Chapter Text
A long day was expected from Vincent given that he’d have to take time out of strictly supervising his chefs to train the waiter, but not a day that felt like it’d never end. The new hire, Rody, he had remembered, was erratic and clearly unprofessional. His hair was messy and quite too long for Vince’s high end restaurant. However he was somehow decent at waiting tables. The way he moved as if this job was his only hope made Vince want to fire him just to see that sad look on his face, alas he could not.
Rody was the first to apply for the position, so therefore, the first to receive an interview which he surprisingly passed. Though he talked too much and asked too many questions he would make a somewhat decent addition to the restaurant.
Vince tested him in ways which were not necessary like walking around the dining area blindfolded. After bumping into a table and knocking it over the first time, he somehow managed to perfect it the third time. A part of Vince just liked watching someone blindly follow orders without questioning it. He almost felt like a bird being performed to. He held a half smile at watching the poor man suffer while trying his best to impress his boss.
After the chefs and Rody had left, Vince had made a call on the restaurant phone in his office, wrapping the cord around his fingers anxiously. He had previously downed about 4-5 glasses of wine, the only way to make what he was about to do feel even slightly okay. Vince pushed his pointer finger into the rotary and dialed the number of his victim. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to kill her, maybe a chat would work. But then how would he get someone to feel love in a dish he’d created? Maybe he would cut off a limb, yeah that might work. Or maybe he’d-
“Hello? Who’s this?” An angelic and soft voice echoes though the ear of the phone, chasing away the thoughts Vince let linger for too long. He almost slammed the phone back on the cradle and changed his mind but something kept him from doing so.
“Vincent.” He regretted calling already, hating the way his voice sounded when he was basically drunk. A small hum came from the other end before the woman spoke again.
“Oh, hey! It’s been a minute. What's with the random call?” God she sounded so disgustingly happy and.. Girlish.
Vince chose his next words carefully, not wanting to raise suspicion. “Are you busy…? I just wanted to catch up.” He lied, taking a small sip from his glass of wine sitting beside him on his office desk. His fingers lightly grazed an almost empty carton of cigarettes, debating on chain smoking them all. Truthfully he wanted nothing to do with Manon, he wasn’t interested in her, not in the slightest.
“I suppose not. Though it’s quite late.” She paused, presumably in thought, “Well, I can be over in about 10 if that works. Would you like me to bring you some tea?” Her light voice almost made Vince feel guilty for what he was about to do.
“Yes, that sounds nice.”
—
Vince had travelled up to his apartment above the restaurant, finishing his bottle of wine and setting the empty glass and its counterpart aside. He wore a casual dark gray shirt accompanied by black dress pants, not his nice ones since he knew he’d get them dirty. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a bit nervous, running his hands through his hair and sweating.
His first thought was to not answer when she came and just forget he’d even thought of doing something of the sort. However, after finding out Rody was unreasonably obsessed with his ex-girlfriend, he wasn’t about to let this chance slip away.
A few knocks came from the front door, catching his immediate attention. He quickly sat up from his couch, avoiding hitting his knee on his triangle coffee table. Upon swinging the door open he was met with a blonde woman wearing her signature headband and a box, assumingly holding tea leaves or tea bags. Her smile made Vincent sick to his stomach, or maybe that was he fact he was basically malnourished.
“Come in.” Vince steps back into his apartment, slyly glancing over his shoulder at Manon. She peers around like she’d never been there before. Her eyes briefly meet his before settling on the odd shaped table. Her brows furrowed slightly.
“This is new, is it not?” She had a small smile as she pointed to the table. The last time she visited, which was only once, it was just to grab something Vince had left at his apartment that he’d meant to give her. She had hoped it’d be a gift but it turned out to just be her coat she left while on a ‘date’.
“It is… would you mind waiting here for just a second? I need to grab something.” Vince strutted towards the kitchen before Manon could answer. His fingers grazed over the knife block, reaching for the big steak knife. A deep breath escaped his lips while he thought over his plan. Surely it’d work, right? Nobody would find out and he would stay the most renowned chef in the small circle of Paris. Perhaps it would work out so well he could cannibalize others too, but then people would get suspicious. But they’d never find the bodies or evidence, so what’s it matter? Surely these are sober thoughts. He knows what he’s doing obviously.
