✦°『THAT 𝘉𝘐𝘛𝘊𝘏 𝐈𝐒 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞!?』←| 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚍𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎

[47;; Voices.]

I wanna hug you all. yall are so nice :((((
There's some French stuff here, so feel free to translate! Cuz I'm not translating for yall!!!!!

Rody sighs as he gets up to leave and heads back to his apartment. He sighs as he puts his hands in his pockets to walk.

Maybe tomorrow he could explain to Vincent that he didn't hear what he had said last night. Though it would be embarrassing and awkward to admit to it. Considering Vincent always looked pissed off in a way. But when Vincent had finished talking, he looked a lot more... sad? His expression just turned softer in a sense. Rody doesn't know how to explain it.

The night is young, but it feels like it's been hours.

Rody makes it to his street, seeing that the old rock pile was pushed down. The kid is probably asleep. He hadn't seen them in a while. He brushes it off, though. He was feeling a lot more lonely the past few days.

As he walks and makes it to his building, he thinks about how every day is the same now. It may be different some days. But only a little bit. Things have just been different since the incident.
(im high guys, idk what im doing)

Rody makes it up to his apartment as he walks in. Setting his coat on the hook and walking past the couch as he just gets ready to sleep in the bathroom.

" L'amour est un sujet compliqué, on ne sait jamais ce qui va se passer dans les relations. Especially when you're new to it, or maybe never felt it before. "

Vincent stared down at his sketchbook as it was closed. He sighed as he didn't feel like drawing. Nor doing anything else. But he still felt like doing something to keep his mind off of things.

He could try cooking. But he wouldn't even be able to taste it. Slowly getting up, he goes over to the kitchen. The floor turns from fuzzy and soft to hard and cold. Looking around in the fridge, he settles on a lemon.

Peeling it as he leans on the counter. His back faces the counter as he looks down at the lemon. Then, he looked up as he stared over at the window above his sink.

Thinking about what he had said to Rody, he grumbles as he puts the lemon on the counter, not feeling like peeling or eating it now.

(recently, every time i write/type, i feel british)

He looks down at the not even half peeled lemon. Vincent sighs as he walks into his room.

The night is growing old.

Have you ever thought about how the night has one chance every night? Seeing people, seeing how people are doing. Only to see the majority of them inside.

The next day, it was late morning as Vincent looked out the window out into the street.

He leans against the window with his forehead up against the glass.

.-- .... .- - / -- --- -. - .... / .. ... / .. - ..--.. / .. / -.. --- -. - / -.- -. --- .-- --..--

"Quel jour est-il? Je ne sais pas chérie,"

Vincent sighs as he steps back from the window, yawning as he walks into the kitchen. He stretches before looking around his kitchen for something to eat.

(AGH, THIS FEELS LIKE WRITING A SCHOOL ESSAY BUT MORE FUN)

Rody was in the back outside of the restaurant, talking with one of his friends. He listened as she coughed on some smoke from her cigar. She never told her name to him or anyone else for that matter. Only the managers, though they called her 'Dotty', since she was preferred to be called that.

She seemed old but young at the same time. Dark circles under her eyes. Looking tired.

"un peu comme Vince d'une certaine manière."

"Hey, are you listening?" She asks.
"Oh, yeah!" Rody says, being caught off-guard. Dotty was like an old teacher, always managing to catch you off guard when you've been paying attention the whole time.

"Anyways, we should get back to work." She mumbles before opening the door to let Rody go in first.

(ladies first AHAHEHWHAA!!!!!!!! guys, im funny, i promise.)

Rody glanced at the front door from time to time.
Did I miss him?
He gets distracted as someone raised their hand for a waiter to come over.

The thought pokes at him for the rest of the day. People come in and out.

Someone was wearing an old, withered pastel blue color. Calming in a way. A child comes in with its father. The father, followed by what Rody guessed, was the grandfather. The father talked with its son. The son tried distracting his child.
A lot of people came in during lunchtime. Rody got help from one of the chefs for the tables.

Someone came in seeming to only be wearing ruffles. Ruffles on the end of their sleeves. At the end of the pantlegs.

A man came in with a bunch of pens. Some poking out of his bag and two behind both ears. He fiddled with one in his hand as he drank a cup of coffee at his table-for-one.

Rody struggled to try and get seats for people even with help. The day flooded by so fast. No one knew it.

By the end of the day, the managers were glad as they were exhausted. Everyone was.

the managers fuckedon the counter-

One of the managers slumped to the ground as they leaned against the counter. Rody sat in one of the booths as the chef who was helping him, Colette. Sat across from him and had his face against the table.

"Didn't know being a waiter was that hard." He mumbled, laughing slightly. Rody nodded.

Some of the staff had already left for the day. Rody was getting ready to go. He looked around for his coat even though he left it hanging on the coat rack in the back.

But then he found it on the coat rack later. It was there. Somehow. He leaves, waving as he leaves the restaurant for the day. It was 6:40. It's not very late, but it's not very early either. He starts walking down the sidewalk. Like every day, like everyone. Unless you're in a wheelchair or something, then that sucks.

(guys, dont take the last sentence seriously, please)

Rody looked around, crossing the street and not going to his usual route. He tried looking if Vincent was around the fountain area.

He found to be empty except for a small child and her parents.

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