The evening light filtering through the café window cast a warm glow over the scene, but between Rody and Vincent, there was a heavy, unspoken tension. They’d been together for years now, yet there were moments when it felt like they were strangers. Vincent sat across from Rody, his hands curled around a cup of coffee he wasn’t drinking, his eyes lingering on Rody’s face, waiting for something—anything—that might bridge the growing distance between them.
Rody’s auburn hair caught the last rays of sunlight, his sharp green eyes fixed on the street outside. His jaw was clenched, his posture stiff. He hadn’t even taken off his coat, despite the warmth in the room, a subtle barrier between him and the world. Between him and Vincent.
Vincent took a quiet breath, feeling the knot of frustration coil tighter in his chest. They’d been through this countless times before, and every time, it felt like it chipped away at something vital inside him.
"I don’t get it," Vincent said softly, his voice careful, though it couldn’t hide the raw emotion underneath. "We’ve been together for so long, Rody. Why does it still feel like you’re hiding me?"
Rody’s fingers tightened around his coffee cup, his eyes still not meeting Vincent’s. He didn’t answer right away, because what could he say? The truth was ugly, twisted, something he’d buried deep inside him for years. But he knew Vincent deserved more than silence.
"It’s not that simple," Rody finally muttered, his voice low, strained.
"Not simple?" Vincent echoed, a bitter laugh escaping him before he could stop it. "We’ve been together for five years, Rody. How much more time do you need before it’s ‘simple’? When are you going to stop treating me like a dirty secret?"
The words stung, and Rody flinched. He knew Vincent wasn’t trying to hurt him, but the truth of it cut deep. Five years. Five years of quiet evenings in their apartment, of hands brushing under the dinner table but never in public. Five years of avoiding Vincent’s affectionate gestures when they were around other people. Five years of Vincent’s patience slowly wearing thin.
"It’s not like that," Rody said, his voice tight, defensive.
"Then what is it like?" Vincent’s voice rose just enough to catch the attention of a couple sitting nearby. He lowered it quickly, leaning forward, his dark eyes searching Rody’s face. "You used to be so open with Manon. You didn’t care who saw you with her. But with me? You won’t even let me hold your hand on the street."
Rody winced at the mention of his ex-girlfriend. Manon. She was a name that haunted their relationship, not because Vincent was jealous—he wasn’t—but because the contrast between how Rody had treated her and how he treated Vincent was glaring. With Manon, Rody had been affectionate, openly so. He’d kissed her in public, wrapped his arm around her waist without a second thought. Vincent had seen photos, had heard stories from Rody’s friends, and each one felt like a tiny wound, reopening again and again.
"It was different with her," Rody muttered, knowing how hollow that sounded.
Vincent shook his head, leaning back in his chair, his fingers finally releasing the cup to rest limply on the table. "How is it different? Because she was a woman and I’m not? Because you’re ashamed of this?" His hand gestured between them.
Rody’s heart pounded, shame curling in his stomach like a sickening knot. It was exactly that, wasn’t it? He hated that about himself—that despite how much he loved Vincent, there was a part of him that couldn’t let go of the deeply ingrained fear of being judged. He’d grown up in a world that had drilled certain things into his head. He’d always believed he was bisexual, but it had been easier to hide when he was with women. Easier to pass.
"I’m not ashamed of you," Rody whispered, but even he didn’t believe it.
"Then what is it?" Vincent’s voice cracked, and that was what really made Rody look at him. The hurt in Vincent’s eyes was unbearable, and it was all Rody’s fault.
"I don’t know how to be… this," Rody admitted, finally meeting Vincent’s gaze, his voice quiet and raw. "I don’t know how to be with a man in the way I was with her. It’s like there’s this… this part of me that’s scared all the time. Scared of what people will think, scared of what it means about me."
Vincent was quiet for a long moment, his eyes studying Rody’s face. "I’ve never asked you to be anyone but yourself, Rody. I’ve never asked you to shout from the rooftops that we’re together. But I need… I need something. I need to know that you’re not just with me because it’s convenient or because you’re too scared to leave."
Rody shook his head quickly, his heart racing. "It’s not that. God, Vincent, I love you. I do."
"Then why does it feel like you don’t sometimes?" Vincent’s voice was barely above a whisper, and the vulnerability in it nearly broke Rody. "I want a future with you, Rody. I’ve wanted that for years. But I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay with how things are. I’m not. I want to be able to hold your hand without you flinching. I want to be able to kiss you goodbye without worrying about whether someone’s watching."
Rody’s throat tightened, guilt washing over him in waves. He knew Vincent was right. He’d always known. The worst part was, he didn’t know how to fix it. He’d spent so long hiding, so long letting fear control him, that the idea of being open, of letting people see him and Vincent as they really were, terrified him.
"I’m sorry," Rody said, the words thick in his throat. "I didn’t mean to make you feel like this. I just… I don’t know how to change it."
Vincent sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I’m not asking for a miracle, Rody. I’m asking for you to try. Because I can’t do this forever. I can’t keep feeling like I’m not enough for you."
The words hit Rody hard, like a punch to the gut. He had never once thought of Vincent as not enough. In fact, it was the opposite. Vincent was everything—more than Rody felt he deserved. And maybe that was part of the problem, too. Maybe he’d spent so long believing he didn’t deserve this kind of love that he kept pushing it away, even when he didn’t mean to.
"I don’t want to lose you," Rody whispered, his voice breaking.
Vincent’s expression softened, but the sadness remained. "I don’t want to lose you either. But if this keeps going the way it is… I don’t know how long I can keep holding on."
Rody felt a wave of panic surge through him, his mind racing. The thought of losing Vincent—of being without him—was unbearable. He loved him, more than anything, and yet, he’d been hurting him all this time without realizing how deep the wound went.
"I’ll try," Rody said, his voice trembling. "I’ll try to be better. I’ll try to stop hiding."
Vincent watched him, his dark eyes searching, and after a long pause, he nodded slowly. "That’s all I ask, Rody. Just try."
Rody reached across the table, his hand hesitant but determined, and for the first time in a long time, he took Vincent’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t the grand gesture Vincent deserved. But it was something. And for now, it was all Rody could give.
Vincent’s grip tightened around Rody’s fingers, a flicker of hope in his eyes, though the weight of their conversation still lingered between them. They had a long way to go—Rody knew that—but for the first time, he was ready to face the fears that had been holding him back. Because losing Vincent was not an option. Not now, not ever.
And for once, in the quiet of the café, Rody allowed himself to hold on.
