Vincent’s fingers flew across the cutting board, the knife glinting under the soft kitchen light as he diced vegetables with precision. His eyes darted to the oven clock. Five minutes until the roast finished. Five minutes to make sure everything-**everything**-was perfect. Tonight had to be perfect.
He couldn’t fail.
Rody was sitting in the living room, flipping lazily through the channels on the TV. His laugh rumbled occasionally at a silly commercial or news anchor blunder, and it filtered through the apartment like music to Vincent’s ears. It was that laugh-so careless, so unburdened-that made Vincent’s chest tighten with both love and fear.
Rody was the best thing that had ever happened to him. No one else had ever looked at Vincent with the same warmth, the same genuine affection. Not like the others.
The others had left when they realized Vincent wasn’t good enough-when they saw the cracks in his perfection. When his carefully controlled exterior faltered, when a dish came out overcooked, or when he failed to meet their impossible expectations, they were gone. They left him behind, as if he were nothing.
But Rody wasn’t like them. He hadn’t left. He wouldn’t leave.
Vincent couldn’t let him leave.
His hands shook as he sprinkled a delicate pinch of sea salt over the vegetables. He took a slow, deep breath, fighting to maintain control, to keep himself grounded. But the gnawing anxiety was already creeping in, like a shadow curling around his heart, threatening to crush it in its grip.
What if it wasn’t enough? What if tonight wasn’t perfect?
“Hey, babe, need a hand in there?” Rody’s voice broke through the haze, snapping Vincent out of his spiraling thoughts.
Vincent froze, his body stiffening. The idea of Rody stepping into the kitchen, seeing things before they were ready-before they were perfect-was too much. It made his stomach twist into knots.
“No,” Vincent replied quickly, too quickly. He cleared his throat, trying to soften his voice. “No, I’ve got it under control.”
Rody didn’t push, thankfully. He never did. Vincent admired that about him-his patience, his understanding. It was so different from anything Vincent had experienced before. His past partners had always demanded more from him, always pointed out his failures. They left him bruised and exhausted, desperate to please but never able to satisfy.
But Rody was…kind. Uncomplicated. Vincent wasn’t used to that. He wasn’t used to **kindness**.
That was exactly why he had to make sure everything was perfect. Rody deserved more than just a meal; he deserved the best. The best food, the best night, the best version of Vincent.
The oven beeped, signaling that the roast was ready. Vincent opened the door, the heat rushing out as he carefully lifted the pan and placed it on the counter. The meat was golden-brown, juices glistening on the surface. It looked perfect.
But was it?
Vincent’s heart rate quickened as doubt gnawed at him. He couldn’t shake the fear that it wasn’t quite right. What if it was too dry? What if the seasoning was off? What if Rody tasted it and realized Vincent wasn’t good enough-just like the others had?
No. He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t let his mind spiral.
But the thoughts wouldn’t stop. His pulse quickened, his breathing grew shallow, and suddenly, everything felt wrong. His vision blurred, and his hands trembled as he reached for the carving knife. **It’s not good enough. I’m not good enough.**
“Vin?”
Rody’s voice was softer now, closer. Vincent turned to see him standing in the doorway, his brow furrowed in concern. Rody’s green eyes flicked between Vincent and the counter, where the half-prepared meal sat in silence.
Vincent swallowed hard, his throat tight. He tried to steady his breath, to pull himself together. But the weight of his own expectations crushed him, and he could feel the panic rising in his chest.
“I just…I want everything to be perfect,” Vincent whispered, his voice trembling. He couldn’t look at Rody. He couldn’t bear to see the disappointment, the realization that Vincent was nothing more than a failure.
But instead of disappointment, Rody moved toward him with that same steady calmness Vincent had come to rely on. He gently took the knife from Vincent’s hands and set it aside before placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Vin, it’s okay,” Rody said, his voice low and soothing. “You don’t have to do this.”
“But I do,” Vincent insisted, his voice cracking under the pressure. He felt fragile, exposed. “You deserve the best. I need this to be perfect, because if it’s not, if I’m not…”
His words trailed off, lost in the tangle of his thoughts. He couldn’t say it aloud-couldn’t admit how terrified he was of Rody leaving. He had never been good enough before. What if Rody realized that too? What if he saw Vincent the way everyone else had?
Rody’s expression softened, and he cupped Vincent’s face in his hands, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Vincent,” Rody murmured, his voice steady and firm. “I don’t need perfect. I just need you. You’re enough.”
The sincerity in Rody’s eyes sent a shudder through Vincent, and he felt the weight of his own self-imposed expectations crash down around him. Rody wasn’t going to leave him. He wasn’t like the others.
Tears pricked at the corners of Vincent’s eyes, and for the first time in years, he allowed himself to believe it. To believe that he didn’t have to be perfect. That he could just…be.
Rody smiled gently, brushing a thumb over Vincent’s cheek. “I’m serious, babe. You don’t have to do all this for me. I don’t care if the food’s perfect. I don’t care if everything’s spotless. I just care about you.”
Vincent felt a sob rising in his throat, and he quickly turned away, embarrassed by how easily his emotions had surfaced. But Rody didn’t let him hide. He pulled Vincent into his arms, holding him close, grounding him with that same steady presence that had kept Vincent from falling apart so many times before.
“I’m not like them,” Rody whispered, his breath warm against Vincent’s ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Vincent clung to him, his fingers gripping Rody’s shirt as if he were afraid to let go. But slowly, the tension drained from his body, replaced by a calm he hadn’t known in years. Maybe ever.
He believed Rody. For the first time in his life, Vincent believed that someone truly cared about him, not because of what he could do or how perfect he could be, but because of who he was.
“I’m sorry,” Vincent murmured, his voice muffled against Rody’s chest.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Rody replied softly, running his fingers through Vincent’s hair. “You’re enough, Vin. You always have been.”
Vincent closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. He wasn’t used to this-to someone staying, to someone understanding. But with Rody, everything felt different. Everything felt…right.
After a long moment, Rody pulled back slightly, giving Vincent a small, teasing smile. “Now, let’s go eat before all that hard work goes to waste, yeah?”
Vincent laughed softly, the sound shaky but real. “Yeah,” he agreed, wiping his eyes. “Let’s eat.”
As they sat down together at the table, Vincent couldn’t shake the lingering sense of relief that washed over him. The food wasn’t perfect. The night wasn’t perfect.
But with Rody, maybe it didn’t have to be.
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