Chapter Text
~•❦•~
Vincent’s steady hands scoop a spoonful of butter and plop it into a small circular pan.
He lets his mind drift, looking around before his eyes settle on a certain man doing the same task as him and every other chef in the room.
Clearly his hand-eye coordination is a bit off because he spills some at the edge of the rim before he can realize it.
Vincent eyes him, a little condescending, even though he knows Rody’ll land on his feet. As annoying as that fact is.
He’s only been in this culinary class for two days but the one-and-only Rody Lamoree has already made quite the impression on him.
The first day, his work station was an absolute pigsty and his technique might as well have been nonexistent.
But somehow, somehow he actually managed to not only not set the building on fire but also create a tremendous dish.
Vincent was baffled.
“It’s like I told you,” Rody said, beaming at the instructor. “Sometimes spontaneity is the most important ingredient!”
He laughed, carefree and successful.
A bumbling idiot who’s successful—something Vincent could have told you with absolute certainty wasn’t real two days ago.
But there he was, the myth himself, standing right in front of him.
It felt overwhelmingly like a punch in the face to practically everything Vincent’s worked towards.
He’d been told his whole life that natural-born talent is a lie.
That the only way he’d ever succeed was by grueling, back-breaking work.
Discipline.
But clearly this one man has forced him to rethink everything he’s ever believed.
Because Rody makes everything look effortless— makes winning look effortless, like it’s not something Vincent has torn his life and self in half for to even have the chance of achieving.
He rips his eyes away from him to continue whatever assignment he’s supposed to be doing and sighs.
He turns the stove on; one of its higher settings.
As the butter foams, he pours a bowl of whipped eggs into the bubbling puddle.
While shaking the pan, he scrambles the eggs with the back of a fork.
He folds it in on itself, then pushes it to the edge of the pan.
He plates the omelette, his movements rehearsed. He saves space at the corner of the dish for a scrap of cilantro.
He grips his apron to wipe sweat from his face.
Despite himself, he glances over at the auburn-haired bimbo beside him.
His sweaty palms nearly drop the plate of food entirely but somehow he manages to make it over to the counter in one piece.
Vincent eyes the end result.
He is met with a pristine, delicately folded omelette topped with tomato.
‘Tomato?’ Vincent thinks. ‘We weren’t told to put tomato. He really puts the “moron” in “oxymoron”, doesn’t he?’
Before he can further insult him in his head, he sees the instructor walking toward his station.
Vincent straightens up and awaits his grade.
Every breath the instructor takes feels amplified and judgmental.
It makes him feel like a tiny mouse standing before an exterminator.
She stabs her fork into the piece she sawed off of the omelette with her knife.
She scrutinizes every detail down to the tiniest grain of salt until finally…
She places the egg into her mouth.
She chews.
She swallows.
So does Vincent.
Nothing but excruciating silence and his own heartbeat fills his ears for a long while.
“Perfect,” she finally says slowly.
Vincent opens his eyes, as if anticipating a bomb to go off only for it to be a hoax.
She nods, pride brewing in her expression, before walking over to the station next to him.
His shoulders ease before he looks over at Rody.
The man is drenched in sweat and is one step away from visibly shaking like a nervous mutt.
Vincent stifles a laugh.
He watches the instructor’s eyes land on the bright red tomato atop the omelette.
They rise right back up to meet Rody’s scornfully, as if to say ‘seriously?’.
Vincent sees him start to sweat even more, a feat he didn’t know was possible.
“This stunt of yours better work, Lamoree,” she hisses before lifting her fork and tasting.
Another round of terrifying, thoughtful silence passes.
She hums, quiet.
‘Here it comes,’ Vincent practically sings in his head. ‘The inevitable downfall of the Great Prodigy Lamoree.’
“This is… incredible.” Her conviction carries throughout the room.
Vincent freezes at his station.
Rody’s relieved smile turning into an enormous, confident grin—a horrible scene unfolding that Vincent just can’t look away from.
He’d been idyllic, naive, plain stupid to believe Rody Lamoree would go down that easy.
~•❦•~
After class, Vincent lags behind till everyone has gone but him.
He walks tentatively until he stops at Rody’s station.
His expression falls.
Embarrassment drips down into his stomach. ‘How can someone so careless be just as good as I am?’
He takes a deep breath before tightening his grip on the strap of his bag.
He better catch the train soon if he wants to make it home on time.