“Vince?” Manon’s voice rang out, causing Vince to flinch and swiftly turn around. The pointy tip of the knife sparkled under the light of the kitchen and held to face Manon. Her eyes widened and her heart pounded in her ears. She debated on running but perhaps he was just startled. "What are you- urgh!"
Vince grunted as he hurled himself at Manon, just missing her neck and slicing her ear. They landed with a loud thud on the ground, Vincent holding the knife to Manon’s neck. His eyes were wide with something she couldn’t make out, but it terrified her. She grabbed his wrists and twisted them, forcing Vince to drop the knife. Manon made a break for it, shoving Vince off in his state of shock and sprinting toward the exit. She knew she should’ve left sooner. Finland didn’t sound so bad. Her breath left her as she felt her hair get tugged and force her backwards.
“Let me go!” She shouted, twisting around to throw a punch. Her fist collided with nothing, making her stumble and catch herself on the arm of the couch beside her. A hand clasped her neck, squeezing tight. She choked, her hands clawing at her neck to free herself. Frantically she threw her head back and kicked, finally making contact with something, Vince’s shin and something sharp. He hissed and dropped her, giving her the chance to run but she paused. Between his pained exasperated breath and widened eyes she felt sorry… almost. “Leave me alone and I won’t tell anyone.” She knew it was stupid standing there, not running for her life.
Vince looked up, clasping his chest where blood seeped out. That must’ve been from her knocking the knife into his chest from throwing her head back. He glared at her like a predator, striking fear into her once again. With a gruff voice, he barely spoke, likely in major pain. “Don’t say anything and I'll leave you be.” He let out a shaky breath, leaning up from his hands and knees. The knife slid slowly from his lap and onto the floor, clattering and dripping thick blood onto the dark gray rug. That’s gonna stain, Vince cursed under his breath.
Manon carefully backed up and swung the door open, sprinting out as fast as her legs could carry her. Was she going to snitch? No. She couldn’t. Not because she was threatened, but because she used to love him. She didn’t want to see him drug into the ground by a drunken mistake. Gosh, he smelled like wine and cigarettes. She’d seen the empty bottle, she knew he was beyond drunk, she knew he didn't mean it, she knew he would never do that sober; probably. She knew he had to have a reason to act that way. She knew she had to pack her things and catch the soonest flight out of France.
Maybe then, she won't hear from Rody anymore about going on a date or making up. She got tired of him fast. How could she not? He didn’t even take care of himself. At least Vince took care of himself and held himself high. Marianne didn’t even think Rody knew what his own self looked like. She never saw him look in a mirror or buy himself something nice. He only ever did anything to make her happy, it was exhausting. Whatever, not her problem anymore.
—
Rody sat on his couch, waiting for someone to answer his calls. He’d been calling Manon and even leaving messages. Why wasn’t she answering? He was so desperate, he’d do anything to talk to her again or even see her. She was the only one who actually paid him any mind.
Maybe she was right, maybe he was hopeless. He never took care of anything and did basically anything anyone told him to. He was just a door mat. But a part of him liked being that way. He liked seeing himself suffer for other people’s benefit. Perhaps that’s why he took the job for the obviously sadistic chef. Or maybe that was just the part of him that was denying trying to make everything up to Manon.
She had told him she was done. So why won’t he just give up?
With a loud groan, Rody threw himself onto his messy couch that he had taken to sleeping on. Maybe that's why his back hurt all the time. An idea stuck him, not a great one, but since when has Rody ever had a good idea?
“Once I get money and take Manon on that date, I’ll buy a nicer apartment and we’ll live together.” He let a smile creep onto his lips. Did he really think Manon would take him back after how pathetic he acted? The smile faded completely, leaving Rody depressed and sunken into his pathetic little couch with its pathetic little cushions. He slightly opened his eyes just to stare at his disarrayed living space. He’d get to cleaning it some other day.
The pungent smell coming from the unwashed dishes and over-filled trash can never seemed to bother him much, though Manon expressed her worries many times. Manon... Fuck! He can’t let her go. Call again. No answer. Call again. No answer? Call her. She’s probably busy.
Rody groaned and grabbed a fist full of his hair, pulling at it while staring angrily at the cradle of the phone, hoping for a call back. Some part of him knew she was not calling back. He still held out hope. Well, best to rest since he has work tomorrow.
He slid under the small blanket on his couch, curling up with his back facing the room. Light sobs could be heard if anyone was there. Unfortunately, he had nobody. No one would hear him. No one would help him, he’d need to help himself somehow.
