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Vincent stood in a brightly lit kitchen. Compared to the likes of his own, or even his restaurants, it was nothing all that special. But it was impossible to ignore how it was certainly cared for, presumably by someone with the dedication and skill of a cooking connoisseur such as himself.
Smoke filled the room’s stale air, as he hadn’t been bothered to open a window, afraid of allowing the chilling cold air to creep its way in. Instead he had felt more inclined to drown himself in the sickeningly sweet and acrid, raw scent of his cigarette which was currently resting in what had come to be its natural habitat, pinched between the two of Vincent's thin lips.
As his hands stayed occupied, he allowed his flickering gaze to drift away from his current and crudely done task. His eyes scrolled over the heavy bags of flour which stubbornly laid on the wooden countertop as if it had been a struggle to get them up there, such a shame that the eternity of the ingredient would be going to waste. Left to rot and go unused, growing damp and then mouldy with time, it truly made him feel somewhat shameful.
He sighed, it doesn’t matter, what he was doing was far more than worth it than a few dozen kilograms of miserably cheap flour. Vincent corrected his stare and looked back down at the stained chopping board laying beneath the piece of meat he was diligently carving, care and love being behind every stroke of his butcher's knife. It was a heavy piece, rich in juices and with a pristine cut that any knowledgeable chef would pay top dollar for.
It was absolutely perfect, the easy part was finally finished. With Vincent's skill, this meat would definitely taste just as wonderful as it looked and he was positive that it would be his most impressive gift to Rody yet. It was perfect and would make for an extraordinary hanger steak, after all the tenderness of one's past lover could compare to none other.
Dropping the knife, he raised a clammy hand to his focused face, wiping the accumulation of hot sweat off of his forehead and in return, leaving smudges of dark and crusted blood coating the ends of his fringe. Vincent inhaled, allowing his cigarettes smoke to fill his throat, comforting nicotine flooding his system, trying to bury away the nervousness that was building up within in.
He turned his head pathetically, wincing as he saw the rest of his mess, certainly not as pretty as the cut of meat he had been fawning over for the past ten minutes.
A body lays on its own kitchen counter, arm dangling lifelessly down the counter, allowing droplets of blood from its slit throat to roll down and drip onto the floor. Its head laid tilted to the side, a shocked and disturbed expression on its crumpled face, eyes glossed over and still. It’s almost enough to make Vincent gag, but the dull and dead aftermath was much better than the bloody and bashful before.
“You put up a good fight, you know.” Vincent says aloud. He pauses, realising that he's entertaining his own delusions, another step down the ditch of depravity he had dragged himself down. But, before long, he doesn’t care. He took it– her life, he’s already at the bottom of the ditch. Bargaining won’t fix anything now.
“I hope he’ll like you. I went through a lot of effort–” Vincent murmured, cutting himself off knowing that it wasn’t all that true. It wasn’t his fault it had been so painfully easy, she had basically invited the vampire in for tea, literally.
Before he falls deeper down the pipeline that was talking to a corpse that he himself had put to rest, his ears tingle at the alert of a new noise within the woman's apartment. Her phone begins to ring and the queasiness that his cigarette had cured before crawled back and became chronic. He sighs, looking deeply at the phone attached to the wall, he’ll just wait it out.
. . All he has to do is wait for the ringing to stop.
. . It wouldn't be long before the caller got bored and decided to try again later, preferably once Vincent had finished cleaning up and was miles away.
. . Just any minute now, he could get back to what he was doing without distraction.
Patience wasn’t a virtue Vincent was gifted with. He let out a low and annoyed growl, storming his way towards the phone in order to answer it, planning to stay totally and entirely silent before slamming the phone against the wall till it smashed.
To Vincent's surprise, he can hear sobbing on the line.
“Manon– Manon, you answered! I’m so sorry, I can better I swear– I’ve got this new job and and-” The angelic voice stammers from through their own phone. “I’m going to be so much better this time– I’ll be a completely different person–”
There's a pause as the other breathes, deeply as if they had entirely emptied their lungs the previous time. It wasn’t long before they dived in for seconds.
“Please Manon– say something, I just need to hear your voice, once will be enough for me,”
“I miss you.”
“I love you, I can’t do this without you–”
Vincent slams the phone back into its respective holder before he can hear anymore of the man's whines. He shakes, feeling his heart desperately pound in his chest, skipping a beat so often that he thought he was going to die right there, a pink blush fluttered across his face as he steadied himself against the wall.
It was him.
The man that made all of this otherwise immoral bloodshed worth it. A sense of relief swooping over him as a smile rested on his face, his hand stretching upwards to retrieve and discard the cigarette on the cold kitchen floors.
Vincent wants to pretend the heartfelt words were for him.
He wished he could be there to comfort his favourite employee and future partner in this time of depression, but it was impossible when he was discarding the man's baggage for him. His chest was aching, not in regret or thanks to a wave of sudden clarity - but with what he'd define as empathy for Rody. His Rody, alone, in pain, passing through a period of such strong sorrow by himself, thankfully Vincent would be present to absorb his grief soon enough.
---
Crusted blood leaked from Rody's affected temple, glueing strands of his ginger hair to his face as he pulled his head off of the floor. Vincent, assuming that was the only man possible of this– had gotten a good swing on him. Presumably with the nearest frying pan or rolling pin available after noticing the freezer doors ajarness.
Grunting sorely as red continued to pour from the wound, he brought his head off the ground and looked around with narrow eyes, before allowing them to widen within the matter of seconds at the realisation of where exactly he– still was, and what exactly was happening.
