took charge of taking notes for the two of them. Faucher and Boucher were taking turns running books nobody at the table seemed interested in using anymore back down to the circulation desk so the librarians could reshelf them.

Vincent alternated between taking notes on what was in the book in front of him and writing down what titles they had been checking and organizing them based on what subject they related to. There would be no point in re-reading something if they could avoid it for now. Time was of the essence and based on the feeling in his gut, Vincent knew that they wouldn’t have another opportunity to sit down and do a thorough research session like this. So they might as well gather as much intel as they possibly could, no matter how insignificant it seemed. Even a tiny little tidbit could prove to be the difference between life and death where they were going.

Rousseaux grabbed the book Manet had fallen asleep trying to read and opened it up as he asked, “Find anything useful in this one?”

Manet grumbled, “Ugh, it’s so dry that one. It’s supposedly got a section about names and stuff but I could barely make it past the intro section.”

“Names are said to hold quite a bit of power, especially for entities like the ones we may encounter,” Donadieu noted as he took a closer look at the section Louvet had his finger next to. “If you know a demon’s true name, you can personally hold a lot more power over them. It can be helpful for us as it allows us to banish them more effectively, but that same knowledge can be abused by those with impure intentions.”

Silence followed Donadieu’s words, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Rather it was the kind of silence that followed the revelation of some profound wisdom that needs to be digested for a moment or two before anyone could come up with a response that’s even a fraction as profound as that wisdom. Either that or the team was too tired or too focused to really carry on an actual conversation. Both seemed equally likely given the late hour and the fact that they weren’t sure how much time they had to rescue Rody from wherever he was being held captive. Would he be killed if they took too long to rescue him? Or would he wind up not wanting to leave his prison because they brainwashed him into liking being a captive?

Manet accepted a book passed over by Lavigne and decided to try and be somewhat useful. His own notes were much shorter compared to the literal mountain next to Louvet and Donadieu, though Vincent and Beaumont weren’t that far behind either. Even Faucher and Boucher seemed to scrape something decent together! Manet took a deep breath in and sighed on the exhale. How could everyone else around him somehow decipher the jumble of letters on each page? What was it that he lacked that made every paragraph look like someone had spilled three bins of letter blocks on the floor and expected him to pick out the correct words from them without telling him what the correct words were?!

Dior noticed the tremor in Manet’s hands and whispered quietly, “Hey, you wanna take a smoke break with me?”

Manet set the book down and followed after Dior, hanging his head in shame as he followed the shorter chef down the steps to the little sitting space outside. The perfect spot to have a seat and a smoke without having to worry about getting rained on.

Manet dug into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with his trusty lighter before passing the lighter over to Dior. Nice though Dior was he always forgot matches or a lighter so he always needed someone to provide one of the two for a smoke break. He listened as Dior took a short drag of his own cigarette before the lighter was deposited back into Manet’s waiting hand.

“You good there, Manet?” Dior asked as he watched the taller chef take a drag of his cigarette and watch the smoke curl until it faded into the dark night air.

“This kinda research isn’t my thing,” Manet huffed with a bitter tone in his voice. “That’s why I chose kitchen work in the first place. There’s less…ya know written stuff to work with.”

Dior took a drag and let Manet’s words hang in the air for a moment. Manet did have a bit of a point there. The culinary arts weren’t inherently as literary as other fields of work out there, but there was still plenty of written text to work with. Especially when learning new recipes! Well, except for their kitchen. Vincent did leave them written instructions, but he also made sure to both verbalize them and show them exactly how he wanted each dish prepared. Vincent often dismissed the idea of him being soft by taking the time to show them how he wanted it done. He expected perfection and why not show his team what that looked like?

Dior spoke after a moment, “Any reason why the written stuff is an issue with you?”

Manet scoffed, “How come it isn’t for you? For any of you! I…How come you can look at a page and see something that makes perfect sense while I…Forget it. It’s not worth getting into.”

Manet took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled more sharply than before. Dior raised a hand, intent on wrapping his arm around Manet’s shoulders but thought better of it. Manet looked ready to lash out at the next person who touched him and well it was too late at night for Dior to get into an easily avoidable fist-fight.

“So reading isn’t easy for you, right? So what? That doesn’t make you any less capable than the rest of us,” Dior commented before he took another drag of his cigarette. He exhaled and allowed the smoke to drift into the night, ignoring the sharp look Manet was sending him.

“So what? So what?! You! It’s easy for you to say that! You’re not the one everyone looks at and thinks is an idiot!” Manet snapped as he felt an angry tremor go up his arm.

Dior again let Manet’s words hang in the air and watched as the taller chef tried to pace to let out that angry energy that was starting to build up in him. Dior shook his head. It wasn’t just anger coloring his co-worker’s words but also frustration and a small hint of disappointment. Whether that disappointment was with himself or in those around him was a bit of a mystery to Dior.

Manet finished his cigarette a lot sooner than he had hoped to but that’s what he got for trying to smoke when he was frustrated. He stomped out the remaining cinders and tossed the used remnants into the trash. He might feel stupid, but he wasn’t a slob. He wasn’t one of those types that leave messes in public spaces expecting others to clean up after him.

Dior spoke in a softer tone, “We don’t think you’re an idiot Manet.”

Manet let out a frustrated and shaky sigh as he wrapped one arm around his stomach and curled his other hand into his hair. He felt like a spring that was wound too tight and someone just kept on cranking that winding mechanism tighter. And tighter. And tighter. His spring was coming closer and closer to cracking and…well Manet didn’t like when it cracked. He always made such a mess of things when it did.

“Sure, you don’t say it but I can see it in your eyes. ‘How come Manet is taking so long? Why isn’t he working as hard as we are? Why is he making so little progress compared to the rest of us?’ All of you are thinking that I’m just being lazy or that I’m busy daydreaming about girls and-and-” Manet was cut off when Dior bit the bullet and wrapped an arm over Manet’s shaking shoulders. The spring wound tighter and Manet bit his lower lip.

‘Hold it together idiot,’ Manet mentally scolded himself. ‘Don’t break. You can’t break. Not at this job. Not like the last one.’

“Shhh, mon ami relax. Take a deep breath,” Dior soothed as he rubbed Manet’s arm.

Manet mumbled, “I am working hard. I-I really am and I-I…”

Dior turned and allowed Manet to wrap his arms around him tightly. Dior patted Manet’s back and didn’t comment on the wet patch he felt forming on his shoulder. He couldn’t necessarily blame the poor guy for getting frustrated. Manet was on the younger side and he wears his heart on his sleeve just like that pesky waiter Rody. It was part of why the two of them got along so well…

Dior cooed in a soft voice, “We know you’re working hard. You can’t judge yourself by anyone else’s standard but your own for something like this. None of us are really scholars, well maybe Donadieu but he’s always been in a league of his own.”

Manet sighed a shaky sigh, “I-I’m sorry you have to see this.”

Dior waved a dismissive hand as he replied, “Don’t worry about it. If any of them give you a hard time for needing to take it slow then you have my full permission to sic me or Beaumont on them. Even Chef.”

Manet pulled away from Dior and started laughing a watery laugh. Dior smiled as he wiped away Manet’s tears with his handkerchief. It was nice to hear Manet laugh. It meant that his friend would be perfectly fine and Dior hated when his friends weren’t doing well.

“That’s exactly what I need to see, Chef being chewed out by Beaumont. She gets scary when she’s scolding someone,” Manet chuckled as he finally started to settle down.

Dior could finally relax as Manet finished laughing. At least he wouldn’t have to try and explain why it looked like Manet was having a nervous breakdown on their smoke break. They could easily explain away the redness around his eyes as being from him laughing so hard that he started crying. If nothing else, that mere idea would keep Manet’s dignity intact once they headed back inside.

“You don’t even really have to worry about if the others know you have trouble reading. I mean Chef wears contacts and uses glasses on occasion, I swear Rousseaux is narcoleptic sometimes and Boucher can’t even read the word ‘Boo!’ without jumping three feet in the air,” Dior reassured before he finished his own cigarette.

Manet blushed as he started flicking the lid of his lighter open and closed. He stammered, “Y-yeah well-Chef and Rousseaux are super impressive and talented! A-and Boucher is really nice and-w-well I’m just the kitchen pervert and laughing stock.”

Dior rolled his eyes, “You’re more than both of those things just as Chef, Rousseaux and Boucher are more than the praises you give them. People aren’t perfect and that’s what makes us all human. I have a cousin who has trouble reading just like you do, but she still keeps trying to become a poet. Her sheer stubbornness is truly awe-inspiring.”

Manet blinked and looked away sheepishly. Dior knew that this would likely take more than just a little pep-talk to fix but…maybe knowing that he wasn’t going to be judged would help Manet relax a little. That alone might make things easier on him.

“S-so what does your cousin do anyways to help with the reading thing? I-uh…w-well I usually try reading aloud but it always comes out wrong somewhere and well…” Manet’s flushed face and nervousness said it all. He was hesitant to try and use his typical toolbelt in front of others, especially since it seemed like he was used to being made fun of for getting something wrong.

“She does the same thing, the whole reading aloud thing. She takes it pretty slow but she says getting the context of a sentence helps her figure out which words are tripping her up. She’s also said breaking up the pages helps her out too, makes it less intimidating,” Dior answered as he slipped his arm back over Manet’s shoulders. “We can just pair off for a bit if that’ll help. The others will understand and Chef just wants results. He likely won’t care how we get it done, just that it gets done.”

Manet didn’t fight off Dior’s touch or words this time. Instead he simply allowed both to wash over him and bring him the sense of comfort that he needed. Dior was right. People were more than just their strengths and weaknesses. Manet needed to stop worry about the things he couldn’t control and focus on the things that he could. That would be the key to this rescue mission. Something in Manet’s gut told him so and well what kind of chef didn’t trust their gut?
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
“So what’s the verdict on that one, Gabe?” Louvet asked as he and Donadieu finished with the large book and moved onto the next one in the pile Rousseaux had brought to the table.

Rousseaux shrugged, “I can see why Manet wasn’t a fan of this one. My mother-in-law’s turkey is less dry than this.”

“Didn’t she set her oven on fire the last time she made turkey?” Faucher asked as he accepted the large book from Donadieu and started to flip through it.

“Yup and that charred bird still had more moisture in it than this does,” Rousseaux replied as he closed the book and slid it back to the pile on the table. Lavigne grabbed it and quickly read a few paragraphs before closing it and sliding it back into the pile with a bored look on her face.

Rousseaux chuckled at the expression on Lavigne’s face. The younger chef shook her head at her elder’s chuckles as she added more paper to Vincent’s rapidly depleting pile of scratch-paper. Lavigne glanced down at the notes that Vincent was taking and wrinkled her nose. Yeesh her boss had absolutely abysmal handwriting. Although…

“Chef?” Lavigne’s voice caught Vincent’s attention. He looked up at her briefly before his attention returned to the book in his hands.

“Lavigne,” he replied in his usual impassive tone.

Lavigne asked as she tilted her head, “Why are you writing with your left hand?”

Vincent quirked a brow as he looked up at her once more, “Because I’m left-handed.”

Lavigne laughed awkwardly and felt her cheeks warm up at such a silly question, especially given the slight snickers coming from Louvet and Rousseaux. Just great. She looked foolish in front of her crush! Now all Louvet will think of her is how silly she is! How could she ever look like anything but a foolish little girl in his eyes now?!

“Can you blame her though Charbonneau? It’s not exactly common, especially around here,” Louvet commented as he grabbed the book that both Lavigne and Rousseaux had given up on.

Vincent opted to return to his task instead of answering Louvet. Was he the only one even attempting to take this seriously? This was Rody’s life at stake and not some silly little research project for a grade school class!

Boucher sighed as he grabbed another pile of books that the group had finished using, “How much longer are we going to keep at this? Surely this is a little overboard, right?”

Donadieu replied with a soft and serene smile that didn’t quite match the seriousness in his voice, “We cannot be too prepared when facing the demonic. These are entities eons older than we are and capable of feats far beyond our comprehension. Knowledge is one of our most effective weapons against something so powerful.”

Vincent allowed himself to relax just a little bit at Donadieu’s words. If nothing else, the holy man knew about the severity of the dangers that they were facing. At least he would have one member of the team that would give this mission the sort of serious approach that it needed to go off without a hitch.

Manet and Dior finally appeared at the top of the stairs after their smoke break. If any of the chefs assembled at the table noticed the redness around Manet’s eyes or the way that Dior was holding Manet’s shoulders in an almost protective hold, none of them saw it as worthwhile to comment on it. Not when they still had a mission to complete and possibly a horde of demons to mow their way through.

“Ah, Boucher, mind if we take a closer look at these? Manet and I were brainstorming a few ideas and wanted to double check a few things,” Dior asked as he eased the books out of Boucher’s hold.

“S-sure! I mean, it’s not like we have a lack of material to work with although…” Boucher trailed off as he looked around the room.

Faucher caught onto the odd look on his cousin’s face and asked, “Is there something wrong?”

Boucher crossed his arms and pondered aloud, “Wasn’t there supposed to be eleven of us here? I-I’m only counting ten…”

A silence fell over the group as each one did their own headcount. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine chefs who worked under Vincent, who made the tenth member of the group so…

Dior swore under his breath, “Has anyone seen the young lady who had come in with Chef and Louvet earlier? I know I saw her back at the bistro when I was doing dishes…”

Beaumont looked down at her notes as she thought aloud, “I remember seeing her briefly after that but…I don’t recall seeing her at our meeting. Was she even there to discuss how we were going to rescue Lamoree?”

Louvet suddenly rose from his seat as he snarled, “I think I know exactly where she went. She went to see that nasty little witch!”

“Witch? What witch?” Manet questioned as he tilted his head.

Louvet huffed, “Madeleine Olivier, owner of Le Vin de Circé and a rather dangerous practitioner of sorcellerie.”

Faucher asked with a skeptical look on his face, “And you know this how exactly?”

“The young lady mentioned meeting up with her the other day when she spoke with Charbonneau and me earlier,” Louvet answered with a twitch at the corner of his mouth that had alarm bells ringing in Rousseaux’s head.

“The same Madeleine Olivier that cheated on you with a demon and got pissed that you divorced her for that reason?” Rousseaux asked despite knowing the answer to his own question.

Louvet snorted, “The very same one.”

Boucher sputtered, “S-so your wife left you for a demon? I-is that why-”

Vincent interrupted, “We can discuss the details of Louvet’s love life later. Right now we need to make sure that Marianne Vacher isn’t going to become her next victim.”

The rest of the group rose from their chairs and gathered their materials. Rousseaux assisted Faucher and Boucher in transporting all of the borrowed reading materials to the circulation desk while Lavigne dropped the unused papers off with the frazzled librarian behind the desk. Beaumont gathered everyone’s notes into her work bag while the rest of the group gathered outside of the front of the library.

Donadieu had stepped aside to briefly confer with the priest that had been waiting just outside the door while Vincent kept Louvet from running off to confront Madeleine alone.

“She’s my ex-wife Charbonneau, so it’s my responsibility to knock some sense into her head when she crosses the line,” Louvet growled as he tried to tug himself out of Vincent’s hold.

Vincent gave Louvet the sharp kind of look a parent would give a misbehaving toddler as he snapped, “And you and I both know exactly what kind of magic she has control over right now! The last thing any of us need is for you to be turned into a newt because you mouthed off to her.”

Louvet returned Vincent’s sharp look with a defiant glare that had both Manet and Dior wondering which one was meant to be the older, more experienced mentor and which one was the younger, less experienced protege. But for the sake of not losing their heads at the hands of two equally hot-headed chefs, the two men opted to keep quiet and just watch the fireworks happen. Maybe the appearance of the others will help restore peace once more.

Donadieu returned to the group with a large pink cloth bag in his hand that had a very cute design of a rabbit and a cat having a tea party. Dior raised a brow as he asked, “What’s in the bag?”

Donadieu smiled as he reached inside and pulled out a heavy iron cross, “Father Reims was kind enough to supply us with some more supplies for our crusade. The Sisters simply chose to pack them in something that wouldn’t betray what supplies were inside of the bag.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Manet replied as he looked at the design a little more closely. The scene was embroidered into the bag by hand with a clear love of the craft in every stitch. Whomever had made it even took the time to stitch a little bead into the center of the flowers that surrounded the tea party to add a little dimension to the design.

Rousseaux walked out of the main entrance with Faucher, Boucher and Lavigne following right behind. Beaumont wasn’t far behind after carefully ensuring that every little scrap of notes they had taken were secured away inside of her work bag. Rousseaux doubled back to grab the door for her so she could finish rearranging her work bag so her own supplies wouldn’t disturb the bulging folder full of notes. The last thing she wanted was to accidentally leave behind some crucial piece of information that could prove to be the only thing standing between them and certain death.

Vincent passed his hold on Louvet off to Rousseaux, who had the bulk necessary to keep the blond from rushing off ahead of the rest of the group. Granted it may not have been necessary since Rousseaux’s mere presence made Louvet relax just enough to not look like a flight risk.

“Now that everyone is here we can move out,” Vincent ordered before turning around to start leading them in the direction of Le Vin de Circé only…

“Something wrong Chef?” Lavigne asked when she noticed that Vincent only took a few steps forward.

Louvet shook his head before he answered for Vincent, “He has no idea where her shop is.”

Vincent looked back at Louvet with a look that would have killed an ordinary man. Boucher wasn’t even directly in Vincent’s line of sight but he still hid behind Rousseaux as if the red head was some kind of protective barrier. Rousseaux reached back and patted Boucher’s head in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

Vincent turned back around and started walking forward without comment. The rest of the group followed after him without a word. Louvet kept his mouth shut and simply decided to sit back and watch his protege try and navigate his way through this one. It certainly wouldn’t take them nearly as long if Vincent just allowed Louvet to lead the charge on this one, but…Louvet decided to let Vincent be stubborn. Let him be hard headed and try to show them who the boss was while leading them towards a destination he had no clue how to reach. Louvet knew exactly where to go and which turns would get them there the fastest but…He’d wait until Vincent actually asked him for help instead of just offering it like he normally would.

While his protege may be the boss of this kitchen, Louvet was still the mentor in their relationship. The teacher, the elder. The one who would give advice and be respected in return for his hard work in shaping the chef into the man he became. Louvet may not ask for very much but the one thing he did ask for was not to be treated like he was some unwanted nuisance. He’s had more than enough moments of feeling like that in his life and he didn’t want to spend the latter half of his life feeling like that ever again.
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After about twenty minutes of feeling like they were going in circles, which they might as well have been given how massive Paris was especially when traveling by foot, Louvet was allowed to navigate under the strict condition that he not run off ahead of everyone else. The blond had Rousseaux right behind him to grab him by back of his sweater if he got any funny ideas and for once Louvet had to admit that just maybe Vincent was just a little more clever than he was…sometimes. Only sometimes. He wasn’t quite ready to admit that maybe, just maybe…Vincent didn’t need him quite as much as he used to, if at all really…

It used to be a mark of his pride and devotion that Louvet could navigate from any point in the city and get to Le Vin de Circé in as little time as possible. It used to be one of the ways he would show his then wife how much he loved her and wanted to spend time with her. How even when his feet ached from standing and working in a hot and busy kitchen all day, he would still walk the 16 kilometers from that job to her business without complaint just to see her smiling face. To watch her make desserts and get fed little tidbits here and there for being so patient with her. Oh how blind he used to be…

Louvet knew that they were close before he even saw the tacky light blue umbrellas or smelt the sickeningly sweet scent of the desserts. He could tell because the sidewalk in this area was still as uneven as it was decades ago when he was a lovesick young man and she was still his loyal wife…There was still that stone that was shaped like a heart that he used to trip over, but this time he just stepped around it. That Louvet was dead and gone, leaving behind a jaded man who still wasn’t able to fully trust his partner…no matter how much said partner deserved his full trust.

The place was busy, it always was for as long Louvet could remember. People flooding in for a bite of whatever sickeningly sweet treat Madeleine whipped up and charged way too much for. Some of the desserts were priced at a point where you were better off going to his current job, at least then you’d get a full course meal for the money instead of just a simple croquembouche that got the price jacked up to because the cream had some fancy imported vanilla bean in it.

“So this is it? I was expecting something a little more…” Manet trailed off as he tilted his head and scanned the flower boxes in the window for any signs of bones poking out of them.

“Fire and brimstone?” Louvet snorted as he crossed his arms, “Don’t worry, her absolutely lovely personality is more than enough to make up for the lack of that in her taste of decor.”

There was a soft trill of laughter coming from the side alley, a laughter that had Louvet narrowing his eyes and holding himself just a little tighter. Vincent put a hand on Louvet’s shoulder and looked over at the alley.

Vincent spoke quietly, “I’ll go do the talking. If she’s the one who facilitated…what we discussed earlier…”

Louvet shook his head as his hand trailed up to rest over the front part of his right shoulder and he murmured, “I’ll be fine. She won’t try anything with this large of an audience. She has a reputation as a respectable business owner to uphold, much like you do.”

The laughter grew closer as heeled footsteps echoed from the side alley. Click. Click. Click. Click. A soft shuffle to stop and the rustle of clothing as the familiar blend of suffocating rose perfume and baking spices beckoned to the small part of Louvet that still mourned for what once was.

“Well, well, well. I didn’t expect to see the Michelle Louvet in this part of Paris anymore,” a familiar voice purred with an emphasis on the latter part of his old name that had Louvet’s blood pressure start to skyrocket. The only thing keeping him from screaming right now was the firm hold Vincent had on his shoulder and the eyes of his coworkers being focused on their conversation.

“Madeleine,” Louvet forced his face into a strained smile and ignored the fact that his voice was cold and hollow. “I ordinarily avoid this eyesore in our otherwise beautiful city…But we have business to discuss.”

Madeleine smiled a sickeningly smug smile as she approached Louvet and held a hand mere centimeters away from his chest as she purred, “Have you finally decided to stop living a lie and embrace-”

Louvet smacked her hand away as he spat, “Not regarding me you wench! Another one of your business deals.”

Madeleine’s eyes narrowed as she took in the harsh glare Louvet was leveling her. It was almost pitiful the fact that he was trying to intimidate her despite being a full inch shorter than her. Madeleine thought darkly, ‘How much longer is that ungrateful bitch going to continue to live out this lie? Does she really intend on being buried as a man?’

“You know as well as I do that my business dealings are confidential Michelle,” Madeleine spoke in a cool yet sweet sounding voice that had Louvet bristiling upon the first word coming out of her mouth.

‘Good. Blow up my darling. Show them exactly how unstable you are,’ Madeleine thought as she watched Louvet’s hold on himself tighten and a dark look flicker through his eyes.

Vincent cut in with an even voice, “It’s of the utmost importance that you answer a few questions. We have a potential missing person here and we need more information before we head to the police.”

That was enough to make the smug smile disappear from Madeleine’s face and that alone made Louvet grin a cruel grin. Madeleine couldn’t fully hide the flicker of worry from her eyes, something Vincent and Louvet noticed immediately, but she had up a concerned mask a lot sooner than either had anticipated.

“Why don’t we discuss this somewhere more private?” Madeleine suggested as she gestured to a side door on the building. “We wouldn’t want to cause an unnecessary panic that could hamper an official investigation.”

Vincent nodded and gestured for the rest to follow after them closely. Beaumont stood closer to Donadieu and allowed him to slip one of the crosses into her work bag. The last thing either of them wanted was for someone or something to interfere with all of their hard work. Given that there was talk of a deal being struck between the missing Manon and Madeleine, the appearance and fight with some otherworldly beast, and the knowledge that their waiter had been kidnapped by demons…there was no such thing as being too careful here. Not when walking face first into what could very well be a den of demons waiting to feast upon a group of new victims.

Hopefully that wouldn’t be the case but…given how things have been going lately, nobody in their group had any high hopes.
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The backroom felt overly crowded with eleven people inside of it. The odd shelf towards the back full of odd ingredients certainly didn’t make the atmosphere any lighter but…nobody wanted to be the first one amongst the group to ask about what they all contained. Well at least one person in the group assembled around the little table knew but…none of the others trusted her to be honest with them.

“So what sort of missing person case are we dealing with?” Madeleine asked politely as she dished out a hot cup of coffee to each of her weary looking guests. Despite the hard looks Madeleine and Louvet kept shooting at each other, she was nice enough to give him a cup and he was polite enough to accept it. Whether he’d drop dead from cyanide poisoning in the next fifteen minutes or not remains to be seen.

Vincent opted to do most of the talking, something Louvet begrudgingly agreed to if only to avoid saying something that could get either Rody or Manon killed. Possibly both if their suspicions were proven correct somehow.

“We are looking for a young lady, Marianne Vacher. She had mentioned coming here recently and wanted to ask a few questions regarding her visit with you,” Vincent replied after hiding the empty look on his face when he took a sip of the coffee. It wouldn’t do to deny the woman (if only to keep up the pretense that he was just an ordinary and polite gentleman) and the warmth was nice but…It wasn’t a comforting warmth like when Louvet would share his tea with Vincent.

Madeleine pretended to ponder for a moment as she stirred a little more sugar into her coffee, “Vacher, Vacher…the daughter of the Vacher food critics, non?”

Vincent nodded and continued to stare at her with an impassive yet polite enough mask on, “Oui, the very same one. She’s very important to a member of my staff and…he’s been quite worried that she hasn’t been returning any of his calls lately. When he went to investigate the matter, he found that she wasn’t in her apartment and hadn’t been seen for a few days.”

It was a bold-faced lie in some parts, which Vincent was sure Madeleine could somehow sense but…Given the way her eyes flickered with a darker intensity and the slight twitch of her lips into a downward snarl, perhaps it was close enough to the truth to work for now. It gave Vincent a believable enough angle to work with. Who could deny an employer trying to help soothe his employee’s anxieties so he could return to work? What could possibly be more innocent than that?

“That certainly is concerning…” Madeleine trailed off before she took a sip of her coffee. She continued after a moment’s thought, “But how does that connect to me? I certainly don’t recall her talking about a boyfriend being concerned about her.”

Vincent could tell that her statement was only partially a lie. Manon and Rody may technically be exes but…they still cared about one another enough to lead someone to assume that they were still dating. He knew that Manon admitted to seeing Madeleine to strike a deal to help Rody improve his living conditions and possibly work on his personality or something. While Vincent could begrudgingly admit that there were parts of Rody’s pathetic wet dog demeanor, there were definitely parts that could do with some tweaking. But would that even justify going to a practitioner of sorcellerie and potentially sign something he couldn’t read the terms of? No. Not even Vincent would go that far…even if Rody needed all the help he could get. There were lines one just didn’t cross…

Rousseaux spoke up, surprising the others with his response, “Well he did mention finding a receipt for a dessert of some sort in her apartment and he found that same dessert in his own apartment after work one day. This is the only dessert shop in town with a name like yours and we wanted to set his mind at ease before he called the police.”

Vincent looked over at Rousseaux, hiding the surprise on his face from Madeleine. He silently flicked his gaze between Rousseaux and Louvet, but got a subtle shake of the head in response. Sure, Louvet and Vincent knew that was how Rody got stuck with two demons in the first place but…How did Rousseaux possibly know that? Especially since it looked like Louvet hadn’t told the red-head anything!

Madeleine nodded as she thought carefully, sipping at her coffee as if this was just a chat about the weather or the stock market and not about a potential missing person case. There was something disturbing about how calm she was. Most other people would be horrified that someone would be missing or be quick to dismiss their involvement somehow. But…Madeleine didn’t appear to be in a rush to do either of those things.

“I see…well you can tell your co-worker that I have no idea where his girlfriend went. After she left my shop, she presumably left to deliver the meal to his apartment. Unless of course he is more involved in her disappearance than he wants you to believe,” Madeleine finally replied after collecting her thoughts. The flicker in her eyes had Louvet immediately on edge and it took every tiny ounce of self control he had in his body to avoid lunging across the table and screaming at her for answers. He took a hefty sip of his coffee to avoid talking for just a moment longer.

Vincent spoke once more with a defensive look in his eyes that didn’t match the even tone of his voice, “If it were any other man I would consider it, but not him. Lamoree is many things but being capable of hurting those he cares about? Impossible. He’s loyal to a fault and would rather put himself into harm’s way than allow those he holds dear to him get hurt, whether it be by his hand or someone else’s.”

“Even so, he should be the one on your-” Madeleine was cut off when Louvet set his cup down and leveled her a hard look.

“Cut the crap Madeleine. We know about the deals,” Louvet spoke in a low tone that had Madeleine glaring at him harshly despite the fact that she had a sizable audience.

Madeleine smirked a cruel smirk, “Do they now? Do they even know about yours, Michelle?”

Louvet’s narrowed eyes and clenched lower jaw was more than enough to have Madeleine feel bold enough to continue down her chosen route. The blond watched his ex wife very carefully. He didn’t know how low she was planning on going but…if he was the only one who got dragged into it he could live with it. His co-workers didn’t deserve to deal with whatever kind of nastiness she had cooking up. It was bad enough poor Vincent had to deal with her two goons earlier…

Louvet growled lowly as a hint of danger flashed in his light blue eyes, “Mine isn’t relevant to our current situation. Now tell us where you’re hiding the girl and our waiter.”

Madeleine laughed a soft laugh that had Louvet on edge and drew confusion out of the rest of the assembled group. She snapped her fingers and a worn photo album appeared in her hands, a worn photo album that made Louvet swallow a bit of vomit and try to ignore the cold feeling that was starting to build in his stomach.

“Why Michelle, I believe that your deal is more than relevant here!” Madeleine teased in a patronizing tone as she flipped open the photo album and started to turn a few pages. “Why how can you expect your team to trust you if they know you’re a dirty liar?”

The word liar was drawn out in a slow, snake-like tone that made Louvet’s face flush a light red color. He growled lowly, “Shut your mouth.”

Madeleine tutted softly, “Watch your tongue now. That tone of voice isn’t becoming of a refined lady.”

Louvet pushed himself away from the table as he marched towards Madeleine who teasingly kept herself just out of his reach. Louvet snapped, “I’m not a refined lady! So don’t hold me to that standard!”

“Oh but you could have been! Your poor mother poured so much time and devotion into trying to break you free of this delusion of yours only for you to turn around and flush all that hard work and love down the drain to the first person who offered to make that delusion into a reality,” Madeleine continued, watching with an amused look as Louvet continued in vain to try and snatch the photo album from her hands.

Madeleine passed it off to Rousseaux and snickered as he and the others peered inside of it. Louvet froze as his gaze focused on Rousseaux, more specifically the kind of reaction that he would have upon looking at what was inside of it.

Rousseaux tilted his head as he looked at the pictures. They were of a teenage girl who looked a little like Louvet but…Rousseaux huffed as he commented, “You mean to tell me you have pictures of his daughters? What are you, some kind of creep?”

A part of Louvet felt relieved at Rousseaux’s words. Thank God he hadn’t-

Madeleine dragged Louvet over to the group, close enough to get her point across as she stated, “That’s not one of our daughters. Look more closely.”

Manet huffed, “What are you even trying to prove? Louvet is a man last time I checked and I would know. We had to wash up in the same room after an incident at the restaurant.”

Vincent knew exactly what Madeleine was trying to pull, but…What could Vincent even say without revealing something that Louvet was trying to keep private? Something that honestly wouldn’t matter that much because for all intents and purposes, all they needed to know was that Louvet was a man. He was seen by society at large as a man. And that was all there would be to it.

Madeleine’s eyebrow twitched as she flicked a few pages forward to a point near the center of the photo album. Inside the center was a sheet of very thick paper, the kind used to make legal documents and an old ID card. Rousseaux picked up the ID card and scanned it carefully.

The ID was for Michelle Louvet, a young lady only…The birthdate matched Louvet’s. The woman’s photo looked very similar to how Louvet himself looked at age twenty only…definitely more masculine compared to the softer and more feminine features on the woman’s face. Rousseaux shook his head as he commented, “So he has a fake ID? Big deal. We’ve all done things in our youth that we aren’t proud of and I’m sure he could have gotten away with it when he was younger.”

A part of Louvet didn’t know whether he wanted to cry out of sheer relief that his co-workers hadn’t caught onto what Madeleine was trying to say or cry because of how stupid they all were. His old name was literally right on the ID! You just had to cover the last two letters and bam! It was his current name! Why hadn’t he pushed for a better name when the spell was cast?! Something less obvious or at the very least didn’t have the same pronunciation!

Donadieu seemed to sense what was going on if the way he furrowed his brows and looked at Louvet a little harder was anything to go by. Louvet swallowed thickly and he just…couldn’t do it…He couldn’t find the strength to break out of Madeleine’s hold. Why couldn’t he just break her hold?! He was stronger than her! Even before the spell was cast he was still stronger than her! He-why was he suddenly so weak?

Donadieu sent Louvet a soft smile that hopefully would make the blond relax…but it didn’t. It only made Louvet feel even colder and he felt the tremors start up his legs as he thought, ‘He knows. He knows. He knows. He-how long until-’

Madeleine sensed the growing unease in Louvet and decided to add more fuel to the fire as she cooed, “What’s wrong Michelle? I thought that there was no reason to hide these. After all, these are the people you work with. Why keep secrets from them?”

Madeleine laughed softly as she felt Louvet tremble in her hold. Her mocking laughter added onto the whirl of insults that started popping into Louvet’s mind, ‘Freak. Abomination. Liar. Fraud. W-’

Lavigne’s voice broke through the whirl of voices in Louvet’s head, “So Louvet was…a girl?”

Hot tears spilled down Louvet’s cheeks as couldn’t bring himself to look anybody in the eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to see how weak he looked in their eyes. How disgusted they must be now that they knew the truth. How…betrayed they must feel knowing that they had in essence been lied to for years…

“Not was is. Not even demon magic is enough to change the fact that Michelle was born a woman,” Madeleine purred as she forced Louvet’s chin up to stare at his co-workers. “This disgusting little freak begged and pleaded to trade away her proper body for this vessel you see before you. Screaming that she was a man trapped in the body of a woman when all that’s really wrong with her could be solved with a little trip to the asylum.”

Rousseaux’s voice was quiet as he whispered, “Mike? Is this…true?”

Louvet found his strength once more but-

“Mike?!” Rousseaux shouted as Louvet barreled his way out the side door and kept his head down as he ran. He didn’t care where he went. He didn’t care who saw him or what they thought of him. He didn’t pay any attention to the fast set of footsteps right behind his own.

The only thing on his mind was escaping. Escaping this city where the news of what he was would travel like wildfire. He had to flee to spare the reputations of those around him. Surely they’d all be tainted just by having known him, let alone worked with him for as long as they had. He would run as far as his legs would carry him and only rest when necessary. He would find some isolated place to spend the rest of his days. Still find some way to send money back here. It wouldn’t be right to leave Rousseaux with nothing to raise their daughters with…

The sights of the city were like a blur between his speed and the tears running down his face. He could hear the honk of cars as he blindly ran across the streets towards…well he wasn’t sure where he was going to go. Maybe he could find a port, hop on a boat and ask them to drop him off on some isolated island or something. Make a new life for himself. Build a hut. Hunt for fish with a stick. Gather up leaves and vines to make himself clothes-

Louvet heard a few sharp gasps and a shrill scream as he was suddenly yanked backwards into a firm body. A sturdy pair of arms held him close as Louvet finally noticed the large truck that was finishing its short trip through the intersection. Louvet panted heavily as he instinctively rested his hand over one of the larger ones resting over the front of his shoulder.

The familiar scent of woodsy cologne and thyme made Louvet’s tears fall faster. His chest heaved as broke down into heavy sobs. The arms around him shifted to hold him in a bridal carry as he felt a rush of wind around him before he was plunked down on top of a picnic table. The warm touch moved up to his face, wiping away his tears tenderly.

“Mike, darling, talk to me,” Rousseaux’s voice was soft, that same soft and soothing tone that he used when one of their daughters were very upset. The pet names only came out when they were alone.

“Y-you must h-hate me! I-” Louvet started coughing and Rousseaux patted his back as he scanned the area for a water fountain or something to get liquid into his partner.

Rousseaux tutted softly, “Never mon bonheur*, I could never hate you. Why would you think that?”

Louvet sobbed and his voice cracked as he spat, “B-because I lied a-about being a-a freeeeaaak!”

Rousseaux held Louvet close, tightening his hold until he was sure that the blond was practically drowning in the tight hold. Being a solid foot taller than the blond certainly helped but…Louvet was also very good at escaping affection when he was in a mood…And well, this certainly was one of his moods. Not a very common one, Rousseaux couldn’t even fully recall the last time Louvet had broken down to this extent, but one Rousseaux trusted he knew how to handle.

“Mike my darling, we’ve talked about this. You aren’t what those nasty voices in your head say that you are,” Rousseaux cut Louvet off firmly before he could continue to spiral further into a self-deprecating streak that might turn…messy.

“B-but you don’t like women that way a-and I-” Louvet was cut off when Rousseaux pulled away just enough to capture his lips in a kiss. Louvet sobbed into it as he instinctively pulled Rousseaux closer, pawing at his back and reaching up to attempt to play with the hair on the back of Rousseaux’s neck.

It felt wrong to use affection like this, something tender and private to silence his partner like this but…well Rousseaux wasn’t sure what else to do. Louvet was often at least willing to hear him out but…something told him that it wouldn’t be as easy as usual.

Rousseaux pulled back and rested his forehead against Louvet’s as their panting breaths mingled between them. Rousseaux’s eyes met Louvet’s, a warm brown seeking to send comfort to a distressed yet cool blue. There was something about the redness and blotchiness on Louvet’s face and how his bottom lip quivered that made Rousseaux’s heart ache and his bloodlust skyrocket simultaneously. He wanted to swaddle Louvet up in the warmest blankets he could find and feed him his fill on ice cream whilst simultaneously pummeling Madeleine and those two demons into pulp. No, more than pulp. Dust. No something even finer than dust.

But the anger would have to wait. Not when he had his partner in his arms and looking up at him like he expected Rousseaux to kick him to the curb like an empty box.

“I do love men,” Rousseaux answered as he brushed his thumb over Louvet’s bottom lip, “and as far as I’m concerned, I am with a man. I don’t care what she says you were, what matters to me now is that you’re comfortable and happy.”

Louvet hiccuped softly, “I-I thought you’d-Gabe I’m so sorry I-I…”

Louvet sobbed as he buried his face into Rousseaux’s chest. Rousseaux rubbed small circles up and down the curve of Louvet’s spine as he softly reassured, “You don’t have to apologize mon bonheur. You don’t have to tell me everything if you aren’t ready or comfortable. All I need to know is that you feel happy about the skin that you’re in right now.”

There was a soft mumbling coming from Louvet that Rousseaux couldn’t fully make out but…given the way his sobs were starting to die down and his posture was finally starting to settle into a more relaxed slump…Perhaps he could allow himself to relax a little as well.

Rousseaux pulled back just enough to notice the half-asleep look on Louvet’s face. It was definitely getting late and usually the two of them would be finishing up their dinner shift and getting ready to walk home to crawl into bed by this time. All of the emotional turmoil must have sapped what little energy Louvet could muster up to keep going.

“Do you want to head back home to rest my darling?” Rousseaux asked softly as he gently scratched at the spot right between Louvet’s ear and neck that always made his partner shudder.

Louvet grumbled, “Charbonneau needs us still…Can’t let the others down either…”

Rousseaux chuckled softly at the stubborn determination in his partner’s voice. Despite the emotional breakdown, Louvet was still itching to get into yet another fight. Not much could keep the blond down and hopefully that attitude would keep him going.

Rousseaux eased Louvet onto his feet and resisted the urge to just carry the man. Louvet was likely already feeling humiliated from being emotionally vulnerable, even if it was just the two of them, and offering to do something as simple as carry him might make the blond feel even worse. If there was one thing Louvet hated more than being emotionally vulnerable, it was being coddled like a toddler.

“Will you be alright?” Rousseaux asked as he held out a hand for Louvet to take. The blond took it without hesitation. It was dark enough on the street to cover up their very public act of defiance against social norms.

Louvet nodded as he wiped the last of the tears from his face, “I think so…I just…I don’t feel like talking about…you know…”

Rousseaux leaned over to press a quick kiss to Louvet’s forehead before he replied, “That’s good enough for me, mon bonheur. I’m comfortable going at your pace. If the others even think about pushing it I’ll show them exactly why we make a great team.”

Louvet hummed a soft hum, but the warmth of his cheeks let Rousseaux know exactly how the blond felt about that. It would take more than just one talk to work through everything but…that would take time. And the two had plenty of that to work with…After they helped their protege rescue their waiter that is.

Chapter Text

Manon looked down from the bedroom window, wincing at the moat of magma that was surrounding the property just below the window. It was far too hot for any sort of rocks to be formed on its surface to make some sort of path across to the other side. Looks like her initial idea of tying bedsheets together to climb out of the window wouldn’t work very well. She huffed as she stepped away from the window and walked towards the dresser. Perhaps if she looked around near or inside of it, she would find some sort of switch or button to a secret passage.

If there was anything that all of her fantasy stories had taught her, it was that even an ordinary looking home held plenty of extraordinary secrets. Especially if that home was in a supernatural realm, which Hell definitely fit the description of. She ran her hand across the top of the dresser, feeling for some sort of uneven patch on the wood that would indicate a hidden panel or switch of some kind. While she did that, Manon scanned the ceiling for any kind of panel or grate that she could attempt to pry open. Maybe she could find a vent of some kind to shimmy herself through and out into either the outside world or to a room that could lead her closer to an escape route.

Sure, just going out the door on the other side of the bedroom would be the easiest answer…but the easiest answers also aren’t always the safest answers either. For all Manon knew, Isolde could have beasts like the one that had attacked the bistro patrolling the halls to keep prisoners like her in their cells. Manon looked around the room and sighed softly, “It’s not like anything in here would make a decent weapon either.”

Sure, there were perfume bottles across the top of the writing desk (most likely to serve as inspiration for stories or something) but those would break after one throw. None of them had a long neck that Manon could hold to turn a broken one into a more long-term weapon. What she needed was something like a wine bottle or a Coke bottle. Something she could break over someone’s head and then use the broken remnants like a blade.

The last thing Manon needed was to cut her hands from trying to fashion a glass shard into a decent blade. The blood would make her far too easy to track and…well for all she knew the demons could smell her blood and see her as an easy meal. Did demons even drink blood? She wasn’t sure…they didn’t cover the subject of the standard diet of demons in Church. Not that her parents would have ever allowed her to even read something that would have told her these things in the first place. They were of the opinion that even reading about something malevolent was enough to get its attention and well…maybe they had a bit of a point on this one. Wasn’t it just last week that she was reading a story about a woman who makes a deal with a witch to find the perfect partner?

Just as Manon was about to continue her fruitless search for an escape route, there was a knock on the door. Manon quietly scurried back into bed and pretended to just be waking up in time for the door to fully open.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a female voice commented. Manon looked up and noticed that standing in the doorway was a very matronly looking maid. She was dressed in the conservative uniform of an English maid except for the color of her uniform. It was a light pink color that matched the walls and a few other pieces of soft furnishings in the room. Her apron and headpiece were both the same shade of white as the painted furniture and baseboards. Her shoes were a shiny black that made the outfit feel a bit more grounded than the colors would ordinarily suggest.

In the maid’s hands was a serving tray with a steaming bowl of something with some freshly sliced strawberries and a little jar of honey on the side. There was a tall glass filled with some sort of pink drink with ice and little balls of watermelon inside.

The maid closed the door behind her and balanced the tray perfectly in one hand. There was a grace to her step that allowed her to cross the room without a single drop of the drink being spilt or any of the dishes being moved out of place. Hell, it seemed like even the ice and melon balls in the drink were still in the same place as when she was in the doorway.

“Lady Isolde requested that we give you something light to eat once you were rested. You are likely still a little weak from your journey here and she doesn’t want you to fall ill whilst being a guest here,” the maid explained as she helped Manon over to the writing desk to enjoy the meal.

Manon complied if only to keep up the illusion that she wasn’t aware that she had been kidnapped and is being kept prisoner in Hell right now. Pretending that she was just a guest at a rich person’s manor was a lot simpler than trying to just muscle her way out of here. She’d simply play along until their guard was down far enough for her to make a break for it. They’ll never see it coming.

Manon smiled softly as she replied, “Why thank you! Please, pass along my gratitude to your lady as well. She keeps such a lovely space.”

The maid practically glowed with pride at Manon’s words as she nodded and trilled, “I shall be sure to do so. Lady Isolde will be pleased to know that someone else appreciates her aesthetic tastes. It isn’t the norm in this realm, especially in the Wrath Circle, so it would truly make her happy to hear your kind words.”

A part of Manon was surprised that the choices of decor were intentionally made by Isolde herself. There was a skeptical part of her that wondered if it was chosen intentionally to make her “guests” lower their guard but…a larger part of her could definitely see Isolde genuinely enjoying being in a cutesy space like this. Given the light purple rabbit designs that were laid against her pink painted nails…Isolde was definitely a lot more into cute things than she let on.

Manon stirred some of the honey and berries into what she presumed was an oatmeal or porridge of some sort before taking a bite of it. Part of her was insulted that everything seemed to be made of sturdy plastic and she was only provided with a spoon but…The sweet and creamy porridge chased those thoughts right out the window. The hint of cinnamon blended with the honey in a way that made Manon feel warm and safe, much like how warm and safe being in Rody’s arms made her feel.

“I will let you enjoy your meal in peace m’lady,” the maid spoke in a gentle voice that further set Manon at ease. The maid curtsied before rising just as gracefully as she continued to speak, “I will be tending to a few cleaning duties around the manor, but please do not hesitate to call for me should you require any further assistance. You are free to roam the grounds as you wish, but Lady Isolde only asks that you not enter spaces marked as private.”

Manon could hardly believe her luck. She was allowed to just roam freely? Without any sort of escort? The rational part of her wondered just what kind of plan was Isolde concocting. Was she…planning on getting Manon to let her own guard down to prevent her from escaping? Well two could play at that game.

“I shall keep your words in mind, thank you,” Manon answered with a smile before she took a sip of the fancy looking pink drink. The drink was very sweet and refreshing, which made the rich dish she had been given feel a bit more balanced now. The faint idea of the food being drugged is quickly washed away from her mind by the coolness of the ice and the delectable feel of the watermelon in her mouth.

The maid smiled a gentle smile and Manon missed the odd flicker in the maid’s eyes before the maid turned around and left the room just as gracefully as she had entered it. Manon could barely hear the soft clunks of the maid’s thick heeled shoes against the wooden floors out in the hall growing more distant.

Instead, Manon was focusing on finishing her meal and exploring the manor to try and note any and every weak point she could take advantage of to make her great escape. Perhaps if she got lucky, she could also find out where Rody was being kept as well! She knew that she was in the Wrath Circle and given that Tristan was half-demon…if she knew what kind of demon his demonic half was then Manon would be able to know which Circle she would have to travel to. If she played her cards right, she could get one of the denizens of Hell to give her directions and she could swoop in and rescue Rody long before that stupid Vincent could even get started!

And then, once Rody was safely rescued from the clutches of the dastardly Tristan, the two of them could resume what they had put on hold. Rody could truly begin to put his life back in order and Manon could get her beloved soulmate back in her life. The two of them could move onto her own dream of being food critics like her parents. They could find a quaint little place in the countryside to raise a few kids and have a dog and plenty of space for the kids to play with the dog. They could grow old together, look forward to big anniversaries together, welcome home grandchildren together…maybe even great-grandchildren if they were lucky!

Planning trips to distant countries and writing about the flavors of the dishes they try. Stories about the people they would meet or the things that they would do. Manon could easily see Rody making lots of friends while traveling, especially if he brought his guitar with him. Music was such a wonderful way to connect with people and the auburn-haired man had such a gifted set of hands and ears when it came to music. He could invoke such deep feelings in a way that Manon had never really felt before. Even her most beloved novels or stories paled in comparison to even the simplest ditty Rody made up on the spot to cheer her up on a bad day.

It was all of those things. The big dreams for their future. The little details of the present. The wonderful memories of their past. All of those things just combined to explain why Manon just wasn’t ready to give up on Rody. He was different from other men she had dated and not just because of his socio-economic class. He was charming in his own awkwardly endearing way. Like how a puppy was charming, especially when they were being clumsy or were playing. There was a sincerity in everything that Rody did that Manon found irresistible.

Only Rody would take her to an aquarium and call it a “fish museum”. Only Rody would take her to watch the stars and come up with his own names and stories for the constellations. Only Rody would think of dressing up like a character out of one of her romance novels and try to recreate the scenes that made Manon addicted to the things in the first place. Only Rody would show up at her job when it was snowing outside to make sure she had a warm coat, mittens, hat and scarf.

Before she knew it, Manon had finished her meal. It was startling how easy it could be to blindly eat something when her mind was elsewhere. A part of her was horrified at the idea of being fed something…not meant for human consumption…but she knew that she was being kept alive for some reason. If she wasn’t necessary, Manon knew that she would have been killed back at Madeleine’s bakery. Tristan had been right behind her and could have easily taken Manon out before she was even aware of his presence. But…

‘What do they even want to do with me anyway?’ Manon pondered as she eased herself out of the oddly uncomfortable chair at the writing desk.

Rather than sit around to find out, Manon decided to start exploring the grounds. If she got a lay of the land and could learn the schedules of the staff, then she could plan the optimal escape route. One that involved more clever thinking than just brute forcing her way out of the place. There was a time for brute force, but this just wasn’t it.

She walked out the door of the room into a hallway painted in a light cream color with a warm wood floor and the same wood being used as the baseboards throughout the hallway. Manon closed the door behind her quietly and examined the area closely.

There weren’t any lights on the ceiling, but there were plenty of gold candle holders along the walls to make sure that the hallway had a sufficient amount of light. The floor had a long, pink runner rug down the center of it that helped to further muffle the movements of anyone or anything that was lurking further down the hallway. It was just long enough to make it seem endless from Manon’s current vantage point…

But that was quitter talk and Manon was no quitter! Why, she didn’t graduate in the top fifteen of her class just because of her parents’ status! No, no. That was all her own hard work! She didn’t give up no matter how much the sheer workload made her want to rip her hair out and scream! So she most certainly wasn’t going to give up now that she had not only her life but Rody’s on the line here!

With that thought in mind, Manon decided to start mapping out the place. Starting with the room right across the hall from her room. Er well, perhaps guest room was the more appropriate name for it but…Since she was staying here, perhaps thinking of it as her room for the time being would help her remember enough details about the exterior of it so she could at least have some sort of concrete landmark to go by. If nothing else, it would be a safe place to rest when she needed it and she most certainly would need all of the strength that she could muster if she hoped to accomplish all of her lofty goals.

So Manon walked towards the door across the hall with her shoulders squared and her head held high. Nothing would stand between her and Rody. Not demons. Not their tricks and magic. And most certainly not Vincent Charbonneau.

She reached out her hand and grasped the crystal door knob. It felt cool against her hand in such a way that the crystal must be genuine rather than one of those imitation ones made of resin or some other slightly cheaper material. Manon took a deep breath to steel her nerves as she slowly turned the doorknob. The latch bolt slid out from the strike with a heavy clunk. There was a soft creak of the hinges as Manon slowly opened the door. She closed her eyes, she wasn’t quite ready to face what was on the other side of the door just yet. All she knew was when the door was fully opened that there would be no turning back.
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A moment passed. Then two moments. A third even passed. But…nothing happened.

Manon opened her eyes and noticed that the room before her was just…a craft room? How anticlimactic! Manon huffed as she stepped inside of the room, “What was I even worried about? I doubt she’d keep dangerous stuff this high up in the manor, especially with all her staff running around up here.”

The same warm wooden floor from the hallway and bedroom lined the room. The same white baseboards as the bedroom were also in the craft room. The only real difference color wise between this room and the one across the hall was that this room had pastel purple walls rather than the pink walls of the bedroom. There was a long white shelf across the left hand wall that held several bolts of fabric in one section, different cubbies full of different colors and weights of yarn in another section and the third and final section having bins filled with random art supplies.

There was a white desk that held a very expensive looking sewing machine on top of it. Spread across the desk was a long piece of paper and right beside the desk was a mannequin that had a few sections of fabric pinned to it. More than likely whomever had been in the room previously was trying to pin together a pattern for some sort of garment. Manon wasn’t sure what they were trying to make but it was clear that it was going to be made of a rich red silk and black leather.

In the corner was a cozy looking armchair that was the same shade of pastel purple as the walls. It had a pastel pink throw blanket across the back of it that looked absolutely heavenly to snuggle under with a nice cup of tea. There was a coordinating pastel purple ottoman right in front of the chair so one could rest their feet on top of it while knitting or sewing. At least that was what Manon guessed the intention of it was.

As Manon stepped further into the crafting room an idea came to mind. Why not use something from here as a make-shift weapon? Surely they wouldn’t expect something as innocent as a knitting needle to be a weapon, right? She could just pretend that she was looking for someone to teach her how to use them if anyone asked why she was carrying them! Not that there would be anyone left to ask such a question if she had to pull the knitting needles out in the first place but still…She couldn’t let these demons know that she was capable of more than they gave her credit for!

Manon looked inside of one of the bins and selected a short, thin pair of gold colored knitting needles. She tucked one into the back part of her stockings to keep them hidden, but still accessible should she need them. It was at times like this that she wished that women’s clothing came with more pockets…maybe someday that would be true but for now the stockings would have to do.

She then pulled out from a different bin a few sheets of paper and a crayon to start making a map of the manor. Manon rested one sheet against the sewing desk and made the center of her map her bedroom and then marked the space across the hall as the craft room. If she could find the craft room, then she could find her bedroom and vice-versa.

The map would also allow her to mark off which rooms were “private” so she could investigate them when everyone’s guard was at their lowest. Perhaps more than a few of them would allow her to exit the manor undetected, hence why they weren’t meant for “guests” like Manon to enter in the first place.

Then again, the rest of the manor might also hold rooms like the craft room. Why would a “guest” want to leave the manor if a room that could fill any and every possible need or passing whim was just around the corner? They weren’t being overtly tortured, at least as far as Manon knew, and there weren’t any random trap doors leading into pits of flames to be charred into a crisp in. Why leave what was essentially a spot of Heaven in Hell?

Well Manon knew that most “guests” likely wouldn’t have a very good reason to want to leave…but Manon wasn’t most guests. She had a very good reason to leave, a reason that would keep her going no matter what Isolde had to throw at her. Rody. Rody would be Manon’s will to keep her head held high in the face of whatever humiliation Isolde could conjure up. Rody would give her strength in the face of whatever sort of torture she could have inflicted upon her.

With thoughts of him in mind, Manon quickly left the craft room behind to check out the room right next door to it. She opened this door less carefully than the other one, but still careful enough to hopefully avoid triggering some sort of trap.

This room was totally dark inside, which was odd given that the craft room next door was still very clear to see inside even without a light on. Even the light filtering in from the hallway didn’t appear to pierce the darkness that filled the room. If anything, the darkness appeared to be reaching out for Manon.

A soft and frantic whispering reached her ears, “Help us! Please! Let us leave! Take us home! Please!”

The whispering voice wasn’t just one voice. It was several layered together to form one singular tone. There were lower whispers underneath that weren’t nearly as easy for Manon to decipher what they were saying.

“H-hello? Who’s speaking to me?” Manon called out, keeping her voice low enough not to draw the attention of the maid. “I-I can’t see anyone in this room.”

The whispering continued more quietly than before as Manon felt her legs start to walk her further into the room on their own accord. A soft step forward. Then a second. Then a third.

The shadows started to lap at her ankles and curl around her legs much like a cat would. The whispering continued to speak to her, “A name? A name? The lady wants a name?”

“W-well yes, how else am I to address you unless I know your name?” Manon replied as she shuddered against the cold and scaly feeling against her legs. Shadows definitely weren’t meant to feel like this! But what was it that was touching her?!

The shadows slinked upwards around her waist and right behind her. She could feel a hot breath panting against her neck in a spot that she often wished Rody would nibble or kiss. But alas, he was just a little too polite or shy to do either of those things…unless she convinced him to have a little more wine than usual that is…

“What good would a name do?” The whispers questioned as Manon felt clawed fingers dig into her hips ever so slightly. Manon squirmed against the hold as the hot breath continued to dance around her neck and ear. It smelled faintly of rotting meat…

Manon trembled as she snapped back, “Let me go! This isn’t how you should go about trying to talk to people!”

Manon heard a few mocking little giggles and more whispering around her as the hold on her tightened. Wherever the clawed fingers touched felt like ice and she could see her own breath puffing up into the darkness. She felt hundreds of pairs of beady little eyes staring at her intently but she couldn’t make out any singular pair of them. Not even a flicker of an eye to be seen in the deep void that was surrounding her. The small light cast by the hallway seemed to flicker in and out of Manon’s vision.

The whispers continued to croon in a slightly melodic tone, “Well aren’t you a feisty one? You put up much more of a fight than that little man you’re infatuated with.”

Manon stilled as an icy chill settled in the very pit of her stomach. Her heart started to hammer louder and louder in her ears. A hammering beat that blended with the whispering in a cacophony of fear.

“Wh-what did you say?” Manon whispered as she felt the clawed fingers start to travel. One hand snaked around her waist while the other traveled even further north to start toying with the hair near the other side of her neck.

“You heard us,” the whispers continued in a sing-song voice. “The little man barely fights us. He just lets us do as we please no matter how much he screams otherwise. His body doesn’t lie the way his words do.”

Manon grit her teeth before she spat, “He’s not a coward nor is he interested in anything you sickos do to him! Now let go of me this instant or else-”

Manon shrieked when she felt the clawed hands dig their fingers into her flesh and smelt the heavy, metallic scent of blood start to fill the air.

The whispers chuckled into her ear, “Let’s see how well you do on our turf.”

The door swung shut, engulfing the room in complete darkness. Manon could feel the clawed hands leave her but…the whispers continued to surround her. She still felt the untold number of eyes boring into her, into her very soul, despite the shroud of shadows surrounding her. Manon quickly withdrew the pair of knitting needles from her stockings and looked around her.

She could hear the whispering still, but she couldn’t feel anything draw closer to her. Her body was as taut as a drawn bowstring, ready to be let loose upon the first hint of touch that drew too close to her.

Manon closed her eyes and waited. And listened. She could hear her own heartbeat starting to slow down into something more steady than before. But what she truly wanted to hear was a creak in the floorboards. The rustle of shifting fabric. Something that would point her in the direction of where to stick these needles.

She heard the click of the door once more and whipped around. She had her needles at the ready to strike as soon as she felt the warmth of the candle light hit her.

A set of steady hands held her own and she finally opened her eyes to see who had stopped her mid-strike.

“My lady, what are you doing here in the darkness?” A gentle voice asked.

It was a maid dressed like the one from before but…this one was younger and had much shorter hair. She was a tall woman, possibly taller than Rody even but Manon couldn’t quite tell from her perspective. She had caught Manon’s blow like it was nothing and that little fact alone had Manon wondering what she was thinking. How could she have possibly dealt with whatever was in the shadows when a regular old maid could stop her with ease?

Manon looked around the room, noticing that the whispers had ceased and the feeling of eyes on her had retreated. She sighed softly, “I was trying to do a little exploring of the grounds but…I must have accidentally gotten myself a little too worked up. I apologise.”

The maid released her hold on Manon as she chirped, “You needn’t apologize, my lady. This manor is very much like a maze so it can be easy to get turned around or lost inside of it!”

The maid didn’t seem rattled in the slightest by the fact that Manon had literally been seconds away from stabbing her mere moments ago. What that implied about the kind of treatment Isolde’s staff received was something that Manon didn’t want to even attempt to think about. There was little to keep her mind from straying to the topic of what Isolde would and could do to Rody if she even started to think about that…

“Come, my lady. Why don’t we head outside to the garden for some air? Being stuck inside after such a rough journey must have made you feel anxious,” the maid suggested as she easily pulled Manon out of the dark room and back into the light of the hallway.

Manon hung her head. Maybe the maid had a point? Running around inside of this labyrinth all day would likely just confuse her more than help her right now. She needed to keep her head level and clear if she wanted any hope of escaping to go and rescue Rody from his own prison. Especially if she wanted to get there before Vincent did…

So Manon followed the maid down the corridor, missing the oddly smug look on the maid’s face. Little did Manon know that she was playing right into their own plan. One that would reunite her with Rody but…not in a way she would have wanted to.

Chapter Text

“..up…-et…up!” Rody could feel someone shaking his shoulder and he could hear someone trying to shout at him but…Rody wanted to just keep resting. After having two nightmares back to back even being unconscious was blissful. He needed actual rest for once.

“Get up dammit!” Rody heard before he felt a hard slap on his cheek.

Rody bolted upright and shrieked as he held his injured cheek. Masaru had his hand still raised from slapping Rody and had a frustrated look on his face.

Masaru snapped, “About time you got up! Do you know how hard it is to drag an unconscious body through this place?!”

Rody rubbed at his cheek, biting back a few tears that sprang up in his eyes as he shouted back, “Doesn’t mean you can just hit me like that?! Can’t you be a little more gentle?!”

Masaru stood up and turned around without a reply. He looked around as though he was expecting someone or something to come running at the two of them. The grip on his dagger was much tighter than he had been when they had initially opened the door.

‘Wait…the door! Where did it wind up leading us to?’ Rody thought as he finally peeled himself off of the ground. He took a few unsteady steps before he finally straightened himself out. He stretched his arms over his head and felt a few pops go up his spine and sighed softly. Guess sleeping on just a couch for what felt like ages was finally starting to catch up with him.

The two men were stationed in some sort of dilapidated fort. It was made of stone but…it looked much older than the manor that the two of them were in previously. It was also much rougher in terms of construction. It felt like a strong enough gust of wind could knock the whole structure to the ground and crush whomever was inside of it in the process.

There was a roaring fire in the center of the structure that made the room feel a lot cozier than it was meant to be. From the sound of things outside, there was quite a nasty rain storm that was likely preventing them from moving forward.

There wasn’t anything else in the room except for a small wooden table and chair. There might have been a second chair but…perhaps that was what Masaru had to use to build the fire in the first place. A part of Rody felt guilty that he hadn’t woken up sooner. Perhaps he could have helped his escape partner build a fire or make the place a little more habitable.

“Soooooo…,” Rody trailed off as soon as he got Masaru’s attention. Rody rubbed the back of his neck and looked aside as he continued, “Umm…any idea where we are?”

Masaru huffed as he allowed himself to sheathe the dagger for the time being, “I have no idea where we wound up. The only thing I know is that we’re still somewhere in the manor.”

Rody tilted his head as he crossed his arms into his usual thinking position. There was a small part of him that knew that Masaru was telling the truth but…

“How do you know that for sure?” Rody asked as his gray-green eyes flicked over to where Masaru was still standing in the doorway.

Masaru pulled off one of his gloves to reveal a mark running from the center of the back of his hand up to the crook of his elbow. Rody drew closer and was surprised that Masaru had allowed him to hold his arm closer for inspection. The mark started off as a rose and trailed upwards in a tangle of thorny vines that wrapped around the rest of his elbow. There were a few rose buds and smaller roses that dotted the thorny vines. It would have looked like an ordinary tattoo, not that Rody saw a lot of them given that they weren’t considered a normal part of polite society and still carried association with a criminal past, only…The ink was richly colored like real roses amongst a tangle of thorns but…Well even if the tattoo ink was colored Rody doubted that the flowers would be glowing like that.

Masaru huffed, “These only glow when I’m in the domain of that bastard or if he’s near…”

Rody opened his mouth to ask Masaru how he had gotten the mark in the first place but quickly closed it once he noticed how uncomfortable Masaru looked. Er well uncomfortable wasn’t quite the right word here but…Well Rody wasn’t sure what emotion was flickering through Masaru’s eyes…those oddly colored eyes that mimicked the pure deep blue of expensive sapphires…

Rody felt his cheeks warm up as he quickly withdrew his hold on Masaru’s arm. He turned away to try and calm his racing heart as he heard Masaru pull his glove back on. Just what was wrong with him?

‘Why can’t I just be normal around a man for once?! He probably thinks I’m a freak or something!’ Rody mentally scolded himself as he took a few shaky breaths and ignored how it felt like the walls were starting to close in on him ever so slightly.

“We should get moving once this storm lets up,” Masaru’s voice broke Rody out of his thoughts.

The auburn-haired waiter blinked before he allowed himself to face his companion once more. The slightly taller man was watching Rody carefully. As if he expected another breakdown like the one earlier when they heard that Tristan was back in the manor…

Rody nodded as he plastered a smile on his face that reeked of falsehood and deception. He put on his best cheerful voice as he replied, “Sounds good to me! I’d hate to try and find our way around in…well wherever this is when the weather is shitty.”

There was a slight twitch in the corner of the other man’s lip and a slight furrow of his brows at the tone of Rody’s voice but other than that Masaru remained silent. There was something…unnerving about being watched by those oddly blue eyes but…Rody was trying his best not to show how he truly felt right now. Especially in front of a man who Rody barely knew and already made the mistake of having an emotional breakdown in front of within not even an hour of having known each other.

Masaru walked past Rody to check on the fire, leaving the auburn-haired man standing there awkwardly with nothing to do. Rody shoved his hands into his pockets and shuffled towards the doorway Masaru had previously been standing guard in.

Outside of the door was a very dense forest made up of the tallest trees Rody had ever seen in his life. The bushes underneath the trees looked so dense that Rody doubted that they could be walked through without at least ten branches snagging onto a piece of their clothing. The rain fell by the bucketload and the air smelt heavily of wet earth and metal. The wind whistled and made the leaves on the trees rustle. There was something soothing about the sounds of the storm. It made the voices spewing nasty things at him sound a lot quieter than before.

Rody turned to look over at Masaru, who was continuing to poke at the fire and feed it little scraps of wood to keep it blazing. The man hadn’t looked up to meet Rody’s gaze, so clearly whatever he wanted to say just moments ago wasn’t that important after all. A little more of that nasty shouting in his head went silent as the peaceful sounds of the crackling fire mingled with the rain.

“Come sit by the fire, we can’t have you getting sick from being too cold,” Masaru called without looking up.

Rody shuffled closer to the fire and plunked down next to Masaru, who seemed pleased with the size of the fire for now and was able to fully relax.

“Do you know how to get out of…well wherever this place is?” Rody asked as he crossed his arms behind his head before resting back on the cold stone floor once more.

Masaru hummed softly, “I do…but it won’t be easy.”

Rody looked over at Masaru. He was looking in the fire rather than at Rody but even from this angle Rody could see the furrow of his brows and the deep frown etched on his face. The dark-haired man didn’t seem nearly as confident as he did earlier when they were walking down the halls.

“Well what do we-”

“We need to face our deepest insecurities and be able to slay them in combat.”

Rody sat up once more and looked at Masaru before he sputtered, “C-combat?! Y-you’re joking right?! C-come on you have to be!”

Masaru turned slightly to face Rody as he cooly replied, “Does it look like I’m joking?”

Masaru wasn’t as confident as before but…that serious edge was back in place to take the spot of his previous uncertainty. He wasn’t cracking a smile or making a move to sling an arm around Rody’s shoulders whilst cracking an ‘I’m only joking! You should have seen the look on your face!’

This was real and it was making Rody cold once more. He trembled as a sweat started to trickle from his temples down his chin. Fight? Him? No way. He…he can’t fight…Not after-

“Listen,” Masaru grabbed onto Rody’s shoulders firmly and cut through Rody’s mental spiral like it was nothing. He made sure Rody was focused on him before continuing to speak in a firm voice, “I get that this isn’t ideal. Trust me. I’d rather avoid fighting as well where I can…But we need to face this head on. If we run away, then these insecurities will continue to grow stronger. They can be given the power to escape the confines of this space and they will prevent us from ever leaving this manor.”

Rody trembled as he laughed nervously, “C-come on now, that just sounds ridiculous! H-how could you-”

Masaru snapped, “Because I’ve been stuck in this hellhole for the past three years dammit! Do you think I want to spend the rest of my days here when I have a wife and son who are wondering where the hell I am?!”

Silence followed Masaru’s outburst as he slowly trailed his hands off of Rody’s shoulders to slump them into his lap. The dark-haired man’s breath hitched as he fought against the sobs that were trying to rip his way out of his throat. Rody simply stared at his traveling companion as he tried to figure out something to say to the man that sounded vaguely comforting. But what could Rody even say that could begin to make things feel even slightly better?

Three years is a long time to be anywhere whether that be simply living in an area, going to school there, even keeping a job for three years can be quite the feat! But being forced to spend three years away from one’s family? Three years of being a parent and being prevented from raising their child? That was a kind of pain that Rody couldn’t fully understand. He could partially since he knew that he would be distraught if he had a child and was forcibly kept apart from them for any length of time but…Until he could fully feel that pain Rody knew that he couldn’t find the perfect thing to say…

Rody moved instinctively and pulled the man into a tight hug, ignoring the way that both of them stiffened up at the sudden physical contact. Maybe words wouldn’t be enough but actions might be. Actions were said to speak louder than words and well Rody knew he wasn’t the best when it came to words.

“I…I’m sorry,” Rody whispered as he rubbed circles into the man’s back much like how Vincent had rubbed circles onto his hand earlier. Soft, gentle movements with just enough pressure to help Masaru start to relax a little.

Rody couldn’t think of anything else to say but maybe he didn’t need to. Masaru returned the embrace and allowed his pent up feelings to overflow into harsh sobs that reminded Rody of how he felt earlier that day. Now that the shoe was on the other foot Rody could somewhat see why Vincent was so awkward around him. What could someone say that could possibly make the crying stop and make the person doing the crying feel better? Especially when it looked like their own emotions would physically rip them in half…

“Thanks,” Masaru managed to mumble as he rested his head on Rody’s shoulder.

The auburn-haired man ignored the way his face warmed up at the memory of being in his hold with Vincent earlier and instead replied, “Anytime. The rain hasn’t let up yet so we have some time to mentally prepare for…well whatever it is we have to fight.”

It still felt like Rody should have said more but he just let his meager words hover in the air. Those seemed to be good enough for Masaru who must have gone at least three years, if not longer, without any attempt being made to comfort him when he needed it most. Going so long without even a sympathetic ear to listen to his worries…It made Rody appreciate what he had with Manon even more. She may not have been able to offer him solutions to his problems (she did, he just didn’t listen to them), but at least she was willing to hear him vent and offer him small shreds of comfort to patch himself back together with.

Rody didn’t intend on staying in this hellhole for eternity but…maybe he could at least be kind enough to stay long enough to help his companion find his own way home. He had a feeling that Masaru would do the same for him.
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The rain finally let up after what felt like an eternity. The sunlight filtered through the leaves and cast a dappled light onto the ground below. The previously violent winds had mellowed out into a gentle breeze that carried the sweet trills of birdsong through the air.

Rody was laying on his back, gently petting Masaru’s hair while he slept. Rody wasn’t sure when the last time this guy got proper rest was, but perhaps a little sleep would help improve his mood. It wasn’t necessarily the most comfortable thing in the world being used as a pillow by a man just a little taller and quite a bit heavier than he was…but Rody knew that if the roles were reversed that Masaru would let Rody rest on him without complaint….Er well, Rody hoped that he would anyway. The guy was still a bit too mysterious for Rody to figure out and anticipate reactions for…

The warm fire was still crackling away. It greedily devoured every little scrap of wood that Rody had fed it and rewarded him with continued warmth and light. While the light part wasn’t fully necessary given the reappearance of the sunshine, the warmth most definitely was. The dilapidated fort was damp from the rain and that dampness only added to the lingering chill hanging in the air.

Rody waited until Masaru finally stirred to speak, “The rain stopped.”

Masaru sat up slowly and rubbed at his eyes, yawning as he did so. He didn’t seem to be aware of where he had been resting his head and Rody wasn’t about to enlighten him. Rody didn’t necessarily want to add another voice to the chorus of voices that pointed out how disgusting and disappointing he was. He had enough of those echoing around in his skull as it was.

“We should get moving then,” Masaru grumbled as he finally peeled himself off of the floor. He held a hand out to Rody and hoisted the auburn-haired man up with a surprising amount of ease.

Masaru dusted himself off as he worked on putting out the fire. Rody didn’t move to dust himself off, but he did gather up the few remaining pieces of wood just in case they needed to stop somewhere to rest. Why worry over not having enough wood to start a fire with when they could carry just enough to start one wherever they go? Plus it could become a makeshift weapon in a pinch! Rody wasn’t armed like Masaru was, so he would have to get more creative once they actually had to start fighting.

Fighting…That’s right. Rody had almost forgotten the teensy tiny little fact that he would have to defeat his biggest insecurity in combat in order to get out of here. No pressure though, right?! He surely wouldn’t have any issues fighting, especially since he was trying to avoid doing it to avoid repeating-

“Rody? Didn’t you hear me? I said that we need to get moving if we want to go further into the realm before nightfall,” Masaru’s voice cut through Rody’s spiraling once more. There was something about it that just made it easy for Rody to find his focus once more.

“R-right! I just…” Rody trailed off and sighed softly as he slowly trudged over to where Masaru was standing.

He mumbled something under his breath that Masaru couldn’t understand. Masaru furrowed his brows in confusion. He was about to ask Rody what he was mumbling about when an odd voice called out, “I smell your feeeaaaar~”

Masaru grabbed Rody and tackled him to the ground, rolling the two of them out of the way of a long, sweeping slash of a blade. A bit of Masaru’s hair was lopped off and laid on the floor. Rody was surprised to see that the strands cut off were black when the section that was lopped off was from the part of his hair that was white. Masaru looked over his shoulder to try and spy who had taken a swing at them and Rody noticed that the white section in the part of Masaru’s hair that had been lopped off had moved upwards. It stood out boldly against the black section of his hair it rested against and only served to raise even more questions.

“Show yourself you coward!” Masaru shouted as he scrambled to his feet and unsheathed his daggers. He moved his feet to get into a more sturdy stance while still essentially acting as a living shield for Rody.

Rody shuddered as he heard the odd voice cackle, “Coward? Is that any way to address your father, Masaru?”

Masaru growled lowly as he kept looking around the room frantically. His hands shook as he kept trying to find where to point the daggers to look threatening to their hidden foe.

“You may have sired me, but you’re no father of mine,” Masaru snarled as he listened for any slight movement in the dilapidated structure.

Rody cried out when he felt a swift kick knock him back into one of the far walls. The noise drew Masaru’s attention and he slashed his daggers. He didn’t hear any sort of cut nor splash of blood, but he did make out the sound of movement headed in Rody’s direction.

Masaru charged forward and took a leap, both daggers raised to hopefully get a decent shot in. He was quickly batted away like a troublesome insect. Masaru bounced off the floor and tumbled towards the doorway. One of his daggers slipped from his grasp when he was hit and it landed not far from where Rody was struggling to his feet.

Rody scrambled to try and snatch up the dagger but was stopped dead in his tracks when he felt another blow knock him back against the wall once more. A thick tendril wrapped around his throat and kept him pinned to the wall. Rody choked in the hold and tried to pry the hold off of his throat. His vision started to darken and as he squinted he could faintly make out the outline of a man with the tendril starting at where his right elbow should be and traveling down to where the rest of the arm should be. There was a glint of the same sapphire colored eyes that Masaru had.

Rody felt tears running down his cheeks and a bit of drool spilled out of the corner of his lips. He closed his eyes and tensed up, half-expecting to have his neck snapped when he faintly heard the sound of rushing footsteps. There was the whoosh of a metallic blade and a sickening thud as an ear-splitting screech filled the air followed shortly by the sound of gushing splatters against the floor. Rody suddenly found himself crumpling to the floor as his airway was freed of the obstruction. He coughed and panted as rich oxygen finally entered his body once more. He watched as his previously darkened vision start to return to its normal state.

“Come on, let’s move!” Masaru shouted as he slung Rody’s arm over his shoulder and pulled him up. He paused only to grab his other dagger before rushing the two of them out of the shelter.

Rody could make out the splatters of blood on the floor and the remnants of a tendril, likely the one that had been choking him, on the floor. He barely got a chance to register what was even happening before he had to stumble along with Masaru out into the wilderness.

“W-what was that?!” Rody rasped, his voice sounding strained from being choked out.

Masaru grit his teeth, “One of two reasons why we need to move and quickly. If one found us, then the other isn’t far behind.”

Rody swallowed thickly. That really didn’t sound good. If the two of them were downed that easily then what chance did they stand against the other threat? But he didn’t want to think about what kind of bloodbath awaited them. The only thing he wanted right now was distance. Distance between them and whatever sort of monster had attacked them.

Chapter Text

Silence followed after Rousseaux had left to run after Louvet. What was there to say? What could any of them say? How was one meant to respond to such a…heavy revelation? None of the assembled chefs wanted to be the one to break the silence.

At least until Madeleine started laughing a smug laugh. Beaumont glared at the woman intensely and her arm started to shake as she balled up a fist.

“Did you see the look on that bitch’s face when you all realized the truth? Serves her right for trying to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes for so long!” Madeleine laughed maliciously.

Beaumont marched forward, ignoring the stares of her co-worker and boss. She was just an inch shy of being right in Madeleine’s face before she backhanded the laughing witch. The only sound in the room was the sound of skin hitting skin.

Beaumont took advantage of Madeleine’s shock to grab a broom and pin her to the wall by pressing the handle across her throat. The chef may have been six inches shorter than the woman before her, but that meant nothing in the face of the chef’s righteous fury.

“How fucking dare you?!” Beaumont shouted as she pressed the broomstick against Madeleine’s throat even harder than before. “How could you even think that saying such things is ever appropriate?!”

Madeleine sputtered, “S-she was the one who brought this on herself. I-if she was good and just-”

Beaumont snarled, “Shut the fuck up! I don’t want to hear your excuses!”

She didn’t care that the rest of her co-workers were staring at her with shocked disbelief on their faces. She didn’t care that something akin to fear was in their eyes. She didn’t care that her boss looked uncomfortable at the sight of her pinning the witch to the wall with a broomstick. All that mattered was that someone Beaumont cared about got hurt. In front of her. And that person doing the hurting needed to pay for what they had done!

“Either you give us every little shred of information we ask for, or you’ll wind up in such a state that even dental records won’t be enough to identify you!” Beaumont hissed as she soaked in the fear flickering through Madeleine’s eyes.

Beaumont loosened the pressure against Madeleine’s neck to allow the woman a chance to answer her. The witch glared at her spitefully as she choked out, “Y-you’re insane! What makes you think I’ll tell you anything!”

Beaumont glared as she returned the previous pressure of the broomstick against Madeleine’s throat. The dark look in her eyes was followed by a cold retort, “I went to culinary school and have worked in kitchens for the past twelve years. What’s a dead body other than just another hunk of meat that needs breaking down?”

Dior managed to snap out of his stupor and walked over to where Beaumont was pinning Madeleine. He put a hand on Beaumont’s shoulder and spoke in a gentle voice, “Now Arianne, you are with child. Allow your little brother here to handle the heavy lifting for you. A corpse is just a bit beyond what your light duties entails.”

“Marcel, you needn’t sully your hands. I’m the older one, so allow me to do the dirty work,” Beaumont replied in a firm voice. Based on how Dior rolled his eyes at the tone in her voice he must have heard a lot of that tone in the past.

Madeleine managed to spit out, “Aren’t you going to say anything to your staff?!”

Vincent approached the duo and placed a hand on Beaumont’s shoulder. The chef looked up at him with a slightly annoyed look but eased up on the pressure she was putting on the broomstick. She stepped aside and allowed Vincent the opportunity to do some more talking.

Vincent gave Madeleine a very unimpressed look as he replied, “I will most certainly be speaking with them both, but not in a public space. However, that is also none of your business.”

Vincent didn’t take the broomstick and instead simply made use of his taller, more imposing frame to do the threatening for him. The way the lighting of the room cast shadows over parts of his face from this angle made Madeleine press her back against the wall a little more firmly than before.

“What does matter right now though is the fact that you went after one of my employees and are withholding information that is putting a second one in danger,” Vincent spoke in a low voice that made Madeleine quiver in spite of the defiant look on her face.

“And what will you do if I refuse to give you that information? It will look very suspicious to the police if something were to happen to me shortly after you and your entire staff came to my establishment,” Madeleine spat back, smirking with the hope that her words would make Vincent back off.

Instead Donadieu replied, “Ah, but if the papers were to get wind of your backroom deals and have the Catholic Church back our claims…Well that would be an entirely separate issue, no?”

There was silence as all the eyes in the room focused on Donadieu. The older man still held that serene appearance, but there was a coldness in his eyes his co-workers and boss had never seen before. He held onto the photo album like he was a priest delivering a Sunday sermon with the Church’s copy of the Bible.

Madeleine laughed a haughty laugh, “Ah yes, a little church in some-”

Donadieu continued to speak, “You misunderstand me. I mean the entirety of the Holy See will back us.”

A cold sweat started to break out on Madeleine’s face as she continued to stare at the holy man in disbelief. He returned her stare with a steely glint in his eyes that didn’t match the serene expression on the rest of his face. His eyes reflected the intensity of a fire and brimstone sermon. The exact kind that made Madeleine nervous anytime she had the displeasure of walking near a church in the first place.

