Chapter Text
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“Hello Rody–er…why did you feel the need to bring all of your luggage into the restaurant?”
“It’s just a backpack!”
“Fascinating. Why is it in my restaurant?”
“Welll, see the thing is–I um….”
“Why are you talking instead of getting it out of here~?”
“...I got kicked out of my apartment.”
“You what?”
“Yeah! Uh, I couldn’t pay rent, so they evicted me, but that’s ok!”
“Well. You still can’t bring your ugly backpack in here–”
“Hey, it’s not ugly!”
“--It’ll scare off customers.”
“But I don’t have a car to put it in? I can set it in one of the cabinets or the bathroom or something if you'd–”
“My apartment’s upstairs. I’ll bring it up there.”
“Oh uh, okay, thank you!”
“Mmm. Where do you plan on going after this shift, by the way?”
“Uh, I don’t know. I’m pretty strong, and I never get sick, so I’ll be fineee on the streets for a little whi–”
“You can stay with me.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can stay with me, in my apartment, if you want.”
“--?”
“I’ll expect you to clean though. And cater all my guests.”
“I um…sure. I’ll stay with you! Thanks, boss!”
“I’m serious about you cleaning.”
"Haha! I know..."
—
This is the worst idea I’ve ever had in my life. Why did I say yes to this?
Rody looks up at Vincent, tugging at his uniform tie as the two walk up the restaurant stairs.
But the other man’s face is blank, like always. Even when he'd held that poor chef's face over the fire, his eyes had stayed blank. It's so creepy.
Vincent unlocks the red door, and opens it up for both of them to walk inside.
And, it’s still the ugliest place Rody has ever seen, just like it had been when Vincent had called him for the “party”.
He still has to stifle a cough at the mixed smell of a dozen different candles going at once just like he had to before as well.
Ugh…this isn’t right, Rody should be in his own apartment, with Manon.
“Alright, Rody. You sleep on the couch.” Vincent speaks in the same soft, emotionless voice he always has.
“The uh, the couch?” Rody asks, a bit surprised. He’d kind of assumed Vincent wouldn’t let him on his furniture.
Vincent shoots him an absolutely venomous look as he locks the apartment door, then he lets out a low laugh.
“Did you want to sleep on my bed or something?”
“No! Noooooo! I love the couch!” Rody plops down on the soft couch just to exasperate the point, feeling very sick at even the idea. He grabs his backpack from the glass coffee table where Vince had put it, and puts it on his lap.
“This is the best couch ever!” He continues, not really paying attention to what he’s saying. He so badly wishes he was anywhere else.
“I mean, it’s one of the only things in here that isn’t ugly!”
“Excuse me?”
Vincent leans one hand against the green chair--that's also hideous--his eyes narrowed.
“You’re also one of the things in here that isn’t ugly!” He says encouragingly, which makes Vincent roll his eyes.
That’s probably not the best sign ever, but it’s ok!
“I-ugh, you’re not exactly in the position to complain here, Rody. Since I’m the only one who actually has an apartment.”
Rody opens his mouth.
And closes it.
And opens it again.
Then closes it.
He does not have a comeback to that, so he just grimaces while Vincent walks smoothly past him, his bare feet making soft tapping sounds against the hard-wood floor.
Maybe the streets wouldn’t have been so bad....
Rody waits until he can’t hear anymore footsteps, or muttering from Vince, before he finally lets out a small sigh of relief.
Great.
This is such a great situation to be in.
He rests his head in his hands, running his fingers through his own, red hair.
Now he’s living in the same building as Vincent, his boss, who had held a chef’s face in front of the oven’s fire in the heat of a tantrum.
This is going to be fun!
It's his own damn fault too.
Maybe if he had just tried harder with Manon, if he’d picked a different restaurant, everything would be fine right now.
Or had he said something wrong?
Maybe he shouldn’t have taken her out to an expensive restaurant after-all.
Maybe he should’ve just taken a break, but he didn’t want to lose her.
He still doesn’t…
“Rody.”
“Holy shi-!”
Rody presses himself back against the couch, looking into Vincents face, which is suddenly only mere inches away from him.
“Where’ve you been?” He squeaks out awkwardly, trying to pretend he'd never been scared.
“I was changing clothes. Do you think I wear my uniform all the time?” Vincent stands up straight, his hands clasped behind his back.
He’s currently wearing a pair of black pajamas.
That reminds Rody--shit had he packed his night clothes?
“Anyway, I’m going to make dinner.”
Andddd Vince is close again, one of his pale, cold hands, on Rody’s shoulders.