"Shit.. shitshitshitshit– shit, no fuck no–"
Heavy breathing filled the room as he struggled, wiggling and moving his body in any way possible in an attempt to provide himself freedom. It didn't work, it never had a chance of working. Thick and unforgiving ropes rudely rubbed at his wrists, as well as his arms– and elbows, the ropes crawled up his body and kept his arms tightly connected to his back. In Rody's head, a theme had now been established, one that told him that no matter the amount of struggle, the restraints weren't going to release him any time soon.
"Fuck, it won't loosen–" The Waiter panted, talking to himself in attempt to keep his sanity on a tight and more importantly, present leash.
Rody's heart was now making a nasty ruckus as it heavily thumped, threatening to break out of its cage at any given moment. Violently, it thrashed within his ribs as copious amounts of adrenaline seared through his veins and throughout his body as he hopelessly tugged and pulled at the ropes.
God, it burnt, everything fucking burns. Which pathetically, even at one of his lowest moments such as this one, he couldn't help but find it painfully ironic to feel on fire inside of a freezer that probably had icicles forming in its coldest corners. Especially when considering the fact that his panicked and laboured breaths were turning into blissful vapour in the chilling air.
He gave one last whole-hearted attempt at escaping, the effort showing on his face as he clenched his eyes shut and struggled. But the results lacked the same amount of passion, leaving him to heave against the floor in confusion and regret. Consciousness had been with him for only around five minutes now, and in exchange he had lost all hope. How could he be hopeful when– that locket– her locket, laid next to him. Rody whimpered at the reminder of the severity of the situation and inhaled sharply to mask the sobs scratching inside his throat.
Making himself as small as possible, he crawled himself up into a ball the best he could, like a hedgehog would whenever bearing their spikes. Except he had no spikes, and no way to defend himself. The cold concrete floor of the bistro's walk-in freezer painted his aching body in goosebumps. And not that Rody even took notice, blurry tears began to burrow out of his ducts, peaking out of the corner of his eyes.
Rody knew he had to be done for, his fight or flight was kicking in, and the restraints granted him with neither option. And, just as he had come to terms with submitting to hypothermia and the sweet release of death that came along with it, the door creaked open and if he wasn't still before, he definitely was now.
Silence ensued and engulfed the entire room, the only noise being the oh-so annoying freezer fan and the soft breath here and there. Rody was hoping– no, begging that Vincent would assume he still wasn't awake, or even better– dead, and leave. But, nothing ever went his way clearly.
Rody instantly snapped upwards, the ginger being very quick in making haste to sit up and get as far away as physically possible in the small room from the other man. He was shaking, his body shivering aggressively. Which, of course could have been a side effect on behalf of the lack of heat found inside of a freezer, but if you were to ask him, Vincent was certainly the cause.
"Stop, G-Get away– Don't come any closer!!-" Rody's lungs screamed as he squealed, his words being stammered and his sentences being rushed through like they couldn't wait any longer to escape his mouth.
The response that Rody receives follows the same formula that you would've expected from someone when silencing their impatient child. Vincent approaches, much quicker than the pace that Rody could ever escape, thanks to the lack of restraints. The Chef kneels down, squatting and grabbing Rodys shoulder roughly, pressing a finger to the man's lip.
"Shhh... There is really no need for all of that." Vincent hushes the man, maintaining a stern eye-contact as he stares deeply into the man's soul, examining Rody's dark pupils that were currently the size of pinholes.
With his breathing at a halt, and his heart at a race, Rody can feel himself grow dizzy with panic. His hands shake and tingle and everything seems out of focus with Vincent this close to him. His proximity isn't being used as a means for comfort and they both know it, intimidation is the only thing on Vincent's mind at that moment.
"Do us both a favour, and calm yourself." Vincent mutters, admiring the fear on the ginger's face, each shakily breath turning into vapour before his eyes, the man truly as beautiful as ever even when hyperventilating. This wasn’t how Vincent had planned everything to go, but when opportunity knocks and enters, you must respond with a rolling pin and tough love.
"Calm myself-- Calm myself?!" Rody shouted, his disdain remaining unhidden as the previously mentioned tears finally made their debut and began to slither down his cheeks in salty streams. "Do you even hear yourself right now--" The ginger scoffed in disbelief, his eyebrows furrowing and wrinkles of frustration forming in his forehead.
Just as Rody went to open his dry mouth once again, most likely to spout something about how insane Vincent was.
He was forced into submissive silence. A sharp slap to the cheek hits him hard, though the warmness of Vincent's hand was a stark contrast to the cold everything of the freezer's environment. His jaw shakes and his teeth tremble even once his mouth is closed, staring at the chef in disbelief.
Vincent blinks, his face blank. He sighs and looks at Rody sincerely. “You know I hate to see you like this.” He whispers, as if the words he was mumbling were sweet nothings
“Please Vince– Let me go.” Rody pleaded, looking at the man with desperation in his eyes. “I won’t tell anyone I promise– I’ll leave town– I’ll leave the whole fucking country.” He cried pitifully, but the look he saw inside of Vincent's eyes already gave him the answer he was looking for.
The chef shakes his head, “Don’t try to make me imagine a world without you. Such a distasteful thought.” He grumbled roughly, getting up and heading to the counter, where a plate of freshly prepared steak sat.
“Besides. I can’t let this go to waste, especially with how long I slaved over the stove.” Vincent makes his way over with the plate, kneeling beside the hopeless romantic, sharp fork in hand, perfect for taking a bite. “Open wide for me, Rody.”
Their dinner date was not over, it had only begun and it would surely be a night to remember, most likely second best compared to their eventual union.
Rody opened his mouth regrettably and the fork plunged forward.
“Now, chew.”