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The persistent cough rattling Vince’s chest was the first sign. He’d ignored it, of course, blaming it on the pack-a-day habit he'd cultivated to mask the emptiness where a sense of taste should be. The aches that followed were equally dismissible; he always ached, it was nothing new, he likely just exerted himself more than usual
But then came the nose.
It started as a tickle, an irritating prickle that demanded attention. He’d swiped at it with the back of his hand, a quick, unconscious gesture, and gone back to berating the fishmonger over the phone for daring to deliver monkfish that looked like it had been dredged from the Seine.
Then it ran. And ran. And ran.
One empty tissue box turned to two, and then the trashcan in Vince’s office was needing to be emptied despite the fact that he had taken out the trash the day prior.
He was currently hunched over his desk, attempting to figure out temporary kitchen replacements. Three members of his staff had called out sick, complaining of simple ailments such as chills and aches. It was irritating to say the least. Such maladies shouldn’t be that important as to deplete his staff and negatively affect his life’s work.
Vince took a drag of his cigarette, before proceeding to cough roughly. He huffed, snubbing out the butt with an unneeded aggression. That had been happening all week; each time he would take a cigar, he would proceed to hack like a man dislodging a lung.
“Faulty pack,” He mumbled to himself, tossing the rest into the overflowing trash can. “I’ll have to buy a new one.”
“Goooood morning, Vincent!”
Vince let out a quiet groan, massaging his throbbing temples. He was starting to get a headache.
“I see you decided to be on time today?” He grumbled, looking up to glare at Rody.
The waiter gave an awkward smile, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Hey, I’m not always late. I was on time for a week straight!”
“Before proceeding to be an hour tardy,” Vince snapped back.
“Okay, okay, jeez..” Rody mumbled, a look of mild hurt flashing in his eyes. “Someone’s cranky.”
“I’m not cranky.” Vince growled, fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette.
He pulled one out with shakes fingers, sniffling as he reached for his lighter. “Don’t you have a job to do?”
“Well, no one’s really here yet, since we don’t open for like thirty minutes... so unless you have something for me to do?”
Vince paused, raising an eyebrow and glancing up at the redhead, “You’re asking for something to do?”\
“Well, yeah! I mean if I’m here I might as well be helpful.”
“Umm,” Vince sniffled thickly, before continuing. “I suppose you could empty out the trash, and then wipe down tables. And if you finish that the room could use some dusting.”
“Sure!” Rody chipped, shooting up from where he had been leaning against the doorframe. “I’ll get right to it!”
Vince watched him with quiet interest. He had never had a staff member so eager to help out, especially when it was outside of their job requirements. Come to think of it, none of his staff were like Rody. As much as he hated to acknowledge it, he had definitely taken a liking to Rody. He was strangely nice, and it felt good to have him around. Vince’s eyes followed him as he bent over to wipe the tables, his eyes slowly moving down his back and-
“He-sntchh!” Vince’s head snapped down as he stifled roughly into sleeve, before his breath hitched again, setting off another round. “H-hestchh! Hishitchhh! hHHe…”
His eyelids fluttered for a moment before he finally let loose one last sneeze, “HeshhHIEWw!”
Well, crap. HIs stifling hadn’t quite worked on the last one. Vince felt his face start to flush with embarassment, Internally hoping that Rody hadn’t heard him.
“You feeling okay?” Rody asked, poking his head in. “Those were pretty loud. I mean, Jaqueline was sneezing like that right before she left early-“
“Perfectly fine,” Vince quickly interjected, using a bit more force than was probably necessary. “Clearly you just didn’t do a well enough job of dusting.”
Rody looked unconvinced, giving him a look before going back to wiping down tables.
“You’re lucky that I’ve got the best immune system ever, Vince. I haven’t gotten sick in years, so at least I won’t get your germs,” He called over his shoulder.
“I’m not sick!” Vince argued, voice cracking.
“Ugh, I need a drink..” The chef mumbled, grabbing a wine glass from the dish cart.
His hands shook as he poured the wine, a few drops spilling onto the countertop. Vince didn’t clean it though; after all, he had staff for that.
The next hour or so of instructing the kitchen passed in a haze for Vincent. They had only been open for around two hours, but he was feeling exhausted, the sort of exhaustion that usually came from long shifts with difficult patrons. The heat of the kitchen felt stifling, and he found himself wiping sweat from his forehead. The evening felt much longer than it should have. Service was at a typical pace, not overwhelming by any standards. The kitchen, which was severely understaffed due to so many ill cooks, wasn’t particularly struggling. Even Rody was having an easy time with customers.
So Vince was unsure as to why he felt so horrible.
His head was throbbing like the time he had drank over a bottle of wine, despite the fact that he had barely touched the glass he poured at the start of the evening. Maybe it had something to do with the thick congestion that had settled in his sinuses, the runny nose becoming more like a suffocating wall.
“Vince, I have a customer with a question on the main!” Rody called.
“Hmm?” Vince blinked sluggishly, coming back to reality.
