The night was cool and quiet as Vincent stood before the old well, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. He couldn't believe he was here. He felt ridiculous, but desperation had a way of making fools of even the most rational people. He ran a hand through his neatly styled hair, his fingers trembling as they passed over the dark strands. He squeezed his eyes shut, the familiar weight of his insecurities settling in his chest.
Rody. He couldn't stop thinking about him.
Vincent's stomach twisted as he imagined Rody's laughter, the way his green eyes sparkled when he teased someone, the way he made everything feel so easy, so warm. But those smiles weren't for him. They never had been.
They were for Manon-his sister.
He had watched from the sidelines for months, pretending that everything was fine. Pretending that the sight of Rody holding Manon didn't make him feel like he was shattering from the inside. Vincent was always the calm, composed one, the man with a successful restaurant and a life that seemed, on the surface, to be perfect. But underneath all that, he was a mess.
He was in love with his sister's boyfriend, and it was destroying him.
Rody would never look at him the way he looked at her. He was everything Vincent wasn't-loud, carefree, full of life. Vincent had always been cold, distant, reserved. He knew people thought of him as aloof, too focused on his career to let anyone in. And maybe they were right. Maybe he'd built too many walls around himself to let anyone love him.
But Rody... Rody made him feel alive in a way he hadn't felt in years. Every time he came to visit, it was torture. And yet, Vincent couldn't stop himself from wanting more. More stolen glances. More fleeting touches. More of what he could never have.
That's why he was here, standing before this ancient, crumbling well in the middle of the woods, clutching a coin in his hand like a fool. The well was part of some local legend-a relic of the past, said to grant wishes to those who were desperate enough to ask. It was absurd, childish even. But Vincent had nothing left to lose.
He stared into the dark water at the bottom of the well, his grip on the coin tightening. He knew it was stupid. Wishes didn't come true. Not for people like him.
But still, he closed his eyes and whispered, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the night.
"I wish I could have him."
It felt wrong as soon as he said it, but he tossed the coin into the well anyway. The splash was faint, swallowed by the darkness. Vincent stood there for a long moment, waiting for something-anything. But the air remained still, cold and silent.
He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. Of course, nothing would happen. What had he expected? He turned on his heel and walked away, the well disappearing behind him as he made his way back through the woods. He couldn't help but feel like he had crossed some line. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered.
Rody wasn't his.
***
When Vincent woke the next morning, he felt disoriented. The bed beneath him was unfamiliar, softer than the one he was used to. The air smelled different, and there was a warmth pressed against his side that made his heart skip a beat.
He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the soft light filtering through the curtains. And then he saw it-Rody, lying beside him, his arm draped over Vincent's waist.
Vincent's breath caught in his throat. His pulse quickened. He couldn't move, couldn't think. Rody was here. In bed. With him.
His mind raced, unable to process what he was seeing. This couldn't be real. It had to be a dream. But as Rody shifted, his body warm and solid against Vincent's, reality began to settle in. This wasn't a dream.