“Y-you expect me to believe that a lowly line cook like you could possibly-” Madeleine was cut off by a soft laugh from Donadieu.

“Humble though my station may be, His Holiness has deemed me worthy of a favor should the need arise. I have yet to use this favor and perhaps now would be the opportune time to make use of it?” Donadieu wasn’t at all put off by Madeleine’s bravado. His voice didn’t betray whatever sort of frustration must have been building up inside of him from having to listen to Madeleine running her mouth.

His gaze was firm, especially after glancing back inside of the photo album briefly at one of the pictures inside. The one his eyes had landed on was of a little girl with her hair clipped in a very short, choppy style. Obviously the girl had tried to cut her own hair. Something in Donadieu’s heart ached deeply at the slight hints of bruises on the girl’s arms. Likely as a result of the sloppy haircut. The thought that someone would put their hands on their child like that…it never sat right with Donadieu…

Madeleine finally huffed, “Fine. You win. I will get you whatever it is you’re after. But you best not breathe a word of this to anybody.”

Donadieu smiled, but the look in his eyes made it feel much more sinister than his usual smiles, “Oh you needn’t worry. The Lord knows that I am very capable of keeping my word. I can only hope that He has that same faith in you.”

Vincent followed behind Madeleine closely as she went to go and fetch something. Likely the copy of Rody’s contract that Manon came to fetch. As much as Vincent hated to admit it, the girl had a somewhat decent idea. If only she wasn’t so hasty to just rush in alone for it. Had she taken someone with her, even someone like Boucher, then perhaps they wouldn’t be in this predicament. Perhaps they wouldn’t be stuck rescuing two people instead of one. Perhaps…

Perhaps Louvet would still have his dignity intact and not have to deal with the fall-out of having his deepest, darkest secret brutally outed so callously. That alone was more than enough reason for Vincent to have more than a few choice words with Manon once they stopped to rescue her from whatever prison she was trapped in.

Vincent watched carefully as Madeleine pulled a binder off of the shelf behind her desk. If he didn’t find the woman to be so repugnant he might have been impressed by her level of organization. Each binder was labeled with a section of the alphabet by last name and the type of contracts were likely being held inside of them. The one she had pulled off of the table was the section containing the section La to Lo pertaining to improvement contracts.

Madeleine flipped a few pages before she pulled a thick piece of parchment from the binder and handed it to Vincent. He took the parchment and examined it carefully. The top part of the contract was written in an odd language Vincent couldn’t decipher, but he figured that perhaps Donadieu or Louvet would be able to translate it. Both had the most knowledge when it came to things like this, especially considering the fact that the majority of the notes composed during their research section came from the two of them recording what they had already known prior to starting. One of them must be able to read the text in the top part of the contract.

The middle section of the contract contained Manon’s tidy script detailing Rody’s full name, his occupation, and the little list of goals Manon had wanted him to reach. Some of them were very simple but others…

‘Ah yes, let two demons show him how to keep himself mentally and emotionally healthy. Brilliant idea Vacher,’ Vincent thought with a slight sneer on his face.

Madeleine huffed, “There you are. The copy of his contract.”

The witch heard the phone in another room ring and scurried off to check on it. She gave Vincent a pointed, “Stay here and don’t touch anything” before she left the room. Vincent rolled his eyes. He wasn’t a child. He didn’t need to be ordered about like one.

Vincent idly flipped through the contracts, keeping a hand firmly on the page that had once contained Rody’s. Maybe if he looked at the text on top enough, an idea would come to him on what the words meant. He paused when he found a very familiar name on one of the contacts.

It was for a Michelle Louvet and the request in the middle was very simple: To have the male body I was always meant to have and to be able to live out the rest of my days as a man. It was so simple. So heartbreakingly simple. Vincent could practically picture Louvet writing out the words with desperate tears in his eyes. Trapped in a body that felt wrong. Shaking and begging for anything to make it feel better. Desperation coloring a voice that didn’t match the one of the man he knew.

Vincent looked left and right, noticing that Madeleine was still occupied with her phone call. Vincent steeled his nerves and carefully eased the parchment out of the cover keeping it in the binder. He hid the parchment right behind the one he had concerning Rody before he grabbed a blank parchment to slip into the now empty space in the binder. Difficult to do one handed, but he needed to make sure that the binder looked normal when Madeleine came back.

He flipped the binder back over to the empty spot that had held Rody’s contract. He made sure that it was perfectly in place before Madeleine appeared back in the doorway.

“You have your stupid waiter boy’s contract, now get out,” Madeleine ordered as Vincent carefully held the contracts close to him. He angled it just so to hide the fact that he was holding two of them instead of one. Vincent wasn’t sure what Madeleine would have done with the contract if he left it behind and for Louvet’s sake, Vincent didn’t want to risk finding out. The poor man had suffered enough tonight and Vincent wouldn’t allow it to continue if he had anything to say about it.

“You certainly know how to treat your guests,” Vincent snorted in reply as Madeleine started to practically shove him out the door.

Madeleine snarled, “And your stupid bitch of a mentor knows how to raise disrespectful reprobates who allow their staff to threaten innocent people. Now leave before I call the police and have all of you arrested for trespassing.”

Vincent didn’t give Madeleine the pleasure of a snarky reply. If Vincent was more like Rody, he would have flipped the woman off before he walked away. But Vincent wasn’t like Rody. Vincent was classy. He simply muttered under his breath, “Crétin*.”

“What was that?” Madeleine hissed as she narrowed her eyes at Vincent.

“Rien, rien*,” Vincent replied much like how a snarky teenager would after being called out by their stern parent. He wasn’t in the mood to play nice with a witch. Especially a witch that single-handedly made his waiter get kidnapped, kidnapped his waiter’s ex-girlfriend, and made his father-figure-

Vincent shook his head. Mentor. Louvet was his mentor. Not his father-figure, no matter how much the idea made his inner child practically scream for joy at finally finding a paternal presence in his life after growing up without one. What was going on with Vincent lately? He wasn’t the sentimental type…Maybe he was actually getting sick or something. He should schedule an appointment with his physician as soon as he had Rody back in one piece and safely working in the bistro once more…And maybe he’d make sure Manon wasn’t too beat up. If only to keep Rody happy.

Vincent marched out of the area Madeleine had practically dragged him to and motioned for his team to follow him. He placed both contracts into Beaumont’s workbag, knowing that she wouldn’t be messed with by Madeleine so soon. Especially after being threatened with her own broom like that.

Nobody said a word as they filed out of the side door. What could they say? What felt appropriate to say following…well all of that?!

Luckily the group didn’t need to think of anything to say as Rousseaux and Louvet could be made out in the distance. The duo were slowly making their way back towards them, likely having dealt with whatever sorts of emotions made Louvet run off in the first place. It was hard to tell from a distance but...Louvet at least was walking unaided. That was a relief. At least he hadn't injured himself when he ran off.

A heavy feeling settled in the pit of Lavigne’s stomach as her palms started to sweat. How was she supposed to face Louvet? Especially after-

“Oh, is everything alright?” Rousseaux asked as he and Louvet met up with the rest of the group. Was Lavigne so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn’t even notice how quickly they had moved? Lavigne looked down, unable to look anywhere near Louvet's direction. How could she? She didn't deserve a chance to apologize after what she had done...

Vincent motioned for the group to keep walking as he replied, “We managed to get a hold of Lamoree’s contract, so hopefully we could find something useful in it.”

Manet piped up, “And why are we speed walking away like the building is going to blow up?”

Vincent replied simply, “I grabbed Louvet’s contract as well when that nasty witch left to take a phone call and I replaced it with a blank one.”

There were a few low whispers amongst his staff, each one surprised by how bold Vincent had been. He wasn’t one to do something so reckless. He was cool, calculating. His means of revenge were more subtle. Something like this sounded more spiteful. Like something Rody would have done…

Vincent could tell his team was stunned. He had been surprised by how impulsively he had acted as well but…That inner child of his was incredibly hurt by how nasty Madeleine had been to Louvet, someone his inner child seemed to latch onto as a father figure and well…The idea was far too tempting not to act upon. Besides, he could easily explain it as they needed another document to act as a comparison to see if the language on all of her contracts was the same. And well, he was sure that Louvet would feel better knowing that his contract was in their hands rather than in Madeleine’s. She could easily change terms on it that could make Louvet’s life miserable once more without him even being aware of it.

“Charbonneau, I really rubbed off on you, huh?” Louvet laughed a raspy laugh as he patted Vincent’s shoulder. “Going around, pissing off witches. Good thing we’ve got a priest on stand-by, eh?”

Vincent rolled his eyes and couldn’t fight the slightly amused smile on his face as he replied, “This decision had nothing to do with your influence, whether it was good or otherwise. I just don’t want to see you suddenly turn into a toad because your ex-wife still had access to your contract.”

Louvet snickered, “Good point. Green is not my color as my daughters would say.”

The cool night air was settling in and the mood amongst the group was starting to relax into their usual banter. Well, slightly lighter than usual when Vincent was around but only because he seemed to be in a better mood than usual. Perhaps their uptight boss was finally starting to loosen up just a wee bit? Which wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing since half of them were convinced he took things so seriously that he was going to drop dead before he reached forty thanks to all the added stress he was putting on himself.

“So what’s the plan now?” Faucher asked with a yawn before he looked at his watch underneath the light of one of the streetlamps. It was starting to get late.

Vincent replied in his usual tone, “We should all head home and rest. We will reconvene at the bistro tomorrow morning at usual opening time to review our research and see what other supplies we need to gather before taking the next step. We won’t be as lucky as we were tonight when it comes to gathering information or making progress on our mission.”

Boucher inquired in a trembling voice, “A-are you sure we’ll all be safe? Wh-what if one of us gets attacked when we’re home alone?”

A quiet fell over the group as they paused underneath a streetlamp. The group looked amongst themselves as each one pondered Boucher’s words carefully. What would they do if another one of those beasts showed up when they were alone? It was only by working together that they were able to slay the first one so…What hope did they stand of defeating another one by themselves? Especially if stronger ones were sent in place of the beast from earlier…

Donadieu spoke in a gentle voice as he suggested, “Why don’t we quickly stop by each of our homes to gather some supplies and spend the night at the bistro together? It wouldn’t be that much different from when we had to stay there for weather emergencies in the past.”

“It would definitely save us travel time for tomorrow, especially if we want to get an early start on our mission,” Dior noted as he crossed his arms in thought.

‘I should definitely make sure my medication is topped off if we’re going to be traveling,’ he noted to himself as the others chimed in with their ideas.

“I mean we do keep the extra blankets and pillows in the back room for a reason,” Manet noted as he crossed his arms behind his head. A part of him was thrilled at the prospect of a work sleepover since those could be extra fun! But the other part of him was annoyed since he would miss out on a night of sleeping with his girlfriend, who he found to be the most comfortable sleeping partner ever! She was just so soft and pudgy and-

There was the snapping of fingers in front of his eyes which made Manet jump and Rousseaux snickered, “About time you came to. Your place is the closest to where we are now so we’re stopping there first.”

Manet grumbled, “Fine, fine. Next time just call me, would ya?”

Louvet replied with a serious face but an amused tone in his voice, “He did. You were just off in Lala land thinking about your dirty magazines again.”

Louvet took off running as Manet chased after him calling him a “fucking asshole!” with the intention of punching the shorter chef for his playful jab. Clearly whatever had been bothering Louvet earlier had swiftly been forgotten about if he was in a teasing sort of mood…or he was just covering it up just for the sake of making things less awkward when he and Rousseaux had rejoined their group. Either one seemed equally likely.

Rousseaux watched the duo run down the sidewalk like they were schoolboys at play. The red head sighed softly to himself, “I hope he talks to me soon.”

There was no doubt about it. Rousseaux knew that Louvet was trying to pretend that everything was fine just to avoid talking about it in front of the others. He likely wouldn’t even talk to Rousseaux about it right away. Like all the other metaphorical wounds Louvet had, the blond was content to let them fester and rot until he just couldn’t ignore it anymore. The infected tissue would have to painfully be cut out until finally Rousseaux could attempt to help him sew the wounds closed and keep tending to them until only a scar remained.

Rousseaux loved this man dearly and would marry him if he could. Society be damned with their stupid rules! But…it was things like this that made Rousseaux worry about the blond as much as he loved him. He could only hope that Louvet wouldn’t have a meltdown like back in their early days of working together. Not now. Not when their protege needed all of the help he could get. Not when literal lives were on the line and he wasn’t just talking about Rody’s or Manon’s…The guilt Louvet would feel if his own feelings got someone killed would be far too much for the blond to handle and-

Rousseaux shook his head and took a breath to settle his nerves. No. It wouldn’t get to that point. The red head would make sure of it. Whether the blond liked it or not, they will be talking about all of those wounds the blond was ignoring.

Chapter Text

When the maid had mentioned that the manor had a garden, Manon sure wasn’t expecting something like this. The outer grounds of the manor was surrounded by the magma moat and in the distance Manon could make out the faint silhouettes of other buildings. Possibly other living spaces or shops or something but they were too far off for Manon to tell without a pair of binoculars. The air around them was very hot but not as unbearable as Manon had been anticipating. It was like the hottest summer day she had ever experienced but just a smidge hotter than that.

The garden itself didn’t have any plant life or greenery but it was still a sight to behold. The ground itself was made of a hard black stone with little flecks of red throughout it. There was a great white stone pathway around the expansive space that weaved its way through a rather impressive array of statuary and odd formations of crystals. The crystals looked like they had been grown to resemble flowers and trees and would light up when one drew close to them.

“Impressive, right? Lady Isolde went through the hard work of growing these crystals and shaping them herself!” The maid chirped as she stood a few steps behind Manon to watch her marvel at the impressive displays around her.

Manon replied with an awestruck voice, “I-I can’t say that I’ve ever seen a place like this before.”

Manon had half expected Hell to be a very dark place but…it was actually quite bright. It must be due to all of the fire and magma everywhere or demon magic or something! She was banking on the demon magic angle because how else could she be standing in such a hot place without spontaneously combusting.

There was a delicate white table in the center of the garden with four chairs around it made of the same delicate white wood as the table. There was a pink umbrella over the top of the table that looked like it had delicate white lace around the edges of it. The entire set up was just a little too far for Manon to see all the little details of but…overall the vibe just felt perfect for hosting tea parties or intimate outdoor lunches. At least that was what Manon would do if she was blessed with a space like this.

The maid continued following after Manon as the brunette took her time taking in all of the sights that the little garden had to offer. Manon figured that perhaps the maid was trying to keep her from exploring freely like she had been earlier. Just because she was being watched didn’t mean that Manon couldn’t take a moment or two to try and get ideas about the layout of the rest of the manor.

From what Manon could see of the garden thus far there weren’t any obvious entry or exit points for the rest of the realm. There was a high trellis fence with more of those crystalline plants growing on them that were likely sharper than their appearance would lead one to believe. Besides, she couldn’t think of a way to keep herself from being swallowed up by the magma moat if she somehow found a way to vault herself over the fence. Perhaps there was a way underground or some other sort of alternative pathway that could bypass the moat entirely?

“This is my favorite spot in all of the manor,” the maid commented as she directed her gaze onto a rather impressive looking crystal arrangement that looked like a weeping willow.

Manon looked over at the somewhat longing look on the maid’s face. She wondered how she even wound up serving someone like Isolde in the first place. Was she just a construct like the rest of the manor? Or was she someone who was in a similar position to Rody? Someone who had made a deal with Isolde only to wind up as a servant in her manor once she finally kicked the bucket.

“Any reason why?” Manon asked in a quiet voice.

The maid thought for a moment and Manon found that the pensive look on her face was much more approachable and human than the mask of cheerfulness she was wearing earlier. A small glimpse into the woman rather than the toy she was forced to be.

The maid finally replied, “Well…I used to be a painter and sometimes when I have free time I come out here to paint…I miss being able to paint more than just what’s around the manor.”

Manon was about to ask why the maid couldn’t venture out of the manor when she noticed that a very familiar face was making their way towards them. The maid heard the click of her shoes and plastered on her cheerful mask as she greeted, “It is so wonderful to see you Lady Isolde! Isn’t it wonderful weather we are having?”

Isolde smiled a sickly smile as she answered the maid in a syrupy voice, “It is wonderful to see you too Matilda. Would you be so kind as to allow me to have a private moment with our guest? I believe there are a few busts in the library that could use some tending to and you have the most delicate hand when it comes to dusting.”

Matilda curtsied as she replied, “As you wish, Lady Isolde.”

Matilda gave Manon a polite curtsy as well before she turned around and walked off towards one of the back doors, presumably in the direction of the library. Matilda may not have looked worried about the request Isolde had given her, but Manon couldn’t help but wonder if the maid was going to be punished for being slightly melancholy around a “guest”.

Isolde sidled up to Manon and smiled up at her as she gestured to the rest of the garden, “I know this isn’t much, but it isn’t possible down here to grow the kinds of gardens I see you humans grow. So I tried to replicate it as best as I could based on what little I was able to see from my time on the surface.”

“It certainly looks lovely,” Manon replied as she tried her best not to stiffen up when Isolde held onto her arm. “Although I was wondering what you meant when you said you didn’t get to see much of the surface.”

Isolde sighed softly as the duo started to walk down the garden path just a bit more, “Well when I’m on the surface I’m working or fulfilling contracts. I don’t have the freedom to move about and explore the human world the way an angel would.”

A part of Manon pitied the somber look on Isolde’s face. Sure, it could just be a trick to make Manon let her guard down but…There was an alarming sincerity in her voice that made Manon doubt that this was just an act. Whatever Isolde was feeling about her lot in life was very real, at least to her.

“But what about if the person you have a contract with travels? Don’t you get to go with them?” Manon asked, hoping that maybe Isolde would get so caught up with answering her questions or venting her frustrations that Manon could get her to reveal some useful information. Like her weaknesses or how to get the fuck out of this manor undetected.

Isolde grumbled, “If any of them were inclined to travel yes but…Tristan and I get stuck with a bunch of homebodies. Your dumb plouc of a boyfriend isn’t much better in that regard.”

Manon shook her head, “It’s not his fault that he can’t travel. He wants to but he just can’t afford to. Not on his current salary anyway and he refuses to let me pay for us to travel.”

The ladies stopped at the table and sat down on the dainty looking chairs. Manon wasn’t surprised to see that the chairs had pink cushions on them with white lacing that matched the umbrella above the table. If Manon hadn’t just eaten she might have been tempted to ask for some tea or lemonade to sip whilst they chatted.

Isolde rested her head on one of her hands and looked at Manon with a slightly wistful look. A light breeze started up from somewhere, what caused it would be a mystery to Manon and she was content to leave it as such for the time being. The light breeze played with Isolde’s hair and her eyes glittered softly despite the shade that the umbrella cast over the table.

Manon decided to continue talking to Isolde if for no other reason than to try and maybe get a few answers out of the lady demon. Maybe if she was lucky Manon would be able to get Rody’s location out of her or figure out an area to try and escape the manor from.

“So where would you want to go if you could travel freely?” Manon inquired as she tented her fingers and looked at Isolde curiously. It was the same look Manon would give subjects of the interviews her editors would request for upcoming articles. She was told that it made her look intrigued enough about what the person had to say that they would be far more open with her than other interviewers. Something about looking earnest and sincere in her desire to get to know more about her subjects…

Isolde pondered the question for a moment. Her gaze drifted away from Manon’s eyes to one of the grand crystalline trees behind her. There was a flicker of longing in her silvery eyes that Manon was just quick enough to catch. It was an almost human expression that made Manon wonder whether Isolde had always been a demon like this or not.

“Well…I would love to go to an actual garden. Even a small one would do. To just sit amongst actual flowers for a little while would be…nice,” Isolde answered in a slightly hesitant voice. As if she expected Manon to make fun of her answer.

Manon nodded before she replied, “Well what if I asked Rody to take you to one?”

Isolde’s eyes widened as she looked over at Manon once more. A slight glimmer of hope made Isolde’s eyes look much more vibrant and lively before a bitter disappointment overtook them.

Isolde leaned back in her chair and grumbled bitterly, “He’d never agree to it. He absolutely hates my guts.”

Manon worried her lower lip slightly. Well…Isolde wasn’t necessarily wrong on that front. Rody likely did hate the demon in question. How could he not? From what little he had ranted about on the walk back to his apartment Manon could tell that he was more than upset over how she and Tristan had been treating him. Not that Manon could blame him. She’d be more than upset herself if she was in Rody’s shoes.

“Still…Maybe if you and Tristan went a little easier on him, maybe he’d say yes,” Manon suggested with a slightly hopeful tone in her voice. She knew it’d be a stretch even if they did lighten up on him but…Well if nothing else maybe Manon could try and earn Rody just a little bit of mercy here. He didn’t deserve to be used as a punching bag just because he struggled to keep his apartment tidy.

“Easier said than done,” Isolde replied with a slight roll of her eyes. “It specifically states in his contract that we are to use strict corrective measures to make sure our lessons stick. Even if we wanted to, our hands are tied.”

Manon blinked and tilted her head slightly as she asked, “It does? Where?”

Isolde seemed to have caught herself and shifted back into a more alert position in her seat. She leaned forward slightly and kept firm eye contact with Manon. Clearly the lady demon was a lot sharper than Manon gave her credit for but…At least Manon had some bit of an idea of what the upper part of Rody’s contract might entail.

“What about you?” Isolde changed the topic with a question of her own. “Where would you want to go if you could travel anywhere?”

Manon knew that she likely would be met with a lot of resistance should she try and convince Isolde to reveal more details about Rody’s contract than she already had. So why not follow the old saying of gathering more flies with honey than vinegar? If Manon played nice, then maybe she could get more of what she wanted: answers.

“Well I wouldn’t mind going somewhere tropical for a week or two,” Manon replied with a slightly wistful tone in her voice. She closed her eyes and imagined that the breeze playing with her hair was actually the breeze coming from some warm beach on a remote island somewhere.

She continued to speak in a dreamy voice, “A nice island getaway where there’s plenty of sun, surf and sand. A place where the sunset looks like a painting and the water is so clear you could see the bottom of the ocean no matter how far out you swim.”

Isolde watched Manon carefully with a slight tilt of her head. She didn’t have many opportunities to speak with humans she wasn’t in a contract with so actually having a seemingly normal conversation was very exciting to her. She hadn’t had an opportunity like this since she was just under a century old and she and Tristan would sneak off to the surface to spy on humans together. Oh how much has changed since those days!

“You mean you want to swim with all those fish around you?” Isolde asked with a weary tone in her voice.

Manon opened her eyes and laughed softly, “Of course! Tropical fish are especially pretty and just seeing them in an aquarium isn’t the same as seeing them in the wild.”

Isolde snorted dismissively, “I’ll pass on swimming with fish. There’s something about their eyes and their slimy scales that have always bugged me.”

Manon wondered whether the fact that fish were associated with Jesus was the actual reason why Isolde was so uncomfortable around them. Or perhaps her given reasons were genuine and Manon was just thinking too much into it. Either way it was clear that fish might wind up being a useful weakness to remember for later. Especially if Manon was being pursued whilst making a break for an exit.

“Well there’s also plenty of plants both on dry land and underneath the ocean! You could have plenty of inspiration for pieces you might want to add to your own garden down here,” Manon replied with a non-judgmental look on her face and a sincere tone in her voice. No matter how ridiculous she found Isolde’s discomfort with fish, she wouldn’t openly show that to the demon. Manon was raised to behave like a lady and ladies weren’t meant to openly ridicule their conversation partners.

Isolde hummed softly, “True. This is no hanging gardens of Babylon but…I hope to make something just as impressive down here. My ladies and I deserve to have a nice space to chat and enjoy some tea.”

There was a soft coloring in Isolde’s cheeks and a slightly shy look on her face that Manon found somewhat…adorable. Like Isolde was comfortable enough to be honest and well…Perhaps this is what she’d be like around Rody if that contract was written a little more fairly. Honest and sincere and well maybe that was what Rody needed more than being smacked around and insulted.

But the more jealous part of Manon was thankful that she wasn’t like this around Rody. Manon knew that as loyal as Rody was, he was still susceptible to the charms of shy or intriguing women. Isolde might have wound up with Rody developing a crush on her and-Well it would definitely end up being an incredibly ugly mess. One that Manon never wanted to think about ever again. Her blood was still boiling slightly from the memory of what she saw Vincent doing to Rody earlier that evening.

“Where else would you want to go?” Manon asked as she gently took Isolde’s hands into her own.

Isolde averted her gaze as her cheeks grew pinker. Manon knew that she didn’t like other women the way it seemed Isolde did but…Well that didn’t necessarily mean that it was a bad thing. Far from it. Maybe Manon could use this little tidbit to her advantage?

Isolde shrugged as she stuttered, “W-well umm…Art museums are out since they tend to have religious art and well…Demons and religious iconography don’t mix very well…”

Manon hummed, “Maybe we could take you to do a little shopping? There’s lots of cute things you could use to decorate your home or even just your room. Plus there’s loads of options to expand your wardrobe with!”

“I don’t necessarily have to worry about either of those things down here,” Isolde replied as she gestured towards some of the distant buildings. “We have a pretty alright shopping district in this circle. It’s not nearly as nice as the one in the Greed Circle, but the Greed Circle is a bit far to travel to just for a spur of the moment shopping trip.”

Manon wasn’t very surprised by Isolde’s answer. She’s read Dante before so Manon figured that there were multiple circles of Hell, possibly like in Dante’s work or relating to each of the seven deadly sins. Given that Isolde has mentioned the Greed Circle and this is called the Wrath Circle, it is likely that Rody is being kept in a different circle. How far that circle is from this one though is a mystery for now.

Manon continued her line of questioning with a curious look on her face, “Greed Circle? I thought that Hell was just one place.”

Isolde snickered softly, “You come from Paris, right? Aren’t there separate districts in your city?”

“Well yes, why do you ask?” Manon replied with a soft tilt to the head and a glittering look in her eyes that had Isolde blushing once more.

“Hell is no different. We have the seven major circles, an upper circle where sinners wait to get sorted into the appropriate circle for their sins and a deeper circle where the truly wicked are sent. Those whose sins far exceed the limits of a circle are sent there,” Isolde explained as she gave Manon’s hands a gentle squeeze.

“Are the other circles very far from here?” Manon asked as she looked out to the buildings in the distance.

Isolde followed her gaze, allowing herself a brief look at the look on Manon’s face. She hadn’t realized it yet, but Manon wasn’t hiding the longing look on her face very well. The soft blush, the wistful look in her eyes, the slight downturn of her slightly parted lips. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who Manon was thinking about when she asked that question.

Isolde decided to humor the girl for now, if only a little. It was no fun to have a “guest” that didn’t attempt to escape at least one or two times. Why not dangle that temptation in front of her? It would certainly make it easier to torture the brunette if Isolde was given a reason to.

“It depends on what circle you’re after,” Isolde started, hiding the smirk on her face when she felt Manon’s gaze snap over to her. How predictable. No wonder that little boy toy of hers was so smitten. He must find these little habits simply irresistible. “The closest circle to this one is the Lust Circle but…prisoners are usually kept in the Sloth Circle. I mean Tristan himself is a sloth demon, you’ve seen just how lazy he is.”

Manon asked softly, “But why the Sloth Circle? W-wouldn’t Wrath be more appropriate?”

Isolde hummed as she tented her fingers, “Well those who enter the Sloth Circle are subjected to the effects of the air there. It contains a powerful drug that induces lethargy, drowsiness and sleep into those who breathe it in. It makes it easy to contain prisoners there since they’ll be too out of it to attempt escaping.”

Manon just couldn’t believe her luck! Rody was likely being held captive by Tristan and now Manon knew which circle Tristan lived in! All she would need to do now is find something to protect her from the effects of the gas and an escape route from this manor! Once she has both of those things she could go in, grab Rody, and get the two of them out of the Circle before anyone inside of it could stop her.

Manon asked Isolde softly, “Is there anything in your library about the other circles? I would love to learn some more about Hell while I’m your guest! I don’t want to embarrass you in front of any other demons by being a rude guest.”

“I may have a few things in there, but you needn’t worry about what the other demons would say. I don’t entertain those types of guests very often,” Isolde replied before she stood up from the table.

Manon took that as a sign that their conversation was over, for now anyways. She would still try to get more information out of the lady demon but she wasn’t going to push too hard at first. She still needed to try and get Isolde to trust Manon enough to not need staff around her 24/7. Having a loudmouth servant around would just make it impossible to escape.

Isolde put a hand on Manon’s shoulder and whispered, “You’ll see the plouc soon enough. Just be patient.”

Isolde removed her hand from Manon’s shoulder and walked back towards the manor, leaving Manon alone in the garden. The brunette closed her eyes as she pondered the lady demon’s words.

‘Be patient? How could I be patient knowing who Rody is being held captive by?!’ She thought as self-righteous fury started to course through her veins. Manon’s hands trembled in her lap and she scrunched up her skirt with her fists.

Manon wanted to run after the lady demon, tackle her to the ground and start to demand clearer answers from her but…Manon knew that she was disposable. Just like Vincent and his team were. Tristan and Isolde had no real reason to leave any of them alive since their only active contract was with Rody! It was his soul that mattered to them and well they would at least keep him alive until the time came where they could harvest it. They didn’t necessarily need to keep her or his co-workers or boss alive to do so. Not as far as Manon knew anyways.

But Manon wouldn’t let it get to that point. She was going to find a way out of this prison and find a way to get Rody out of that contract no matter what the cost would be. Even if it meant letting Tristan and Isolde have a different set of toys to play with…

Isolde covered her mouth to hide the growing grin on her face as she retreated indoors. It was almost too easy to play Manon for the lovesick fool that she was. She was so desperate to find any little scrap of information about Rody and his whereabouts that she would blindly believe anything that Isolde was willing to tell her.

Rody was Tristan’s prisoner, that much was true but…Manon didn’t know that Tristan was a lust demon. She also didn’t know that the Sloth Circle was the most distant circle of the Sin Circles in Hell. So by the time Manon gets there and realizes her mistake Rody will have been sufficiently “broken in” by Tristan and his staff.

The thought that came to mind of sweet, innocent Manon rushing into Tristan’s manor only to find Rody so broken mentally that he wouldn’t be able to recognize her was so delectably diabolical. Maybe he’d simply stare at her mutely, confused as to why she was crying over him and trying to hug him. Maybe he’d be terrified of her touch and recoil in fear, begging her to stay away from him. Begging her not to touch him! Or perhaps, most heartbreakingly for Manon of course, he would be angry with her. He might try to hurt her whilst screaming at her about how she was the cause of his suffering. How her selfishness made it so he would never be able to enjoy the delights of Heaven when he finally died. How her inability to have faith in him caused him to be broken down and beaten to the point where he wouldn’t be able to hold down any job let alone keep his current one.

All were distinct possibilities and each one delighted Isolde for their own reasons. The amount of heartbreak and suffering that would arise from that encounter would surely provide enough energy for Tristan and Isolde to sustain themselves for at least a decade or two. They might even get lucky and snag Manon’s soul as well as Rody’s. They could easily present that pesky girlfriend’s soul to Madame Olivier for her personal use and keep Rody all to themselves.

As nice as it was to have a lady friend…Manon just simply didn’t have enough spice to her to be interesting enough to add to her collection. A pity really. Maybe in another life Manon could have been Isolde’s friend. Ah well. It would be a very appropriate fate for the girl who thought she could pull the wool over the eyes of a demon.

Chapter Text

The trees and bushes passed by in a thick blur. The pounding of two sets of feet echoed through the dense forest followed by the snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves. A heavy panting could be heard as well, but efforts were being made to conceal this last bit of noise. Sweat ran down Rody’s face by the bucket load and he could feel his shirt stick to his back and chest.

His legs ached and practically begged him to stop running. To take a break. To get proper airflow into his burning lungs. To guzzle down a stock pot full of cold water. Anything but run.

But Rody couldn’t stop running and not just because he was still in Masaru’s tight hold. He didn’t want to risk being captured by that horrible monster again. His poor abused throat was likely going to be bruised for weeks at this point.

“We’ll hide out in the next structure we come to,” Masaru panted as he led the two of them down a steep incline.

Rody looked back behind them and shouted, “Get down!”

He pulled himself and Masaru off of the path just in time to avoid a long sweep of the same blade that came after them in the dilapidated fort. The momentum of Rody’s move wound up causing the duo to roll down the rest of the steep incline and land in a tangled heap at the bottom. Both of them were scratched up by the thick underbrush and had dirt stains on their clothes and skin. The two of them had luckily managed to stop their descent before they could be knocked down into the river at the end of the incline.

Masaru untangled himself and unsheathed his daggers once more, scanning the top of the incline for any hint of movement. Even the slightest rustle of a leaf or the snap of a twig would direct him where to start stabbing.

‘You were sloppy before. Don’t make that same mistake twice,’ Masaru scolded himself as he kept searching for his target.

He tightened his hold on the hilt of his daggers. He was still kicking himself for allowing Rody to get hurt on his watch. What kind of protector just allows his charge to get injured? It's bad enough that there were already signs of bruising on his neck earlier but now…A part of Masaru hoped that Rody had plenty of scarves in his wardrobe. He was going to need them for a few days at least…

Rody eased himself off the ground and took a moment to wipe some of the dirt off of his face. There was a red smear on his hand that he honestly hoped was just a bit of reddish soil but that didn’t explain the wetness running down his cheek. He eyed up both of Masaru’s daggers and sighed in relief. Only the one still showed signs of blood from that monster that was still-

Rody felt a cold chill behind him and an icy pair of arms wrapped around his chest. His breath started to come up in soft puffs as the air around him grew colder and colder.

A very frosty breath whispered in his ear, “You forgot that you have your own issues to deal with, didn’t you? This is why everyone thinks you’re an idiot.”

Rody shivered and spat back at the cold voice, “Somethings are more important than my own issues. Now-”

Rody felt the hold on him tighten and the feeling of the limbs around him thickening cut him off. His eyes widened as he recalled Masaru’s words, ‘If we run away, then these insecurities will continue to grow stronger. They can be given the power to escape the confines of this space and they will prevent us from ever leaving this manor.’

But Rody wasn’t trying to run away! He was only trying to put his own issues aside to help someone else with their own issues! Just like he’s always done! Just like with-

The frosty chill grew even colder and Rody could feel the liquid on his face starting to harden against his skin. The cold never normally bothered him but…This was actually starting to hurt a little bit…

“Heh, it’s just like you isn’t it? To run away from all your problems and pretend that it’s just to help others. Face it boy, all you are is a coward,” the voice hissed as another icy chill blasted through Rody.

Rody grit his teeth as he started muttering lowly, “Shut up, shut up, shut up. I-I don’t have time for this!”

Rody felt an especially cold spot on his left foot. He looked down and his breath hitched. There was an icy patch growing up from the ground and it encased his left foot and up around his ankle. He was effectively trapped unless he could somehow get the ice off of him.

The voice continued to whisper cruelly, “You don’t have much of a choice here boy. You can either fight like a man or freeze up like a frightened child.”

The ice spread upwards to his knee and Rody could already feel a numbness spreading where the ice was touching. He shivered as he spat, “I do have a choice! And I choose to tell you to fuck off!”

The ice spread to encase from his right foot up to his right knee. Even if he wanted to, Rody couldn’t run. He couldn’t even attempt to kick at whomever was holding him and trying to turn him into an ice sculpture!

“Wrong answer~” The voice purred as the ice spread up to the lower half of Rody’s thighs. Rody felt tears forming in his eyes and he quickly shook them away, ignoring how they froze before shattering on the ground.

“Masaru! I could use a little help here!” Rody shouted as he ignored the low growl in his ear and the feeling of icy numbness spreading up to his hips.

The other man whipped around and threw one of his daggers over Rody’s left shoulder. There was a loud screech and suddenly Rody could feel his legs once more. He stumbled a step or two before collapsing onto the ground. Rody quickly scrambled away towards Masaru.

Masaru was about to take Rody’s hand to help him up when there was a loud roar and he was sent flying into a tree to his right. Masaru crashed into it and slumped to the ground. He tried to push himself off of the ground but was hit in the back once. Twice. Three times. He curled his fists against the dirt and coughed out a combination of spittle and blood. That definitely didn’t bode well for him.

Rody heard a clatter and saw Masaru’s other dagger had been tossed to his feet. The blade was soaked in a deep blue liquid that smoked against the warm air and left an icy patch on the earth beneath it. Rody grabbed it with a shaking hand and flicked the liquid towards the quick set of footsteps rushing towards him.

There was a soft splatter and Rody could see that some of the liquid hit parts of a body. He could make out the outline of part of a face and a shoulder from where it splattered. At the very least he had an idea now of where his opponent might be. Well one of them anyways.

“And what do you think you can accomplish with that?” The figure before him growled in the same odd voice from the fort.

Rody still kept his eyes focused on the beast in front of him despite hearing the crunching of gravel and feeling a cold chill behind him. One at a time. He could only focus on one threat at a time.

Rody kept a cool gaze on the figure in front of him and replied in a voice that sounded a lot braver than he felt, “I think you’ll find I can do more than people think I can.”

The air behind him warmed up just a tad, but Rody ignored it for now. He had more pressing matters to tend to.

“Then by all means boy,” the figure laughed mockingly as Rody heard the figure shuffle into a more fight appropriate stance. “Do it.”

Rody rushed forward, aiming to stick the dagger where he hoped the figure’s ribs would be. If there was one thing he remembered from the scraps he got into in his youth it was that breathing was the key to fighting. If you can’t breathe you can’t fight.

His movements were sloppy from years without practice. He was barely able to dodge the punch aimed at his gut. Rody winced at the bruise he could feel blooming against his right side. But he kept on his feet this time. Rody wouldn’t let some invisible punk knock him around so easily!

Rody’s lips curled into a cocky grin as he taunted, “Is that the best you’ve got? I’ve had tougher fights when I was still in primary school!”

Rody could hear the figure growl a low, rumbly growl and he could see the form flicker into his sight for a brief moment. Rody thought to himself, ‘So he needs to focus to be hidden, eh? I can take care of that no problem!’

Rody continued to tease the figure before him, “You heard me! Why I bet my grand mère* could hit me harder than you could and she’s been dead for twenty years now!”

He heard a low growl before the rushing sound of footsteps came at him. Rody stepped aside just in time to let the figure crash into the cold feeling behind him. He pivoted on his foot to start sizing up the threat behind him.

There were two figures on the ground. One that looked a lot like Masaru only a bit older and with shorter hair. The figure also had a streak of deep red through his bangs rather than the white that Masaru had at the end of his hair.

The other figure looked…Well it looked a lot like…

“Manon?” Rody whispered as he held the dagger a little closer to him.

Only…This version of Manon was distorted. Her limbs were just a bit too long. Her torso was too narrow and her neck long and spindly. Her teeth looked a bit too sharp and when she met Rody’s horrified stare all he could see where her eyes were meant to be were two black voids. As if her eyes had been plucked out and darkness was poured into the empty sockets. There was a wound on her forehead that oozed more of that blue liquid. That same liquid dripped off of her face and froze parts of the ground where it splattered.

Her skin was pale and her extremities were tinged blue as if she had been left outside in the cold for far too long. Perhaps that was why Rody felt so cold when she was near?

The Manon-like figure laughed and the voice wasn’t the same warm voice Rody associated with Manon. It…It almost sounded like several people Rody has known and loved in his life all amalgamated together into one cacophonous tone. Although he could distinctly pick out the tones that were distinctly Vincent’s voice…

“So you finally figured it out, huh? You always were slow on the uptake,” the odd figure purred as it reached out a long, spindly arm to lightly run its nails on the underside of Rody’s chin.

Rody narrowed his eyes as he spat back, “I’m not completely stupid you know. I used to be a prodigy student. I got a full ride on my own merit.”

The creature laughed softly, “The key words being used to be. Let’s face it. Your brain has atrophied from not using it.”

Rody felt the cold start to seep into his chest and move down to settle in a tight ball in his stomach. He could hear the whispers starting up in his head again, whispers that sounded like the voice of the monster in front of him. Rody shook his head and ignored how cold he was starting to get.

He clamped his hands over his ears, ignoring how close he was to cutting himself with the dagger, as he shouted, “Get out of my head! Leave me the fuck alone!”

Rody felt two hands yank his hands away from his head as the cruel, whispery voice mocked, “Oh Rody, don’t you get it? We aren’t just some figment of your imagination. We’re a part of you~”

Rody shook his head as the icy feeling traveled up his hands and down to his elbows. His numb fingers could no longer hold the dagger and it clattered to the ground. His shallow breaths rose into the air in thickening whisps whilst his lips kept trying to form any sort of word. Anything to try and deny what was standing before him was real. That his mind was just incapable of producing something so twisted. So horrific.

And yet there was a haunting familiarity about it. That cold and icy feeling that would take hold of him whenever things felt too overwhelming. How he would hear discouragement that would pick away at his resolve until he finally had enough. He would either feel pissed off enough and do something to make the voices shut up or he felt so defeated that he’d lay somewhere until he was numb to whatever the voices were saying.

“What…are you?” Rody finally managed to whisper, forcing himself to look into the cold voids of a face that looked too much like Manon’s to ever be fully comfortable with.

There was a soft, chattery sort of laughter as the figure moved one of its hands to cup Rody’s chin. It was only then that Rody had realized that this monster had somehow gotten larger on him but…Rody looked at himself and the trees around him. Everything else was still the same as it was before.

The figure drew close to Rody’s face as its cold breath ghosted against Rody’s warm skin. It replied in a cold voice, “I am what you refuse to face. I am the truths that you seek to deny. I am a manifestation of your failures and your flaws.”

Rody swallowed down the lump in his throat as he stood his ground to snap back, “No. You’re not. I am not a coward and I am not a failure.”

Rody felt his skin start to warm up and could see some of the ice starting to melt off of him. He used it as an opportunity to rip himself out of the figure’s grasp and snatch up the dagger once more. He pointed it right at the figure’s throat and reasoned that this beast wasn’t Manon. It would never be Manon. Manon would never speak to him that way. Manon would-

‘I can’t keep watching you ruin any semblance of progress you make with yourself while trying to make me happy, it’s exhausting-’

Rody shook his head as he kept pointing the dagger at the figure, daring it to step closer, ‘She was just frustrated with me. She still gave me a second chance after that. She saw enough in me to give me that at least.’

‘Why do you only take on these menial jobs? You’re smarter than that Rody. I know you are. You can complete your own tax forms without an accountant.’

Rody felt his resolve waiver. Why did he take on such menial jobs? He-he almost had a degree! Almost…Almost wasn’t good enough for the bigger jobs he wanted. Sure, he had twenty-nine (now) service jobs over the past seven years, but most businesses were starting to ask for that fancy piece of paper he just didn’t finish getting. But just because he didn’t have that stupid piece of paper didn’t mean that he wasn’t smart.

‘Why can’t you ever take a hint? I don’t want you to work yourself half to death just to buy me jewelry. You could be using that money to finish getting your degree.’

Rody worried his lower lip as the dagger started to shake or rather the hand holding the dagger was starting to shake. It wasn’t that Rody didn’t want to finish his degree! It wasn’t like Rody was avoiding the embarrassment of being the oldest student in his classes or anything! It was just that…Well Manon came first! She deserved nice things like jewelry, no matter how much Rody had to work to afford them. She was worth every last ounce of blood, sweat and tears. She was just so kind and sweet to him-

‘Rody Lamoree you are the scum of the earth. Don’t bother trying to call me or I will call the police and tell them exactly what kind of man you are. We’re done. I was a fool to give you this last chance.’

Rody’s eyes widened and he heard a clatter of something hitting the ground beneath him. His knees buckled and he did nothing to slow his descent to the earth. Rody shook as tears poured down his face once more, reawakening the stinging sensation of burning flesh that only came about with heavy tears. He stared up at the sky mutely.

There was a rustling in the bushes as Masaru finally managed to drag himself to his feet. He held onto the tree for balance and shouted out to Rody, “Snap out of it! Are you going to let some freak get the better of you?!”

Rody blinked at the sound of Masaru’s voice and looked over his shoulder to meet the man’s gaze. Rody winced at how Masaru was holding onto his side and leaning heavily on the tree. How hard did he get hit? Would he…would he be alright?

Rody swallowed thickly as he picked up the dagger once more. He had to be the strong one here. Masaru was depending on him now and Rody refused to let him down.

Rody steeled his nerves and turned back to face the figure that was still trying to get back inside of his head. The whispering and voices sounded a lot quieter now. Maybe it was because Rody was more focused on his new mission or perhaps it was because Rody was beyond insulted that the visage of his beloved Manon and the voice of his beloved Vin-

Rody almost dropped the dagger. When did-

“Rody!” Rody felt a large icy hand grip around his waist and lift him off of the ground.

It was only then that Rody realized the true weight of Masaru’s warning from earlier. The figure had drastically increased in size and Rody could already feel the ice spreading up from his waist to his chest and down to his knees. The larger that the figure had become, the more distorted its features had become. In fact, it hardly resembled the Manon that Rody knew. Everything felt far more off than before.

The teeth were sharper than his dagger and the blue that had previously been exclusive to the creature’s extremities had spread to take up the majority of the creature’s skin. That same skin was cracking in some places to reveal more of that dark void that made up the creature’s eyes.

Rody felt cold. Genuinely cold. His movements were growing more and more sluggish and his eyes felt so…heavy…His vision blurred as his head lulled to the side. He could feel the ice travel higher and a part of him wondered what would happen if he was encased in it entirely. Would he just be frozen solid for all of eternity? Would he be aware of time passing around him but be unable to move an inch? Or would it be like falling asleep and being unable to wake up? Just waiting to be awoken by true love’s kiss like in those fairy tales his babysitter would tell him when he was very young.

The last thing Rody registered was being lifted up higher and being tossed up. He closed his eyes and braced himself. Either he’d be caught and fully encased in ice or be allowed to hit the ground and shatter into pieces. He might even be eaten for all he knew.

Masaru winced as he watched the monstrous figure toss Rody upwards. He pushed away from the tree and thanked whomever was looking out for him that Rody wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing. He really didn’t want to explain this next part to him just yet…

Masaru closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Upon exhaling, a pair of dark angel wings sprung from his back. He took an experimental flap of them, just enough power was behind the wings to lift him off the ground. Despite the pain in his side, Masaru knew that he had to act fast.

Rody could feel an icy breath around him and figured that he actually was going to be eaten when a warm set of arms grabbed onto him. He opened his eyes just in time to see that he was in Masaru’s arms but how-

“You can fly?!” Rody shouted, which made Masaru flinch and drop him.

Rody yelped and Masaru dove to catch him before the frosty creature could. Masaru managed to grab Rody by his ankle and hoisted the auburn-haired waiter to rest over his shoulder. Rody sighed in relief as he slumped against Masaru’s shoulder. At least he was starting to warm up once more.

Masaru could already feel himself growing tired from the strain he was putting on his body. Carrying Rody whilst flying wasn’t as easy of a task as he thought but what choice did he really have here? He couldn’t let the poor guy get eaten! Especially since Rody was the first friendly face he has seen in the past three years of being stuck in this nightmare manor.

A sharp pain shot through his left wing and Masaru could see flecks of blood fly through the air mingled with some of his dark feathers. He tightened his hold on Rody as the tendril that had pierced through it hooked around the top of his wing and started trying to reel him back towards the frost creature and the monster that claimed to be his father.

Rody swore under his breath before he exclaimed, “Are you able to toss me again?”

Masaru huffed as he kept flapping against the tendril that was slowly pulling them back towards the clearing, “I’m not leaving you to those monsters!”

“You won’t be!” Rody shouted as he started eyeing up the tendril. “I just need to get to your other shoulder!”

Masaru looked unsure but he could already feel his non-injured wing starting to grow tired.

Rody could see the uncertainty on Masaru’s face and continued to plead, “Just trust me! We’re partners here and being partners means trusting one another!”

Masaru met Rody’s gaze, slightly impressed by how firm the waiter’s expression was. There was a fire building within those gray-green eyes that made something shift within Masaru. He got a determined look on his face and nodded, earning him a relieved smile from Rody.

Masaru lowered his shoulder and Rody slid down until he was able to grab onto Masaru’s hand. He dangled just a few feet above the frost monster, whose frosty aura was enough to make his feet and ankles start to feel cold and he could see a little frost starting to form on the edges of Masaru’s right wing.

Rody met Masaru’s worried gaze once more and nodded. The dark-haired man swung his right arm once, twice, and on the third Rody let go of his hand. Rody reached out and grabbed Masaru’s left hand before hoisting himself up closer to where the tendril had pierced through Masaru’s left wing.

Rody patted his side and swore under his breath. He had left the dagger down on the ground. Just great. Well there was only one thing left to do now!

Rody grabbed onto part of the tendril and resisted the urge to gag at how slippery it felt. The metallic scent of blood made Rody feel very queasy but he sucked in a deep breath to steel his nerves once more. He tugged on the tendril to unhook it from the top of Masaru’s wing. Before it could wrap around Rody’s wrist, he pulled on it to straighten it out before biting down on the meatiest part of the tendril in his grasp.

He heard a sharp scream as the tendril was ripped from his mouth. His teeth had scraped some of the skin off of the tendril and he spat that and the blood that had welled up from the tendril out of his mouth. The iron taste and warm, leathery texture of the skin almost made Rody vomit.

Masaru wasted no time in flapping his non-injured wing as hard as he possibly could to get more distance between them and the creatures chasing after them. He could already feel the urge to sleep starting to overtake him. Using his abilities always left him feeling drained, especially if one of the parts his abilities conjured up got injured.

Rody scanned the woodline below them and pointed to a spot in the distance, “I think I can see a cabin over there! Do you think you can get us to the next clearing?”

Masaru was about to answer when his vision blurred and tilted sideways. He could feel the rush of wind around them and only barely managed to snap out of his stupor when he heard Rody’s surprised shout. He spread out both wings and flapped hard to slow their descent. But it wasn’t enough. His strength gave out about five feet from the ground and the two crashed into the bushes below.

Masaru shivered as his wings cracked and retracted back into his body. He could already feel the wound from his wing transferring to his back and shivered as blood started running down his back.

Rody shook his head to clear the stars he saw dancing in his vision before he scrambled to his feet. He ignored the soreness in his ankle and held a hand out to Masaru. The dark-haired man grabbed it and allowed Rody to pull him up onto his feet. Masaru swayed slightly and that was more than enough to convince Rody to turn around and crouch down.

Masaru collapsed against Rody’s back and the waiter made sure that Masaru wasn’t going to slip down his back before he grabbed the back of Masaru’s legs. Rody stood up slowly and felt Masaru lightly wrap his arms around the auburn-haired waiter’s neck.

“Thanks,” Masaru whispered as Rody heard his traveling companion stifle a yawn.

Rody felt his face warm up slightly at the feeling of hot breath against his neck as he replied, “D-don’t worry about it. You’ve already dragged me to safety when I had passed out earlier. I might as well return the favor.”

Masaru replied quietly, “It’s what friends do, right? Help each other when they need it?”

Rody was quiet for a moment as he slowly started walking down the pathway next to the bushes they had crash landed in. He allowed Masaru to get more comfortable and rest his head on Rody’s right shoulder. Briefly Rody allowed himself to look at the black parts of Masaru’s hair and imagine, if only for a moment, that he was helping Vincent…Much like how Vincent has been helping him.

Rody smiled softly as he replied in a gentle voice, “Yeah, that’s exactly what friends do.”

That appeared to be good enough for Masaru as he snuggled his face against where he had rested his head and closed his eyes. Rody could feel his breaths start to even out, despite the tremors caused by his injury on his back. They needed to get to that cabin if only for the small chance it would have something to patch his back up with. The last thing either of them needed was for Masaru to somehow get an infection whilst they were still stuck in this room of the manor.

Rody doubted that they would be lucky enough to get medicine to help should that happen.
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
The forest was quiet while Rody was walking. The sunlight felt especially warm after almost being turned into a popsicle several times. A gentle breeze played with his hair and made the leaves in the trees rustle to the point it sounded like ocean waves. Birdsong trilled here and there in the distance.

His breaths were deep as he allowed his mind to focus on the scenery around him. The crunch of his shoes against the gravel of the path. The rustling leaves. The warm sunlight on his face and the breeze in his hair. Even the warm weight of Masaru on his back and the soft, airy breaths he made in his sleep. Everything served to keep Rody centered and focused on the here and now.

It was…strange. But a good kind of strange. For once…his mind felt at peace. He couldn’t hear the harsh whispers that made him feel like he was only two inches tall. He didn’t have the worries that kept him up at night trying to bring him down. He didn’t even have the memories of all of his failures, most recent to most distant, cropping up to put him in a foul or somber mood.

Instead all that mattered was the warmth on his skin and the serenity of the forest around him. It was hard finding places to find quiet moments like this whilst living in Paris but…His parents did retire out to the countryside for a reason. His cousin still had that beach house he and Manon stayed in for a weekend. All Rody needed was time off of work (which Vincent might actually grant given everything that had just happened) and a bit of money to take a train to where he wanted to go. Maybe…maybe this was what Rody was missing all along? Time and space to just…exist in the moment without any expectations being set on him to act a certain way.

Rody made his way around the bend in the path and his face lit up. Standing before him was the cabin he had pointed out to Masaru earlier. Rody blinked. Had he really walked this far without even noticing it? Huh…His legs didn’t even feel all that tired either. Maybe riding his bike to work everyday was a good thing? It saved him money by not having to worry about buying gas for a car and not having to pay for insurance on it. Not to mention how expensive buying a car itself was…

Rody shook those depressing thoughts away and instead started to walk up to the cabin. The pathway changed from loose gravel to steppingstones that complimented the stones strewn about the outside area of the cabin. A few bushes dotted with little white flowers framed either side of the cabin door. The cabin was made of a warm, rich brown colored wood and had deep green windows and a matching door. There were little lanterns hung by the door that added to the cozy vibe of the place.

Rody approached the door and slowly eased one of his hands from the underside of Masaru’s legs. He felt the dark-haired man stir slightly so Rody whispered to him, “I think I found us a place to patch up your back. You can relax.”

Masaru nuzzled his face back against Rody’s shoulder and briefly tightened his hold on Rody’s neck. He loosened it up with a mumbled, “Mkay” that made Rody feel something akin to that protective feeling seeing his younger self in his dreams had been stirring up lately. He knew Masaru wasn’t a child. He was likely even older than Rody himself was but…that still didn’t erase that need to make sure Masaru was taken care of properly from his mind. It was something borderline paternal yet also not at the same time. Maybe this was what having someone consider you an actual friend felt like…

Rody reached out and knocked on the cabin door. He listened closely for the sound of footsteps inside the cabin itself. He didn’t hear so much as a shuffle inside. He knocked again and listened closely once more. Perhaps whomever owned the cabin was working outside in the back and the noise would catch their attention? Rody knew that if he owned a place like this that he’d spend far more time outside than inside…unlike his place back in Paris. It wasn’t his fault that he was too broke to properly enjoy the city of love and lights.

He waited another moment and knocked one last time. This time the cabin door opened on its own. Rody looked to the left. Nobody was there. He looked to the right. Still nobody. Rody returned his gaze to the empty doorway in front of him and stepped inside of it.

He waited a moment, half expecting to be set on fire or sent hurtling down a trap door in the floor that would end in him being chopped to bits by swinging axes. Hell he even expected that same bit of magic that affected him and Vincent earlier to somehow spontaneously kick in again to leave him tiny and trapped under Masaru. But…

Nothing happened. Rody wasn’t set ablaze. He wasn’t sent down a trap door. He wasn’t forced back into a child-sized body. Hell he wasn’t even contending with a colony of fire ants trying to make a meal out of him! Was this…the universe trying to be kind to him?

Rody decided not to question his good fortune any further as he didn’t want to run the risk of having one or all of his previous ideas coming true. The poor guy could only take so much torment…

Inside of the cabin was a small kitchen space to Rody’s right, the opposite of how it was in his apartment. There was a rustic looking stove, gray stone countertops that complimented the wooden cabinets, and an equally rustic looking fridge. A few clusters of dried herbs hung on bits of string tied to a rod going over the window next to the fridge. A small sink was in the center of the kitchen space and on the counter by it was a soap dish made to look like a maple leaf with a light cream-colored bar of soap. A little red and cream-colored hand towel with a little maple leaf design stitched onto it was hung on the peg next to the sink.

There was a couch with a throw blanket thrown across the back of it by the entrance that faced a small radio. The couch had wooden posts made of the same wood as the rest of the cabin and the cushions were covered in a red plaid fabric. There were two throw pillows on either end of the couch. One side depicted a male deer on one pillow and a female deer on the other. The other side had a bear eating honey from a beehive on one pillow and a different bear standing in a river with a fish in its mouth. The throw blanket was made of red fabric that looked incredibly soft and perfect for snuggling under at night.

Towards the back of the cabin looked like a small room with a single door on it. That must be where the toilet was. There was a small painting of an owl gliding over a river at night that hung next to the door. To the other side of the door was a small table that had a single white orchid in a little red vase.

There was a large wood-burning stove in the back corner of the room across from the kitchen space. A small pile of cut logs sat next to it alongside a few tools needed to tend to the fire and a bucket to fill with water to put the fire out. Rody could see that there was piping leading up from the stove through the ceiling so at the very least he could light them a fire without risking suffocating the two of them with the smoke.

There was a bed large enough to accommodate two people against the wall across from the wood-burning stove. The bed had an identical wooden frame to the couch and had a duvet thrown over top that matched the couch cushions. There was a side table on either side of the bed made of the same wood as the bedframe. There was a cream-colored rug underneath the bed that made it seem even cozier than the abundance of pillows and the duvet did. A little brown teddy bear was nestled amongst the pillows, just waiting to be pulled into someone’s arms and snuggled with. The mattress looked plush and it was exactly what Rody needed right now. Masaru needed to be laid somewhere comfortable so his injuries could be tended to and he could get some much-needed rest.

Rody walked towards the bed slowly and as quietly as he could. Masaru was still snoozing against his back and Rody really didn’t want to disturb him unless it was absolutely necessary. Once he reached the bed, Rody turned around to gently ease Masaru off of his back. He was met by the arms tightening the hold around his neck and a soft whimper in his ear.

Rody paused for a moment before he whispered in a calm voice, “Relax. I’m just easing you onto the bed so I can wash that nasty cut on your back, okay?”

Masaru whimpered once more, “Kaa-san*, I’ll be good. Please don’t leave me behind.”

Rody furrowed his brows as he tried to figure out who Masaru thought that he was talking to. It definitely wasn’t Rody so…perhaps he was just having a bad dream…Rody could relate. He had more than his fair share of those.

“I’m not leaving you behind,” Rody reassured quietly as he tried his best to gently pry Masaru’s tightening hold from around his neck. “I need to put you down so I can make sure your injuries get better, okay?”

Rody gently shushed the soft whimpers coming from Masaru as he reached up to rub small circles against the man’s hands. Sure the gloves would make the gesture feel much more muted but the intention was there. He honestly hoped it would be enough to soothe his traveling companion just enough to start working on his back.

Masaru stirred. Rody could feel the man’s head being lifted off of his shoulder. Rody looked over his shoulder to meet the half-lidded gaze of the dark-haired man. Masaru looked around briefly with a slight furrow of his brows and a silent question on his lips.

“So we made it to the cabin,” Rody explained as Masaru eased up on his hold on Rody to allow himself to plant his feet firmly on the floor behind them.

Masaru nodded before he turned to pull the duvet aside. He pulled off his gloves and set them on the bedside table closest to him and started to remove his vest and top with shaking hands. Rody accepted each bloodstained garment from the other man and set them aside on the wooden arm of the couch. He would attempt to wash the stains out of them later.

Masaru shivered as he peeled his undershirt off. The fabric clung to part of the wound on the left side of his back and pulling it loose caused a bit of blood to start trickling down his back. He shuddered at the feeling and pressed his soiled undershirt against the wound once more.

“Check the cabinets for a first aid kit,” Masaru hissed through clenched teeth as he kept a steady pressure against his bleeding wound.

Rody walked over to where he suspected the bathroom to be and opened the door. Just as he suspected. There was a white toilet in the one corner next to a small shower. The shower had a glass door and wall, which made Rody excessively nervous. He was always paranoid about accidentally breaking the glass on one of those things… On the other side of the little room was a sink with a mirror above it. The sink was mounted on top of a little green cabinet.

Rody knelt down and opened the cabinet before sighing in relief. Nestled inside of the cabinet between rolls of toilet paper and cleaning spray was a very familiar tin box with a cross embossed on the side of it. Rody grabbed it and eased it out of its resting place before closing the cabinet with a pleased look on his face.

Rody straightened up as he tucked the kit underneath his arm. He honestly hoped that this peaceful reprieve would last longer than a few minutes. Rody looked at himself in the mirror, wincing at the tired look in his eyes and small flickers of fear passing through his gray-green eyes. Perhaps he wasn’t as comfortable with the whole situation as he was trying to deceive himself into thinking that he was. Perhaps he was just extra nervous because Masaru, someone who seemed so used to how things worked around here and seemed so dependable was now injured and needed Rody’s help. You know Rody. The idiot who was so terrible at taking care of himself that his girlfriend felt the need to sell his soul to two demons to get him cooking lessons and cleaning lessons and-

Rody turned on his heel and walked out of the bathroom. There was no point in getting worked up. There was no point in trying to wrap his head around what Manon had seen fit to do. He had someone who needed him more right now. He couldn’t afford to let his traveling partner fall ill over something so easily preventable.

Masaru noticed the kit in Rody’s hands and waited until the auburn-haired waiter was closer to pull the duvet down even lower on the bed. He grabbed the kit from Rody’s hands before he asked, “Are you able to find a few towels as well? I’d rather not get blood stains on the bedding as well.”

Rody rolled his eyes and replied with a slightly teasing tone in his voice, “What am I? Your dog?”

Masaru turned Rody around and gave him a tap on the back of his shoulders as he retorted, “What kind of traveling companion would I be if I let you sleep in a bed with blood-soaked sheets?”

“And what kind of traveling companion would I be if I didn’t let you have the bed to yourself to heal?” Rody answered Masaru’s question with another question as he returned to the bathroom to snatch up one of the spare towels that were resting on top of the lid of the toilet’s tank.

“If you think I’m allowing you to sleep on that couch, think again,” Masaru called as he opened up the kit with one hand and started inspecting the supplies inside of it. Inside of it were two rolls of bandages, a few different sizes of gauze pads, small adhesive bandages, a small roll of medical tape, a pair of scissors to snip the roll of bandages into an appropriate size, two small bottles of saline solution, a pair of latex gloves and a bottle full of a red liquid. It was far from the most properly stocked first-aid kit Masaru had ever seen but at least there was one. He hated having to find something to improvise dressings or cleaning supplies with.

Rody returned with the requested towel as well as a small hand towel that had been hanging by the sink. He wouldn’t be doing a good job as a caretaker if he didn’t properly clean off all of the blood from Masaru’s back. It stood out so starkly against the man’s pale skin, skin that was almost the same shade as Vincent’s except just a tad warmer. Rody shook away the comparison and instead focused on laying out the towel for Masaru to position himself on while they worked.

Rody rested the small hand towel on the bedside table beside Masaru’s gloves before he turned to fetch the bucket from beside the wood-burning stove. Having warm water to work with would make the clean-up easier as Rody remembered from having his own injuries tended to over the years. He could still recall his mother’s gentle hands wiping away the blood from his skinned knees when he had fallen off of his bike while learning how to ride it. How Brie had licked his face while he wailed as if such a small injury was going to kill him.

If only his child self could see the kind of injuries he has sustained since then. Perhaps those skinned knees wouldn’t have felt like the end of the world in comparison.

Rody picked up the bucket and brought it over to the sink. He placed the bucket onto the counter and turned on the tap, waiting until it felt hot enough for Rody’s tastes. Hot water would likely feel a lot better against the injuries Masaru had sustained than cold water and Rody really didn’t want to be a bad nurse for his traveling partner. Rody didn’t want to feel like he wasn’t pulling his own weight on this escape mission…

Rody swung the bucket into the sink and watched it fill up with the hot water that poured steaming out of the tap. A part of him wondered whether he should add a little soap to the water to make cleaning up Masaru’s back a lot easier. But at the same time perhaps the soap would only irritate Masaru’s wound. That was the last thing Rody wanted to do. Outside of doing something to leave the man with an infection that is. So Rody opted to skip the soap this time and would find something else to sanitize the wound with.

Soon enough, the bucket was full enough for Rody’s liking and he shut off the tap. He grabbed the handle and started to make much smaller, more careful movements back over to the bed. The last thing that Rody needed right now was to trip on something or spill the bucket all over the floor. He wasn’t sure he could handle having to both clean the floor and Masaru’s wound at the same time…

Rody set the bucket down by the bed and reached to grab the washcloth to start the process of cleaning up Masaru’s back when the dark-haired man swatted his hand away.

“Wh-” Rody was cut off when Masaru pointed back over to the sink with a pair of latex gloves in his hand.

“Go wash your hands first. Anything that might be on your hands could be an infection waiting to happen and Hell doesn’t have a pharmacy that’s safe for humans to use,” Masaru ordered in a very paternal sounding voice.

Rody crossed his arms as he questioned, “But what about your hands? Don’t you also have to wash them?”

Masaru looked over his shoulder at Rody with a slightly huffy look on his face as he replied, “I keep my hands covered. You don’t. Now are you going to listen to me or are you comfortable letting me walk around with a gaping wound that could attract wolves or any other nasty things Tristan allows to roam these woods.”

“Oh well-uh…I guess that makes sense,” Rody mumbled, mostly to himself but the room was small enough that Masaru could make out his words fairly easily.

So Rody decided to skip the argument over what did and didn’t make sense when it came to proper wound care in Hell to instead just wash up enough to get Masaru off his back. He trudged back over to the sink and turned the tap back on. He wet his hands and started to lather up his hands with the little cream-colored bar of soap. The air started to smell of sweet and sticky maple syrup, which would hopefully help cover up the metallic scent left behind by all of the bleeding Masaru had been doing.

Rody rinsed off his hands and turned off the tap before drying off his hands on the little hand towel. He heard the snapping of latex and turned around just in time to catch the latex gloves before they hit his face. Rody glared at the sound of Masaru snickering and the slight shaking of his shoulders.

Rody slipped on the gloves, purposefully snapping them against his wrists in an attempt to make Masaru jump. He didn’t so Rody trudged back over to the bedside to hopefully clean out and bandage Masaru’s wound properly.

“First step, you take one of the little bottles and use the liquid inside to flush out the wound. We can focus on cleaning the outside once we’re sure that there isn’t any dirt or debris in the wound bed,” Masaru explained as he handed one of the bottles to Rody.

Rody unscrewed the cap and drew a little closer so he could make sure that he was pouring the liquid in the right area. He’s had enough cuts on him before to know what flushing out a wound entailed.

The saline solution dribbled onto and into the wound, making Masaru flinch at the sudden intrusion. He bit down on his lower lip to keep the noise level down. He didn’t need to make Rody more nervous than he already was.

Rody continued pouring the solution into the wound at an angle. Masaru had positioned himself so the runoff would slide down his back and hopefully encourage any small debris to slide down and out of the wound alongside the solution.

Rody asked as he watched Masaru shiver slightly, “This stuff isn’t hurting you, right?”

Masaru shook his head as he hissed, “The salt concentration is too low to sting. It’s just a little cold and washing out wounds isn’t the most comfortable thing for me. Especially deep ones like this.”

Rody wasn’t entirely sure he believed Masaru’s words but he knew that arguing right now would just be a waste of time. They both knew that the monsters they had fled from would be tracking them down for another round of fighting. It was only a matter of time before they were found once more and neither of them wanted an open injury exposed to either of those monsters.

Rody kept on pouring the solution until the bottle was empty, watching with careful eyes to see whether anything came out with the steady stream traveling down Masaru’s back. There were a few small pebbles and bits of dirt from when they had crashed into the bushes but otherwise it was mostly the solution mingled with whatever blood had pooled in the wound itself that trickled down Masaru’s previously pristine skin.

“Now you can wash the outer area. Just don’t put the washcloth onto the wound itself. The fibers left behind could also lead to infection,” Masaru directed as Rody tossed the used bottle onto the bed.

“What wouldn’t lead to an infection?” Rody asked with a slight tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

Masaru propped himself onto one arm to smack Rody on the back of the head as he scolded, “Don’t get smart with me. Homeostasis is a delicate thing here and human bodies don’t like having foreign objects in them. Besides, if I get an infection I’ll die out here and you’ll be stuck trying to escape this place solo.”

Rody kept his mouth shut as an awkward silence filled the room. Masaru kept his gaze focused on the headboard as he listened to the sound of Rody dipping part of the washcloth into the bucket and wringing it out. A soft, warm and wet patch pressed against his skin and Masaru grit his teeth to stifle the surprised little cry that wanted to escape from him. Rody moved the washcloth in small, circular movements that seemed to make the soft tremors in Masaru’s shoulders start to dissipate.

Masaru hummed softly as he resisted the urge to just sink down onto the plush mattress and go back to sleep. The tender touch of Rody’s hand and the warmth sinking into his previously chilled skin called out to the part of Masaru that was in desperate need of rest and proper care. Masaru decided that the first thing he would do after escaping Hell was to find a hotel room he could reasonably afford that had a large tub and just sink into it. He didn’t care if he had to tape something over his injury to keep it dry. It had been so long since he could take a long soak in a bathtub without worrying about being captured or tortured or-

Rody kept wetting the washcloth to rinse the wet portion clean of the dried blood Rody was gently scrubbing off of Masaru’s back. If nothing else, this only cemented Rody’s earlier decision in life to not go into the medical field. Sure, he wasn’t the squeamish type to faint at the sight of blood or anything but he still wasn’t necessarily comfortable with it. Nor was he the patient sort that could coax a hostile or anxious patient into taking their much needed medication. The only role he could possibly have in a medical setting was as the muscle to help move patients or restrain the unruly ones.

But he had yet to do anything egregiously wrong enough to have Masaru screaming at him or trying to fight him off. So maybe Rody wasn’t quite as hopeless at this as he had initially thought as he continued to carefully clean off Masaru’s skin. If anything, the gentle and repetitive movements seemed to make the man relax enough to ease the tremble out of his shoulders.

Soon enough, his skin was clean and Rody didn’t need to be told to at least pat the skin dry. He’d wait until Masaru gave him further directions before touching the wound once more. Rody didn’t want to accidentally injure the man further…

Masaru spoke in a quiet yet clear voice, “Take one of the medium gauze pads and use that to pat the wound itself dry. You don’t have to put a lot of pressure behind it, but like with the debris we can’t leave moisture in it to fester into an infection.”

Rody pulled out the neatly wrapped gauze pad and opened the packaging. He could see why Masaru wanted to use these to help with cleanup. The surface of it looked a lot smoother than the washcloth did.

With a nervous gulp and a trembling hand, Rody started to very gently pat the wound itself dry. He knew his own strength. How many men had Rody accidentally broken the arm of while arm wrestling in both his college and post-college days? He really didn’t want to snap one of Masaru’s ribs or something because he wasn’t being extra careful. Masaru wasn’t flinching nearly as much as when the wound was being washed out but that still didn’t mean he wasn’t hyper aware of Rody’s every movement.

Rody patted a spot and Masaru exhaled a soft hiss, “Shit. C-can you check in case we missed a bit of debris there?”

Rody nodded as he angled himself to look at the wound a little more closely. Sure enough, there was a small bit of something wedged between Masaru’s skin and a bit of the flesh right beneath it. Rody took two fingers and gently pinched the edge of whatever the something was and slowly withdrew it.

Rody held the offending, bloodstained object in the light and commented, “A feather? I thought that the ones that fell off didn’t-”

Masaru huffed in response, “It must have wriggled loose when I shifted my wings back. I wasn’t paying attention to all of the feathers so that one must have stayed behind. Usually they just fall off but…”

Rody checked his wound more carefully. He continued to dab it dry with the gauze but kept a very close watch for other oddities the saline solution wasn’t able to wash loose. Any little tiny moan or groan from Masaru could mean that they had another bit of debris to extract. Another potential infection to prevent from happening ano-

“Rody, relax. You got the last bit out. You’re patting a little too deep there,” Masaru’s voice, though tinged with discomfort, was still calm enough to cut through the spiral Rody’s mind was intent on hurtling down.

Rody pulled his hand and the gauze away as a cold and nauseated feeling hit his gut. The gauze looked so much more red than it did before…

Masaru heard Rody stifle his breath and reassured, “I’m not mad and I’m not hurt any worse. I’m okay. Do you think you can do the next step?”

Rody swallowed back the guilty little whimper in his throat before he replied, “I-I think so.”

“I need you to take the bottle with the red liquid in it and dab that onto the wound, okay? It’ll help keep infections at bay and it’ll keep my wound from getting too dry,” Masaru directed as he reached over to grab the glass bottle from the first-aid kit.

A part of Rody hated being spoken to in that patient and paternal tone of voice. Like he was some little kid that needed to be told how to put his socks away. But…the greater part of Rody was just thankful that Masaru trusted him enough to continue to work on his back. Trust was the difference between making it out of here alive or finding yourself dead in a ditch somewhere.

Rody accepted the bottle and a clean package of gauze from Masaru, ignoring how the way their hands brushed against one another brought memories of Manon and Vincent to mind. Rody knew he shouldn’t be equating the two. One was the love of his life and the other was his boss but…That didn’t change the fact that both of them meant the world to him…

Rody opened the bottle and his nose wrinkled at the strong scent of alcohol mixed with myrrh. Was this meant to be medicine or perfume?

“Are you sure you want this anywhere near your injury?” Rody asked as he stared at the bright red liquid. He’s never seen a more vibrant red than this. Not even in those American sweets that Manon’s cousin liked so much.

Masaru chuckled softly, “Relax, it works a lot better than it smells. I’ve used them before to treat even nastier ones than this.”

Rody decided not to ask any further questions. His head was already starting to hurt from the smell and he knew he didn’t entirely understand half of the weird, magical bullshit going on around him these days. Why couldn’t it just go back to him being spanked by a spatula while learning how to cook eggs?

Rody covered the opening of the bottle and tilted it to allow a good amount to soak into the gauze in his hand. He pulled back to prevent it from dripping onto him. The last thing Rody needed was for some weird potion to make him grow an extra limb or lose a limb or something.

“It’s gonna sting,” Masaru warned as he readjusted himself to make it even easier for Rody to work on his wound. “I’ll try to keep the noise to a minimum but just know that it's not you. It’s the medicine.”

Rody set the bottle down onto the bedside table and allowed Masaru to focus on putting the cork back into the opening. Rody sucked in a breath and used a featherlight touch to gently dab at the wound with the soaked gauze. Masaru hissed back, “Go a little harder. It needs to take hold of the tissue in order to heal it.”

Rody swallowed nervously as he returned the pressure to the gentle level he had used earlier when drying up the saline solution. Despite the pained hisses Masaru was trying his best to stifle, it was clear that Rody was doing what he was meant to be doing. Otherwise he felt that Masaru would have smacked his hands away and found a way to finish tending to his injury himself.

The auburn-haired waiter could feel a little nervous sweat starting to build as he worked diligently and carefully on his task. He moved to wipe his forehead on his bicep before continuing to dab the red, gross smelling liquid onto Masaru’s injury. He worked carefully from the deepest section of the wound outwards. Rody took the time to do another check for any potential debris but was satisfied to find that none had in fact remained behind. Good. The last thing Rody wanted to do was leave a rock or something inside of a man’s gaping wound.

“Alright, that’s enough. We can apply more when we change the bandages,” Masaru finally spoke after five full minutes of allowing Rody to gently press the liquid into his injury. There was a slightly hoarseness to his voice that likely came from repressing every little pained yelp or whimper that the stinging sensation drew out of him. Masaru had half-forgotten what that felt like in the deeper parts of his flesh. He really fucked up this time…

Rody added the liquid-soaked gauze to his pile of soiled supplies. He could dispose of them once Masaru’s back was covered and he had the man resting once more.

Masaru tossed out two larger pads of gauze, one of the thick rolls of bandages, the medical tape and the scissors. Masaru instructed Rody carefully, “What I need you to do now is lay the two gauze pads over my wound and tape them down. Make sure they don’t overlap and that every side is taped down. We want to make sure this wound stays sterile. Once it’s all taped down we can wrap it up with bandages and call it a day.”

Rody nodded at the man’s words. Those sounded simple enough. So simple that even an-

“Rody. The gauze please,” Masaru’s voice made Rody shake his head and return to his task.

Rody unwrapped the gauze and gently laid down each pad exactly as Masaru had instructed. A wound this long and deep should be getting stitches, not just a patch job. But Rody doubted that they had anything safe enough to use to stitch this thing closed and he knew that Masaru likely was thinking the same thing. Otherwise he’d be coaching Rody through that process instead.

Rody ignored the way the scissors jittered in his hand as he carefully measured out the medical tape to keep the gauze in place. He snipped the tape and made sure that the seal being made was good and tight. Each little metallic snip of the scissors sounded far louder than it should. Perhaps it was just the fatigued silence that filled the air or perhaps it was just Rody’s nerves starting to fray once more. Every little noise was starting to sound a whole hell of a lot louder than it was meant to be.

The last bit of tape was pressed against Masaru’s skin and the man shifted to allow Rody better access to start wrapping the bandage around him. Rody taped the end of the bandage down before he started to wrap the rest around Masaru’s back and chest to safely protect his injury from worsening. He kept the tension steady no matter how tired his hands felt. Rody couldn’t afford to get sloppy at the end. Not if he wanted to keep what company he had safe anyways.

A section of bandaging was put over Masaru’s shoulders to keep everything secure, er well Rody thought so anyways. He was just wrapping and waiting for Masaru to correct him if it seemed wrong. Given that he hadn’t been, Rody figured that he was doing the right thing. Or Masaru was too tired to really pay attention to this last step. Either one felt equally likely to Rody right now.

Two more snips of scissors sounded through the air and Rody secured the other end of the bandage down where he hoped it wouldn’t easily come loose. Masaru rolled his shoulders before he shifted around to face Rody.

“Thanks and I’m sorry you had to play nurse here,” Masaru thanked as he turned his attention to helping Rody gather up the soiled supplies to dispose of them. All of the clean ones and the bottle of red liquid were safely tucked back into the first-aid kit for later use.

Rody took off his gloves before he rubbed the back of his neck, “W-well I do owe you one. You kinda saved my life back there.”

Masaru quirked a brow, “Only kinda? I think majorly saved your life is more appropriate here.”

Rody’s cheeks flushed in spite of the more somber look on his face. Oh he remembered alright. He remembered feeling nice and safe in Masaru’s arms and how the thought of letting the monster just eat him alive cropped up. How could Rody think of either of those things and-

Masaru swiped the trash and gloves from Rody’s hands and tossed them out in the garbage under the sink before he washed his hands clean. He gestured for Rody to come wash his hands and furrowed his brows when Rody still stood there looking conflicted. Masaru left the tap running, dried his hands and marched over to where Rody was spacing out. The touch of Masaru’s calloused hand against his own snapped Rody out of his stupor enough to follow after the slightly taller man.

His hands were eased under the running water and lovingly washed with the nice smelling soap once more. A part of Rody wanted to pull away and tell Masaru that he didn’t need to be coddled like a baby. That he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself but…Rody leaned his head against Masaru’s shoulder and sighed deeply. A deep melancholy washed over him as the memory of what had happened earlier came to mind.

Masaru didn’t shrug away Rody’s sudden affection and instead just quietly turned off the sink. He dried off their hands before whispering, “We’ll just clean up a bit before making something to eat. We can then, if you feel up to it.”

Rody nodded and sunk deeper into what warmth Masaru had to offer him. He was tired and cold and spent and-

Rody felt a hand gently brush his bangs from his face and met Masaru’s gaze once more. His traveling partner frowned as his gaze and touch moved down to Rody’s neck.

“Wha-”

“Your neck. That’s where they bit you to seal the contract, right?” Masaru asked despite the very certain tone in his voice.

Rody nodded as his hand went to the other side of his neck, “Y-yeah but why-”

Masaru huffed, “You’re starting to get marks there like mine.”

Rody gasped softly as his fingers brushed over the side of his neck. He shook his head as alarm bells started to ring louder and louder in his head.

“Wh-what happens when they…Will they spread or-” Rody cut himself off to hold himself tightly to make the tremors running through him die down.

“They will spread,” Masaru replied honestly as he gestured to the rose and vine markings on his arm. “How far they will spread and what direction they will go in is a mystery. I’ve been trying to find a way to remove them since most people’s perception of them is that they’re tattoos and well…”

Rody laughed a bark of a laugh, “To them only criminals have tattoos. Just great. As if I didn’t have a hard enough time finding a job as it is! Now they’ll take one look at me and think I’m a felon or something!”

