Rody couldn't help but feel lucky every time he looked at Vincent. The man was everything he had ever wanted in a partner-kind, patient, and endlessly thoughtful. Vincent had a way of making even the most mundane moments feel special, whether it was the way he brewed Rody's morning coffee just the way he liked it or the way he'd surprise him with a freshly baked croissant on particularly stressful days. Vincent was the kind of person who spoke softly and carried a gentle warmth in his words, a man who would rather show his love through small acts of kindness than grand gestures.
For Rody, that was perfect. He loved everything about Vincent-how his dark hair fell messily over his forehead in the morning, the soft curve of his lips when he smiled, and the quiet affection in his eyes whenever they locked gazes across the room. Vincent was everything Rody had ever dreamed of in a partner and more.
It was hard to imagine how he had managed without Vincent for so long. They had been dating for almost a year now, and every day felt like a new reason to fall in love all over again. Rody never knew he could be so happy, so content. Every time Vincent made him breakfast, Rody's heart would swell with affection. It wasn't just the food-it was the care and love that Vincent poured into every dish. Vincent didn't just cook; he crafted meals with the same precision and dedication that Rody imagined an artist used when creating a masterpiece.
Rody often found himself just watching Vincent in the kitchen, mesmerized by the graceful way he moved, the way he could turn simple ingredients into something magical. The way Vincent would smile when he caught Rody staring, a soft blush coloring his pale cheeks, was enough to make Rody's heart skip a beat.
Vincent was soft-spoken and gentle, always quick to offer comfort and support. He never raised his voice, never lost his temper. Whenever Rody was upset, Vincent was there, soothing him with kind words and warm embraces. Vincent's love was the anchor that kept Rody grounded, the steady presence that made him feel safe and secure.
But then, the nightmares began.
At first, they were vague and disjointed-flashes of unsettling images that would fade as soon as Rody woke up. But as the days passed, the dreams became more vivid, more disturbing. Rody would find himself standing in a dimly lit kitchen, the air thick with the scent of iron and smoke. In the dream, Vincent was there, but he was different. His soft smile was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating expression that sent shivers down Rody's spine.
The kitchen was sterile and clinical, nothing like the cozy, lived-in space that Vincent loved so much. On the counter, there was a woman-her body butchered and prepared with the same meticulous care that Vincent used when cooking for Rody. Rody could see every detail-the blood pooling on the floor, the way Vincent's hands moved with practiced precision as he sliced through the flesh.
In the dream, Vincent would turn to him, holding out a perfectly cooked hanger steak, his eyes dark and unreadable. "It's for you," he would say in that same soft voice, but it was twisted now, wrong. The dream would shift, and suddenly Rody would find himself taking the offered meat, lifting it to his mouth despite the revulsion that twisted his stomach. The taste was rich and savory, but Rody knew what it was, and it made him want to scream.
But the dream wouldn't stop there. Vincent would lean in close, his breath warm against Rody's ear, before biting down, tearing into Rody's flesh. The pain was sharp and blinding, and Rody would wake up in a cold sweat, his heart racing and his body trembling.
The nightmares haunted him. No matter how hard he tried to shake them off, they clung to him, casting a shadow over his waking hours. Rody would catch himself staring at Vincent, his mind replaying the dream over and over until he could hardly tell what was real anymore. The more he tried to push the nightmares away, the more they seemed to consume him.