“Oh um, that’s great!” He feels a drop of sweat drip down his brow, because Vince is so close, and he could hurt him in any way he wanted and–
“You are going to eat every bit of it. You got that?”
“I–of course! I um, love your cooking!”
Vincent gives an actual genuine smile, then backs away. Hopefully for good, this time.
“What do you want to eat, by the way?”
“Oh, I don’t mind anything! Maybe we can go get some fast food--"
“Actually, I’ll pick what we eat. You clearly have less taste than me."
And with that Vince is gone, again. Rody can hear the faint flicker of the stove turning on, as he fully lays down on the couch, his backpack resting on his stomach.
He’s not exactly looking forward to Vince’s meal. A good burger from Wimpy’s sounds way better than anything the professional chef can make.
But hey, maybe he can give some tips or something!
—-
Shrimp Scampi is what Vince decided on, a meal that Rody, to be honest, has never had in his entire life.
Well, it looks fine, if arrogant.
Exactly what he expects out of Vince, pretty much.
Speaking of Vincent, the man is sitting on the green chair, in the corner of the room, drinking a smoothie that can’t be good considering the grimace on his lips.
Rody looks back down at his food, and takes a small bite. It’s warm, and definitely not bad, if a little bland. Not that he could make it any better.
“Do you like it?”
When Rody looks up, he sees that Vincent has his eyes absolutely locked on him. He gulps, tapping his foot against the wood floor.
“Yeah, but it still has a bit of, I don’t know–”
Vincent's expression becomes infinitely more intense, his eyes widening, and Rody quickly trails off.
I'm in the danger zone here.
He chokes down another big bite with a smile.
“--Amazingness to it.”
I am so smooth.
Vincent doesn’t respond.
“So uh, what are you drinking?”
He takes another sip from his clear glass. It really doesn’t look appetizing. The light brown substance is thick with many, many chunks in it, almost like vomit.
Vince gestures at Rody’s plate absently, like that’s an answer.
“That doesn’t help.”
Vince sighs, then downs the rest of the gross liquid.
“It’s Shrimp Scampi. Blended up.”
Rody almost spits out his food.
“It’s what? I mean, I know you didn’t have the best taste but—”
“I have no taste, Rody. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Uh…yeah, right.”
Vincent had been serious about that? He really couldn’t taste?
“But why not eat solid food? Since you’re a chef and all, isn’t it kind of a waste to just…never eat?”
“Because everything is always the same to me. It always makes me sick. It’s always disgusting.”
Vince’s dark eyes run up and down Rody’s body, in a way that makes his heart beat faster and faster and faster.
“It’s a little bit better to drink a smoothie than to have to deal with the texture. But it’s still awful.”
Vincent’s face grows almost hungry.
Shit, shit, shit, this is not a good topic. He's gotta stop this before it gets worse.
“I–that makes sense, che–, uh, Vince, uh, Vincent.” Rody looks back down at his food, and continues eating it, despite not having an appetite.
He wonders what it’s like, not being able to taste.
What even happens to make you not be able to taste of all things?
Thank god it’s not Rody dealing with that.
He stares out the expensive window, into the night sky, for the next several, dead silent minutes.
H e c a n s t i l l f e e l e y e s o n h i m .
Rody hears Vincent get up with a small creak from his chair, but he doesn’t particularly care enough to look.
The man’s probably just going to bed. (Thankfully)
“Hi, Rody.” Vincent says, suddenly in front of him, his tone filled with much more affection than Rody had ever heard from him before.
"Hi, Vince!"
His cold hands are on Rody's chin, gently, gently tilting his face up to meet his dark eyes.
"Uh, what're you doi--"
And before Rody can say or do anything about it, he feels Vincent’s tongue run across his cheek.
Holy fuck.
The wet, rough sensation glides over his face, sending a shiver down his whole body, and for a few seconds, everything seems frozen.
His whole body stays completely still and tense, as he stares into Vincent's eyes.
Then the moment is broken by the sound of wine glasses shattering as Rody shoves Vincent off him, into the coffee table.
Rody gets up so fast, he doesn't even realize he's done it.
“What the–I, what-what just happened, did you just--?!”
“Hm. That was disappointing.” Vincent says, throwing Rody a handkerchief.
Rody wipes the saliva off his face as fast as he can, still trying to just process.
“What do you mean?!”
“I’d just hoped that maybe I’d be able to–never mind.” Vincent rubs his eyes, looking at the wall, way too calm.
Is this just an average night for him?!
I’m going to bed. Good night Rody.”
Vince is going to leave?!
“You can’t just–!”
“Good night Rody.”
And Vincent is gone, leaving Rody to just, stand there, panting.
What did I just get myself into?