Masaru grabbed Rody’s shoulders and gave them a firm squeeze as he ordered, “Calm down. I came here to find a way to get rid of these marks. We’ll find something to get rid of these so we both can go on to lead more full lives. But we can’t do anything if you panic like this.”

Anger, indignation, frustration and defiance all flashed through Rody’s eyes before they finally settled on an uneasy resignation. His shoulders finally slumped as he sighed an especially sharp sigh. Masaru sighed his own more relieved sigh in the response. At least they weren’t about to throw down. Given his injury, it would have turned especially ugly.

“You’re right,” Rody mumbled as he eased himself out of Masaru’s hold. The auburn-haired man backed up a step or two and took another breath to try and compose himself.

Masaru shrugged, “We can drop it for now. I’ll start cleaning my clothes and the towels if you feel like getting a fire going. You look like the type to enjoy a release like that.”

Rody rolled his eyes as he huffed, “You make me sound like an arsonist.”

“Given how much you seemed to have fun putting things into the fire back at the first base-”

“I’m not an arsonist!”

“Sure, sure. Just don’t burn the place down.”

Rody stuck his tongue out at Masaru, who rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath that Rody couldn’t understand. Something about gaki*, whatever that means. Silence followed them but it wasn’t the awkward one from earlier. There was something much more companionable and peaceful about this one.

Perhaps it was a silence both men could get used to.

Chapter Text

“So what kind of defenses do you think that guy has in the prison he’s keeping Lamoree trapped in?” Faucher asked as he finished tucking his knife set back into his go bag. He had to readjust everything inside of it to accommodate the emergency first aid kit he had wisely chosen to bring with him. No point in heading into enemy territory without something to patch himself or his teammates up with, right?

Manet gestured over to Louvet as he replied, “Why don’t we ask our sous chef here? He’s apparently done business with them before.”

Beaumont whacked Manet on the back of head sharply. He swore loudly, “Fuck! What was that for?!”

Manet flinched at the sharp look that Beaumont was giving him, almost forgetting that this was the woman he had trained under and that he was over a foot taller than her. Well almost. The cramp he usually got in his neck from looking down at her constantly reminded him of the latter fact on the daily. He swore that Vincent paired the two of them together on purpose as some sort of petty revenge over Manet being two inches taller than him or something.

“For not watching your mouth!” Beaumont scolded as she put one hand to her hip and gestured over to Louvet. “Did you forget what had happened earlier this evening?!”

Louvet was a little further back from the rest of the group looking over one of the papers Donadieu had handed him. The holy man was explaining something to him in a rapid yet hushed tone that only Louvet seemed to be making sense of. The blond would shake his head or nod to something that his companion would be saying, but he had yet to speak after teasing Manet earlier.

Manet didn’t say anything about it but…Louvet wasn’t quite looking like his usual confident self when he had caught up to the older man earlier. He didn't meet any of their eyes nor did he do any of his usual dismissive grunts or hums when he wasn’t up to talking. He was just…silent. And that alone made the younger chef worry. Louvet may have been on the quieter side like their boss but…he was never this eerily silent.

He knew he wasn’t the only one concerned about him. Rousseaux pretty much watched every little move Louvet had made like a hawk and was very openly trying to be as close to the blond as humanly possible. Sure it was a bit of a joke amongst the others that Rousseaux and Louvet were dating but…well maybe there was more to it than just rumors and jokes. That flash in Rousseaux’s eyes was a lot like the worried looks Manet’s girlfriend would get when he came home looking upset after Vincent got particularly harsh with his discipline. The soft and sly touches were far too frequent to be mere coincidence for those two to not be dating or something.

Donadieu had taken every opportunity to stand by the blond and continue to try and whisper something vaguely comforting to the blond. Not entirely unsurprising since Donadieu seemed intent on being a comforting grandfatherly figure for everyone in the group. Hell Manet could recall moments seeing Donadieu talking to Vincent when he was looking particularly stressed out. Something in the man’s tone or choice of words seemed to work like magic when it came to getting someone to calm down. But…perhaps even the holy man’s magic words had their limits.

Lavigne had kept glancing over at Louvet with a guilty look on her face and a hand over her stomach. It didn’t take a neurosurgeon to figure out that the youngest of their group was feeling guilty about what she had said earlier. She was especially jumpy and quiet, which seemed to make Louvet withdraw into himself even more. Which then made Lavigne look even more guilty and the cycle would continue. At least until Vincent made it a point to keep Lavigne up front until she could compose herself enough to actually talk to Louvet without looking like she was two seconds away from having an emotional breakdown.

Manet huffed, if this was going to be the atmosphere around their entire mission then perhaps the best thing for them would be if Rody somehow found a way to rescue himself. Their ability to work together as a team is and will continue to be shot to hell if they can’t even sit down and talk about shit like normal people. Not that any of them really classified as normal people but still. It was the thought that counts, right?

Boucher and Faucher kept looking towards the back by where Louvet and Donadieu were and up towards the front where Lavigne was. Faucher kept whispering something to his more anxious cousin, which would make him jump and start rapidly rattling some sort of response off in the most clipped and mangled French Manet had ever heard in his life. It was possible that the more calm cousin was trying to figure out how to get Lavigne and Louvet to talk things out but perhaps he wasn’t quite willing to bite the bullet himself. So he would sacrifice Boucher instead, which understandably made the other chef quite nervous considering both Louvet and Lavigne had the potential to bite someone’s head off if they were in a foul mood. Faucher did have a wedding coming up in three months so…perhaps he was a little justified in trying to sacrifice his cousin on this one.

Only Dior and Vincent seemed to be more level-headed about the whole thing. Vincent was…well Vincent. There really wasn’t any other way that Manet could really describe the man other than saying that he was…very unique. Vincent wasn’t like any other boss that Manet had ever had before and well…perhaps that was a good thing. Manet might have seriously considered switching career paths if every other chef/restaurant owner was exactly like Vincent was…He was a perfectionist who expected the same standard from his staff that he put on himself. A book that was especially hard for Manet to read, especially when Vincent was in one of his “hot and cold” moods. Cold and distant one moment and hot and ready to punt someone into next Tuesday the next.

Dior, on the other hand, was busy counting something in a metal case he had. It had to be something small given how the case was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand but it was far too dark for Manet to tell what it was that the man was counting. It could be anything from bits of candy to those oddly colored pills that he had seen young people pop in the few nightclubs that Manet bothered to visit. He was getting a little old for the club scene and he was seriously considering settling down himself so he didn’t bother keeping up with the trends in those kinds of crowds as much as he did a few years ago.

Manet rolled his eyes as he commented to Beaumont, “We can’t just pretend that nothing happened either though! Something did and it's impacting our morale, which needs to be really high where we’re going!”

Beaumont continued in her scolding tone, “I’m not saying that we ignore what had happened but I am saying that more discretion and empathy be brought to the table here. Louvet is clearly uncomfortable right now and until he is ready to tell us how he wants us to proceed we need to be respectful and give him the space he needs to process everything.”

Manet grumbled under his breath, “Not like he always gives us space or empathy.”

Beaumont opened her mouth to continue harping on Manet’s attitude when she noticed that Vincent had stopped walking. The dark-haired chef allowed Rousseaux to take his slot next to Lavigne, who didn’t seem any more relaxed despite Rousseaux’s more kind and gentle nature. Whether it was because his very visibly upset face made her feel even guiltier than before or if not seeing Vincent meant that she couldn’t predict what he would do next could be anyone’s guess. It was like being asked to choose between cutting off a hand with a butter knife or a plastic one…

She met Vincent’s eyes briefly and he nodded towards Louvet. Ah. So Vincent was going to bite the bullet to make things easier on the rest of them. It was no secret that Louvet did have a soft spot for their boss, which after learning that he was Vincent’s mentor was entirely unsurprising. As hard as Beaumont went on Manet sometimes, she was equally as protective and soft on him. He was fresh out of culinary school at the time and there was something about that lost puppy look on his face that made Beaumont want to take him under her wing. Perhaps that was how Louvet felt about Vincent all those years ago…

Vincent, of course, would be the least likely to get his head bitten off by the blond if for no other reason than the aforementioned soft spot that he had for their broody boss. Well that and Vincent had no qualms with fighting back when Louvet was being especially hard headed. The two have had their fair share of arguments that had Rousseaux ushering the rest of the team out of the kitchen before pans started flying and the swears really started up. Luckily it's always before customers arrive but still…On more than one occasion Rody has been left shaken by it and for a brief moment Beaumont seriously considered throttling both her chef and sous chef for making the guy a nervous wreck before service. He was just far too similar to Manet for her not to feel some sort of protectiveness towards him…

Donadieu noticed that Vincent had paused and looked over at Louvet. The blond shrugged in response to the unspoken question on the holy man’s face, but Louvet didn’t seem any more or less troubled looking than before. His deadened blue eyes had yet to flicker over to meet Donadieu’s worried brown eyes. The fact he hadn’t hummed or grunted once to any of the things Donadieu had been trying to talk to him about was more than enough reason for the older chef to have his worries but…Perhaps what Louvet needed right now was someone who could be just as hard-headed as he was. If nothing else, Vincent was very good at being stubborn.

“Louvet, hang back with me,” Vincent’s tone left no room for argument, not that the blond looked inclined to do so. He glanced briefly at Vincent, shrugged, and returned his gaze to the more even bricked pathway leading back to the bistro.

Vincent passed the bistro keys over to Donadieu, who accepted them without comment. Usually the only other employee allowed to touch the keys was Louvet himself but…Donadieu knew that he and Rousseaux were technically next in the pecking order under Louvet, so he had a right to hold the keys should Vincent and Louvet both be occupied.

Vincent spoke to Donadieu before the holy man could join Rousseaux near the front, “Talk to Lavigne for me, would you? You have a better track record with getting her to listen to reason.”

Donadieu has worked with Vincent long enough to know that was his way of expressing concern for one of his employees. The bistro was the entirety of Vincent’s life. Each review was a reflection on his ability as an artist and how he found a way to hone his craft to be as close as humanly possible to perfection. His staff was just another extension of himself and his ability to make his visions a reality. If something was wrong with them, then there was something wrong with him and…well Vincent didn’t want to have anyone suspect that something was wrong with him. Donadieu knew that it wasn’t a very…healthy mindset to have but he also knew that Vincent has warmed up considerably over the years. He was certainly a far cry from the young man he had first started working for all those years ago…There was still plenty of time for Donadieu to find a way to help Vincent work through whatever issues were causing him to be so hard on both himself and others.

Donadieu smiled softly at the stern chef as he replied, “I would be honored to help Lavigne this evening. She and I don’t have as many opportunities to chat with one another as I would like.”

Vincent nodded his head, which Donadieu took as his dismissal. He walked towards Rousseaux with purpose and must have said something to the red-head. The taller chef hung back as well, opting to slide his arm over Louvet’s slumped shoulders. Vincent didn’t say a single word. He knew that Louvet’s stubbornness usually crumbled when Rousseaux was around and…of the three of them Rousseaux had the most emotional intelligence. Sure, Vincent could reasonably solve most issues that crossed his path but when it came to emotions? He was even more lost than Rody in the kitchen.

Rousseaux suggested in a soft voice, “There’s a park coming up soon. We could talk there since it's fairly late and most people are at home asleep.”

Vincent gave a curt nod and a soft hum. The less people who coil potentially overhear their conversation, the better. Louvet was already showing signs of discomfort on his face at the idea of speaking to the two people he trusted the most in the kitchen, but to be overheard by some complete stranger? That would break the man and Vincent has had enough of seeing people he cared about break apart in front of his eyes.

Was it a little concerning to Vincent that Rody somehow managed to weasel his way into becoming someone Vincent cared about? Probably. Especially since the two of them had practically nothing in common outside of the bistro. But…Vincent could unpack that later. He had more pressing issues to deal with.
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
The park was thankfully just as empty as Rousseaux had predicted. The trio made their way to a gazebo near a rather ornate looking fountain. The splashing water echoed through the still night air, mingling with the soft rustle of the leaves in the nearby trees. A gentle breeze was starting to pick up and it carried the smells of the flowers growing in the park through the cool night air.

Rousseaux sat next to Louvet on one bench and Vincent took the one right across from them. It was a familiar layout that reminded Vincent of his days as a trainee. How Louvet and Rousseaux had taken pity on him and would invite him to join them on breaks so he wouldn’t sit alone. He could remember Louvet using that break time to help Vincent remember flavor combinations to make up for his inability to taste. Rousseaux would walk Vincent through the drills his culinary instructors were expecting him to master, which was especially helpful considering Rousseaux was an alum of the same school Vincent had studied at.

Now…Now Vincent was their equal. Er well he was their boss but…he wasn’t the trainee lagging behind his mentors anymore. He had the skills necessary to call himself their equal and…It just didn’t sit right with him to see someone as strong as Louvet look so lost and hurt. Especially after all of the times Louvet had gone to bat in Vincent’s defense.

Hell the only reason Louvet had a bad shoulder in the first place was because he snapped after a customer had given Vincent an especially hard time as a trainee. It felt like only yesterday that the incident had occurred.
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Lunch service was due to start any minute and Vincent was nervously wringing the apron in his hands. He had never served in the dining room before but orders were orders. Their waiter had called in sick and since Vincent was at the bottom of the pecking order in the kitchen he was the one expected to take the waiter’s place.

Louvet put a hand on Vincent’s shoulder before he whispered reassuringly, “You don’t have to worry Charbonneau. If they give you a hard time, just let me know. I have no problem telling someone to fuck off for you.”

Vincent jumped slightly and whispered back in a scandalized tone, “Y-you can’t tell a customer that! What if-”

“She’s not gonna fire me,” Louvet dismissed with a slight wave of his hand. He grinned an almost cocky grin before he continued speaking, “She needs a strong saucier and I’m the only one in the kitchen outside of her sous chef that can do it. Or rather, I’m the only one willing to do it.”

“Still,” Vincent mumbled as he gave Louvet a worried look, “it’d be pretty selfish of you to do something so improper and leave Rousseaux and I to fend for ourselves…”

Louvet ruffled Vincent’s hair and chuckled at the displeased growl coming from the teen’s throat. Vincent smacked Louvet’s hand away and idly wished that his growth spurt would happen already. Maybe if he was taller, then his mentor wouldn’t treat him like a child in need of coddling.

“Louvet! Less chit-chat and more working!” A gruff voice snapped from the order window.

Louvet rolled his eyes as he snapped back, “Yeah, yeah I’m coming. Keep your pants on you damn gorilla.”

Vincent bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing but Louvet caught the slight twitch at the corner of Vincent’s lips and winked at him. Only Louvet would be openly disrespectful towards their sous chef without fear of getting his ass kicked. Apparently he had beaten their sous chef in a fight before but it was before Vincent had started working there. Perhaps one of these days the blond would tell Vincent the story behind that rumor.

Louvet gave Vincent’s shoulder one last pat before the front door opened. Vincent took in a deep breath before he walked over to the podium to start greeting and seating guests.

“W-welcome to La Vie en Rose! How many are in your party this afternoon?” Vincent asked as he ignored the soft coos from the women in the party before him. His cheeks grew pink at their soft giggles and whispers of how cute he was.

The woman at the front replied in a purposefully sultry voice, “A table for four, s’il vous plaît.”

Vincent turned a little quicker than he had intended as he stammered out, “R-right this way!”

His face burned and he honestly hated every second of it. Was he at all interested in these women? No. Of course not. He knew he had no interest in the “fairer” sex for at least three years now. It was the giggling and ogling him like he was a cut of meat on the menu that was bothering him more. Weren’t they aware that it had only been three months since he had graduated secondary school? He was likely young enough to be their kid brother and yet they were eyeing him up like he was one of their upperclassmen!

He briefly caught a glimpse of Louvet and Rousseaux out of the corner of his eye as he passed the order window. The two were clearly hard at work at their respective stations but something about just seeing a brief glimpse of them helped settle his nerves just a little bit. They wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. If he were to scream, both would come running. He was sure of it.

He sat the group of women at a four seater table and passed around the menus as he spoke in what he hoped was a charming customer service voice, “While you take a moment to look over our menus, I will go ahead and fetch some water for you lovely ladies.”

The women ate up his little slip of the tongue and the giggling picked up once more. Vincent knew that he wasn’t necessarily going to work dining room shifts again after today but…perhaps making good tips wouldn’t be too terrible. The extra money could help him pay his rent and maybe if there was enough left over he could finally afford his own knives. Or make a decent dent towards being able to pay for them. He had resolved to never ask his mother for a single euro and he wasn’t about to cave on that promise to himself now. Not when his journey was just beginning.
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The rest of lunch service passed in a blur after that. Table after table came in and Vincent served each one to the best of his ability. Drinks were poured with great care. Either Louvet or Rousseaux would help deliver plates to larger tables so Vincent wouldn’t have to worry about balancing everything on a large serving tray. He just didn’t have the strength to carry a fully loaded tray like that on his shoulders…

Things were going smoothly. The customers must have sensed that Vincent didn’t have any dining room experience and were especially patient with him. Hell a few even tipped a little extra because they could tell he was trying to hide how overwhelmed he was getting from having to handle a full dining room mostly by himself. It wasn’t his fault that the owner was too cheap to hire more than one waiter. If Vincent ever owned his own restaurant, then he’d make sure that the place had more than enough staff to accommodate a simple call-out. He wouldn’t have it so a trainee would have to handle a job outside of their job description without any extra assistance.

Much like everything else in Vincent’s life up to this point, nothing would stay easy or peaceful for long. All it would take is one small thing to have everything come crumbling down around him. That one small thing happened to be a simple glass of wine.

Thankfully lunch service was nearing its end and there were only two tables left for Vincent to serve. There was a university student at one table sitting by herself and a businessman at a different table, also sitting by himself. Simple enough, or so Vincent had thought.

The businessman had seen the university student and seemed intent on getting Vincent to try and get her attention for him. Vincent, of course, had no intention of playing wingman for a man who was trying to hit on a girl young enough to be his daughter. But he couldn’t necessarily outright tell this man that either. Not without starting an unnecessary conflict with a man that was not only taller than Vincent, but also one that was much older and much stronger than him. Vincent didn’t manage to skate through school without getting into fights just by being faster than the boys who wanted to kick his ass. No, he learned how to avoid conflict by keeping his true feelings close to his chest…for the most part anyways. He was still a teenager after all so…maybe he could cut himself a tiny bit of slack.

“Hey kid, think you can bring this over to the young lady over there?” The businessman asked as he gestured to the university student with the glass of wine Vincent had just poured him.

Vincent resisted the urge to scream and instead replied with a slightly nervous smile on his face, “As much as I would love to assist you monsieur, I’m afraid that I cannot do so. The owner forbids the purchase of alcohol for other tables.”

Vincent could feel a flicker of nervousness flare up in his chest and throat at the way the businessman’s face soured at Vincent’s words. From the relieved slump of her shoulders and soft sigh, the university student had heard as well. Not that Vincent could blame her on that front. Vincent would be relieved if he had dodged a bullet like this guy too.

“Is this really a rule or are you just making things up?” The businessman growled, drawing Vincent’s attention back onto his annoyed face.

Vincent felt the urge to be snippy squash down that anxious feeling but Vincent reigned both back in to reply in a calm voice, “Non, monsieur. The rule was set by the owner to prevent overconsumption of alcohol in her establishment. The fact that it can also prevent the purchase of alcohol by people under the legal drinking age is just a bonus.”

Neither statement was a lie. Vincent wasn’t sure how old the university student was, especially considering Vincent himself was in culinary school at only sixteen. It made certain exercises more difficult considering he needed some sort of legal guardian to sign paperwork for him and he was watched like a hawk when alcohol came out but neither-

Vincent heard the shatter of glass and his head felt hot and wet at the same time as he took a few steps back. He held his hand by his chin and could hear his heart start to race and his breath start to quicken at the sight of blood dripping onto his palm. Blood. Actual blood. It was only then that Vincent noticed the remnants of the wine glass shattered on the ground. He was actually hit with a wine glass…

Vincent was about to open his mouth to say something to the customer or call out for assistance when he felt a very familiar hand on his shoulder. The touch was much firmer than any touch Vincent had felt but-

“Charbonneau, go to the bathroom to get cleaned up. Rousseaux will meet you there in a moment,” Louvet ordered in a low, rumbly voice as he kept his gaze very firmly on the businessman at the table.

Vincent nodded mutely and took another step back with legs that shook far too much. Louvet, while being only an inch or two taller than Vincent, looked like he was about twenty inches taller if the threatening aura that was building in the blond chef was anything to go by.

The businessman stood and started to take a few steps towards Vincent while snarling, “Oh no he isn’t! We aren’t done-”

Vincent closed his eyes and braced himself for whatever kind of blow was coming his way but a shadow moved in front of him quickly. He opened his eyes to see that Louvet had stepped in front of Vincent to block the man’s path. The blond chef’s clenched fist was shaking with pent up emotion and Vincent could see a tightness in his jaw that could only spell trouble.

“Oh yes, he is. We do not condone the assault of staff here,” Louvet snapped back as he gave the businessman a look Vincent couldn’t identify. Not with the blond’s back towards him. But it didn’t take a neurosurgeon to guess how Louvet was feeling right now.

Vincent continued to take stumbling, shaking steps backwards. They were slow, pitiful things and it would be faster if he could just muster the courage to turn around. But the rational part of his brain shut off when he realized he had been hit. That the customer could hit him again with his back turned and-

“Fucking-” Vincent’s eyes widened he watched the man reel his fist back. Vincent’s back hit the bathroom door and he, for the life of him, couldn’t move his hand to twist the handle to open it.

Louvet grabbed a chair that was by the door, some sort of folding one they used as a step stool to avoid having to drag the actual step stool out of storage, and swung it. The chair made contact with the customer’s shoulder to interrupt the man’s punch.

Louvet closed the distance between him and the businessman in half a stride and raised the chair again as he snapped, “You don’t hit my boy tu fils de pute!* Va te faire foutre!*”

Vincent was trembling even worse by this point and his eyes were so focused on the businessman, who had taken the wine bottle from Vincent’s dropped serving tray, and Louvet, who held the chair like a knight held his sword, that he didn’t even notice Rousseaux had slunk past the fighting until the red-head blocked his vision of what was shaping up to be a very nasty brawl.

“Come on, let’s get that glass out of your head,” Rousseaux’s voice was soft and gentle but Vincent could hear the tinge of concern in his voice. The warm, brown eyes of his other mentor were practically flooded by worry and a part of Vincent snapped.

The teen allowed the red-head to maneuver him into the bathroom. If either of them noticed that a different kind of wetness started to mingle with the blood and red wine on Vincent’s face, then neither of them felt like it was worth commenting on.

Not when there was still glass in Vincent’s scalp and hair. Not when Vincent had a bleeding head wound. Not when they could still hear Louvet’s raspy voice shouting obscenities and the dull, metallic thump of the chair against the businessman’s body.

Rousseaux turned on the tap to try and cover up the noise before he hoisted Vincent up onto the counter. The teen was far too light for Rousseaux’s liking but given his inability to taste and aversion to most textures…perhaps it isn’t as surprising as he thought. Vincent didn’t fight Rousseaux like he normally would have and instead the teen just looked…lost. Afraid. Worried. Emotions that if Vincent didn’t have a bleeding head wound would have earned himself the tightest hug that Rousseaux could muster and promises of ice cream to try and soothe those feelings away.

But comfort could come after he knew that his protege wasn’t going to bleed out on him….And he knew that Louvet wouldn’t be spending the rest of his days in prison no matter how justified he was in beating a customer.
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Vincent looked over at Louvet and suppressed the wince he felt. The Louvet who had been willing to beat a customer half to death with a folding chair was a far cry from the Louvet who was sitting on the bench and looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. This wasn’t how Vincent’s mentor was meant to look. This wasn’t how he was meant to feel. Louvet was supposed to be put together, if a little rough around the edges. Louvet was…well he was supposed to be the one who could give Vincent advice for when he didn’t know what to do and-Shit what was Vincent supposed to do?

What could he even say? ‘Sorry your ex-wife outed you? Sorry you have to relive the worst moments in your life on loop until you know that the people who truly care about you won’t judge you?’ Yeah, both of those would go super well Vincent. Totally say those things! Idiot.

Rousseaux, thankfully, could sense the lost look on Vincent’s face without taking his eyes off of Louvet. The red-head spoke in a soft voice, “Mike, talk to us. Please, mon bonheur, let me hear your voice.”

Louvet squeezed Rousseaux’s offered hand tightly, closing his eyes as he trembled. Neither Vincent nor Rousseaux said another word as Louvet seemed to steel himself.

“What’s there to say?” Louvet mumbled, his words thick with shame and sorrow. The flicker of pure despair in his eyes was enough to make the growing alarm bells in Rousseaux’s head ring louder and louder.

“Say anything,” Rousseaux replied as he returned the vice grip squeeze Louvet was giving him, “anything, please. Don’t shut us out, mon amour*.”

Vincent didn’t comment on the usage of pet names. He had suspected that the two men were more than just friends and coworkers, even when he was just a trainee. Given his own…homosexual feelings and inclinations, Vincent also knew that he was in no position to judge them. Thankfully it was just the three of them around. They would at least have their reputations still by the end of this.

Louvet choked out a soft laugh, “Even if I did, neither of you would really understand how I feel. You both were fortunate enough to be born into the right bodies.”

Vincent sucked in a breath before he stood up from his bench and took the two short steps that stood between him and Louvet. Vincent crouched down, no matter how much his lower back told him not to and knew he would be regretting this tomorrow morning. He then took Louvet’s other hand before he replied, “We may not know how that feels, but we do know that we care about you regardless of what body you used to have.”

Louvet huffed, “Not just used to. This could easily be taken back from me and…then everything goes back to how it used to be and-”

Louvet cut himself off to scrub his eyes against his bicep. Could he have pulled his hands free from Rousseaux and Vincent’s hold? Yes. Did he want to? No…No the warmth felt…nice.

‘Disgusting weak bitch. Can’t you do anything right? You claim to be a man so start acting like one! Men don’t cry!’ Louvet’s darker thoughts, which sounded like his old voice, screamed at him. The cold pit in his stomach grew colder and deeper, sucking out all of the warmth that the simple act of having his loved ones close provided him with.

“Mike,” Rousseaux whispered in a gentle tone that cracked at the wall Louvet was trying to build against the tidal wave of emotion building up inside of him. That gentle tone that only came out late at night after being intimate with one another…

Louvet rested his head against Rousseaux’s shoulder, closing his eyes as he savored the way Rousseaux said his preferred name. The way it rolled off his tongue and settled the discomfort that always sprung up when he heard his given name. He really regretted not fighting harder to have his name get changed to something that didn’t sound like his old name…

Rousseaux released Louvet’s hand to instead wrap his arm around Louvet’s waist. He pressed a kiss to the crown of Louvet’s head and could feel Louvet tremble once more. The slight wobble of his bottom lip had Rousseaux tempted to do more to comfort his distressed partner but…well they had an audience. Even sitting like this was a bit much for either of them.

Not that Vincent seemed to mind. He never commented on when the two of them sat too close or would brush hands too often or seemingly look at one another the way only lovers did. Whether it was because he respected the duo too much to say anything or just didn’t care whether his employees were queer or not was anyone’s guess. Louvet and Rousseaux had definitely seen Vincent around far too many women over the years to suspect that he too wasn’t as straight as most would assume.

“Gabe,” Louvet whispered back as he listened to the dull thumping of Rousseaux’s heartbeat. The steady rhythm combined with the breeze playing with his hair made the voices in his head start to quiet down ever so slightly. “I…If I lose this body…”

Rousseaux could hear the hesitancy in Louvet’s voice and whispered back, “You’d still be the man I fell for all those years ago. It was your heart that I fell for, not the body you occupied.”

Vincent finally straightened out of his crouched position and dusted his pants off. Despite how quiet Rousseaux and Louvet were trying to be, Vincent could clearly hear what they had just said. He knew that commenting on it would only embarrass the older couple, so he wisely decided to keep his mouth shut. Louvet was already teetering on the edge of a full breakdown and Vincent didn’t want to be the one to fully push him over the edge.

Vincent wasn’t sure what to say, what could he say? He…well he wasn’t familiar with anything relating to not feeling like he was born in the wrong body, not that he mingled in enough social circles that such a thing was openly discussed. But…he could at least say something he hoped wasn’t insulting.

“You’re a strong man Louvet, both in the fights I’ve seen you in and working on the line. Never forget that,” Vincent added as he rested one of his hands on his hip and gave Louvet what he hoped was a reassuring look.

Louvet’s lips quirked into a slight smile as he laughed softly, “Thanks I…I forget that I have the two of you to lean on sometimes…”

Rousseaux pulled Louvet a little closer before he replied, “You’ll always have us to lean on mon bonheur. No matter what.”

Louvet sighed softly, allowing himself to relax ever so slightly. As reassuring as it was to hear that he had two steady parts of his support system fully on board no matter what his old body had looked like, it still didn’t silence the voices in his head that spewed vile insults at him. They did feel a bit quieter but they were still loud enough to dampen Louvet’s mood. Perhaps…perhaps those voices would fully quiet down after they rescued Rody and there was no risk of either of the terrible twosome showing up to make good on their threats. Only then would Louvet feel comfortable enough to fully relax. Only then would he finally feel like he could fully address his hangups from before he was transformed into the body he now possessed. Only then would he finally be able to put Michelle Louvet to rest.
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“Alright team, we need to make sure that everything is set and ready for when the others return,” Donadieu spoke in what the others were starting to mentally refer to as his preacher voice. It was so calm and authoritative, and yet somehow so soothing to listen to at the same time. He wasn’t even speaking more loudly than his usual speaking volume either.

The tables were moved aside to make a space for everyone to lay out the spare sleeping bags to cushion the hard floor underneath them. The plan was to try and lay everything on top of the one bit of rug in the dining room so nobody was stuck sleeping on top of the cold, tiled floor that composed most of the dining room floor. Beaumont had gone back into the kitchen to boil some water for tea while Dior and Manet finished pulling out the emergency supplies from their storage area. Boucher and Faucher were adjusting the pillows and blankets everyone had brought with them to make what looked like a cozy nest.

Manet covered Donadieu’s ears before he joked, “And you’re sure this isn’t an orgy set up?”

Dior snorted, “Nobody here is interested in your noisy ass. There has to be more feelings than annoyance to make for a good orgy.”

Manet gasped a false offended gasp removing his hands from Donadieu’s ears as he put a hand on his chest and looked quite sassy. The holy man shook his head and laughed quietly as he returned to his task of marking the doorways with holy water to prevent any…unwanted guests from crashing their impromptu sleepover.

“And how would you know what makes a good one, Dior?” Faucher asked as he started to make a pile of canteens that Dior was handing him.

“Where else would I learn that but from one of Manet’s dirty magazines?” Dior replied as Manet continued to pretend to look offended. “Although everything being drawn wasn’t quite what I had anticipated.”

Manet sniffed, “Just because I enjoy supporting independent artists doesn’t mean you can shame me for it.”

Boucher straightened up from where he had taken great care in ensuring that Beaumont would be sleeping would be comfortable. She had insisted on no special treatment despite being with child, so she would be sleeping on the floor with the rest of the group. As much as Boucher would have argued on her behalf to allow her to stay somewhere more comfortable for the night, he knew that once her mind was made up that there would be no changing it. So he could at least assuage his guilt over allowing a pregnant woman to sleep on the floor by giving her the most padded spot on the floor and making sure that her pillows were fluffed and adjusted to provide further cushioning.

Lavigne had finished grabbing the tea cups for Beaumont and was resting her head against her folded arms on top of her workstation. The workstation that usually would allow her a good view of Louvet while he worked.

She hadn’t meant to develop a crush on the older chef, really! He hardly spoke while working and the few times that he had prior to her developing that silly crush of hers was just Louvet correcting her on some technique or reminding her to add some ingredient she had almost forgotten to add. And yet…how could she not have developed a crush on him? Especially after…that day…
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It had been raining the entirety of that fateful windy Tuesday, but the foul weather wasn’t going to dampen Lavigne’s sunnier mood. She was very fortunate to have such a thoughtful boyfriend! He was going to take her out to see A Woman is A Woman, the new film that she had her eye on for the past week. A little treat for working so hard and would make up for their last few dates getting canceled.

Lavigne hadn’t had very many opportunities to see her boyfriend given how busy her new job at the bistro was and his own work as a lawyer picking up. He was dead set on becoming a named partner at the firm and he had to work hard to achieve that goal. Just last week he was juggling two misdemeanor cases and one grand larceny case while still having an upcoming murder trial to prepare for.

Lavigne sighed dreamily as she finished wiping down her workstation. How did someone as plain as her wind up with a handsome and successful man like Jean-Luc Allard as a partner? Sure, her family and friends had connections (Vincent hiring her was just one result of those connections) but Lavigne herself was just starting out. Outside of having her friends and knowing her boss, she didn’t have nearly enough connections to be seen as someone worthy of standing beside her beloved Jean-Luc.

And yet he was sweet enough to still-

“Why are you sighing so much Lavigne?” Faucher asked with a bit of concern in his voice, snapping Lavigne out of her daydreaming.

Lavigne’s cheeks grew slightly pink as she returned to her task of getting her supplies put away for the night. She stammered out a quick, “N-nothing!”

Manet wriggled his brows as he teased, “Someone was thinking about her boyfriend again~”

Beaumont smacked the back of Manet’s head with a wooden spoon as she replied, “And you have no room to talk. Just last week you burned a pan sauce three times because you kept thinking about those new thigh-high stockings your girlfriend got while shopping.”

“That’s totally different!” Manet snapped back with reddened cheeks. “She has thick thighs that have given me the will to live on multiple occasions!”

Rousseaux snickered to himself as he helped Louvet put the freshly cleaned and dried pots and pans away for the night. Louvet caught the glimmer in the red-head’s eyes and elbowed him in the ribs with a light dusting of pink on the blond’s cheeks.

Vincent dropped off the last of the dishes from the dining room and huffed in an annoyed grumble, “I don’t care if that red-headed idiot is the only candidate, he’s starting first thing tomorrow morning. I can’t run this place and serve at the same time.”

The clink of dishes and silverware in the sink soon became the loudest noise in the kitchen. Boucher scrubbed each one with care as Donadieu dried them off. Vincent had marched off to his office to give their soon-to-be waiter a phone call, thank God. None of the chefs really enjoyed being on rotation to tend to the dining room, especially when the customers felt the need to be snippy for no reason.

What was their new waiter’s name again? Laurence? Lamarre? It was something with an L. Either way, he seemed fit enough to do the job which was all that really mattered. It wasn’t like he’d last more than a week to bother getting too attached to him…

It was a companionable silence that while Lavigne usually appreciated, wasn’t necessarily conducive to getting her job done quickly. She still needed to wash off the smells of the kitchen and get dressed in that new outfit she had gotten last week. Thankfully they were closing early that night, not that Lavigne really gave it much thought. Maybe their boss had a hot date of his own tonight? Wouldn’t that be nice. He falls in love and is so infatuated that he has no time to be a perfectionist prick. Maybe in another life…but not this one.

“Lavigne? You are done with your cleaning tasks, yes?” A gentle voice pulled Lavigne out of her thoughts.

She blinked, looking up at the serene smile on Donadieu’s face. How could someone as old as him move so stealthily?

“Well the bistro floor-”

Lavigne was cut off when Louvet called out, “Go. I’ll do the floor for you tonight.”

Her hazel eyes light up excitedly. Louvet was going to help her? But why? He hardly spoke a word to her outside of correcting her…

Louvet could see the question in her eyes and explained, “I was a young man in love once and well, you shouldn’t be stuck here when there’s plenty of bodies to get the work done. Now go get dolled up or whatever it is you kids call getting ready these days.”

Lavigne didn’t need to be told a third time now. She gathered up her knives as she tuned out the ribbing that Louvet was getting from her fellow co-workers. Her heart beat a little quicker at the thought of how Jean-Luc would compliment her new outfit, how he would hold her close and they would-

Beaumont gently ushered Lavigne out the front door to lessen the amount of time that the younger woman would be caught in the rain. Hopefully it would clear up before her date tonight…

“Go have fun,” Beaumont chirped as she smoothed Lavigne’s hair after removing her hair cover for the day. “You’re only young once, so go make the most of it.”

Lavigne smiled a slightly teasing smile as she replied, “Okay Maman*, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Beaumont huffed with a fond yet scolding smile on her face as she opened the door for the younger chef, “I’ll choose to ignore your cheeky response this time. Next time you’ll see why Manet is afraid of me.”

Lavigne decided not to comment to instead start making her way towards her apartment. It was time to start preparing for what hoped would be the best date of her young life.
*******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Lavigne looked at the clock on the front of the theater. He was late. Sure, Lavigne reasoned that perhaps he was just held up at the office but…it really wasn’t like Jean-Luc to be late. He would have called her while she was still getting ready. He might have even offered to pick her up at her apartment rather than have her wait at the venue for however long.

She was waiting underneath a nearby bus shelter, watching as people walked through the rainy streets. Umbrellas in every shade of the rainbow and then some dotted the streets. If she wasn’t so worried about where her boyfriend might be, then perhaps Lavigne would have enjoyed the pattering of the rain against the glass of the bus shelter. It reminded her of visits to her grandmother in England every summer.

She looked at the bright lights of the theater and sighed softly, “He’s never been this late before.”

Lavigne glanced at the clock again, it was getting to the point where they’d be preparing for the last viewing of the film soon. So she might as well go inside and get her ticket. Perhaps by the time she got it Jean-Luc would be rushing inside to meet her. He’d gather her in his arms and kiss her as an apology. And after the movie perhaps…they’d finally become more intimate and she could finally see what her friends were fussing about when they talked about sex.

She walked across the busy street quickly to avoid getting completely soaked by the rain. Lavigne had opted not to bring an umbrella with her so she could share an umbrella with Jean-Luc. He always brought one with him and she did love the feeling of holding onto his arm. It always made her feel so warm and fuzzy inside, even if he wasn’t the most muscular guy she knew she still felt so safe around him.

“Ah, bonsoir mademoiselle,” the ticket clerk greeted as Lavigne approached the ticket booth. “What film are you seeing this evening?”

“Bonsoir,” Lavigne greeted before she replied, “I would like one ticket to A Woman is A Woman, s’il vous plaît.”

The ticket clerk entered Lavigne’s selection and accepted her money before handing her the printed ticket. It still felt warm from coming out of the machine.

“You will be going to theater three, on the right hand side. Enjoy your film,” the ticket clerk stated after he gave Lavigne back her change from her ticket purchase.

Lavigne nodded in thanks before she opened the door to the cinema. The warmth of the heated air felt so nice compared to the chill that the rain brewed up. As cute as her new outfit was, it did little to insulate her against the frigid rainy air outside. Perhaps she would save this ensemble next time for a day that it was warmer outside. The smell of hot buttered popcorn and the chatter of people in the cinema eased her worries ever so slightly. He’d be here any moment now, presumably with flowers and equally flowery language spilling from his lips as he apologized for being late.

Lavigne opted to skip the popcorn this time. Not because she didn’t like it or it would make her stomach hurt, but because she was hoping to save her appetite for whatever kind of dinner she was going to whip up after taking Jean-Luc back to her place. Maybe he’d like her to do something with that pork she got yesterday or they could experiment a little. Sure, Lavigne knew that she was trained on the classics and that where she currently worked had that same kind of vibe, but what was stopping her from experimenting at home? There was an entire world of possibilities literally at her fingertips when it came to cooking. All that was really stopping her was her own insecurities.

Lavigne heard a quieter set of giggling around the corner from her and a very familiar tone of voice.

‘Was that…Jean-Luc? But why is he in here without seeing if I was outside beforehand?’ Lavigne thought as she slowed her steps down.

Was it rude to listen in on someone else's conversation? Yes, yes it was. But could it be argued that Jean-Luc was also Lavigne’s boyfriend who had left her in the rain without an answer and thus Lavigne was entitled to one? Also yes. So perhaps a little snooping would be okay in this situation. But just this once! Lavigne didn’t want to undermine the foundation of trust that was the strong point of her and Jean-Luc’s relationship. She trusted him and he must have trusted her in return. At least that was the impression she got from him anyway.

“It is always so good to see you Jean-Luc,” a distinctly female voice giggled as Lavigne could make out the sound of clothing rustling. “I wish I could spend more time with you.”

“I know Odette,” Jean-Luc replied in the husky voice he always got when he was doing too much kissing, “but you know that I am often busy with work. Plus there’s still Sophie to-”

Lavigne felt her stomach grow cold. There was still her? What did he mean? And what did that Odette woman mean when she said that she wanted to spend more time with Jean-Luc?

The other woman laughed in a cruel and teasing voice, “You mean you’re still seeing that little girl Sophie Lavigne? I know her parents have good connections, but they aren’t nearly as impressive as mine are.”

Lavigne felt her blood start to boil. Her? A little girl? Sure, she was on the petite side but Lavigne was an adult. She had just graduated culinary school this past spring and was working for one of the most sought after restaurants in Paris! Sure, she still owed her friend for getting her foot in the door, but Vincent didn’t have to agree to hire her. It wasn’t until after seeing her work and investigating the culinary school that she had attended that he even agreed to take her on. Just because she was young didn’t mean that she was less worthy of someone as impressive as Jean-Luc…

Jean-Luc replied in a softer voice, “True, and you did impress my parents far more than she had but…I still owe it to her to end things properly. She was so kind and patient when I was still in law school.”

Lavigne resisted the urge to round the corner angrily and demand more answers out of Jean-Luc. Sure, Lavigne knew that his parents were particularly impressed by her. Especially after learning that she was a mere commis chef at Vincent’s restaurant. But it was still worthy of some sort of praise and admiration that she was able to get a position at such a prestigious kitchen at all. Vincent’s reputation was so strong that Lavigne could find work at another kitchen should she find that she’s ready to move on. Or even find it easier to secure financial backing from the bank if she wanted to open a place of her own someday.

What did it matter what Lavigne did as a career anyway? If she were to marry someone like Jean-Luc, then she’d likely stop working as soon as they started to have children. She didn’t mind the idea of being a stay-at-home mother as much as Beaumont seemed to. Although Beaumont also was married to a writer, so he would be at home with their children far more often than Beaumont herself could be. Such an odd arrangement…

At the end of the day, Lavigne was still the daughter of Vivienne and Dion Lavigne. Two of Paris’ top three hundred fashion designers and fashion writers. Two people who could with a single stroke of their pen make or break a new designer’s career. They had a say in what patterns would be in vogue and what cuts of clothes would wind up cluttering the shelves of the thrift shops in the less fashionable parts of the city. She was just as worthy of a successful partner as whomever that Odette woman was.

The voices and footsteps drew closer and Lavgine didn’t bother making it look like she had just stumbled upon them. Nobody makes a mockery of Sophie Lavigne without facing her wrath.

Lavigne crossed her arms and tapped her foot, not bothering to hide the disgust and betrayal on her face. Even if he would comment on how jealousy wasn’t a good look on her, Lavigne was past the point of caring right now. All that mattered was tending to her wounded heart.

Her hazel eyes met the bright amber of Jean-Luc’s and she decided to see how he would try and talk his way out of this. He might be a silver-tongued lawyer, but Lavigne’s own tongue was as sharp as her knives. He wouldn’t be deceiving her. Not this time. Perhaps this Odette was why Jean-Luc was suddenly “busy” with work and had to cancel the past few dates she had planned with Jean-Luc.

“S-sophie! Mon chou*! Wh-what are you doing here?” Jean-Luc stammered as he tried to ignore the pointed stare he was getting from Lavigne.

The woman, Odette, that was on his arm was very pretty even if she was a treacherous whore that stole another woman’s man. She was tall and thin, like a runway model, but what curves she did have were very alluring. Her cool alabaster skin contrasted from the warm honeyed tan of Lavigne’s skin. Odette’s long, silvery hair and equally silvery eyes made her seem more like a mannequin than a living woman. Perhaps that illusion of perfection was what Jean-Luc’s parents liked. They never seemed to appreciate the plump curves and warmth that Lavigne possessed.

Lavigne sniffed indignantly, “You seem to have forgotten that we agreed to see A Woman is A Woman together this evening and decided to have fun with a different woman instead. And here I thought that someone as organized as you would be able to keep all of your affairs in order.”

Odette purred softly, “Can you blame him though? A man as successful and fine as Jean-Luc cannot be seen with a dumpy little girl like you. He’s just too kind to tell you the truth.”

“Sophie, I do apologize. I-I should have-”

Lavigne raised her hand and slapped Jean-Luc’s cheek as hard as she could. She didn’t care whether he pressed assault charges against her or not. She didn’t care about the sharp, scandalized gasp Odette made or the way that the room around them suddenly grew silent.

All Lavigne could focus on was the red in her vision and the way Jean-Luc didn’t seem to let go of that traitorous wench. If he wanted her, then he could have her. Lavigne deserved better than a cheating bastard like Jean-Luc anyways.

“Consider us done!” Lavigne shouted, ignoring the burning on her cheeks and the tremble in her voice. “You’ve made your choice! I can only hope that you can live with it! And if you can’t then don’t bother darkening my doorstep ever again! I will not now nor ever consider taking you back!”

Lavigne turned around and marched out of the cinema. She ignored the stares sent in her direction and barely spat out an apology to the auburn-haired slob who was entering the theater as she was leaving. Ugh. Just great. Not only did she just have to break up with her cheating boyfriend but now she likely had grease stains on her new outfit because of that guy! If she ever saw him again she would-

The cold rain had picked through. It fell in buckets and Lavigne could feel her makeup starting to run and her thick hair felt so much heavier with all of the rain falling and-/p>

Lavigne screamed an anguished scream as she allowed herself to sob in the pouring rain. She had spent the last five years with Jean-Luc as her boyfriend. She had hoped to marry this man and-just how much of their relationship was a lie? How long did he intend on stringing her along, just waiting for the day he finally ended things? Did she really mean so little to him?

Suddenly a bit of the rain stopped and a raspy voice asked, “Lavigne? What are you doing in the rain?”

Lavigne looked up to see Louvet standing beside her, holding his blue umbrella above them both to shield them from the absolute downpour around them. It was odd seeing him outside of his chef coat and black slacks but…The dark blue sweater peeking out from his tan trenchcoat complimented his pants in a way that made Lavigne’s face feel warm. He was on the older side but…Louvet was an admittedly handsome man.

Lavigne bit her lower lip as she glanced over at the cinema once more. Louvet’s look darkened as he handed her the umbrella.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Louvet rasped once more as he rolled up his sleeves.

Lavigne grabbed his arm and replied quietly, “He’s not worth the trouble. Besides, I slapped him pretty hard before I stormed out.”

Louvet looked unsure at Lavigne’s words but he at least rolled his sleeves back down. He shrugged off his coat and slung it over Lavigne’s shoulders before buttoning the top three buttons to hold it onto her shorter frame.

Lavigne blushed as Louvet explained, “What kind of man would I be if I let you wander the streets soaking wet? You can borrow this while I walk you home.”

Lavigne tilted her head, “But won’t your coat be all wet? Isn’t that uncomfortable to wear home?”

“I’ll live,” Louvet shrugged with the barest hint of a wry smile that made Lavigne’s heart beat just a bit quicker. “I think helping someone in need is far more important than worrying about something as trivial as my comfort.”

Louvet started to walk down the street, prompting Lavigne to follow along with him to avoid getting soaked by the rain once more. He kept his strides short enough to make it easy for Lavigne to walk by his side, which meant that the umbrella had a much easier time shielding them both from the torrential downpour around them.

Lavigne noticed the direction that they were walking in and asked, “Where are we going? I live in the opposite direction.”

Louvet looked at her and gave her another one of those brief smiles before he answered, “Well nothing makes me feel better than ice cream after a heartbreak and well…the place up the road from here is still open and they have a very good butterscotch flavor. You mentioned it was your favorite once…”

Lavigne’s eyes widened. He remembered that? She had only mentioned it in passing once when the team was discussing possible dessert options for Vincent to explore for their fall menu. Some sort of odd moment of weakness in their boss considering he never really asked for opinions from his team like that. Maybe the stress of running the dining room and the kitchen had made a part of him crack under the immense pressure.

But still, the point remained that her co-worker actually remembered a little tidbit about her…Something that even her now ex-boyfriend struggled to do at times and-

Lavigne buried her face into Louvet’s side and started sobbing once more. Louvet stiffened at the sudden and unexpected movement, but soon relaxed enough to awkwardly pat her back as she sobbed. It wasn’t perfect but…Lavigne felt that a part of her previously shattered heart was fixed by the kind gestures of the man patting her back. Maybe…he wasn’t nearly as much of a hardass as she had thought. Maybe she could get to know that sweeter side to Louvet? Maybe…he would be the one…for her…

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Lavigne was pulled out of her thoughts when a steaming cup of tea was placed in front of her. Based on the strong smell, it had to be Lavigne’s favorite tea Earl Grey. She looked up to see Beaumont looking down at her worriedly.

“You’re still upset from before, huh?” Beaumont asked softly as she smoothed Lavigne’s hair.

Lavigne huffed, “How could I not be? I said the worst possible thing about Louvet and…He probably hates me now.”

Beaumont moved to stand closer to Lavigne and wrapped an arm over the younger chef’s shoulders, pulling her in for a tight side hug. Beaumont rested her head against Lavigne’s, silvery blonde mingling with a deep mocha brown.

Beaumont reassured, “Louvet doesn’t hate you. He…he has a lot that he needs to work through right now but…I know he doesn’t hate you. He’d have cussed you out or done something drastic by now if that was the case.”

“Still…” Lavigne sighed deeply, “I called him a girl. To his face! He…he looked so hurt and I…How could I possibly make it up to him?”

Beaumont took a moment to think, squeezing Lavigne close to her as she thought. She rubbed up and down Lavigne’s arm, not necessarily as a calming gesture but rather as a mindless fidgeting while she thought. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable for Lavigne but it wasn’t the sort of comforting gesture she was looking for either…

“You apologize and promise to do better next time,” Beaumont finally spoke in a very serious voice. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Louvet isn’t one to really like long drawn out affairs, especially with emotional stuff.”

“Is it…really that easy?” Lavigne questioned with disbelief in her voice.

Beaumont shrugged, “Well I can’t say I know the exact details of this sort of thing but…I do know Louvet. If he wants more than an apology, he’d say so.”

Before Lavigne could reply, the bell above the door jingled. A familiar voice called, “We’re back! Sorry we didn’t help with set up.”

“Welcome back,” Faucher replied as the chefs in the kitchen could hear him spring to his feet.

Lavigne sighed as she felt Beaumont slip away to go and provide the newly arrived rest of their team with their own respective cups of tea. Lavigne took a sip of hers and sighed yet again. Perhaps she’ll just wait until it was quieter to talk to Louvet. Maybe find an excuse to have it be just the two of them. If she had an audience, she might slip up and say something worse but alone…Maybe she would have a better chance of making amends.

Yes. She’ll do just that. Hopefully Louvet wouldn’t blame her for trying to have their conversation be a private one. Some things are best said without what felt like a million people around.

Chapter Text

After spending a few more moments outside in the garden, Manon started to make her way back inside. As nice as it would be to explore the rest of the manor to her heart’s content, she had a mission. She needed to gather a few supplies and make her way to whatever prison Rody was being held in. He was always trying to play prince charming and rescue her from the boredom of her day to day life, so perhaps it was time to return the favor by actually rescuing him from his prison.

She wondered if there were enough supplies around the manor to fashion herself a gas mask or something piece by piece in the craft room. Yes…that could work. And if asked why she’s making it, she could explain it away as preparations for nuclear fallout or something. There was the threat of nuclear war hanging over everyone’s heads unless the US and the USSR stopped with the whole diplomatic and arms race dick measuring contest they were in. Manon wasn’t quite sure about all of the technical nitty-gritty stuff that went along with global politics, but she had heard enough reporters in the office chatting about it to have some idea about what was going on in the world.

If the gas mask didn’t work, then maybe just a bandana or something would help. Anything would be better than just waltzing in unprotected. She would also have to find something for Rody to wear as well, or at the very least get him alert enough to help her get the two of them out of the circle. Manon may have loved Rody more than anything, but that still didn’t change the fact that he was a bit taller and a lot heavier than her. She didn’t have the raw strength necessary to haul a man as bulky as Rody around unassisted.

Manon walked through the doorway that she had seen Isolde walk through moments ago and found herself walking down a very short passageway. The passageway had the same warm wooden floors and baseboards as the upstairs hallway. The walls, however, weren’t the same cream color but were instead a pastel green color. Perhaps it was to help guests see what passageways led outside and which led to living quarters or something…Or perhaps Isolde had run out of cream colored paint and had her servants use whatever was lying around the house to paint this passageway. The golden candle holders had a more floral motif to them than the ones upstairs and instead of a pink runner on the floor it was a cream colored one.

The runner muffled her footsteps as she walked down the short passageway into a grand foyer. The ceiling was so high that Manon could hardly see it, but she did see the chain holding a large crystalline chandelier in the center of the foyer. The floors were a white marble, a sharp contrast to the warm wooden floors around the rest of the manor, or well what Manon assumed was around the rest of the manor. The columns holding up the upper floor and lining the hall were the same warm cream color that was used on the walls upstairs. The front door was large and grand looking with stained glass as the window piece. The stained glass depicted a weeping willow tree similar to the crystalline one in the garden area.

There were large windows across the front wall, each one framed by cream colored curtains. The walls down here were papered in a light pink wallpaper with flower motifs running through them. It gave the impression that an older woman lived here which given that Isolde seemed to be at least a century old if not older then perhaps the choice made more sense than Manon had originally thought. It still didn’t detract from the grandeur of the space.

The foyer had two sets of stairs leading up into the first of the upper floors, which was likely where Manon had her room. There was a doorway in between the bottom of both sets of stairs, which looked very unassuming. It was a white door with a sign hanging on the center of the upper panel. The sign had a pink rose on it and something about the simplicity of it drew Manon’s attention towards it.

She took a step forward, then another. And another. Each step echoed through the grand hall and added a gravity to her steps that made her heart beat a little quicker and a cool feeling to enter her stomach. Each step made the tension build in her rapidly tightening chest. Each breath felt more and more labored as she drew closer. And closer. And closer to the door. Her hand trembled as she reached out towards the crystalline doorknob, swallowing a thick lump in her throat at the memory of what had happened the last time she opened a random door. The less she saw of that shadowy entity, the better.

Just as her hand was a mere fingertip length away from the door a cheery voice called, “Ah, milady! Lady Isolde asked that I escort you to the library!”

Manon turned around a little too quickly to look anything but guilty of snooping to face the owner of the cheery voice. Standing just a few feet away from Manon was yet another maid. This one wore the same light pink uniform with the white apron that her counterparts wore. The key difference here being that she was much more petite than the other two maids and her hair was long and an unnatural shade of pastel pink. Her unnaturally colored hair, which Manon couldn’t help but wonder how such a thing was possibly done, was tied into two long pigtails that were curled to look like drills. The maid’s bright green eyes stood out against the deep brown color of her skin.

Manon smiled an anxious smile and clasped her hands together as she replied, “Oh, how lovely! Pl-please do lead the way!”

The maid waited until Manon drew closer to start escorting her out of the little nook and through the foyer. The maid kept her hands clasped in front of her as Manon followed closely behind her. Despite the cheery voice she had, Manon got the impression that this maid was much more reserved than the previous two maids. Perhaps she was the scholarly type and that was why she was given the task of escorting Manon to the library.

The hall that the maid led Manon down had the same warm wooden flooring and baseboards as the rest of the manor, but this time the walls were painted a pastel blue. The golden candle holders looked like little owls, which seemed to fit some sort of scholarly theme. Perhaps Manon needed to pay closer attention to the tiny details to find ones that could point her in the direction of a covert exit.

“Here we are milady,” the maid chirped as the duo came upon a large dark wood door with crystalline door knobs. The maid grasped both knobs and twisted before pushing the door open.

Manon couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped her lips at the sight behind the door. The library looked even larger than the foyer, if such a thing was possible. The walls were lined with dark wooden shelves that stretched to the high ceilings. Large silver rolling ladders were stationed strategically to allow anyone in the library to reach a book even from the highest shelves. There were even more dark wood shelves stationed throughout the library to help divide the space into distinct sections. Each shelf was packed with books and Manon could already feel the warm excitement building in her chest and her curiosity practically begging her to explore each section.

There were a few cozy looking deep emerald colored chairs and emerald loveseats scattered about the space to provide ample sitting space to read comfortably. There were a few dark wood desks and matching chairs with emerald colored cushions. The dark wood floor had an emerald green rug on it that had an ivy pattern on it. There were a few lights hanging from the walls, not candles this time but it was probably to keep the books safe from potentially being burnt by stray flames.

The maid spoke once more, “I can tell that you are very impressed. Lady Isolde does her best to ensure that her library has plenty to read for both staff and guests.”

Manon felt her cheeks flush slightly before she replied, “What kind of subjects does your mistress have on her shelves?”

“All sorts of topics,” the maid answered with an excited gleam in her eyes. “Poetry, gardening, romance, fantasy, science fiction, there are even a few tomes about survival somewhere in the stacks just to name a few.”

Survival? Exactly what Manon needed. Manon smiled sweetly before she asked, “Do you happen to know where the survival tomes are? I could definitely use those in case the bombs go off where I’m from.”

The maid tilted her head slightly and gave her a curious look that reminded Manon a bit of an owl. Perhaps that was why she gave off that scholarly vibe? Owls and academia went hand in hand, especially when one was well versed in Ancient Greek mythology…Er well as well as someone who took a beginner’s course in the subject anyway.

“You live in a warzone?” The maid asked with a tinge of pity in her voice that had Manon feeling slightly guilty for mentioning anything about bombs in front of her.

Manon fidgeted with her hands before she sheepishly replied, “Not exactly but…well the threat of all out nuclear war is constantly looming over our heads so it never hurts to be prepared.”

The maid crossed her arms and hummed softly as she nodded. What was she thinking about? Manon couldn’t entirely tell as this maid wasn’t nearly as easy to read the thoughts of as the artist maid she had encountered earlier. Maybe that was why Isolde hired her? She was capable of keeping her thoughts a secret and thus was somehow even more intriguing because of it.

The maid finally spoke after a moment of thought, “While I may not know what a nuclear war is, I can appreciate wanting to know how to survive during wartime. I’ll gladly assist you in finding our survival section.”

The maid turned and gestured for Manon to follow after her. Manon complied but she couldn’t help but wonder what the maid meant when she said that she didn’t know what nuclear war was. Just where and when did this maid come from? Was she from the distant future where nuclear war was an ancient relic like chariots were to Manon’s time? Or was she from the distant past where technology capable of producing nuclear warheads hadn’t been invented yet? That still didn’t explain the pastel pink hair though…Even Manon had never seen hair colored like that before in her time.

Row after row of standing bookcases were passed, each one with a neatly printed sign designating both their Dewey Decimal number and the corresponding genres next to each section of numbers. A part of Manon wanted to stop and browse amongst the romance novel section, but she quickly shook her head. She would have plenty of time to enjoy her romance novels when she had Rody safe in her arms once more. Maybe they could even make their own love story together that could rival any of the ones that Manon had read.

The click of the maid’s heels and the soft patter of Manon’s flats echoed through the empty library. There was a very still aura that pervaded every atom of the place and something in Manon felt like every little noise she made was attracting the attention of thousands of invisible pairs of eyes. As if the very books on the shelves were judging her for bringing noise into a fortress of silence. It felt like she was back in private school again where all of those catty girls loved to poke fun at how she seemed more comfortable with her nose in a book than kissing boys. While Manon may have grown out of the being shy around boys thing, she still has yet to lose her love of a good book. Perhaps that was why she graduated with honors and those catty girls had to repeat a year twice.

About two-thirds of the way down the first section of the main corridor created by the shelves, the maid took a left-hand turn down a little niche and towards the large bay window along the far wall. She stopped at the large shelf on the wall next to the window and gestured to Manon, “Here we are, milady. From the third shelf down will be the entirety of our collection about basic survival techniques. Should you find those lacking, we can see about finding more detailed tomes about whatever areas you had an interest in.”

Manon clapped her hands together gratefully as she replied, “Thank you very much! I believe that these will be exactly what I need to have a survival plan put together.”

The maid smiled softly before she asked, “Is there anything else that I can get for you at this moment?”

“Actually…” Manon pondered aloud as she looked at the bookshelf once more, “are you able to bring me something to take notes in please. I think I must have left my supplies back at my boyfriend’s apartment.”

“As you wish milady,” the maid answered with a polite curtsie. “I shall return shortly. All I ask is that you please not leave this space as there are certain rooms in this manor that are not safe for humans to enter.”

Manon nodded and did her best to brush away the memories of her encounter with the shadowy entity in the room next to the craft room she had found. If there were more monsters like that roaming the manor or hiding behind any door that Manon opened, then she really needed to find more ways to defend herself. The knitting needles just wouldn’t cut it. Not by themselves anyway.

The maid turned around and walked away to get started on her task of fetching note taking supplies for Manon. She smiled to herself as she thought, ‘The poor thing is playing right into Lady Isolde’s hands. Oh well, at least this one is much prettier and nicer than the last one.’

Manon waited until she heard the door open and close once more before turning towards the section about survival and started scanning the titles along the spines of each book. What she really needed was one with how-tos combined with basic survival knowledge as she doubted that she could easily find money to afford accommodations down here…Not that any demon would possibly allow her to stay the night anyway. Not if Manon was able to pull off her escape plan. She wasn’t sure just how powerful Isolde was nor her ranking down here in Hell but she must be powerful and have enough status to have a grand manor in this circle.

The last thing Manon needed was to have the entirety of Hell try and stop her from rescuing Rody. Her mission would be pointless if she wound up getting captured too. She knew that she’d purposefully be placed in a different prison, one farther away from Rody than the one she was currently in…Which would give that pesky Vincent plenty of opportunities to swoop in like some knight in shining armor and rescue Rody first. Maybe that was his plan all along. Let Manon go on a solo mission and get caught on purpose to make Vincent himself look more competent. Well two could play at that game.

Nobody got in the way of Manon Vacher when she was after something. Not even one of Paris’ most prestigious chefs.
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The maid entered one of the side rooms in an upstairs corridor and curtsied as she entered, waiting for a signal before straightening up.

“You may rise Althea,” a familiar voice purred from the chair turned away from the door.

Althea straightened up and made sure that the door was firmly closed behind her before she spoke once more, “Lady Isolde, I have escorted our guest to the library as per your instructions.”

Isolde rose from her chair, holding a cup of some sort of steaming liquid in her hands as she replied, “Excellent work Althea. Tell me, what has caught our guest’s interest?”

“She wishes to learn more about survival techniques. She claims that it is for her life on the surface world but I do have my doubts about whether she is being truthful or not,” Althea answered with a hint of hesitancy in her voice.

Isolde took a sip of the steaming liquid in her cup, her silver eyes gazing at the painting of a swan next to where Althea was standing. Her dark brows furrowed in thought as she sipped at her drink. Althea knew her mistress well enough to know that she was to wait until she spoke again in order to respond. While Isolde might be more merciful than the other demons in the Wrath Circle, she was still not one to be trifled with. Especially when one disobeyed her orders flagrantly.

Isolde walked over to the nearby shelf and pulled two notebooks off of it. She took the pink one and pricked one of her fingers with one of her sharp canine teeth. She took the bleeding digit and pressed a bloody fingerprint on the inside part of the back cover. She then took the same bloody finger and left a print in the purple notebook. Isolde licked her finger and the bleeding stopped instantly.

Isolde waved her hand over both notebooks and the bloody fingerprints disappeared. She handed the pink one and a pen over to Althea and ordered, “Bring these to our guest. Whatever she writes in this notebook will appear in the other one, so we will be more than prepared to foil any escape plans she might have.”

Althea took the pink notebook and pen before curtsying and replying, “As you wish Lady Isolde. Do you truly think she will attempt to escape?”

“I don’t just think she will attempt to escape, I know she will attempt to escape,” Isolde replied as she watched Althea straighten up.

“Shall I ensure that the defenses near the outer walls are-”

Isolde smiled a cruel smile and interrupted with an evil giggle, “There’s no need for that Althea. We just have to make her feel more and more desperate to rescue that plouc of a boyfriend she covets oh so much. Her desperation will make her sloppy, which means she will never be able to escape here. And even if she does…she’ll be travelling to the Sloth Circle.”

Althea’s eyes widened. The Sloth Circle wasn’t just the farthest circle in the realm, but it was also one that was near impossible to leave once one enters it. Unless they are a Sloth demon that is, or have special protection against the vapors. Something Manon thinks those survival books will teach her to defend herself against but…No human object could protect her from the charms in that realm.

Althea felt a shiver go down her spine. As much as she cared for her mistress and didn’t want to see her get in trouble for allowing a human to escape her domain, allowing Manon to travel to the Sloth Circle felt too cruel. But…Althea knew that if she was caught trying to help their guest escape that she would wind up in an even worse prison than the one in the Sloth Circle and…Althea only had thirteen more years of her sentence before she could move up to Purgatory. From there she stood an even better chance of salvation and being able to finally reunite with her husband and children after all these years. As much as she pitied the situation Manon found herself in, Althea knew that she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if she kept her family waiting longer than they had to for her arrival.

“You are dismissed Althea,” Isolde’s voice pulled Althea out of her thoughts.

Althea curtsied once more before she spoke, “Thank you Lady Isolde. I shall deliver our guest the writing supplies.”

Althea straightened up and walked out of the room, half-expecting Isolde to call her back. But she didn’t. The lady demon likely knew that Althea was horrified by this plan but banked on her loyalty to her family to keep quiet. Sometimes she regretted making a deal with such a clever demon but…she wouldn’t have had her children at all without Isolde’s intervention…

Althea held the notebook a little closer to her as she prayed, ‘Please Lord, just make our guest stay here. Don’t allow her to play into that demon’s plans.’
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There was a clock somewhere in the library, if the constant clicks of clock hands moving was anything to go by. Other than the click of the clock hands and the soft rustle of the flipping of pages, the library was silent. It wasn’t the sort of peaceful silence one would normally hope for when reading in the library for leisure but rather the anxious silence that came with studying in the library for a final exam worth ninety percent of one’s final grade.

Manon flipped through the book in her hands idly, her mind not really taking in the words on the page before her. She had opted to lounge in the little cozy reading nook made in the bay window and nabbed one of the throw blankets from the cubby underneath the window. Around her were several other books she had hoped would be useful for her survival in Hell once she managed to escape this gilded cage Isolde was intent on keeping her trapped in. Sure, she knew that she should be paying attention to what she was reading but her mind kept drifting back to one thing. Or rather one person. Rody.

What was he doing now? How was he faring in that prison he was being kept in? Was he being treated well? Was he being tortured?

Manon closed the book and set it beside her before rubbing at her eyes. There was no point in getting herself worked up about it. Rody was strong and intelligent enough to keep himself alive until Manon could reach his prison. He’s survived this long without getting himself killed so Manon owed it to Rody to believe in his self-preservation-

Actually, scratch that. He had the self-preservation of a toddler given free reign of a cabinet full of cleaning supplies. Maybe even worse than that. Wasn’t his lack of self-preservation and care for his own life the exact reason why she dumped him in the first place? Perhaps she did need to worry about him more than she reasonably should.

Manon rested her head against the pillows she was using to prop herself up. The warm light filtering through the window and the cozy blanket felt so good. Maybe she just needed to rest her eyes for a few minutes. That might allow her mind the break it needed to focus on her research once more. Besides, she still needed that notebook that the maid was running off to get for her.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Deep breath in, deep breath out. The worries about Rody started to slip away. He was strong. He was capable. He could do anything he set his mind to. For all Manon knew, he could just be tucked into a soft, warm bed safe and sound. He could be sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of what was going on around him. For Rody’s sake, Manon hoped that would be the case.

Before Manon knew it, sleep wrapped itself around her in a comforting embrace. Her worries meant nothing to her. Only the calmness of her breathing and the warm feeling surrounding her.

Althea soon entered the library and started to walk towards where she had last seen Manon. Hopefully the brunette had followed Althea’s simple order to remain in the library and even more hopefully in the section Manon had requested to be taken to. The library was like a maze in and of itself and Althea didn’t have any supernatural abilities like her mistress had. She couldn’t track a person’s movements within the domain, nor could she hear the thoughts and conversations of her targets…

Althea was about to start calling for Manon, unsure of what to even call her other than ‘milady’ before she stumbled upon the sight of Manon snoozing in the bay window. A part of Althea was tempted to wake her back up but…perhaps she should be spared from true horror for just a moment longer.

Althea quietly approached Manon, gathered up the books and stacked them neatly beside the bay window. She left the notebook and pen on top of the stake, no matter how much it made her heart ache to do so. The quiet voice in her head whispered, ‘Traitor. How could you do that to a fellow woman? How could you throw her to the wolves you know so well by now?’

That thought didn’t ease the lump in her throat nor dry the sweat from her hands but…It had to be done. She was under strict orders to fulfill Manon’s request and Althea knew that if she were to perish here then her contracted servitude would start all over again. That Althea would be forced to be apart from her family for another century and…her poor heart wouldn’t be able to handle such a fate. Perhaps someday, in the distant future, she would be able to beg Manon for forgiveness for this treachery but for now she remained silent.

Althea turned away as she shook her head. She could worry about forgiveness and salvation later. Right now she had to return to the list of her chores for the day, the next of which would be mopping the foyer floors until they shone in the artificial light. Perhaps the aches that would form in her limbs would be more than enough penance for having to follow an order she didn’t agree with.

“I can only hope you make the right choice,” Althea whispered as she took one last look at Manon. Althea could remember being a young woman in love and how love could drive someone to do crazy things. She could only hope that the head on Manon’s shoulders was set on straighter than her own.
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“Manon…Manon,” Manon started to stir at the sound of a familiar voice calling her name. She moaned softly as she pushed herself off of the floor she had been laying on.

Manon found herself laying on the floor of Rody’s apartment this time. At the very least it was a lot cleaner than before and she was spared from waking up on the cold floor of La Gueule de Saturne’s dining room again. Even if it was a dream, which Manon knew that it was this time, that still didn’t mean that she couldn’t feel how warm or cold something was.

Manon sat up and looked around the room. A flash of movement in the corner of her eye had Manon looking at the coffee table. Standing on top of it was the tiny version of Rody she had encountered in her last dream, except he was dressed more casually this time. He didn’t seem any larger unfortunately, but thankfully he didn’t seem any smaller either. At the very least his self-esteem was still intact…

“Rody,” Manon whispered softly as she scooted closer to the coffee table to try and make it easier on the tiny Rody to speak to her.

He looked excited to have Manon for company, even if only temporarily and a part of her was flattered by his reaction. At the very least a part of Rody still loved her dearly. She hadn’t lost to Vincent entirely yet.

Rody shouted up to her, “Are you alright chérie? You’re someplace safe, right?”

Manon replied with a dismissive wave of her hand, “As safe as I could be. I think your safety is more important right now. Do you know where you wound up?”

Rody crossed his arms with a huffy look on his face, insulted by the mere notion that his worry wasn’t necessary. He may be Rody’s self-esteem here, but that still meant that he was part of Rody. And Rody would do nothing but worry about his loved ones with Manon being at the top of that list. Sure, Vincent was quickly climbing up that list himself these days, but Manon still took priority here. Despite the amount of damage her words had done to Rody…

“Like you probably know, he’s stuck in whatever prison that demon guy Tristan has him trapped in. As for where that even is, neither of us know,” Rody replied, gesturing as he spoke as he so often did. He was a much more animated talker than he seemed to realize sometimes. It was the same kind of endearing that watching a puppy tilt their head was.

Manon hummed softly. She should have expected that, especially if Rody was being kept in a prison where the prisoners were constantly drugged. Not much opportunity to explore one’s surroundings if one was knocked unconscious or was left half-delirious.

“But he’s safe, right? Both of you are safe?” Manon questioned, ignoring the way her voice trembled with anxiety.

Rody sighed softly before he replied in a louder voice, “He’s not necessarily somewhere safe, but he isn’t alone at least. He’s not dead yet either, so at least we have that going for us.”

Manon asked quietly, “Is there anyway you can-”

“I’m a manifestation of his self-esteem,” Rody interrupted with a sightly huffy tone in his voice. “I’m incorporeal and I can’t interact with anyone or anything outside of dreams like this. All I could do is offer advice but even then, when we meet my only concern is getting him to treat me and by extension himself better. I can’t stand being weak like this.”

Manon knew that he raised a very good point. What could this tiny version of Rody’s self-esteem even do realistically? It was all down to Rody to keep himself safe in whatever kind of hellish prison he was trapped in and…Manon couldn’t help but worry even more. Especially after seeing the state he was in the last time she had seen him.

His heartbreak had practically been burned onto his face. Desperation had dripped off of every syllable he choked out as he begged her for mercy. To not leave him again. To not give up on him and the second chance she had given him. His bright eyes swimming with tears. His tanned skin flushed with the intensity of his emotions and the sting of her slaps. He had been even more pathetic this past time than when the two of them were convinced that they were finally done being a couple.

Or rather Manon had decided that she was done with being Rody’s girlfriend, he never seemed to give up on her. A devotion that bordered on obsession that led to the unhealthy patterns she wanted him to break free from in the first place. A devotion bordering on madness pure and simple.

She could only imagine how much worse his current situation could be if he was still feeling that same level of emotional turmoil. He was never the best at acting rationally all of the time like most adults should and that ability to act rationally sharply declined when he was emotional. One of many hazards he faced as a man who wore his heart on his sleeve. It was both one of his most endearing yet also his most detrimental traits. A double-edged sword that was an intrinsic part of who he was as a person.

“But will he be alright until I can rescue him?” Manon asked as she resisted the urge to just grab the tiny Rody and start to demand answers from him.

He could see the twitch of her hands and he replied hesitantly, “He should be but…Chérie, it’s far too dangerous to head to where he’s being kept. You could get hurt or die out there or worse! If something were to happen to you-”

Manon interrupted with a confident look on her face as she waved a dismissive hand, “I’ll be perfectly fine! I’m making preparations and plans, which will be more than enough to keep me safe!”

Rody looked like he wanted to argue further but he dropped the subject with a heavy sigh as he lowered his hand. Clearly he knew as well as the actual Rody how hard it could be to get Manon to give up on something she really set her mind to. He knew that his energy had better uses to go towards than trying to convince Manon that she was in over her head.

“Our time is about up. Just…promise me you’ll be careful. If anything were to happen to you…I don’t think Rody would be able to survive that,” Rody explained with a more serious look on his face.

Manon felt the light headed feeling from before return as she replied in a soft voice, “I-I’ll do my best to stay safe…As best as I can in Hell…”

“W-wait what do-”

The world whited out before Manon could hear the rest of Rody’s question. What a shame. Ah well, she’ll see the actual Rody soon enough and be able to tell him everything that’s been going on. No point in worrying about it now.
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Manon’s eyes fluttered open and she stretched out with a soft yawn. She wasn’t sure how long she was asleep for, but she definitely felt a lot more refreshed and alert than she had before her little nap. Too bad she couldn’t get more answers out of Rody’s self-esteem. Ah well. She’ll have the real Rody back in kissing range soon enough.

She looked outside and noticed that the lighting hadn’t changed, so perhaps she wasn’t asleep for as long as she thought she was. Or Hell just didn’t have a day/night cycle like on Earth. Either one seemed likely at the moment.

The view from the bay window was just as equally enticing as the one from the garden. In the distance Manon could make out the shapes of buildings, both commercial looking and residential. Some seemed larger than this manor while most seemed quite a bit smaller. Perhaps the more powerful the demon, the bigger the house? Yeah, that seemed to make sense to Manon. Hell seems like the exact kind of place to reward sinister deeds with material objects like this.

The garden looked just as splendid from an inside view as it did from the outside. She could take a closer look at the tallest of the crystalline trees, which resembled a cherry blossom tree like the ones she had seen in photos her co-worker had taken on her recent trip to Japan. Manon would love to go and see those cherry blossoms in bloom and have a picnic underneath their pretty pink and white shade. Maybe after all of this was over, she could convince Rody to allow her to pay for a trip over there for just the two of them. It would be nice to travel and Rody has always talked about wanting to travel with her someplace nice…Two birds, one stone.

Manon looked around for the book she had previously had placed next to her and wasn’t at all surprised to see the books she had pulled out were stacked neatly next to the edge of the window she was resting in. The maid must have organized them when she brought the pink notebook and pen for Manon to take notes with. How thoughtful! Manon should definitely see what she could do to repay these lovely ladies for their kindness towards her after she managed to get herself and Rody home safely.

Manon picked up the pink notebook, the pen and the book she had tried to read previously. It was time to be serious now. There would be no more games and no more distractions. She needed to make sure her own research was even better than Vincent’s if she wanted to reach Rody first.

The last thing she wanted was to get so close to rescuing Rody only to find that Vincent was the one to beat her to it. That Vincent was the one Rody was showering with thanks and affection. She could practically see the smug look on the chef’s face now as he held Rody close. How he would wordlessly taunt Manon for being too slow to rescue the one man she cared for in this world almost as much as she cared for her father.

Manon opened up the book and notebook and made sure her pen was ready. It was go time. And with that thought in mind, Manon got to work reading her survival guide and taking notes. She was blissfully unaware of how she was playing even further into Isolde’s hands.

Chapter Text

The pot on the stove sizzled thanks to the generous amount of butter, garlic and onions inside of it. Masaru had insisted on cooking some soup for the two of them to eat a bit of now and find a way to pack the rest for later consumption. There was no guarantee that they’d luck into another well-stocked cabin while they were still stuck in these woods. At least until they managed to slay those pesky monsters that were intent on chasing them that is.

Rody, for his part, brought out two bowls and a pair of spoons to eat with. He then set about trying to find a canteen or thermos or something to pack the rest of the soup in. He doubted that he could carry both Masaru and a full pot of soup safely through these woods. At least without winding up wearing the soup himself. Or spilling it somehow on Masaru and the poor guy already had those nasty-

“Rody, could you grab me the carrots from the fridge?” Masaru asked as he stirred the aromatics in the pot once more.

From the smell of things, this was sure to be a delicious meal. One that Rody knew he was a far ways away from being able to prepare himself if his subpar eggs were anything to go by. He had still yet to really cook anything that involved more complicated knife skills than sawing off a piece or two of some bread.

Rody opened the fridge and grabbed the carrots before closing the fridge door behind him. He placed them on the cutting board and was about to return to his currently fruitless task of finding a thermos when Masaru handed him a vegetable peeler.

“Peel and dice these for me, would ya? I don’t want the onions or garlic to burn on me,” Masaru ordered in a paternal voice that made Rody feel just a little homesick. How long has it been since he called home and spoken to his father again? Maybe the next time he calls his mother he should ask her to put the old man on the phone. It would be nice to hear his voice again.

Rody replied sheepishly, “U-um I’ve never really ya know…diced anything before. A-at least not without making a huge mess and stuff!”

Masaru looked over at Rody and raised a brow at him before he commented, “You mean you never helped your mother out in the kitchen as a boy? Some son you are.”

“Hey! I wanted to help, but Maman wanted me to study instead!” Rody defended with an indignant tone in his voice. “She said that I should focus on what college I wanted to go to rather than worry about something as silly as cooking.”

“It's not silly, it’s a life skill,” Masaru replied with a sniff. “Okaa-san* made sure I knew how to feed myself before I left home to live on my own. It was her philosophy that teaching a man to cook will feed him for much longer than just making him a meal.”

Rody tilted his head, “Isn’t that saying meant to be about fishing?”

Masaru reached over to pick up one of the carrots and placed it into Rody’s free hand, “The point is, you’ll be a lot better off if you learn to feed yourself now than be stuck depending on others for meals. Now start by peeling the carrots and be careful. I don’t want to see you cut yourself.”

Rody huffed but complied with Masaru’s order. There was no point in arguing with the man, especially since the only reason he was injured was because he was protecting Rody. If Rody didn’t need to rely on others for everything, and not just little things like cooking, maybe Masaru wouldn’t have gotten hurt at all. They wouldn’t have had to stop here to dress his wounds and rest with two monsters that could show up at any moment to-

Rody could feel Masaru’s eyes giving him a stern look and he quickly returned his attention to the carrot in his hand. He examined the vegetable peeler closely to see what part was the cutting end and which one was the part the peel came out of before he got to work peeling the carrots. He moved his hand in long strokes to take the outer peel off. At least he knew what part of the carrot was the peel and what part was usable. All of those service industry jobs taught him a few things about how vegetables should look and what parts were more edible than others. Although how people could stand eating something as bitter as broccoli, he’d never fully understand. Even that stem part that most people would toss out tasted too bitter to him.

He piled up the peels next to the cutting board, not sure what to really do with them. Maybe they’d just toss them out later or use them for something. Either way, he still had two carrots to tend to and they wouldn’t peel themselves while Rody stood there thinking. It would be nice if they could but alas, they couldn’t. At the very least peeling them would delay him having to figure out what the hell dicing up the carrots meant.

