The streets outside were dark, lit only by dim, flickering streetlights as Rody walked with a purpose toward Vincent's apartment. His breath fogged in the cold air, his thoughts a relentless hum of frustration and longing. He couldn't stop thinking about Vincent. Ever since those days when Vincent used to babysit him, Rody had been drawn to him-something about the older boy had captured his attention in a way that no one else ever could.
Back then, Vincent had seemed so mature, so composed, saving up money to go to culinary school. Rody was only 14 at the time, too young to understand the feelings churning inside him. But now, at 17, everything had become clear. He was obsessed. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get Vincent out of his head.
And it wasn't just Vincent anymore-it was Richard. That smug, arrogant *bastard* who hung around Vincent like he owned him. Rody hated him. Every time he saw Richard with Vincent, it felt like a knife twisting in his chest. He knew what Richard was trying to do. He could *see* it, the way Richard looked at Vincent, touched him, acted like he was something more than just a friend. But Vincent was Rody's. He had to be.
Rody's hand tightened into a fist as he reached Vincent's building. He hadn't told Vincent he was coming over-he didn't need to. He'd learned Vincent's routine, knew when he'd be home, knew when Richard would likely be there too. Rody had been careful, watching, waiting. Tonight was the night.
He climbed the stairs two at a time, his pulse quickening. His mind raced with images of Vincent, of how things used to be, of how much he missed being the one Vincent cared about, the one Vincent smiled at. Back then, Vincent had given him his full attention. Now? It felt like Vincent was slipping away, and Rody couldn't bear it.
When he reached the door, he didn't knock. Instead, he stood there for a moment, just listening. He could hear muffled voices inside-Vincent's, calm and quiet, and Richard's, loud and obnoxious. Rody's jaw clenched. He didn't even think before he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open.
Richard was sitting on the couch, leaning too close to Vincent, like he had the right to be there. Vincent looked up, surprised, his dark eyes widening when he saw Rody standing in the doorway.
"Rody?" Vincent's voice held a hint of concern. "What are you doing here?"
Rody stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. His gaze was fixed on Vincent, the rest of the room fading into the background. "I wanted to see you," he said quietly, his voice low, controlled. "You didn't answer my texts."
Richard snorted, leaning back on the couch. "You again? Don't you have anything better to do, kid?"
"Shut up," Rody muttered, his eyes still locked on Vincent. He didn't care about Richard. He didn't care about anything but getting Vincent alone.
Vincent frowned, standing up slowly. "Rody, we talked about this. I've been busy."
"With *him*," Rody spat, finally tearing his gaze away from Vincent to glare at Richard. The jealousy that had been building inside him for weeks, months even, was threatening to boil over. He could feel it clawing at him, an irrational, obsessive anger that he couldn't control.
Richard rolled his eyes. "Jealous much?"
Rody's fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I said, shut up."
Vincent stepped between them, placing a hand on Rody's chest to stop him from getting closer. "Hey, hey, calm down," he said softly, but Rody could hear the edge in his voice. "What's going on with you? You've been acting... off."
Rody's eyes flicked up to Vincent's face, and for a moment, he faltered. Vincent was so close, close enough that Rody could feel the warmth of his skin, smell that familiar scent of lemon and faint smoke. It made Rody's heart pound, his head spin with a mix of desire and frustration.
