Warning:slight sexual content.
My finals are almost over so I'm just finishing up all my drafts lol
Rody stared at his phone, brows furrowing as he read the listing over and over. It felt too good to be real: a spacious apartment in a decent part of town, and the rent was dirt cheap. With the way things were going for him—low on cash, job to job—this seemed like his only option.
Still, there was a small, uneasy knot in his stomach. Cheap rent like this came with a catch. He just didn’t know what it was yet.
His new housemate, Vincent, didn’t say much when they met. He didn’t really need to. The guy was a looker, with sharp features, black hair meticulously styled, and a cold, calculating stare that made Rody feel like he was being evaluated with each step he took into the apartment.
“I take it you’re interested?” Vincent had said, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway, watching Rody survey the space. His voice was smooth but carried an edge, something unsettling lurking underneath.
Rody, standing in the spotless kitchen, had nodded. “Yeah, uh… the place is great.” He glanced at the shining counters, taking in the sterile atmosphere. “Rent’s cheap, though. Almost too cheap.”
Vincent smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Consider it an opportunity.” He pushed off the doorway, coming closer. “I don’t get many offers for housemates. People seem to… shy away.”
Rody didn’t miss the glint in Vincent’s eyes, like he knew more than he was letting on. But still, the apartment was perfect. The rent was unbelievably affordable. And honestly, Vincent was hot as hell, unsettling or not.
What was the worst that could happen?
---
The first few days were smooth. Too smooth. Vincent wasn’t around much during the day. He’d leave for work early, a chef coat slung over his shoulder, and wouldn’t return until late at night. Rody figured that was a plus. Less awkward small talk with the unnerving guy he lived with.
But then… there were the nights.
The metallic scent that hung in the air when Vincent returned. The sounds from the kitchen late at night—knives slicing through something solid, the occasional clatter of metal pots, but never the sound of a stove or oven. And then, there was the way Vincent watched him.
It wasn’t like the friendly or flirty gazes Rody was used to from others. Vincent’s stares were… predatory. Intense. Sometimes, Rody would catch him just watching, those black eyes focused solely on him, and it felt like the room itself would shrink under that gaze.
And then, just like that, Vincent would turn away, cold as ever, going back to whatever mysterious dish he was preparing.
The tension was growing thick between them. Something unspoken but palpable.
One night, as Rody sat at the kitchen table, Vincent slid a plate in front of him. The meal looked… extravagant. It always did. Vincent was a master chef, that much was clear. The presentation was beautiful, but Rody couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The meat was always tender, rich, but the flavor—just a bit too unique.
"Try it," Vincent said, sitting down across from him, resting his chin on his hand as he watched Rody’s every move. There was something predatory about the way he said it, like he was testing Rody’s limits.
Rody hesitated, glancing up. "You never told me where you get your meat."
Vincent’s smile widened, and there it was again—that darkness behind his eyes. "I have my sources."
