Warning: Autistic Vincent
Rody watched Vincent pace across their small living room, his back turned, hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders tense under his black sweater. He looked as if he were trying to talk himself out of something-or into it. Rody's throat felt tight as he struggled to figure out what to say.
"You don't have to come, Vince. Seriously," Rody said, reaching out to him as gently as he could. "I can go alone. Everyone'll just think you're, I don't know, working late or something."
But Vincent didn't turn around, and Rody caught the way his shoulders rose, like he'd taken a sharp breath, before dropping back down. Vincent's silence stretched thin, tense.
"I want to," Vincent replied eventually, almost too quiet to hear. Rody could barely make out the tone under the practiced evenness of his voice, but he knew Vincent well enough to tell when he was forcing composure. "It's a work event, Rody. These things are important for you, aren't they?"
Rody let out a sigh, trying to keep his voice as steady as he could. "I just... I don't want you to feel like you have to push yourself for this. You know it doesn't mean anything to me if you're there or not."
Vincent finally turned to face him, his eyes darker than usual under the dim light of their apartment. "I know," he said, but there was something almost brittle in his gaze. "But I want to try."
Rody pressed his lips together, looking at Vincent in the way he always did-like he was seeing every small nuance of him, the way his hand twitched slightly, his eyes searching for some unseen reassurance. Rody knew about Vincent's struggles, knew the way the world pressed down on him in ways that most people took for granted, and he knew the constant, exhausting strain Vincent put himself through just to seem "normal."
"If you're sure, then okay." Rody finally nodded, though he wasn't sure he meant it. He didn't want Vincent to feel like he needed to change himself or mask his discomfort just to fit in. But maybe... maybe this was something Vincent wanted for himself.
---
The dinner was at some swanky restaurant Rody barely recognized. It was upscale enough to have tablecloths and waitstaff that looked ready to make you feel underdressed no matter what you wore. Vincent sat beside him, wearing a dark button-down that Rody couldn't stop staring at, even if Vincent's discomfort was evident in every taut muscle and tightly clasped hand.
"You look good, you know," Rody murmured, leaning closer to him as they walked to their table. Vincent gave a small, almost shy nod, his mouth curving in the faintest hint of a smile.
"Thanks," he said, voice low, like he was too aware of all the other people around them. The bustling sound of the restaurant seemed to press in, and Rody could see Vincent taking measured breaths to stay calm.
Their coworkers and partners were already seated, and Rody was quickly pulled into a conversation, though he kept a hand on Vincent's arm. He knew it was grounding for him, something solid to hold onto. He didn't let go even as he chatted away with his colleagues, laughing at their stories and jokes. Vincent stayed mostly silent, responding politely when asked a question but keeping to himself, his gaze flickering to the others' plates, his fingers twisting nervously around his fork.
Then came the first course-a small, artfully arranged dish that was too fancy for either of their tastes. Rody watched Vincent's eyes widen as he glanced at it, and Rody's heart sank.
Vincent's relationship with food was... complicated. Textures were the main problem. Anything slimy, sticky, overly crunchy, or just plain unexpected could send him spiraling. They'd gone through a dozen different recipes at home just trying to find things he could eat comfortably. Even then, some days were harder than others.
And right now, Rody could see that familiar dread tightening Vincent's shoulders.
Rody leaned over, his voice low and soft. "Hey. You don't have to eat it if you don't want to. We can get something else later, I swear."
But Vincent's jaw was already set, his hand shaking slightly as he picked up his fork. "I'll be fine," he replied, though Rody could hear the strain in his voice. "Just... one bite."
He took a breath and lifted the fork to his mouth, trying to keep his expression neutral as he chewed. But Rody saw the flicker of discomfort flash across his face, his fingers tightening around the fork. He was forcing himself through it, and Rody's chest tightened with each second that passed.
"Vincent..." Rody murmured softly, glancing around. No one seemed to be paying close attention, but he could feel Vincent's tension mounting, like he was aware of every pair of eyes, real or imagined.
Vincent swallowed, and Rody noticed the almost imperceptible way his fingers flexed, the way his gaze dropped to the table. "I'll be fine," he repeated, quieter this time.
The courses kept coming, each one more elaborate and foreign than the last. Vincent took small bites, each time steeling himself, forcing a pleasant expression. Rody couldn't stand it. He reached out, touching Vincent's wrist and giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Let's go," he said, voice firm. "You don't have to put yourself through this."
Vincent met his eyes, the flicker of uncertainty there, of disappointment in himself. Rody's stomach twisted. Vincent wanted to be here-for him. To be the kind of partner who could handle a work dinner without flinching, who could fit in without the world feeling like sandpaper.
"It's fine, Rody," Vincent said, forcing a small smile, but Rody could see the strain behind it. He wasn't fine. He was hanging on by a thread.
"Come on." Rody leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only Vincent could hear. "I don't need you to do this for me. I just want you to be comfortable. That's what matters."
Vincent looked down, his expression softening slightly, and after a long, quiet moment, he nodded. He let out a slow breath, a faint relief flickering in his eyes. "Okay," he said softly, the tension finally easing from his shoulders.
They slipped out as quietly as they could, and as soon as they were outside, Rody felt Vincent's hand slide into his, gripping it tightly. The cool night air was a balm against the pressure that had been building up in the restaurant, and Rody could see the relief on Vincent's face as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
"Thank you," Vincent murmured, his voice barely audible. "I... I thought I could handle it. I didn't want to embarrass you."
Rody stopped, turning to face him. "Vince," he said, gripping his hands. "You could never embarrass me. You know that, right? I don't care about fitting in or impressing people at work. None of that matters compared to you."
Vincent's eyes softened, and Rody could see the layers of doubt and insecurity easing away, if only just a little. "I just... I want to be able to do normal things for you," he whispered, looking down. "I want to be the kind of person who... who doesn't struggle with things like this."
Rody's heart clenched as he reached up, cupping Vincent's cheek. "You don't need to be anyone but you. I mean it. You're already more than enough for me."
He saw a faint glisten in Vincent's eyes before he looked away, a slight smile breaking through the tension in his expression. "You're too good to me, Rody."
Rody laughed softly, pulling him close, feeling the warmth of Vincent's head resting against his shoulder. "Nah. Just the right amount," he said with a smirk, pressing a kiss to Vincent's forehead.
They stayed like that for a moment, holding each other under the streetlights, the world feeling quieter and more manageable. And Rody knew, as he held Vincent close, that no fancy dinner or picture-perfect outing could ever compare to moments like these. Moments where they could just be themselves, no masks, no pretending-just the two of them, exactly as they were.
Fun fact a medical professional told me he thinks I'm autistic and that I should get diagnosed. That was almost 10 years ago. Never went to get diagnosed cuz I forgot and just remembered lol