After not being able to sleep for what felt like 2 hours, Rody swung his legs over the side of the couch, slowly standing. He wobbled to the bathroom, turning on the water.
“2 minutes won't cost too much,” Rody whispered to himself while he waited for the water to warm up. His feet took him to his wardrobe where he pulled out fresh-ish clothes. He’d have to pay a visit to the laundromat soon. The clothes still smelled like detergent so in his opinion it was fine. The only thing he was always sure to keep clean was undergarments, but even then, sometimes he skipped showers because he couldn’t afford to wash his clothes.
Without a second thought, he stumbled to the bathroom and set the clothes down. He side glanced himself in the mirror, sliding his shirt off. With a huff, he finished undressing and stepped into the shower. The hot water felt nice in his cold apartment. Rody shut his eyes and ran his hands down his face.
He finished his shower as quickly as possible, not wanting to rack up a high bill that he couldn’t afford. The water shut off and he stepped out onto the bathroom matt, snatching a towel off of the shelf above the toilet. His eyes drifted toward the mirror once more, taking in his body. He knew he wasn’t ugly, but something about the way his stomach seemed to never lose the extra fat bothered him. Abs were not expected given that he hardly did anything to warrant that outcome, but it's not like he spent his whole life laying and doing nothing or eating until he puked. Maybe one day he’d see about working out.
It wasn’t until about 2am that Rody finally fell asleep. He’d definitely feel that in the morning.
—
Vincent impatiently stood at the front of the restaurant, irked about the new hire being late. Of course he’d be late. Not a moment later, the door opened to reveal the waiter. Jesus christ what the fuck happened to him. Vince stormed over, slamming his clipboard down on the front desk.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be la-”
“You’re sorry? That's not going to fix the fucking restaurant opening late, is it?” Vince shouted, clearly beyond pissed at the other man. Rody shuddered, looking away from his boss in fear. “Why do you look like that?” Vince deadpanned.
“Well, I thought by biking faster I would just dry as I go…” Rody stepped inside and shut the door, standing in the entry way like a lost dog. Vincent sighed and grabbed a towel from under the front counter, using it to dry Rody’s hair.
“Dry yourself. You cannot serve customers looking like this,” The taller man stated, still running the towel over Rody’s hair. Unable to stop the nervous blush creeping up his neck, Rody covered his lower face.
“You are aware that umbrellas exist, yes?” Vince examined the poor hair, noticing slight curls in the more drenched parts of Rody’s hair. It’s a shame he doesn’t take care of it. He may or may not have liked Rody's hair a little too much, focusing more on playing with the strands then drying them.
“Don’t own one,” Rody replied sheepishly, looking through the window.
“I’ll give you mine so this doesn’t happen again.” Vince paused for a second, looking into the window to see their reflection and humming to himself.
“Oh.. uhm, thank you but.. how’re you gonna get home without one?” Rody tried his best to sound appreciative, though he’s not good at it.
“Mm, I live here.” Vincent paused once more to grab another towel, tossing the other one over his shoulder. He knew he’d never treat his chefs this way, why is Rody special? Because he’s a waiter, he is the first person people see when they walk in. Or at least that's what Vince told himself. “My apartment is upstairs,” he finished his statement.
-
“What a pet,” one of the chefs mumbled to another as they peered out of the circular windows on the back of house doors. The chefs were usually prepping the kitchen at this time, but they finished earlier when Rody should’ve been there.
“Seriously, Neil got fired for being 1 minute late. This has got to be favoritism.” Another chef rolled his eyes and set tomatoes aside for the dishes being served that day. A soft snicker left his lips as he gave a knowing look to the chef next to him. “Faggot," he scoffed.
The other chef gasped and looked back to see Vince headed back to the kitchen. He gave a second glance to his friend before considering his next words, “I see it.”
“Have I not told you more than once, no talking? Don’t let me catch you doing that shit again.” Vincent’s gruff voice shook all of the chefs to their core, forcing them back into their positions with strained looks on their face.
A thick bead of sweat left the face of the chef who accused Vince. He felt like his boss could see straight through him and hear the slur he’d been called. God knows what would happen if he actually got caught doing that. Eventually an order was placed and the chefs immediately got to making it, putting full focus on not messing up. Even the thought of slightly slipping up scared them silly. They knew what Vincent would do if they messed up.