He stood from the stool he had been supervising from, attempting to ignore the urge to sit right back down.
“-ince? Vince, are you okay?”
“P-pardon, what was th-the question?” Vince forced out, flashing what he hoped was a reassuring look as he clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.
“The main, is there nuts in it?”
“N-no, no nuts.”
“Okay,” Rody moved to back up, but turned once more to face Vince. “You’re looking kinda pale, maybe you should take a break, Vince.”
Vince opened his mouth to respond harshly with some speech on how he was perfectly fine, but paused. Maybe a short break in his quiet, dark office would be a nice relief from his headache.
“Just… just get back to work, Rody.”
Vincent watched as Rody turned away, carrying a plate off to some table of gossiping woman. Vince turned, needing to grip the counter for a moment as the room spun, before somewhat stumbling into his office. He closed the door behind him, sitting heavily into the chair in behind his desk. The ringing in his ears stopped, being replaced with the strangely muted sounds of the kitchen outside.
“Merde..” He mumbled, resting his head in his hands.
Everything felt sore, and Vince felt as if he was being weighed down by exhaustion. The office felt too cold and too hot at the same time, and all he really wanted to do was crawl into bed and suffer.
‘Maybe a short nap wouldn’t hurt,’ he thought to himself, beginning to slouch in the chair as he pillowed his head in his arms.
Just a few minutes, then he would get up…
+++++++
When Vince stirred, he found that he was lying down. The room was dark, and the room he was in was definitely not his office. He attempted to push himself up, rubbing his head with a quiet groan.
“What?” He slurred to himself, looking around.
He was… in his room; somehow. He didn’t remember closing up, or even leaving the restaurant.Vince blinked slowly, trying to piece together how he'd ended up in his own bed, fully clothed, blanket pulled haphazardly over him. His head throbbed, though slightly less than the night before, and his throat felt like sandpaper.
He sat up too fast and immediately regretted it, dizziness washing over him like a tide. From the corner of his room came a rustle.
“Whoa, easy there, Vince.”
Vince flinched. His eyes landed on Rody, sitting cross-legged in the old armchair by the window, a half-finished crossword puzzle in his lap and a steaming mug in hand.
“You—what are you doing here?” Vince rasped, immediately followed by a fit of coughing that left him hunched over, wheezing.
Rody got up quickly, setting the mug down on the nightstand. “Relax, I’m not robbing the place. You passed out in your office. I tried waking you, but you were out cold, and honestly? Burning up. I figured hospital or home, and... well, this was closer.”
“You carried me here?” Vince asked, incredulous.
Rody shrugged, like it was nothing. “You’re lighter than you look. Or maybe I’m stronger than I look.” He gave a small grin, then hesitated. “You scared the hell outta me, y’know.”
Vince leaned back against the headboard, taking slow breaths. “Did I—Did I lock up? The restaurant—”
“All handled,” Rody interrupted. “I closed up. Got everyone out, cleaned the kitchen, even wiped down the stoves.”
Vince blinked at him, feeling a bit too fuzzy to come up with words.
He groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Ugh, and why are you still here?”
“Someone had to make sure you didn’t choke on your own tongue in your sleep.”
Vince snorted, then regretted it immediately when the motion triggered another round of sneezing. “hh’TSCHhhuh! Heh’KTTschhh!... Snf snff..guh…”
“Bless you. Again.”
There was silence for a moment. Vince felt himself go still, the lingering embarrassment from the night before softening under the weight of something else—something warmer, quieter.
“...Thank you,” he mumbled, voice no louder than the clink of dishes.
Rody looked at him, surprised, but didn’t tease. Instead, he just nodded and picked up the mug. “Tea. With honey. I know it’s not your thing, but it’ll help. I tried to put a bunch of lemon juice in so that you can maybe feel something when drinking it..”
Vince felt a warmth creeping up to his face that had nothing to do with the fever. He accepted the mug with trembling fingers. “Still not sick,” he muttered, though his voice barely rose above a whisper.
“Sure,” Rody said, sitting back down and smirking into his crossword. “And I’m the Queen of France.”
Vince took a small sip of the tea and let his eyes drift shut again. He was still miserable—sweaty, sore, and likely feverish—but in this quiet moment, he felt strangely... okay. He slowly sipped from the warm mug, before emptying the cup.
“Here, let me get that,” Rody reached for the mug, his fingers brushing against Vince’s.
Vince looked at Rody, really looked at him—the soft concern in his eyes, the warm light behind him, the absurd care in the way the blanket had been tucked around Vince’s shoulders.
“…Thank you,” Vince murmured, a rare sincerity threading through the rasp of his voice.
Rody shrugged, but there was a flush creeping up his neck. “Don’t mention it.”
After a while, Vince felt his eyelids start to droop. He exhaled shakily, yawning slightly as he sunk further into the pillows.
“Get some rest. I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”
Vince responded with a quiet hum, relaxing into the bed. The last thing he remembered before drifting back to sleep was the faint scent of Rody’s cologne, his favorite smell.