Chapter Text
Fire.
That was all Rody could see or feel or taste. The putrid flames licked at his eyesight, devouring the bistro in front of him in hungry, shameless blades of amber. He could still taste the disgust, the fear, poignant on his tongue as his eyes grow hazy with an emotion he could not yet describe.
Grief, maybe? Or was it sorrow? Perhaps it was just a moment of weakness, born from loss. Whatever the case, the redhead held his weapon, a broken wine bottle, bloody with his boss’s blood. The cold glass was enough to ground the trembling man, the sensation a stark contrast to the scalding heat as pillars of what Vincent worked so hard on folded in on themselves in a cacophony of crashes and shattering window panes.
Rody glanced with bleary eyes what was left of his workplace before he dragged his feet against grey tarmac back to his shabby apartment. With his heart in his throat and sheer, unbridled horror gripping his chest in a vice-like grip, he realized the gravity of what he had done. He had killed a man. With his own hands. Rody’s sluggish steps grow in tempo as he slaps his feet onto the ground, one after the other, in a desperate type of hurry that grew with each patter of his shoe, dropping that damned blood-stained half bottle of wine along the way.
He had fled.