Rody sat at the edge of the bed, his hands clasped tightly together as he stared at the floor. The room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the streetlamps outside, casting long shadows across the walls. Vincent was in the kitchen, humming softly to himself as he prepared dinner-something he'd done a thousand times before. But tonight, the sound grated on Rody's nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
He used to love this. He used to find it endearing, the way Vincent would get so lost in the process, moving gracefully between the stove and the counter. Rody had admired the fluidity of Vincent's movements, the way his long, slender fingers handled the knife with such precision, the way he would occasionally glance over his shoulder and smile at Rody, his eyes sparkling with joy. Rody used to watch him, entranced, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at the sight of Vincent in his element.
But now, the sight of Vincent in the kitchen filled Rody with a sense of dread he couldn't quite explain. He hated the way Vincent's thin frame looked so fragile in the dim light, hated the way his oversized shirt hung loosely on his bony shoulders. The smell of cooking food that once made Rody's mouth water now made his stomach churn. He couldn't stand the thought of sitting down to eat, of pretending that everything was okay when it felt like the ground beneath him was crumbling away.
He could hear Vincent's voice, soft and melodic, drifting through the hallway as he talked to himself. Vincent always did that-he would narrate his thoughts, his process, as if he were sharing it with Rody even when he was alone in the kitchen. Rody used to find it charming, a quirk that made Vincent even more lovable. But now, the sound of Vincent's voice filled him with a strange kind of irritation, a gnawing sensation that crawled under his skin and wouldn't go away.
Rody clenched his jaw, trying to push the feelings down, trying to remind himself that this was Vincent-his Vincent. The same man he had loved for years, the same man who had always been there for him, who had been his rock when everything else in his life had fallen apart. But it was getting harder to remember why he had loved those things, harder to summon the affection that had once come so easily.
He thought back to the early days, when Vincent's constant need for attention had made Rody feel important, necessary. Vincent had always been clingy, always needing to be near Rody, to touch him, to feel his presence. It had been sweet, in its own way-a reminder that Rody was loved, that he was someone's everything. But now, that same clinginess felt like a burden, like a weight on Rody's chest that he couldn't shake off. He couldn't stand the way Vincent would drape himself over him, couldn't bear the way Vincent's fingers would trace lazy patterns on his skin as they lay in bed. It felt suffocating, as if Vincent was draining the life out of him with every touch.
Rody ran a hand through his hair, trying to clear his head, but the thoughts kept coming, relentless and unforgiving. He hated the way Vincent would cling to him in the middle of the night, the way he would curl up against Rody's chest, seeking warmth and comfort. Vincent was taller than Rody, but he always seemed so much smaller, so much more fragile, and Rody used to love that. He used to love the way Vincent would nestle against him, like a kitten seeking shelter. But now, all he felt was a desperate need to push him away, to create some distance between them, to breathe.
The bedroom door creaked open, and Rody tensed as Vincent stepped inside, carrying a tray with their dinner. Vincent's face lit up when he saw Rody, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way Rody had once found so endearing. He was still so beautiful, even with the dark circles under his eyes, even with the slight hunch in his shoulders that came from years of stress and sleepless nights. But Rody could hardly bear to look at him.
"Dinner's ready," Vincent said softly, his voice tinged with that familiar excitement. He placed the tray on the bed, sitting down beside Rody, their legs brushing together. "I made your favorite-roast chicken with garlic and rosemary. I know you've had a tough week, so I thought it might cheer you up."