The sound of sizzling onions and garlic combined with the running of the vegetable peeler over the carrots made the room feel a lot…cozier than before. Even the crackling fire in the wood burning stove felt a bit warmer than a moment ago. Maybe it was just the soothing nature of cooking sounds or perhaps it was the hint of domesticity that came with the simple act of cooking with someone. The silence was as warm as the crackling fire and it was a silence Rody could only really equate to the silence that…that Rody experienced back in his apartment with Vince.

The way he was washing dishes while Vince put away the leftovers. It was…nice. Peaceful even. No words were necessary as both knew that they were working as a team to get a job done. It…it almost reminded Rody of how his parents would work together. How Papa would sweep the living room and dust the furniture while Maman hung the laundry out to dry on the clothing line or worked on cooking a meal.

It wasn’t the kind of silence Rody had really experienced with Manon, at least not that he could recall but…God did he really want to experience that silence with her. Thinking of her, even briefly, only made that aching desire to make her his wife intensify. Rody soon noticed that all three carrots were peeled and ready for dicing. He picked up the knife by the handle, something that Vince had already taught him about doing back when Rody first started working at the bistro. At least there was no blood…for now.

Masaru glanced over to see Rody staring at the carrots as if they would somehow tell him how to do the next step. If it wasn’t so pathetic, then Masaru might have laughed. Just how did this man get by without knowing how to cook?

Masaru stepped away from the pot and stood on Rody’s other side. He placed one of the carrots on the cutting board he had been using earlier to dice up the onions and garlic.

“A dice is fairly simple,” Masaru started as he accepted the knife from Rody. He sliced both ends of the carrot off and added those to the pile of scraps before he started to neatly slice the carrot into long, thin strips. “We just slice the carrot long ways to make long sticks like this. Once that is done, we slice the other way very thinly. That makes it a dice.”

Masaru showed Rody exactly what he meant by thin slices. He wasn’t as quick as the chefs Rody had seen hard at work prepping for meals, Vince and Rousseaux being the fastest he’s ever seen with knives, but Masaru was definitely a lot quicker than Rody could ever hope to be. He was just too nervous about cutting himself and getting blood everywhere again…Vince still lectures him about that from time to time and he could still see the nervous flicker in the rest of the chefs’ eyes when he’s near anything too sharp…No wonder Donadieu spoke to him like Rody was one incident away from-

Masaru tapped Rody’s hand, pulling him out of his mental spiral and redirecting his attention to the carrots once more. Maybe Rody did need to consider finding someone to talk to about his constant mental spiraling these days. He…he wasn’t aware of how bad they were getting until now…

“Alright, think you can handle these two on your own? Or would you like me to walk you through them?” Masaru questioned as he handed the knife back to Rody.

Rody grasped the knife handle carefully as he replied slowly, “I…I think I can handle it.”

Masaru patted his shoulder, “I’ll leave you to it then. Just ask me if you need a hand, alright?”

Rody nodded as he grabbed the first carrot and slowly sliced the top and bottom ends off of it. He huffed at how the slices weren’t as neat as Masaru’s were but quickly shook his head. He was nowhere near as practiced as Masaru so he shouldn’t be judging himself by that standard. He just had to do his best and that’s all there was to it.

He sliced the carrots the way Masaru had shown him, which was a lot more difficult than it looked. The carrots were just a hair too round to stay perfectly still so his slices looked thick and wonky. Rody did his best to make up for it by chopping the sticks as thin as he could to try and match the neat dice that Masaru had chopped the carrots into before…but his were definitely nowhere near as pretty as Masaru’s were.

Rody gave it another try on the other carrot left to him, this time the ends were chopped off and looked much neater. Not nearly as neat as he had hoped, yet again, but distinctly better than before. His slices were a touch thinner than before when he cut the carrot long ways into sticks, but not the neat little matchsticks that Masaru had made earlier. Ah well, at least these ones were straight this time instead of the wonky curves they were on the last one. He sliced through them the other way, still dissatisfied with his work but at least he didn’t cut himself. Small miracles, right?

Masaru looked over at the sound of Rody setting the knife onto the counter and patted Rody’s back, “Well done. These will cook up beautifully.”

Rody grumbled, “They aren’t as nice as yours though…”

Masaru added the carrots into the pot and gave them a few quick stirs before seasoning them up with salt and pepper. He looked satisfied for the moment before he finally turned back to face Rody.

“You’re not an experienced cook, right?” Masaru started, as he used one hand to keep knocking the carrots, onions, and garlic around in the pot. He wasn’t even looking and Rody felt even less confident than before.

“My talent is burning cereal,” Rody snorted with a dejected haze in his eyes. Masaru gave him a look that while it wasn’t exactly pity stung just as much as if he was being sent a pitying look.

Masaru patted Rody’s shoulder this time as he reassured, “You’ll get the hang of it eventually, it just takes practice. The only reason I’m as good as I am is because I’ve been helping my mother cook since I was about knee-high. Then as I got older and more skilled, I took over more and more of the kitchen duties.”

Rody didn’t look any more reassured by Masaru’s words. Did everyone else he know have the same blessing? That they had a leg up and an early start to learning such an essential life skill while Rody was expected to study his ass off in school, despite the material coming so easy to him back in the day. What he wouldn’t give to have a chance to turn back the clock and be more insistent with his mother. Insist that he learn how to do such basic things so he wouldn’t be struggling as much now that he’s grown…

Masaru could sense the conflict brewing within Rody and decided to add, “Cooking isn’t the only impressive skill out there to learn. I bet there’s plenty of things you’re great at that others aren’t, myself included.”

“I mean my parents always said that I inherited my Papa’s talent with music,” Rody replied as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Leave it to him to always find a way to make any and every conversation awkward somehow. Stupid, stupid-

“Music, eh? I’ve never been able to carry a tune myself,” Masaru laughed sheepishly. “Even my son’s crying sounds a lot better than my singing does.”

Rody wasn’t sure whether Masaru was lying or not, but he couldn’t deny that he felt a little better. That even the seemingly perfect Masaru had flaws just like Rody did. Maybe…he wasn’t as pathetic as the voices in his head told him he was…just maybe. He wasn’t quite happy with himself yet but maybe with time and practice, like with cooking, he will slowly get better and better at the whole being kinder to himself thing.

“While these are cooking, let’s see if there’s a base we can use to help flavor this. Like a broth or a stock or something along those lines,” Masaru suggested, as he gave the vegetables in the pot one last stir.

Rody smiled a small smile, maybe he could do better with the whole learning how to cook thing with a teacher like Masaru instead of one like Tristan or Isolde. At least with Masaru he didn’t have to deal with the risk of being turned into a newt for misbehaving or doing something wrong. Maybe by the time the two managed to escape this place Rody would be able to not just properly dress a wound, but also properly dress a salad. Or something. He wasn’t sure, words weren’t really his strong suit anymore…but perhaps they could be once again.
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Eventually, the duo managed to find something to store their leftover soup in. Rody had looked under the bed and pulled out a worn-out backpack, which either belonged to the owner of the cabin or some other prisoner of Tristan’s that may or may not have managed to escape. Given the wear and tear on the material of the backpack, Rody knew that whoever had owned this backpack had as hard of a time as Masaru and Rody were having now. He idly wondered where the owner was now…

He pulled the two thermoses out of the bag and set them beside the sink, ready to wash them when a piece of paper fluttered out of the backpack. Masaru went to retrieve it, but Rody beat him to it. He ignored the pointed look that the darker-haired man was giving him as he stated, “You have a back injury, I don’t. So I’ll be doing the crouching and heavy lifting for a while.”

Masaru huffed and returned his attention to the soup that was simmering away on the stove. Just because he was injured didn’t mean that he was entirely useless. He’s had to do far more than just cook with far worse injuries in the past…not that Rody needed to know that anyway. Masaru shook his head to clear away the memories that were trying to claw their way to the surface. He had already cried in front of Rody once. That alone was way too much for Masaru’s taste.

He…he couldn’t afford to show weakness anymore.

Rody flicked open the paper and read it aloud,

“To whoever finds this bag,

Keep it. By the time you find this I’m already gone. I can only hope my daughters can forgive me for being foolish enough to walk into a demon’s den without better protection. Don’t mourn for me, stranger. Your tears would be wasted. -ML”

Rody tilted his head as he queried, “Who’s ML?”

“I’ve seen notes left by ML before,” Masaru replied with an oddly somber voice. “I-I never figured out who they were but…I learned that they came here to try and keep their daughters safe from demons. Since they came here I’m guessing Tristan is involved somehow.”

“Yeah he seems like the type to eat children with toast for breakfast,” Rody commented in a sincere enough sounding voice that Masaru couldn’t help but chuckle.

Masaru pulled a spoon out of the drawer to taste the soup thus far and upon putting it in his mouth and swallowing he huffed a somewhat frustrated huff before he carefully plucked a few dried leaves off of the thyme that was hanging by the window. He placed them on the cutting board and quickly ran the knife over it in a movement Rody recognized from the few times it was slow enough in the bistro to watch the chefs at work.

Donadieu had been kind enough to explain to Rody that the motion helped break down herbs into something much finer than a mere chop alone could. That a finer cut herb released more of that aromatic oil that would help permeate the food without leaving any unsightly chunks of herb that would otherwise marr the appearance of a dish. Rody couldn’t quite get the aesthetics side of it and Donadieu likely knew that because he had added, “I’m sure you wouldn’t find eating a mouthful of parsley to be very enjoyable.”

Rody knew he wouldn’t so he had been content enough to leave the subject there. A part of him wondered if the older chef had missed him but…Realistically Rody knew that he was just the latest in a long line of wait staff that came before him and likely would continue after Vince finally grew tired of Rody’s antics and fired him. He figured that despite how friendly the chefs could be with him at times that they likely wouldn’t bother getting too attached to him. Why get attached when he could be fired at any moment? That he could get replaced even easier that he could be fired.

Rody resisted the urge to just lean against Masaru’s non-injured side. As much as Rody was craving affection of some sort to chase away the growing feelings of inadequacy, realistically Rody knew that it was just that immature and childish part of him that missed getting what felt like a million hugs a day from his parents. Going from an abundance of physical affection to none at all was still far too jarring, even all these years later…

Masaru tasted the soup once more and nodded to himself. Based off of the more relaxed posture he suddenly took on, Rody could guess that whatever was lacking or wrong with their meal had been fixed. If only Rody could do something that impressive…Maybe he’d feel a little better once these thermoses were finally clean.

“Was there anything else in the backpack?” Masaru asked as Rody started to wash up the thermoses.

Rody hummed as he squirted more soap into the thermoses, “Well I saw another first aid kit in there, but I didn’t check to see what was in that one. We could probably combine what is left of the one here with what’s in the other one to make a full kit again.”

Masaru nodded as he continued stirring their soup and making a motion that Rody could really only see out of the corner of his eye. Whatever Masaru was doing would hopefully make their meal taste good. Given how good that curry was earlier perhaps Rody wouldn’t question the method behind the madness and just accept it for what it was. Besides, he wasn’t planning on becoming a famous chef like Vince. Rody just wanted to be able to make more than a sandwich or subpar eggs without the risk of setting his entire apartment building on fire.

“Taste this for me,” Masaru’s voice was the only warning Rody got before he found a mouthful of hot soup in his mouth.

Rody jumped slightly but soon relaxed as the flavors of thyme, garlic and carrot mingled on his tongue. He shuddered as he moaned a soft moan at how warm it made him feel. His cheeks started to burn when he heard Masaru snicker and comment, “It’s that good, huh?”

Rody stuttered, “Sh-shut up! I just like good food, okay?”

Masaru ruffled Rody’s hair and suddenly he felt a bit better than before. Was that his plan this whole time? Had he really sensed Rody’s quickly darkening mood and did something jovial and light enough to dissipate that mood? Was that what being a competent adult could accomplish? Suddenly Rody’s desire to reach those goals Manon had set for him grew. He wanted to be able to comfort those around him and be able to provide for them just like Masaru could. He wanted to be a protector like Masaru was…Suddenly Rody now had someone he could realistically measure his accomplishments against. Masaru wasn’t some famous chef like Vince or renowned critics like Manon’s father or even an accomplished music professor like Rody’s Papa had been…Masaru seemed…normal. Just an ordinary guy like Rody was.

Well, as ordinary as a guy who could give himself-

Rody dropped the thermos in his hand back into the sink as he whipped around to look at Masaru. Masaru had jumped at the noise and held the wooden spoon he had been stirring the soup with like it was one of his daggers only…he held onto the handle with both hands and had a wild look in his eyes. A cornered look like Masaru was a tasty little lamb and Rody was a hungry wolf looming over him.

“You can give yourself wings?! How?!” Rody sputtered, not paying much attention to how loud his voice was.

In a blink Rody found himself pinned to the ground, the spoon resting across his throat like the knife Vince had used in his nightmares had been. Masaru was sitting on Rody’s chest with a glazed over look in his eyes that weren’t focused on Rody yet hyper aware of every tiny movement Rody had made at the same time.

“H-hey! What gives?!” Rody snapped as he tried to flip Masaru off of his chest. The added weight on his chest was making it hard to breathe. Just what was Masaru eating before Rody showed up? “Are you out of your mind?!”

Masaru pressed the wooden spoon even harder against Rody’s throat, trembling at the volume of the auburn-haired man’s voice. His gaze kept flicking between Rody’s throat and the spoon, as if he hadn’t been seeing-

‘He’s…he’s not here-er well he’s not mentally here,’ Rody thought as he realized that Masaru hadn’t made so much as a whisper or squeak since Rody had dropped the thermos into the sink.

Rody could remember his Papie* would have similar spells when he heard overly loud noises as well, especially if they made a bang or boom sound. His grandfather had served in the first World War and from what little Rody could remember of his Papie’s stories about the war, it wasn’t a very…easy experience. He would describe the way that bullets would fly through the air and how the guns would make a popping or rattling sound as the bullets would fly out of them. The heat of the metal against his hands, hands that despite being mangled by war were still able to pat Rody’s head so gently when he was just a boy.

Rody could still remember stories about how being blinded by mustard gas was his Papie’s worst fear…And how quickly Rody’s Papa would usher Rody out of the room to keep him from hearing about horrors unfit for a child to hear. Rody never got to hear the full story from his grandfather before the man had passed away…maybe something in those stories would-

‘W-wait! Mamie* would sing to him! Music helped him remember that he wasn’t in the trenches anymore!’ Rody thought as he took as deep of a breath as he could to settle his nerves.

Rody relaxed his previously tense muscles and noticed that Masaru was still watching him intently only…he had his head tilted ever so slightly and a slight twitch at the corner of his lips. Rody could only guess what the man was thinking let alone what he was feeling, what he was seeing…But Rody knew that Masaru was kind enough to comfort him when he had needed it and had risked his life to save Rody’s so Rody felt he had to return the favor. Not even entirely because of the whole being a nicer guy thing, although that made up a major part of it, but also because he really didn’t want to feel like he owed something to the guy. How could Rody possibly repay him if they wound up escaping the manor and going their separate ways? Rody would never be able to save up enough money to travel to wherever Masaru lived to return the favor that way…

While Rody couldn’t remember the exact song his Mamie used to sing to his Papie to calm him down, Rody did have an idea about what song he could sing. It was calming and would bring his voice very low and one that his Maman would sing to him when his Papa was away at work.

Rody took in a breath and kept his eyes focused on Masaru’s despite how unnerving it was to see them so unfocused and glazed over. Rody exhaled softly and ignored the way Masaru kept the spoon against his throat or how his eyes narrowed just a little bit.

Rody started to sing in a very low and soft voice, “Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot, prête-moi ta plume, pour écrire un mot*.”

Rody noticed the pressure started to lessen against his throat and Masaru kept watching him carefully, his head tilted as if he was trying to figure out who was actually underneath him. Rody decided to keep singing until Masaru finally snapped out of whatever spell he seemed to be under.

“Ma chandelle est morte, je n'ai pas de feu. Ouvre-moi ta porte, pour l’amour de Dieu*,” Rody kept his voice low no matter how much nicer it’d probably sound in a slightly higher key but this low rumbly tone seemed to be making the gears start to turn in Masaru’s head.

The darker-haired man watched the movement of Rody’s lips as his brows furrowed. Was it a long shot using a French nursery rhyme to make Masaru realize where he was? Perhaps but…well Rody didn’t know any other languages outside of a smattering of English. Even if he did, Rody wasn’t sure he’d know what language would make things better and which would make things worse. Perhaps confusion would be the best feeling to invoke if comfort was out of the question.

“Au clair de la lune, Pierrot répondit: ‘Je n’ai pas de plume, je suis dans mon lit. Vas chez la voisine, je crois qu’elle y est, car dans sa cuisine, on bat le briquet.’*,” Rody’s voice came out a lot easier once Masaru shuffled back off of his chest and instead settled onto Rody’s lap. Not a much better position per say, but it made breathing a whole lot easier.

Masaru still had a tight grip on the wooden spoon, but he wasn’t actively trying to hurt Rody with it…for now. Rody knew he had to take what blessings he could and at least get Masaru to a point where he could try talking out what he was seeing. This silence between Rody’s singing wasn’t exactly a comfortable or companionable silence like before. No it…it felt like the silence that came when a hunter had an arrow knocked and ready on their bow, just waiting for the perfect moment to let it loose to take down their prized game.

Rody repressed the shiver that went down his spine at the analogy and continued to sing, “Au clair de la lune, s’en fut Harlequin, frapper chez la brune, elle répond soudain: -Qui frappe de la sortie?*”

Masaru continued watching Rody and the tension started to leave his shoulders. He still watched Rody like a hawk, but he didn’t look like a tightly wound spring anymore. Instead he looked a bit more like a cat watching fish swim around in a fish tank. Again, not necessarily a comforting thought but Rody took it as a sign that the danger was starting to pass. That his traveling companion was starting to get a hold of his senses.

“Il dit à son tour: -Ouvre votre porte, pour le Dieu d’Amour,*” Rody’s voice was still steady and he tried to prop himself onto his elbows only to see Masaru flinch and tighten his grip on the wooden spoon once more. Rody eased himself back onto the floor and sighed softly in relief as Masaru relaxed once more. He would have to bide his time just a little more.

“Au clair de la lune, on n’y voit qu’un peu. On chercha la plume, on chercha du feu*,” Rody moved much more slowly this time, which Masaru seemed to be comfortable enough with to allow. Rody was able to sit up but kept himself in a more slouched position, which Masaru seemed to relax further at the sight of. Perhaps if he no longer perceived Rody was a threat then Rody could make a much needed breakthrough.

Rody knew that he was reaching the end of his little song, so he had to put his all into making his voice sound as soothing and gentle as he possibly could. Masaru loosened his hold on the spoon once more and his eyes took on a more half-lidded look to them. As if he was trying to fight off sleep rather than trying to look intimidating. Hopefully that meant that whatever was affecting Masaru was wearing off…

“En cherchant d’la sorte, je n’sais c’qu’on trouva; mais je sais qu’la porte, sur eux se ferma*,” Rody purposefully drew out the last note long enough to ease the spoon out of Masaru’s slackening hold.

Masaru didn’t seem to notice his lack of weapon anymore and instead rested his head against Rody’s strong shoulder. Rody hesitantly started to rub Masaru’s shoulder, remembering at the last moment that Masaru’s back was still very injured, and kept humming the melody of his little song. Masaru finally relaxed fully and allowed Rody to keep rubbing his shoulder in a soft, circular motion.

Rody whispered softly, “Are you still with me, mon ami?”

Masaru hummed softly and looked up at Rody briefly, his eyes flickering in a haze before he suddenly bolted upright with a much clearer look in his eyes. He hissed at the sudden movement and Rody pulled his hand away to keep from making things worse.

“You alright there?” Rody asked as Masaru got his breathing under control once more.

Masaru replied in a croaky voice, “I…I think so? Fuck, how long was I out for?”

Rody peeled himself off of the floor and hoisted Masaru up with ease. The darker haired man took the spoon back from Rody and stirred the soup once more. Thankfully it hadn’t burnt while Rody was dealing with…well whatever all of that was!

Rody leaned back against the counter as he replied, “I dunno, five-ish minutes? It felt a lot longer than it actually was.”

Masaru carded a hand through his hair as he continued to work in silence. Rody wanted to push for more answers and he felt the words on the tip of his tongue, begging to spill forth from his mouth but…Well he really didn’t want to be pinned down again. Especially since Masaru looked far more lucid than before and was probably-no definitely able to actually hurt Rody with the wooden spoon. He might even-

“I didn’t…hurt you…did I?” Masaru’s voice pulled Rody out of his thoughts. It was a lot more…hesitant and tinged of vulnerability. Flavors that Rody didn’t associate with the man standing at the stove. Not when he’s proven, well before that incident anyway, that he was strong and for the most part very in control of his emotions. That fear had no real place in his world save for moments when it was bottled away for too long and exploded like a raw egg being put into a microwave.

Rody felt his throat and shook his head. He replied in as reassuring of a voice as he could muster, “Not that I can tell. You spooked me more than anything.”

Masaru hung his head in defeat as he rested one of his hands over his forehead and mumbled, “Fuck. Why does this happen every time I meet someone here?”

“This has happened before?” Rody questioned, wincing at how loud his voice came out and how Masaru flinched at the volume. Sometimes the auburn-haired man hated how he had inherited his mother’s loudness…

Masaru huffed as he moved his hand to wrap it over his chest and hold onto the arm that was stirring the soup diligently. Like a hug almost. Rody worried his lower lip at the silence that followed and he wondered, ‘Does this mean we aren’t…friends anymore?’

Rody returned to his previous task of washing out the thermoses, but moved a lot more carefully than before. He set each one down to dry a lot more quietly than he would have normally, which made Masaru’s shoulders slouch and a soft sigh to pass his lips. Whether out of relief at being spared from loud noises so soon after what had just happened or frustration at Rody feeling like he has to act more carefully around him than before was a bit of a mystery. Perhaps it was a combination of the two? Rody, while admittedly okay with emotional stuff, wasn’t always the best when it came to reading the room or the emotions of others. Not when they got super complicated anyway…

The air was filled with the smell of the soup, a warm and almost earthy scent that made Rody feel at home. Like he was a little boy at his Maman’s knee after he had fetched her fresh vegetables or herbs from the family garden for whatever delectable meal she had in mind for the family to enjoy that day. He never minded how dirty his hands got or how hard the work was when it came to his Maman. He would do anything for her and-

“Here, make sure you eat it while it’s still hot,” Masaru’s voice pulled Rody out of his thoughts when a bowl of steaming soup was placed on the counter in front of him.

Rody looked up Masaru’s arm and met his sapphire eyes briefly. Rody tried to flash him a thankful and reassuring grin, but Masaru averted his gaze too quickly to meet Rody’s gaze for long. Rody huffed quietly and resisted the urge to just grab Masaru’s wrist. After what had happened earlier Rody might wind up with an actual knife to his throat this time…

Rody replied in what he hoped would be a reassuring tone, “Thanks, but you don’t have to-”

Masaru took his own bowl and turned towards the door as he answered in a quiet voice, “You don’t have to worry about it. I…it’d be safer for you if we parted ways here.”

Rody shook his head and threw caution aside as he grabbed onto Masaru’s arm to keep him from leaving. The dark-haired man stiffened up immediately at Rody’s warm touch, but Rody didn’t care. Not when he knew that someone he was starting to care about was about to do something stupid.

“And let you try and travel through whatever other traps Tristan has while you’re still injured? I might be an idiot, but I’m not that stupid,” Rody scolded as he shifted his grip from being around Masaru’s upper arm down to his free hand.

Masaru laughed a soft, bitter laugh, “You’d be an even bigger idiot if you continue to travel with me. I’m…not as safe to be around as you seem to think.”

“Safer than I would be if I were to run into Tristan by myself,” Rody retorted as he tightened his hold on Masaru’s hand. His eyes met Masaru’s once more, each set blazing with a stubborn determination to win their little argument.

Masaru swore under his breath. Rody had a point there. While he may have survived however long enduring whatever sort of torture Tristan had in mind for him, it was still not guaranteed that Rody’s string of good luck (if you could call it that) would continue. Rody didn’t have some sort of…unnatural ability like Masaru had to keep himself safe. Not as far as Masaru could tell anyway. Rody seemed far too…normal to have any major skeletons in his closet…Well as normal as someone who made a deal with demons could possibly be anyway…

Masaru huffed, “Still…would you rather run the risk of having someone you trust hurt you again?”

Rody shook his head, “I don’t know how you choose to live but…I can’t worry constantly about whether those I trust will hurt me or not. Hurt is just a part of life and…well most people are inherently good, right?”

Rody wasn’t sure what it was, whether it was something in his voice or his word choice but…Masaru’s shoulders slumped and whatever stubbornness was blazing in his eyes died down into just embers of defiance. Maybe he was just too tired from being injured and having said injury getting treated to really argue any further. All that really mattered was that he was pulling against Rody’s hold on his hand anymore.

“Let’s just eat something and get a little rest, okay? We can hash out the details later,” Rody continued speaking in what felt like a reassuring voice. The words felt practically drenched in comfort when they came out of his mouth. A warm feeling that dribbled out of his mouth-

Masaru turned back around as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe the side of Rody’s mouth off as he teased, “Alright, alright, we’ll eat something. No need to drool all over the floor now.”

Rody’s face flushed as he turned away from Masaru’s now teasing grin. His stomach rumbled traitorously, which only further served to make him feel like an even bigger idiot than he had before. Why did his seemingly bottomless appetite have to flare up when it served to embarrass him the most?! If anything, having to deal with treating a gaping wound earlier should have dampened it!

Masaru patted Rody’s shoulder and reassured him, “Relax, adrenaline will do that to you. You probably burnt through a lot more energy than you realized.”

Rody hung his head but allowed himself to finally relax. Perhaps Masaru teasing him could be taken as a sign that the darker-haired male wasn’t just going to up and abandon Rody to the wolves through some misguided attempt at protecting him…What Masaru thought he would be protecting Rody from surely couldn’t be that much worse that whatever Tristan could conjure up…Right?
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The soup was far better than the soup that Vince had made him earlier. Maybe it was just the circumstances that it was made under or perhaps it was the fact that Masaru had functioning-No…no Vince was more than able to make technically perfect meals but…Well Masaru had put a level of love into what he cooked that…that Vince just couldn’t for some reason.

The leftovers had been packed away into the freshly cleaned thermoses for later consumption and right now Rody was keeping watch while Masaru got some more rest. The darker-haired man had nodded off after finishing his meal and had wound up resting his head against Rody’s shoulder while the auburn-haired man finished up his own meal. Rody didn’t feel his cheeks burn at the intimate action like he would have earlier or if it was Vi-Manon! Manon. Yes, yes. Rody would only let Manon rest on him like this! Tooootally wouldn’t do anything even remotely similar to this with his boss. Heh, heh, heh.

Rody had managed to put both of their bowls aside and tucked Masaru into the bed after checking his bandages. None of them seemed to have come loose yet, thankfully, but they would likely need to be changed before they set out on the road once more. Who knew how easily it would be to find a sanitary place to clean his wound again when they inevitably had to set back out into the woods once more.

Unlike Rody, Masaru was a very quiet sleeper. He didn’t snore and his breaths were very quiet, almost alarmingly so. If Rody couldn’t see the rise and fall of Masaru’s shoulders with each breath, which he could see fairly easily with Masaru resting on his non-injured side, then Rody would have sworn that the other man in the cabin was dead.

With the uncomfortable reminder of what had happened the last time he had been careless with his noise level (Rody really needed to see someone about getting some neck protection), Rody quietly washed up their bowls, spoons, the wooden stirring spoon and the soup pot. He didn’t find the task to be any more enjoyable than before his…other incident with Isolde but the memory of that incident had Rody feeling far more paranoid about letting any sort of dishes pile up without being cleaned now. The scrubbing motions, while repetitive, didn’t bring him a sense of satisfaction like he had hoped that it would.

Instead Rody got to thinking, something that most people (including himself at times) thought that Rody wasn’t really capable of doing. Something a bit more…deep than trying to figure out what he was doing next or what his next meal would be…Which yes both were important but not necessarily the kind of thinking most would see as important as the mental road that Rody was starting to travel down.

What was he going to do? Not necessarily to get out of Hell, that would come to him sooner or later but…No he was more concerned about what would come after that. Namely what escaping would mean for the safety of those he cared about the most. Those marks that were starting to form on either side of his neck meant that Tristan and Isolde could hear his every conversation and possibly his every thought. They could probably see every movement he was making as well and-

Rody looked back over to where Masaru was still soundly sleeping. His rescuer and savior who was only as badly injured as he was now because of Rody’s inability to protect himself…Traveling together would put Masaru at risk as well. Who’s to say that Tristan wasn’t listening in now and plotting some sort of dramatic scene where he would swoop in to capture the duo when they least expected it?! Or-or find some sort of way to sew discord into their partnership-er travelling arrangement! Yup! Travelling arrangement! The words partner and partnership left Rody feeling a little hot under the collar and a bit too sweaty to feel well totally normal about it…

Rody knew it would be wrong to just leave Masaru behind like this, especially after the fuss Rody made over Masaru trying to leave himself but…Well things change! And Rody was trying to be a better guy here and better guys don’t let nasty demons mess with innocent people right? Right. Of course Rody was making the right decision! He had gotten into college with an academic scholarship for a reason!

So Rody decided to try and find some paper to leave a note for his slumbering companion explaining his decision. Was it cowardly to just leave a note and not talk to Masaru face to face like before? Yes. But Rody knew that his resolve would crumble in the face of Masaru’s anguish and the hurt tone his voice would take on and…Rody knew his heart too well. He wouldn’t be able to handle the guilt if Masaru was awake to see him leave…

It would be better for both of them if Rody left. Masaru wouldn’t have to worry about getting injured needlessly anymore and Rody wouldn’t have nearly as much potential blood on his hands, so it was a win-win really!

And then Rody would have to find a way to quietly cut ties with the rest of the people around him. He would have to quit his job to keep both Vince and the rest of the chefs safe. No point in sticking around there if all nine of his co-workers and his boss would just become easy targets for Tristan and Isolde to mess with in order to get revenge against Rody.

Rody would also have to find a way out of his current apartment, pack up a bag and leave Paris. No. France in general. His parents still lived in the country and he really didn’t want either of them to get hurt. They were already so old and in delicate health and…Rody just wasn’t ready to say goodbye to his parents just yet. Especially over something as easily avoidable as this and…

Rody would have to end things with Manon. He would have to drop off whatever things she had left at his apartment over at her place and leave without telling her where he was going. Given how she had screamed at him and hit him the last time he had seen her…perhaps she would welcome the thought of him no longer living in the same country as her…

From there Rody wasn’t sure what he’d do. Maybe he’d stow away on a boat or sneak into the luggage compartment on a plane to some foreign country? Yeah, that always worked in the movies! He could start a brand-new life someplace new! But it would have to be a far more isolated life than the one he led now. Maybe he could live in a remote forest or island or something!

Oh that could work! He could live on an island and play his guitar to pass the time! Rody could learn how to hunt and fish and he could learn to cook his meals on his own time! He could build a little hut out of leaves and sticks and-

Rody nodded to himself proudly as he put away the last dried dish in his hand. Yes. He truly was a genius sometimes! And those asswipes from college had the nerve to say him flunking out as practically inevitable! Why this plan was absolutely flawless and Rody intended on getting a start on it right now!

Rody dried off his hands and turned towards the bed, or well more specifically one of the tables beside the bed. Hopefully one of them would have a notebook and a pen for Rody to start writing letters and notes to those he cared about. He might be cutting ties with them but…well he didn’t want to necessarily leave on bad terms or anything crazy like that. No, he wanted to let them all know that he was leaving to protect them! That he was doing what was best for them and that he would be perfectly happy and safe living on his little island! He could survive off of coconuts and crabs for the rest of his days and get an even nicer tan than he had now! Maybe he’d get super lucky and the island would have a mermaid he could marry!

Mermaids were immune to demon magic right?...Maybe Rody would have to find one and ask her.

Rody’s hand reached out to grab the drawer handle when Masaru’s hand grabbed onto his. Rody jumped and looked over towards the bed-

He tilted his head and furrowed his brows as he thought, ‘Is he…still asleep?’

Masaru’s eyes were still closed and his breathing was still a lot deeper than when he was awake, but he was mumbling something soft and incoherent into his pillow. Whatever it was, he was distressed enough to squeeze Rody’s hand tightly but he wasn’t distressed enough to wake up. Not yet anyway and Rody really needed to find a way to extract his hand from Masaru’s so he could escape.

“Kaa-san, please don’t go,” Masaru whimpered in a pathetic voice that made Rody pause.

‘Who does he think he’s talking to?’ Rody thought as he moved to try and gently pry Masaru’s hand from his own.

Masaru’s grip tightened as he continued to plead, “Please, don’t leave me alone with Otou-sama*. Please, I can protect you. I can get stronger, I promise.”

Rody paused once more at the feeling of Masaru’s hand trembling in his own and he could hear the other man start to sniffle and sob quietly. Rody chewed his lower lip for a moment before he could feel his resolve to leave start to slip away from him.

‘You can’t leave him like this,’ the more reasonable part of Rody stated in a matter-of-fact voice that reminded Rody painfully of Vince. ‘He’s not stable and it’s not safe for either of you to try and make it alone. Do you really want to make someone as powerful as him into your enemy by doing something as stupid as abandoning him?’

Rody shook his head as he thought, ‘He-he wouldn’t really go after me if I left, right? He’d understand why I need to leave! B-besides, he tried to leave first so he-’

Masaru pulled Rody closer and buried his face into Rody’s stomach. Rody tensed up at the feeling of Masaru’s arms wrapping around his waist and the feeling of the man’s warm tears soaking through his shirt. Rody’s hands hovered awkwardly by where Masaru had buried his face as Rody felt his heart start to beat a little louder.

Masaru’s sobs were muffled by the fabric of Rody’s shirt and Rody’s stomach, but they had yet to die down entirely. They were still audible enough to make that protective part of Rody flare up once more. He just…had to find out what was making Masaru upset and fix it. Not because of any deeper feelings or anything but because it just…well Rody was sure that it would be the right thing to do.

That it would be the right thing to make sure that Masaru, someone who was willing to break bread with Rody and protected him from monsters on more than one occasion, would be freed from whatever was making him so upset in the first place. If the roles were reversed and it was Rody struggling with…well whatever it was Masaru was struggling with, then Rody was sure that Masaru would at least try and help Rody make sense of whatever he was feeling and why.

Rody hesitantly started to toy with Masaru’s hair in what he had hoped would read as a comforting gesture rather than the uncertain one he knew it actually was. Rody was never good at the whole comfort thing when it came to men…Well mostly because the men he knew didn’t necessarily open up like this or let their guard down enough to be vulnerable and stuff. No, Rody was used to the women in his life being more openly vulnerable like this and Rody couldn’t comfort Masaru the way he would comfort a vulnerable woman…Especially since more often than not those vulnerable women were whomever he was dating at the time…

Rody marveled at how nice Masaru’s hair felt as it slid between his fingers like black and white strands of silk. How did someone who was trapped in a-Wait…Rody knew exactly how Masaru could keep his hair this nice. Tristan likely had more bathrooms than he knew what to do with so obviously Masaru was making use of several of those to keep himself clean. If he hadn’t then Rody would have probably smelled him before he saw him given that it was ages since Masaru had initially arrived at the manor. At least according to Masaru himself. But who knew how the passage of time actually worked in Hell? It could easily have been centuries since Masaru had arrived but it only felt like a few years to him…Or it could have been a few days that felt like years…

Masaru suddenly pulled away from Rody and stared up at him with a horrified look on his face. His cheeks burned a bright red that had Rody surprised. He almost expected Masaru to have lost too much blood to really be able to blush at all…Huh. Guess the human body was a lot more capable of amazing things than Rody initially thought.

“You were having a nightmare or something,” Rody explained as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. He averted his gaze to avoid the scandalized look Masaru’s face took on as he started to readjust himself in the bed. “And um…I went to check on you and…yeah…”

Masaru grumbled something under his breath that Rody couldn’t entirely make out, possibly in whatever language words like gaki and Kaa-san came from. The man’s face looked far too conflicted for Rody to believe that he was content with Rody’s explanation alone. Perhaps-

“I didn’t…say anything strange…right?” Masaru questioned hesitantly with a fearful flicker in his eyes that made Rody’s heart hurt just a little bit. Nobody should have to be that afraid of another person, especially someone that’s supposed to be a trusted travelling companion.

Rody contemplated lying and saying that Masaru hadn’t said a word but one look at the man’s eyes told Rody that he wouldn’t appreciate being lied to. Rody knew that he would expect total honesty and…well Rody hoped that this wouldn’t blow up in his face.

Rody rubbed the back of his neck once more as he replied, “W-well you were calling out for someone and begging them not to leave you with some other person. I…well I can’t really tell who you were calling out for but you thought that I was…well the person you thought I was when you were knocked out before.”

Masaru’s eyes widened as he stuttered, “I-I did that earlier? Shit…”

Rody waved his hands in what he hoped was a reassuring manner as he replied quickly, “I-I wasn’t bothered by it or anything! I mean I get nightmares all the time so I really have no room to judge anybody for theirs!”

Masaru eased himself into a seated position and gripped onto his hair with a white-knuckled grip, curling in on himself as much as his bandaged injury would allow. He muttered something under his breath again that Rody couldn’t decipher, but Rody could read Masaru’s body language well enough to know that his travelling partner was distressed.

Rody sat next to Masaru on the bed and reassured him once more, “You don’t have to worry so much. I won’t judge you for having…ya know. Little blips of blackouts or nightmares or whatever they are. You…well you saw what happens to me when I get into my own head too deep and shit…”

Masaru mumbled quietly, “They shouldn’t be seen at all. They’re…I’m a fucking Miyazaki. We aren’t meant to show weakness…”

Rody wrapped an arm around Masaru’s shoulders and ignored how stiff the other man got before Rody spoke in a serious voice, “We all have moments of weakness just as we have moments of great strength. That’s what being alive means. If everything was entirely perfect that…well it wouldn’t be real life right? We have moments of sadness and terrible shit come up to remind us of why those good moments and happiness are so…good.”

A part of Rody was surprised that something so…profound actually came out of his mouth. It…well it sounded like something his parents would tell him and…Well Rody could really only fall back onto their advice in a situation like this right? It wasn’t like he had conversations like that with his past girlfriends or anything. They all had put him into the box of loveable idiot with nary a thought in his head and who was he to disappoint them? If they thought that he was capable of thinking of something deep then they might expect him to do more than he was currently doing now. They might expect him to get some lofty job like being a professor or some shit instead of being a waiter and…Well Rody didn’t want to spend the rest of his life chained to a desk.

Masaru remained silent but he rested his head against Rody’s shoulder. He exhaled a deep sigh and relaxed as his eyes slipped closed.

It wasn’t an answer nor an explanation for what was going on. It wouldn’t answer any of the burning questions that were flicking through Rody’s mind at a million miles an hour and practically jumping down his throat to be asked before he felt like combusting. But…

The quiet of the moment returned to the companionable silence that both of them seemed to enjoy and maybe that would be good enough for now. They had a whole manor left to explore and find an escape from and at least two monsters out for their heads. Perfection could wait until they were someplace safer to have the serious talks they needed to have.

“Thanks…for not pushing,” Masaru’s voice was so full of relief that Rody almost felt tears come to his eyes. Nobody should have to sound that relieved over something so simple. Just what kind of life did the man lead to make him this way?

Rody rested his head against Masaru’s as he replied, “We have all the time in the world while we work on an escape plan, right? Why rush things?”

Masaru laughed a short amused laugh that caught Rody off guard slightly. He didn’t think Masaru was capable of laughing so…genuinely. Every other little laugh felt forced or like part of a mask that the other man wore to keep up whatever kind of appearance he felt the need to keep in place at all times. But this…this felt like the genuine Masaru. A Masaru who was more open about his feelings and more generous with his kind gestures…er well at least that’s the vibe Rody got anyway.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an odd one, Rody?”

“Well I mean my boss Vince has said that he wants to dissect me sometimes because he can’t understand how my head works most days!”

“...Should I be worried about what happens to you after we get out of here?”

“Eh, Vince is harmless! He wouldn’t do anything that drastic! Besides, I think he might wind up with a mutiny on his hands since the rest of his staff thinks I’m pretty cool!”

A bit of a lie for sure. Rody didn’t even know if half of the staff knew his name let alone knew him well enough to have any sort of opinion of him, either positive or negative. Well Louvet seemed to like him enough to nod at him and help reverse whatever kind of magic Tristan had cast on him without asking for anything in return. And Manet usually joked with him and Donadieu was always giving Rody some sort of serene and sage advice…So at least three chefs had his back! A third would be enough to stage a successful mutiny, right? Especially since Louvet was Vince’s right hand man and all.

Masaru could see the slight twitch on the corner of Rody’s mouth and could tell that his auburn-haired companion was lying but…Well Masaru was still too tired to call him out on what was likely a harmless lie. No point in souring his only successful partnership thus far over something so simple and silly, right?

Maybe at some point Masaru would feel safe enough to clue Rody in on what was going on…but until then he would have to find a way to keep his emotional and mental state more firmly under control than he has been. Kind and patient though Rody has been with him, Masaru knew that the man had a limit and he really wasn’t looking forward to seeing what Rody’s limit was. Especially since he looked more than strong enough to leave some lasting damage on Masaru’s already injured self.

Chapter Text

The night was starting to wind down after the rescue team was reunited once more. Vincent had excused himself to both tend to business in his office as well as to take a moment to head to his apartment to gather up his own supplies for their mission. It only made sense that he went last given that he literally lived right above their resting place for the night. It would have been a waste of time to stop here first and then go to everyone else’s apartments. Time was of the essence and Rody likely didn’t have a lot of it to spare. Not whilst he was stuck in Hell anyway.

The rest of the rescue team went about their usual bedtime routines and idly chit-chatted amongst themselves as they did so. This was no different from the times they had to stay in the bistro due to inclement weather making traveling back to their respective apartments far too dangerous to even attempt it. As much of a hardass as Vincent could be most of the time, he didn’t necessarily want the blood of his employees on his hands when the issue could be avoided entirely. Not necessarily out of a fondness for his staff (which he would deny having unless plied with a few bottles of wine) but rather out of wanting to avoid the whole hiring and training process of breaking in a new chef and bringing them up to his exacting standards.

Manet and Boucher were seated in their respective sleeping spots and occupied their time by just chatting with one another. They didn’t get much of a chance to talk to one another more casually like this and Boucher’s therapist did suggest trying to talk with his co-workers more to help make having conversations with other people less frightening to him. Manet usually was very chatty, so Boucher wouldn’t necessarily have to do as much talking himself. Definitely the safer option compared to the quieter members of the staff like Louvet or Dior.

“So then I said that my set was much cooler and had way more potential than his train set and he had the nerve to call me a child!” Manet continued explaining between sips of his peach flavored tea to Boucher, who was enjoying his own peppermint tea with a touch of honey added into it.

Boucher furrowed his brows as he asked, “Aren’t those Lego things meant for children?”

Manet sniffed indignantly, “Lego is for all ages, not just children! Why my girlfriend and I are currently working on making a scale model of Paris using only Lego and it’s going to be absolutely magical once we’re done with it!”

“And what makes your Lego building different from the train guy?” Faucher questioned as he laid down another card into the pile that was steadily growing between him, Dior and Beaumont.

“It’s different because Lego can be built by anyone of any skill level while train guys tend to be more elitist about what they do,” Manet replied seriously as he passed more of the cherry candies he had been previously munching on over to the trio playing Poker.

Donadieu was reading from his Bible in the little part of the sleeping area he had claimed for himself. His mouth silently moved along with his eyes across the pages and he felt reassured by the familiar words of God that spoke to him from each passage. He may be heading into the very pits of Hell to rescue his coworker, but that didn’t mean that he was going in without protection. If nothing else, then Donadieu knew that he could rely on his faith in the protective power of The Lord to keep him safe on his journey. Perhaps if he prayed hard enough that protection could be extended to his fellow co-workers on the rescue team, his boss and maybe even Rody and Manon.

Vincent was back in his office working on some paperwork that needed to be done before they set off on a journey that would take who knows how long. He had everything set up so that all of his bills would be paid in advance and he made sure to reach out to his regular suppliers to let them know that the bistro would be closed for a little while so they would have to pause on deliveries for the time being.

“Yes, the bistro will be closed for a few days so you will have plenty of time to replace the windows and the front door without needing to worry about customers or staff getting in your way,” Vincent stated as he jotted down a few numbers and prices he had heard on the other end of the phone. Why not get his windows and front door repaired while he was on this journey as well? It would make an excellent cover story for why the bistro was closed in the first place. Plus he doubted that after they finished their mission that he would have the mental energy to try and schedule those much needed repairs. Better to get it done while they were away so he could come back to a freshly repaired building and be able to get his team rested enough to make up for lost time.

He had reached out to a few of his contacts in the communications sector to let them know that someone had vandalized his bistro and that it would need to be closed for a few days to repair the damages done to his property. Vincent knew that they would not only spread the word for him that his restaurant would be closed for repair, but would allow him to close the bistro without any sort of risk to his professional reputation. Based on what he was paying them, he would likely stand to see an even more impressive rise in status after they spun their little tale of Vincent being the victim of vandalism from some jealous competitor who didn’t like the idea of someone as young as Vincent being at the helm of a successful bistro.

Vincent allowed himself to smirk smugly as he continued to listen to the contractor list off the necessary supplies and expenses. Sometimes it paid to be as clever as he was. All of that hard work he had put into making connections and collecting favors from his time in culinary school was starting to bear a very large bounty of fruit. Fruit that Vincent could use at his leisure without ever having to worry about it spoiling. It paid well to know when to be silent and listen to conversations going on around him and when to use that information to his advantage.

Lavigne was pacing anxiously by the bathroom doors, waiting for Rousseaux and Louvet to get done brushing their teeth so she could have that private conversation with Louvet she absolutely needed to have. If she didn’t do anything to try and set things straight then she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight and…well she would be pretty useless on their rescue mission if she was too tired to function, right?

Louvet also deserved some sort of apology for her words earlier as well. The man clearly was bothered by what was said and everyone’s reactions so…why not start rebuilding the parts of that bridge that was their working relationship that had been damaged this evening? Lavigne knew that if the roles were reversed that she would want to start mending fences and such as soon as possible to return to their norm as soon as possible. Hopefully Louvet felt the same way…
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Louvet brushed his teeth a bit harder than he usually would as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized his face from every angle he could think of.

“You don’t look any different from before Mike,” Rousseaux reassured as he finished wiping his face off. Stray drips of water dripped off of his chin and into the sink he was in front of.

The blond’s shoulders were tense as he gripped onto the edge of the sink with the white knuckled grip. As much as he wanted to just take the red-head at his word, Louvet knew better than to let his guard down. He had gotten a body he was comfortable in quite suddenly and he knew that it could be taken away just as easily. Or it could be taken away from him gradually and it wouldn’t be noticed until it was too late to reverse it and-

Louvet spat out his toothpaste before he replied in a huffy voice, “You can’t blame me for being paranoid. It’s not like you have to worry about losing everything that makes you happy.”

As the blond rinsed out his mouth, Rousseaux watched him through narrowed eyes as he thought, ‘God he’s such a prick sometimes. He’s not the only one who’s scared here! Does he think I’m not worried about losing him?’

Rousseaux held himself tightly and worried his lower lip as he hung his head before shaking it. He had to get it together. Worrying like this wasn’t helpful or productive and…they couldn’t both be an anxious mess. One of them had to be the strong and steady one and well it wasn’t like Rousseaux was the one at risk of being forced into a body he was uncomfortable with…But Rousseaux also had to be the one who put everything back together should the worst come to pass.

“Gabe?” Louvet’s voice pulled Rousseaux out of his thoughts and reminded him that he wasn’t alone. He couldn’t necessarily be broody when he had an audience. Not without getting called out for it anyway and he knew Louvet would point it out…

Rousseaux shook his head as he averted his gaze. His voice came out in a slightly clipped tone, “It’s fine Mike. Just…ugh drop it.”

Louvet rolled his eyes as he returned his gaze to the mirror and continued to scrutinize his face closely, “Fine, fine. See if I care again. And here I thought you liked it when I showed concern for you, guess that’s not the case anymore now that you know the truth.”

Rousseaux glared at Louvet as he growled lowly, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Louvet rolled his eyes as he replied in a slightly huffy tone, “Well isn’t it obvious? You prefer men, you’ve said it yourself, and knowing that I was once a woman bothers you. So you’re gonna react to my advances or emotions differently from before.”

Rousseaux bit down the urge to grab the blond by the shoulders and start screaming at him. Did he really forget how Rousseaux had reassured him back at the park that he loved Louvet for who he was as a person and not what body parts he had? Or was it just his insecurities talking?

Louvet was a loving partner, don’t get him wrong but…He could also get a little nasty when he was feeling terrible about himself…Maybe they did need therapy after all. Er well not with a professional anyway. It was too risky given their…unconventional relationship but maybe a few of the elder gays Rousseaux knew would be willing to give them some advice…

“Do you even hear what you’re saying right now?” Rousseaux questioned in a voice bordering somewhere between anger and anguish as he kept his gaze directed away from Louvet’s face. The shaking had started up in his arms and he knew that he needed to pull himself together. The last thing either of them needed right now as a blow-up fight before going on this mission…

Louvet looked away as he snapped in a slightly hurt voice, “Well excuse me for trying to think about what makes you happy!”

Rousseaux turned away quickly and grit his teeth as he snapped, “YOU make me happy! So stop treating me like shit just because I’m trying to keep you from obsessing over something that isn’t there! Do you think I want to lose you? Of course not, but you’ll lose me if you don’t stop taking out your fears on me.”

Louvet inhaled sharply as he looked over at the way Rousseaux curled in on himself slightly. The slight glimmer of tears in his eyes had Louvet feeling even worse than before. His stomach twinged and he worried his lower lip as Rousseaux pushed away from the sink.

‘Why can’t you do anything right you fucking idiot?!’ Louvet scolded himself mentally as he shook his head. No. He couldn’t waste time beating himself up over this. There would be plenty of time to do that when everyone else went to sleep. Right now he had to apologize to Rousseaux…

Louvet set his toothbrush down and grabbed onto the sleeve of Rousseaux’s sleep shirt as he mumbled, “I…I’m sorry mon amour. I just…I don’t want to go back to how I was before we met…I…I don’t want to force you to deal with that fucking trainwreck and…”

The blond kept his head hung low and his gaze averted, but Rousseaux had known the man long enough to know that guilty body language anywhere. The slight wobble of his lower lip and the shaking of his shoulders made Rousseaux breathe a little easier than before. At least Louvet wasn’t so deep in his own mental spiral to completely blind himself to what his words and actions did to those around him. He could work with Louvet when he was like this despite how much his heart ached at the sight of his partner being so upset.

Rousseaux sighed deeply as he placed his hand over Louvet’s hand. He swiped his thumb across Louvet’s knuckles as he replied, “I know you’re worried mon bonheur…but you can’t take that worry out on others. It…I love you but it really hurts me when you speak to me like that and dismiss me before I can even defend myself. We’re partners and part of that involves being able to trust one another and allowing the other to speak their piece.”

Louvet rested his head against Rousseaux’s arm as his hands moved from his shirt sleeve to take Rousseaux’s hand. The blond man squeezed his taller partner’s hand between both of his before bringing it up to his mouth and peppering the red-head’s knuckles with feather light kisses. From the soft shivers he could feel vibrating against his heated skin, Louvet knew that he was doing something right. Despite how calloused Rousseaux’s skin tended to be from a lifetime of hard work and his military stint, his skin also tended to be especially sensitive to touch. A little factoid that Louvet often took advantage of when he needed to apologize for being a less than perfect partner for the man who was so patient and kind to him.

Rousseaux’s cheeks warmed to a rosy pink color as his brown eyes darkened as he eyed up Louvet’s neck, his currently bare neck. Usually his blond partner wore a turtleneck or a scarf or something over his neck and often claimed it was an old habit from his youth he hadn’t quite kicked yet. Now that Rousseaux knew a bit more about that past Louvet was content to keep his, admittedly loud, mouth shut about…perhaps there was more to the whole keeping his neck covered thing than just it being an odd fashion choice. Of course that fashion choice often came in handy given Rousseaux’s penchant for nibbling and marking up Louvet’s neck in a patchwork of bruises that would oftentimes resemble a collar of some sort.

Rousseaux took advantage of Louvet’s hands being occupied to tug the blond into the perfect position to do just that. Mark up that pretty neck of his and make his partner squirm in a way that made Rousseaux feel more alive than before. The pain and the bruises would also serve as an excellent reminder to be more mindful of what he says even when he’s feeling cornered or stressed.

Louvet tilted his head to the side to give Rousseaux access and moved his hands to grip onto the back of Rousseaux’s shirt. A silent question was met with a silent nod and a lowering of eyelids. Rousseaux chose a spot right in the crook of where Louvet’s neck met his shoulder and started his usual pattern of soft nibbles and suckles to ease the sting of his teeth against his partner’s skin. Based off of the shuddery moan that the blond muffled by burying his face into Rousseaux’s chest, the red-head found the perfect starting point.

Rousseaux lifted his face from Louvet’s neck slightly and pulled the blond back from his hiding place to tease, “No hiding Mike, consider this part of your punishment.”

Louvet’s cheeks burned but he nodded as he removed one of his hands from Rousseaux’s back and sunk his teeth into the meaty part of his hand that lay just below his thumb. A part of the blond was nervous that one of their co-workers could walk in at any moment and catch Rousseaux practically eating Louvet alive, but the greater part of him was pleased that Rousseaux was keeping his end of their agreement. Their boundaries with one another had been set years ago and often Louvet had to remind Rousseaux that boundaries went both ways. That Rousseaux didn’t have to kowtow to the blond or ignore when he overstepped one of the red-head’s boundaries. That Louvet wanted Rousseaux to be just as firm and swift with his chosen method of discipline as Louvet was with his.

It was a shift from their normal working dynamic, of Louvet being the higher up in the kitchen hierarchy and Rousseaux being the underling. A part of Louvet would be mortified at the thought of someone like Manet or Boucher walking in to see their sous chef, the boss when their boss wasn’t around, being manhandled and moaning under the exacting ministrations of their saucier…But the greater part of him, the part of him that enjoyed throwing the rules of society into a blender and pissing on the remains, was thrilled by the idea.

But Louvet knew how dangerous their game was. That one whisper of the two of them being a couple would be enough to have both men arrested or sent to an asylum or something for the rest of their days. Rousseaux had spent far too much time imprisoned in a hell-hole and Louvet wasn’t going to let anyone send him back to one. No, Louvet would rather burn the entire city to the ground and take out the bastards sent to stop him one by one than let anyone hurt his partner like that again.

Rousseaux traveled up Louvet’s neck, peppering nibbles and suckles and kisses along his path to the point by Louvet’s jaw that always made the blond breathless whenever it was toyed with. The red-head drank in the muffled, breathy moans of his partner and the shuddering of the blond beneath him like it was a fine wine. A moment to be savored and looked back upon fondly. Neither of them knew how long this mission would take or whether they would have an opportunity to be alone like this again…so both had to glut themselves on this forbidden fruit at every opportunity to avoid going insane. They had both gotten so used to being able to ravish one another after work or the absolutely filthy levels of debauchery their days off often devolved into that the prospect of being unable to properly enjoy one another felt like torture.

Could they sneak off like teenagers that were practically pawing at one another in public to find a little darkened corner to make-out and see how much they could get away with doing when nobody was looking? Yes, they could and probably would at some point but…Well where they’re going such a thing was much riskier than on Earth. Here they could get arrested or more than likely a slap on the wrist from Vincent for being indecent in the public restroom of his bistro but down there? Down there the two of them would and could face horrors that would stick with them for the rest of their days should they get caught…Hell neither one of them could look at chocolate sauce or handcuffs the same way again after their last excursion down there…

Rousseaux lifted his face from Louvet’s neck slightly to whisper, “Do you think you can behave yourself mon bonheur? Can I trust that you’ll think before speaking to me?”

Louvet pulled his hand from his mouth to whisper back, “K-keep going. I…Christ I need a very good reminder…”

“I figured as much,” Rousseaux teased as he reached up to lightly tug at Louvet’s hair. The blond bit down on his lower lip hard to stifle the almost guttural moan that the action pulled from him. “I knew what I was signing up for when I chose to pursue a mouthy little troublemaker like you, mon bonheur.”

Louvet’s eyes fluttered shut as he reached up to return the tug to Rousseaux’s hair and moaned softly, “Keep going Gabe, please. I’ve been such a brat. Make me remember this every time I open my mouth and-AH! Fuuuuuuck.”

Rousseaux sunk his teeth just above Louvet’s Adam's apple, another favorite spot of the red-head’s to toy with and both men stilled their movements. Christ they were getting loud. A little too loud to be ignored despite the fact that Louvet had left the tap running in the sink to try and mask their little romantic canoodling.

Rousseaux pulled his mouth off of Louvet’s neck to press a few kisses to the mark against his neck. It was a little deeper than he would normally go, but something about all of Louvet’s moans just drove him crazy. Had it really been that long since they switched? No wonder Louvet was extra sensitive to Rousseaux’s touches and bites and Rousseaux was feeling a little extra assertive. Maybe they should switch a little more often than every two months or so to keep that in check…

Before Rousseaux or Louvet could even say anything to one another the door opened and Donadieu poke his head in to ask, “Is everything…alright in…here?”

Louvet and Rousseaux had the decency to flush a very bright red color as they stared at their co-worker with a frightened and almost pleading look on their faces. A nervous sweat broke out to mingle with whatever sweat was already there from how heated things were starting to get before they were oh so rudely interrupted. It felt like they were both back in secondary school and had been caught sneaking into the janitor’s closet to be far more physically intimate than social etiquette would allow.

Donadieu smiled a knowing smile and mimed zipping his lips shut before tossing it away. It did little to settle the nerves of either of his coworkers, but the man knew that no good would come of gossiping about it with the others. Donadieu wasn’t like those fake Christians who judged others for loving those of the same sex as themselves. He loved his fellow man for who they were and not for how much they prayed on Sundays.

Donadieu gave them a small wave before he turned around and shut the door quietly behind him. From the sound of things, he was telling the others some sort of quickly concocted lie to keep the others from storming into the bathroom to see why Louvet had made such a loud noise in the first place. Thank God for that. Neither man wanted to even begin imagining what the fallout would look like if their relationship was forced into becoming public knowledge.

Well that certainly killed their mood. Rousseaux straightened up as Louvet tried to readjust his shirt to hide the fact that he had previously been allowing his partner to devour him like one of those juicy plums Rousseaux adored so much. Rousseau eyed Louvet’s neck with a guilty look at the lovely crop of bruises that were already blossoming against the blond’s warm apricot colored skin. Louvet noticed the guilty look on Rousseaux’s face and pulled him in for a chaste kiss.

The blond rested his head against Rousseaux’s shoulder and reassured in a gentle yet raspy voice, “Don’t worry about it, we know Donadieu. He’s not a gossip like the others.”

Rousseaux huffed as he brushed a few loose hairs from Louvet’s face, “Still…I should have been more mindful of where we are…I-I meant it when I said that you make me happy and that I don’t want to lose you.”

Rousseaux held Louvet tightly and the blond returned the embrace with a soft reassurance, “I’m not going anywhere Gabe. Mon amour you know that it’ll take more than the law to tear me away from you.”

Louvet went up on the tips of his toes to press a few kisses to the underside of Rousseaux’s jaw and trail them up to his lips. Rousseaux leaned down slightly to make things easier on his shorter partner and practically melted into the soft kisses the blond was pressing against his lips. Awkward though it could be at times being a full foot taller than his partner, Rousseaux wouldn’t trade it for anything. His bonheur wouldn’t be nearly as feisty if he was taller…actually no. He probably would be but it’d be harder to see those softer angles Louvet often denied that he had if they were closer in height. Plus the idea of Louvet being able to create a new type of terror with more height behind him to back that terror up was a thought that made Rousseaux far more uncomfortable than he cared to admit. As much as he loved the blond that was peppering his face and lips with soft kisses, Rousseaux knew that Vincent didn’t just pick up some of his more…intimidating habits from nowhere. Age may have mellowed Louvet slightly but it was only that. Slightly.

“Come on darling, we shouldn’t keep the others waiting,” Rousseaux pulled away from the flurry of kisses Louvet was intent on giving him and smirked at the soft pout on the blond’s face. God he was so cute sometimes.

“Do we have to?” Louvet grumbled as he rested his head against Rousseaux’s chest and started toying with the red-head’s sleep shirt once more. “Lavigne keeps looking like she’s gonna have an aneurysm when I’m near her and I really don’t have it in me to deal with that tonight.”

Rousseaux rubbed Louvet’s arm and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. It was unusual to hear that Louvet wasn’t looking forward to dealing with someone but given everything that had happened in the last two-ish hours? Maybe not entirely unexpected.

Rousseaux replied in a slightly firm voice, “I know mon bonheur, but we also have a rescue mission to think about. We’ve both been to Hell before and we both know that being distracted like how Lavigne is would get her killed. I know you well darling and I know you’ll carry that guilt for the rest of your days if she got hurt.”

Louvet groaned as he slumped against Rousseaux further, “You’re right as always, mon amour. I’ll talk to her, but you better be nearby for backup. You know my mouth is a magnet for my foot when it comes to…ya know this emotional mushy stuff.”

Rousseaux chuckled before pressing a kiss to Louvet’s cheek, “You needn’t worry mon bonheur. You’re not going in alone.”

Louvet seemed to relax at Rousseaux’s reassurance, but he was content to stay where he was for just a few more moments. Louvet knew he was entering very unknown territory in just a moment or two when he would meet Lavigne at the door to discuss something Louvet knew would get messy and awkward. It felt like a betrayal to talk about something so personal with a coworker before he talked about it with his own partner. Louvet felt a guilty twinge in his gut and a slight twitch in his hands. What kind of man leaves his partner in the dark about something as big as this?

But the soft press of lips against his temple allowed Louvet to relax once more. He wasn’t going to be alone on this one. Rousseaux would be by his side. The red-head would keep things from getting too ugly. He always was the more level-headed one of the two of them, a godsend when it came to dealing with issues that arose when raising their daughters together….especially when it came to punks who tried to break their daughters’ hearts. Louvet was fortunate enough to avoid going to prison once and he really didn’t want to risk serious assault charges a second time in his life…Truly what would he do without Rousseaux by his side?
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
When the door to the men’s room finally opened after Donadieu had left to return to his reading, Lavigne jumped slightly at the sight of Louvet. Her eyes kept flicking between the very obvious hickeys on his neck and the slightly guilty look on Rousseaux’s face.

‘So Louvet’s…taken then?’ Lavigne thought with a soft and somber sigh. Well there went her initial plan of confessing that she thought he was cute and potential marriage material. Guys usually liked when they were called attractive in her experience and well…he was! But if he was firmly uninterested in the opposite sex…perhaps he would be insulted if Lavigne had said something about his looks…

Louvet noticed the nervous fluster growing on Lavigne’s face and he rested his hand over the more obvious marks on the side of his neck as he averted his gaze. He spoke in what he hoped was a steadier tone than how he actually felt, “You wanna talk, right? Let’s just head to the back so we have less of an audience.”

“Right! Right…” Lavigne replied in an awkward voice that had her face burning even brighter than before.

Louvet led the way to the back alleyway and ignored the way the eyes of the rest of the occupants of the room followed him. Let them stare all they want. Louvet wasn’t going to tell Rousseaux not to discipline him for disrespecting one of the red-head’s boundaries. It took years to even get him to admit to having things he didn’t like in their relationship in the first place and even more years to get him to consistently say something when Louvet crossed a line. It was refreshing to have someone by his side who could keep him in check without having to resort to dragging the skeletons out of his closet.

Rousseaux held open the door into the kitchen and allowed both his partner and his coworker to slip inside. The red-head sent a firm look to Manet, who had a bit of a nasty habit of listening in on conversations, and Boucher, who had the unfortunate habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Boucher curled up slightly and nodded fearfully. Rousseaux may be a nice guy and all but Boucher didn’t want to get on the man’s bad side, especially knowing that he was often the heavy lifter when it came to unloading fresh ingredients from their deliveries. If the man could lift half a cow by himself then Boucher really didn’t want to see what kind of damage a blow from one of his punches could do…

Manet rolled his eyes and huffed as he grumbled under his breath, “‘S’not like we won’t hear what they’re talking about eventually anyway. Lavigne is an even worse gossip than me…”

Given that whatever was going to go down had Louvet involved only lessened Manet’s urge to snoop regardless of what kind of looks Rousseaux was giving him. The blond’s lectures on inappropriate behavior were both long-winded and intense enough to make Vincent’s sharp barbs seem tame. Manet needed a new chef’s coat the last time he was on the receiving end of one of Louvet’s little tangents as the blond felt the need to pin the brunet’s arms to his workstation using damn near every knife in his set. He still hasn’t forgiven Louvet fully for that little incident.

Ah well, maybe he could bribe Lavigne with a few advanced editions of those science fiction novels she loved so much to bless him with a little gossip session. Oh the perks of being the son of the owner of a popular publishing firm! Er well…adopted son anyways. It was still more than enough to get his hands on some printed media if he wanted it badly enough.

The trio kept making their way through the kitchen towards the back alley. The deep tone’s of Vincent’s voice could still be heard coming from the office so they kept their volume down as much as possible to avoid disturbing him. Even if Rousseaux and Louvet had more than enough dirt to bury the man in question, even they weren’t spared from whatever kind of scolding he felt was necessary to discipline his staff. Unlike the rest of the staff though, the two of them could give it right back to Vincent without too much fear of being fired…Well Louvet did anyway. Rousseaux was content enough to respect the kitchen hierarchy to keep from rocking the boat too much in that regard.

Rousseaux opened up the heavy back door and allowed the duo to step outside into the cool night air before he stepped outside himself. The door shut as quietly as he possibly could get it to be, but made a mental note to either grease the hinges himself later or get one of the chefs under him to do that for him. Dior was often eager to help out in a bid to climb the ranks in the kitchen hierarchy and Faucher often helped out just because he genuinely liked to help Rousseaux out. Maybe it was his way of thanking Rousseaux for getting him this job in the first place or as thanks for the amount of times he had walked Boucher home on nights Faucher just wasn’t able to.

The small light hanging above the door cast a golden light through the area just around the back door. Their arrival spooked the two stray cats that liked to hang out in the alleyway and they scurried up the stairs towards Vincent’s apartment. Both were a little shy when it came to most humans with Donadieu and Vincent himself being the two exceptions to that rule. Dandieu because he took the time to earn their trust and played with them often and Vincent because he would leave them water and small scraps of fish to eat. He dismissed enjoying their company and instead pointed out how useful it was to keep a cat around to handle their rat problem, but the stray bits of black fur on his chef coat told a different story.

The trio stood in silence as Louvet leaned against the brick wall behind him. Lavigne stood closer to him and fidgeted nervously while Rousseaux positioned himself to lean against the wall on the other side of the door. He was close enough to hear everything that Louvet or Lavigne would say, but not close enough to make the alleyway feel claustrophobic. Plus he could catch the door and stop whomever was coming through from interrupting the two shorter chefs from having their very much needed conversation.

Louvet shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweat pants and turned his gaze onto Lavigne as he asked, “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

Lavigne jumped at the sound of his raspy voice and her wide-eyed gaze finally met his. A cool blue meeting a nervous hazel. He didn’t look nearly as awkward as back by the restroom and instead looked…well like his usual self. His face was like a blank slate and it was only the small flickers of curiosity in his eyes and the slight tilt to his head that betrayed his true feelings. Refreshing though it was to see him looking like his usual self after seeing more emotion show on his face this evening than she had really seen in the entirety of their time working together, a greater part of her was almost disappointed to see a lack of emotion on his face. Where was that fire? That heat? Wasn’t he supposed to be angry or upset right now?

Lavigne took a deep breath before she started speaking in a slow and hesitant voice, “W-well I um…a-about earlier…Y-you back in um…her place…I-I said some…things and w-well…”

Louvet raised a brow as he watched her fidget with her hands nervously. Odd. Lavigne wasn’t normally so fidgety. Despite being the youngest in the kitchen, she often carried herself with the confidence of a chef many decades older than she was. She has certainly improved since she had first started working here but…

‘She said something back at Madeleine’s place?’ Louvet’s brows furrowed as he tried to remember what had actually happened earlier that evening. He was so wrapped up in the overwhelming anxiety of the situation and trying to keep himself from having a heart attack that he really hadn’t been paying too much attention to what his co-workers had been saying and doing…Well outside of Rousseaux’s reaction but that was different. His partner’s feelings on the matter always came first to him and always would be the first thing he looked for and paid attention to.

Rousseaux noticed the confusion growing on Louvet’s face and suggested to Lavigne in a soft voice, “You might have to be a little more specific with him. It’s been a rough night for us all emotionally and he might not have been paying the most attention to what was going on around him. You know how he gets with his tunnel vision.”

Louvet huffed and rolled his eyes, but held back whatever snarky comment that laid on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t have the energy to be both snarky with his partner and attentive to whatever kind of turmoil his commis chef was going through. Rousseaux would understand if he didn’t get a little attention, right?

“Right…right…” Lavigne nodded as she fidgeted with her hands once more. She worried her lower lip and a part of her hated how she had to repeat what she had said back there. Now that Louvet was so close and he was actually paying a lot of attention to her and her words…God why was she stuck in this situation? Why couldn’t he just remember and be mad at her and she could just apologize and-

Louvet’s hands gently took both of hers to still her fidgeting ones. A warmth rose to Lavigne’s cheeks as she felt his calloused hands engulf both of her significantly softer ones. A part of her was on cloud nine at the feeling of his hands holding hers. That romantic side of her practically tingling and whispering thoughts of how those hands would feel touching other parts of her body. But…well given the very loud moan that had come out of the bathroom and the fact that both Louvet and Rousseaux had been in there together along with the hickeys on Louvet’s neck…Her romantic side needed to shut up and accept the fact that the blond chef was very firmly off the menu and likely wouldn’t find her getting flustered like a schoolgirl around him to be endearing or cute. He wasn’t going to be some knight in shining armor that swept her off her feet. He was just an unrequited crush like in her days as a student and nothing more.

“Relax, I’m not gonna bite your head off,” Louvet ordered in a voice that wasn’t nearly as firm as it usually was. He kept searching Lavigne’s face for any hint of what had happened earlier that evening and from the look of things it must have been terrible. Er well to her it must have been terrible. Especially if she was hesitating this much to just say it.

Rousseaux kept quiet as a bit of guilt tightened his throat. He hadn’t meant to make Lavigne even more nervous than before but he also knew Louvet well enough to know that he’d grow impatient at the beating around the bush that Lavigne would likely had done. That the blond would say something snippy and the brunette would blurt out whatever she had said or some variation of it in a more pointed way that would easily devolve into a screaming match in the alley. Rousseaux knew he wasn’t in the mood for another screaming match or emotional showdown so soon, especially since he didn’t get to properly unpack his own feelings on the matter. He likely wouldn’t get to handling his own emotions until he was certain that his partner wasn’t going to blow up randomly on one of their co-workers or their boss…That would get especially ugly given how…volatile his and Vincent’s relationship could get sometimes.

Lavigne shook her head as she stammered out, “Y-you really don’t wanna hear it-but ummm…J-just forget it okay! I-it was stupid and-”

Lavigne tried to pull away but Louvet’s hold was still firm on her hands, effectively trapping her into the conversation still. She could feel Rousseaux’s brown eyes on her back and a part of her regretted not begging to just talk to Louvet alone. She was cornered between two men, two strong men who could do anything they wanted to her in retaliation for her careless slip of the tongue earlier and-

Louvet interrupted in a slightly frustrated voice, “I can’t just forget the whole thing, especially since it’s making you this upset. Where we’re going we can’t afford to let things like this distract us and…shit Lavigne do you think I want to see you get hurt down there?”

Tears came to her eyes at Louvet’s words. He cared about her safety? Still? After what she had said before? What had she done to deserve such a saint in her life?!

Lavigne couldn’t hold back her sobs nor restrain herself from burying her face into Louvet’s shoulder. The blond let go of her hands and felt her wrap her arms around him tightly. Louvet looked even more confused than before as he awkwardly patted her back in an attempt to comfort her. He really didn’t understand how the female mind worked sometimes…

Rousseaux pulled out his handkerchief and walked over to hand it to Louvet, who accepted it with a relieved smile. The blond often forgot to carry one on him in the evening time and was stuck improvising when one of their daughters was going through some sort of emotional turmoil late at night. Maybe if he could get the blond to shift gears from co-worker mode to dad mode then they could get somewhere with Lavigne.

Louvet kept patting Lavigne’s back as he reassured in a quiet voice, “Come on now Lavigne, it can’t be that bad right? We’ve all said things in the heat of the moment that seem stupid in hindsight. Shit I can remember times I fought with Charbonneau and started scolding him for shit one of my daughters did! Could you imagine? Me giving our boss shit for not doing his homework at his grown-ass age?”

Lavigne just tightened her hold on Louvet and sobbed a little louder than before as the blond winced. He looked over at Rousseaux with a panicked look. The red-head decided to give the blond a little mercy tonight as he rested one of his hands on Lavigne’s shoulders and asked her in a low voice, “Do you want me to tell him on your behalf? I can take it if he gets upset.”

“N-no…no,” Lavigne finally pulled her face off of Louvet’s shoulder and sniffled as she went to wipe her eyes off with her sleeve. Louvet beat her to it with a tender sweep of Rousseaux’s handkerchief against her tear stained cheeks. “I…I really should be the one to say it…I-it’s my mistake and I-I should…be the one to…to…”

Louvet clicked his tongue as he lightly scolded her as her tears picked up once more, “Hey now, none of that. A pretty young lady like you needn’t waste her tears on an old windbag like me. I’m not worth getting this worked up over.”

Rousseaux gave Louvet a hard look that had the blond swallowing thickly and covering the untouched side of his neck with his free hand. The red-head’s eyes flickered with an emotion that had Louvet both dreading and looking forward to their next moment alone together. It may have been less than fifteen minutes since he had felt Rousseaux’s teeth against his skin, but it didn’t mean he didn’t crave the feeling once more.

Lavigne resisted the urge to just melt against Louvet’s warm hand and lean into his tender touch more. She didn’t deserve such kindness from a man she said something so vile about and…

“Y-you’re gonna hate me for what I said and…and I can’t blame you for it,” Lavigne sniffled as she tightened her hold on the blond. She savored this moment, this last tender little moment before all hell would break loose and he would no longer look at her so kindly. That even Rousseaux would likely hate her and give her the cold shoulder in solidarity with the blond…

“Come on now, you can’t guarantee that,” Louvet spoke in a voice that sounded as sweet as honey and concern dripped off of every word and it all just added to the sickening mixture of dread and guilt that were brewing in Lavigne’s chest.

Lavigne took one long last look at Louvet’s face and memorized the way his eyes sparkled in the light. The way the corners of his eyes lifted with his reassuring smile that was so rare and precious to behold…She hated to rip the bandaid off and ruin the moment but…it had to be done. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t just say it but…an even greater part of Lavigne knew that she couldn’t live with herself if she did.

Lavigne drew in a steeling breath before she finally said exactly what was on her mind, “W-well I said that you were a girl and…God I’m so sorry and I-I’ve never seen you as anything other than a man and-”

Louvet raised a brow as he interrupted her once more, “That’s it? That’s what you’re trying to crucify yourself over? Fuck me Lavigne I thought you said something worse than a simple fact.”

Lavigne looked up at Louvet with confusion painted thick on her face as she asked, “Y-you’re not…mad?”

Louvet shook his head as he rubbed his neck and mulled over Lavigne’s words. A part of him felt prickly and ill at the fact that he was referred to as a girl at all. That part of him kept whispering for him to do something drastic or retaliatory against the woman before him but…the more rational part of him pointed out that the key word here was “were”. Past tense. Not present tense. That was what mattered here. And it wasn’t necessarily untrue either…He was at one point a girl er well physically a girl, never mentally one. But that had all changed and the others had never suspected he wasn’t born a man nor had they treated him like he had ever been a woman so…why get so upset now over a small slip of the tongue that had happened in the heat of the moment in response to a bombshell being dropped onto their little workgroup…It wasn’t like his life before the deal was struck. He wasn’t being referred to as something he very much wasn’t twenty-four seven anymore…

“How can I be mad when you were just…ya know stating what was true. I was at one point physically a girl, but I’m not one anymore and that’s what matters here. Just, ya know…keep treating me like you have been before learning that and there’ll be nothing to be sorry about,” Louvet spoke in a steady voice that masked the conflict brewing in the back of his head. The hurt part of him kept screaming at him and calling him a traitor. It kept demanding that he hurt Lavigne in retaliation for saying something so careless but his rational side kept shooting it down. The rational part of him kept saying that what was done was done and she clearly regretted saying it so why upset the woman further? Louvet may be a hardass but he wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t a monster. He didn’t need to hurt someone just to feel better about himself.

Lavigne asked quietly, “Th-that’s all there is to it? Y-you’re not just saying that to be nice?”

Louvet opened his mouth to give an immediate dismissal but noticed the look in Rousseaux’s eyes. A look that had the blond closing his mouth and slipping his hand off of Lavigne’s face.

Rousseaux spoke for the first time in what felt like ages, “You can be honest with us Mike. It’s not like you to sugar coat something just to spare someone’s feelings.”

“Well shit Gabe which is it? Do you want me to be honest or do you want me to be mindful of others’ feelings? You know I can’t really do both here,” Louvet snorted as he crossed his arms and gave Rousseaux a frustrated look.

The red-head raised a brow and rested a hand on his hip, which made Louvet sigh. The blond’s shoulders slumped as he sighed and he shook his head. The things he did for that man. Rousseaux really owed him for this one.

“A-alright fine…A part of me is hurt and upset that you referred to me as a girl,” Louvet admitted through grit teeth as he looked away from Lavigne. He winced guiltily at the soft gasp that came out of her and his arms started to shake once more. “I…I don’t really want to talk about it but I know I have to but…Look all I ask is that you see me as a man and only a man, okay? I…I hate talking about my past for a reason…”

Rousseaux moved silently and pulled Louvet into a side hug as the blond’s voice grew quiet. Louvet rested his head against Rousseaux’s side and one of his hands went to grip onto Rousseaux’s sleep shirt once more. Rousseaux’s other hand rested on top of Louvet’s and brushed his thumb over the blond’s knuckles.

“I-I’m sorry,” Lavigne sobbed as she resisted the urge to launch herself into Louvet once more. He would likely push her away this time and Lavigne knew her already damaged heart wouldn’t be able to handle a full rejection from the blond. He needed time to lick his own wounds before she could approach him so freely again. “I-it’ll never happen again.”

Louvet nodded, “Good…good…I-if there’s nothing else you need to say I uh…Can I…”

Lavigne nodded as she wiped away her tears with her sleeve. She turned away to head back inside to give the blond a moment alone to compose himself once more. A part of her was relieved that he didn’t seem to hate her for what she had said and was willing to forgive her for what she had said earlier. But the greater part of her still felt guilty about hurting him and likely rubbing salt into wounds he purposefully kept hidden from the others. How long did he have to keep them hidden away and avoid treating them?

But Lavigne knew better than to push the blond into revealing everything to her. They were co-workers but nothing more than that really. She wasn’t entitled to know every little thing about him the way a lover was and…A nasty part of her was upset and jealous that Rousseaux was afforded the privilege of hearing every little secret that Louvet was content to keep hidden from the others for now but…That jealousy would only breed more hurt and Lavigne didn’t want to hurt another co-worker so soon. And she especially didn’t want to add onto whatever hurt she had added to the overwhelming pile that had been shoved onto Louvet earlier this evening. Not more than she already had…

Louvet had a point earlier when he had mentioned their mission. He was concerned about her safety, which may not fully be the case anymore but still the thought counted…She knew that she couldn’t afford to get hung up on this and neither could he. Rousseaux couldn’t either and just as Louvet would feel terrible if something had happened to her on their mission as a result of her emotional turmoil…well the feeling was mutual. Lavigne wouldn’t forgive herself if an emotional turmoil she had caused was the reason why Louvet got hurt on what was increasingly looking like a dangerous mission. One where one false move meant that their rescue team would lose a member permanently…

Lavigne opened the back door and stepped back into the warmth of the bistro. She looked up to see Dior washing out the used up tea cups and the kettle. The taller chef turned to face her and asked, “Is everything alright? Did you get to say what you needed to say?”

