Warning: Sexual Content
The night was settling quietly over the small apartment that Vincent, Rody, Manon, and Richard shared. But this was a rare moment of peace.
Most nights were anything but quiet. Especially thanks to Vincent and Rody.
It had started innocently enough when the four of them moved in together to save on rent. They all got along well, and everyone’s quirks seemed manageable at first. Richard was calm and organized, which was fortunate because Manon’s chaotic tendencies balanced things out. Rody was the group’s boisterous energy, and Vincent was… well, Vincent. Slightly uptight, unfailingly intense, and the only one who could wrangle Rody into actually doing chores.
But soon after the move, Richard and Manon had noticed a… unique pattern. Each evening, shortly after Vincent and Rody retired to their shared room, strange noises would emerge. At first, it was just quiet shuffling. Then there was an occasional soft laugh, some murmurs, and maybe a squeak of bedsprings.
Then came the moaning. **Vincent’s** moaning.
Vincent wasn’t a particularly loud person by day. Most people would even call him reserved, preferring dry, witty remarks to loud declarations. But at night? He was apparently quite expressive.
Richard stared at his ceiling in disbelief as the familiar sounds started up again. It was a high-pitched groan, the sort that would make a person question every life choice that had led them to this moment.
“Oh, God, yes! Rody—!”
Richard groaned and rolled over, punching his pillow as if it would somehow dampen the noise. No such luck.
“Oh, come on,” he muttered to himself. “They could at least try to muffle it…”
A moment later, Manon appeared at his doorway, dark circles under her eyes. She was still wearing her strawberry-patterned pajamas, her hair frizzing out at odd angles.
“I can’t take it anymore, Richard,” she hissed. “That’s the third time *this week*.”
He held up his hand. “Correction: it’s only Wednesday. Fourth time.”
They both jumped as an especially loud exclamation—one that sounded suspiciously like *“Oh mon Dieu!”*—echoed through the apartment. Richard winced and buried his head in his hands.
“Do they even realize we can hear *everything*?” Manon whispered, horrified.
Richard shook his head, grimacing. “I don’t think they care.”
They sat in silence, the uncomfortably rhythmic squeaks of the bed filling the air. Manon looked at the ceiling with a sigh. “It’s just… *Vincent,* you know? I never thought he’d be the loud type. He has this... *reputation.*”
Richard nodded grimly. Vincent was all stoic and proper by day, managing their apartment expenses and making delicious meals with an eye for detail. He didn’t exactly strike anyone as the type to be screaming Rody’s name every night like he was performing in a low-budget romance movie.
“He's louder than Rody!” Richard muttered.
Manon groaned. “And don’t get me started on Rody! He’s... *enabling* him. Half the time, he’s laughing while Vincent’s yelling.”
And as if on cue, Rody’s voice came floating down the hall. “You good down there, chef?”
“*Yes, don’t stop—*”
Manon’s jaw dropped. “*That’s it.*”
She stomped out of Richard’s room, her fluffy slippers pounding a surprisingly threatening rhythm against the floorboards. Richard followed, a bit apprehensive, but more than a little curious to see what she was planning.
