Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

  "Is it real. . ?"
 
  "Is it worth it?"

 
  "Am i worth it. . ?"

  "I need to eat.."

  Grab The Knife

 
Vincent wasn't known for his emotions—not by anyone who had ever met him. He was a cold, stoic cook who was harsh to everyone he encountered, and that was how he preferred it. Fear was his greatest tool; respect was his rule. Anyone who didn’t respect him faced his wrath. Patrons found him fitting, customers deemed him crazy, and fellow cooks labeled him sadistic. Was he all of those things? Was he more? Who knows! He would never tell, and no soul would live long enough to find out either. Parents? He wouldn’t tell. Friends? He didn’t have any. Lovers?
.
.
.
"I need a new waiter..." the raven-haired man spoke calmly, his slim yet athletic figure flexing under his clothes as he flung open the office door. The kitchen fell silent as the staff braced themselves for his criticism. Vincent's cold glare filled the room as he paced the aisles, scrutinizing the dishes and preparation areas before moving on. He nodded at a cook and then exited through the back door to smoke. The cooks finished cleaning up their areas and then headed home. Vincent locked up the bistro and slowly made his way up the stairs to his apartment.

Once he opened the door, he stepped inside, slid off his shoes, and locked the door behind him. In his cold, dark, and organized living room, he let out an agitated sigh as he walked to his room.

The exhausted man sat at his desk, poring over resumes and applications. After finding no suitable candidates, he lay on his bed, his black undershirt clinging to his pale body as he stared up at the ceiling. He glanced over to the empty right side of his bed with an upset groan, then flung an arm over his eyes, slumped on his back. It was true that he wasn’t fond of human interactions; emotions were not his friends, nor was love. He had never felt a connection to a woman, only to a man. For a brief moment, his face softened before hardening again as he shut his eyes tightly, as if his life depended on it.

Homosexuality wasn’t widely accepted in France at that time, but Vincent didn’t care what others thought of him. His bistro, however, depended on him presenting a more acceptable front.

Vincent’s idea of love was unhealthy; he didn’t understand the purpose of blind love or of doing foolish things that could sabotage oneself for someone they spent time with. To him, a lover was someone he owned—a trophy he could entertain with affection and false love. Sure, he might enjoy being around them, but he would never love someone the way a normal person would. Besides, how could anyone love him in a way that was so guarded? Considering the things he had done, it was almost humorous to think that it was possible.

Despite the improbability of it all, someone still occupied his thoughts—a person he secretly hoped might love him, even though he wouldn’t love them back. Having that person love him and offer their safety was what he wanted, what he needed, what he craved. But it was hopeless; he knew it would never happen. That opportunity had already slipped through his fingers. It had been one chance he had during his later years in college. He could have had that person; they could have remained friends if he hadn’t overstepped. Vincent had thought, had hoped, that maybe this man was the answer to his loveless life, the solution to his troubled mind. But alas, one can only dream.

Vincent sighed and relaxed in his bed.

One can only dream.

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry, Rody,"

"No.."

"I have to go."

"DONT LEAVE ME PLEASE!"

"Goodbye"

Rody was the polar opposite of Vincent. While both were interested in food and had their share of intelligence, Rody was a natural prodigy in high school. Confident in his abilities, he had brushed aside the support courses offered in college, convinced he could breeze through without them. But college had other plans; it hit him like a freight train, leaving him drowning in debt and battling daily panic attacks. Through it all, his girlfriend remained his support—the light in his life, the sunshine at the end of the tunnel. He felt as though his entire existence was in her hands, and he didn’t mind; it was hers.

Her...

“Hey, Rody, have you heard about that strange guy on campus?” one of his friends whispered during a lecture.

“Which guy?” Rody asked, curious.

“The one with the long black hair. Just stay clear of him, okay?”

Rody shrugged, intrigued yet unbothered.

Him...

---

“Whoa, hey! Don’t close yet!” Rody shouted as he jumped off his bike and sprinted toward the restaurant door, where Vincent was locking up for the night. Vincent had just let go of his last waiter, and now Rody was eager to seize the opportunity.

He doubled over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. “I—I want the position!” he managed to utter between breaths.

Vincent raised an eyebrow, his deep voice laced with amusement. “You? You want the position?”

“Yes!” Rody replied, struggling to find his words as he caught his breath. Vincent waited patiently, a teasing smile creeping onto his face.

Finally, Rody straightened up. “I’m here for the job.”

Vincent glanced over the resume, letting out a quiet sigh. This was indeed Rody Lamoree from college, the kid with the striking green eyes, tanned skin, cute freckles, and tousled hair. “NO, VINCENT!” he scolded himself internally, shaking off the distraction. The resume was far from impressive, but he needed help and was reminded of how much he missed Rody. Everyone could have emotions! right..?

With a reluctant grin, he nodded. “You got the job.”