Lavigne nodded as she replied, “Yeah…it…well it went better than I thought it would but…it still felt shitty admitting to what I had done. He…he looked so upset and…”

Dior set the cup in his hands to the side to dry and shut the tap off. He dried off his hands before he approached the brunette chef and wrapped an arm over her shoulders. Lavigne leaned against Dior’s side and breathed in the gentle scent of his orange blossom cologne. It was a calming scent that reminded her of home. Her family often had oranges with their meals and had a number of orange trees in the back garden in their family home in Corsica. Her grandmother used to tell her stories about the trees being planted before the Revolution and how despite the amount of turmoil that fair France had gone through, the orange trees remained sturdy and fruitful despite it all.

“What’s done is done,” Dior commented as he gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “All you can do now is just do better going forward. The ball is now in Louvet’s court and it’s up to him to decide how he returns it to you.”

“It just sucks that this had to happen right before we left to go on this mission to who knows where,” Lavigne groaned as she allowed Dior’s warmth to chase out the chill that hung around her. Whether it was from being outside in the cool night air or just the icy feeling from her emotional turmoil was anyone’s guess.

Dior hummed softly as he started to lead the brunette back into the dining room, “Well no matter where we wind up going, you know him as well as I do. Louvet can shove anything aside when it comes to focusing on the task at hand, especially when it's something major like this.”

Lavigne kept quiet as she allowed Dior to keep steering her out of the kitchen and further away from the source of her own turmoil. She hoped that he was right and that Louvet would be able to pull himself back together before they set out on their mission. She really hated the mere notion of being the reason why the blond got hurt or worse on their mission. Lavigne really wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if that happened.

The sound of a closing door caught the attention of both chefs and they looked over to see Vincent locking up his office for the night. His keys jingled and glinted in the light as he tucked them into his pants pocket.

Vincent turned on his heel and took in Lavigne’s disheveled appearance and Dior’s protective and almost fraternal hold on her shoulders. His face was as impassive as usual but there was a brief flicker of some sort of emotion that passed through his dark eyes. What that emotion was neither could possibly say. They weren’t close enough with their boss to know what all of his little microexpressions and what the flashes in his eyes meant other than the more dangerous ones.

“I take you finally talked to him then,” Vincent commented as Lavigne took a few breaths to compose herself. She might feel like she had gotten hit by a bus, but that was no excuse to look weak in front of her boss. Especially one as tough and as much of a perfectionist as Vincent was. Emotions didn’t have a place in his kitchen as he so firmly reminded all of them.

“I did but…I still can’t help but worry about him,” Lavigne answered as she held her arm tightly. She kept her gaze averted from both her boss and her co-worker if only to avoid seeing her own guilty face reflected back at her when she met their eyes. It would break her again and…well she wasn’t the one who deserved to feel so upset by everything that had gone on this evening. Louvet was and…well he wasn’t upset in the way she had expected him to be and that alone was more than enough reason to be concerned about it.

Dior gave her a slight squeeze as he reassured, “Come on now, this is Louvet we’re talking about. He’ll rebound before we know it! He’ll probably go kick the shit out of a trash can or something until he feels better.”

Lavigne shook her head as she replied, “That’s why I’m worried! He wasn’t angry at all! He…he genuinely looked hurt and I…I’m not used to seeing him look so lost and hurt like that…”

Dior kept holding Lavigne tight while Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose. If it wasn’t one thing it was another. If he knew how much trouble working with such troublesome people with emotional issues would be, then perhaps Vincent would have considered instead pursuing a different career path. Preferably one without so many troublesome emotions and thoughts cropping up to ruin any semblance of peace he had in his life.

“Next time you fetch me before having a serious conversation, got it?” Vincent huffed as he lowered his hand and gave Lavigne a stern look. The younger chef had the decency to look ashamed of herself and curled into herself even more than before. Good. At least she wasn’t going to try and give Vincent any lip like she had the other day when she somehow managed to break the door off of one of the ovens. And she had the nerve to try and blame Rody for that! Pathetic! Rody never tried to help in the kitchen so how could he have been the one to break the oven door? “One of my many duties around here is to mediate any sort of discussion between staff members, especially for something as…pressing as this. The last thing any of us need right now is for someone to have an emotional breakdown while on this mission.”

Dior took a bit of pity on Lavigne and squeezed her shoulders briefly before he dared to meet Vincent’s gaze. He ignored the way his heart raced at the dark look in Vincent’s eyes to defend his co-worker, “W-well Rousseaux was there with them and he is like your second in command when Louvet is busy…A-and you were also getting some much needed work done as well a-and you did say that we all needed to work on resolving things wi-without needing your intervention all of the time so uh…”

Dior swallowed thickly as his voice trailed off and a nervous sweat broke out at his temples. He cracked a small yet submissive and nervous grin to hopefully buy himself a little mercy from Vincent. Dior knew as well as any of them that Vincent hated when people spoke out of turn or when their input wasn’t deemed necessary to the conversation.

Dior sighed in relief when Vincent didn’t incinerate him on the spot with one of his patented glares or make any move to threaten him. Instead the dark-haired chef turned towards the back door and ordered with a slight bite in his voice, “Bring Lavigne back to the main dining room and see to it that she’s more emotionally stable. I’m going to check on Louvet and do the same.”

“Yes Chef,” Dior replied automatically before he started to usher Lavigne out of the kitchen a little more quickly than before. The last thing he wanted was for Vincent to change his mind and tack some sort of punishment on for Dior’s little slip of the tongue.

Vincent sighed deeply once he heard the door to the dining room slam shut and heard the slight overlapping of the voices of the rest of his team. He took a moment to rub his temples to ease the tension headache that was brewing as he thought to himself, ‘Louvet owes me a lot for this. He better not complain when I assign him specific cleaning duties from now on.’
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Louvet sighed deeply as he scrubbed at his eyes with Rousseaux’s handkerchief and soaked in whatever warmth was radiating off of the red-head. His shoulders trembled as he practically melted into the soft caresses of Rousseaux’s hand against his arm. The blond was exhausted and his eyes felt so tired and stung from all the crying he had done this evening. It was more crying than he had done in the past few months and honestly he hoped that his body would be incapable of producing tears like this for a few months at least. There was nothing Louvet hated more than the feeling of weakness that always lingered once the tears finally subsided and his sobs reduced to mere sniffles.

‘You’re a man. A grown-ass man. Stop crying like a weak little baby bitch boy,’ Louvet scolded himself mentally as he felt Rousseaux’s hand creep up to start lightly scratching at the blond’s scalp and play idly with his silky blond hair. Louvet sighed as he slumped against the red-head further and closed his eyes.

“How are you feeling mon bonheur?” Rousseaux asked in a soft voice that made Louvet’s tension melt ever so slightly.

Louvet shrugged, not trusting his voice to remain steady as he continued to listen closely to the steady thumping of his partner’s heartbeat. It was a soothing sound. A sound that always made Louvet feel safe whenever he had heard it. A sound that brought to mind the warmth of their shared bed and the smell of cinnamon and honey that accompanied their morning breakfast. A sound that reminded him of all the years they had spent raising their daughters together as one big, happy family. A family that was missing just one thing…the stray son that was still refusing to join in on the familial bliss that he didn’t know he sorely needed.

The backdoor creaked open, bringing with it the smell of lemon and cigarettes. Speak of the devil, there was the stray son in question now.

“How’s Lavigne holding up?” Rousseaux questioned as he met Vincent’s conflicted gaze. The older chef could see the flickers of frustration, concern and some other third emotion battling in the eyes of his protege as his dark gaze kept traveling over to the blond that was all but swallowed up by the darkness of the night around them and the tight embrace Rousseaux had readjusted him into.

Louvet kept quiet, but listened intently to the crunch of the stray pebbles underneath Vincent’s shoes as the youngest of their trio approached his elders. If nothing else, at least Vincent didn’t seem too angry or upset tonight….Louvet wasn’t sure his old heart could take it if the boy he had helped shape into the man standing before him somehow hated him.

Vincent replied in a slow voice that was as equally quiet as Rousseaux’s was, “She’s…upset and feels guilt over what had happened…I must apologize for being unavailable to assist in mediating this discussion.”

Rousseaux shook his head, “Don’t apologize Chef. You had other matters to tend to and…well Louvet and I are always here to lend a hand and step in to handle parts of your job you’re too busy to handle yourself. You can’t expect yourself to be everywhere at once.”

Vincent took in Louvet’s quiet and exhausted demeanor and shook his head as he thought to himself, ‘He’s wrong. I’m the owner and executive chef here. It’s my duty to see to it that my staff are able to perform to my standards and…well they can’t do that if they’re going through emotional turmoil.’

Vincent blinked as he felt a hand ruffle his hair. His gaze traveled from the hand in his hair down the arm to Louvet’s tired yet fond smile and the soft, almost paternal glimmer in his eyes. Vincent felt his cheeks warm when he recalled Louvet’s words earlier that day.

“You’re more than just a protege to me. You have been ever since that first day at Chef Bourbain’s place.”

Vincent couldn’t recall what having a father was like. His own had passed away when Vincent was barely over a year old and he didn’t even have the blessing of a vague idea of what the man was like to offer some sort of solace to his inner child. But then there was Louvet. The man who single-handedly swanned in and somehow did something to not only offer the paternal influence he hadn’t had in his life, but also somehow appealed to his inner child in a way that the other chefs set to mentor him hadn’t…It was like he somehow knew what Vincent was going through and offered him exactly what the younger chef needed to come out of whatever situation he was facing even stronger than before.

With Louvet came Rousseaux, who provided a sort of softness that Vincent was unaccustomed to. Vincent’s mother wasn’t…cruel per say but she was never the most affectionate or emotionally available person in the world either. She had very lofty expectations for what a son of the Charbonneau family was meant to be and Vincent had to meet those expectations from a very young age. But then along came Rousseaux who would offer Vincent soft pats to the head or ruffles to his hair whenever he got frustrated and would encourage him with a gentle, “You’ll get it next time Charbonneau. You’re getting better and better each day, but it takes a lot of time and practice to get where you want to be. So please, let us help you and patch you up so you can keep going, okay?”

Somehow those two had seen something inside of Vincent that he wasn’t even aware of himself and instead of using that something to their advantage…they instead helped him. They saw a teenager trying to make his mark on the world and instead of trying to bring down some pipsqueak with a chip on his shoulder, they taught him everything they knew. Louvet would drill Vincent on techniques and use a sharp tongue and taps to the back of the head to shape Vincent into the disciplined and competent chef Vincent was today. Rousseaux had taught Vincent to keep his temper cool and how to use his natural charms to win people over, which felt surprisingly manipulative coming from a man as genuinely kind as Rousseaux was but…well the red-head did admit that he did what he had to do to survive as a youth so perhaps he wasn’t as much of a saint as Vincent had initially thought when they had first met.

It felt…wrong to just ignore the fact that Louvet, a man who was willing to throw his entire culinary career out the window just to defend Vincent’s honor, was somehow hurting and harboring old wounds that were in desperate need of treatment. The blond was stubborn, that much Vincent knew, but Vincent could be just as if not even more stubborn than Louvet was. So Vincent would get the blond to start talking and pointing out where his old wounds were so they could finally be tended to. The infections that were pulsing away and poisoning his mind could be cleared up, the necrotic tissue could be cut away and the wounds could be cleaned and stitched closed so Louvet could finally start to heal properly this time. But to truly get started, the bandages had to come off and well…they say that ripping those off was especially painful and well…Vincent may be a hardass but even he was hesitant to rip this set of bandages off.

But it had to be done and Vincent already made it a point to mention that he was the one in charge and what his duty to his staff was so-

“Mike, do you feel up to talking tonight?” Rousseaux whispered gently as he moved his hand from Louvet’s hair down to the blond’s scruffy chin and tilted it upwards ever so slightly.

Louvet huffed as he averted his gaze, “I…I don’t think I’ll ever really be ready to talk about this but…you both deserve an explanation.”

Louvet closed the lid of the dumpster and hoisted himself onto the lid despite the disgusted look on Vincent’s face and the exasperated look on Rousseaux’s face. The blond was tired and he didn’t feel like standing whilst spilling his guts out to the two men he cared for the most in this world, so they would just have to suck it up and deal with his choice in seat.

The blond closed his eyes for a moment and took a few deep breaths to ground himself. He focused on the feeling of the plastic of the lid of the dumpster against his palms, how cool and smooth the plastic felt against his warm palms. He focused on how the cool night air carried the scent of the fresh herbs Vincent was growing in the window box of his apartment down to the alley below. He even focused on the warm and soothing energy radiating off of Rousseaux and the quieter, more focused energy radiating off of Vincent.

Once he felt centered and like his voice wouldn’t immediately give out on him, Louvet began to explain, “As that bitch Madeleine said earlier…I wasn’t born in a male body-Er well a body I was happy with I should say. I-I mean even when I looked like a woman or a girl I was still…you know…a man and a boy respectively if that makes sense. It’s like having the ingredients for one dish, but cooking a different recipe that has those same exact ingredients. The result is different but the basis of it is the same…I think? It’s…it’s hard to explain the hows and whys of this since I…well I barely get them myself.”

Louvet paused to take a calming breath when he noticed the slightly nervous tone that had seeped into his voice about halfway through his explanation. He gripped onto the lid of the dumpster a little tighter and rubbed his thumb against the plastic until he felt a lot more steady than before.

Rousseaux nodded as he drank in Louvet’s words whilst Vincent crossed his arms in thought. How could Louvet not really get his whole situation? Wasn’t he meant to be the expert in his own lived experience or something?

Louvet continued his explanation after he felt grounded once more, which he felt took an eternity but was actually only a moment or two, “From as early back as I can remember I’d always seen myself as male. I would try and sneak out of the house dressed in as boyish clothing as I could manage to find to play and roughhouse with the other boys instead of sitting inside to learn to mend clothing or play dolls with the girls like I was expected to. When I was very young my parents used to allow it because they assumed that what I was going through was just an odd phase, which children do go through odd phases but…this wasn’t a phase. Being called their daughter or young lady or being forced into dresses…it felt…painful. Like there was a barbed weight being forced into my lungs that made breathing hard or being forced to swallow poison that burned my throat. I…I truly did and still do see myself the same as I did all those years ago. I was never meant to be their daughter but their son.”

Rousseaux shuffled closer to Louvet and rested his hand over one of the blond’s hands. Louvet instinctively took hold of Rousseaux’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, which the red-head returned without hesitation. The warmth radiating off of his taller partner chased away the slight chill that always accompanied Louvet’s thoughts of his childhood. So far things were going alright. He wasn’t being interrupted with a million questions he didn’t have the answers to or being judged for being different. But he knew it would change eventually. It always did when he tried to talk about these things, especially before he had made his deal with Tristan.

“As I grew older, the prickly feeling became more prevalent. It started to flare up whenever I’d look in the mirror and see how my body would change each passing year. I started to look less and less like one of the boys and more and more like one of the girls. I…I was no longer allowed to roughhouse with the boys or wear my hair as short as I wanted it to be. My stash of clothes that made me feel comfortable and made the prickly feeling more bearable were taken from me and in their place was left…ugh dresses. I hate the damn things. They always felt too tight in the wrong places and just emphasized the things I hated most about my old physique…my hips, my narrower waist and especially my fucking chest. Of course I had to inherit my mother’s chest and she was especially chesty, the fucking crone,” Louvet continued to speak and allowed a little bit of that bitterness to seep into his voice.

He allowed his inner child, the boy who was denied the chance to truly be free, to let out a bit of that pent up frustration and bitterness that years-no decades of having to keep everything hidden forced him to shove down deeper and deeper into his psyche. Rousseaux gave his hand another squeeze and Louvet could practically picture the concerned look on the red-head’s face. The blond had yet to open his eyes and right now he really didn’t want to. He knew his resolve would crumble if he saw the anguish on either of his fellow chef’s faces and…Louvet didn’t think he could make himself dredge this up again, so he had to keep going. He had to keep baring his innermost pains and secrets out on a platter for the two men he cared for most in the world to examine and pick at like some dish being prepared for inspection in culinary school.

Rousseaux rested his head on Louvet’s shoulder as he whispered, “You’re shaking mon bonheur. Do you want to head inside where it’s warmer?”

Louvet shook his head as he soaked in Rousseaux’s warmth once more. He replied in an equally soft voice, “I…I don’t want the others to overhear us and…Shit if I stop now I don’t think I can continue and…you and Charbonneau need to know everything. It…it’s the least I could offer you both after having to deal with my emotions this evening.”

Vincent spoke up in a firm voice that even surprised him, “You don’t owe either of us anything. This is your past. Your secrets. Your pain. It’s up to you how much you are comfortable revealing to either of us. You may care about both of us, but neither of us are entitled to know everything about you or your past. If you feel like stopping, then stop. But don’t push yourself to the breaking point just to appease either of us. It’s…unlike you to push yourself so far into this territory and neither of us want to see you upset yourself any further.”

Vincent was surprised that those words even came out of his own mouth. It was…surprisingly emotionally intelligent. An intelligence Vincent both didn’t necessarily possess a ton of nor care to acquire more of outside of being able to use it to his own advantage. But this…this was something that a loved one would say to someone having a hard time…Just what the hell has been going on with him lately?! He needed to see a doctor more than-

Louvet used the position of his hand on Vincent’s head to pull the taller chef into a tight embrace. Vincent was stiff as a board and he could feel his face start to burn and his heart start to beat in a much more rapid pace than before. He wasn’t used to…physical affection like this. Especially from Louvet, whose usual brand of physical affection was exclusively an arm around the shoulders, ruffling of hair and whaps to the back of the head with an occasional light punch to the arm if he was feeling especially playful that day.

“I…thank you. And here you go around saying you aren’t good at this whole emotion thing when you have that just locked and loaded and ready to go?” Louvet’s voice was shaking as much as he was, but the warmth in it made Vincent feel a bit more comfortable.

Vincent rolled his eyes and was about to make some sort of snarky comment when Louvet added, “I’m so proud of you son.”

And those six little words, tiny insignificant words on their own, made that snarky comment leave Vincent’s mind entirely. Instead he found himself relaxing into Louvet’s embrace and hesitantly returning it himself in movements that felt far too stiff compared to the more fluid ones he used in the kitchen. But those six little words were words he had never heard directed towards him before.

Vincent’s mother had lofty standards and even when Vincent would either meet or exceed those expectations he was never praised for it. Instead he got a simple, “See? You are capable of bringing honor to our family’s name. Now stop being lazy and keep going. You have cello lessons in half an hour.”

He never had any sort of parental praise before and this…it left his chest feeling light and warm and…and why did his eyes sting? That’s not…normal, was it?

There were patters of water droplets onto Louvet’s shoulder and Vincent knew it wasn’t raining. M-maybe it was just sweat from how overwhelmingly warm it was starting to get or-

Rousseaux soon used his own arms to hold both Louvet and Vincent close to him and the warmth became even greater. Like he was sitting in front of a roaring fire around Christmas time at one of those holiday staff parties Vincent pretended to hate…When did he realize he was only pretending to hate those? When did he let his guard down enough to allow two of his employees that weren’t Rody past the walls Vincent had carefully constructed to keep himself safe? When did he get soft enough to openly express emotions he wasn’t even sure he was still capable of feeling in front of them?

Rousseaux’s deep honey sweet voice only added onto the confusion when he added, “That goes for me as well. You’ve grown up so much and neither of us could be any prouder of the fine young man you’ve become.”

The sting in Vincent’s eyes only intensified and his chest felt overwhelmingly warm and his breaths started to feel more forced when they came out. Louvet’s hand still ran through Vincent’s hair in a way Vincent used to wish his mother’s would and Rousseaux’s thumb rubbed circles against Vincent’s shoulder in a mindless yet somehow…comforting manner. Was this…was this what Rody felt everyday? Was this how he felt when he talked about Manon and how much he cared for her? Was this…was this what being loved felt like?

Vincent closed his eyes and allowed himself to get lost in the warmth of the embrace he was squeezed into. He allowed whatever tears he had kept locked away for almost twenty years to overflow and allowed the accompanying sobs to rip through him until it felt like they’d rip him apart completely. Neither Louvet nor Rousseaux seemed to judge him for his reaction and instead seemed to turn whatever sort of magic they cast onto him up a few notches.

Louvet moved his hand from Vincent’s hair to rub those comforting circles onto the chef’s heaving back while Rousseaux kept whispering soft comforting little things that hardly made sense to Vincent in the moment. Soft things like, “Shhh, let it out son. It’s okay. You’re not alone anymore.”

Here Vincent was so wrapped up in making sure that his bistro would be repaired and that his staff wouldn’t rip themselves apart over their own emotions that he neglected to keep his own emotions in check. How embarrassing. He was a grown man and yet here he was, sobbing freely into Louvet’s shoulder and clinging to him like some child in desperate need of comfort. But…the two men holding him tightly didn’t judge him for it. Instead they lavished more and more comfort onto him until he was practically drowning in it and…a part of Vincent felt more whole than before.

But that was what the two of them had always done for him even in the beginning. Louvet had seen a young Vincent get introduced to the kitchen as the new trainee and had immediately claimed the position of mentor to him. Rousseaux, who apparently had gotten a similar treatment when he first started working in the kitchen, quickly followed suit. And it was more than just teaching him the ins and outs of how a kitchen operated. Louvet would sit with him at one the tables in the dining room and scrutinize his essays for his non-culinary courses whilst Rousseaux would helpfully draw up conversion tables and cheat sheets for Vincent to use for any sort of math Vincent needed to pass his courses. There were still tricks that Rousseaux had taught him that Vincent used to this day.

They still even went further than that by sitting with him during breaks to keep him from being alone. Neither one judged his aversion to most foods and instead tried to help him find ones he could stomach. Louvet would pat him on the head and chide him, “A growing boy like you needs nourishment, kid. Do you wanna be a shrimp like me for the rest of your days?”

But it…it was something Vincent would actually…look forward to. His shifts at Chef Bourbain’s became the shifts he wanted the most out of all of them. He even begged to have more shifts tacked on just so he could see Louvet and Rousseaux more often and back then Vincent didn’t know why that was the case but…now…now he does have an inkling of why that was.

They both…somehow became a family of sorts to him. They both cheered the loudest during his graduation ceremony when he finally graduated culinary school and they had both gifted him with the knives he used to this very day. He could still remember the way Louvet had ruffled his hair and praised him, “I knew you could do it, kid. Now go out there and show those stuffy old bastards what you can really do.”

Rousseaux’s praises had been just as immediate, “See, I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you Charbonneau I-mean Chef. It’s an honor to have you join our ranks properly.”

The two of them had come to the grand opening of the bistro and had agreed to initially start working with him in the hopes of training up his new staff to whatever standard Vincent had set but…those initial two months soon melted into three and then six and then…they stayed the whole six years this place had been open. They stayed despite the high turnover rate in staff and despite how short of a fuse Vincent could get…They stayed because they…they cared about him. They wanted to see him succeed. They wanted to see him continue to sharpen his skills in the kitchen and achieve the great things he set out to achieve and…

Vincent, for the first time in what was probably a lifetime, could somehow understand why Rody chased after love so intensely. It was…nice to be held and feel warm. It was nice to feel like there was always someone in your corner no matter what. The warmth he was surrounded in was intoxicating and he found himself relaxing further and further until-

Louvet smiled fondly as he brushed Vincent’s bangs aside and stated, “You were right. He’s out cold.”

Rousseaux shook his head, “I can’t say I blame him for it. It’s been an exhausting night for all of us.”

Louvet waited patiently as Rousseaux shifted his hold to carry Vincent back inside safely. The blond knew that he was just a little too short to carry Vincent safely like he had before when he was under that curse. But…well as much as he hated to see the fear in Vincent’s eyes when he was cursed like that, a part of Louvet did like how it gave him an excuse to be more overtly paternal than he normally could be with Vincent. The blond had always suspected that Vincent needed more familial affection and…well this just proved his suspicions entirely.

Louvet slid himself off of the dumpster lid as he readjusted Vincent’s hair. Rousseaux chuckled at the sight of the blond fussing over their boss and simply smirked at the annoyed glare Louvet gave him in response. As much as Rousseaux was often assumed to be the softer of the pair, and in most cases he was, it was Louvet that was the true mother hen of the duo. Louvet could be just as fussy when it came to their daughters and on more than one occasion he had a little spat with them over some silly little thing Louvet seemed to be worried about. Their girls were becoming strong and independent young ladies who didn’t need their dads to fight every fight for them or fix every problem for them but…well old habits die hard and Louvet hated nothing more than feeling side-lined when one of his loved ones were struggling with something he felt that he could fix.

“We should be praising him more,” Louvet commented as he finally pulled his hands away to inspect his handiwork.

The blond was a lot calmer than before and his eyes had their razor sharp focus back in them. Never had Rousseaux been so relieved to see the usual cool blue of Louvet’s eyes take on that almost electric look to them. The burning passion and tinge of energy…God he loved this man so much.

Rousseaux hummed softly as he waited for Louvet to get the back door for them, “I agree, but we need to be sly about it. He’s sharp as you know and he’ll likely think we’re just giving him empty praise if we’re too heavy handed with it.”

Louvet huffed as he put his hand on the door handle, “Still…I just can’t fully understand why his mother never…If I had him from the beginning he would-”

Rousseaux shook his head as he interrupted, “We can’t focus on the what ifs Mike. What’s done is done and all we can do now is help him pick up the pieces like we have been. At least he’s able to take a compliment now without immediately trying to find some sort of flaw to negate whatever compliment he had received.”

Louvet rolled his eyes but seemed content enough to drop the topic for now. It was likely he would want to discuss it further later but for right now their focus would be getting Vincent comfortable so he could get some much needed rest. Rousseaux would likely get him tucked in while Louvet would run upstairs to Vincent’s apartment to grab what necessities he could think of off the top of his head. A perfect plan really if he did say so himself.

“Are you…feeling any better Mike? I-I know talking about your past isn’t…you know…” the hesitancy in Rousseaux’s voice had Louvet removing his hand from the door knob and turning around to face the red-head once more.

Louvet sighed deeply as he gripped onto his arm, “I…I don’t know…I…Shit, sorry. I-I definitely feel better from before but…there’s just this prickly feeling in my chest and my head keeps screaming bullshit at me that makes it worse and-”

Rousseaux questioned quietly, “Do you…feel that way often?”

Louvet’s grip went from his arm to rest on the side of his hair as he idly played with the section of his hair where his hair clips weren’t attached to. His voice was equally as hesitant and quiet as Rousseaux’s as he answered, “I…I guess so? I mean it’s like a constant background noise most days but…huh. I-I guess it does get pretty loud when I have my off days. Is that…is that why I…”

Rousseaux leaned down to press a kiss to Louvet’s lips. One kiss turned into two, then three, a fourth and fifth were added in for good measure. Both likely would have kept going if Vincent wasn’t there. Thankfully they both pulled away by the eighth kiss to spare him from waking up to the two of them making out. He might be an adult now but even as an adult it was still gross to see your parental figures making out like horny teenagers.

“For what it’s worth Mike, I think you’re handsome when you’re acting like a papa bear,” Rousseaux laid it on a little thick with the honey sweetness in his voice, but as he expected Louvet ate it up with ease. The flush that painted his partner’s cheeks and the almost shy way he readjusted his hair firmly cemented Rousseaux’s plan to make it so his partner never had to feel that prickly discomfort or hear whatever nasty things his head felt fit to conjure up ever again. His bonheur was precious and…well Rousseaux wanted to say adorable but he knew the blond would be very insulted by that since adorable was often used to describe women and…well knowing what he knows now perhaps Rousseaux needed to find more words to describe how he felt about his partner.

Rousseaux adjusted his hold on Vincent to allow himself to cup Louvet’s cheek and was delighted by the flurry of kisses that the blond was pressing against the his palm and down the inner part of his wrist. The soft scratch of Louvet’s scruff on his chin, and slight tickle of his lashes against Rousseaux’s skin. It was perfect. He was perfect and Rousseaux would gladly spend every day of the rest of his life reminding this man of just how much he was loved and every other little thing Rousseaux could think to layer on top.

“You’re so strong and protective,” Rousseaux continued as Louvet kept up his flurry of affection. He could feel the blond’s eyes flickering over to him and the soft shudders of the blond’s body against his hand. So precious. So delectable. Rousseaux knew that he needed to remind his partner of just how loved he was properly once they got an actual private moment to themselves “You’re so determined and you care so deeply for those you deem as yours. God Mike, just when I think I couldn’t possibly fall for you any more than I already have, you go and do something that proves me wrong time a-and t-time again.”

Louvet was getting a little more bold as Rousseaux kept complimenting him. The kisses started to become mingled with soft nibbles and suckles against Rousseaux’s skin, similar to how Rousseaux had practically devoured Louvet’s neck earlier. Rousseaux bit his lower lip to stifle the soft moan building at the back of his throat and his eyes flickered in slight frustration at the hint of mischief on his partner’s lips. The blond knew exactly what he was doing and as much it annoyed the red-head…it was comforting in its own way. It was a sign that Louvet was getting back to his usual self and…well Rousseaux did figure he deserved a little payback for making Louvet’s neck all black and blue and littered with bite marks that would need to be covered up for at least a week.

Rousseaux’s voice sounded strained as he stated, “M-mike, we still need to g-get inside. W-we don’t want C-chef to get cold out here.”

Louvet paused as his gaze flickered back over to Vincent’s slumbering form. His eyes softened as he pressed one last kiss to Rousseaux’s palm before he leaned forward to press a kiss to Vincent’s temple. The dark-haired chef mumbled something softly but didn’t awaken at the small gesture of affection. Good. The last thing either of them wanted was for him to wake up cranky and ready to chew them both out for being careless or something.

“He’s still far too light,” Rousseaux commented as Louvet blindly pawed around for the door knob behind him. Silly as it was, it was endearing to know that Louvet cared this deeply for the man in Rousseaux’s arms.

Louvet hummed softly, “I know. He may be an adult but he still needs us, huh. I think I still have a few contacts from the war days that could help us on this one.”

Rousseaux nodded as he mulled over Louvet’s words. Neither of them talked very much about the war even though both had fought in it. Both had nearly died because of it and both had their own share of blood on their hands because of the war. But…it was also never an easy thing for either of them to talk about and it was an unspoken rule that issues relating to the war wouldn’t be spoken of without a bottle of brandy nearby to soothe their pain.

But Rousseaux could remember being similar to Vincent once the camp he was in was liberated. Rousseaux’s diet at the camp was by no means meant to sustain him for as long as it had and as a result most foods made him ill for the longest time. It took ages of working with doctors and nutritionists to slowly start to build himself back up to the point he’s at now. He still couldn’t stomach large portions of the rich dishes he used to before the war but…small portions were doable. His partner was more than understanding of Rousseaux’s plight and often prepared lighter yet still filling meals to make up for it. Citrus and lighter herbs became a part of Louvet’s signature style in his personal cooking for a reason and…it made Rousseaux’s face warm knowing that Louvet’s style had evolved just to accommodate his partner’s needs.

“Well mon amour,” Louvet’s voice pulled Rousseaux out of his thoughts as the back door slowly creaked open. The light and warmth of the kitchen filtered through the open doorway and Rousseaux could feel Vincent shift ever so slightly in his arms to curl against Rousseaux’s chest even more. “We should get our son ready for bed, no?”

Rousseaux leaned down to press a kiss to Vincent’s forehead, before he replied, “Indeed, we should. He’s still a growing boy and growing boys do need all of the rest they can possibly get.”

Louvet stood aside to allow Rousseaux inside before quietly closing the door behind them. It was a scene that reminded both of their younger days when Vincent was training under them. More often than not, the lack of proper nutrition meant that Vincent often napped during his breaks and would sometimes fall asleep in the middle of the end of service cleaning duties he was assigned. Each and every time without complaint either Rousseux or Louvet would find someplace quieter for him to finish his nap while the other partner finished whatever cleaning duties remained. He would be held close by whomever had elected to carry him to a quieter napping location until he was rested enough to continue his shift.

Despite the light teasing he would earn as soon as he woke up from his naps, Vincent continued to feel safe enough around the duo to get his much needed rest. It was a level of trust that carried into adulthood and Louvet and Rousseaux were both thankful for it. Trust was the most important resource they could rely on where they were going and well…neither of them wanted it to run out before they even arrived at their destination. If their team couldn’t trust one another then more than just their mission would be doomed. Their very souls would be damned for their foolishness and…There was no point in dwelling on the what ifs now.

Louvet yawned loudly and stretched as he continued to walk towards the door to the dining room. He was wiped out himself and he still needed to fetch Vincent’s things for him. Whatever extras the chef needed could be handled in the morning when he was awake and the rest of the team was repacking their own supplies.

The blond pushed the door open and waited for the red-head to ease his way through the doorway. The previous conversation in the dining room quieted down into a hushed silence that was a little bit awkward, but definitely appreciated. Both of the older chefs knew that Vincent would be more than embarrassed if he woke up in Rousseaux’s arms and was caught in that position by the rest of his staff. Oh the colorful swears that would come flying out of his mouth. One would really be able to see Louvet’s influence if that happened…Whoops.

“Is he-,” Beaumont was interrupted when Rousseaux eased Vincent into the designated spot for him. The red-head dug out Vincent’s keys and tossed them to Louvet, who caught them with his right hand.

“He knocked out on us, but he’ll be fine,” Rousseaux reassured as he eased Vincent out of his shoes and threw the blanket over him.

Louvet quickly made his way back through the kitchen and the others waited until they heard the back door to close until all eyes rested on Rousseaux. The red-head knew what was coming and he huffed as he straightened back up. There was a soft click of his knees and a crackle along his back. God getting old sucked.

“So what did Louvet say…you know out in the alley?” Manet implored with an almost cat-like smirk on his face and a glitter in his eyes that promised nothing but trouble.

Rousseaux crossed his arms as he retorted, “Nothing that you need to know.”

Manet raised his hands in a surrender position with a slightly nervous grin on his face as he replied, “Easy now papa bear! Can’t a guy show some concern for one of his co-workers?”

“For most people, yes. For you, no. You just want something to tease him about,” Faucher added as he finished adjusting his sleep mask so he could just pull it down over his eyes when he was ready to sleep.

“I wouldn’t tease him about THAT!” Manet defended as he put a hand to his chest. “What do you think I am? A monster? No, no. I would tease him about being a short bastard or dressing like an old man, but for well that…nah. He had no control over that.”

Rousseaux finally allowed himself to relax as he stated, “It better stay that way. Don’t think I’m above kicking your ass if you even think about it.”

Manet rolled his eyes as he scoffed, “Considering I have a cousin who is in a similar boat to Louvet but reversed? Yeah, you don’t have to worry about me going back on my word.”

Manet blinked and ducked his head slightly, swearing under his breath as he mussed up his hair. Well why did he have to go and say that?! He promised his darling cousin Irene that he wouldn’t say anything! Hell she hadn’t come out to her parents yet and here Manet goes betraying her trust!

Beaumont spoke up in a slightly excited voice, “Do you know what size she is in clothes? My sister is on the taller side and might have a few things your cousin could have if she’s having trouble finding suitable clothes.”

Manet’s face flushed as he mumbled, “I-I can ask but…well I wasn’t really meant to say anything. She only really had her ‘aha’ moment and realized that she was well she rather than he only a few months ago.”

Lavigne snorted, “And you wonder why Rousseaux didn’t want to say anything to you blabbermouth? You’re lucky you mentioned it to us and not some strangers.”

Manet covered his face with his pillow and flopped back onto the floor with a groan. Why couldn’t God have given his mouth a better filter?! He could feel his face burning and he already knew that he had to apologize to his darling cousin for saying something. He knew she would get suspicious if he started asking more in depth questions about what kind of clothes or shoes or whatever she needed. Manet wasn’t necessarily the most interested in fashion but he at least cut a sharp figure. He definitely caught the attention of more ladies than some of the old geezers he worked with when the chefs went out on their weekly afterwork meetup.

Manet heard a shuffle near him and felt a pat on his exposed shoulder before he heard Rousseaux speak once more, “I’d say I could ask Mike to talk to her if she wanted to start building connections with people like her but…well he might not be the best one to go to for advice on what to do. It’s not like he went through things the conventional way…whatever that entails anyway.”

Manet flumped the pillow off of his face before he replied, “Usually surgery is involved and she signed up for an experimental type of hormone therapy. With luck it should make it easier for the doctors to do their thing so she can be happier with how she looks. She mentioned that certain parts of her make her feel…what was the word she used?”

“Prickly?” Rousseaux suggested as his mind wandered back to what little Louvet had mentioned in the alley. To think his partner often felt that way still made Rousseaux far more upset than he cared to admit.

“Yeah that. How did-”

Rousseaux huffed as he admitted begrudgingly, “That’s the only thing I’ll admit to what he mentioned out there. That he…well he gets this odd feeling whenever he’s reminded of…well how he used to look. He described it as like having barbed wire in his lungs or something.”

Before anyone could comment on Rousseaux’s statement, the sound of the back door opening once more sounded. The group quickly returned to looking like they weren’t just talking about Louvet and what they had just learned about him just as the kitchen door opened. The blond had a bag in his hand with what the others assumed was Vincent’s usual array of toiletries, medications he might need and possibly a few changes of clothes.

The blond noticed the odd tension in the room and looked over at Rousseaux with narrowed eyes. The red-head shook his head and the blond relaxed a little as he finally reached the group. He set the bag down close to where Vincent was still resting before he eased himself down into his spot next to Rousseaux.

Boucher decided to break the tension as he looked over at Louvet and asked, “S-so umm…do you have any idea what we might be facing tomorrow?”

Not necessarily the kind of thing he had wanted to ask but perhaps if he changed the topic entirely the blond would feel better. Sometimes distraction helped Boucher deal with his anxious moods and more often than not his co-workers were great at providing plenty of things to keep his mind occupied on things other than his nerves. Like how Donadieu could recite practically every chapter and passage of the Bible by memory, or how Dior could juggle eight oranges with ease, or how Faucher knew the entirety of the periodic table of elements and could rattle off a fact about each element, or even how-

“Well, we first need to find an entryway that’s relatively close to where Lamoree is being kept,” Louvet finally spoke after taking a moment to collect his thoughts. His raspy voice had broken through Boucher’s little mental spiral with such ease. If only Boucher could find a way to do that by himself…

“Define relatively close,” Dior implored as he tossed Louvet a few of the leftover cherry candies.

Louvet popped one into his mouth and hummed as he thought for a moment or two. His eyes flickered with a few unreadable emotions that had Rousseaux not so subtly resting his hand closer to Louvet’s.

Louvet finally spoke once more after tucking the candy into his one cheek to talk properly, “Well we can’t just enter his prison directly, it’d be too expected and…well if he is where I think he is then I’ll probably be incinerated on the spot.”

“Christ Louvet what the fuck did you do down there?” Manet half-whispered, remembering that his boss was still sleeping nearby and how dangerous Vincent could be if he was operating on little sleep.

“Well for starters I spat in the face of the demon who gave me this body and then I managed to escape his house of horrors,” Louvet replied with a slight shrug of his shoulders. As if it wasn’t a big deal that he had been to Hell before and managed to live to tell the tale.

Rousseaux snickered, “Yeah you escaped only because I came down to help your sorry ass. You were in a pretty tight spot when I managed to find you.”

Louvet’s face grew pink as he quietly focused on the taste of his candy and very pointedly avoided the suddenly very intently interested looks of his co-workers. Gossips. The whole lot of them.

Lavigne asked in a hesitant voice, “Umm…define tight situation…o-only if-”

Louvet finally grumbled, “Alright fine. The damn bastard had me shrunk down to size of one of those fashion dolls and his fucking legion of brainwashed little fuck toys were trying to play dress up. Rousseaux managed to distract them long enough for me to sneak off to find an antidote.”

Louvet held himself in a loose hold and Rousseaux wondered idly if that feeling Louvet had mentioned before was starting to intensify. Rousseaux scooted just a little closer to his partner to try and allow his body heat to wash over the blond in an attempt to soothe him. The blond’s shoulders were looking much more tense than before. Clearly the whole incident bothered him on more than one level. Something that his co-workers seemed to sense was likely due to the skeleton that had been dragged out of his closet earlier that evening.

Dior wrinkled his nose, “They did that to you? Damn Louvet, you’re a tougher man than I am. I probably would have died of embarrassment on the spot if I had to go through that.”

Manet snickered, “Tell me about it! I may like my women meaty, but that much taller than me? No thanks! I’m not into giant women.”

Faucher teased, “Nah, just ones with tentacles and-”

Manet whacked his snickering co-worker with his pillow. A bright flush burned on his face as he sputtered, “Wh-why do you keep bringing up such lewd things in front of Father Donadieu!? H-he’s not meant to know of such…sinful things!”

Donadieu merely shook his head with a slight smile. Did Manet forget that a priest’s job was to hear about how his flock had sinned in order to forgive them? If he hadn’t sworn to keep his flock’s sins a secret, then perhaps he would have shared the vague story of a few of the confessions that he had heard. Ah well, it was free entertainment to watch Manet overreact on Donadieu’s behalf and who was Donadieu to deny himself a little excitement in his old age.

Beaumont looked at Louvet intently as she hummed, “Well I know they certainly wouldn’t pick anything that would do you justice. I doubt they have a nice shade of blue down in Hell.”

Louvet shook his head, “Nope. It was all that gaudy burn your eyes when you look at it pink or hyper feminine dresses and plastic little high heels that I wanted to make them choke on.”

“Oh ew, you don’t have the legs to make a dress work,” Lavigne commented idly before she slapped a hand over her mouth and looked over at Louvet worriedly.

Louvet snickered in response, “I certainly don’t. Never have, never will.”

Lavigne sighed in relief. Crisis averted. He at least found her statement funny enough to laugh at it. But damn did she need to watch her mouth more closely.

Manet joked back, “I’m just surprised you passed up the chance to finally be above legal midget status. Those heels might have finally made you five feet tall my friend.”

Louvet threw one of the candies at Manet and smirked at the wince the younger chef made when it hit his collar bone. Manet stuck his tongue out at Louvet before popping the candy into his mouth. Rousseaux rolled his eyes, sometimes he swore that he worked with children.

“If my ugly ass legs can’t pull off a dress then they certainly can’t pull off heels,” Louvet snorted before he finally crunched down on the candy in his mouth.

Dior shuddered, “I don’t think I could do heels either. They just look uncomfortable to wear.”

“They are,” Beaumont, Lavigne and Louvet replied simultaneously. The three shared a look before the two lady chefs started giggling and Louvet rolled his eyes. Again, he never truly understood women and how their minds worked.

Faucher got a look in his eyes before he asked Louvet, “Question, did you find dresses and skirts easier to move in or pants?”

Louvet shrugged as he answered, “Pants obviously. My mother made me wear hideous bloomers underneath my dresses and forbade me from doing anything that would make them show. Of course I did things to spite the woman because I refused to allow a stupid piece of clothing to get in the way of my fun.”

“Such as?” Manet wriggled his brows and drew closer, getting that feline smirk on his face that he always got when he was prepared to hear a little juicy gossip.

Before Rousseaux could interject on Louvet’s behalf, the blond replied, “Well she had gotten me a new dress once and forbade me from riding my bike with it on. So I took the dress off and rode my bike through the neighborhood in just my corset and bloomers. She just about had an aneurysm when I had run out the front door with such little on.”

Manet gagged, “Ew, no offense but I just can’t picture you in a corset. You got a hairy chest and shit.”

Louvet snickered as he rubbed his nails on his shirt, “Good, you shouldn’t be picturing me like that. I’m far too old to be entertaining little boys like you.”

Manet sputtered nonsense, which made Louvet continue to laugh at him quietly. The previous tension of the room morphed into a more jovial one, just like it usually was when the team was busy prepping ingredients for the way. One of them would wind up the butt of all the jokes and the others would continue the line of jokes until Vincent had enough and told them all to shut up unless they wanted extra cleaning duties. Most days they would listen and do as they were told, but there were a few occasions when Rody would join in and Vincent was more tolerable of the atmosphere.

The lights in both the kitchen and dining room were soon turned off as the chefs continued to swap stories about their own respective childhoods. Each one took care to only mention stories that would perpetuate the jovial and light atmosphere. As they all chatted, Rousseaux watched Louvet closely. His partner seemed much more relaxed than before and his snickers set Rousseaux’s mind at ease. Perhaps this was what Louvet needed to start with. Lighter stories that he actually felt comfortable with sharing rather than delving head first into the deeper and more troubling feelings he had regarding his past. Sure, there were brief flickers of melancholy on occasion as he spoke but…Well Rousseaux knew that at least the blond was talking now.

It would take a lot of time and patience before Louvet felt comfortable enough to reveal everything he wanted to reveal to both his co-workers and his little family but…Rousseaux knew he could wait. He’d rather Louvet take all the time he needed to process things and feel comfortable in what he was revealing than twist the blond’s arm until every little secret poured out of his mouth. Only when Louvet felt comfortable revealing the extent of his wounds to others could the real healing truly begin and the red-head knew that they had plenty of time to tend to those wounds. They had the rest of their lives to do so and from the look of things the rest of their lives was shaping up to be a very long one.

Chapter Text

The monotonous clicking of the clock only added fuel to the growing sense of frustration that was starting to form a bubbling pool in her chest. Sure, taking notes in the notebook was very easy. The pen glided across each page with ease and the usual cramps she would get in her hand from writing too much had yet to start up but…Well she’s never been the best solo studier. No, Manon always had a group with her to study when she was in college. Even in secondary school she still had a small group of girls she would prepare for exams with…

There was nobody around to bounce ideas off of or ask questions about things she didn’t quite understand. Just her and the dusty books in her hands that couldn’t reply to any questions posed to them. As lovely as books were, they couldn’t hold a conversation in the same way that a living breathing person could. They could only tell Manon what was inside of their pages and it was up to other books, her prior knowledge and her imagination to put all of the pieces together. It was never this difficult to research something new when-

Manon set her pen down and looked out the window as she worried her lip. That’s right…She almost forgot about all those times she had to turn what was supposed to be a romantic outing with Rody into study sessions, especially during her college days. He would never complain when they had to rearrange things and instead threw himself into the role of fetching her books or other supplies and would even explain things to her as best as he could. Rody was a former honor’s student and he had such a lovely brain sometimes…It only felt like yesterday that they were on another date like that…
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“Again, I’m really sorry that you have to spend your only Saturday off of work helping me study!” Manon groaned apologetically as she rested her head on the table. Her long brown hair flopped around her, covering up her notes on the subject that had proven to be the bane of her existence this semester: introduction to anthropology.

Why had she taken that course again? Oh yeah, it was because of her stupid friend Millie that insisted that it would be an easy course and that the professor that taught it was very cute. Now Manon was stuck having to listen as the man, who was nowhere near as cute as the one sitting before her, droned on and on about neolithic populations and advancements in dating physical remains both humanoid and non-humanoid. Ugh. Why hadn’t she just taken that astronomy class with her friend Euphemia again? At least then she would be looking at stars and could daydream about the stories associated with them.

Rody reached across the table to gently brush the bangs from Manon’s frustrated face as he reassured, “Chérie, it’s okay! It doesn’t matter to me where we spend our dates! As long as I can see you, that’s all that matters to me.”

Manon met his greenish-gray eyes, such expressive eyes that were practically overflowing with love and adoration for her, and couldn’t fight the small yet fond smile growing on her lips. This man was far too endearing for his own good sometimes.

Manon straightened up and stretched as Rody slowly withdrew his hand from her face to give her a little space. A part of her wanted to reassure him that he could be affectionate with her more often but…Well he was just starting to get more comfortable with physical affection again after what sounded like a dreadful breakup with a different girl. Apparently he had been dumped for being TOO affectionate, which sounded more like an issue with the girl than with Rody. But Manon would be patient with him. It was the least that Rody deserved after he had shown her patience with changing their dates like this so often…

“I still don’t get why an anthropology course like this is even an elective option for my degree. What does anthropology even have to do with journalism anyway?” Manon sighed as she tried to return her attention to what felt like the driest book in the world. Even her sometimes overactive imagination struggled to make the material more palatable to her…

Rody rested his head on one of his hands, looking at her with that dreamy expression that always made him smile a slightly goofy smile. Manon didn’t even need to see his face to know he was doing it. It always left her feeling warm and loved whenever he had his eyes on her like that.

Rody looked down at the pages in the book that was proving to be the bane of Manon’s existence as he quietly replied, “Sometimes knowing more about a person’s past and where they come from can help you understand them better.”

Manon looked up at Rody curiously. What did he mean by that?

“The world is changing so rapidly, we may be building up colonies on the moon in ten years time for all we know,” Rody continued to explain as he continued to read bits and pieces of Manon’s textbook. Er well as much as he could make out from it being upside down from his perspective anyway. “But knowing where we came from can not only help us appreciate where we are now, but also remember to treat our fellow man with dignity and kindness. We all come from the same cradle that Mother Nature made by hand, right?”

Manon couldn’t help but stare as she took in Rody’s words. It was…a very shockingly profound thing for someone as optimistic and carefree as Rody. He just…Well Manon didn’t want to say he was stupid or anything but…Rody just always gave off the impression of not having a lot going on in that pretty little head of his. At least nothing nearly as deep as that…

Rody noticed Manon staring at him and his cheeks flushed as he looked away and laughed nervously, “E-er well s-something like that. Eheh.”

Rody rubbed the back of his neck and pulled his shoulders in. There he goes again. Being all shy because he did something he felt he probably shouldn’t.

Manon took Rody’s free hand in between both of hers and waited for his eyes to flick over to meet hers before she spoke, “You don’t have to be so nervous around me Rody. I don’t expect you to be anything except for yourself.”

Rody’s eyes glittered brightly before they dulled as he looked away, “I…Well I can’t do that to you Manon. Nobody likes a know-it-all or a show-off…”

Manon gave his hands a soft squeeze, which Rody returned without hesitation. The hollowness in his voice, the lifeless look in his eyes…Both were the very antithesis of the Rody that Manon knew and was starting to love. Somberness didn’t suit a man who was so bright and full of life.

“You’re not either of those things,” Manon moved one of her hands to cup Rody’s cheek as her soft words reached Rody’s ears. She brushed her thumb over the moles beneath his eyes and smiled softly at how his cheeks warmed beneath her fingers.

Rody’s eyes hesitantly met her own once more and Manon was reminded of a puppy dog. A sad puppy dog who had lost his favorite ball. She could practically picture the droopy ears and tail on Rody now. It’d be a cute image if he didn’t make her heart ache so terribly. Sunshine boy Rody didn’t deserve to look so heartbreakingly gloomy. Not on Manon’s watch.

“There’s nothing wrong with using that brain of yours Rody,” Manon added as she moved her other hand to cup his face fully between her hands. He was effectively forced into keeping eye contact with her unless he wanted to keep his eyes, which were starting to become a little glassy with unshed tears, shut. “I won’t be insulted if you say something intelligent, or if you’re affectionate or any of those things that those other women couldn’t appreciate. You’re a good man Rody, never let anyone stop you from remembering that.”

“Chérie…” Rody’s breath hitched softly as he reached up to rest one of his hands against one of her own and leaned into her gentle touch.

Manon leaned forward to rest her forehead against Rody’s as she whispered, “You don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not just to keep me happy Rody. You do that by just being you. The man I agreed to date is kind, considerate, more introspective than he leads you to believe, and of course much smarter than even he gives himself credit for. Even if we have disagreements, I’d never want you to force yourself to change into something you’re not. The world needs more honest people Rody and you’re one of them.”

A quiet passed over the couple as they simply chose to soak in the warmth that their closeness brewed up. It was the most intimate position they had taken up since they had started dating a mere three months ago but…Neither one felt the need to rush things. They were both still young and neither one was fully established yet. It was far too early to consider things like marriage or children like their peers were.

There was the distant clicking of a clock, the scratching of pens against paper, the flipping of pages and soft grumbles of disgruntled students trying to cram for exams or find sources for their mountain of essays that they had to do. It was an atmosphere that made the moment between the couple feel oddly special. Like they were the only ones truly alive in an otherwise lifeless library. That the knowledge that they were engaging with was something that couldn’t be found within the numberless books on the shelves around them.

Rody managed to pull himself together and cleared his throat before he suggested, “W-we should get that assignment finished. M-maybe we could go to our usual spot for coffee when we’re done.”

Manon nodded as she pulled her hands away and gathered up her notes and textbooks. Rody’s brows furrowed in confusion before Manon moved to sit right next to him and placed her materials out before the two of them. She cracked open her textbook from earlier and leaned her head against Rody’s shoulder as she asked, “Will you help me understand this section?”

Rody swallowed thickly as his cheeks burned even brighter than before. He hesitantly wrapped an arm around Manon’s arm to pull her a little closer before he rested his head on top of hers. He could feel Manon’s own cheeks start to warm as well as they settled into a position that both would hopefully become more comfortable with in the near future.

“Of course chérie. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t help you survive this class from hell?” Rody answered with a smile on his lips that finally allowed Manon to fully relax. The sun had come back once more and her Rody seemed to be in a much better place mentally than before.

Yes, a smile suited Rody very nicely and Manon would do her best to ensure that one stayed on his face for the rest of their days. No matter how long or short those days may be.
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Manon sighed deeply. She really didn’t realize how good she had it back in those days. The days before she had graduated. The days her and Rody were still a new couple and were still learning each other’s boundaries. The days before Rody started to slowly chip away at what little of himself he managed to scrape up after all of his previous breakups. The days before Rody used those little pieces of himself he had chipped away to try and build Manon up. To try and make her happy by sacrificing what little he had for himself.

If only she could go back in time and stop Rody from concocting such a harebrained scheme in the first place. Maybe then they wouldn’t be stuck in this mess. They wouldn’t both be stuck in separate circles of Hell just because they broke up and Manon’s desperation made her agree to a deal with a witch to make Rody better…

But who was Manon kidding here? It was woven into the very fabric of who Rody was as a person to give and give and give until he had no more to give. Even then he’d still somehow find a way to give something! Manon could still remember days where Rody would spend any and every spare moment he could with her. Time that he could have spent resting up between his various jobs was instead spent catering to her and her needs. It just…it was so painful to watch a man who was so good to her literally deteriorate before her eyes. The amount of times he had accidentally fallen asleep on her couch or on her bed because he was just too exhausted to stay awake another moment longer. The times he would suddenly jerk awake from a half-asleep state muttering something about taking orders or moving things or-

Manon sighed as she shook her head. Well as soon as the two of them were out of Hell, Manon would personally see to it that Rody started taking better care of himself. Even if that meant either moving in with him or, the more likely option, having him move in with her. Maybe if he didn’t have to worry about rent for a little while he could actually get some form of rest. Once he was better rested, then perhaps Rody would actually be able to make more rational decisions for once rather than just go with whatever whim his sleep deprived brain told him was the correct decision to make. Yes. That definitely sounded like a doable plan!

Manon stretched as she decided to put her current task of recording her survival plans and schematics into her new notebook onto the back burner. There was no real point in just bashing her head against the wall in an effort to make some semblance of progress when a quick break would be more than sufficient to refresh her mind. Besides, there was still plenty of pieces of information that she did manage to record that she still needed time to digest and ideas she still had to toy with. For instance, how was she going to carry around all of her supplies?

Manon hummed as she slid off of her cozy perch to glance at a few of the labels designating different sections of the library once more. Well she doubted that Isolde would willingly part with a bag large enough for Manon’s needs, not without expecting some sort of payment or explanation for why she needed a bag that large in the first place. Perhaps if Manon looked busy engaging in stereotypically feminine activities her host and the staff would be unaware of what Manon’s true plans and intentions were. Manon knew that her late great aunt used to have an entire tool box worth of tools and supplies on her person at all times just because of a series of hidden pockets and holsters sewn into all of her skirts. That was the kind of ingenuity that Manon needed to tap into to make her grand escape and rescue Rody.

She gathered up the books relating to survival and tucked them back into their designated slots on the shelf beside her previous study spot. Why bother leaving a mess as simple as this behind, right? Besides, if she made it look like she was just mindlessly taking notes and gathering information then perhaps she wouldn’t get nearly as much interference in her actual plans.

‘Don’t you worry Rody,’ Manon thought as she started to scout out her next destination within the library, ‘I’ll be getting both of us out of here very soon.’

She turned on her heel and started to wander deeper into the library. Despite the lingering fears of encountering that…thing from upstairs, Manon kept her head held up high and walked with a confidence in her steps that masked the whispers of doubt and anxiety that licked at the edges of her consciousness. No. She had to keep forging ahead no matter what. If the tables were turned…if it was Rody who was stuck here and had to make his way to Manon to rescue her…Manon knew that Rody wouldn’t hesitate to stare down and battle Satan himself if it meant having Manon safe in his arms once more. Manon knew that she had to be prepared to do the same for him.

Rody. Sweet sunshine boy Rody. The man who loved as easily as he breathed. The man who gave everything he had to build Manon into the woman she was today. The man she intended on seeing standing underneath her dream wedding arch and crying tears of joy with when her no-their children were born. Her happily ever after. Her prince charming. He showed so much devotion towards her that it would be an insult if Manon didn’t return that devotion now when it mattered most of all.

Devotion. Yes. That was what it was. It wasn’t a growing obsession. Don’t be silly. She just had to make sure that Rody was safe and…Well if she got there before Vincent then that was even better, right? Rody…Rody wouldn’t want to see Vincent again any time soon anyway, right? Right. Especially not after…

Manon shook her head as she felt a hot flush grow on her cheeks and a tremor grow in her hands. Vincent Charbonneau. He could hide behind that mask of cold impassiveness and professionalism all he wanted, but Manon knew the truth. She knew that he was likely trying to slowly mold Rody into his subservient plaything. Maybe he was stringing him along with the promise of a raise in exchange for…sexual favors.

Manon grit her teeth as she could practically picture it how. Poor sweet innocent Rody with his puppy dog eyes staring up at Vincent inquisitively as Vincent sat on the edge of his desk with a slightly lecherous smile on his face. The way Vincent would reach down to stroke Rody’s auburn hair and whisper, “Such a good boy Lamoree. Keep it up and I’ll give you a little bonus this week.”

Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. How a man could abuse his power over an employee like that and live with himself was beyond Manon’s comprehension. Before she would have doubted that Vincent was capable of anything other than treating Rody like any other employee but now…After seeing how boldly he had touched Rody in the alleyway and had Rody practically melting in his touch like that? After seeing how Vincent denied any wrongdoing when she had seen him afterwards? Yeah no. Manon knew that she had to rescue Rody first. It was the only way to keep him safe from falling into the clutches of another monster that was trying to claw its way towards her beloved boyfriend.
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Isolde hummed softly as she continued to examine the notes and diagrams that Manon had lovingly taken in the enchanted notebook. Just as she had suspected, Manon had no idea that there was anything wrong with her notebook and was using it very liberally. Now Isolde had an idea of how she could subtly sabotage the brunette’s future escape plans and preparations.

‘Such a shame she’s hung up on that ungrateful plouc. She would be such a lovely member of my household if given the chance,’ Isolde thought as she flipped the page over to examine the section detailing the differences between poison ivy, poison oak and poison sumac. Not that Manon really had to worry about vegetation like that down here but…Well perhaps it would help sell her false narrative to the staff.

Doomsday preparations? Laughable really. Those cowards on the surface would never risk their own annihilation, so why would they risk being the one to pull the trigger first? If anything would take all those fools out it would be the shifting climate that nobody seemed to be taking any serious steps to sort out. Ah well, that just meant that Isolde could look forward to finding some choice specimens to join her household in the near future. Er well, near to her anyway. When one is centuries old like Isolde a few decades was like a few days to a human.

There was a knock on her office door and Isolde closed the notebook before she called, “You may enter.”

The door opened to reveal a maid in the same pink and white uniform as the rest of the staff. Her auburn colored hair was tied into a set of pigtails with a pair of white ribbons. Her warm colored hair complimented the equally warm tan of her freckled skin. Her bright greenish-gray eyes were captivating, when she wasn’t averting her gaze shyly that is.

“I-I um have your tea m’lady,” the maid stammered as she gently set down a steaming cup of tea in a very delicate looking cup.

Isolde smiled as she rested her head on one of her hands and purred, “Thank you Rosie. You’re such a doll.”

Rosie blushed and looked down as she fidgeted with her hands, “Y-you flatter me far too much m’lady…”

Isolde took a sip of the tea and sighed contently at the delicate taste of lavender and camomile on her tongue. The slight touch of honey, one of her favorite tastes, had reminded Isolde of a simpler time. A time before she and Tristan had risen to the ranks they currently occupied. A time when they were mere children and would sneak away to spy on what the early human settlements were doing…

Isolde watched her fidgety little maid as she lowered the tea cup. Such a shy, sweet little lady. A perfect little addition to their household. Isolde still had yet to fully break her in and perhaps…well perhaps a little task might be just what she needs to give Rosie a little confidence boost.

“I have a task for you Rosie,” Isolde stated as she straightened up and tented her fingers together.

Rosie curtsied low as she replied, “Your wish is my command, m’lady. Y-you know that I would do anything for you.”

Isolde smirked. That was exactly what she wanted to hear.

Isolde opened up the notebook and turned it around for Rosie to read the contents of it. She waited for the maid to pick up the notebook and start reading the inside of it.

Isolde explained in an even voice, “Your task is to keep our guest distracted and unable to prepare any of these things. She intends on trying to escape from the manor and she truly doesn’t realize the gravity of what she’s attempting to do.”

Rosie’s eyes widened as she looked up at Isolde worriedly. She whispered in a quivering voice, “Sh-she couldn’t! M’lady, you and I both know how dangerous the outside of the manor is! Sh-she wouldn’t survive out there for a moment without-without…”

Rosie shuddered and covered her mouth as a few tears came to her eyes. Isolde stood and rounded the desk before pulling in the maid for a side hug. The soft muffled sobs had Isolde worrying her lip briefly.

“Which is precisely why we must be successful in this mission,” Isolde replied in a calm voice as she felt the hot patters of Rosie’s tears against her shoulder. “You know better than most of the other ladies here how dangerous the rest of Hell can be, especially for a woman.”

A part of Isolde felt terrible for manipulating her maid’s emotions like this. For bringing up a trauma that often left the poor girl shaking and screaming in the middle of night but…Well the job must be done. Manon must be kept away from Rody. If there was anyone who could get Rody out of Hell, it would be Manon and well…Neither Tristan nor Isolde would fare very well if they allowed another prisoner to escape from Hell.

Isolde’s eyes narrowed as she remembered the last prisoner to escape from their clutches. Michelle Louvet. That selfish little woman who used their mistress to live out the rest of her days as a man like the degenerate she truly was. How a shameful little imp like that could outsmart two demons who were both centuries older than her and much more powerful than her was still beyond Isolde’s comprehension. No matter. There will be no repeat of that incident and there was still plenty of time to get revenge against the petty little bitch that had the nerve to divorce her mistress.

For now though, she had a guest that needed to be pushed in the right direction. Either to be dissuaded from rescuing Rody entirely or to be sent to the Sloth Circle where Isolde could easily go and collect her once more. As much as Isolde was banking on option one, her heart knew that it would likely wind up being option two. Ah well. Isolde has always had a taste for the feisty ones. They were always the most fun to break.

Chapter Text

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Rody furrowed his brows before his eyes slowly opened. Just where was that sound coming from? He couldn’t recall whether there was a clock in the room but…

‘When did I pass out? I…Wasn’t I trying to keep watch while-’ Rody’s train of thought derailed when he sat up and a small bit of white caught his attention.

Rody looked down at his arm and his brows furrowed once more, ‘How did I-no when did I change into my uniform? I…I only have the clothes I was in from before right? Wh-when did-’

Rody looked at his arms more closely to see various dotted lines drawn in dark ink around them. They followed the structure of his muscles on his arms and around his hands. They even crossed between each of his fingers.

“I-I’ve seen these before…” Rody mumbled to himself as he rubbed against one of the marks.

The ink didn’t smear from his rubbing but a memory came to mind. He’s been here before. When he had first started working at the bistro he had a nightmare like this. He had gotten really itchy and wherever he had scratched had those odd marks like…

“Butchers’ marks,” Rody whispered to himself. Now he remembered.

Rody could recall standing in the freezer on a slower day and helping to put away some of the supplies whilst Vincent and Rousseaux broke down a huge slab of meat fresh from the butcher. Vincent had marked up each section of meat and quietly explained what dish would be made from each section whilst Rousseaux took on the grisly task of breaking the meat down properly.

Rody shivered as he finally looked around the room he was in. He was in the kitchen at the bistro but…How did he even get here? And where was Masaru? Was he okay? Did the two of them get attacked by a different set of monsters? Did Tristan somehow capture them when their guards were down or-?

Rody’s face blanched at the sight of a wine bottle next to him and a neat stack of papers. The auburn-haired waiter plucked up one of the papers and squinted slightly as he tried to make out the abysmal handwriting in the dim lights of the kitchen. Wait what? When did the kitchen lights get this dim in the first place? Was it…was it late?

The handwriting had to be Vincent’s. Nobody else Rody knew had handwriting this terrible…

Rody could barely make out any of the words that seemed to blur across the page but one thing did stand out to him. The fact that his name was listed at the top of the list of ingredients.

Rody swallowed thickly as a shiver ran down his spine. No. No no no no no. This had to be some…joke right? S-surely they wouldn’t actually be considering-No. This…this was definitely a joke! Rody would just ask one of the chefs or Vincent about it and-

The sound of the front door opening caught his attention and Rody pushed himself off of his seat…Er well the top of the prep table. How had he even gotten up there in the first place? And whose station was he lying near anyways?

Rody was about to call out to ask who had just come in when he heard Vincent’s voice hum aloud in a calm voice, “Finally, after all these years I can finally understand what those bastards meant when they say people can taste the love put into a dish. What better use could there be for that lovesick idiot than this?”

Rody quietly took a step back towards Vincent’s office to hide himself slightly. He shook his head as he thought, ‘Come on, it’s just a prank, right? An elaborate prank! M-maybe this is a scheme that one of the chefs came up with as revenge for breaking the oven door? Y-yeah! That has to be it!’

Another voice, one that made Rody’s heart ache, replied, “It would certainly be an improvement! Why I can’t believe I actually tried to give him a second chance! I agree, he’s much better suited for this than being a boyfriend.”

‘M-manon?! Wait she’s here too?! B-but I thought-why is-she seemed so upset with me and Vince so why-’ Rody’s thoughts were cut off when he heard Vincent chuckle darkly.

“It won’t be too long of a wait, mon amour. I’ll dispatch the idiot and you can choose whichever cut you’d like me to prepare,” Vincent’s voice was sickeningly sweet.

Rody covered his mouth as he took a few steps backwards. What?! No. No no…This…this wasn’t real. Rody gripped onto his hair with his free hand as tremors ran up his spine. His legs felt sluggish and the room started to grow colder as the tremors intensified.

“I look forward to it!” Manon chirped before the sound of a kiss echoed through the silent room. “A great chef like you can surely make trash like Rody taste amazing~”

Rody’s legs almost gave out underneath him. Manon was…no…No he…he really was…

Rody kept backpedaling until he finally found himself inside of Vincent’s office. He silently shut the door to give himself some sort of semblance of privacy as more and more thoughts started to swirl around in his mind. His hand automatically locked the door to buy himself a little time should Vincent notice that Rody wasn’t in the kitchen anymore.

‘Vince and Manon they…no they can’t be dating?! But…I’m in Hell and-nobody thought to stop them?! Nobody spoke up and said that she was MY girlfriend?!’ Rody grit his teeth and balled his fists as an angry flush painted his cheeks. No. This had to be fake somehow! Manon was too angry when she saw Rody and who she thought was Vincent in the alleyway to even consider-

Rody shook his head as his mind went back to the more important topic of their conversation: Rody being the main ingredient for a dish of some sort.

Rody looked down at the marks on his hands and arms once more. No wonder he was marked up like a cut of meat. To the duo out in the dining room he was likely no better than a cow out in the pasture. An animal waiting to be slaughtered and served on a plate for someone to consume. A piece of flesh that will be transformed into something new. Something delectable. Something more palatable than what he currently was now…

He tugged on the collar of his shirt and looked down inside of it. Rody felt tears spring up at the sight of more of those marks along his chest. God…had Vincent undressed Rody while the waiter was unconscious just to make these marks? Rody’s cheeks continued to burn as his stomach churned and his mouth grew dry.

Violated. That’s what Rody was. He was violated by being touched without giving permission to. He was marked and undressed and…What else could Vincent have done to him while Rody was unconscious? Where else could he have touched or-

Rody bit the inside of his cheek to try and keep the tears at bay. No. He wasn’t going to dwell on that now. He…he had to escape. He had to find someplace safe to process everything and-

“Roooody? Where aaaaaare youuuuuuu?” A voice called teasingly as Rody pressed his back against the door of Vincent’s office that separated it from the rest of the kitchen.

The wood leached a bit of coldness into Rody’s shivering flesh and a part of him was grateful. A sweat had started up and Rody could feel it start to run down the back of his neck and a bead ran from his temple to his chin. He must have gotten too worked up just thinking about-

The doorknob next to Rody started to rattle, pulling the auburn-haired man out of his thoughts. Rody was thankful that he had locked the door when he had quietly shut the door.

“Rooooodyyyyy. I know you’re in theeereee. Come out, we won’t hurt you,” a familiar voice purred in a drawn out, teasing tone that made the hairs on the back of Rody’s neck stand up on end.

Rody shouted back, “Vince, what has gotten into you?! This isn’t like you! Snap out of it!”

Rody felt a chill go down his spine at the soft laughter his response drew out of Vincent. It was cold and it made Rody’s stomach churn and…It wasn’t like the small, surprised laughs Rody’s comments sometimes drew out of Vincent. It lacked the warmth that Vincent always denied that he had…

“Well if you won’t play with me, then I’m sure you’ll have fun with my right hand man,” Vincent purred through the door.

A thunk next to Rody’s head drew his attention off of the teasing coos of Vincent. Rody felt a wetness running down his cheek as the smell of iron started to fill the room. Rody touched his cheek and he started to shiver at the sight of red staining his fingers. Blood? B-but where-

Rody looked forward and pressed his back against the door harder at the sight of Louvet leaning against Vincent’s desk. The blond was toying with another knife from the set that had been opened across the desk and Rody’s heart hammered at the sight of a second one being missing.

A glint of metal caught his eye and Rody’s gaze flicked to it briefly. The missing knife was sitting right by his cheek. His bleeding cheek. The blade was reddened by blood. HIS blood.

Louvet looked up at Rody with cold eyes and a very serious look on his face. A look that Rody often saw when the man was focused on the task before him. A look Rody associated with meal services and prep work.

Rody cracked a weak smile as he stammered, “L-louvet! C-come on, you don’t have to do this!”

Vincent’s voice cackled through the door, “Oh yes, he does. As my sous chef it’s his job to handle any task I can’t handle myself. Louvet, you know what to do.”

Louvet nodded as he listened to Vincent’s words and pushed himself off the desk. Rody’s eyes were glued to the knife in Louvet’s hand. A long thin blade, perfect for cutting meat away from the bone. A knife Rody had seen the blond use before with such precision it had left Rody a little frightened…Er well frightened until Louvet had presented Rody with that chicken that he still dreamt of from time to time.

It only took a blink and the blond already had his hand pressed over Rody’s mouth. Rody squirmed and tried to find some sort of leverage to shake the shorter blond off of him. Louvet growled lowly in that raspy voice of his, “Keep still. It’ll hurt more if you struggle.”

Rody managed to pull his face away from Louvet’s hand enough to shout, “S-somebody! H-help please! I-I don’t-please!”

Rody’s sobs and shouts were muffled by Louvet’s hand once more as the blond pressed his body against Rody’s with more force than before. Louvet shushed Rody softly with a voice that dripped with an almost paternal sweetness, “Shhh, relax. You’re in good hands. You wouldn’t want one of the others doing this. They’d draw it out or make you feel pain. I promise the end will come quicker when I do it.”

Rody shook his head frantically as Louvet continued to shush him quietly. Rody got no warning as he felt the knife slip past his ribs and bury itself deep into his heart. Louvet pulled his hand away from Rody’s mouth as blood started to pour out of it. He eased Rody to the ground and sat there cradling the auburn-haired man close.

Rody sobbed choked sobs as he felt Louvet pet his hair. The room started to darken as the strength started to leave him. Cold. He…he was getting so cold. Louvet felt so…warm…Louvet’s bright blue eyes were starting to grow hazy as the darkness robbed Rody of more and more of his vision. Wet…his chest was getting so wet…The iron was almost sickening but…Rody didn’t have the strength to even wretch…

“That’s it son, close your eyes. It’ll be over in a minute,” Louvet’s voice was soft and quiet and…For just a moment Rody could pretend that it wasn’t the last thing he would be hearing as the life slipped out of him. Rody could pretend that that it was instead his own father. His Papa. His Papa was comforting Rody at the doctor’s office. Holding his hand as the nurse got ready to give him an injection…His Papa was the one keeping him warm and safe from the cold and the darkness that was trying to swallow Rody whole.

Rody looked up at Louvet one last time and could make out a somber smile on the man’s face. The blond moved his hand to rest them over Rody’s eyes as he whispered, “I’m sorry it had to end this way kid. Every sun needs to set and…I’m sorry I had to be the moon that chased you out.”

Rody couldn’t ask what Louvet had meant by that as his strength finally failed him. He slumped against Louvet’s warm body. His sturdy body. A body that felt so strong despite the small tremors he felt coming from the warmth he was slumped against. Rody couldn’t move, could hardly breathe and yet…it was so oddly…peaceful. Despite the growing coldness and wetness he felt…well he didn’t feel alone at least. At least his last moments were being spent in the company of someone who at least seemed to regret what he had done rather than alone…Rody hated the idea of dying alone…The last thing he heard was a choked sob and the beginning of another apology.
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Rody stiffened up and groaned softly as his eyes slowly opened. He felt cold and tired and honestly whatever rest he had just gotten didn’t feel like actual rest. His limbs felt heavy and his mind was swirling around in circles trying to piece together what had just happened. Was it only a dream? Another nightmare? Or was it real and-

A soft rustling of fabric caught Rody’s attention and he quickly turned over to see what had made the noise.

“You alright there, Rody?” A familiar voice asked as Rody’s eyes adjusted to the darkness that had engulfed the room. Er well, it was at least significantly darker than when Rody was last aware that he was in the room.

Rody took in the sight of Masaru feeding more wood into the woodburning stove. The crackling fire cast some light into the room alongside some much needed warmth. From the looks of things, Masaru had managed to clean up his shirt and vest enough to wear both garments once more. At least that was better than the alternative of walking around with his bandages-

Rody quickly flung himself out of bed and crossed the room a lot quicker than Masaru had thought the previously slumbering waiter was capable of being. The dark-haired man met Rody half-way and grabbed the slightly shorter man’s shoulders.

“E-easy there! You probably shouldn’t be moving this-”

“Forget about me!” Rody interrupted as he shrugged off Masaru’s gentle touch. “What about you? Doesn’t your wound need to have its bandaging changed or-”

Masaru shook his head and tilted it slightly before he replied, “Rody, relax. I took care of it. It wasn’t nearly as bad as before thanks to your efforts earlier and…well you really needed the rest. You crashed so hard on the bed I thought you hadn’t slept properly in weeks, so why bother waking you?”

Rody furrowed his brows as he looked down. He had? But when? Surely Rody would remember something as important as laying down to go to bed, right?...Right?

But Rody also trusted Masaru enough to know that the man wouldn’t lie to him. No he seemed very honest and upright and…well trust was all the two really had to go on right now. Neither one could make it through these woods let alone the manor proper by themselves for long. Not without-

Rody heard the shuffle and thud of Masaru’s boots against the floor followed by the shifting of fabric from his shirt. The darker-haired man was closer now. Close enough to feel the other man’s hot breath ghosting along some of Rody’s more sensitive bits of skin by his neck. Rody’s cheeks warmed as he felt Masaru’s gloved hand reach up to cup Rody’s chin. Their eyes met and-

Rody sucked in a startled breath as a nervous sweat started to form at his temples. Those eyes…they weren’t-

Masaru chuckled softly in an almost sickeningly sweet tone, “What’s wrong Rody? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

Masaru’s eyes weren’t that oddly deep sapphire color that Rody came to associate with the man before him. No…instead his eyes were replaced by the twin voids that Rody had peered into before…the voids of that-that frost monster or whatever the hell it claimed to be.

Rody whispered under his breath, which was starting to become more visible the longer he stood next to Masaru, “Y-you’re not him. This isn’t real.”

Masaru laughed lowly once more as an icy feeling spread from Masaru’s hand over Rody’s chin and up to his cheeks. Rody swallowed thickly as his breath escaped his lips in thicker clouds than before.

“Not real you say?” Masaru hissed as he tightened his grip on Rody’s chin. Rody tried to pull himself away but the cold was seeping into his limbs and made his movements more sluggish.

Rody shivered as he continued to stare into the voids where Masaru’s eyes should have been. Continued to feel the cold suck away any and every hint of warmth out of his body. Continued to watch as his breath became thicker and thicker and his sweat froze against his skin. His increasingly chilled skin…

Masaru, or at least what looked like Masaru, laughed softly and cooed, “I’d say the way you’re cowering in my hold is very real. The way your little heart is racing is very real. The way you can’t even bring yourself to pull away because you’re just another lamb about to be devoured by a wolf. Face it Rody. This is real in the ways that count.”

Rody closed his eyes and grit his teeth as he kept muttering a mantra to himself, “This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. You-you aren’t here! Y-you’re someplace safe! This isn’t real!”

Rody tried his best to tune out the crackling sound of ice spreading up his limbs and across parts of his face. No. He couldn’t focus on what was going on around him. That would force him to focus on where he currently was rather than reality. Reality would be his safe haven. Not whatever kind of hellscape his mind felt fit to torture him with.

“Th-this isn’t real. Th-this i-” Rody was cut off when he felt Masaru’s hand shift from holding his chin to wrap around Rody’s throat.

Rody coughed and tried to raise his hands to pry Masaru’s hand from his throat but they wouldn’t budge. From the edge of his blurring vision, Rody could see that his hands were trapped by the ice that had spread up to his hips. He could barely feel his legs and Rody knew that wouldn’t bode well for him.

“Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic,” Masaru laughed as Rody focused his teary eyes onto the twisted visage of his traveling companion. “How can you hope to defeat your insecurities when you can’t even bring yourself to fight off something as simple as this? Go on Rody. Fight me.”

Rody grit his teeth and ignored Masaru’s taunts. No. This wasn’t the Masaru Rody knew. The Masaru that Rody knew was likely asleep himself. Or he was awake and trying to help Rody get out of whatever this nightmare was. Yeah. Yeah that was it. Rody was having another nightmare. He just had to find a way to wake himself up before-

There was a quick blur of motion and a sickening thunk as Rody started to taste iron in his mouth. It poured past his lips as a warm feel blossomed from his stomach. Rody’s darkening vision focused briefly on the dagger lodged in his gut and Masaru’s other hand holding the dagger. His heart beat quicker as Masaru pulled the dagger upwards to rest just underneath his ribs.

Masaru whispered into Rody’s ear, “At the end of the day this is all you’re good for Rody. Just another slab of meat waiting to be processed and eaten. You’re destined to become the energy source of someone much better than you could ever hope to be.”

Rody spat out the heavy iron tasting liquid from his mouth and he felt sick at how it splattered against the wooden floor of the cabin. No. He was more than just some piece of meat. He was a man. A person. A person with hopes and dreams. Hopes and dreams that-

“I just hope you taste better than you look,” Masaru taunted in a quiet voice before darkness overtook Rody’s senses.
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Rody’s eyes snapped open and he jerked upwards from his previously comfortable position. The blankets were tangled around him and his forehead felt uncomfortably damp. Rody rested a clammy hand to his heaving chest as the blood rushed to his ears. His body trembled as he shut his eyes to try and regain even a shred of composure. Every noise felt twenty times louder than it should be and every hair on the back of his neck was standing up on end.

He heard the sound of rushing water being shut off before the sound of a door opening. He couldn’t feel a rush of cold air so it had to have come from inside.

“Oh, you’re awake? Huh, I thought you’d be out until morning at least,” a familiar voice commented as the sound of a door closing punctuated the voice’s statement.

Rody shivered at the noise and bit down the urge to yelp that had built up inside of him. No. No this…Rody had to be awake this time. He had to be! I-it was unheard of for him to have three nightmares in a row that bled into one another! Rody clamped his hands over his ears as he curled up slightly. No. No no no no no…Not another one…

“Rody? You feeling alright there?” The voice asked once more as a muffled set of footsteps could be heard approaching the side of the bed Rody was huddled up in.

One step. Two. By the third closest that sounded a little too close for comfort Rody sprung into action.

He opened his eyes and sprung out to tackle the figure that dared to draw close to him. He heard a panicked shout and the two rolled away from the bed and towards the couch. Rody reeled his fist back, ready to deck the living daylights out of the figure he had pinned to the ground when he heard a voice underneath him shout, “Rody, snap the fuck out of it! It’s me! Masaru!”

Rody tilted his head as the red haze that had previously filled his vision cleared enough to confirm that it was indeed Masaru that Rody had pinned down to the floor. Based off of the slightly pained tremors running through the man’s shoulders, the force of Rody’s tackle definitely irritated if not worsened the injury on his back.

Rody snorted as he raised his fist once more, “Right, like I’m falling for that a second time! Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

Masaru furrowed his brows as he replied, “Second-Rody what the hell are you talking about?! Did you hit your head or something when you went to bed?”

Rody shook his head and tried to focus on the figure beneath him. His mind kept vacillating back and forth between thinking that he was still trapped within a cycle of increasingly realistic yet violent nightmares and realizing that he was very much awake and what was going on around him was very much real. Conflict kept flickering through his greenish-gray eyes and that conflict was what Masaru had focused on.

‘I need to do something to break through to him,’ Masaru thought as his eyes raked over Rody’s shaking body for some sort of weak point to exploit. Masaru needed to get the upper hand if only to get Rody to actually stop and listen to reason rather than the angry and impulsive blood coursing through his veins.

Masaru tilted his head slightly and brought a very passive smile onto his face as he calmly cooed, “Rody, come on now. We can talk this out, right? I know you. You aren’t a violent person.”

Rody’s hand shook as Masaru’s gentle expression and words washed over him, ‘He’s…he’s not fighting me. Why isn’t he fighting me?! I…This is supposed to be a nightmare, right? So why isn’t he fighting back or-or trying to-’

Masaru managed to ease himself from under Rody enough to hold his bare hands where Rody could see them. Masaru kept them both firmly crossed at the wrists above his head to further prove that Rody wasn’t in any real danger. Patience. That’s what Masaru needed to exercise right now. Patience.

Masaru continued to speak in that same gentle voice, “Come on Rody, talk to me. What’s gotten you so upset in the first place? Was it a bad dream or a harsh memory or-”

Rody pulled his hand back and Masaru closed his eyes before he felt the swish of Rody’s punch but…Masaru’s eyes opened slowly and took in the sight of Rody’s shaking fist next to his head. He missed. Rody had actually missed his punch from this close?

Rody panted as tears came to his eyes. He flopped to the side on the floor and curled up slightly as he allowed his tears to overflow and soft sobs to escape his lips. Why? Just why did this have to happen to him? What had he done in life to deserve this as his fate?

Masaru eased himself onto his side and refrained from sitting up. He reached one of his hands and brushed against his back, sighing in relief at the dry feeling against his fingers. At least his wound hadn’t started bleeding again. That would really suck right now, especially given how Rody was in no mental state to play nurse right now.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Masaru reassured as he moved his hand to rest it on Rody’s shoulder. “I know it’s a lot to handle, but trust me when I say that you’ll be okay soon. We aren’t going to let that bastard get the better of us.”

Rody shook his head as he gripped his hair in a white-knuckled grip, ‘How can he say that so confidently? He’s been stuck here for three years and still hasn’t found a way out!’

Masaru could see that words weren’t going to be the solution here so he sucked in a deep breath and quickly pulled Rody closer. He ignored the way that the auburn-haired waiter stiffened up in his arms and focused instead on wrapping him up as tightly as he possibly could. He could still feel that Rody was shaking in his hold but…well maybe the feeling of a warm body pressed against his would finally get the other man to relax.

Masaru whispered, “It’s okay. You’re not alone in this. I felt pretty helpless and scared myself when I first got here but…As long as we have each other, we’ll be okay no matter what gets thrown at us. So please, have faith and trust me, okay?”

Rody whimpered, “I just…I-I think I’m losing it. I…I don’t know what’s real and what’s a dream and-and…”

Rody cut himself off to sob into Masaru’s chest whilst the darker-haired man started to pet Rody’s hair. Not perfect, but it was a start.

‘So that’s the bastard’s game then? He’s playing up whatever kinds of nightmares Rody’s already prone to having,’ Masaru mused as he kept his hold on Rody tight and allowed the waiter to continue to use Masaru’s freshly cleaned shirt as a snot rag.

It wasn’t entirely far-fetched to assume that whatever was bothering Rody was Tristan’s doing, especially now that he likely knew that Rody had escaped whatever room he was initially being held prisoner in. Tristan was a demon at the end of the day, one that hated when his “toys” didn’t act the way that he wanted them to. It just sucked that someone as genuine as Rody was now being considered the same way as those brainwashed little fuck toys that scurried around the rest of the manor.

“Would it help if we came up with ways to help you tell whether you’re dreaming or not?” Masaru asked as he lightly scratched at Rody’s scalp near the waiter’s right ear.

Rody held onto Masaru’s shirt and whispered, “L-like what?”

Masaru hummed as he continued to offer what he hoped were comforting gestures to the troubled man. The tight hug, the petting and playing with Rody’s hair, even the featherlight scratches meant to be a mere tickle were hopefully the right thing to do. It has been three years since Masaru had a meaningful interaction with another person for this long and…well his skills felt awfully rusty on the social interaction front.

Masaru suggested, “Well, I know that in dreams that reading is impossible. So maybe see if you can find something that’s meant to have words on it. If you can’t read it clearly, then it’s a dream but if you can read it clearly then it’s reality.”

Rody returned Masaru’s awkwardly tight embrace and allowed the man’s words to tumble about in his already frazzled mind, ‘Is that actually a thing or is he just trying to mess with me?’

Masaru laughed softly, “We could test my theory if you aren’t convinced.”

Rody mulled the idea over and nodded before allowing Masaru to escape from Rody’s tight hold. The darker haired man eased himself off of the floor and broadcasted his movements clearly so Rody could tell exactly what he was doing. While Masaru may have gotten lucky to escape having his injury worsen from their little scuffle earlier, he knew that he wouldn’t be so lucky a second time. The universe could be forgiving, but not that forgiving. At least not in Masaru’s personal experience.

He rummaged around in the side table’s drawer and managed to find a small scrap of paper and a broken off bit of crayon inside. He closed the drawer and eased aside his gloves to give himself a little more room to work with.

Rody watched carefully as Masaru worked. As much as Rody wanted to believe that this was indeed reality and not another elaborate nightmare, he knew better than to let his guard down. Not whilst he was still trapped in Hell anyway. For all Rody knew, this whole little adventure could be just another nightmare and he was still trapped in that bedroom having God knows what done to him by either Tristan, that horny maid or both of them.

Masaru grinned before he turned around to present the folded note to Rody with a slightly dramatic flourish. Rody took the note without comment nor cracking a grin at Masaru’s theatrics. Masaru rolled his eyes and muttered, “Well shit, everyone’s a critic.”

Rody’s eyes flicked through the note and he raised a brow as he looked up at Masaru, “Do you seriously have an eleven inch-”

Masaru snatched the note out of Rody’s hands with reddened cheeks as he stuttered, “Y-you weren’t supposed to read it out loud! Does that prove you’re awake, or not?”

Rody shrugged, “I guess. But what am I supposed to do if I can’t find something to try writing myself a note with?”

Masaru crumpled up the note and tossed it back into the side table drawer as he pondered. Rody did raise a good point. While in the waking world he had Masaru to easily test this theory with, there was no guarantee with Rody’s dreams. Hell, Rody could easily be put into situations where writing would be impossible because of a lack of hands or time.

Masaru drummed his fingers on the top of the table as he thought aloud, “Maybe try finding a mirror? Usually your reflection is distorted in dreams. Like you might have a different hairstyle to when you’re awake or your eye color might be off or ya know, something obvious like that.”

Rody retorted, “Like the writing thing, I’m not always in a place where I can find a mirror.”

“It’s your dream, right? Then you can will yourself up a mirror or writing supplies or some shit,” Masaru huffed as he waved a hand as if the answer was obvious and Rody was just being an idiot.

Rody pushed himself up off of the floor and snapped back, “No, I can’t! I-I’m just as powerless in my dreams as I am in real life! J-just because someone as perfect as you can do that stuff doesn’t mean that-”

Masaru barked, “I’m not perfect, okay?! In case you haven’t noticed, I’m just as fucked up as you are! I get nightmares that are just as terrifying as yours are and I had to learn how to take control from whatever is trying to fuck with me in those nightmares for the sake of what’s left of my sanity. So yes, Rody, you can take control of your fucking dreams.”

Rody closed his mouth and crossed his arms as a more pensive look crossed his face. He covered his mouth with his one hand as he considered the little tidbit that Masaru had just thrown to him. Controlling one’s own dreams? That sounded a lot like that hippie shit that kids on college campuses these days would talk about…Not that Rody spent a lot of his time around colleges these days but…Well Manon did often stop by universities and such to interview interesting people and she would often have Rody tag along. Whether it was meant to be just to help carry her supplies or to somehow convince Rody to go back to school wasn’t important right now.

What was important was seeing if what Masaru was saying could possibly be even a teensy bit true. Even if Rody could only do something small like oh stop time to get himself out of sticky situations or-or even somehow get whomever was trying to hurt him to back off…maybe just maybe Rody wouldn’t be so afraid when sleep came knocking on his proverbial door each night.

“It’s not easy but…I could try and teach you,” Masaru sighed as he finally allowed the frustration to flutter off of his shoulders. He…well he couldn’t blame Rody too much. Rody was still fresh off of whatever kind of torture his subconscious mind cooked up for him and…Masaru was more than guilty of allowing the same thing to happen to him. Who was he to be the kettle that called the pot black?

Rody still looked unsure, “And you really think that…I can actually-”

Masaru crossed the room and took Rody’s hands in his own before he replied, “You’re a lot more powerful than you give yourself credit for Rody, both in reality and in your dreams. I KNOW that you can learn this skill.”

Rody smiled a watery smile, “Th-thanks. I-I really mean and…I’m sorry for attacking you like that.”

“Well I sorta deserve it for doing the same to you earlier,” Masaru shrugged with a slightly sheepish look on his face. “I think we can consider ourselves even now, right?”

Rody nodded, which earned him a relieved sigh from the darker-haired man. At least they were on good terms for the time being.

“Before we do that, we should get moving,” Masaru explained as he pulled away from Rody. He crossed the room once more to slip his gloves back on.

Rody tilted his head, “So soon? Isn’t it still dark out?”

Masaru huffed, “Ordinarily I would be against traveling at night, especially in a place like this but…We’ve stayed in one place for too long. Those things are still after us and they won’t stop until either they are slain or we are.”

Rody swallowed thickly as he put his hand to his throat. He really didn’t want to see that ice monster any time soon. Especially not after nearly being eaten by the damn thing. But how was Rody meant to actually slay something that big? He…While Rody wasn’t necessarily the smallest guy around he also wasn’t the tallest either. A nice middle ground that would do little to give him a height advantage in a fight like this.

Masaru grabbed the backpack and Rody snatched it from his hands to sling it on himself. Rody gave Masaru a look and explained, “You still have an open back injury. Let me do the carrying for a while.”

Masaru rolled his eyes, “It’s just a minor injury now. I’m not an invalid.”

“Never said you were but…just let it heal, okay? I…I really don’t want to see you in that rough of shape again,” Rody replied with a slightly pouty bottom lip and wide eyes that usually got him what he wanted. Er well from girls and from his parents anyways.

Masaru put a hand on his hip and grumbled, “Alright alright, I’ll take it easy just…stop making that face, okay?”

Rody grinned, pleased that he had found yet another person he could use his secret weapon on. As much as he hated to play dirty, it was sometimes necessary to get what he wanted from especially stubborn people. If only this face could work on Vince, maybe then Rody could get a raise.

“Got everything?” Masaru asked, pulling Rody out of his thoughts.

Masaru was making sure that his boots were laced up properly and his currently lonely dagger was safely tucked into its sheath by his belt. He straightened up to make sure that his vest was tightened to his current comfort level and that not a hair was out of place.

Rody merely slipped on his shoes and made sure that both first aid kits were tucked inside of the backpack alongside the thermoses filled with their leftover soup. Rody took a moment to grab the small handaxe from the little corner by the woodburning stove and tucked that into the backpack as well. There was definitely a larger one outside by where some logs were waiting to be processed, er well Rody hoped anyways. Hopefully the next group to come across this cabin would be more prepared than Rody and Masaru were and thus wouldn’t need the axe or medical supplies.

Rody nodded as soon as he was sure that everything was safely tucked into the backpack. Masaru made sure to extinguish the flames in the wood burning stove before he opened the door to the outside world. Cool air rushed in alongside the sound of crickets chirping and the rustling of leaves that noted the movements of nocturnal animals. The cooler air carried the smells of pine and a hint of rain, soothing smells that were a balm against what remained of Rody’s frayed nerves.

“Good,” Masaru commented as he turned back to face the darkness that stood before them. “We’ll travel until we either find another shelter or those beasts find us, so be ready to fight at a moment’s notice.”

Rody tightened his grip on the backpack’s handles. He wasn’t going to be caught off guard. Not this time.

“Right now let’s-” Masaru was cut off when a tendril wrapped around his leg and dragged him into the darkness.

Rody shouted as he ran out the door, “Masaru!”

Masaru’s screams echoed through the darkened night as Rody followed behind as quickly as he could. The auburn-haired male could barely make out what direction he was going in but he could faintly make out the drag marks in the dirt below him.

Rody felt an icy chill behind him before he was swatted down the pathway and down the hill. Rody tumbled and could feel more scratches start to litter his skin from the thickets he had crashed through.

His descent came to a crashing halt when he bowled into a warmer figure that was standing at the bottom of the hill. Rody scrambled to pull out the handaxe and swung it only to meet the clash of a dagger blocking his blow. Sparks flew and both parties sighed in relief. At least Rody had managed to find Masaru.

“You okay?” Rody asked as he finally pulled himself to his feet and offered Masaru a hand.

Masaru grasped Rody’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled up as he rotated his shoulder. He replied, “I think so. Fucking bastard ran off when he heard you come down the hill.”

Rody sighed softly in relief. At least they were-

A low laughter rang through the air as the icy chill returned once more. Rody and Masaru stood with their backs pressed against one another’s as they scanned the darkness around them for any sign of movement. Rody tightened his grip on the handaxe as he felt his breath start to puff past his lips.

“Show yourselves you cowards!” Rody shouted as warm frustration started to chase away the chill that was threatening to settle into his limbs. “I’m not afraid of you!”

An icy laugh echoed as the area around Masaru and Rody suddenly lit up like they were in the center of a sports arena. The duo kept their stances despite the suddenly blinding lights making spots appear before their eyes. The bright lights did little to make a dent in the icy chill that formed around them.

Rody blinked when the distorted face of the ice monster appeared before him. He grit his teeth and resisted the urge to recoil at the suddenly fetid yet icy breath that was hitting his face.

The monster gripped Rody’s waist with one hand and cackled, “You may not be afraid now, but soon you will be.”

Chapter Text

Cold. Everything felt cold. Vincent forced his eyes open and he found himself standing in the walk-in freezer. His breath appeared in a thick fog as he looked around the room. When had he gotten into the freezer? Surely he would remember walking in here and what he was in here for…right?

He looked down and noticed that he had been dressed in his chef’s uniform only-

‘Is this…blood?’ Vincent’s brows furrowed as he pulled his soiled sleeve closer to inspect it more thoroughly.

The faint smell of iron and the deep red coloring definitely led Vincent to believe that this was indeed blood but…where had it come from? Was it his or was it from some meat he had been working with?

The sound of dripping caught his attention and Vincent looked up. His face paled and he covered his mouth at the sight before him.

The table where he and the other chefs prepared their fresh cuts of meat instead held the bloodied remains of-

“Rody,” Vincent whispered as he took a few stumbling steps towards the carnage.

Lying on the table was indeed Rody. His Rody. The one who made Vincent both more annoyed and yet more alive than he had felt in years. Decades possibly. The only waiter that Vincent could think of that would describe their wine by simply saying “It’s red!” or think that biking faster through the rain would somehow dry him off. The only man that managed to somehow catch Vincent off guard with a sincerity that felt refreshing after years of dealing with a social circle composed of masks and deceit.

Rody was still mostly intact. His limbs were still attached to his torso yet they bore distinctive marks to show where they were to be cut for further preparation. Rody’s chest had been cut open and his ribs cracked apart to reveal his still steaming innards. Rody’s heart, his precious, precious heart, was still. Something that…didn’t suit the lively man that Vincent knew.

“God Rody, what happened to you?” Vincent murmured as he reached up to cup Rody’s cold cheek. Vincent brushed his thumb underneath Rody’s eye and over the twin moles that always drew Vincent’s gaze back to those beautiful eyes of Rody’s.

Now those eyes were closed, forever blind to the world around him. Never again able to sparkle with excitement or get clouded with tears or even flash with annoyance. Vincent worried his lower lip and felt a tremor in his shoulders as more and more emotion bubbled up within him.

Rody was still so young…He may have been two years older than Vincent but…shit the man still had so much life in him! So much to do and see! So many dreams that Vincent would have been happy to see Rody achieve! And now…now those dreams were as dead as the man lying on the table before him and…

A dark voice chuckled from right behind Vincent in a voice he recognized, “Isn’t it marvelous? Now you can finally find that last piece to making your dishes perfect-love.”

Vincent whipped around to face exactly who he was expecting to see behind him. A darker version of himself. The version of himself that often reared his ugly head when Vincent got too angry or when the criticisms of his work cut too deep. The one that whispered plans of vengeance that sounded sweet in the moment but turned bitter as soon as rationality stepped in.

Vincent snarled, “This isn’t how I’m meant to find out what cooking with love means! He’s a man! Not an ingredient!”

The darker Vincent chuckled darkly, “He WAS a man, but now he’s just another hunk of meat that needs to be broken down to transform into something more useful. Something far more satisfying than he could ever prove to be alive.”

Vincent reached behind him to grab the knife that was lying next to Rody’s body and ignored the wet feeling on the handle of it. He wasn’t going to allow anybody to shit talk Rody, not even a manifestation of his darker impulses conjured up by his subconscious mind.

“Shut your damn mouth!” Vincent roared before he charged at his dark doppelganger.

The darker Vincent stepped aside to allow Vincent to crash into the far wall of the freezer. The knife flew from Vincent’s hand and clattered away into the corner. The bloodied blade left behind a few splatters that added to the steadily building scene of carnage in the freezer.

Vincent peeled himself off of the floor onto unsteady feet. He spat out the bit of blood that welled up in his mouth and glared at the darkened version of himself. He wasn’t going down without a fight and Rody wouldn’t be going unavenged. No…Vincent was nothing if not a survivor. He wouldn’t have made it this far in life if he wasn’t.

“You aren’t going to win this fight,” the darker version of Vincent taunted as he ignored the actual Vincent that was glaring at him. The darker version of Vincent dragged his finger through Rody’s blood that had stained the table and licked the red liquid from his finger.

That hungry look in his darker double’s eyes was enough to make Vincent drop to his knees and cover his mouth to try and keep the bile down. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. How could a part of him even fathom-no even consider for the briefest of moments breaking one of the fundamental taboos that separated man from animal? Vincent may have been willing to do a lot in the name of regaining his lost sense of taste but to kill and consume a person, especially one as dear to him as Rody? No. Vincent could be cruel and a hardass and he had a nasty streak a mile wide but…Vincent wasn’t a monster.

Vincent shuddered as his darker self approached, holding some choice bit of Rody’s innards that had been sliced off with the deft hand that Vincent had spent over a decade refining. The piece of organ had stained his double’s fingers a deep red color that made Vincent feel even more ill than before. His doppelganger grabbed Vincent’s chin and managed to shake Vincent’s hand away from his mouth. The sticky feeling of Rody’s blood against his face made Vincent shudder.

“Open wide~” Vincent’s darker self cooed in a teasing tone as he held the bit of innards aloft so that the lights of the freezer would make the blood and bit of viscera still attached to it glisten.

Vincent closed his eyes to block out the horrific sight. He had to try and forget what he had just seen. This was just a manifestation of his worries over Rody, nothing more. Rody was safe. Rody was in one piece. Rody was-

Vincent gagged at the slimy piece that was shoved into his mouth. His darker self covered Vincent’s mouth and nose to force him into swallowing but…Vincent couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to swallow what was once a part of Rody. Part of a man he was willing to travel into the very depths of Hell for. A man he-

Vincent’s eyes widened. When did that general annoyance with Rody morph into something more than that? When did those feelings change into something that would make Vincent want to go to Hell to rescue Rody in the first place? Most other bosses wouldn’t dare go to the lengths Vincent was preparing to go to just for a single employee. Especially one as replaceable as Rody…But that was just it. Vincent no longer saw Rody as replaceable like he had weeks ago.

No…Rody had somehow wormed his way into becoming as much of an integral part of his little team as the chefs who prepared Vincent’s recipes to perfection. Rody was no longer just the short-term replacement for a waitress that Vincent saw go off to university to pursue her dreams…No Rody was now…

Vincent couldn’t finish his thought. Not when the darkness that had been slowly enclosing on the edges of his vision suddenly converged to blissfully whisk him away from the carnage within the freezer. Away from the body of the man he was starting to realize he had a soft spot for. No wonder his staff seemed to think he wanted to date the man in question…
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Vincent sat up and looked around panickedly. It was still dark but…at least he wasn’t in the walk-in freezer this time. He was safe…for now. Based on the darkness he could see through the glass door and the distinct absence of cars rumbling through the streets, it was still either very late at night or very early in the morning. Not an unusual time for Vincent to wake up, but definitely far from ideal. Especially with their rescue mission clawing away more and more of Vincent’s precious mental real estate. In the low light, Vincent could make out the outlines of the majority of his team still asleep on the floor around their makeshift sleeping quarters.

Rousseaux and Louvet were lying too close to one another to deny any sort of romantic undertone to their interactions. The way their fingers intertwined with a boldness they dare not show during their waking hours. It was tender and sweet, something that made Vincent admit that his heart skipped a beat at the thought of him and Rody lying like that someday. Waking up to Rody’s auburn tresses lying around his head like a halo and practically glowing in the sunlight that would filter in through the slightly opened curtains. To feel those strong arms wrapped around his waist and Rody’s hot breath against his neck…Vincent shook his head and ignored the way his cheeks warmed at the mere thought. Rody wouldn’t be interested in something like that, especially with a man like Vincent. No…Rody didn’t give the impression of a sleep snuggler…Not that Vincent knew anything about that mind you…

Dior and Beaumont were huddled close to Manet, who was reportedly the team’s walking heater. It was no secret that a few members of staff would bicker about who got to stand next to him during the colder winter months when they had their smoke breaks. Vincent had the luxury of being able to smoke in his office, so he couldn’t confirm or deny how much heat Manet could emit. Since both Dior and Beaumont tended to get very cold when they slept and Manet often complained about overheating at night, the arrangement worked out well for the trio. Dior’s hand was over Manet’s mouth, stifling the brunet’s loud snores so the rest of the team could have some semblance of a good night’s sleep. Beaumont had Manet’s face cradled close to her chest in an almost maternal way. It was no real secret amongst the more senior members of staff that she had a fondness for the loud-mouthed brunet.

Lavigne was peacefully curled up next to Donadieu, who had his Bible tucked close by his pillow. Vincent wasn’t at all surprised that the former priest slept with a Bible nearby. It was likely a habit that started from boyhood if Vincent had to guess. Lavigne had her hair covered by a bonnet with some sort of fruit pattern printed onto the fabric. Not surprising considering how much Lavigne coveted her curls and often chatted with Beaumont about different ways of caring for their hair during downtime…Not that Vincent would ever admit to listening in on what his employees were chatting about! He still had a reputation as an upstanding gentleman to uphold afterall. But he wouldn’t pass up a little tidbit that would make handling his own hair even easier in the morning. He wasn’t a fool after all.

Faucher was asleep next to the spot where Boucher had previously been. Vincent could only hope that the other chef was using the restroom. He…as much as the anxious chef made mistakes and got on Vincent’s nerves sometimes, Vincent really didn’t want something to happen to the man. Especially after the team had to handle being attacked by some demonic creature just a few hours ago.

But investigating that thought further could wait. Vincent needed a smoke to fully calm his nerves after…Vincent grit his teeth at the brief flash of Rody with his chest cut open that his mind felt fit to conjure up. Yeah. Fresh air and a smoke sounded like Heaven right now.

Vincent eased himself out of the nest he had been lovingly tucked into earlier and made sure to at least make his spot look slightly presentable. He wasn’t sure if he felt comfortable enough to go back to sleep just yet but…that still wasn’t an excuse to leave his space looking like a sloven mess. This may be his staff, but he still had to maintain an image of a man that was well put together and meticulously neat even when he was panicked…Not that Vincent would ever admit to feeling that way that is. It would be unbecoming of a man, especially a man from the Charbonneau family, to admit to feeling anything other than confident.

He trudged quietly towards the kitchen and patted his pants pocket. Vincent huffed at feeling the lack of his pack of cigarettes and lighter against his hand. Ah well, he always kept a spare of each in his office for this exact reason. He would just have to leave himself a note to replace both of them once this little expedition was over. Vincent knew he would definitely need both a few cigarettes and a good bottle of wine or two to properly cope with whatever horrors lay ahead of him.

Vincent moved as quietly as possible and listened closely for any sign of his movements disturbing the sleep of the other chefs in the dining room. The last thing Vincent had the mental wherewithal for right now was having a member of his staff fussing over him, especially Louvet or Rousseaux. As nice as it was to know that both of his mentors cared for him…Vincent also wasn’t sure what to make of whatever affection or attention both men felt the need to hoist upon him. A part of himself enjoyed being comforted and being listened to by two men he respected and worked hard to make proud but…well Vincent didn’t get this far in life by being coddled regularly. No. He was determined to stand firmly on his own two feet and deal with his issues on his own.

He was a Charbonneau as his mother had often reminded him and with the name came the expectation that Vincent would do anything and everything in his power to live up to the standards set by his forebears. His ancestors had done just about everything from serving fine cuisine to royalty to being the ones on the councils that sent those same members of royalty to the guillotine centuries ago. Lawyers, councilmen, land owners, diplomats, even chefs. Vincent had a lofty legacy to uphold on his admittedly slender shoulders and he knew that he couldn’t do that if he faltered even once. Something as silly as a nightmare couldn’t and wouldn’t break him.

He was no longer a child who could afford the luxury of being comforted and fussed over. Not necessarily the norm that Vincent recalled from his own childhood but his mother still had her moments of being especially tender towards him. Often after being far too hard on him and it always accompanied some sort of gift to try and smooth things over. A new bike, some books he had his eye on, even a coat to wear into the kitchen for his first job so he didn’t look like a complete fool. It was exactly why Vincent often found most gifts from others to be extremely distasteful or just a cheap tactic to win him over. If someone really wanted to get his attention, they would have to do something more meaningful and…sentimental. Like how Rody brought Vincent an entire basket of lemons after a particularly rough review of the bistro was printed in the evening paper. The fact that Rody both remembered Vincent’s favorite food and knew how much those reviews cut Vincent deeper than most realized was part of why-

Vincent shook his head just as he found himself in front of his desk in his office. No, no point in getting distracted right now. He had to compose himself and try to get some form of rest. He couldn’t lead properly if he was sleep-deprived now. Er well, more sleep-deprived than usual that is. The last thing Vincent needed was to make a mistake that cost the lives of one of his team all because he was incapable of getting enough rest to think clearly.

His hands shook far more than he cared to admit as he opened the desk drawer to fish out the emergency cigarettes and lighter. He shut the drawer as quietly as he could before stalking out of the office and towards the back door. Vincent knew that if the sounds he was making didn’t wake the rest of the team up, then the smell of smoke surely would. Faucher had an especially sharp sense of smell and while he wasn’t necessarily a troublemaker, he would definitely get Louvet or Rousseaux involved which was what Vincent was trying to avoid here. Especially after that embarrassing display in the alley earlier. Just…what was wrong with him lately?

Vincent found himself opening the back door and shutting it far quicker than he had anticipated. Perhaps his plans of seeing a doctor wouldn’t be a bad thing once this mission was completed. He was getting lost in his own thoughts far too much lately and Vincent found himself thinking of…the stupidest things. Like Rody’s smile and how his lips would feel against Vincent’s own lips, or how Louvet calling him son made a part of Vincent feel…complete somehow. Or how that ruffling of his hair that both Rousseaux and Louvet still indulged in after all these years started to become something that Vincent oddly…sought out or looked forward to. As much as he bristled about being petted like some beloved house cat, especially in his youth…Vincent still had to admit that a small part of him enjoyed the attention even if he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

He fished a cigarette out of the pack and placed it between his lips as he flicked the lighter with one hand and returned the cigarette pack to his pocket with the other. He took a long drag and exhaled an equally long breath, watching as the smoke dissipated into the inky sky above him. The feel of smoke in his mouth and the smell of tobacco didn’t do a damn thing to settle his nerves like it usually did. If anything, it only served to make his already frayed nerves inch ever closer to snapping completely.

The smell of smoke only brought to mind the fire and brimstone he would likely spend who knows how long traversing through to finally find and rescue Rody from who knows what kind of prison the terrible twosome found fit to keep him in. The idea of Rody being tortured and what kind of state Vincent would find him in only forced that nightmare back to the surface. Was this more than just Vincent being overly worried about Rody’s wellbeing? Was Rody somehow trying to reach out to him and warn Vincent that what he’d find wouldn’t be pretty? Or that Rody was in grave danger and-

The back door opened and it took every ounce of self-control that Vincent had spent decades building to not jump at the sudden movement in the corner of his eye. He instead kept his gaze focused on the sky above and how the smoke from his cigarette made wispy shapes amongst the small smattering of stars he could see. If he just ignored the issue, it would simply go away. It had always worked for him when dealing with troublesome nuisances in school and when his mother would harp on him about some perceived imperfection, so who was Vincent to discard such a useful tool from his toolbelt?

“O-oh, Chef! It was you. I-uh I was doing a h-head count and noticed we were short by one!” The stutter alone gave it away as Boucher who was speaking. Not uncommon, especially when he deemed it necessary to speak with Vincent.

Vincent gave a slight nod to at least acknowledge that he had heard the more nervous chef as he continued to try and smoke away his building anxiety. Boucher wouldn’t get it. He might be a skittish man, but that didn’t mean that he could understand how to handle something like what Vincent was going through.

Boucher used his hand to help the back door close almost silently. He really didn’t want to attract the others’ attention, especially when he was finally getting a chance to speak with Vincent one-on-one. The boss who was easily the most fear striking boss Boucher had ever had the “pleasure” of working under and yet…

Vincent still remembered things like when each member of staff’s birthday was and would present them with a dessert that would compliment whatever flavor of tea they preferred.

“A customer sent this back and I don’t want this to go to waste. So you better enjoy every last crumb on this plate, got it? Otherwise it’s coming out of your pay.”

A believable lie if only the dessert had matched whatever was on the menu they were serving that day and Vincent didn’t have small stains on his otherwise pristine chef coat. Small stains that looked like they had been washed a little too hastily to be completely cleaned.

The same Vincent that held Boucher’s face over a hot burner and was barking insults at him was the same Vincent that had presented him with the softest scarf Boucher had ever felt at their last Christmas party. A thoughtful gift, especially since Boucher had mentioned needing a new scarf after giving his last one to a group of kids who had needed a scarf for their snowman.

It was an almost incomprehensible duality in a single man. A duality that Boucher was simultaneously terrified of and intrigued by. Vincent’s reputation of being a hardass in the kitchen was a drastic understatement, almost criminal if you had asked Boucher, and yet he was still capable of crafting a menu that was still the talk of the town for its sixth year now. All without actually being able to physically taste the food himself.

It was equal parts impressive and frightening to know that a man ten years his junior had climbed to this height with a hand of cards that would discourage any sane man from trying to pull off what Vincent had. But perhaps that was part of why Vincent was the best card player on staff. He knew how to turn any hand to his advantage no matter what cards were dealt to him without letting anyone know what his hand actually was. An impassive and impenetrable mask that seldom few had ever seen beneath.

And yet even in the dim lighting of the alleyway and being bathed in soft moonlight, Boucher could see small flickers of either worry or nervousness in Vincent’s dark eyes. He wasn’t close enough with Vincent, which his nerves always thanked him for, to tell what went on in the man’s head the way that Louvet or Rousseaux could. To know Vincent Charbonneau was a sign of weathering his stormy moods and almost child-like impulsivity when it came to his more intense emotions. Having been on the receiving end of that impulsivity more times than he cared to remember, Boucher was content just to know when to keep quieter than usual or when to duck when it looked like Vincent was in one of his darker moods.

But worry and nervousness? Those…those didn’t feel like a flavor that belonged to Vincent. At least a flavor that couldn’t be picked out this easily and to a mere acquaintance no less. Well employee really but Boucher wasn’t necessarily going to try and parse out the intricacies of what level of platonic intimacy he shared with his boss now. Not when he was catching a glimpse of a side of the man he had never seen before.

“Is um…is there a reason why you’re up this late? Er n-not that you have to tell me or anything!” Boucher asked with a slight verbal backpedal if only to avoid getting that lit cigarette getting put out in his eye or something…Not that Vincent had used his staff as an ashtray in the past but…it didn’t necessarily seem entirely out of character for him to do so if he was annoyed or angry enough with somebody.

Vincent let out another long breath of smoke and looked at the mostly smoked cigarette that rested between his fingers. Had he really smoked that much of it already? Huh. No wonder he would get teased for being a chimney at his old jobs. He never really paid much attention to how quickly he blew through them. Especially when he was worked up.

Vincent could still feel Boucher’s anxious energy practically radiating off of the man despite being a good three feet away from Vincent. Christ the man needed to find something to handle that if someone as emotionally dense as Vincent could pick up on it.

Vincent finally decided to just bite the bullet as he replied, “Just the typical insomnia. It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Not entirely a lie per se. Vincent did often have issues with both falling asleep and staying asleep. The bags under his eyes didn’t just magically appear no matter how much the more vain part of himself tried to deny it. It just…wasn’t the real reason why he was wide awake and trying to smoke his troubles away. But it should serve as a good enough reason to satisfy whatever little bit of curiosity Boucher was feeling and hopefully the older man would toddle back off to bed and allow Vincent to brood in peace.

Boucher crossed his arms and rested his back against the chilled brick wall behind him. It wasn’t necessarily the answer he had been expecting, and it still didn’t explain the building anxiety he could see in conflict with Vincent’s more reserved nature but…Well Boucher knew that they weren’t on the same speaking terms that Vincent and Louvet or Vincent and Rousseaux were. Hell, even Donadieu had some sort of leeway with the man but…well Donadieu was also the oldest in the kitchen and even Vincent showed more respect to the man than he did the rest of the team. The kitchen grandfather was allowed to be privy to whatever seemed to be bothering the team simply because of that serene nature and grandfatherly aura he was practically dripping with.

But if that was the answer Vincent was content to give him, then that would be the answer that Boucher would work with, ‘God above, please protect me for I fear I might be walking into a lion’s den in just a moment.’

Boucher took a breath to steel his nerves before he suggested, “W-well sometimes a small stroll helps me wh-when I have trouble sleeping. Er um…w-we could try just a small loop around the block. B-but only if you want to! N-no pressure or hard feelings if you say no Chef! Eheh…”

Boucher held his hands up as if to show Vincent that he had no ulterior motives. Not that Vincent felt that Boucher was even capable of thinking of such a thing. Boucher often jumped at sudden loud noises and fainted at the sight of mice. How could such a man possibly be considered a threat? Especially to someone like Vincent who could probably kill a man in seven different ways with just a pencil?

Vincent took the last drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly before he put the last embers out on the brick wall beside him. He tossed the remnants through the small gap between the lid of the dumpster and the dumpster itself. Even if it was his property and he could damn well toss his used cigarettes where he damn well pleased, Vincent was still in the presence of a member of his staff. What kind of example would he be setting if he behaved like a common slob like Rody?

There mere thought of Rody had an image flash through Vincent’s mind. One of Rody, holding Vincent’s bloodstained hands and looking up at him with those greenish-gray eyes that Vincent sometimes found himself getting lost in. Heartbreak and betrayal flooding Rody’s simple, “Why me, Vince?”

Vincent carded a hand through his hair and schooled his features to hide the brief ripple of fear that had cast over him. No. Rody would be just fine. He…well he might be an idiot but he managed to survive this long on his own, right? He…he would be just fine if Vincent took a moment for himself. Besides, Vincent would be a major hypocrite if he would chide Rody for not taking a moment to take care of himself if Vincent didn’t do the same for himself. One again, he was leading by example. Nothing more and nothing less.

That brief little flicker of fear that Boucher managed to catch only further confirmed his earlier suspicion that it was more than a mere spell of insomnia that was troubling his boss but…again Boucher opted to keep that thought to himself. Not here. Not someplace where Vincent could easily strangle him without anyone being aware of it. Not that Boucher considered that Vincent was overtly homicidal but…still. There were too many close calls for Boucher to totally throw caution to the wind.

Vincent finally spoke after what felt like an eternity of awkward silence, “Just pick a direction. I’ll lead.”

Boucher nodded as he gestured for Vincent to follow him around the other side of the building. He carded a hand through his short, choppy black hair and bit back a sigh of relief. A part of him er-well the majority of him actually had expected Vincent to tell him to fuck off or something. That Vincent didn’t need to be babysat or coddled like some toddler that had gotten scared of some shadow they had seen on the wall of their nursery.

Boucher covered his mouth to stifle the smile that fought its way to his face at the mere thought. It was silly really. His boss was probably the type to dismiss monsters as mere fantasy even before being properly toilet trained or able to read full sentences. But it still would likely wind up earning Boucher a swift kick in the ass or a paring knife in his ribs if he let that little thought become more than just a thought.

But maybe, just maybe, a little walk would do both of them some good. Boucher had a few things he needed to work out on his own and…Well having his boss nearby might actually be beneficial for once. If there was one thing Boucher could count on, it would be Vincent’s ability to cut through bullshit and get people to focus on what was really important. Yeah…after that nightmare he had…Boucher really needed someone who could be a reliable voice of reason.
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When Boucher had woken up, he found himself lying on the floor of a dungeon of some sort. The stone felt wet and cold against his skin and he could hear a dripping sound coming from the corner next to his head.

Boucher sat up and tried to wipe the wetness from his face. He could feel it…smear rather than flick off of his hand the way that water was meant to. And it smelt oddly…like metal. Wet metal. An almost sickening odor really.

Boucher looked at his hand and recoiled at the sight. His palm and the side of his hand was stained red. Deep red like-

“Blood,” Boucher whispered. But who did it belong to? And why was it-

Boucher looked up and covered his mouth with his clean hand.

Pinned to the ceiling by a series of sharp looking spikes was the body of the missing woman he and his team were trying to find: Marianne Vacher. The spikes had run through her and torn parts of her clothing and skin off, which was why blood was raining down on Boucher now. Based on the deep color and how little there seemed to be dripping down, she must have been dead for a little while now.

Even from his position on the floor, Boucher could make out how the blood had matted her previously pristine brown hair. Her hair served to help cover what looked like a very nasty head wound caused by the spike that had run through between her eyes. Small bits of brain matter specked her face like a dusting of freckles.

Her locket, a matching one to the one his co-worker Rody wore, gleamed in the flickering lights of the torches that hung on the dungeon’s walls. As much as Boucher had wanted to sit and just mourn for the young life that had been cut short, the sounds of a battle quickly caught his attention.

He climbed to his feet and ignored how his legs trembled with each step. Perhaps he was injured as well but…why couldn’t he feel it? Surely he could feel it if he was injured right?...Right?

The passageway was short and led straight into an outdoor courtyard. He could smell fire and brimstone in the air and the temperature around him felt at least fifty degrees hotter than when he had been in the dungeon.

Boucher raised his arm and wiped off a bit of sweat from his brow as he watched the battle near the edge of the courtyard continue.

He could make out the form of Vincent, dressed more like a rogue thief than a chef, darting to and fro to find some sort of opening to stab with one of the twin daggers in his hands. Fighting alongside him was Rody, dressed in pieces of shining armor like some kind of knight.

Both men were bloodied and clearly trying to keep up with their fight despite whatever injuries they may have been hiding. What seemed to matter right now to the duo was the beast they were attempting to slay.

The beast was easily three times the size of both Rody and Vincent put together both in terms of height and in terms of muscle. Rody was doing a commendable job blocking the heavy blows coming his and Vincent’s way with his shield but each blow also sent him sliding back at least a foot or so. Even from a distance, Boucher could make out the way Rody’s arms shook with overexertion and how Vincent’s dodges were starting to get sloppier as time passed.

Boucher looked around for anything to try and help turn the tide of the battle but….nothing. Not even a stone or branch to be seen. Not even a piece of glass or broken weapon lay nearby for Boucher to even consider getting closer. He may want to help but what good could his own two hands do without a weapon within them? Especially when it looked like the sword in Rody’s hand and the daggers in Vincent’s seemed to be doing little to damage the towering monster that could probably kill both of them with one blow.

Another blow and sparks flew from Rody’s shield, his legs bending at the knee as he tried to keep holding steady. Sheer stubbornness kept him going. A part of Boucher pitied the man. Would that stubbornness continue if he had seen what had become of his lady love? Would he still have the strength to move forward if he knew the truth?

“Lamoree!” Vincent shouted before he shoved Rody to the side.

It was like time was moving in slow motion as Rody pivoted to try and block the blow that Vincent was intent on taking in the auburn-haired waiter’s place. Whatever kind of bladed weapon that the monster was fighting with slid straight through Vincent’s back and right out through his stomach. Blood flew through the air like droplets of rain and Boucher felt himself grow queasy at the sight of it.

Boucher heard Rody’s screams as his legs gave out from under him. Boucher held the doorway he was kneeling in tightly as his vision started to blur. Was this…a premonition of sorts? Would their mission cost the lives of both Marianne and Vincent?

As the world faded to darkness around him, all Boucher could hope was that this was just a meaningless nightmare and nothing more. That the worst wouldn’t come to pass and that everyone would make it out of this mission in one piece.
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Boucher shook his head to try and clear his memory of the nightmare from his mind. Now was not the time to get lost in his own thoughts! He had an opportunity to somehow prove to his boss that he was more than just the kitchen scaredy cat and part of that involved being attentive to whatever kind of mood his walking companion was currently in.

The sound of their footsteps echoed through the streets, breaking the otherwise serene silence with the odd rhythms of their steps. Vincent’s quiet, measured steps contrasted sharply with Boucher’s shuffling ones. The slight limp on his right side only made the difference in their strides even more noticeable. The slight height difference between them wasn’t necessarily the only reason why Boucher was grateful that Vincent had adopted a more sedate pace for their evening stroll. The older chef doubted that he could keep up with the more purposeful power walk that Vincent often used in the bistro. Not at this late hour and not with his trick ankle bothering him like it currently was.

Vincent hadn’t said a single word to the chef once they had made their way out of the alley and onto the sidewalk in front of the bistro. Vincent had started to lead them to the park where he had spoken with Louvet and Rousseaux earlier that evening. Someplace the dark-haired man knew would be both quiet and devoid of people. Something that Vincent needed right now. He didn’t have the energy left in him to pull on his charming business owner mask if he was forced to encounter a member of the public. Especially if his communications team had done their job and spread the false narrative of Vincent’s bistro being vandalized around the city. He didn’t have the patience to deal with people’s false simpering tones and empty condolences tonight.

Boucher was grateful to have been spared from some angry tirade from Vincent or complaints that the whole walking thing was pointless but…Well it still didn’t sit right with him. Something was clearly bothering Vincent if he was still being this eerily quiet and that odd emotion kept flickering in and out of his eyes. But…well how could he delicately bring up the subject without risking having Vincent tear out his jugular with his teeth?

Boucher looked to the stars and spoke in a low, hushed tone, “The city really is lovely at this time of night…I wish I could actually see it more often.”

Vincent hummed a noncommittal hum, but at least it let Boucher know that he was at least partially paying attention to what the older chef was saying. So far so good. Maybe he could bring it up after a little more small talk. Yeah. That could work.

“I’m almost a little jealous that you get to live so close to an area like this. It almost feels claustrophobic by my apartment,” Boucher continued to ramble quietly as his cheeks flushed a soft pink.

His apartment building was by no means the worst looking one of the bunch (that honor belonged to Rody), but he still couldn’t deny that he lived in one of the more crowded areas of the city. The rent was cheap enough that he could still go to visit his therapist without having to go without too much. Granted he still missed being able to take painting classes more than once a month, but beggars couldn’t be choosers right? His mental health was far more important than learning how to shade the bark of a tree in watercolor in his book…Even if the painting classes did make him feel more at ease than talk therapy sessions ever could.

Again a noncommittal hum came from Vincent but he at least had the decency to not look annoyed. Slightly bored, but still a workable mood nonetheless.

Boucher rubbed the back of his neck before he asked, “S-so um…do you usually do something else…You know to help with the nights when you have a hard time sleeping?”

Vincent reached for his pocket to pull out another cigarette, but he instead allowed his hand to just rest in his pocket. If one didn’t help calm his nerves, then what hope could a second one have? Besides, he didn’t necessarily feel like sharing tonight and he’d feel a little rude if he didn’t offer Boucher one if he did opt to light up a second one.

Vincent let out a long breath as if he had actually take a drag of a cigarette before he replied, “I usually just lie there and try to think of something else really. It’s…well it’s not necessarily a new issue for me.”

Boucher nodded as he digested Vincent’s words. A thinker type huh? It did sound pretty in character for his boss. He could be awfully broody when the mood struck him.

“Broody? Is that what you really think of me?” Vincent snorted.

Boucher whipped his head around as his face paled, “D-don’t tell me you can-”

Vincent rolled his eyes, “You were mumbling your thoughts out loud. I’m not a mind reader. Not that you or your colleagues have thoughts I’d want to read if I was one.”

Boucher allowed himself a nervous laugh as his face returned to its normal coloring. Oh. What a relief. But still, Boucher really had to work on sorting out that mumbling habit of his. That was the second time tonight his mouth nearly got him into some sort of trouble…

The duo walked in silence once more. An awkward tension was starting to simmer beneath the surface, but neither felt inclined to do anything about it. How could they? It wasn’t like they had much in common outside of being chefs and working in the same bistro. They may have been living in the same city but their lives outside of the bistro couldn’t possibly be more different. The well-off business owner and one of the chefs that worked for him. The put-together local darling and the anxious nobody.

Boucher looked over at the gazebo and a fond smile graced his face as he soaked in the rainbow hues of the flowers growing around the gazebo. The soft pink with a tinge of deeper salmon that made the cozy colors of the English Garden roses played beautifully with the rich purple tones of the lavender flowers that were entwined with the rose bushes. The rich sunset orange and yellows of the foxgloves only made the gazebo look even more like an enchanted portal to a faerie garden than the roses alone had. The only thing missing in Boucher’s opinion was a trail of ivy growing up the sides of the gazebo, but such an unmanicured look wouldn’t fly in a city as polished as Paris.

“I hope Dora will be alright while I’m away,” Boucher sighed an almost dreamy sigh as he and Vincent walked further away from the lovely array of blooms that perfumed the air around them. “I haven’t left her alone for a long period of time before and…well I can only hope that the neighbor boy makes good on his promise to take good care of her.”

“I’m sure your cat will be alright while you’re away,” Vincent replied in about as reassuring of a tone as he could muster up. “They’re very resourceful animals.”

Again, emotional junk and overt empathy weren’t really Vincent’s thing here. At least he hoped that his words sounded reassuring rather than condescending. He already had to keep an eye on Lavigne and Louvet to make sure their moods didn’t suddenly tank on the mission and Vincent knew that adding Boucher’s worries about his pet to the plate would likely tip the scale into the demons’ favor.

Boucher looked over at Vincent and a part of him felt…oddly touched by the attempt at empathy from his otherwise cold and unfeeling boss. Vincent may be a bit of a tyrant (okay a lot of a tyrant, let’s be honest here), but it was…nice to see that he was just as human as the rest of the team. That he did feel more than just…that emptiness that sometimes made Vincent’s eyes look like hollow voids.

But it still didn’t stop the soft laugh from escaping Boucher’s lips, “Oh, Dora isn’t an animal! She’s my plant!”

Vincent’s eyebrow twitched at the soft laughter and Boucher’s words. A plant? He was worried about a fucking houseplant? What did he do in life to have a whackjob like this on his staff? It was a plant. It couldn’t give affection back the way an animal or a person could so…why name it?

“You named a houseplant?” Vincent questioned with a tinge of confusion in his voice.

Boucher glanced over and noticed the way that Vincent’s face looked like a dismissive mask. As if he found the idea entirely ridiculous and not worthy of his earlier attempt at being an empathetic boss. And yet…there was a flicker of confusion in his eyes that Boucher felt oddly privileged to see. Vincent was always so closed off that even when he was confused about something he often masked it underneath indifference. But even a brief flicker of his actual feelings felt like…well it felt like his boss…almost trusted him in an odd way. Despite all of the mistakes that Boucher would make because of his nerves and Vincent’s impulsive reactions to correcting those mistakes…Huh.

Perhaps…well perhaps his scary ass boss was more human than Boucher gave him credit for. It was easy to forget that this was a man ten years his junior when Vincent was just…so mature and seemingly could handle issues much easier than a man twice his age could. That there was the possibility of Boucher knowing of things that Vincent didn’t…Well who was he to pass up the opportunity to pass on a little wisdom to the younger generation? It might even come in handy someday.

“Why wouldn’t I name her?” Boucher replied with a soft grin and an even softer fondness in his eyes as his mind drifted back to Dora. “My mother told me that naming your plants helps them grow healthier and encourages you to talk to them more often.”

Vincent was flabbergasted. He had a reason??? And he…talked to the damn thing? Did he get a mental asylum patient by mistake three years ago when he first hired Boucher? Who in their right mind actually…continues to believe in some childish nonsense like that well into adulthood?

“Only you would talk to plants,” Vincent muttered to himself as he shook his head. Weirdos. The whole lot of them.

Boucher quirked a brow as he rested a hand on his hip, “It’s not as ridiculous as it sounds. Plants need plenty of carbon dioxide to make their food and humans breathe it out. It’s especially true when we speak. So why not ensure my lovely Dora is getting her proper nutrition while I make sure she’s watered and is getting proper sunlight?”

Vincent rolled his eyes as he replied, “It still sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud.”

“And yet that ridiculous little tidbit seemed to be enough to take your mind off of whatever was bothering you before,” Boucher retorted with a slight bit of confidence in his voice.

He blinked and seemed to realize that he had actually said it out loud rather than keep it in his head like he had initially assumed. Vincent had an odd look in his eyes and Boucher could feel a nervous sweat start to bead up at both of his temples and at the back of his neck.

Boucher laughed nervously as he added, “N-not that I thought that there was anything wrong or anything! But I-uh…F-forgive me for being presumptuous, Chef!”

Boucher clasped his hands together and cowered ever so slightly. He braced himself for a slap for being so presumptuous or for speaking so familiarly with his boss but…A moment passed. Two. Three. And…nothing happened.

Boucher looked over at Vincent, who had remained quiet and seemed to be deep in thought. Rather than take another risk by opening his mouth again, Boucher opted to keep quiet as well. He was still in one piece and wanted to keep it that way. He still had to worry about navigating Hell in a few hours and well…Boucher really wasn’t eager to find out how well he could do that without his head on his shoulders.

Vincent kept his arms crossed and his head hung low as he mulled over Boucher’s words, ‘He…noticed that? I…And here I thought that I was able to hide it. Has Lamoree really done this to me? Has he really managed to weasel his way in and caused this much trouble even when he isn’t here?’

It did sound like something Rody would do. He was always sticking his nose where it didn’t belong and doing things that would catch Vincent off guard. Tiny things and grand gestures that added up to…well whatever kind of thing made Vincent’s stomach feel fluttery and his heart start to pound when he thought about those tiny things and grand gestures. He really needed to schedule that appointment with his physician sooner rather than later. These symptoms were starting to get irritating.

“I-I mean I can’t really blame you for being worried,” Boucher finally mustered up the courage to add. “I…I can’t say that my own dreams were…peaceful this evening.”

Their steps slowed to a stop next to a rather ornate fountain for such a small park. The fountain was still running, which was odd given the late hour, but the sound of running water helped to fill the awkward silence between the pair once more. Only the running water of the fountain and the slight breeze rustling the leaves of the trees around them could be heard.

Boucher worried his lower lip before he whispered, “Chef…do you think that…that we’ll be able to find Lamoree? You know and he’ll be-”

Vincent turned on his heel to face Boucher and replied firmly, “I may have doubts about our own safety going on this mission but…if there’s one thing I am certain about its that Lamoree is a lot stronger than he looks. He’s not going to let two weaklings who have to rely on cheap parlor tricks to get the better of him.”

“Well now, the last time I checked those ‘cheap parlor tricks’ were more than effective when it came to dealing with you,” a voice purred that had Vincent immediately pulling his lighter out of his pocket and cursing himself for not bringing a knife with him.

Boucher looked around to try and find the owner of the voice as he stepped closer to Vincent. The hairs stood up on the back of the older chef’s neck and it felt like a million pairs of eyes were suddenly staring at him at once. The park was still empty according to his eyes but…Boucher couldn’t shake that growing tension in his gut that made his hands tremble and his heart hammer.

Vincent shouted back, “And yet here I still stand ready to face you again! So clearly your tricks aren’t as effective as you think they are!”

The voice laughed a low laugh as a ring of flames ignited around the chefs, trapping them close to the fountain. Vincent hissed a low hiss and gripped his arm that had drawn a little too close to the steam starting to roll off the now boiling fountain water. Boucher whimpered softly as he glanced around for the source of the noise.

“P-please God, give us an out!” Boucher shouted as he instinctively grabbed onto Vincent’s uninjured arm. The anxious man may be a coward, but he didn’t plan on leaving his boss behind. Especially if it what was messing with them was-

An opening formed in the ring of flames and Vincent raced forward, dragging Boucher along behind him. The opening closed as soon as Boucher was through the ring and he could feel the heat radiating off of the flames. They felt even hotter than the ones from the burner that Vincent had held his face over just two months ago. His sweat increased and he could feel the old burn on his back start to twinge.

Vincent kept looking around the park and whispered to Boucher, “If you see any sign of movement, keep talking to and about God. That should buy us time to-”

Vincent was cut off by the sound of a crackling flame and both men jumped aside just in time to avoid the fireball that had shot out of the ring of fire towards them. Boucher made the sign of the cross with his arms and felt a tremor going down his legs.

Vincent kept scanning the area as he called, “Show yourself Tristan! Unless you’re the real coward here!”

Another fireball shot out of the flickering flames, but it fell to the ground and sputtered a bit. Boucher kept his arms pointed towards the circle of sputtering flames, which were starting to die down just from being in the presence of the makeshift cross. Vincent smirked. Just as he suspected. Boucher’s faith was strong enough to even the playing field.

Vincent noticed a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye and pivoted to intercept it before it could reach Boucher. Vincent and the blur rolled off to the side in a tangle of limbs.

As soon as the roll stopped, Vincent tried to pull back to inspect the blur better but before he could start to sit up a set of vines grew from the ground and wrapped around his wrists. Vincent’s ankles got a similar treatment, leaving him pinned to the ground with no real way to defend himself.

Sitting right on his lap was none other than Tristan, who was panting heavily from the exertion. His eyes held a soft, almost hypnotic glow to them as he drank in the sight of Vincent’s body pinned to the ground.

“I can see why little Rodykins reacted the way he did in the alleyway,” Tristan purred as he reached a hand down to try and cup Vincent’s cheek. He withdrew his hand just before Vincent could bite him. “Such a feisty little thing, aren’t you? And just pretty enough to catch his eye. The girl really has her work cut out for her with you on the scene.”

Vincent pulled at the vines restraining him as he spat, “Shut your damn mouth! You don’t know anything about-”

Tristan laughed softly, “Oh, but I think I do know quite a bit about that little waiter boy of yours~ Being the one to hold his contract means that I’m privy to every little thought in that pretty little head of his. And right now you’re occupying a lot of that mental real estate.”

Vincent grit his teeth and continued to struggle beneath both Tristan’s weight on his hips and the restraints around his wrists and ankles. He had to get something free to get-

“Oh, looking for this Vinny?” Tristan teased as he fished the lighter out of Vincent’s pocket.

Vincent’s eyes immediately focused on the glimmer of silver and could feel a nervous tinge in his gut at how Tristan flicked it to produce a flame. Just what was-

Tristan held onto Vincent’s throat with one hand and kept the lit lighter aloft in the other as he cooed, “I wonder if Rody will still find you pretty if you had a little…accident hm?”

Vincent felt a cold sweat start to form as his mind was forced back to his early days in the kitchen. Being a young teenager and having his face held over the flaming burner as the sous chef barked in his ear about appropriate styles of hair for the kitchen. How his younger self had trembled and could smell the ends of his hair getting singed by the flames. How he had mentally begged for either Rousseaux or Louvet to show up and rescue him. How he had spitefully cursed whatever relative had caused both men to go to that damn funeral that day-

“Guess we’ll find out-” Tristan was cut off when he was tackled off of Vincent.

The lighter’s flame extinguished before it landed in the grass with a thud. Vincent sighed softly in relief as his heart started to settle into a calmer state. Thank God. He was spared for now but who-

“Y-you keep your hands off of him you-you wretched demon!” Boucher yelled in a voice tinged with nervousness and something bordering…protective? He…actually was trying to keep Vincent safe? After what he had done two months ago?

Tristan huffed as he batted Boucher off of him with one arm, “I don’t have to play with little pests like you. Now run off and play while I-”

Boucher grabbed onto Tristan’s arm and pulled him back onto the ground. The chef then wrapped his arms around the demon and started to pray, “O-our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done!”

Tristan growled a guttural, animalistic growl at Boucher’s words. Vincent felt his restraints start to weaken and he pulled his arms free of the vines. He reached out to grab the lighter so he could burn the remaining vines off his ankles. After being brave enough to attack the demon so openly, Vincent wasn’t going to let Boucher face that monster alone. Not after the man had essentially saved his life here.

“Give us on th-this day our daily bread!” Boucher continued to pray as he tried to keep pulling Tristan down to buy Vincent more time to free himself. Hopefully his boss would soon free himself to go and get back up. “And forgive us our tresspasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us!”

Tristan growled, “Shut your fucking mouth!”

The demon elbowed Boucher’s gut, but the nervous chef kept holding onto the demon as he choked out, “A-and lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from the evil one.”

Vincent hid the smile on his face as he managed to burn the vines off of his ankles. Now it was time to turn the tables on that pesky demon.

Tristan growled another low growl before he resisted Boucher’s attempts to pull him down and stood up. Boucher opened his mouth to try and pray once more but all that came out was a panicked yelp as he felt himself getting lifted off of the demon by the very same vines that had trapped Vincent just moments ago. Boucher could feel the vines wrap around his throat and hips, as if prepping themselves to rip him in half.

Vincent turned and met the harsh glare Tristan was giving him with one of his own. Vincent tightened his grip on his lighter as he snarled, “Let go of him.”

Tristan smirked as the vines pulled ever so slightly to make Boucher whimper, “Why should I Vinny? Last I checked he wasn’t your precious widdle Rodykins~”

Vincent took a step forward and the vines tightened and pulled a little more, earning a sharp yelp out of Boucher. Vincent blinked as the image of Rody with his torso cut open came to mind. He took an involuntary step back and the pressure eased up on Boucher.

Tristan snickered as he watched Vincent, “That’s right Vinny~ You get any closer and your little cheffy poo here gets ripped right in half! Oh just how do you plan on explaining that to your staff, hm?”

Vincent tightened his grip on the lighter once more and raised his arm to throw it right at Tristan’s forehead when the vines pulled once more and Boucher cried out another pained cry. Vincent lowered his shaking arm slowly and listened to the pained whimpers of his employee. More visions of entrails being spilled came to mind only…It was of Vincent standing amongst his team, covered in blood. Their blood with their parts hacked off and guts spilled by his hand.

“What’s wrong Vinny?” Tristan cooed as he drank in the conflicted look on Vincent’s face and the trembling of the chef’s hands. “Don’t you want to charge in and get revenge for poor widdle Rody? Or are you too selfish to dirty your own hands for the sake of another person?”

“Sh-shut up,” Vincent muttered as he covered his ears and gripped onto his hair tightly. He closed his eyes as more visions of blood and guts and gore came to mind. The screams of his staff. The begging for mercy. For him to spare them. The sound of blood splashing against the tiled floor of the kitchen and-

Vincent’s shaking legs gave out under him and he did nothing to stop himself from sinking to the ground. The rise and fall of his chest started to match the quickening pace of his heartbeat and his hands started to feel…funny. Like they were buzzing almost. Maybe…maybe it was because the air was becoming thinner and thinner.

Boucher watched on in horror as Vincent started to spiral deeper into whatever kind of mental torment the demon was inflicting upon him. Tristan kept snickering as he drew closer and closer to the panicked chef.

‘I-I have to get out of this!’ Boucher thought as he eyed up the vines that were holding him captive.

The vines were thick, but they thankfully lacked any thorns. Otherwise he probably would have been dead by now. They didn’t resemble any vines that Boucher was familiar with but, perhaps he didn’t need to be. He only needed to find a way to break himself free of them. But how was he-

‘Wait…these are just plants right?’ Boucher mused as he looked at the piece of vine closest to his mouth. ‘Could I just…eat my way out?’

Only one way to find out! So Boucher sank his teeth into the portion closest to his mouth and started to slowly nibble his way through the vine. It was very bitter, like the pithy part of a citrus fruit, but Boucher could handle that. He could always wash his mouth out later and deal with the lingering taste after he and Vincent were back with the rest of the group.’

Tristan kept walking closer and closer to Vincent, who was starting to feel dizzy from the odd pattern his breathing had taken. He couldn’t drown out the screaming and begging no matter how hard he clamped down on his ears. His lips kept forming silent apologies to people that weren’t even there.

Tristan reached down and grabbed Vincent’s chin, forcing the chef to look up at him. Vincent squirmed in the demon’s hold and closed his eyes to block out the brief flicker he caught of his panicked expression that was reflected in Tristan’s glowing eyes.

“That’s it Vinny,” Tristan cooed as the glow in his eyes brightened and the grin grew on his lips. He tightened his grip on Vincent’s chin as he drank in the panic that Vincent was practically drowning in. “Keep on listening to the voices Vinny. Let all those feelings bubble to the surface now~”

Boucher spat out the chewed bits of vine from his mouth and shouted, “Don’t listen to him Chef! You’re stronger than anything he can throw at you!”

Boucher winced at the feeling of the vine tightening around his hips, but the vine around his throat had withdrawn after he had chewed on it for a good few minutes. But without the second vine threatening his throat, he wasn’t nearly as afraid as before. He wasn’t at risk of being torn apart anymore.

Tristan hissed quietly, “Don’t listen to him Vinny. He’s trying to trick you. To make you mess up and lose what little you have left. Your waiter, your love, your life-”

“Come on Chef! I know you’re stronger than him!” Boucher shouted once more, ignoring the way his hips ached from the pressure the vine was putting on them. “A-are you really going to let some hack who relies on cheap p-parlor tricks get the better of you? You? Th-the top chef in Paris?”

Vincent tilted his head as Boucher’s voice started to pierce through the cacophony of screams in his head. He couldn’t quite make out what the other chef was saying but…something in the tone of his voice made it feel a lot sturdier than anything else Vincent was feeling right now.

‘H-he…I can’t just…’ Vincent thought to himself when he heard a voice that sounded a lot like Rody in the back of his mind chime in, ‘Come on Vince, I know you can do better than this. Are you really gonna let some pretty boy get the better of you?’

Vincent’s eyes snapped open as his focus suddenly shifted from the screaming and visions in his head to the very real and very solid demon in front of him. A demon that was well within biting range.

Tristan furrowed his brows in confusion before Vincent grabbed onto Tristan’s other wrist and pulled it closer. The chef quickly sunk his teeth into Tristan’s arm and ignored the warm feeling of blood entering his mouth.

Tristan howled in pain before he swung his arm upwards. Vincent, being a good few inches taller than Tristan and being very pissed off at being played like a fiddle once more by the demon in question, wasn’t going to be swung off so easily. He simply sunk his teeth in deeper and dug in his heels to keep himself from being moved too easily.

“That’s it you fucker!” Tristan snapped as he snapped his fingers. Boucher felt himself getting flung by the vine around his hips and braced himself for impact. The older chef found himself hitting a very solid and warm body and heard Vincent grunt from the impact.

The duo tumbled a good six feet away from where Tristan was standing and Boucher couldn’t muster up the strength to peel himself off of the ground. Not while the sky above him kept spinning and his head felt light from the sudden speed he had been thrown at.

Vincent got to his feet and wiped the blood from his mouth onto his arm as he stood protectively in front of his downed employee. No more. He was done letting members of his staff getting toyed with. He was the boss here.

“Are you done playing games?” Vincent spat as he raised his fists to fight the demon once more. “Because I’ve grown tired of your little tricks.”

Tristan held Vincent’s glare and eyed the chef with the same intensity a wounded wolf gave to the dog that had injured it. The demon’s eyes still held that odd glow to them and Vincent knew that Tristan was far from done when it came to toying with them. But at least if he was here, then it meant that Rody had a chance to escape and-

“So you think this is a game, do you?” Tristan spoke in a cool voice that did little to shake Vincent’s firm stance. As if the chef wasn’t staring down, ready to throw hands with a demon that was probably a hundred times his age at least.

Vincent replied with a slightly cocky grin on his face, “Well you certainly aren’t as impressive as your little colleague is. She was able to do far more damage to me than you have and she’s supposedly the weaker of the two of you. Maybe you’re just getting rusty in your old age.”

Tristan’s brow twitched as he clenched his fist. Vincent stiffened up at the feeling of pressure growing around him but he refused to back down. Not this time.

Tristan tilted his head as he smirked, “Is that so? Well maybe you need a reminder of what I had done to you earlier. And this time that little bitch who tries to play mommy won’t be able to-”

Boucher managed to push himself up slightly before he shouted, “L-Louvet is more of a man than you’ll ever be! S-so you better stop bad mouthing him!”

Tristan tightened his other hand into a fist and pulled both of his hands down in a quick movement. Vincent slammed onto the ground and Boucher quickly followed. The older chef saw little black dots swirling around his vision as the pressure grew more intense. Vincent kept trying to push himself off of the ground but each attempt only increased the pressure he was experiencing until he was only taking very shallow breaths.

“I think the two of you need to remember your places,” Tristan sneered as he continued to watch the chefs struggle underneath the weight of his spell. He tilted his head slightly as he met Vincent’s defiant glare once more.

Vincent spat out, “I…I’ll never…bow to you…”

Tristan snickered softly as he raised his hands. The pressure lightened up on both chefs, but both knew that it was only so Tristan could wind up whatever blow he intended on finishing both chefs off with.

“Is that so?” Tristan purred as he took another look at Vincent. “I’ll make sure to remember that when I-”

Tristan was cut off by a bright ball of magenta flames appearing next to him. The demon huffed as he opened his hands to catch the ball of flames. He ignored the sighs of relief from Boucher and Vincent at the small moment of freedom they were granted.

The ball of flames morphed into the shape of a maid and Tristan barked at the maid, “What is it now? Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

The maid curtsied before she replied, “Forgive me Master, but I need to inform you that the prisoner isn’t in the room you had left him in.”

Tristan growled lowly, “What do you mean the prisoner isn’t in the room? Did you check the bathroom and the-”

“Yes Master,” the maid interrupted as she curtsied once more. “I checked everywhere in the room where he could possibly hide but…Only Janine was in the room. She claimed that he was going to bed her but…clearly that was not the case.”

Vincent pulled himself off the ground enough to sling Boucher’s arm over his shoulders. The older chef nodded as they both quietly hoisted themselves off of the ground. Boucher bit the inside of his cheek to stifle the soft moan of pain that threatened to escape his lips. His hips hurt. Badly. And standing was making his legs shake. Vincent was also shaking, but more so from the fact that he was trying to take on most of Boucher’s weight. God he needed to hit the gym.

Tristan glared at the maid as he hissed, “Then you make sure to check the entire manor from top to bottom and find him. I want him in my office by the time I get back to the manor.”

The two chefs started to quietly take shuffling steps away from the demon. Distance would be their greatest ally right now. The farther away they could get from the angry demon, the better. Especially since both chefs were unarmed and in no condition to throw hands with the demon in question. But their injuries made walking all the more difficult.

The maid curtsied once more before she replied, “Yes Master. I will make sure he is in your office right away.”

The image of the maid faded and Tristan gripped his fists once more. Vincent and Boucher froze in their tracks as the pressure returned once more. Boucher whimpered at the aches growing in his hips and bit his lower lip to try and keep the frightened tears at bay. Fear would only make their enemy stronger and…well he really didn’t want to add more fuel to the fire.

Tristan suddenly appeared before both chefs and snarled right in Vincent’s face, “Consider this your last warning little chef. Stay the fuck out of my way unless you want you and your little team to become bloodstains.”

Vincent spat right in Tristan’s face before he snarled back, “Do what you want to me, but leave my team out of this. I’ll never let a pathetic affront to God like you ever keep Lamoree all to yourself. He belongs here.”

Tristan wiped the spit from his face and gripped Vincent’s throat tightly. He smirked at the panicked gasp that came from Boucher and drank in the defiant glare Vincent was giving him.

“I think I’ll leave you with a nice present this time,” Tristan smiled a sickening smile before he let go of Vincent’s throat.

Before Vincent could reply, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder and looked down. Sticking out of his shoulder as a knife. But not just any knife. No…it was the steak knife that had been missing from Rody’s apartment. But how did-

Tristan purred softly, “It would be rude of me to not return the favor. You drew my blood twice, so it’s only fair that I get to spill yours in return.”

Vincent held onto his shoulder and felt the blood run over his hand. He glared at Tristan who merely smiled at him once more before he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Boucher covered his mouth and trembled as a bit of vomit leaked between his fingers at the sight of Vincent’s injury. That was a lot of blood…

Vincent snapped, “Don’t just stand there! Get to a payphone and call the bistro! We should have a kit to treat this there!”

Boucher pulled his hand away and swallowed thickly as he replied in a shaking voice, “W-wouldn’t a hospital-”

“I won’t make it to a hospital!” Vincent shouted as he tried to keep the knife in place. It was the only thing keeping him from bleeding out entirely and each little movement of it kept cutting deeper and deeper into his flesh.

Boucher didn’t need to be told twice! So with shaking steps he quickly hobbled in the direction of the nearest payphone while Vincent looked around the area nearby for something to press against the wound to try and slow the bleeding down.

‘Just keep calm,’ Vincent reminded himself as he eased himself to sit on one of the benches nearby. He hissed at the movement of the knife and prayed silently that it wouldn’t hit an artery. ‘You can’t die. Not like this. Not before knowing that Rody is safe.’

Vincent rested his back against the bench and looked up to the sky. He wasn’t a praying man and he hadn’t been to church since he was a boy but…A part of him hoped that if there was a God, that He wouldn’t let Vincent bleed out on the park bench. That He would let Vincent’s team arrive with the first aid kit and everything would be fine.

Vincent closed his eyes as he thought, ‘Please God. Just…give me enough time to bring Rody home.’

Chapter Text

Manon hummed softly as she sketched another design into the little notebook. This time detailing a pair of holsters that she could hide underneath her sleeves to hold either a pair of knives or a set of knitting needles depending on what kind of weaponry she could scrounge up once she got started on gathering supplies for her escape plan. She had yet to come across anything detailing the actual size of the manor and any possible escape routes but she wasn’t about to lose hope yet!

‘Have faith,’ Manon reminded herself as she started to flip through the book full of different styles of clothing from around the world that laid before her. ‘You’re a smart, independent, modern woman Manon. You can’t and won’t let some supernatural force keep you from getting what you want!’

She had to admit that she was very fortunate to be in a manor with such an extensive library. Manon was spoiled for choice when it came to selecting research materials and a part of her felt that maybe one of these books would be her ticket to escaping the manor properly. But until then, she would continue to pilfer little tidbits from the library’s vast collection of knowledge and plot out how she was going to gather the necessary supplies to ensure that her rescue plan went off without a hitch.

‘The most important thing is making sure I had something to carry all of my supplies and making sure that I could walk through the Sloth circle without falling asleep myself,’ Manon reminded herself as she quickly sketched out a secondary holster design. One that could be either sewn into the inside of a pocket or strapped to her leg. She had yet to fully decide on that part yet.

The craft room had a sewing machine and plenty of fabrics for her to work with to make herself a backpack of sorts, the new wrist holsters, and sew herself some new hidden pockets for her skirt. Maybe if she had a little time she could experiment and see if she preferred the extra holsters to be in a pocket or on her leg? There were more than enough bolts of fabric in there to experiment for centuries depending on how the rules of the room worked. Or maybe if Manon made a little trinket or offering, Isolde would unknowingly contribute the means of Manon’s escape.

It likely also had something she could use to cut some plastic bottles to make herself and Rody a set of gas masks to brave the miasma that made people so sluggish in the Sloth Circle. So after a few more sketches and maybe finding some little poems she could scribble onto the pages for encouragement, she would pack up and try to locate the crafting room once more. Try being the key word here since she had yet to find a map of the manor to attempt to navigate on her own without running the risk of finding another one of those…things like she had encountered earlier.

Manon shivered, feeling a set of eyes boring into the back of her neck. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and as she turned around, the feeling of being watched faded. She sighed softly. Hopefully it was just a fluke and not another one of those weird monsters again. A part of her doubted that she could actually defeat one of those things with only a book. The pen might be useful but…She tilted it in her hand, no. It wasn’t anywhere near sharp enough to act as a slicing weapon and it would probably need a decent amount of force behind it to actually stab something…Unless it was in an eye or some other sort of soft spot.

It didn’t seem likely that she could just ask one of the maids where she could find a weapon. Not without drawing too much suspicion anyway. Her little cover story of preparing for a potential nuclear apocalypse could only get her so much leeway when it came to her actual prep work and the kind of assistance she could expect to receive. None of them could know what her actual intentions were no matter how much the mere idea of deception made Manon’s stomach turn. She hadn’t made it as far in her career without being honest, no matter how much more of a grind it was compared to her colleagues who saw no issue with bending the truth or straight up lying just to sell more juicy articles.

For how she would have to keep her cards close to her chest until she could get a proper read on whatever staff members she would be interacting with regularly. Keep your enemies closer, right? Their temperaments, usual duties and their patrol routes (which was likely what their duties were a cover for) would all have to be surreptitiously recorded so Manon could mask her movements around the manor more easily. She would be able to anticipate who would be where and how much she was at liberty to disclose about why she was going into certain rooms.

It would be hard work but…well it was all going to be worth it when she was safely nestled in Rody’s strong arms once more. When she could kiss him until he was breathless putty in her hands, ready to be molded and played with to her heart’s content. His eyes getting dark and hazy with lust as he held back from his baser urges just to ensure what Manon’s needs were taken care of first. Yes. That was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her days with. And once she ensured that he was in a better job and taking better care of himself, then they could finally get married and raise those children that Rody kept muttering about raising in his sleep.

Manon smiled softly as she flipped to the inside cover of her notebook and made a little doodle of Rody with the words ‘Do it for him’ written underneath it. It was cute and all but it also wasn’t a good substitute for the real thing. It would have to do for now though…at least until she was safe to sleep again. Maybe if she kept encountering Rody’s self-esteem while she was asleep, it would remind her that the real Rody was still alive. That he was still safe and fighting to reunite with her just as she was fighting to return to his side once more.

She gently traced the side of the Rody doodle’s cheek once the ink had dried as she mused, ‘I wonder what Rody’s doing now? Hopefully he’s having nice dreams and catching up on some needed sleep while he’s in the Sloth circle. He looked so tired earlier and…well whatever kind of weird magic Tristan was using on him earlier probably didn’t help matters either.’

With one final sigh, Manon decided to see if she could find some poems that would either remind her of Rody or lift her spirits should she find herself feeling discouraged whilst on her journey. While gathering the necessary supplies for her journey was incredibly important, keeping her morale high was also equally important. Manon wasn’t quite sure about what kinds of monsters she would be fighting on her journey but…that determination to keep moving forward might prove to be the difference between continuing on her journey or winding up as the meal of some…beast.

She slipped the book back into its proper place and dusted off her skirt. Some of the books looked like they hadn’t been touched in decades, which was odd given how the artsy maid earlier made it seem like the staff was given free reign to engage in whatever hobbies they wanted once their duties were done for the day. Surely there had to be more than just one person on staff that actually took Isolde up on that perk, right? Or even see if she would allow them to take a book or two from the library so they could have something to read before bed. At least that’s what Manon would do if she was one of them.

Then again, not having much foot traffic in the library may not be the worst thing in the world. Manon was at liberty to read whatever she wanted and she didn’t have anyone looking over her shoulder to see what she was writing or drawing in her notebook. Her plans would stay just between her and the paper and…well the less who knew about her true intentions the better. At least she was safe from having Isolde herself getting involved or curious about what Manon was up to…for now.

‘Maybe I’ll manage to cut and pin my bag’s pattern before I get called away for dinner or something,’ Manon thought as she took one last look around the section of the library she had taken refuge in.

Maybe if the circumstances were different, she would take her time to properly explore the place but…She couldn’t keep Rody waiting longer. He may be safe in whatever circle he’s trapped in for now but…Manon couldn’t trust that would remain the case. Not in Hell and not with someone like Tristan acting as his prison guard. As much as Isolde made Manon a little uncomfortable, she at least wore her heart directly on her sleeve and Manon could get some sort of idea of what she might be planning. There was something…off about the way that Tristan looked at her earlier. Like he was a wolf waiting for the opportune moment to seize a plump lamb by the throat.

Manon shivered and shook her head. No. She wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on the other demon in question. A part of her felt like if she thought about him too much that he would suddenly appear before her to cause trouble. But then again…he did seem very remorseful about his role in taking her to Hell in the first place so…maybe he wouldn’t mind if she had asked to be imprisoned alongside Rody. Or ask to take Rody’s place for a little while in exchange for the waiter’s freedom. Yeah…that could be her backup option if the duo get captured while Manon was trying to break Rody out of his prison.

Manon shook her head. No. It wouldn’t have to come down to the backup option. She was going to sneak Rody out of his prison and back up to the safety of the surface before that pesky demon had any idea that a breakout was taking place. Then she could get Rody back on track to reaching those goals, but taking a healthier approach than whatever kind of approach the two demons had adopted to “teach” Rody.

As Manon readjusted her hold on her notebook, something caught her attention from the corner of her eye. She turned her head and tilted it slightly before she started to walk towards one of the shelves in the back corner.

‘Huh? That’s odd,’ Manon thought as she crouched down to look at the bottom shelf of books. ‘What’s a book about oceanography doing here with the geology books?’

Manon grabbed the book to go and return it to its proper shelf. Once she pulled the book from the shelf, she heard a click before the bookshelf jittered as it moved back into the wall a bit and slid to the side. The sliding bookcase came to a halt with a soft thud to reveal a set of stairs leading down into a dark abyss. Manon could see faint balls of light leading down the stairs, but no other clues to tell her what was down the stairs.

‘Jackpot!’ Manon grinned as she drew a little closer to inspect her new find more closely.

The stairs were made of the same marble material as the floors out in the foyer and instead of the stylish sconces or candle holders Manon was used to seeing dot the walls, a set of torches held in place by thick black brackets made up the only source of dim, flickering light in the newly discovered area. The air seeping up from the abyss was cold and smelled of must tinged with neglect. Like this doorway hadn’t been touched in years and was in desperate need of a thorough cleaning to brighten the atmosphere a bit. But…that still didn’t explain how the torches could have possibly stayed lit despite the abyss smelling so old and musty.

Before Manon could take another step forward, she took one look into the darkness and her mind flashed back to before. When she tried to investigate the room next to the craft room and she had gotten trapped with that-that thing. That shadowy thing that had only disappeared when the maid showed up to take Manon out for tea with Isolde.

Manon patted her sides and regretted leaving those knitting needles behind. She huffed to herself, “No point in going down there without a weapon. I’m not looking to become anyone’s dinner anytime soon.”

So Manon returned the book to the shelf and watched the bookcase slide back into place. As if nothing had happened and it was only a figment of Manon’s imagination.

Manon opened her notebook and jotted down a little clue for herself to remember later: ‘Amongst the rocky pathways you will sea, a friend that’s lost but will set you free.’

That would be cryptic enough should someone try to read Manon’s notebook while she rested or set it aside. Isolde and her maids would be none the wiser to Manon’s true plans. Perfect. Perfectly perfect. Things were starting to fall right into Manon’s hands. Now all she needed was a few more supplies and a bit more intel and off she would go to finally rescue Rody.

With a little luck and a lot of elbow grease, Manon was sure that she would beat Vincent and his team to Rody’s location. Those poor fools didn’t even know what circle Rody was being kept in! Manon felt pity for those poor chefs that Vincent was dragging along with him but…Well if only Vincent got lost or trapped then it would serve him right for forcing himself onto Rody and making Rody all flustered and confused.

Yeah. Confusion. That had to be what was going on back in the alleyway. There was no way in hell that Rody was actually enjoying what Vincent was doing to him back there! And even if Rody did enjoy it…then Manon just had more of a reason to keep Vincent away from Rody. Didn’t the chef know that it was rude to steal another person’s boyfriend like that? Or was he just one of those selfish types to purposefully chase after and conquer unavailable men? A part of Manon felt that the latter was likely true, especially given how much he had argued with her earlier.

He didn’t even reply to her or try and deny her accusations. He just…let her shout about it in the street and had the nerve to insult her. In front of a member of his staff no less! Did he badmouth her in front of them regularly? Was that…was that why Rody seemed so…odd around her? Yeah…that had to be it. It…it couldn’t be that Rody was…hurt by what Manon had done.

Rody knew that Manon making the deal was for HIS benefit and…well he admitted to needing all the help he could get himself. Manon had tried to get Rody to take better care of himself in the past from making him checklists of things to help keep his apartment tidy to trying out a couples cooking class and…Well none of those stuck so why not pull out the big guns, right? Desperate times called for desperate measures and…well if Manon hadn’t acted before then that just left Rody feeling lonely and vulnerable and ripe for Vincent to swoop in and-

Manon shook her head, ‘No. Pull it together. You’ll have time to plan your revenge after you bring Rody back home!’

Manon took a few calming breaths, allowing her anger towards Vincent to fade into the background and bring her motivation to the surface. Focus. She needed to focus if she wanted to stand any chance of escaping and rescuing Rody.

With focus on her mind, she started to walk out of the library and hopefully towards that tempting little craft room. She was a woman on a mission and nobody, not even a demon and her horde of maids, would be able to stop her.
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Manon shuffled quietly as she closed the library door behind her as quietly as she possibly could. The soft click of the door knob’s pin sliding back into place had her cringing and looking around her. But…there was only silence around her. Not a single whisper or rustle of clothing could be heard. Only her soft breaths kept her company in the empty hallway.

She turned around slowly and took equally slow steps down the hallway. Manon kept listening closely for any sort of noise other than her muffled footsteps against the runner on the floor or her soft breaths. Pit-pat. Pit-pat. Pit-pat. Pit-pat.

The end of the hallway that opened into the grand foyer inched ever closer. And closer. And closer. Each soft, hesitant step that Manon took brought her ever closer to her destination. But it also brought her ever closer to Isolde and her network of maids. A territory brimming with enemies that Manon had to both work around and play nice with if she wanted to escape with all of her limbs attached.

Just as Manon was about to enter the grand foyer, she heard the soft patter of flat shoes against the marble floors. She pressed her back flat against the wall next to her in the hallway and listened closely as the footsteps drew a little closer. And closer. And closer. Until they stopped about midway into the foyer.

Manon dared to take peak out into the foyer and spotted another maid. A maid that made her heart ache and her eyes grow a little wet. The maid had auburn colored hair the same shade as Rody’s, but a little longer than his hair. Her hair was tied into a pair of pigtails with white ribbons. Her eyes, even from a distance, were the same greenish-gray shade as Rody’s eyes. Hell even her skin was the same gorgeous tan with a smattering of moles and dusting of freckles that Rody had. A part of her wondered if she too had the same pair of moles that Rody had beneath his eye.

The maid eased herself into a sitting position on one of the lower steps leading up to the second floor and rested a basket next to her. She pulled a light blue case from the basket and rested it on her lap before opening it up. The maid then pulled what looked like a very plain white dress from the basket and rested the top portion on her lap as well.

Manon watched as the maid carefully selected something from the blue case and started to hum a soft tune. While her voice wasn’t the rich, somewhat boyish voice that Rody had, Manon had to admit that the maid had that same knack for music that Rody did.

Manon pouted slightly, ‘Well there goes my original plan of sneaking out of here undetected.’

But it was only one maid…Maybe Manon could still find a way to make her plan work. Surely Manon requesting that the maid escort her to the craft room wouldn’t be taken as suspicious right? Especially after spending so much time in the library. She could easily say that she had felt inspired by some of the crafts in the books there and wanted to create something with what currently looked like unlimited time to herself.

Manon took a few steps into the foyer and watched as the maid kept on humming away. The rise and fall of the maid’s hand accompanied the almost whispery sound of a needle piercing fabric followed by a rustle of thread chasing the needle.

Manon waited until she was at the bottom of the stairs to speak, “Um, pardon me miss? But um…may I ask for a little assistance in finding the craft room? I…I don’t want to get lost in such a large manor…”

The maid looked up from the dress in her lap and Manon felt her heart ache once more. Those inquisitive eyes and almost puppy-like look on the maid’s face had brought Rody to mind once more. She could practically hear Rody’s voice in the back of her head call out, ‘Do you need help with something Chérie?’

“Oh pardon me miss!” The maid chirped as she put the spool of thread and needle in her hands back into the blue case. She tucked the dress and case back into the basket beside her as she continued. “A-allow me to escort you right away! I was just working on a little embroidery for the Mistress.”

The maid stood and picked up the basket before resting it against her hip. She waited for Manon to start climbing up the stairs before turning around to take the lead. The maid was quiet, but she seemed nice enough. It didn’t mean that Manon planned on telling her anything but…well maybe this one could potentially be a friend. If only to fill the Rody shaped void in Manon’s heart for the time being.

Their steps were both equally quiet as Manon followed her new guide back up to the craft room. Manon watched the maid’s pigtails bob with her movements and the accompanying swishing of the ends of her hair ribbons. It was almost hypnotic the swaying and swishing but…Well it moreso made Manon want to convince Rody to let her style his hair. Even if only for a quick picture or something. It was certainly longer than when they had first met and Manon always wanted to play with it no matter how much Rody tried to deny that his hair was worthy of being played with.

Manon’s cheeks warmed slightly at the thought of tying similar ribbons into Rody’s hair. They would definitely look nice, especially if he was being bashful about whatever compliments Manon would grace him with. The way his cheeks would go all red and he’d look anywhere other than at Manon’s teasing grin.

“S-something on your mind, m’lady?” The maid asked in a soft voice after pausing to look over her shoulder at Manon.

Manon’s flush deepened as she shook her head and looked away before she replied, “N-no no! Um…you just remind me of someone.”

The maid hummed softly as she tilted her head, “I remind you of someone? Is that someone…a special someone?”

The tilt of her head and the sparkle in her eyes just brought Rody to mind yet again. The way he would look at her expectantly before she would agree to go on a date with him. Or if he had asked for her opinion on some song he wrote and played for her back in the early days of their relationship. Just when was it that he started to spend more time carrying her shopping and less time practicing on his prized guitar?

Manon smiled a slightly somber smile and held herself in a loose hug before she answered in a quiet voice, “Someone very special to me.”

The maid watched Manon silently and worried her lower lip. A flash of pity mingled with some odd flicker passed through her eyes as she moved closer to Manon.

The brunette barely had time to think before the maid set the basket down to pull Manon into a tight hug. Manon bit her lower lip as tears came to her eyes. Even the maid’s hug felt as warm and tight as Rody’s did…

“I..I’m sorry if I upset you somehow m’lady,” the maid whispered as she reached up to play with Manon’s hair. Her hold didn’t loosen on Manon in the slightest and Manon was painfully reminded of how Rody would play with her hair when he held her and was deep in thought. How his hands had a mind of their own sometimes and he would catch himself playing with her hair or her scarf and a thousand apologies would spill out of his mouth. As if he was somehow soiling Manon just by touching her so mindlessly.

Manon shook her head as she croaked, “D-don’t be sorry I…We recently had a fight and…I-I just-”

Manon held onto the maid tightly and allowed her tears to overflow. She sobbed into the maid’s shoulder and for just a moment she allowed herself to imagine that it was Rody who was holding her tighter. That it was Rody that was softly cooing, “Shhh, don’t cry. Don’t cry. I-is there anything I can do to cheer you up?”

Manon just sobbed harder. Rody would say that. He would drop everything at the first tear she shed and offer her the moon and the stars just to see her smile. It was just so…Rody. He was just so selfless like that and…How could Manon deserve someone like that? She went and said something so vile and vindictive towards him! And for what reason? Jealousy. Insidious, hot jealousy that made her chest burn and her stomach feel full of ichor.

And Rody…he just took her anger. He took her slaps and insults and he…he barely said a word. He sobbed and didn’t muster any sort of insult or cruel word in response. He…he looked like a dog that was confused by the cruel hand of its owner coming down to hit him. Heartbreaking betrayal and love mingling in his eyes and-

“I…I was so awful to him…” Manon whispered as she allowed herself to melt slightly into the maid’s warm embrace. “I was so…cruel. I-I didn’t even give him a chance to explain himself and…Thinking back now I…I think he was being taken advantage of but I…I assumed the worst even if…even if it didn’t seem like him and I…”

The maid rested her head against Manon’s and answered, “It was a mistake and sometimes mistakes happen, especially when something like love is involved…I-I’m sure this man doesn’t blame you.”

Manon sniffled, “B-but that’s part of the problem! He-he places such little value on himself and I-I just go and do that and make it worse and…Now he’s gone and I-I just want to see him and-I-I…”

The maid pulled away slightly to cup Manon’s cheek and brush away a few of her tears with her thumb. Manon shivered at the memory of the countless times Rody had done the same for her. When she had gotten each rejection letter before finally finding a magazine to hire her, when her pet cat had passed away, when her aunt had announced her recent cancer diagnosis, even when her period cramps were just unbearable and it was taking too long for the pain medication to kick in. He would wipe away her tears and hold her close, offering her any small shred of comfort that he could muster up no matter how great his own struggles were.

And the memory was tinged with guilt. How much did Rody shoulder alone? How much did he shove into the closet to ignore while he devoted every thought and kind gesture to Manon? How little time did he save for himself when he spent hours listening to her and her problems? Why? Why didn’t he ask for the same from her? Why did he not trust her to hear what was bothering him? Why did he keep the demons in his head hidden away from her? Did he…did he even love her enough to-

‘No…no he did love you,’ Manon reminded herself as Rody’s adoring smile and lovesick eyes came to mind once more. ‘He gave you so much of his love that…he didn’t have any left for himself.’

It was why Manon broke up with him in the first place, right? That Rody wasn’t saving any kindness for himself. That Rody wasn’t taking care of himself. That Rody needed to put himself first sometimes and…Manon couldn’t stand idly by and watch him deteriorate in the name of love anymore. She had no more room on her plate for the love he kept serving up without a lick of hesitation. She couldn’t watch him slice off more and more of himself for her to enjoy…

But now…now when he needed her most. When he had needed her to stand by his side and show patience. When he needed her support…She wasn’t there. She had thrown everything away just because she had read a situation wrong. Rody…Rody wasn’t capable of being a cheater. No…he was far too loyal to ever consider something like that. As much as he seemed to enjoy a pretty face, he never so much as batted an eye at another woman when he was with Manon. He could have had the most beautiful woman in the world trying to flirt with him and Rody would have rejected her in favor of Manon. He would have said, “Thanks, but I already have the most beautiful woman in the world as my girlfriend.”

Kind, selfless Rody…Rody who was hurting. Rody who was already feeling down and out…was just kicked down even further by Manon and…A part of her wondered if he willingly went with the demon holding him captive. That Vincent had lied about it being a kidnapping just to spare Manon from the cruel reality of the situation. That he had seen Rody give himself up willingly all because Rody felt that…his only reason to stay had effectively cut him off. All because Manon hadn’t given him a chance to explain himself…

“Ummm, why don’t we go to my quarters?” The maid suggested as she continued in vain to wipe away all of Manon’s tears. “I…I think you need a little quiet time and…well my quarters are often the quietest part of the manor…”

Manon nodded as she reached up to wipe a few of her tears away. Quiet and solitude sounded lovely right now.

The maid smiled a soft and relieved smile as she pulled away from their warm embrace to start leading Manon in a different direction. She held onto Manon’s hand and hoisted the basket back up onto her other hip to allow Manon to have some more space to herself.

“Then let’s go m’lady,” the maid chirped as she started walking once more. Her steps were slower this time. As if she could sense that Manon wasn’t up to moving more quickly this time. That her sense of urgency from before had morphed into something else. “We should work on helping you relax. Tears…well they don’t suit a pretty lady like you…”

The maid ducked her head as her cheeks warmed up. Soft little apologies passed her lips and a part of Manon lapped up the warm feeling that the maid’s words instilled. It was sweet…similar to the sweetness that often accompanied Rody’s words but…the flavor was slightly different. Something that appealed to Manon’s palate that had tired of the strong flavors of Rody’s…well everything no matter how strongly she missed the man in question.

But…Manon wasn’t going to allow things to go any further than this. Accepting comfort in a time of need wasn’t wrong, especially if the comfort came from another woman…Right? Rody would understand…Right?
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
The halls leading to the servants’ quarters was just as brightly lit as the rest of the manor, but the vibe was very different than the rest of the manor. This section of the manor felt…cozier somehow. Like Manon was in someone’s home rather than walking the halls of some showroom.

The walls were painted in a light cream color and the runner on the floor was a warm brown color. The walls were dotted with candle holders shaped like flowers and underneath the handle holders were paintings interspersed with a multitude of doors with silver name plates on them. Each of the paintings looked like original art pieces rather than replicas of works Manon would be familiar with.

“I um hope you don’t mind if we have a little company,” the maid blushed as she rambled slightly. “My roommate had finished with her duties early today and she often spends her freetime in our quarters either reading or practicing the violin. Sh-she’s really nice but umm…she can be a little intense until you get to know her…”

Manon shook her head, “I don’t mind…I just feel bad for intruding.”

Manon couldn’t help but feel guilty once more. Just how many more people was she going to inconvenience with her selfishness today? First was Rody and now this maid and her roommate? Maybe Manon should take a few steps back and reevaluate all of her life choices to see where she had gone wrong. Surely she couldn’t have made such egregious errors this early on in life to spend the rest of her days as a nuisance…right?

The maid shook her head, “Y-you aren’t intruding, really! I mean if I thought it’d be an issue I wouldn’t offer! And umm…I-I’m sure she wouldn’t mind the extra company! She’s…well she could definitely use some more practice with talking to people…”

Before Manon could question the maid further, they stopped in front of a door. The door was an oak door with two silver nameplates on it. One was labeled Victoria and the other Rosemary. Manon looked at the maid closely, but couldn’t quite figure out which name suited her better. Possibly some nickname relating to either one seemed to suit her more than the full, grand sounding name of either choice. Maybe Rose or Toria or something along those lines. Refined for a lady, but short enough to be fun and slightly whimsical. The muffled sound of a violin being played could be heard through the door. The tune was one Manon couldn’t identify but sounded very…somber. Almost bitterly so.

The maid reached out and opened the door as she called inside, “Viiiickyyy! I brought some company~”

The music stopped as Manon was pulled inside and the maid shut the door behind them. The inside of the room was much cozier than the hallway. The room held a large window in the far back that allowed plenty of light to spill in to help care for the little strawberry and pepper plants that lined the windowsill. The light beige couch looked worn down, but in a lived in way rather than in a decrepit way like Rody’s was. The back of it held a pink blanket with little strawberries embroidered along the edges.

A stern voice replied, “Rosemary, how many times must I tell you that my name is Victoria, not Vicky?”

Standing beside the window was a tall woman with long black hair pulled back into a loose bun. She wore the same pink and white uniform that the other maids did but…well it didn’t seem to suit her very well. Her dark eyes and pale skin only reminded Manon of one person. The one person she really didn’t want Rody to be found by first. Even the intense look in her eyes, which even had the same bags as Vincent did, were the exact same. Manon shuddered. Just what was going on here?

The maid pouted, “Come on Vicky, lighten up! I told you to call me Rosie! Everyone else does!”

Victoria set her violin down into the case to put a hand on her hip and explain, “Just because you are comfortable with being called something childish doesn’t mean that everyone else is Rosemary. It’s unbecoming of a maid of Lady Isolde’s to act like some common brat.”

Rosie pouted as she crossed her arms, “Ugh, rude! And in front of our guest too!”

Victoria’s gaze drifted from Rosie’s pouting face to Manon’s slightly awkward one. Manon fidgeted underneath Victoria’s impassive gaze and couldn’t help but think of how Vincent’s gaze was just as sharp and hard to read. A brief flicker of something passed through Victoria’s eyes, but passed far too quickly for Manon to properly identify.

Victoria looked over at Rosie and stated, “I need to see you. Privately.”

“R-right now? I-I mean we have a-” Rosie was cut off when Victoria grabbed her hand and gestured towards the couch.

“You are welcome to make yourself at home,” Victoria added at the confused look Manon was giving her. “I just need to speak with Rosemary for a moment.”

Manon nodded and watched as Victoria dragged Rosie off through one of the doorways on the other side of the room. The door shut sharply and Manon felt a heaviness enter the room. Like she was intruding on something that she wasn’t meant to see. The brunette shook her head before she slowly eased herself onto the couch and smoothed out her skirt. There was no point in just standing there and trying to hear what the maids were talking about, right? Not if Manon wanted to start to make her own changes to keep from becoming a burden to those around her like she has been…Er well at least that’s how she was interpreting things anyways. So much has happened recently that Manon…well she wasn’t quite sure what to make of everything.

She leaned back and looked up at the ceiling with a soft sigh, “Oh Rody…what am I going to do?”
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
“Owwwww! Did you have to pull so hard Vicky?” Rosie pouted as she rubbed her wrist whilst sitting on the edge of her and Victoria’s shared bed.

Victoria paced in front of Rosie, her arms crossed in thought as her partner pouted on the bed. Victoria looked over at Rosie and paused in her pacing. Rosie’s pouty lip and puppy dog eyes had the taller woman sighing softly before she leaned down to gently hold Rosie’s hand and press a few kisses to Rosie’s wrist.

“Forgive me ma crevette*,” Victoria purred as her soft lips grazed Rosie’s wrist with each word. The dark-haired maid pressed a few more kisses to Rosie’s wrist before she continued, “You know that I worry when you do something reckless like this. I…you know that I hate to see you when Lady Isolde deems it fit to-”

Rosie blushed as she fidgeted underneath Victoria’s ministrations but managed to stammer out, “B-but I had a good r-reason to this time! Honest. I…Lady Isolde revealed that sh-she was worried about our guest p-possibly escaping and…”

Rosie trailed off as she held herself in a loose hug and a far off look made her eyes go a little misty. She hung her head and Victoria’s brows creased with concern as she raised herself up to hold the auburn-haired maid close to her chest. Rosie melted into Victoria’s hold and the dark-haired maid could feel a pair of wet spots forming on the front of her uniform where Rosie was resting her head.

Victoria pressed a kiss to the crown of Rosie’s head as she mindlessly rubbed Rosie’s arm in an attempt to comfort her distressed partner. It was no secret that Rosie had initially wound up in a different circle of Hell. In fact, it was the same circle that Victoria herself had been sent to as well. The key difference being that Victoria was seen as too prudish to engage fully in the Lust circle’s games whilst innocent Rosie wasn’t.

Those months before they were rescued by Isolde were a different kind of torture. Victoria would be sore from her mountain of chores, yet she still managed to muster up the strength to hold Rosie close whilst she silently cried in her semi-catatonic state. Eleven months, thirteen days, three hours and fifty two seconds. That’s how long Victoria had to endure seeing Rosie, the one bright spot she had in an otherwise bleak existence, be reduced to a mere shell of her former self. Had the treatment continued-

Victoria shook her head before pressing another kiss to Rosie’s hair. No. It would do her no good to dwell on the what-ifs like this. Victoria was nothing if not a practical woman who focused on what was in front of her. And right now what lied in front of her was her partner trying to spare their current guest from falling into the clutches of a demon who may not be nearly as merciful as their mistress was.

“Rosie, ma crevette, don’t cry,” Victoria whispered softly as she gently tilted Rosie’s chin up so their eyes would meet. Oh how her heart ached at seeing Rosie’s face all blotchy and tear soaked. Such a distressed face didn’t suit her ray of sunshine.

Rosie whimpered, “B-but I just…You know what’s out there Vicky and…I can’t just let another woman go out there. Not with…You Know Who still mulling about. He…he’s still mad at our lady for taking the two of us and-”

Victoria cut Rosie off with a chaste kiss before she firmly stated, “Then I will gladly assist you in keeping our guest occupied so she’ll be unable to attempt to escape the manor.”

Rosie reached up to wipe her tears away, but Victoria beat her to it with her pale blue handkerchief. Rosie allowed herself to lean into Victoria’s gentle touch and her shoulders finally stopped shaking as her partner’s warmth started to soak into her. Truly, what would Rosie do without Victoria around?

“Thanks Vicky,” Rosie mumbled as she let her eyes close for a moment. “I really owe you for this one.”

Victoria hummed softly, “I’ll keep that in mind for later tonight.”

Rosie’s eyes snapped open and a bright red flush painted her cheeks at the amused snicker that passed Victoria’s lips. Rosie pouted as she pushed herself off of the bed and turned away from Victoria’s amused snickering. Honestly. What went through that woman’s head sometimes?

Victoria took in the huffy way that Rosie crossed her arms and the attempt to be annoyed radiating off of her partner before she walked over to wrap an arm over Rosie’s shoulders. She pulled her pouty partner close and rested her head on top of Rosie’s before she reassured, “Oh you needn’t worry ma crevette. I was only teasing. At most I’d only ask you to make those delightful little truffles with the pomegranate seeds you’re ever so good at making.”

Rosie sighed softly as she allowed herself to relax against Victoria once more, “I…I know darling. I just…you know it’s hard for me to trust after…HIM.”

Victoria pressed a kiss to Rosie’s temple before she replied, “You needn’t worry about that. We have an eternity to work through this, okay? I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. I’d wait through three lifetimes if it meant you were happy and comfortable.”

Rosie smiled softly as she held onto Victoria’s hand and rubbed circles onto the back of it with her thumb. Truly what did Rosie do to deserve a partner as understanding as Victoria?

“Now, we shouldn’t keep our guest waiting for long,” Victoria sighed softly as the duo hesitantly pulled away from one another to return to their task of entertaining Manon.

Rosie nodded, “Right. Kinda hard to keep her from escaping if we leave her alone for too long, right?”

Victoria hummed noncommittally as she reached out to open the door knob. Rosie stood beside her and hoped that her cheeks weren’t nearly as pink as they felt. As nice as Manon seemed to be…well Rosie wasn’t necessarily feeling up to hearing lectures or vitriol being spouted about being interested in the fairer sex. She…Rosie had had enough lectures like that when she was alive so why should she have to hear them now that she was dead?

But she had Victoria by her side this time, unlike when she was alive. And Victoria would do everything in her power to keep Rosie safe…Just as Rosie would do the same for her.
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While Victoria and Rosie were talking in their bedroom, Manon remained seated on the couch and allowed her mind to wander a bit while she waited. It felt rude to snoop around the little living space she was seated in and Manon didn’t feel inclined to start earning enemies this early into her stay in the manor. Not when she still had to escape the damn place and navigate through several circles of Hell to find Rody anyway. No…making enemies could wait until after she was certain that Rody was safe and back in her arms once more.

‘Now that I’m down here, it’ll be a little more difficult to sneak back to the craft room,’ Manon thought as her gaze drifted from the ceiling above her to rest on the little bookshelf across the room from her.

The bookshelf contained a multitude of books about music, sewing, baking and a few classic titles that Manon recognized from her own shelves at home. Those classics were ones that her parents had in their own home library and insisted that Manon make a part of her own…Even if Manon didn’t find them nearly as engaging as the romance novels or fantasy tales that made up the majority of her collection back home. It wasn’t her fault that tales of dashing heroes and the ways they won over fair damsels appealed to her more than some Danish prince whining about his problems and plotting murder.

Rody never seemed to judge her for her tastes in literature at all! In fact, he seemed to encourage it when he would buy her some new novel that had caught her eye. Even if he would admit that he often got odd looks from the booksellers when he would go and buy them for her.

Manon sighed to herself quietly, “Did you ever get anything for yourself Rody? I can’t even remember if you mentioned having a favorite book or not…”

Which was true. Rody was content to sit and listen to whatever Manon felt like reading aloud but…He never made any requests of her. He never mentioned liking certain titles more than others or if he even had an old favorite he’d love to share with her. It was always, ‘Oh, I’m alright with whatever you feel like reading Chérie! I…Well I don’t have the head for literature that I used to!’

Which had to be a lie and Manon was sure of it. He used to help her with her literature classes when it came to those same dry and stuffy classics that her parents enjoyed. Rody’s analysis was often spot on and his little comments often got Manon high marks for being so “insightful” and…Well Manon always felt a little guilty for receiving the praise that was rightfully Rody’s. She always passed along the praise and even added her own for good measure but…

That still didn’t feel like nearly enough to properly thank Rody for all of the hard work he put into helping Manon with her university courses. Simple thank yous and coffee dates didn’t feel like enough. Nor did his reassurances that seeing her happy that she was passing her courses feel like proper thanks either. He…Rody had spent his own precious free time helping her study or revising her papers when he could have been devoting that time to finding more meaningful work than just another service industry job and…Manon never once did anything nearly as grand to help Rody in return.

Well until now anyways and look how that turned out! Both of them were stuck in Hell as the prisoners of two demons intent on keeping their souls for eternity or something! For all Manon knew, Rody could be next on the proverbial chopping block for getting his soul harvested whilst Manon sat in this cushy little manor sipping on tea and eating dainty little sandwiches. How was that a proper thanks for everything that Rody had given up for her? Why was it that Rody was stuck dealing with the raw end of the deal that he didn’t even strike in the first place?

‘As soon as we get out of Hell, I’m making Rody sit down to tell me everything he likes and doesn’t like. Even if I have to force it out of him,’ Manon decided as she nodded to herself. ‘From there I can work on returning the favor for everything he’s done for me, while also showing him that he doesn’t have to overdo it to show someone that they are loved.’

Yes. That sounded like a perfect plan! She’d cook him his favorite meal and hold him close to read him his favorite story to unwind after what is sure to be an arduous journey back home. It was simple but…maybe simple would be just what Rody needed to start to heal after…well everything really!

He needed time and comfort and maybe even had some wounds that would need tending to and…Manon would take care of all of that. It would be the right thing to do after getting him into this mess in the first place.

The mere thought made Manon rest a hand over her stomach. Guilt always made her stomach feel oddly heavy and bubbly. Maybe she’d feel better if she splashed a bit of water on her face.

Manon stood up to try and locate a bathroom when the door to the hallway slowly creaked open. Manon looked over and noticed the empty doorway.

She tilted her head as she thought, ‘That’s…weird. I thought that Rosie closed the door behind us.’

Manon slowly padded towards the door as the feeling of being watched started to settle in. She shook her head as she reminded herself, ‘There’s nobody in the room but you. Get it together!’

Step. Step. Step. Step. Each step aligned with the beats of her heart as a cold, nervous sweat started to bead on Manon’s forehead. She clasped her hands together to try and keep them from trembling as the feeling of being watched intensified. It was as if more pairs of eyes started to watch her. Beady things that had a piercing gaze that felt like she was being pricked by thousands of little needles at once.

Just as Manon was about to reach the doorway, the door on the other side of the room opened to reveal Rosie and Victoria.

“Forgive us for keeping you waiting, fair lady,” Victoria gave a low curtsy before she continued, “but we just had a few matters to attend to first.”

Manon turned to face the maids fully but when she turned, it felt like…like there was a very large hand wrapping around her waist. Her eyes widened and her face paled, catching Rosie’s attention immediately.

“I-Is something wrong, m’lady?” Rosie asked as she took a step forward.

Before Manon could give Rosie an answer, she felt the hand tug her out the doorway and start dragging her down the hallway. She shrieked and could make out the rush of footsteps from both Rosie and Victoria.

Manon tried to find something to hold onto to stop whatever was dragging her down the hall, or at least slow it down so Rosie and Victoria could catch up to her, but alas. There weren’t any pieces of furniture in the hallway and the runners on the floor were tacked down too firmly for Manon to find a loose edge to hold onto.

She tried to kick at whatever was dragging her down the hallway, but she couldn’t land a blow on anything solid. Only air and the occasional thud of her heel against the hard floor beneath her.

“L-let go of me!” Manon shouted as she reached down to try and pry the hand from her waist.

Her eyes widened at the lack of a solid feeling hand around her waist. Just who or what was holding her?!

“H-hang on m’lady! W-we’re coming!” Rosie’s voice sounded distant but Manon could make out the growing sound of her and Victoria’s quick steps.

Just as Manon saw Victoria round the corner towards her, Manon was dragged through one of the doors along the left side of the hallway. The door slammed shut and Manon heard the familiar click of a lock sliding into place. Just great. Now she was locked in with some invisible thing!

The room was dark, but a series of torches along the walls soon flickered on. The hand around Manon’s waist slithered away, but that didn’t mean that the danger had left her either. She scrambled to her feet and looked around the room.

She was standing on a stone floor and the walls were a matching gray stone. Across the room was a large iron maiden with its doors wide open to reveal the plethora of spikes inside. Just waiting to impale the poor unfortunate soul that would be shoved inside of it.

A few pairs of manacles attached to chains hung from the walls. A set of whips, daggers and even a flail hung on a wooden rack beside the iron maiden. The floors had dark stains on them and there was a smell in the room. An old, slightly metallic scent mingled with musk and decay. Manon shivered as she felt the piercing eyes on her once more.

She grit her teeth as she snarled, “I-it’s gonna take more than just some weak display like that to scare me! Show yourself you-you coward!”

Manon felt a hot breath against the back of her neck and heard a low growl in her ear, “A coward? I’d like to see how brave you truly are girl.”

Before Manon could ask what the voice had meant by that, the warm breath disappeared. The room rumbled before all of the torches extinguished at once, just as they had earlier. The room was engulfed in darkness and Manon felt the eyes on her once more. Soft, skittery whispers started to echo through the room.

“The lady wants to fight. The lady wants to fight,” came from one corner.

“The lady gets a bite. The lady gets a bite,” came from another corner.

Manon squinted in the darkness as a plan came to mind. If she could edge her way through the dark towards the rack of weapons, then perhaps she stood an actual chance against whatever was messing with her.

Before Manon could take a single step forward, a bright light formed behind her. It was warm and allowed Manon to judge just how far away the rack of weapons were. But the sudden appearance of the light also meant that she was no longer alone in the room with just some skittery whispers.

She felt a bony hand grab onto her shoulder and heard a croak in her ear, “You best pray to your God girl. For only He may show you mercy now.”

Manon swallowed thickly, but refused to turn around to face whatever creature was holding her so tightly. No. She wasn’t going down. Not here. Not now. Not before-

There was a loud bang against the door and Manon could hear Rosie shout through the door, “H-hold on tight m’lady! Vicky’s going to fetch Lady Isolde!”

Manon shivered. She didn’t know what would be worse. Fighting for her life against some unknown entity, or whatever sort of punishment Isolde would likely inflict upon her for snooping around where she wasn’t supposed to.

Only the bright hope of seeing Rody’s smile and feeling his warm arms wrapping around her just one more time was the only thing that kept Manon from plunging into despair.

She thought to herself, ‘Oh Rody. I can only hope that you’re someplace safer than this.’

Chapter Text

Rody raised his arm and swung his handaxe down against the icy wrist of the ice monster’s hand. More of that blue liquid from before spilled out of the shallow wound Rody made and the icy liquid flowed over Rody’s hand. The liquid steamed against the warmer air around it. The splatters of the blue liquid froze against the ground, making the battle zone even more dangerous with ice patches that blended with the dirt beneath it.

He grit his teeth at how the freezing liquid made his hand feel so cold that it was painful. His skin reddened where the liquid touched and he shook the liquid off towards the monster to spare Masaru from adding another potential issue onto his plate. The darker-haired adventurer already had to fight his own monster whilst keeping his injury from reopening.

Rody felt the ice from the monster’s hand spread up from his waist towards his chest and down to his thighs. His breath continued to puff out of his mouth, but Rody refused to allow himself to freeze up like last time. No…he had a literal reminder of why that was a bad idea right behi-

Rody dared to look behind him to check on Masaru, to make sure that the ice hadn’t trapped him as well. Suddenly Rody felt himself getting launched into the woodline. His back slammed against one of the taller trees and he puffed out most of the air in his lungs.The ice that still clung to him shattered, but at least his body remained intact. Even if those spots still felt numb from the cold and ached against the warmer air around him. His handaxe slipped from his hand and fell to the forest floor below to mingle with the shattered ice. Rody fell down the tree, crashing against every thick branch on the way down. Every bump and slam drew more of his precious breath out of him. Every branch battered his already bruised body like they were specifically put there to do so. After what felt like an eternity, he collapsed into a crumpled heap at the bottom of the tree. The pine needles he had knocked loose fell around him mockingly. He groaned and looked to the side before sighing softly in relief. He had just narrowly missed falling straight onto his dropped handaxe.

Rody tried to sit up but stopped when a sharp pain shot through his shoulder. He hissed and gripped onto it tightly. The pain made his eyes water, but he ignored them for now. He tried to rotate his shoulder, but the pain kept him from moving it. Tremors went up and down the affected arm. It had to be dislocated, if not broken by the force of that hit. But at least he was still alive to feel the pain in his shoulder…

“Rody!” Masaru shouted as he turned to rush towards where Rody had fallen.

Masaru felt the tendril wrap around his ankle once more as he tried to rush forward. He tripped and wound up with a mouthful of dirt before he was dragged upwards. Masaru was suspended by his ankle upside down, tauntingly being swung back and forth like some child’s toy.

He spat the dirt out of his mouth before he snarled, “Let go of me you sick fuck!”

Masaru narrowed his eyes as the figure at the end of the tendril tutted in a paternal voice, “Now now young man. Is that any way to speak to your father?”

“You lost any right to be addressed respectfully the second you first hit me you old fuck!” Masaru shouted back as he pulled his dagger back to stab at the tendril holding him aloft.

The tendril slammed Masaru against the ground once, twice, a third time. By the fourth slam, the dagger slipped from Masaru’s hand and skittered off into the underbrush. Masaru’s chest heaved against the pain, but he refused to give in. Not now. Now when he was the only thing standing between Rody and being slaughtered by two beasts. He had to be the strong one here. Rody…Rody wasn’t used to combat the way that Masaru was and…Well Masaru hoped to keep it that way.

Masaru felt warmth ooze down his back and winced. His wound had reopened. Great. Exactly what he needed right now! If the monster that looked like his father didn’t take him out, then surely the blood loss would!

Rody grit his teeth and forced himself to sit up despite how much his shoulder ached and the tears that built in his eyes. He couldn’t leave Masaru to fend for himself. Not after the man was kind enough to stick with Rody and feed him, even after Rody had attacked him earlier…No. He wasn’t going to let him down. Rody has let enough people down in his life. He was done adding people to that list.

He plucked up his handaxe and staggered to his feet. Rody swayed slightly as the ground beneath him tilted back and forth. Back and forth. Back and-

Rody shook his head and grit his teeth against the small burst of nausea building in his stomach and threatening to claw up his throat. No. The ground was even. It was just something about hitting the tree really hard that made him feel off kilter. Yeah…it would pass. It had to pass. He needed to be sturdy and stable to-

“What’s wrong boy? Are you really too weak to handle just one weak blow from me?” The icy voice hissed as Rody heard the heavy steps of the monster draw closer to him.

The air started to grow colder as the heavy steps of the monster shook the earth beneath them. Small swirls of ice started to spread across the ground whilst small tremors and shivers started to mingle with the pained spasms of Rody’s other arm. His breath came out in an increasingly thickened cloud whilst his brows furrowed, ‘Wh-why am I shivering? The cold never bothers me! But why is this cold-’

Rody rested a hand over his chest as he cut off his train of thought. He often felt this sort of icy chill inside whenever he was being especially hard on himself. A chill that made his body go numb and his mind become nothing more than static like his tv’s half-busted screen. It was a hauntingly familiar chill and yet…

‘You shouldn’t be welcoming this feeling,’ a small voice in the back of Rody’s mind whispered. A voice that sounded oddly like Manon’s voice.

Rody bit his lower lip before raising his head to meet the hollow voids of the ice monster’s face. The voids where eyes were meant to be on any sort of face Rody was familiar with. Even most animals had their eyes on their faces! But this…emptiness. The hollow emptiness felt even colder than the icy aura of the monster…A void that…made Rody feel even emptier and lonelier than before…Like he was…just some tiny and insignificant child trying to fight a centuries old monster to protect his home…A child trying to play warrior where the stakes were higher than a mere game of pretend…

Rody felt his grip on the handaxe slipping and tightened it reflexively. No. He…he wasn’t going down. Not like this. Not with-

“What’s wrong, Rody? Are you too much of a coward to fight when your life's on the line?” The monster hissed as it drew closer to Rody.

The waiter shivered as he felt the sweat on his neck start to freeze. He closed his eyes and felt his breath thicken as the monster drew close enough to whisper in his ear, “Or are you afraid that you’ll allow your anger to rule you once more? That you’ll let all that rage you’ve been bottling away to finally burst free and become the monster you know you truly are.”

“Sh-shut up,” Rody whispered in a shaky voice. His throat felt tight and his eyes started to burn slightly. The icy feeling spread inside of his chest. An ice that had little to do with the rapidly dropping temperature around him.

The monster continued to taunt him, “Or what? You’ll make me stop? You? You can’t even say no to your boss or girlfriend. Face it Rody, you’re nothing more than a weak shell of a man. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

Rody grit his teeth and snapped back a little louder than before, “I-I said shut up.”

“And what do you plan to do if I-”

Rody shouted, “Shut your fucking mouth!”

He swung the axe towards the ice monster’s neck. He planned on taking full advantage of the monster deeming it safe to taunt him this close despite Rody being armed. The axe glinted in the dim light that had reached them-

Rody inhaled a shaky breath when his blow just thudded uselessly against the ice monster’s neck. Not even a small crack formed against the thick ice around the monster’s neck.

The monster grinned a malicious grin as it purred, “Is that the best you can do?”

Rody grit his teeth and glared before he raised his arm to strike again. This time aiming for one of the sections near the monster’s ear. Maybe if he could crack the beast’s face, it would be unable to see him! If he couldn’t be seen, maybe he could escape and actually help Masaru with his own battle!

The axe hit its mark but…

Rody’s eyes widened as he thought, ‘Wh-why can’t I make a dent in this thing?! I-I was able to do it before!’

He pulled his arm back once more. Whack. Again. Whack. Once more. Whack.

Each hit echoed through the forest but none of his blows made so much as a hairline crack in the ice monster’s thickened skin. The monster’s grin only grew in time with the desperation Rody was throwing into every one of his attacks. Delighted, as if it was savoring the most delectable dessert on the menu at a world renowned restaurant.

His eyes filled with tears as he kept pelting as many blows as his arm would allow. He didn’t care if it was getting colder and colder. Or if his face was starting to sting or his vision was getting blurry or darkened. He had to do this. He had to defeat this monster! He-Rody was strong! Wh-what else would Rody be if he wasn’t the strong one?!

The monster grabbed Rody by the throat and grinned a sharp toothed grin as Rody whimpered. As much as he hated the growing coldness and hollow feeling growing in his chest, he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the hollow voids that were meant to be the monster’s eyes. To think this beast once looked a bit like his beloved Manon!

“I know exactly what you are Rody,” the monster cooed as Rody’s breaths picked up and became a near constant plume of thickened clouds coming out of his mouth.

Rody shook his head as best as he could with a soft, pleading look on his face. The cold was spreading and the numbness followed closely behind. A silent please hung on his lips as his tears slowed down to freeze near his chin, mingling with the thin lines of drool leaking past his pleading lips. The tear tracks on his face burned even more sharply than before.

The monster laughed a soft, mocking laugh. A laugh that made Rody’s heart quicken at the small hint of Vincent’s laugh he could barely make out in it.

As his vision faded, Rody could hear the monster whisper one last thing to him, “You’re nothing.”

The words echoed through Rody’s head and…Rody let his hands fall to his sides as he allowed the darkness to consume him completely. The monster had a point. What did Rody expect to happen? He…he wasn’t strong like Masaru was. He wasn’t clever like Vince. He…he wasn’t kind like Manon was. Rody…Rody had nothing. Rody…was nothing.

He was the fool who couldn’t be bothered to scrounge something up for the community potluck. He was the one left with an empty plate and…Rody knew that he had nobody to blame but himself. He never bothered to find some quality to hone in on like his peers had. He didn’t have anything worthy of praise and…What little Rody had he used to prop up those around him. Which he didn’t regret at all! No…it was…it was all Rody was truly meant for. He wasn’t meant to be a main dish on his own, but rather the ingredients to make those around him better. The sauce to bring the plate together. The garnish that made the plate look prettier. That one taste that made the dish more balanced…He was never meant to be the star of the show…He truly was…nothing.
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“Come on Lamoree, it’s time to get up,” a gentle voice followed by the feeling of his shoulder being nudged were the first two things that Rody registered. The hand was strong and broad, but the touch was incredibly delicate. Like the person was handling a delicate piece of porcelain rather than a sturdy person like Rody.

He lifted his head slightly from where it had been resting and opened his eyes slightly. They felt heavy and he was drained. He really wanted to go back to sleep. Even if he was stuck sleeping whilst sitting in an uncomfortable chair or using his arms as a pillow.

A soft snort as soon followed by a raspy voice chuckling, “Come on la Belle au bois dormant*, we need your input on something.”

Rody grumbled under his breath as he stretched his arms out. Everything felt painfully stiff and chilly but…the presence next to him felt so warm. Looking at his arms revealed that he was in his waiter’s uniform once more. So he must have somehow fallen asleep or something…Or his mind was trying to give him a small shred of comfort during his last moments…Or terror depending on how cruel it decided to be this time. What Rody couldn’t really wrap his head around was why his mind kept flashing him into La Gueule de Saturne. Did he have some unresolved issues at the bistro that he needed to work through? Or was his brain trying to point him in some other direction?

Rody looked over to see Donadieu standing beside him, looking like the very picture of a patient grandfather as always. The one person on staff (other than Vince) who Rody could spill his guts to about well anything and everything really! And unlike Vince, Donadieu never had a snarky comment or insult that would get Rody all huffy or annoyed. No. Donadieu was a very nice and patient man with a million and one stories, but somehow always knew which one would get Rody through whatever dilemma was making him blue or angry.

A part of Rody had always wanted to ask the man how he had gotten that slit in his eyebrow but…well Rody doubted that his dreams would have the answer to that question. Well that and Rody really didn’t want to alienate himself from the rest of the staff more than he likely already has. It was just…odd that someone that was as much of a pacifist as Donadieu had a mark like that on his face. A mark that was often on the face of someone whose seen their far share of brawls and fights…Much like the one Rody-

Rody shook his head. No. He wasn’t touching that. Not now. Not when he wasn’t sure whether he was at death’s doorstep or just having another weird dream.

Looking past Donadieu revealed Louvet standing by the kitchen door. The short blond was likely waiting for the other two to start moving before heading back into the kitchen if the way his eyes kept flicking to the door or the slight tilt of his head towards the door when he had crossed his arms was anything to go by. Had he…always done that? Huh. And here Rody thought that was exclusively a Vince sort of thing…

Rody decided to stop keeping both men waiting and stood up from the table he had presumably been napping at. As if he had just…fallen asleep whilst getting one of the most mind-numbing tasks on his laundry list of waiter duties done. The bin on the table was half-filled with the cloth napkins Rody was usually tasked with folding between services. They were far from the more extravagant designs he saw at the few nicer places Rody had taken Manon to eat at but-

“So um, what do you need me for?” Rody asked as he rubbed the back of his neck. Whilst not feeling itchy like that one nightmare he had a few weeks ago…he still couldn’t help the nervous twinge his stomach made. Especially when the image of Louvet pinning Rody to the door in Vincent’s office before stabbing him came to mind ever so briefly.

Donadieu smiled patiently as he explained, “Well we were trying to help Chef develop a few new dishes for the menu and wanted another opinion. One that isn’t as hung up on techniques or culinary styles like we are.”

Rody nodded as he allowed Donadieu’s words to wash over him. That did make a bit of sense. Rody had definitely heard his fair share of kitchen bickering amongst the chefs over proper techniques for certain tasks. A part of him still remembered how heated the discussion (more like argument) was over Manet using a bread knife to slice tomatoes instead of a chef's knife. Rody wisely kept out of that one and just waited for Rousseaux to hand off the completed dishes to spare Rody from getting caught in the crossfire on that one. Lavigne had an arm on her that Rody really didn’t want to be caught on the wrong side of…

‘What if it’s all just a trick?’ The nervous part of Rody’s mind whispered to him. ‘Th-they could be using Donadieu was bait to lure you into the kitchen before-’

“Well, do you want free lunch or not?” Louvet’s raspy voice cut through Rody’s slight mental spiral with surprising ease. How the hell did a voice that quiet do that?

Rody’s face flushed and he nodded whilst Donadieu hummed softly, “Now, now. Patience is a virtue, mon ami.”

Louvet grinned a slightly wry grin as he replied, “Well I never claimed to be a man of virtue, mon ami.”

With the matter seemingly settled, Rody opted to follow Donadieu into the kitchen. Despite his worries, Rody felt that he could trust Donadieu to keep him safe. That the holy man would never let harm come to Rody if he could help it…Huh. Odd…Rody…well he hasn’t felt that way about anyone really since he was a child…Maybe…Rody held the much older man in higher esteem than he had initially thought.

The kitchen door was pushed open and Louvet allowed both Donadieu and Rody to enter before following them inside. Despite the fact that the blond being behind Rody made the waiter’s hairs on the back of his neck stand up…There was something almost…comforting about the way the blond patted Rody’s arm. Like the older man could somehow sense Rody’s nerves and wanted to reassure him in some subtle way. Perhaps it was just reassuring that Rody could feel the entirety of Louvet’s roughened palm against his arm. That way his more nervous mind wouldn’t have to worry about there being a hidden blade being primed and ready to cut Rody into tiny little pieces before being grilled or baked.

Rody couldn’t suppress the relieved sigh that passed his lips at the sight before him. Beaumont was happily slicing some very fresh looking produce and passing the finished slices to Dior, who was layering them very neatly in the baking dish in front of him. Rousseaux was stirring something in the saucepan in front him and explaining something to Lavigne in that honey-sweet voice of his whilst the younger chef jotted down his words in her little notepad. Manet was working on kneading a dough of some sort whilst Boucher added some freshly chopped herbs at designated intervals.

Faucher was standing beside Vincent at the serving window. Both of them were looking over some sort of book and to Rody’s relief the page they were both focused so intently on showed a picture of a very delicious looking cake rather than some sort of meat-based dish. Good…good…At least Rody was safe…for now. But just how long would that actually last?

Beaumont noticed Rody and smiled that motherly smile that made Rody feel slightly homesick. How long has it been since he had visited his parents again? Maybe…maybe he could stay more than just a weekend this time…Just this once.

“There you are, Rody,” Beaumont cooed softly as she set her knife down on the cutting board.

She crossed the room quicker than Rody had anticipated but he couldn’t help but melt into the gentle feeling of her hands against his frigid cheeks. Her silvery-blonde brows furrowed as she pulled him down slightly to press a kiss to his forehead.

Beaumont pulled away and ignored the way Rody’s cheeks had started to burn as she tutted, “You’re absolutely freezing! Have you been sleeping underneath the air vents again? You know that-”

Dior interrupted Beaumont’s rambling with a slight roll of his eyes, “Relax, would you? He won’t be cold once he tries a few bites of what we’re cooking up.”

Beaumont sniffed and gave Dior some sort of look that had Boucher hiding behind Rousseaux. The red-haired chef shook his head and chuckled softly as he reached behind him to pat Boucher’s arm. Dior didn’t seem to be bothered by Beaumont’s look if the slightly sassy one he gave her back was anything to go by. Huh…Rody never realized how much personality the chefs seemed to have…Maybe that was what his ex-girlfriend Nadine meant when she said that he didn’t pay close enough attention to those around him.

Before he knew it, Rody found himself being moved to stand beside Rousseaux and a steaming bowl of something was being placed in front of him. A spoon was eased into his hand and Rody’s stomach growled. It smelled incredible whatever it was he was going to eat.

Rody could make out a base of some sort of tiny pasta with a thin broth that smelled heavily of both beef and savory herbs. Bits of carrots and leeks breached the surface of the broth and something about it felt…familiar. Like he had seen this dish before…somewhere in a distant memory…

“It’s simple,” Rousseaux explained when he noticed the slight look of confusion on Rody’s face, “but this is just the concept dish. The final details will be ironed out later but…Well we hope the final product will be much better than this.”

Rody nodded before taking a spoonful of the dish before him. He leaned over slightly to keep the broth from dripping onto Faucher’s work station. He placed the spoon into his mouth and-

Rody’s eyes watered. This taste. This warm taste…It…

Rody placed a hand against his chest and closed his eyes, the noise around him became more muffled until it was just the gentle sound of his heartbeat hammering in his ears. He felt a bit of warmth in his chest chasing some of the cold surrounding him out. God. Has it always been this cold? Why hadn’t he noticed that before?

Rody felt a familiar tap against his arm. Like someone was resting their head against his bicep. The smell of flowers and slight undertone of tobacco made Rody bite his lower lip to keep the tears at bay.

“Don’t give up, Rody,” a familiar voice cooed as he felt a gentle set of hands wipe away the few tears that managed to leak down his cheeks. “It isn’t like you to give up when love is on the line.”

Rody felt another, more sturdy hand, against his shoulder followed by the scent of tobacco, lemon and a hint of expensive cologne. His stomach lurched at the slightly scolding tone in that familiar voice, “Are you really letting some pitiful beast get the better of you, Lamoree? Come on now. You’re much better than that.”

Rody opened his eyes to find himself standing in an open field of flowers. Standing to his left as Manon with her arms still raised, holding his cheeks in a tender hold that made his tears fall a little more quickly than before. He wanted her. He needed her. He needed to be held tenderly like this so badly!

Rody looked to his right to see Vincent standing there with his hand still on Rody’s shoulder. His face was his usual impassive mask but…Rody could see flickers of emotion in those deep dark eyes of his. Eyes that drew Rody in like he was trying to find stars in the midnight sky. Those flashes of light only reminded Rody more of why those dark eyes always reminded him of a starlit night.

Rody found his voice after a moment and spoke in a quivering voice, “B-but how? I-I can’t…I-I’m not-not-”

Manon shushed Rody and placed a finger against his lips. Rody shivered and felt Vincent’s hold on his shoulder tighten. If he didn’t feel like a pathetic failure before then surely-

“Then try something else Rody,” Manon suggested as she stood on her toes to rest her forehead against Rody’s. She reached to play idly with his hair, just as Rody used to play with hers when they had more intimate talks. “You have a beautiful brain, Rody. Use it.”

Rody opened his mouth to try and argue against Manon’s words, but Vincent cut him off, “Your issue is the ice and the cold, right?”

Rody looked over at Vincent and tilted his head. Vincent didn’t look any less impassive than usual, but there was a slight incline of his head that gave Rody the impression that Vincent’s question was more than rhetorical.

Rody stammered, “W-well that’s part of the problem yeah. But-”

Vincent snorted and gave Rody a slight grin as he replied, “Then find a way to melt the ice. Do you think I have the chefs cook a frozen steak fresh out of the freezer? No. I have them defrost it first to make it easier to work with.”

Rody huffed, “E-easy for you to say! You’re not the one who’s face to face with that-that thing!”

Manon gently squeezed Rody’s cheeks once more, drawing his attention back to her. His previously huffy look melted into pure adoration for the woman holding him so softly. Her brown eyes looked at him like he was the best man in the world. The way her soft, plump lips seemed to beckon to him. Inviting him to nibble upon the pink stained flesh and suckle upon the slightly sweet taste of her lip balm. Strawberry if he was remembering correctly. Fuck. He wished Vince wasn’t here for just a few minutes. Just a few. That was all he needed to glut himself on that forbidden piece of fruit that Rody craved more than anything right now.

Manon spoke in that soft, patient tone she often got when Rody was being stubborn (which only happened when she laid the compliments on thick when she caught him in being a little too self-deprecating for her tastes), “Rody…you can do it. This monster might be a manifestation of your self-doubts but…At the end of the day it’s still a part of you. And you can’t let those doubts control you. Those doubts are keeping you away from me. From us. From this. From what you really want. I know you Rody. And I know that you can’t and won’t lose if you really put your mind to it.”

Rody practically melted into Manon’s touch. He resisted the urge to pepper her hands and wrists with kisses if only because Vincent was standing right beside him. Manon could sense Rody’s growing distress and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Right between the set of moles right underneath his eye. Rody smiled a very loose and goofy smile and felt his skin warm beneath Manon’s lips. Oh he could get used to this. This warmth felt incredible. Like he was sipping on a creamy hot chocolate on a cold winter’s evening next to a roaring fireplace.

Vincent snorted, “That’s what you should be focusing on instead of that thing then. Focus on what that kiss made you feel.”

Rody looked back over at Vincent with an incredulous look on his face. Vincent raised one of his perfectly manicured brows and gave a very slight frown to counter the look on Rody’s face. Although Vincent did cover his mouth to hide his snicker at the sight of the blush staining Rody’s tanned cheeks.

“E-easy for you to say!” Rody sputtered as he felt Manon’s hold on his arm tighten. “You’re not in any danger right now!”

Vincent flicked Rody’s forehead and scolded him once more, “It doesn’t matter whether your girl and I are in danger or not. YOU ARE and the more you resist our efforts to help you, the greater the dangers you will have to face. Now do you want our help, or are you content to stick your fingers in your ears and scream like a child?”

“Please Rody,” Manon added as she rested her head against Rody’s shoulder and sent him a pleading look that Rody didn’t even need to see to feel their dousing effect on the fire in his blood. “Please, just listen to him.”

Rody took a deep breath and exhaled a deep sigh. He knew they both were right here. Rody couldn’t afford to reject anyone’s advice right now. Especially when his own head was still trying to play games with him…Or rather, perhaps something or someone was toying with his mind to make his problems more pronounced. Both were equally possible when he was stuck this deep in enemy territory. Especially when that enemy was a pair of immortal demons with a humiliation fetish or something.

Rody sighed softly, “Fine. What should I do to melt the ice?”

Vincent snorted as he replied once more, “Like I had just mentioned before your little…pouting fit. Focus on the warmth that you feel when you’re around those you care about. That should be enough to get the job done.”

“That’s it?” Rody asked as he crossed his arms and tilted his head once more. “Th-there’s no special dance or incantation that I have to do?”

Vincent put a hand on his hip and snorted, “How should I know? I’m just a manifestation of the Vincent you care about when you’re awake. I only know what you would know.”

Rody blinked and swayed slightly as his vision started to darken once more. That’s right…This was only a dream. He…he still had a lot to get done in the waking world…

Before his vision faded completely and his body fell backwards, he could make out a gentle reassuring smile on Manon’s face and the flicker of something bordering on confidence in Vincent’s eyes. Confidence in…Rody? No, no that…that couldn’t be right…Why would Vincent have confidence in Rody and Rody’s skills? Rody was going back to face that monster without some secret weapon up his sleeve. No trump card that would save the day…Just warm thoughts and hopes. Neither of which sounded good enough to Rody.

Why couldn’t he have wound up stuck with Masaru in a less dangerous place? Somewhere that didn’t have monsters that made Rody’s head hurt and chest feel empty and cold. Somewhere warmer. Safer. Somewhere like…home.
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Masaru cried out as he hit yet another tree after being flung by the strong tendrils controlled by the beast that called itself Masaru’s father. The hardened adventurer rose to his feet with shaking legs and even shakier breaths. He shook away the dark spots clouding his vision as he focused on the slowly approaching figure. The figure’s pace was teasing. As if it was savoring Masaru’s pain and frustration like it was the finest wine from a world-class vineyard from a particularly sought after vintage. A suffering that was both sharp and sweet to the seasoned palate of a sadist.

“Is that the best you can do, Masaru? I suppose my lessons really haven’t stuck if you’re barely able to put up a half-way decent fight,” the figure laughed as Masaru eased himself into a more guarded stance.

Masaru spat out a bit of blood that had been pooling in his mouth before he snapped, “Is that what you call beating me senseless for the stupidest things?! Lessons?!”

The figure chuckled, “But of course. What kind of father would I have been if I allowed you to run amok as you were? You always were an unruly and petulant child and your mother spoiled you far too much. Someone had to correct your behavior.”

Masaru grit his teeth and rested a hand against his temple as the forest around him briefly flickered. The trees briefly resembled the brick walls of-

Masaru clenched his hand into a tight fist and allowed the bite of his fingernails against the meat of his palm to ground him. No. He wasn’t a scared little boy anymore. He wasn’t in the back she-that place anymore. He-he was strong. He wasn’t going to be dragged anywhere. Not without a fight. Not while he still had breath in his lungs and a traveling partner that needed protecting.

“My behavior didn’t need correcting that involved your belt or a paddle,” Masaru hissed as he opened his eyes to shoot a glare at the man standing just a few feet away from him.

The man’s sapphire eyes widened briefly before his face settled back into a smug look that made Masaru’s blood boil. He caught the flicker of anger and frustration growing in Masaru’s eyes and his grin only grew in response.

The man grinned back as he narrowed his eyes, “Perhaps you need some remedial lessons to remind you of why you should respect your elders, boy.”

Boy. Masaru flinched at that last word and dread started to claw its way up from Masaru’s gut to settle inside of his throat. A simple three letter word that forced Masaru’s mind to conjure up the brief flickers of brick walls around him and a creaky wooden roof above him. A word that reminded Masaru of days where he was too small to fight. Too weak to lift his arms and raise his fists to punch away whatever was antagonizing him. Too skittish to raise his voice above a soft whisper lest he receive more lashes from whatever tool his father felt fit to pull off the rack on the wall that day.

Masaru narrowed his eyes and readied his fists to start punching at any and every opening the man in front of him would present to him. If Masaru was going to go down, he wanted to go down swinging rather than be slain whilst cowering in the corner like the scared child he used to be.

Within a blink, the man was right in front of Masaru and the younger man aimed a punch right at his elder’s throat. His punch was deflected with a swing of the tendril coming from the man’s back.

Masaru aimed for the man’s other side, this time closer to the man’s ribs. This too was batted away. Like Masaru’s punches were nothing more than a paper fluttering through the breeze.

“Is that really the best you can do?” The man taunted as Masaru threw another punch towards the man’s ribs.

Another block by the tendril, a tendril that was getting slicker and slicker with some sort of dark gunk that clung to the leather of Masaru’s gloves. The gunk smelt of rot and must, the scents Masaru associated with-

Masaru took an involuntary step back as the area around him flickered back and forth between the forested landscape of his present and the dingy back shed of his past. The adventurer muttered to himself, “Keep it together. You can’t let this fucker get the better of you. You can’t let your partner down this time.”

The man laughed softly, “Just give up Masaru. You know you can’t defeat me, even if you used the gift I lovingly gave you. The gift you continue to ignore like the spiteful child you truly are.”

“Your gift has been nothing but a curse!” Masaru snapped as he felt his arm stiffen involuntarily. He held onto his arm with his other hand and felt the tenseness leave his shoulders as his arm finally relaxed.

The man’s sapphire eyes continued to be the cold, impassive stare that Masaru had always associated with the man who dared to call himself Masaru’s father. Hardened stones that showed little warmth or mercy towards anyone unfortunate enough to be caught within their gaze. A hue that Masaru hated to share with the man before him.

The man cocked his head slightly to the side as he examined Masaru’s stance carefully. As if he had only just noticed that Masaru was a man rather than the boy he had left behind all those years ago.

“You could have been great,” the man started to speak in a softer tone than Masaru had ever heard come from the man’s lips. The tendril reached out and tenderly tilted Masaru’s chin upwards to force him to maintain eye contact with the man before him as he monologued.

“You could have honed your gift to become something more than a mere farm hand in some backwater country. A gift like yours was meant to serve royalty, not the whims of the first peasant that bestowed a trinket to you,” the man continued as he had the tendril move Masaru’s head up and to the side. The younger man squirmed against the slickness dribbling down the side of his neck.

Masaru hissed quietly, “I’m not allowing myself to become a weapon or a circus performer for the rich. Just because you were content to be a tool-”

Masaru gasped out as the tendril wrapped around his throat and forced his words back down. Masaru glared as he watched the man’s eyes flicker between cool sapphire and raging ruby.

The man growled lowly, “Hold your tongue boy. Our gifts don’t make us the tools of man. If anything, mere humans are our tools to further our own goals. Their wealth becomes our wealth. Their daughters become the bearers of our children. Their land becomes our land.”

Masaru choked out, “Y-your greed blinds you, old man. Humans are a lot smarter than you give them credit for.”

The man snorted as he tightened the tendril’s hold around Masaru’s neck. Masaru’s eyes grew wet and drool escaped from the corners of his mouth as black dots danced around his line of sight once more.

“They can think they’re smart all they want,” the man huffed as he watched Masaru struggle in his hold, “but they will never compare to those blessed by the gods above as we have been. To think my own son is willing to squander something so precious just to blend in with a lesser species is sickening.”

The tendril loosened its grip around Masaru’s throat, allowing the younger man to gulp down some much needed air. The redness was starting to recede from Masaru’s face and his tears were starting to slow down. Masaru shivered as the tendril slithered down Masaru’s back to wrap around his waist instead.

The man chuckled as the tendril lifted Masaru off the ground with ease. The younger man glared as he kicked his legs and beat his fists against the thicker parts of the tendril that he could just barely reach.

“I have no use for a disobedient child,” the man snorted as the tendril lengthened to lift Masaru higher and higher into the air.

Masaru looked down at the man and shouted, “Well I have no use for a parent that won’t support me and my dreams! So why don’t you take those outdated ideas and shove them up your uptight a-”

The man whipped the tendril back to slam Masaru against the hard ground once. Twice. A third time. A fourth time. And a fifth for good measure.

Masaru groaned at the growing warmth and wetness that stained his cheeks and nose. The thick underbrush stung and only added to the warm trickles that poured down Masaru’s face.

The younger man hung limply as the tendril lifted him into the air once more, this time even higher than before. Masaru could reach out and touch the top of the tallest trees around him if he had the energy to do so.

“We’re done for now,” the man called as Masaru was swung backwards once more, stopping only a fraction of an inch above the ground.

The duo locked eyes once more. The younger’s eyes held a fiery hatred whilst the elder’s eyes held the hardened combination of disappointment and dismissal.

“So why don’t you go crawling back to that pathetic little whelp you seem so fond of,” the man cooed in a sickly sweet tone that made Masaru’s eyes narrow and alarm bells ring in the younger man’s head. “Go cry to him about how weak you are and how you can’t even stand your ground against your own father.”

Before Masaru could even spit out a retort, the tendril moved once more. This time even faster than the initial slamming Masaru had taken before. The younger man barely had time to process the speed he was being moved at when the tendril released him at the just the right angle to send him flying through the air.

Masaru shouted and tried to bring forth his wings once more to try and slow himself down, but a sharp pain in his shoulder stopped him dead in his tracks. A warmth blossomed in his shoulder followed by a tingling sensation down his side and a piercing sensation in his stomach. Masaru closed his eyes as he rested his hand against his stomach, desperately whispering soft prayers to anyone who would listen.

“Please. Just a little more time, please. I-I can’t let Rody down.”
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
When Rody opened his eyes, he found himself being carried by his ankle by the ice monster. It seemed even larger and even more monstrous than before. More cracks had formed near its head to reveal that ominous void that made up its eyes and the frosty aura around it felt even colder than before. Down the monster’s back ran twin trails of thick icy spines that held bits of bone within them. Like the beast’s ribs were somehow elongating and the ice was there to keep them from slipping out of place. What appeared to be a pair of icy horns was starting to form near the monster’s temples. It too held bits of bone within its icy depths and a small stream of that blue liquid was starting to leak by where the horns were forming. Stray droplets fell to the forest floor below and froze whatever bit of trees or patches of grass happened to lie beneath them.

Rody’s gaze traveled up to his ankle, which was encased in a thick layer of ice. He swore silently when he realized that he didn’t have the handaxe on him. Just great. Now he went and lost his only weapon! Now how was he supposed to-

‘Rody, focus Rody,’ Manon’s voice echoed in Rody’s head. Rody smiled softly at the sound of her voice.

“Chérie,” Rody whispered as his cheeks grew warm. Oh how he loved the way Manon said his name. The way his name rolled off her tongue and the way her eyes glittered when she called out his name. Like he was somehow…worthy of being lavished with attention by the hand of the only daughter of the Vachers. Like he was just as important as the eligible bachelors of Manon’s social class. Like he…actually mattered for once in his life.

‘Focus on what Vincent had told you, Rody,’ Manon urged as Rody shook his head.

Manon was right. He could stew in his own self-loathing later. He had to find a way out of the monster’s hold. Maybe then he could either find his lost axe or somehow get back to Masaru. If he helped Masaru defeat his own monster, maybe he could let Rody borrow the dagger to finish off this one.

Rody focused his gaze on his ice encased ankle and tried his best to clear his mind. He took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. Iiiiiiiiinnnnn. Hoooooolllld. Ouuuuuuuuuuut. Hoooolllllld. Again. And again. And again. By the fifth repetition of his chosen breathing pattern, a gentle sense of calm washed over him. It was cool and soothing but still somehow different from the icy chill prickling him from being near the monster. This calmer coolness applied some sort of balm to the edges of his frayed nerves and allowed him to refocus on his surroundings rather than focus on his own internal turmoil.

Rody picked up on the sound of the breeze playing with the tree leaves and allowed the sound to wash over him. Like ocean waves on the beach. How long had it been since he was last at the beach? Allowed himself an afternoon to just bask in the warming embrace of the sun’s rays and frolic in the cool waves of the ocean. Take the time to comb the beach for beautiful shells and allow the sand to run between his fingers. Maybe he needed to take Manon on another trip after all this demon nonsense was over.

Rody smiled a goofy smile once more. Maybe this time he would feel more comfortable and suggest sharing a bed this time. He could picture it now. Manon, dressed in one of her silk nightgowns (preferably either the red one with black lace or the plaid one that matched her favorite headband), snuggled up against his chest. Her long, brown hair splayed around her like some kind of halo and her eyes half-lidded as she stared up at him adoringly through her thick, dark lashes. Her latest read sitting on the nightstand next to them, waiting to be used for their preferred nightly snuggle activity. The way she would trace shapes along his skin with her finger, connecting the various patches of moles and freckles that dotted his skin. Maybe she would even be a little bold and trace those patterns with her-

Rody blinked as he suddenly found himself hurtling towards the ground. The air whistled around him and he felt himself flip through the air a few times as the ground kept growing closer and closer. He braced himself and shut his eyes just before he made contact with the ground. Snap!

He hissed a low hiss as he reached up to hold onto his shoulder tightly. Rody yelped a sharp yelp as he pulled his hand away. Yeah no. Bad idea. His one shoulder only had a dull ache in it but this one? Definitely broken if the feeling of even light pressure against it was anything to go by.

Rody looked down at his leg and sighed in relief. Thank goodness his foot was still attached. And the ice had melted around his-

Rody shook his head and looked at his ankle more closely. The ice had melted. But…how?

Rody turned his foot from side to side to examine his ankle. Not even a hint of frost remained. And it certainly didn’t feel wet against his fingers either. So what had-

‘Focus on the warmth that you feel when you’re around those you care about. That should be enough to get the job done.’

Vincent-er rather Rody’s mental reconstruction of Vincent-might have been onto something there. Rody certainly didn’t feel nearly as cold as before. Still definitely cooler than usual but…the cold didn’t feel nearly as bitingly bitter like before. No, it was actually back to a level Rody could manage.

He bit his lower lip. Would this be the ongoing theme here? That things that normally wouldn’t happen to him would somehow get to him? He normally never got sick and yet he had gotten sick to his stomach more than once and somehow got given some sort of flu or something. All within less than a week! Hell it was only three days since this nonsense had started and- And now he had some ice monster that was much colder than any cold Rody had experienced before and…Well the cold never really bothered him normally so to find a level of cold that did…Unnerving to say the least.

He shook his head. No. Now he had both escaped the monster’s clutches and had a method to melt the ice. He didn’t have to worry about getting stuck in the ice anymore. Not with this new weapon in his arsonal. All he needed was something to deal the killing bl-

‘You’re really going to kill something? After everything you had done back in college? And here I thought you were trying to be a nicer guy,’ the nasty voice that sounded far too much like his younger self echoed through his head.

Rody looked down at his hands. Was he…really going to do this? Was he going to take the life of another living thing? For what reason? The flickers of blood on his hand that his mind felt fit to conjure up did little to soothe the growing pit of panic growing in Rody’s gut. He closed his eyes briefly to chase that vision away, if only to give himself some sort of fighting chance at getting more distance between himself and that-that thing! That monster that played Rody like he was some cheap kazoo from a toy shop.

‘You have to defeat your insecurity in combat,’ a voice that sounded a lot like Masaru reminded Rody. ‘If you don’t, it will continue to follow you through the manor and keep you from escaping. Don’t you want to see that girl of yours again?’

Manon’s smiling face and probably the closest thing to a smile Vincent seemed capable of making came to mind. That’s right. Rody needed to escape to get back to those he cared about. He was certain that if he let the monster live that it would eventually kill him and…It was both for survival and self-defense here! Surely Vince and Manon would understand if Rody had to kill the thing to escape, right?

Before Rody could continue his brooding, he heard a sharp shout before a warm body collided with his once more. Rody yelped at the impact against his already injured shoulder as the duo rolled a good three feet away from where Rody was previously sitting.

Rody groaned once they had stopped rolling and sighed in relief at the sight of black and white hair. At least he knew where Masaru was now.

Masaru lifted himself off of Rody’s chest and hissed at the slight movement. He asked through gritted teeth, “You okay there?”

Rody continued to lay on the ground as he groaned, “I’m still alive at least. Think my shoulder’s shot though.”

Masaru took a moment to calm his breathing before holding a hand out to Rody. Rody put aside the slight squeamish twinge his gut made at the blood staining Masaru’s hand to grasp the hand before him with his left hand. Between the two of them, they managed to get Rody back up into a seated position and allowed Rody to have a better look at his traveling partner.

Masaru had a few shallow cuts on his face and a thick crop of bruises around Masaru’s neck. Crusty remnants of something dark clung to parts of Masaru’s neck and shirt. Something that smelt dank and old and made Rody’s stomach churn just from being near it. There were dried remnants of blood near his nose, but thankfully it didn’t look like his nose was broken or dislocated. Granted…Rody didn’t doubt that Masaru would have just twisted his nose back into place if it had. He was definitely the type to just-

“Let’s take a look at that shoulder,” Masaru’s pain-stained voice cut through Rody’s thoughts. The feather-light touch to Rody’s hand startled him. Huh. Who knew that someone as tough as Masaru could have such a delicate touch.

Rody scooted closer so Masaru could examine him. Well examine him as well as he could in the growing darkness anyways. The lights from before were starting to fade and Rody was starting to miss them. Navigating through these deep woods in the dark wasn’t very high on Rody’s list of things he wanted to do…but what choice did they really have here? They were both injured now and neither one could afford to be sitting ducks for the two monsters intent on slaying both of them.

Masaru gently moved Rody’s arm and shot him apologetic looks at each little whimper and hiss that escaped Rody’s lips. Rody could feel a bit of sweat starting to spring up from his temples as he bit down on his lower lip to stifle his noises. A metallic taste entered his mouth and Masaru tsked softly as he gently released his hold on Rody’s arm to swipe his thumb underneath Rody’s lip.

“You don’t have to hold back on my account,” Masaru scolded as he pressed the inside of his sleeve to the bloody spot on Rody’s lower lip. Rody’s cheeks burned softly at the closeness and intimacy of the act. Masaru either couldn’t see Rody’s blush in the darkening space around them, or he could and opted not to say anything out of politeness. Or maybe just to avoid an awkward conversation, which seemed like the most likely option here. Masaru, while nice enough, didn’t seem like the type to talk about things like physical intimacy or levels of care or things like that…But he also didn’t seem like the type to cook his own meals and yet he was whipping up dishes that felt more alive than anything Vincent had ever made for Rody.

Rody huffed, “Well now what? We’re both injured and I’m guessing you weren’t able to defeat your monster either.”

Masaru looked up to the night sky for a moment or two before he replied, “Well, we need to find a place to patch ourselves back up again and maybe come up with a game plan. We can’t just throw ourselves at the wall until something sticks.”

Masaru eased himself to his feet and winced before steadying himself. Rody took Masaru’s hand and did his best to use his own strength to pull himself off of the ground. Rody quickly moved his arm to catch Masaru as a loud crack echoed through the still night air and Masaru jerked to the left.

Rody winced as he pulled Masaru against his injured shoulder. But that didn’t matter right now. What did matter was finding out how to navigate these woods without being able to pull Masaru onto his back like before. Rody wouldn’t be able to hold him up properly this time.

“You alright?” Rody asked as he listened to Masaru’s ragged breathing start to settle down into a more even pattern.

“The damn bastard threw me harder than I thought,” Masaru groaned as he raised his leg to keep his injured foot off the hard ground. “I should have known he’d play dirty like this. He was-”

Masaru cut himself off with a shake of his head. He kept his gaze firmly off of Rody’s curious face and the slight tilt of his head. Rody could feel a slight tremor traveling through Masaru, and based off of how quickly Masaru had looked away to hide the flicker of fear in his eyes it had little to do with his reopened wound and newly broken ankle.

Rody spoke softly, “Then let’s get moving before it's too dark to see. I’ll try and find us somewhere safe to patch up, okay?”

Masaru nodded silently and allowed Rody to pivot the two of them in the opposite direction of where Rody had last seen the ice monster stomping off into. Masaru hopped as best as he could to follow Rody’s slower pace. The darker-haired man worried his lower lip guiltily. They would likely get caught now. All because Masaru wasn’t strong enough to avoid getting an injury that affected his mobility. Even using his ability now would only temporarily shunt the injury to a different location and possibly aggravate it further once his stamina ran out.

Rody kept his gaze focused on the path ahead of them. He had to keep his focus on the present rather than the thoughts swirling around in his mind and shouting for his attention. He breathed in deeply, the scent of pine and wet earth mingled with the metallic stench of the blood that clung to Masaru. Despite how sickening the metallic smell was…Rody felt calmer knowing that Masaru was next to him. That he wasn’t walking into the unknown by himself this time.

“You got any ideas on how we can actually defeat those…things?” Rody pondered as he eased himself and Masaru down an incline slowly and carefully.

Masaru thought for a moment and looked up at the stars before he answered quietly, “Maybe if we could somehow separate them but…They’re intent on traveling together much like we are.”

Rody tightened his hold on Masaru and huffed, “Well I’m not leaving you behind if that’s what you’re trying to imply here.”

Masaru shook his head, “Nor would I ever suggest that. You’re too new around these parts and as much as I hate to admit it…I’m too injured to attempt to travel around on my own. What we need to do is find a way to lure just one of them out, dispatch them and then deal with the remaining one.”

The two fell into silence once more, allowing Masaru’s words to mingle with the sound of dirt crunching beneath their feet and the soft chirps of crickets playing their tunes. The trees added the soft rustling of their leaves in the breeze to the mix and calm soon followed. Sweet, soothing calm. A balm to their frayed nerves after being forced into combat so quickly.

Rody kept glancing over at Masaru, checking to see if his traveling partner was still conscious and that he wasn’t just dragging a corpse around with him. Masaru kept his head resting against Rody’s arm, much like Manon had in Rody’s dream or hallucination or whatever that was. Rody’s heartbeat quicked slightly as his cheeks flushed a soft pink at the mere thought of Manon. Her soft smiles and tittering laughter. The way her eyes sparkled as she rambled about her newest ideas for a magazine article or how misty they got when she would talk about the dreamy hero in one of her fantasy novels.

Rody sighed softly. Why couldn’t he be more like one of those heroes? He was sure that they didn’t have to worry about things like doubt or having a shitty job or living in a shittier apartment. They wouldn’t have to worry about how to defeat whatever foes stood in their path! No, they would somehow find the weapon to do so very early on in their journey and-

“Rody, try taking a left here,” Masaru’s voice broke through Rody’s spiraling once more.

Rody paused and looked at his companion, tilting his head slightly.

Rody furrowed his brows, “I mean I could, but why?”

Masaru tilted his head towards the left, “Take a closer look at the plants.”

Rody squinted his eyes to try and see what Masaru was talking about. The darkness around them was making it harder to see than usual but-

Rody blinked. The plants…were they…frozen? But how? It wasn’t particularly cold in the forest, even with the sun being fully set by now. So how did they freeze solid like this in the first place?

Masaru could see the gears starting to turn in Rody’s head and explained quietly, “Your monster is an ice one, correct? One that was able to freeze you just by touching you. Wouldn’t it make sense that it could also freeze vegetation?”

“I mean yeah but…I thought it could only freeze me because…well it’s my insecurity right? Wouldn’t it make more sense that it could only do damage to me?” Rody replied as his gaze shifted back onto Masaru’s face.

Masaru kept looking at the frozen plants with an unreadable look on his face. One that reminded Rody of Vincent. Maybe it was just a thing that men with dark hair did. Have those sorts of facial expressions that are difficult to read. Or maybe Rody just had a knack for attracting stoic men into his life. N-not that Rody really paid attention to the kind of men he kept himself in the company of! Er-well, he always checked to see if they were good people but…Nevermind. The more he tried to justify it the gayer it seemed to sound and…well Rody wasn’t gay! He just…noticed things about his fellow men! Yeah…that was it…

“It’s not a bad theory but…well if it was the case, then perhaps we should tackle yours first then. If it can freeze things this easily, then it means it's only getting stronger,” Masaru added as he gestured to the way the plants were frozen. Encased in solid chunks of ice rather than covered in a thin layer of frost the way nature had intended.

Rody shuddered as he felt an icy chill go up his spine. To think he had been subjected to the very same ice as the plants around them. That the same ice had once tried to swallow him whole as well.

Rody shook his head, “But I…I don’t think I can…I-I’m not-”

Masaru clicked his tongue and cut Rody off firmly, “Stop doubting yourself. You’re only making it harder on yourself. We’ll figure something out but for now we need to focus on-”

There was a loud crashing sound behind them and Rody quickly pulled the two of them aside. Just in time as a large tree had finished its descent down the hill and crashed into the river running beside them. Both breathed a deep sigh of relief. Had Rody moved a second later…they’d both likely have drowned in the river after being hit.

A cold voice cackled, “Leaving so soon Masaru? It’s very rude of you to leave your father’s company without a proper farewell.”

Masaru grit his teeth as he tried to push himself onto both feet. He stumbled once more and Rody caught him by the waist.

Masaru swore under his breath, “D-damn it. Rody, I need you to run. Fast. I-I’ll try to buy you some time to-”

“I’m not leaving you here alone!” Rody snapped back as he balled up his good hand. “Like you said before, you’re too injured to travel alone and part of that involves being able to keep yourself safe on the road! We stick together until the bitter end!”

Before Masaru could argue back against his own words that Rody was throwing back at him, the cold voice cackled once more. Rody held Masaru closer, scanning the darkness around them for any sign of movement.

Twigs snapped around them as the underbrush rustled followed by a soft, slithering sound. Rody narrowed his eyes, trying to follow the flashes of movement he could make out of the corner of his vision but-

Rody heard a louder snap and turned quickly. He felt a hard punch against his jaw and he reflexively let go of Masaru. Rody stumbled back before feeling another hard hit against his back, knocking him from away from the river and back onto the pathway. Another punch landed right in his gut and Rody doubled over, clutching his stomach as another blow smashed against his back.

“Leave him out of this!” Masaru shouted as he pulled himself up to rest against one of the nearby trees. “Y-your fight is with me, old man!”

Rody tried to push himself up from the ground and felt a tendril wrap around his neck before he was lifted into the air. Rody grabbed onto the tendril with his good hand and pulled back as hard as he could.

The cold voice cooed softly, “What’s wrong Masaru? Has being away from your harlot for so long made you desperate to find some new whore to bed? One you needn’t worry about siring another child with.”

Masaru growled with a piercing glare to match his sharp tongue, “Shut your damn mouth old man! You know nothing about me!”

Rody watched as the figure controlling the tendrils stepped onto the path and the brighter lights returned once more. The man had black hair, much like Masaru’s, and like Masaru he had a second color in his hair. It was a deep red, just like before, running through the center of his bangs in a messy streak. His eyes were the same unnatural sapphire shade as Masaru's, only these eyes looked much colder and emptier than Masaru’s were. These eyes lacked any sort of warmth or kindness.

“I know more than enough to know that your traveling companion doesn’t know the truth behind what you are~” The figure laughed as he tightened the grip he had around Rody’s throat, drawing a strangled cry out of the auburn-haired waiter.

“He doesn’t need to know these things! He’s just an ordinary human!” Masaru shouted back, wincing as he tried to stumble forward. He grabbed onto the tree at the last moment before he could face plant onto the ground once again.

The figure tilted his head as he continued to stare at Rody as the waiter’s movements started to become more sluggish and sloppy. The figure laughed softly, “He’s no ordinary human if he’s down here.”

Rody’s vision was going hazy and the sounds of Masaru and the figure’s voices sounded like they were coming out of a tin can. His hammering heartbeat and some sort of high pitched ringing were starting to compete with the voices around him for attention. The air felt thinner. And thinner. Each shaking breath felt increasingly harder to make. His arms dropped, ceasing his sluggish fighting to try and conserve what little strength was left to focus on getting more air in his lungs.

Masaru grit his teeth as he pushed off of the tree and stumbled to the next nearest one. Tears came to his eyes at the searing hot pain coursing through his ankle and how his reopened wound was starting to throb. But he had to get Rody out of here. If anyone deserved to be slain by the figure that called itself Masaru’s father, it was Masaru himself.

Chapter Text

The bistro was still dark when Faucher woke up. He yawned and allowed himself a long stretch before he pushed his sleep mask to rest against the top of his forehead. That groggy feeling he often got when he first woke up started to fade when he didn’t hear the familiar sound of his older cousin mumbling something softly in his sleep. He turned to his side and furrowed his brows at the cold and empty spot next to him. Where the hell did his cousin go?

‘He couldn’t have just gotten up,’ Faucher thought to himself as he sat up and placed a hand against the balled up blanket where Boucher was meant to be resting. ‘His spot’s too cold.’

Faucher exhaled through his nose as he eased himself off of the floor and did his best to ignore the soft clicks coming from his back and knees. Why did nobody warn him that getting old sucked so much? Had this happened like three years ago he could have rested on the floor without so much as an ache or bruise on him, but now? Now his joints and back hated him for it.

‘It might be his stomach again,’ Faucher reasoned as he started to tiptoe his way around his sleeping co-workers. ‘It does get funny when he’s worked up or anxious.’

Faucher carefully stepped around Dior, who was curled up against Manet’s chest with his hand still resting lazily over the brunet’s mouth. Manet was still snoring away, his hair splayed around him like a brown halo and still held close to Beaumont’s chest.

Beaumont never looked more beautiful in Faucher’s opinion. Her silvery blonde hair draped over her slender arms and framed her slumbering face in a way that had Faucher’s cheeks burning in the darkness of the bistro. Her plump lips were slightly parted and her dark lashes rested against her slightly rosy cheeks.

Faucher rested a hand against his chest and swore quietly at the way his heart raced at the mere sight of her, “Damn, I thought I was past this…”

Faucher turned away and ignored the soft whispers in the back of his head that reminded him of how much he fancied the blonde chef. Of how when he had learned of her engagement three years ago he had gone straight to the nearest bar after work to drown himself in a bottle of bourbon. But…

Faucher smiled softly as the image of his fiancée floated to the surface of his mind. She was the bartender that night and she had foiled Faucher’s initial plan to drink himself into blissful oblivion. She had wisely cut him off before he had even polished off half the bottle and hauled his drunken ass home before he did anything that he’d regret the next day. Which might have involved drunkenly stumbling to Beaumont’s apartment and crying whilst spilling his guts out about how much he cared for her. Of how he was jealous that she was marrying a man that he didn’t know. How he wanted to be the one marrying her instead.

But his beloved angel Daphné had instead dragged him home after closing up the bar for the night and stayed with him to make sure he didn’t aspirate in his sleep. He had woken up embarrassed, hung over and very thankful that the bistro had been closed the next day. But…cooking lunch for his bartender wound up being the best thing to happen to Faucher. Without Beaumont’s engagement…well Faucher might not be where he is now, three months away from marrying the new light of his life.

He shook away the thoughts of what-ifs and what once was and returned his attention to finding out where his cousin had wandered off to. Duty to family came before anything else…especially since Boucher only had Faucher left to lean on in times of trouble and…Well now certainly fell underneath that umbrella. They were going to travel into the depths of Hell to rescue their waiter and fight anyone or anything that stood in their way. At least…well that’s at least the impression he got from the intense glints in his boss’ eyes whenever they discussed the details of their mission. That and that…thing they had fought with earlier…

Faucher’s steps towards the bathrooms were slow and measured. Each one was taken with the utmost care to avoid making any extra noise that might have disturbed his slumbering co-workers. He really didn’t want to wake the whole team up when he could just solve the problem on his own and well…he really didn’t want to see how much of a dick Louvet could be when he was disturbed in the middle of the night. The blond was just as bad, if not worse, as Vincent when he got pissed off and…well Faucher really didn’t want to end up like Manet had not too long ago. Especially not before their mission, one that would more than likely require the team to not be at one another’s throats over trivial matters.

Before he knew it, the bathroom doors were right before his eyes. The dark wooden doors with silver plates designating which was the women’s room and which was the men’s room shouldn’t have looked as nerve-wracking as they did right now. Faucher swallowed thickly as he rested his clammy palm against the cool wood of the bathroom door and pushed it open before he lost his nerve. He might be the calmer of the two cousins, but that didn’t mean that Faucher was immune to feeling nervous at all. If anything, his family history made him just as likely to feel as nervous as his cousin often did…

“Nico?” Faucher called out in a soft voice as he stepped into the bathroom. “Are you in here?”

The three stalls in the restroom had their doors ajar. Faucher crossed his arms as he stepped further into the room. He tilted his head and took a few steps to check each one of the stalls. Huh. They were…empty? Odd. Usually when his cousin’s stomach was bothering him he would retreat to the nearest restroom until either the anxiety passed or he got sick. But to find that he wasn’t in the stalls…It was slightly reassuring to know that his cousin wasn’t sick, but that still didn’t answer Faucher’s initial question: where did his cousin go?

“Nico?” Faucher called once more as he walked closer to the trash can by the corner. Perhaps Boucher was hiding by the trash can instead? Sometimes he liked to hide himself in small spaces, just like he had when they were children. Faucher could recall several incidents of finding his older cousin curled up in the cupboard underneath the sink because he had gotten worked up over something.

Faucher felt a cold sweat form on the back of his neck and his heart beat a little faster at the sight of the trash can and only the trash can sitting in the corner. No whimpers in the room, no chattering of teeth, not even the pitiful sight of his cousin being curled up into as tight of a ball as he could force himself into. Faucher would have given anything to just see his cousin in the room right now.

Faucher looked back towards the door as he whispered to himself, “Nico, just where the hell are you?”

Faucher padded across the room a little quicker than before, but just as quietly. Why bother alerting the rest of the team and force an audience onto his cousin when Boucher was likely freaking out…somewhere. Faucher wasn’t sure where that somewhere even was but he wasn’t prepared to leave his older cousin to fend for himself emotionally. Nor was he willing to heap even more turmoil onto whatever amount Boucher was trying to sort through in his little hidey-hole.

He opened the bathroom door a lot easier this time and slowly closed it behind him to muffle the noise as much as he possibly could. In the darkened room, Faucher could make out the still slumbering forms of his co-workers. Lavigne had flopped over to sleep on her stomach and it looked like Louvet was trapped underneath Rousseaux’s slumbering form. The blond didn’t look distressed from Faucher’s angle, so perhaps he wouldn’t mind if Faucher left them be for the time being. At least until he could finally locate his cousin that is.

‘If he’s not hiding in the bathroom, then he might be getting some fresh air. He usually does like to get air to clear his mind before he gets worked up into panic mode,’ Faucher mused as he turned towards the kitchen.

His brief scan of the dining room failed to show him that his older cousin wasn’t the only one missing from their party. That his boss was also not in the last place Faucher recalled seeing him before turning in for the night. That perhaps more trouble was brewing than the type Faucher was mentally preparing himself to face.
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Boucher’s fingers trembled as he slipped a few coins into the pay phone’s coin slot and picked up the receiver. He held it close to his ear by resting it on his shoulder as he dialed in the phone number to the bistro, a number he had memorized very quickly. Vincent was a stickler for attendance and any call-outs had to be done with hours before work was set to begin for the day. As such, every member of the team was expected to memorize the restaurant’s phone number as well as Vincent’s personal phone number. That way no matter what time of day it was whomever was calling out could do so. There would be no excuse for not showing up to work without prior notice.

Boucher listened to the tone over the phone of the call being sent through to the restaurant and silently prayed that Donadieu was the one to answer the phone. Or Rousseaux. They both were the nicest members of the staff and well…maybe they would be the most understanding of being so rudely awakened at this late hour.

Boucher watched Vincent in the distance. His dark-haired boss was seated on a park bench and staring up at the starry sky whilst holding onto his injured shoulder as tightly as he possibly could. Even from here Boucher could see how much blood was starting to stain Vincent’s hands and shirt. Was it just the light of the nearby streetlamp or the blood loss that made Vincent look so…pale? Er-well paler than usual anyway. Not that-

Boucher shook his head quickly. No. Now was not the time to think about-

“I hope I’m doing the right thing by not dragging him to a hospital,” Boucher whispered as he slung his arm around his stomach to settle a guilty twinge he felt in the pit of it.

Boucher closed his eyes as he rested his back against one of the side walls of the phone booth as he prayed, “Please God. Please. Let one of them pick up the phone.”
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Faucher was padding quietly through the kitchen as he called out in a soft whisper, “Nico? Niiicooo? Ni-”

Faucher cut himself off when he heard the phone start to ring in Vincent’s office. He quickly crossed the short distance between the rest of the kitchen and Vincent’s office before shutting the door just as the first sounds of the rest of the team starting to stir reached his ears.

Faucher quickly picked up the phone and brought the receiver to his ear as he spoke in his well-practiced customer service voice, “Bonsoir. You’ve reached La Gueule de Saturne. Unfortunately we are-”

“A-alix? I-it’s me,” a familiar voice from the other side of the receiver cut Faucher off mid sentence.

Faucher’s brows furrowed as he asked, “N-nicolai? What are…why are you calling the bistro? Where did you-”

Boucher’s voice grew more frantic as he cut Faucher off once more, “Alix, we don’t have much time! I-I’m with Chef and he got stabbed and-”

Faucher felt a cold sweat start to form as his cousin’s words washed over him. His arm started to shake as he felt a warm hand ease the receiver out of his clammy hand. An arm was slung over his shoulder as a calm voice spoke, “Hello? This is Donadieu speaking.”

Faucher covered his mouth as worry started to churn in his gut and his hands kept shaking. Shaking. Shaking. He closed his eyes to focus on the sound of his older cousin’s voice he could faintly hear from his new position. If he was speaking, that meant that Boucher was safe, right? Right?! That meant that his cousin wasn’t-wasn’t injured or near Death’s door or-

“D-donadieu! Please, I-I don’t we don’t have much time! Chef got stabbed and he’s bleeding really bad and-”

Faucher felt the grip holding him tighten and caught a glimpse of a hardened look cross Donadieu’s face from the corner of his eye. Faucher whimpered softly and felt the older chef move his free hand to rest Faucher’s head against Donadieu’s shoulder. The priestly chef replied in a firm voice, “Listen to me Boucher. Can you tell me where you and Chef are?”

“W-we’re at the park! Um the-the one not far from the bistro! I-it’s the one with the pretty fountain and gazebo and-” Faucher closed his eyes and bit his lower lip at the tone in Boucher’s voice. The sour taste of anxiety bordering on complete hysteria.

‘Nico, God Nico. Please let Nico be safe,’ Faucher thought as he could clearly picture the way Boucher’s bright hazel eyes would be blown wide and how he would be shaking like a leaf. The way his face would have turned a sickly pale color. The potential for the remnants of vomit being smeared on his face. The poor thing did have the weakest stomach in the kitchen afterall…

Donadieu spoke once more, “Now that we know where you both are I’m going to head out to meet you two there. In the meantime, I need you to get Chef in a reclined position and to try and help him slow the bleeding down. Can you do that for me?”

Boucher’s voice quieted down slightly as he replied, “I-I think so um…B-but what if it moves the knife? I…”

Donadieu replied in a gentler voice, “Try to keep it as still as you can, but if Chef is still conscious he can help you with repositioning. We’ll be arriving before you know it.”

Faucher felt a hand rub against his trembling arm and a warmth spill down his cheeks. His muffled breaths puffed out harder and harder as he tried fighting against the hitches he felt build up in his throat. His cousin. His poor cousin. He-Boucher wasn’t equipped to handle an emergency like this! It should have been Faucher out there. It should have been him! It should-

“Donadieu, who was on the phone?” Rousseaux’s soothing voice broke through Faucher’s spiral briefly as he dared to look over at the red-head standing in the doorway.

Faucher hung his head after catching the flood of concern in Rousseaux’s bright brown eyes. Ordinarily he would have welcomed the concerned look but now…Now it only made the weight on Faucher’s shoulders feel ten times heavier and-

“It was Boucher,” Donadieu answered as he gave Faucher’s shoulder a brief squeeze. “He and Chef must have gone out for an evening stroll and Chef was attacked. Boucher is with him at the park and…it sounds grave.”

Rousseaux sucked in a breath as he felt Louvet nudge past him. His blond partner met Donadieu’s gaze with ease as his sleep stained voice rasped out, “Then what are we standing around here for?! We need to get to that park and-”

Donadieu huffed, “And we will. But we need to be cautious. If who I suspect attacked Chef is truly behind this then we may encounter them a second time. I’m as worried as you are, but we cannot have the entire team injured before we embark on this journey.”

Louvet clicked his tongue and looked away as he crossed his arms. His jaw was clenched as Donadieu could see the heat building up on the shorter chef’s cheeks. The timebomb ticked closer to exploding by the second as the blond tightened his hold on himself.

“He’s right Mike,” Rousseaux added as he dared to approach the steaming blond and rested a hand on his shoulder. “We need to be careful here, you especially.”

Louvet sighed deeply as his shoulders drooped, “I…I know.”

A part of Rousseaux felt horribly guilty for bringing up his partner’s…well current biggest insecurity and fear in such a serious moment but…Rousseaux didn’t want to run the risk of having that hypothetical become a reality. He…Louvet deserved much better than that and…Rousseaux knew that he would have to make it up to his shorter partner later once they were sure that their protege wasn’t going to die on them.

Donadieu met Rousseaux’s eyes once more before he spoke, “I need you to help me carry Chef back here for treatment. As much as a hospital would likely help him better than we could-”

“He’s dead-set on this mission, I know,” Rousseaux sighed as he gave Louvet’s shoulder a squeeze. “We should hurry then.”

Faucher allowed himself to be steered out of the room, following right behind Rousseaux and Louvet. His vision was blurry and his eyes burned, but he could make out the figures of his older co-workers leading the way out of Vincent’s office and back into the dining room. The firmness in the red-head’s shoulders and the quickness in the blond’s steps were unmistakable even when he was half-blinded by tears.

“Louvet, I’ll need you to prepare a space for us to work,” Donadieu spoke in an even voice as Rousseaux briefly broke off from the small group to retrieve the first aid kit from underneath his workstation.

Louvet nodded despite the twinge of outrage building in the back of his head. Didn’t Donadieu know that Vincent was practically Louvet’s son here and as such it was Louvet’s job to go protect his son and patch him up?! But…Louvet also knew that there was no point in arguing. Time spent arguing was less time they had to stabilize Vincent…So Louvet replied with a slight hint of hurt coloring his words, “Consider it done. Take Manet with you. He’s closer in height to Gabe here and Charbonneau will need to be kept steady if he’s going to be transported back here safely.”

Donadieu nodded and motioned for Rousseaux to follow him closely. The red-head briefly stopped to squeeze Louvet’s shoulder and allowed Louvet to pat the back of his hand, looking up at him with a slightly worried look.

“We’ll be back before you know it,” Rousseaux reassured as he removed his hand from Louvet’s shoulder a lot slower than he probably should have.

Louvet bit his lower lip as he watched Rousseaux follow after Donadieu. What he wouldn’t give for them to live in a society where Louvet could have given Rousseaux the good-luck kiss he deserved…

Faucher sniffled as his vice grip on Donadieu’s arm was carefully pried off. He latched onto Louvet’s arm, which made the blond jump before he started to awkwardly pat Faucher’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. The distress radiating off of the youngest chef of the quartet was so thick the older trio could taste it. A bitter, acrid taste that did little to soothe their already frayed nerves.

Donadieu sent Faucher a sympathetic look that did little to soothe the panicked chef while Rousseaux eased the door to the dining room open. From the light of the kitchen, Dior could be made out standing near the doorway with Lavigne right behind him. Beaumont’s soft voice could be heard gently cooing some sort of nonsense to coax Manet out of his deep slumber.

“Is…everything okay in here?” Dior asked as his silvery gaze swept over the shaken quartet. “The phone ringing woke me up and I saw that Faucher was already out of bed.”

Rousseaux spoke up first in his steady, honey-sweet voice, “It was Boucher on the other end. He and Chef must have stepped out for an even stroll or something and…It’s not looking good.”

Lavigne noticed the distraught look on Faucher’s face and the odd flickering in Louvet’s eyes before she quietly padded over to the duo. She found herself immediately squashed in a tight hug from Faucher and Lavigne slowly wrapped her arms around her mentor as his tears softly pattered against her sleep shirt and strawberry patterned bonnet.

Manet sat up and slurred out sleepily, “You need mushle right? I-I cans do that.”

Dior rolled his eyes and snorted, “You’re barely awake. I can-”

Donaideu shook his head, “No. We do need Manet for this one. He’s the closest in height to Rousseaux and Chef needs to be kept stable for transport.”

Dior looked away briefly to quell the flicker of jealousy that flared up in his chest. No fair. Why did God give that much height to such a clumsy idiot who routinely knocked over the umbrella stand by the main entrance? But…Dior knew that Donadieu had a good point. If Vincent’s injury was truly as serious as the others were saying, then they needed to be as careful as possible while transporting their boss back to the bistro. Even though Vincent could be an absolute terror sometimes and was more like a ruthless dictator than not…the man still didn’t deserve to die a slow, painful death. Especially not after giving Dior a chance to work in the bistro while he was still going to culinary school…

Beaumont stood up and gently pushed on Manet’s shoulder to get him to stand up, “I can go as well. I did get a degree in nursing before I became a chef, you know.”

Louvet rasped out firmly, “Then it’s settled. Beaumont will go with Donadieu to get the initial first-aid settled whilst Manet and Gabe bring Chef back here. Dior, I need your help to get my and Gabe’s workstation sterile so we have a flat work surface to work on whatever kind of stab wound he has. Lavigne-”

Lavigne nodded, “I’ll do my best to support Faucher here so we can help out once the others return.”

Manet yawned into his hand as he followed Donadieu to the front door. The tired brunet had managed to clumsily shrug on his jacket just in case the night air was colder than on the walk back to the bistro. Beaumont was right by Manet’s other side and held onto his hand to drag him forward if his steps seemed too sluggish. Rousseaux was about to join the others by the door when he felt a hand grab onto his.

He looked over his shoulder to meet Louvet’s worried gaze and the conflicted look on his partner’s face. Rousseaux gave Louvet’s hand a gentle squeeze and whispered softly, “I’ll keep our boy safe, okay?”

Louvet mumbled, “You know what happened last time those-those fuckers-”

Rousseaux shifted his hold from Louvet’s hand to his partner’s shoulder and gave that a soft squeeze as well before he replied, “It won’t happen this time, alright? We’re better prepared this time.”

“I…I hope you’re right,” Louvet sighed softly as he stepped back to allow Rousseaux to finally join the first-aid team at the door.

The duo shared one last longing look before the team rushed off towards the park to rescue their two missing members. Louvet lowered his hand and clenched his fist tightly before he turned on his heel.

He gestured towards the bathrooms as he spoke, “Dior, I need you to get the cleaning supplies from the closet. The strongest ones we got.”

Dior nodded, ignoring the slight hurt brewing in his chest over being denied a role in the actual rescue portion of this new mission. He was just as capable as Manet was at carrying things, if not moreso, and…Well how was it fair to force his beloved sister Beaumont, his pregnant sister, to give up her much needed rest to play nurse when she had an able-bodied younger brother who could do the same thing?

Lavigne patted Faucher’s back as she loosened her hold to gesture towards the nest of bedding materials, “Come on Faucher. Let’s get you settled down, okay? Boucher wouldn’t want to see you so upset when he gets back.”

Faucher sniffled as he nodded, wiping at his eyes with his hands. Louvet clicked his tongue and reached down for his packed backpack before tossing his handkerchief to Lavigne. The younger chef caught it and started to gently dab away the tears from Faucher’s blotchy face. She cooed soft sweet nothings that Faucher only half-understood, but the tone in her voice acted like a much needed balm against his raw nerves.

Calm. He needed to be calm. Faucher needed to be calm one here. Especially if his older cousin was still-

‘Please God, just let Nicolai be alright,’ Faucher silently prayed as he allowed his protege to steer him towards the bathrooms once more.

Maybe a cold splash of water was just what he needed to finally ground himself. He…Faucher was practically useless when he was like this and…He’s tired of being useless when it really matters. For once, just once, he wanted to do something right when the cards were down and tension was running high. Maybe then he could finally make up for what had happened all those years ago…
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“Chef I uh-D-Donadieu is on his way with the first aid kit,” Boucher’s quivering voice caught Vincent’s attention.

Vincent winced at the slight blurring around the edges of his vision but ignored it to focus on his nervous entremetier. The moon hanging overhead almost looked like a halo behind Boucher’s head. Almost.

Vincent nodded, “Good. Then we can get this injury patched up and we can return our focus to our mission once more.”

Boucher wrung his hands nervously as he stammered, “U-um until he gets here he uh-D-Donadieu suggested that you lay down. It um, it should help with the bleeding.”

Vincent opened his mouth to shoot down the idea and insist that he was perfectly fine when a soft voice whispered in the back of his head, ‘Please Vince. You can’t help me if you don’t help yourself first.’

Vincent closed his mouth and pinched the space between his perfectly manicured brows and the bridge of his nose. Lovely. Now he was starting to hear voices that weren’t there. But…it still did little to quell the soft warmth that spread across his chest at the mere thought of the man that voice belonged to. The very man that Vincent was willing to put not just his life on the line for but the lives of each of his nine chefs.

Boucher watched Vincent closely and quietly added, “I-I know you’re worried about Lamoree and I am too but…I don’t think he’d want you to put your health on the backburner. Especially something as serious as this.”

Vincent lowered his hand and hung his head before he replied in a voice so tinged with defeat that it almost burned his tongue, “You’re right. Ro-Lamoree wouldn’t want that, he…It’s almost sickening sometimes how worked up he gets over someone’s health.”

Something flickered briefly in Boucher’s eyes, as if he had wanted to say something to Vincent but thought better of it. Getting his boss all worked up would just make his blood pump faster and make him bleed out sooooo…Maybe it would be for the best if Boucher kept his mouth shut for a little while. At least until Donadieu arrived with the first aid kit.

Boucher pulled off his striped cardigan and folded it neatly before he set it on the bench beside Vincent. Vincent was about to question what Boucher was doing when his vision blurred and doubled suddenly. Vincent swayed slightly and felt a steady set of hands hold him gently by his non-injured shoulder. His vision cleared just enough for him to make out the furrow of Boucher’s dark brows and the flickers of concern in Boucher’s hazel colored eyes.

“Chef? Chef, I-I’m gonna help you lie down now, okay?” Boucher’s voice sounded…odd. Like some sort of…static was starting to drown out the older man’s words.

Vincent nodded and his tongue felt oddly heavy as he slurred out, “Ssouns good.”

Boucher bit the inside of his cheek to keep quiet as he helped Vincent readjust himself to lie down on the bench. Boucher’s warm hand kept the knife steady and Vincent felt a small part of himself start to yearn for the warmth he could feel radiating off of the older man’s hands. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but…Vincent was starting to feel…cold. Very cold.

Boucher waited until Vincent seemed to be resting somewhat comfortably on the hard bench to move his hands to put some much needed pressure against Vincent’s wound. Boucher shivered at the feeling of warm blood against his hands and tried his best to ignore the strong smell of iron wafting through the night air.

“Chef…U-umm…would it….Would it be okay if I uh…talked a bit while we wait for the others to get here?” Boucher asked as his gaze kept flicking between the blood trickling over his hands from Vincent’s injury and the tired look on Vincent’s face. The fact that the younger chef’s face was somehow even paler than usual was enough to make the alarm bells in Boucher’s head ring louder than ever before.

Vincent hummed, tilting his head slightly to show that he was at least willing to listen. He could feel his energy depleting rapidly and…talking felt like too much effort right now. His…his energy needed to be spent elsewhere.

“O-ookaaayyy umm…W-well I-I could umm…T-talk about um…” Boucher looked up at the stars briefly before he spoke once more, “Chef, have you ever heard the tale of the blood moon?”

Vincent blinked and shook his head as best as he could, ignoring the way moving even as slightly as he had made the world around him spin. The steady pressure coming from Boucher’s warm hands kept Vincent grounded far more than the pain radiating from his shoulder could. The warmth was…almost comforting in an odd way. Huh. Who knew that cowardly Boucher’s company could be…semi-enjoyable? Maybe Vincent was worse off than he thought to be thinking like that…

Boucher hummed, “W-well, the moon much like us often goes through changes throughout the year. Umm, sometimes those changes involve the light of the sun being blocked out by Mars. We know that’s why the moon sometimes turns red now but…well in ancient times people didn’t know such things.”

Vincent hummed softly, unsure of where Boucher was going with his rambling but…a part of Vincent did feel reassured that he wasn’t alone in this. He wasn’t going to immediately bleed out on the park bench. At least he had someone to put pressure onto the wound to give Vincent a fighting chance. Vincent had promised Rody that he wouldn’t let anything happen to him and…Vincent didn’t want to die and break that promise. Not to Rody. Not to the man he-

“W-well, in some cultures they felt that the moon turned red because it was sick or injured in some way. During those times, the people would gather together to chant or sing songs of healing to make the moon feel better so it would return to its normal pale color. I umm…well silly as it sounds I almost feel like our ancestors may have had the right idea. We…well as we move forward as a society and rely more on and more on technology we…well we forget that we are all children of nature and nature needs both nurturing and revering just as much as humans need to protect themselves and their loved ones,” Boucher laughed softly as he shook his head. “Hopefully the others don’t hear me talking like this…I’m a bit old to be labeled a hippie and well…Don’t tell the others but I don’t think that-”

“There! They’re up ahead!” A familiar voice shouted as the sound of several pairs of feet pounding against the pavement echoed through the otherwise silent park.

Boucher looked up in time to see Donadieu and Beaumont easing their way to the front of the group. He waited until the oldest chef had reached the bench and knelt down to assess Vincent before he spoke, “I-I’ve been k-keeping pressure on his injury like you had asked but I-”

Donadieu gave Boucher a reassuring smile before he answered, “You did the best thing for Chef right now. You gave him time for us to arrive and help stabilize him before we transport him back to the bistro.”

Rousseaux opened up the first aid kit and held it steady whilst Beaumont fished out a thick roll of gauze and the bottle of saline solution. With her much needed supplies in hand, she joined Donadieu beside the bench to finally put those years of nursing school to work. As Rousseaux drank in the haunting pallor of Vincent’s exhausted face and the bloodstained knife sticking out of Vincent’s shoulder, his hands started to shake. The red-head bit his lower lip and thanked God that Louvet wasn’t here. The blond, as much as Rousseaux loved him, would be even more of a trainwreck than Rousseaux himself was right now.

A warm set of hands against his own made Rousseaux jump slightly, but he sighed in relief at the sight of Manet’s brown eyes and a slightly reassuring smile on his face. It wasn’t the younger chef’s usual shit-eating mischievous grin but…it still put the older chef at ease if only for a moment.

“Easy now, your hands are shaking pretty bad. Do you want me to hold this for a bit?” Manet asked as he gave the outer part of Rousseaux’s clammy, trembling hands a soft squeeze.

Rousseaux savored the small gesture, a rare treat given that Manet wasn’t normally as openly affectionate with his male co-workers as he was with his female ones, and replied, “I…It might not be a bad idea. I…Shit I’d hate to drop our supplies before we…”

Rousseaux shook his head and eased the first aid kit into Manet’s steadier hands. The younger chef tilted his head slightly and opened his mouth to ask what Rousseaux had been trying to say but after catching the flicker of worry and guilt in the older man’s eyes the resident loud mouth decided to be quiet for once. There had to be more to the odd look in Rousseaux’s other than his obvious worry about their boss but…Well Manet knew that trying to rip the bandaid off of whatever emotional wound was bothering Rousseaux while they were still trying to patch Vincent up would likely end with Manet needing medical attention himself. Rousseaux was a nice guy and all but…even the nicest of people still had their limits and after seeing the heavy lifting Rousseaux often did during their grocery deliveries to the bistro…Yeah Manet wanted to keep his pretty head on his shoulders thank you very much. He couldn’t kiss his pretty girlfriend without it now, could he.

Boucher eased himself aside once Donadieu took over the job of applying pressure to Vincent’s wound while Beaumont carefully started to cut Vincent’s shirt enough to better assess the severity of his injury. Boucher shivered at the cool night air biting his bare arms. As much as he wanted to hold himself in a tight hug to try to conserve his body heat, the sticky feeling against his hands and the stench of iron reminded Boucher of why that wouldn’t be a good idea.

“Alright Chef, we’re going to clean your wound and try to patch it up enough to carry you back to the bistro, okay?” Beaumont spoke softly as she gently moved the stray pieces of Vincent’s bangs that had fallen into his face aside. She bit her lower lip at how cold he felt against her fingers. The pale, almost pathetic look on Vincent’s face tugged at her heartstrings. It was so…wrong. Her boss wasn’t meant to look like this. He was meant to have a passionate glint in his eye and a determined yet stoic look on his young face. He was meant to be the fire that was lit underneath all of their asses to produce some of the best food Paris had to offer and…Seeing him battered and bleeding and just so tired? It made whatever kind of maternal instincts that she normally showered onto Manet or Lavigne kick into overdrive.

Vincent hummed softly as he looked up at her. Despite how blurry his vision had become and the darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision, he couldn’t deny that a part of him felt at ease knowing that she was nearby. Beaumont had proven herself to be a very reliable employee over the years and…well a part of Vincent (a very small part that he denied that he even had)...that small part of him felt like Beaumont filled some sort of void in his life…As if her kind, almost motherly nature patched up some of the wounds that Rousseaux and Louvet couldn’t patch up themselves.

The warmth of her touch was a very different kind of warmth compared to the warmth that often accompanied Rousseaux or Louvet’s touch. The two men’s warmth was one that stoked the fire in Vincent’s belly whenever he felt the most discouraged or frustrated, a fire that Vincent could use to burn his way past any and every obstacle that stood between him and his goals. But Beaumont’s warmth? Well…her warmth was more like sinking into a hot bath after being out in the cold for too long. It was overwhelmingly warm, maybe even a little painfully so at first, but the comfort that followed the initial pain made it all worthwhile. It was more of a soothing warmth. A balm against the frost that Vincent’s cold demeanor often left on his heart.

He hated to admit it but…He’s definitely gotten much softer since Beaumont had started working for him five years ago. He…Well the Vincent he was five years ago would never have considered trying to organize a rescue mission for a mere waiter, especially a mission that involved going to Hell. But then again…Rody was no mere waiter. At least…not anymore…

Donadieu kept a firm hold against Vincent’s shoulder while Beaumont peeled away the blood-soaked fabric from Vincent’s wound, which thankfully hadn’t entered the wound itself. At least they didn’t have to worry about aggravating his wound anymore by pulling aside something that was preventing him from bleeding even more than he already was. They would take whatever small blessings they could.

Manet kept his gaze averted from the gnarly wound on Vincent’s shoulder and instead focused his attention on Rousseaux. The tallest chef of their group looked just as pale in the face as Vincent normally did and…the odd flickering in Rousseaux’s normally warm brown eyes did little to soothe Manet’s nerves. It was…well Manet had only really seen that look on a parent who was worried about their child…

“Manet, can you pass over the tape please?” Beaumont ordered as Donadieu moved his hands to apply pressure to a different part of Vincent’s wound while Beaumont flushed it clean with the saline solution.

The solution felt cold against Vincent’s skin, making him shiver. The slight hint of salt drowned out some of the iron-rich stench that clung to him and the dark-haired chef couldn’t be more grateful. His stomach was starting to feel funny from the metallic odor. If he wasn’t kicking himself for being stupid enough to get stabbed before, he certainly was now.

Manet jumped slightly and bit his lower lip before he raised a shaky hand to retrieve the medical tape. As much as Manet complained about Vincent being an unfair slavedriver sometimes, it still didn’t make watching him shiver and look near lifeless on the park bench any easier to see. It…Manet had never seen so much blood before…. Rousseaux quietly took the tape from Manet (earning him a weak smile from the brunet chef) and handed it over to Beaumont, watching her as she taped down the section of gauze she had previously been working with.

Beaumont looked over at Rousseaux briefly before she reassured, “Have faith now, you know how stubborn Chef can be sometimes. He won’t let something like this do him in.”

Rousseaux sighed softly, “You also forget that Chef isn’t always in the best health either. No offense Chef, but your immune system is consistently the weakest out of everyone in the kitchen.”

Vincent rolled his eyes and ignored how rolling them made his vision blur even more than before. He wasn’t some weak little waif that Rousseaux had to worry himself sick over. Vincent was fine-er well as fine as someone who had gotten stabbed could be anyways. Vincent…well he wasn’t the fearful teenager that needed Louvet or Rousseaux to patch him up or reassure him when things looked difficult anymore. He was just as capable as they were of being strong when his back was against the wall and the odds seemed impossible.

Donadieu shook his head and chided gently, “Come now, we needn’t bicker. Boucher, would you be so kind as to tell us what had happened before you called the bistro?”

Boucher shivered once more, which prompted Manet to pull off his jacket to wrap it over Boucher’s shivering shoulders. The dark-haired chef smiled up at his normally mischievous co-worker, prompting the brunet to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. Manet hated when his overt gestures of kindness were acknowledged, especially by his male co-workers. It…well it made his stomach feel funny…Like the kind of funny his stomach felt when he was looking at pretty girls…Maybe he should see a doctor about that.

Boucher cleared his throat before he explained, “W-well Chef and I were just…you know walking to take our minds off of the mission and…One of the demons Chef claimed kidnapped Lamoree showed up. I…I dare not refer to the demon by name but…Chef knew it. We…well we were attacked with its magic and…Donadieu I’ve never seen something like that before and…”

Boucher shivered once more as tears came to his eyes. Rousseaux snapped out of his worried stupor enough to fish out his handkerchief to blot away the few tears that slipped down Boucher’s reddened cheeks.

Manet huffed as he crossed his arms, “I’m guessing it didn’t appreciate you and Chef fighting back, huh?”

Boucher shook his head rapidly, shaking once more as the thought of Tristan’s glowing magenta eyes came to his mind once more. Such cold, cruel eyes…Eyes that made Vincent look like a kind Sunday school teacher in comparison, even when Vincent was enacting his typical brand of “discipline” onto his poor staff. Eyes that Boucher knew would haunt him for the rest of his days…however many the Lord would see fit to bless him with anyways. Which may not be very many if they truly did manage to find a way to sneak into Hell while still being very much alive just to rescue Rody and Manon from the demons intent on keeping the two of them captive.

Beaumont kept working silently, moving her hands in tandem with Donadieu to ensure that enough pressure was being applied to Vincent’s wound to slow down the bleeding enough for the bandages to not need an immediate change. The fierce urge to rip apart whatever demon had dared to attack two of Beaumont’s own didn’t bleed into the gentle touches she was using to place the gauze against Vincent’s wound or tape the gauze down. She kept brushing aside bits of Vincent’s hair and checking his pale face for even the slightest hint of discomfort at having his wound treated. Proper social protocol for how bosses and employees should treat one another be damned! Beaumont wasn’t going to allow something stupid prevent her from using every last drop of her maternal instincts to keep one of the younger people in her workplace (even if that younger person was her boss) feeling safe and secure.

Vincent hated to admit it but…he somewhat liked the soft touches against his face and how Beaumont kept whispering something soft and soothing that he couldn’t properly make out the words of. His mind drifted slightly and Vincent couldn’t help but picture it being his mother as the one whispering soft and reassuring words to him. His mother lavishing physical affection in a way Vincent had never before received from the woman, even as far back as Vincent could remember. Maybe that should have been a sign that he was more injured than he had initially thought but…right now he just wanted to savor this moment for as long as he could. It…it was probably the closest thing to a sweet taste that Vincent had really had the chance to enjoy in decades.

“Alright, that should be taped down enough for us to transfer him safely,” Beaumont noted as she placed the last piece of tape down against Vincent’s cool skin. She gave his hair one last brush of her hand to ensure that it was neatened to her liking. The last thing she wanted was for Vincent to aggravate his wound by trying to keep his hair out of his face.

Donadieu stood up and nodded, “Then there’s no time to lose. Manet, I need you and Rousseaux to move Chef very carefully off of the bench. We can’t afford for the knife to be removed at this point.”

Manet nodded and smiled a very nervous smile as Beaumont accepted the first aid kit from his clammy hands. She reached up to pat his cheek in an attempt to soothe his increasingly frayed nerves.

‘Poor thing,’ Beaumont thought as she watched Manet try to shake off the nervousness as he shuffled closer to the bench, ‘It’s easy to forget that he’s young as well. This is probably the first serious injury he’s ever had to deal with.’

“S-sure sure, n-no pressure,” Manet mumbled to himself as he took his position by Vincent’s feet.

Rousseaux accepted his task of being the one to carry Vincent’s upper half without a word. He was the strongest in the kitchen, but still had a delicate enough touch to set down even the fullest glass of wine without spilling a single drop. If there was anyone who could be trusted with a task this important, it would be Rousseaux. The sturdy one of the group. The peacemaker. The dependable one who could offer up a solution to any problem that Vincent or Louvet were too busy to handle themselves. He didn’t earn his rank as third in command for nothing.

“Alright Chef, we’re going to move you now, okay?” Rousseaux whispered down to Vincent, who was looking up at him with an odd look on his face.

Vincent tilted his head slightly. When did…when did Rody get here? Weren’t they meant to be going to rescue him? If so then…why was he here now? And why did he sound like-

Donadieu gave a firm nod to Rousseaux and Manet, who both gave each other a look before they carefully lifted Vincent off of the bench. Vincent jumped slightly at the sudden movement, but after looking up at Rousseaux (who was constantly flickering between his usual appearance and looking like Rody to Vincent’s poor confused mind) he was able to relax. He knew that he was in good hands. Rody…he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to Vincent. No…Rody was a good man. He always kept those he cared about safe.
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Dior wrung out the rag into the bucket of cleaning solution before he started scrubbing down another portion of Louvet and Rousseaux’s workstations. He had opted to take on the job of actually scrubbing down the workstations to try and work out the lingering frustration that still left the edges of his vision red and made his jaw feel extra tight.

Louvet had been busy boiling water and doing his best to sterilize whatever remaining equipment he could scrounge up for their makeshift operating table. The blond remained silent as he diligently sterilized and dried each and every sharp blade and the sewing needles from Lavigne’s emergency sewing kit. He could still feel the tension building in the room from Dior’s lingering foul mood but…the older blond didn’t want to try talking to the younger chef. At least not now. Not when his own emotions were running higher than usual and his penchant for saying the wrong thing when his emotions ran high. The last thing any of them needed was for Dior to get pissed off and want to fight Louvet.

Lavigne was preparing more tea to serve to the quartet still in the bistro while she allowed Faucher to hold her tightly as if she was some stuffed animal that belonged to a frightened child. Lavigne wouldn’t let just any man hold her this way, especially after Jean-Luc but…Well Faucher had more than earned her trust during their short tenure of working together in the kitchen. He consistently gave her actually applicable advice for improving both her knife skills and keeping pace with the rest of the team when she was working the line. Not to mention how he was the one to convince Vincent to blacklist both Jean-Luc and that wretched wench Odette from the restaurant, despite knowing that Jean-Luc could potentially bring more high profile customers to the bistro.

Lavigne wasn’t sure what Faucher had said during that closed door meeting but…she was definitely grateful for his kind gesture. She could only imagine Odette wanting to dine at the bistro out of spite and start saying nasty things about Lavigne’s skills in the kitchen in an attempt to get her fired or something. Jean-Luc definitely wouldn’t have stopped Odette nor would he have defended Lavigne, not after Lavigne had given him what he had deserved back at the cinema anyways.

Faucher was resting his cheek against the top of Lavigne’s head, sighing softly as he continued to breathe in the slight hint of lavender in whatever kind of product Lavigne had in her hair, “I-I’m sorry. I…I’m your mentor and I-I should be the strong one here. The one doing the comforting.”

Lavigne reached up to pat Faucher’s cheek as she finished setting up the strainer for her loose-leaf orange and jasmine tea. Her touch lingered for a moment and she could feel a bit of the lingering tremors coursing through Faucher’s tired body start to dissipate. Whether it was the warmth of her hands or the gentleness of her touch was anyone’s guess.

“Even so, Boucher is still your cousin afterall and the two of you have always been exceptionally close. You don’t have to apologize for worrying about your family,” Lavigne reassured as she brushed her thumb underneath Faucher’s eye to catch any lingering remnants of tears. It was a soft, quiet moment. A bit of calm before the storm that was sure to hit once the others came back from their extraction mission.

The kettle started to whistle and Lavigne shut off the burner. Dior wiped a bit of sweat from his brow with the back of his arm and took a step back to examine his handiwork. It looked significantly cleaner than before and he had even managed to take out that stain from when Manet sliced his palm open trying to shuck an oyster for the first time. The idiot had bled a lot but-

“Thanks for patching me up, Dior. I-I really mean it, thank you. I-I really owe you one.”

Dior huffed as a somewhat fond grin painted his lips without him noticing it. As clumsy as the brunet could be and how often he caused trouble for the others…Dior couldn’t help but feel a little fond of the guy. Well technically more than a little fond. They were friends after all but…well even friends can get a little jealous or annoyed with one another from time to time, right? Manet was endearing in his own sort of way. Like a clumsy puppy bringing over a toy to play only to flop onto their owner’s lap for snuggles instead. As much as Dior wanted to stay annoyed at the brunet chef for having an important job on the actual heavy lifting part of the mission…well he really couldn’t. Especially not after their little conversation back at the library. Maybe for once Manet wouldn’t feel like the weakest link in the kitchen.

“Nice work,” Louvet’s voice came from Dior’s left, making him jump slightly. One of these days they needed to have a serious talk about Louvet’s scary ability to just sneak up on people out of nowhere.

Dior tilted his head towards the other set of work stations across the line with a slight quirk of his brow as he asked, “Do you think we should get another station prepped as well? You know, just in case Boucher needs to be patched up as well.”

The older blond looked across at the other workstation with a tilt to his head as well as he crossed his arms. He narrowed his eyes briefly before he gave a curt nod, “It wouldn’t be a bad idea. I only got into Charbonneau’s office after the call ended but…Well I’m not sure what kind of condition Boucher will be in when he gets here, so better to be over prepared than under in cases like this.”

Faucher tightened his hold on Lavigne’s waist as he shut his eyes. ‘No….no, Nicolai will be just fine! He-he wouldn’t have been able to call if he was that injured! R-right? A-and a demon could see that he’s not a fighter and w-would have left him alone…Right?’

Lavigne felt Faucher’s hold on her tighten, so she rested her free hand over the small patch of bare skin showing on one of the arms Faucher had wrapped around her. She rubbed her thumb over his skin in a small, almost mindless circle in an attempt to make his hold on her loosen up a little or to make his renewed tremors die down once more.

Dior grabbed the bucket and turned towards the door to go dump the soiled contents of the bucket into one of the bathroom sinks. He caught a glimpse of the curious look on Lavigne’s face and explained, “I’m going to get another bucket of cleaning solution made up. Don’t worry about making me any tea for now. I’ll…get some later after I’m done with this.”

“No, I can take care of the other workstation,” Louvet stated as he grabbed onto the bucket next to the spot where Dior’s hand was. “You did good by scrubbing down the workstation Rousseaux and I share, but I can see that your hands are shaking a bit. I don’t want you to overdo it and hurt yourself in the process.”

Dior tightened his grip on the bucket handle and glared off to the side as he bit out, “So you think I can’t handle more than just one job, huh? Like I’m some kid who can’t help the adults with the more serious jobs?”

Louvet furrowed his brows as he looked at Dior. The older blond tilted his head in confusion. Just where the hell was Dior getting that idea from? This wasn’t all that different from their typical work duties and everyone often worked together to accomplish whatever tasks Vincent had assigned them. Usually Dior never gave pushback when either Vincent or Louvet asked him to do something, or if he was upset then Dior would still suck it up and do as he was told. The younger blond was usually a lot better than Louvet at hiding when he was upset by something or someone…

Louvet put a hand on his hip as he explained, “It’s nothing like that. I’m just offering to give you a break is all. There’s no point in burning ourselves out before we even set off on our mission.”

“I don’t need a break,” Dior huffed as he managed to jerk the bucket out of Louvet’s grasp. He ignored the sets of eyes on him as he stalked out of the kitchen and towards the bathrooms once more. He let the kitchen door swing behind him rather than grab it to close it more quietly like he usually did.

Louvet carded a hand through his hair and decided not to pursue Dior. Let the brat throw a temper tantrum just because he was told not to do something. See if Louvet cared! He wasn’t paid nearly enough to be a babysitter to overgrown brats all day. Maybe he needed to have a word with Beaumont about how her younger brother was acting like a spoiled brat when she wasn’t around to correct his behavior?

“What was that about?” Faucher pondered quietly as he mixed a bit of honey into his chamomile and mint tea. He watched the honey dissolve into the tea with a slightly somber smile on his face. The taste and smell of mint and honey always reminded him of his older cousin.

Louvet huffed as he returned to the spot where he had laid out the sterilized tools, “Whatever it is, he needs to stop lashing out when people try to help him. We can’t afford to be at each other’s throats where we’re going.”

The blond squinted his eyes and tilted his head as he examined his handiwork more closely, an odd behavior of his that the younger chefs noticed that Louvet seemed to express whenever he was especially stressed. He’d nitpick his own work until he either worked out whatever was bothering him or Rousseaux would pull the blond away to keep him from spiraling further. That or it was his own poor attempt at keeping his temper in check. Louvet would often get snippy if he was interrupted by anyone other than Rousseaux when he was doing…well whatever the fuck he was doing. Neither Lavigne nor Faucher could really understand why Louvet did what he did sometimes.

Lavigne carried over the cup of lemon and cinnamon tea that she had prepared for Louvet and left it on the counter where she knew Louvet could reach it. Close enough to reach, but not close enough to make the blond annoyed. The last thing she wanted to do was push Louvet for the second time tonight. Especially after hearing him talk about the possibility of distractions being fatal where they were going…if they were going still that is. If their boss was truly as injured as Faucher and Louvet were acting then…well maybe they wouldn’t be going to Hell in the near future after all. Not without serious risk to Vincent’s already borderline poor health anyways.

“I’ll go and try talking to him,” Lavigne said as she picked up the cup of Earl Gray she had made for herself and the cup of white tea mixed with raspberry that she had made for Dior. “He might feel a little more comfortable talking if he has less of an audience.”

Louvet remained silent as he plucked up one of his previously sterilized tools to restart the process of sterilizing it. He didn’t hum or grunt to indicate that he had heard Lavigne’s words, so he must really be bothered by something. Whether that something had to do with Dior or not remained to be seen.

Faucher, on the other hand, nodded and replied in a voice that was much steadier than his shaking hands, “W-well if you need backup or he gets too aggressive with you, just give a shout. I can’t speak for Louvet, but I’ll come to your rescue if you need it…Not that I think you need it. You’ve more than proven yourself on the line in the few months you’ve been working here.”

Lavigne ducked her head slightly to hide her burning cheeks and a part of her idly wished she slept with her hair loose for once. Sure, Faucher often was very liberal with his praise and was especially kind towards her compared to her instructors in culinary school, but…Well it was still a little embarrassing for her to be complimented so sincerely by someone. Especially when that someone was a man. Sure, she knew that Faucher was both engaged to be wed and an older man but…well he was a little handsome. Not nearly as handsome as she found Louvet to be but…well either way she still needed to work on her taste in men. She really needed to find one that wasn’t already taken.
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Dior tilted the bucket into the sink, ignoring the dark color of the water swirling down the drain. The gurgle of the sludgy water glunking down the drain did little to settle the growing drumbeat of his pounding heart in his ears or the tension growing in his temples from his steadily climbing blood pressure.

‘Assholes. All of them. And who the fuck gave Louvet the right to boss everyone around like he owned the place anyways? Last I checked he was no better than the rest of us,’ Dior thought darkly as he swirled a bit of clean water from the tap around the bucket to clear away any bits of debris or gunk left behind by the soiled cleaning water.

The more rational part of Dior, which always sounded a bit like his older sister, reminded him, ‘Louvet is still the sous chef, remember? Meaning that he’s the boss whenever our actual boss can’t be around to do the job himself. So he does have a right to delegate tasks however he sees fit.’

Dior rolled his eyes as he rubbed his hand around the inside of the bucket to knock any stubborn bits of debris out. As much as he knew that was true, and that Louvet likely put in decades of hard work to get that title, it still was much harder to accept with defiance still making his blood run hot. The old man would have to retire soon enough anyways. Maybe the stress of this situation would finally make him crack and-

‘Knock it off Marcel,’ Dior shook his head as he paused in his vigorous scrubbing of the inside of the bucket. ‘You don’t need to rely on petty tricks or the downfall of others to get places in life. You’ll prove you’re worthy of far more than just assisting your sister in preparing meats and fish for the others to use.’

The door to the bathroom was pushed open as a voice called, “There you are! I brought you some tea!”

Dior whipped around, his pale face burning a bright red as he stammered, “L-Lavigne!? Wh-what are-Th-this is the men’s room! I-I could have-you could have-”

Lavigne snorted as she let the door close behind her, “Oh please Dior, we’re both adults here. You don’t have anything that I wouldn’t have seen before.”

A lie. A bold-faced one at that. Dior knew as well as Lavigne that she’s never slept with a man before, let alone seen one undressed. Er well-she’s definitely seen Manet, Vincent and Louvet in a partial state of undress earlier after slaying that beast but…Well the context was completely different and they all had some sort of underclothing on!

Dior rolled his eyes as Lavigne rested a tantalizing cup of tea on top of the sink. He grumbled as he returned his attention to the bucket in the sink, “What do you want anyways? Here to rub salt in my wounds?”

Lavigne felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle at the clipped tone in Dior’s voice but a sip of her Earl Gray forced the sharp words back down her throat. She wouldn’t be doing anyone any favors if she started arguing with Dior, especially after the trouble she caused with Louvet earlier.

“If you must know, I came to check on you,” Lavigne replied as she leaned against the wall next to the sink. Her hazel eyes were focused on the way Dior’s arm muscles twitched and how his silvery blue eyes flickered between an icy cold and a dangerous glint of gunmetal. “I didn’t think it’d be right to leave you alone when you’re upset-”

“Let me guess, Louvet and Faucher sent you because they both deemed the job of checking in on me beneath their stations,” Dior growled lowly as he scrutinized the bucket closely to make sure that every little speck had been wiped clean from it.

Lavigne took another sip of her tea before she replied, “Neither of them sent me in here. It was my idea and mine alone.”

Dior sighed and let his shoulders sag slightly, “Just…I don’t need someone checking in on me like I’m some child or something…Go tell Louvet and Faucher that I’m fine or whatever.”

Lavigne set her cup of tea down beside the one she had prepared for Dior and watched as he let the water from the tap, which had started to grow steamy by now, fill the bucket. His eyes kept flickering with some sort of emotion, possibly guilt or frustration still but…It was the hint of defeat that had dulled the edges of his eyes that worried Lavigne the most.

Dior could be fairly muted at times in terms of his emotions, which was a relief at times given how boisterous the rest of the kitchen staff could be (not including Rody who was his own boisterous mess pretty much all the time). But when he did emote…well more negative emotions weren’t what he showed. At least not to someone that wasn’t either Beaumont or Donadieu. So to see him lash out like this with little reason why? Well…call her a sap or a bleeding heart, but it wouldn’t sit right with Lavigne if she just left Dior alone when he was conflicted like this.

“Are you though?” Lavigne questioned as she reached out to rest a hand against Dior’s trembling arm. His skin felt cool against her warmer palm and a part of her shivered. Was he always this cold to the touch? Huh…Guess she never really noticed it before.

Dior let Lavigne’s question hang in the air unanswered as he silently watched the bucket fill more and more with the steamy water. It’d probably scald him if he stuck his hand in it now. Good. Pain always grounded him and allowed him to pay penance at the same time.

But before Dior could even stick his hand near the steaming tap, Lavigne reached out and shut it off. She didn’t say a single word to him but he could feel her hazel eyes still searching him for some sort of sign he had been listening to her. Or for some sort of crack in his defenses so she could break him apart for whatever sort of…well something she had in mind. He…Dior never quite understood other people the way his older sister did.

Lavigne whispered, “It’s okay to say if you’re not feeling fine, Dior. We…we’re all facing something on a scale we’ve never faced before and…Everyone’s worried. Even Donadieu, you saw how he practically clung to his Bible earlier. Why I think he’s probably read from Leviticus to Proverbs twice tonight! And Rousseaux and Louvet both keep looking like they’ve seen a ghost or something whenever someone brings up where we’re going! Even…even Chef’s worried and he never shows when he’s worried!”

Dior tightened his grip on the edge of the sink, allowing Lavigne’s words to swirl around in his skull for a moment or two. She had a point. She really did. Nobody…well maybe not nobody if Lavigne’s observations were correct…but nobody was feeling very confident about marching into the very bowels of Hell to demand that whatever nasty demon had kidnapped their waiter return him at once.

Even if their boss was going to be the one to do the demanding, the others knew they likely would have to either plead with him or defend him from whatever minions the demon kept lurking around its domain while Vincent did…well whatever it was he was planning to do. Based on what little Dior was able to see of Vincent’s notes from before, Vincent likely was going to use the threat of something the demon would find either painful or lethal to get what he wanted. It sure sounded like something he would do.

Still, what was simmering in the back of Dior’s mind was something that pre-dated this whole demon nonsense. A pain and frustration that’s been stewing for years and seasoned with every little slight or comment that he bit down the urge to react to in the moment. Every little thing that had been bottled away was instead added to a very full pot that was mere moments away from boiling over completely and making a mess everywhere.

Dior huffed back, “It…it’s not just the mission here. I…Shit Lavigne I’m sure you’ve noticed it too. How the others baby us because we’re the youngest in the kitchen.”

Lavigne furrowed her brows and tilted her head slightly as she watched Dior’s eyes flicker between frustration, defeat and was that…desperation in those eyes? She allowed his words to hang in the air for a moment as she wracked her brain for whatever sort of incidents Dior could be referring to.

“I mean Chef is young like us too and…well he certainly hasn’t been holding back when it comes to us if that’s what-”

“Urgh! Not-Chef doesn’t count in this!” Dior interrupted as he turned and grabbed onto Lavigne’s arms hard enough to make her squeak. He loosened his grip slightly before he continued ranting, “I’m talking about the others! Louvet! Rousseaux! Faucher! Arianne! E-everyone seems to think that just because we’re the youngest that we-that they can just order us around and-and do the shit they don’t want to do and-”

Dior stopped talking when he noticed the confused look on Lavigne’s face. His breath hitched as his eyes started to sting and he whispered softly, “Y-you think I’m crazy…”

Lavigne shook her head as her hands gently cupped Dior’s face. His tears spilled over her fingers as she gently reassured, “I think you’ve just been holding onto something for far too long. Talk to me, Dior. It can’t be comfortable holding onto whatever made you feel this way for…gosh how long have you felt this way?”

“I-I can’t even remember when I-” Dior’s voice gave out as Lavigne pulled him into a tight embrace. He pulled her close and bit his lower lip to try and muffle the sobs that were starting to claw their way up his throat. He trembled once more, this time he didn’t have overexerting himself as an excuse.

“Oh Dior, why didn’t you say something sooner?” Lavigne implored as she felt his tears start to patter against her sunflower pajama shirt. His grip on her tightened once more and Lavigne started to toy with the ends of his hair to try and calm him down enough to talk.

Dior muttered softly, “Wh-why? J-just so I could look like more of a freak in their eyes? Get treated like a thing of pity rather than one of their equals?”

Lavigne pulled back enough to meet Dior’s hesitant, tear-stained gaze. She moved her hand to cup his cheek and brushed her thumb underneath his eye, catching a few stray tears as she did so. She could feel a slight twitch of the muscles beneath Dior’s silvery eyes and it did little to quell the tide of worry building in her chest. Just what on Earth was Dior even talking about? Nobody…none of the other chefs ever gave her the impression that they thought that something was wrong with Dior or like he was somehow lesser than them.

“A freak? Dior, you aren’t a freak nor are you an object,” Lavigne tutted as she reached up to brush Dior’s hair from his face. “You’re a person just the same as the rest of us. You’re allowed to feel upset and vent those frustrations, just like anyone else on staff is. So please…talk to me, okay? I…I don’t like seeing you break yourself apart like this.”

Dior’s eyes widened briefly before he looked aside. He laughed a short, sarcastic laugh before he replied, “You wouldn’t think that if you knew what the others did. Don’t you ever wonder what my medication is for?”

Lavigne blinked. Medication? She…Dior took medication? Was that…was that what he had tucked into his bag when they got closer to the bistro earlier?

Dior continued his explanation in a bitter tone, “Unlike everyone else on staff, I need to take medicine to keep myself functioning. Kinda hard for me to be a decent chef if I’m busy having a seizure.”

“S-seizure? D-dior I-” Lavigne was cut off when Dior gave her a look. A hard look with some sort of ache and pain lingering around the edges of it. Like he was some sort of cornered animal trying to bite off the hand of someone trying to treat his injuries.

“Not like the kind you’re thinking of,” Dior interrupted as he continued to give Lavigne a hard look. “I get petit mal seizures and the medication helps keep them at bay.”

Lavigne tilted her head slightly. Petit mal seizures? What the fuck were those????

Dior could see the confusion on Lavigne’s face and he sighed softly, “Unlike the kind people normally think of, my seizures don’t cause me to drop to the ground or spasm uncontrollably. I just…Well I wind up staring into space for a little while and I can usually snap back to attention just fine. But…well sometimes they’re a little more difficult, especially if I have a cluster of them, and…Well I haven’t dropped anything per se but…I might have nicked my hands a few times when I get one in the middle of knife work.”

“Do you…have bad ones often?” Lavigne asked, wincing guiltily at the odd flicker she saw pass through Dior’s eyes.

“Not anymore anyways, the medicine helps with them but…Well when I first started working here the bad ones outweighed the less bad ones,” Dior replied carefully as he ran his thumb over a faint scar along the side of his left hand. “That was before I was switched over to my current medication.”

Lavigne had a million more questions come to mind. How long has he had these seizures? Does his sister know about them? Do the other chefs know? And what does he do at home? Is it really safe for him to be living alone when he could-

Dior could see the inquisitive look on Lavigne’s face and added, “I’ve had these types of seizures my whole life and…well the doctors have yet to find the root cause of them. I honestly should have outgrown them by now but…Well taking me off the medication only makes them worse so I’m likely on them for life.”

“But do-”

“Yeah, the others know. I’ve come to after some pretty rough ones to the sight of Louvet cleaning blood from my station and Donadieu and Rousseaux keeping me upright. Boucher or Faucher would usually take my slot but sometimes Manet would offer to take over if either of them were especially busy. Chef would usually have me sit in his office to make sure I was alright before I was cleared to head back to the line.”

Yeah. That sounded about right. Lavigne has seen how quickly the others have mobilized when someone gets hurt on the line or feels faint. She could even remember being carried to Vincent’s office to sit down for a moment when she got too overheated one shift after trying to hide her fever just so she could keep working. It felt like the lecture she got from Rousseaux about why proper rest when she was feeling ill would never end. She honestly hadn’t expected the usually placid red-head to sound so…stern.

“But having those seizures doesn’t make you a freak or anything,” Lavigne commented as she gently cupped Dior’s cheeks between her hands. She felt the skin on his cheeks warm as his gaze focused on her. “We all have our issues and stuff and…Well I certainly don’t think you’re any less of a chef or a person for having them.”

Dior whispered softly as he looked down, “That makes one of us then…”

Before Lavigne could reply to Dior, she heard a knock on the door before it was pushed open. The duo looked over to see Faucher standing in the doorway. The dark-haired chef covered his mouth and turned around with a reddened face.

“I-I uh…I’ll leave you two to it then!” Faucher sputtered before he rushed out of the bathroom.

Lavigne’s cheeks burned brightly as she quickly turned around to grab her tea. She rushed out of the bathroom after Faucher, shouting, “It’s not what you’re thinking! W-we weren’t even doing anything!”

Dior’s own face felt like it might combust as he watched Lavigne run out of the bathroom. He looked over at the tea she had previously prepared for him and the gears started turning in his head, ‘Wait she…she came in to check on me and brought me tea and…she got so embarrassed after Faucher walked in…Does she…no she couldn’t possibly…’

Dior grabbed the cup of tea and took a sip as the image of Lavigne looking up at him with a soft smile on her face as she held his face in her hands came to mind. He swallowed a little quicker than he should have as his face warmed up a little more. No…she couldn’t possibly…like him…Could she?
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
While Dior and Lavigne were talking in the men’s restroom, Faucher was watching Louvet diligently clean and sterilize the tools that would make up their makeshift surgical instruments. The dark-haired chef shuddered as he watched Louvet carefully sharpen and clean the paring knife once more. Faucher could remember watching Louvet clean and segment an entire basket of fresh blood oranges last summer and the younger chef shuddered. He hated to imagine what it would feel like to have that knife underneath his skin. If he hadn’t already felt terrible about Vincent being injured before, the sight of the knife in the blond’s hands would have really made Faucher worry.

“Do you really think all of these will be necessary?” Faucher asked before taking another sip of his tea. He watched Louvet set the paring knife down with a delicate, almost reverent hand.

Louvet didn’t turn around as he answered in a low voice, “We have no idea what Charbonneau’s injuries even are so I’d rather be over-prepared than under. I’d rather not risk him getting an infection or losing a limb before our mission.”

“Our mission? You really think that we’re still going?” Faucher’s voice came out sharper than he had intended and he knew he had touched a nerve from how quickly Louvet had turned on his heel to face him.

Louvet’s eyes were hard and cold, like two icy storms intent on freezing anything in their path solid. Faucher could practically see the hairs standing up on the back of Louvet’s neck and the bright flush burning on his cheeks. The timebomb clicked even closer to exploding than before.

Louvet snapped, “You don’t think we are? You’ve worked for Charbonneau for five years now and you think he’d let an injury stand in the way of what he wants? No. We’re still going as long as he has a breath in his body.”

Faucher held his hands up with a pleading look on his face as he replied, “Easy now! I-I didn’t mean to make it seem like you were being unreasonable or anything but-”

Louvet clicked his tongue in annoyance as he turned towards the back door. He left his now cold cup of tea untouched on the back workstation as he marched towards the back door.

“Wh-where are you-”

“Out. I need a smoke,” Louvet huffed before he slammed the backdoor shut behind him.

The slam of the cold metal door echoed through the nearly empty kitchen, cutting the lingering tension much easier than that paring knife had sliced through the blood oranges last summer. Faucher finished the last of his tea and set the empty cup into the sink.

‘You should have seen that coming,’ Faucher scolded himself as he continued to stare at the backdoor in the vain hope that Louvet would come back inside quickly or call for Faucher to join him outside.

It was no secret that Louvet had a temper on him, a temper that could and did often rival Vincent’s own temper. The amount of fights between the two of them over what in hindsight were nitpicky details or Vincent chafing underneath whatever kind of mother hen mood Louvet was in were both ample enough to prove that the blond wasn’t the most mellow member on staff. But…Louvet normally wasn’t this snippy with his fellow chefs. He might click his tongue in annoyance or mutter something passive-aggressive under his breath but…he normally refrained from being that overt with his temper when his co-workers were concerned.

His annoyance would be taken out on one of the trash cans outside or he would close doors louder than usual. On his really off days Louvet would either do all of the necessary chopping for every dish on the daily menu or he would stay in the walk-in to break down whatever meat they needed for the day. Boucher had fainted on more than one occasion after walking in on Louvet being covered in blood and sinew from whatever meat Louvet had been working with. Those days often saw Vincent and Louvet having another blow-up fight and ending in Vincent locking himself in his office for the rest of the day and Louvet itching to leave the bistro as soon as his cleaning duties were done for the day.

But…Louvet’s ire would often melt if he noticed one of the others watching him. Or if he caught a fearful flicker in their eyes. Like some sort of memory suddenly came to mind and all of the fire inside of him fizzled out. So to taste the bitterness and feel the cold sting of fear that often accompanied Louvet being in a foul mood without any sign of the blond lightening up? Yeah no. Something more serious was going on here and…Faucher knew that it’d be up to him to get to the bottom of it. It wouldn’t be fair of him to leave Louvet in a foul mood and ask one of the others to handle him when they finally arrived back at the bistro. Not when his gut was twinging and the tension in the air told him that when the others returned, tending to their boss’ wounds would require all hands on deck.
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Louvet ripped out his mostly empty packet of cigarettes from his pocket and popped one between his lips. He shoved the mangled pack back into his pocket before pulling out his lighter. He flicked it three times before finally getting a flame to ignite. It only took two puffs against the flame to finally get the hit of tobacco that Louvet was looking for.

The blond took a long, slow drag of his chosen poison as he rested his back against the cold brick wall behind him. He exhaled a long breath, watching the smoke curl and dissipate into the darkness around him. The alley felt far too still for Louvet’s liking but…he needed stillness and silence right now. He needed solitude to start quieting down the voice in the back of his head barking orders at him to go back inside and show Faucher who was really the boss around here. To show that despite being the shortest man in the kitchen that Louvet wouldn’t be pushed around. To show that he was no less of a man than Faucher no matter what his original body might have looked like.

Louvet took another drag of his cigarette as he heard the voice in his head whisper, ‘That’s why he’s questioning you, you know. He now knows what you really are. A freak of a woman masquerading as a man. That’s why he’s not taking you as seriously as before.’

“Shut up,” Louvet growled softly, feeling smoke billow out between each of his words. He felt a tremor go up his arm and clenched his fist to try and tamp it down.

‘Admit it Michelle, you knew this day was coming,’ another voice chimed in as Louvet took another drag of his cigarette. ‘You’ve always been so sloppy. So unlady-like. And yet nowhere near the man you claim to be.’

Louvet growled a little louder as the smoke grew thicker in his mouth, “I said shut up.”

Louvet took another long drag of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke even more quickly than before as his trembling hands started to grate on his already frayed nerves. Why was he even shaking in the first place? It wasn’t like he was the one who had gotten injured here.

‘No, but you have been injured by those things before,’ a quieter voice reminded Louvet as he took the last drag of his cigarette. His exhale curled up towards the night sky, mingling with the darkness once more. ‘You know exactly what those monsters are capable of.’

‘More importantly,’ the nasty voice returned as Louvet felt a tightness growing in his throat, ‘you’ve broken both of your promises. You broke your promise to Vincent to keep him safe from harm and you broke your promise to Lucien by not finding a way to vanquish those demons for good.’

Louvet grit his teeth as he wrapped one arm around his stomach and gripped onto his hair with his other hand. No. It-it was a lie! He has been looking! He’s been looking for years but nothing would-A-and could Lucien really blame him if Louvet was-That if he did defeat the two demons and slay them for good that their magic would also fade and…

‘So selfish,’ the nasty voice cooed as Louvet tightened his hold on himself to try and suppress the shaking in his hands and arms. ‘You’d rather continue to live a lie than avenge someone you claimed to love and care for? Imagine how your precious partner would feel if he knew that you valued your own appearance over getting justice for your so-called best friend.’

“I-I’m not selfish! I-I’m not!” Louvet whispered, allowing his burnt out cigarette to fall from his lips. His legs started to shake as his throat grew tighter and tighter. Air. He needed air. Wh-why couldn’t he get enough air?!

‘Selfish little whore!’

‘Nasty bitch!’

‘Deceptive little-’

Louvet let his legs give out underneath him as his chest started to heave. Where did all the air go in the alley!? W-was this-was he going to die out here?! Was this God’s punishment for him?! The fate he deserved after defying whatever God had initially planned for him.

Heneededairheneededairheneededairheneeded-

There was an odd noise to the right of him but everything sounded so…tinny. Like the noises around him were being muffled by metal or something. Even his own quick, shallow breaths sounded very…distant and metallic to him in an odd way. Yup. Louvet was definitely dying. There was no other explanation as to why everything was-

A warm body crouched close to him but Louvet couldn’t bring himself to look up from the patch of ground beneath him. What was the point? It…it wasn’t like there was anyone or anything that could ease this pain or-

“-vet? H-hey L-Ca-ear me?” A voice partially broke through the growing static in Louvet’s ears but…Why bother listening? Why help someone as selfish as him?

“-vet, wha-need?” The voice tried asking another question as Louvet noticed a hand resting near him on the ground. Louvet squinted his eyes. It didn’t seem that threatening but…still. He was very much dying and couldn’t breathe very well so everything would and could be a threat until-

‘Just keep that fucking mouth of yours shut,’ the nast voice purred as Louvet shivered and tightened his hold on himself once more. ‘All you do is destroy everything around you whenever you open that fat fucking mouth of yours. Being silent would be doing everyone a favor.’

Louvet whined a low, soft whine as he pressed his back against the brick wall and covered his head with both of his arms. A part of him wished that whomever or whatever was in front of him would just go away. Leave him here to just suffocate to death. It…it was what he deserved for being such a nasty fucker in the first place.

The warm presence moved and Louvet jumped at the feeling of a head suddenly resting against his shoulder. A soft murmur followed shortly after. Something that felt apologetic and sweet but…It didn’t make Louvet’s heart slow down or make the air any easier to breathe.

But…the warmth did feel good against the frigid night air around him. Maybe…it wouldn’t hurt for a moment or two to just…let the warmth seep into him. If he really was going to die out here, maybe it wouldn’t be so…scary if he was at least a little more comfortable.

“It’s-safe,” the voice reassured as Louvet felt a hand rest against his knee.

Louvet furrowed his brows and lowered his arms as he looked to the warmth beside him. A mess of wavy black hair against his shoulder had thrown Louvet through a bit of a loop. Who-

“F-faucher?” Louvet asked softly, his tongue feeling like lead in his mouth. His voice was breathy and the lack of air had caused spots to appear around his vision. Ugh. Great. Just great. Now he had an audience to his dying moments!

Faucher looked up through the tangle of hair resting over part of his face. A warm, sturdy green meeting a cold, confused blue. The younger chef spoke softly, “I found you out here and…Are you feeling okay?”

Louvet sighed softly and simply rested his head against Faucher’s. He closed his eyes and focused on the warmth radiating off of the younger chef. It wasn’t the overwhelming warmth that he was used to radiating off of Rousseaux but…it was still comforting nonetheless. It was something solid that he could feel and focus his attention on rather than the incessant voices in his head trying to pull him deeper and deeper down whatever rabbit hole he had fallen into.

“I get it,” Faucher hummed softly as he turned his hand over to offer Louvet his open hand. Louvet didn’t take Faucher up on the offer but…Faucher didn’t seem insulted by Louvet’s refusal. “We’re entering very rough territory with two of us going in injured. It’s enough to make anyone nervous or scared.”

Louvet loosened his hold on himself as the air got a little thicker. He could gulp it down much easier than before, so his breathing slowed from a near frantic pace to something more akin to a runner after running three marathons back to back. Quick but…not nearly as panicked as before.

“‘S not about that…Hell isn’t what I’m-what we all should be worried about,” Louvet choked out as he felt Faucher’s arm wrap around his shoulders. Louvet rested his hand against Faucher’s arm before he continued in a shaky voice, “It’s what resides in Hell that we should be worried about. I…They can do so much and…”

Louvet looked at his shaking hands and bit his lower lip as the nasty voice whispered once more, ‘Face it! You’re nothing more than a selfish coward who's so caught up in living a lie that you won’t even do the right thing if it means giving up on this charade!’

Faucher hummed softly, “You’re worried that their powers might do something to one of us, right?”

Louvet laughed a soft bitter laugh as he felt tears spring up for what felt like the millionth time that night, “Not just that. I…Fuck what if we defeat them and I…”

Faucher’s eyes widened. He hadn’t even considered Louvet’s own deal with whatever sort of demon they might encounter on the way down to rescue Rody. Would daring to defy another demon’s deal make Louvet’s own deal null and void? After the little tidbit Rousseaux had shared about Louvet’s mental state, Faucher couldn’t necessarily blame Louvet for being this worried about the fallout of their mission. Faucher would be horrified if he was in Louvet’s shoes right now.

“Well, you’d still be you, right?” Faucher reassured as he gave Louvet what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Even if the worst does come to pass, it’s your heart and that chip on your shoulder that makes you the grumpy ass old man we all know and love.”

Louvet punched Faucher’s shoulder as he huffed, “Gee, thanks. I’m barely into my forties and I’m already being seen as retirement home material!”

Faucher rubbed his arm but smiled back nonetheless. There was the Louvet he was familiar with. The stubborn blond who could dish out playful jabs as well as he could take them. Louvet’s breathing had finally settled into a much calmer pattern than before and the trembling in the blond’s limbs and hands had finally dissipated. Good, good. At least Louvet wasn’t at risk of knocking himself out because of a panic attack for the time being.

Faucher pulled himself off of the ground and held out a hand to Louvet. The blond looked up at him and gave him a slight smile before taking his hand and allowing the younger chef to help hoist him up from the ground. Louvet stumbled slightly, but righted himself before Faucher could reach out to help steady him.

Louvet shook his head and rasped out, “We should check in on Dior and Lavigne. I just hope they didn’t kill each other while we were out here.”

Faucher swallowed thickly before he waved a dismissive hand and laughed nervously, “I-I’m sure they couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble! Lavigne might be a little…temperamental at times but Dior is still a gentleman!”

Louvet snorted, “Would a gentleman get snippy after he’s offered a chance to not work himself to death?”

Faucher’s face paled as he quickly opened the backdoor and walked inside rather briskly. Louvet grabbed the backdoor before it could swing closed and sighed as he shook his head. Sometimes he regretted being the only one on staff with fully functioning brain cells.
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Back in the present, Louvet could make out the faint sound of Faucher muttering something in the dining room followed shortly by some sort of screechy reply from Lavigne. Louvet sighed as he rubbed his temples. He really didn’t need any more drama tonight. His head was really starting to pound after his little…incident in the alleyway.

Louvet was about to head out to the dining room to see what all the noise was about when he heard the door swing open. He looked up to see Dior standing in the doorway, holding his tea close to him with an odd look on his face.

Louvet blinked before he slowly approached the younger blond with a soft, “You alright there Dior? You aren’t looking too good.”

Dior shook his head and the odd look left his face, leaving behind a soft pink flush on his cheeks and had him averting his gaze. Louvet raised a brow as he kept looking Dior over for any sign of distress, ‘What happened with Lavigne to leave him like this?’

“L-Louvet you…you know about…romance and stuff, right?” Dior mumbled as he hesitantly met Louvet’s curious gaze.

Louvet continued to keep his brow raised as he shifted his weight to his other foot and replied in a sturdier voice, “About as much as a divorced man could know about romance. Why do you ask?”

Dior’s flush deepened as he took a quick gulp of his tea to try and calm his nerves. Louvet just kept on staring at the younger chef as the gears kept turning in his head. Again, what the fuck happened while Louvet was in the alley to leave Dior acting like this? The younger blond wasn’t this-

Louvet’s eyes widened slightly as he questioned in a quieter voice, “Did something happen between you and Lavigne while Faucher and I were outside?”

Dior groaned as he carded a hand through his hair, “Th-that’s the problem! I-I don’t know if something did happen or if I’m just overthinking it and…I-I wish Arianne was here. She-she’s a lot better at this whole people and emotions thing than me and-”

Louvet’s look softened. Ah. So that’s what it was. It was easy to forget that Dior was only a year older than Vincent himself was and…Well neither man had a ton of experience in the romance department. True, Beaumont often did know how to explain these sorts of feelings in a way her brother could understand but…Maybe he needed another man’s perspective this time.

Louvet gestured for Dior to approach and was relieved when the younger chef shuffled closer to him. Louvet waited until Dior was standing at the workstation next to Louvet before the older blond spoke, “Talk me through what had happened with Lavigne. Maybe the answer you’re looking for is there.”

Dior looked unsure but nodded as he continued to rub his thumb over part of the rim of his tea cup. Louvet either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Fidgeting like this wasn’t unusual when Dior was particularly worked up or unsure about something.

“W-well I was in the bathroom getting the bucket cleaned out and ready to-Shit I left the bucket in there and-” Dior was cut off when Louvet grabbed onto his arm to stop the younger blond from bolting out of the kitchen.

“It’s just a bucket. We can handle it later, okay?” Louvet rasped as he waited until Dior’s eyes were on him before letting go of Dior’s arm.

Dior nodded as he carded a hand through his hair once more, “Right, right. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Louvet reassured as he watched Dior settle back into his previous stance. “I can forget things when my mind is preoccupied as well. It’s normal.”

Dior nodded and sucked in a deep breath. In and out. He was fine. He was safe. He knew Louvet wasn’t going to judge him for having feelings and not knowing what to make of those feelings. Louvet was one of his safe people for a reason.

“W-well back in the bathroom while I was cleaning out the bucket and getting it filled with water, Lavigne came in to check on me and she-she brought me tea,” Dior resumed his explanation as his gaze fell onto the mostly empty tea cup in his hands.

Louvet let Dior’s words roll around in his head for a moment while the younger blond collected his thoughts. So far it didn’t seem like anything suspect had happened or anything too out of the ordinary. Lavigne was certainly trying her best to be a comforting figure for the rest of the team, especially after her messy breakup with that asshole Jean-Luc. Maybe she was just looking for a different kind of love to repair her broken heart?

Dior continued after a moment passed and Louvet hadn’t said a word in response to his previous statement, “I um…I might have gotten a little…upset and she-she was really nice about it.”

Louvet hummed softly as he tilted his head slightly, “Upset?”

Dior rubbed the back of his neck, “I um…Well maybe upset wasn’t the right word here. I-I just felt so…it was like a pot had boiled over inside of my head and I-I couldn’t get the tears to stop and…Like I said, Lavigne was really nice and she-she just gave me a hug and told me everything would be alright and…”

Louvet clarified after another moment of thought, “You were definitely feeling upset and likely frustrated as well. I-I sometimes get that way myself when I leave things on the backburner for too long.”

“Right but um…do you…Would her being nice like that mean she-that I um…” Dior’s face flushed as he buried a hand in his hair and finished his thought with a soft mumble, “Do you think that means she might…like me?”

Louvet thought his heart might actually have cracked with such a simple little question. Dior wasn’t the most openly vulnerable person on staff and yet…the fact that he trusted Louvet enough to bare his heart open like this and ask something so…genuinely and with such a hesitancy in his voice. The almost fearful flicker in his eyes that he could be interpreting the entire thing wrong and be opening himself up for ridicule from those around him…Louvet was many things but a heartless bastard wasn’t one of them.

Louvet rested his hand over Dior’s still fidgeting hands, waiting for the younger blond to look up and meet his steady gaze before Louvet responded in a soft tone, “I can’t say for certain that she likes you the way she might a romantic partner, but…I can say that she likes you as a friend. How could she not? You’re a good man Dior, never let anyone try and tell you otherwise.”

Dior smiled a grateful smile as he spoke, “Th-thanks and um…I-I’m sorry for being a dick earlier. I-I know I was frustrated and all but that’s still no excuse for being rude to you.”

Louvet patted Dior’s back as he added, “I owe ya an apology too. I was trying to keep you from overworking yourself but I definitely could have approached it better. So let’s just call it even, okay?”

Dior nodded with a soft smile, “Y-yeah, sounds good to me. We're still...ya know...good?”

Louvet gave him another pat on the back as he reassured, “Yeah. We’re still good.”
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The trip back to the bistro felt like it was taking an eternity, at least to Vincent’s poor blood deficient mind. His entire body felt like it was slowly being encased in ice and his vision was mostly swallowed up by the encroaching darkness. He tried his best to focus on his surroundings and the warm feeling of the hands holding him upright but…He was getting tired. Tired of being carried. Tired of feeling cold. And most importantly, tired of being separated from the breath of fresh air that had entered his life all those months ago.

A gentle voice whispered to him, “We’re almost at the bistro Chef. Just hang on a little longer. We’re going to fix your shoulder and get something warm in you, okay?”

Vincent nodded a slow, sluggish nod as he felt his eyes flutter shut. Just five minutes. He’d be okay if he just rested his eyes for…five…minutes…
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When Vincent opened his eyes, he found himself lying on a very plush couch in front of a crackling fireplace. He groaned as he pushed himself up from the very comfortable pillow he had been laying on and rubbed at his eyes. He still felt cold despite the fireplace and the soft blanket that had been strewn over him.