Day 4
Rody had always been intense-a simmering energy that made him a star waiter at La Gueule de Saturne. But lately, that intensity had begun to warp into something darker, something twisted that writhed and coiled in his chest whenever he caught a glimpse of Vincent.
Rody stood behind the counter, his eyes locked on Vincent as the chef moved through the kitchen with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. Vincent was meticulous in his work, never wasting a motion. Each step was in perfect rhythm with the sizzling pans and boiling pots. His black eyes, usually so cold and distant, softened ever so slightly when he tasted a dish or adjusted a seasoning.
Rody’s heart pounded against his ribs, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He could barely focus on his tables anymore, his thoughts consumed by the sight of Vincent’s slender fingers carefully arranging plates, the slight furrow of his brow when something didn’t meet his exacting standards.
*What would those hands feel like on me?* The thought made Rody’s blood surge with a primal need that he struggled to suppress. The fantasies started simple-Vincent’s hand grazing his as they exchanged a plate, a brush of his fingers across Rody’s arm when he handed him a glass of wine. But as the days passed, those fantasies grew bolder, darker, fueled by the insatiable hunger that gnawed at Rody’s sanity.
Vincent glanced up from his work, catching Rody’s stare. For a moment, their eyes met, and Rody’s heart nearly stopped. But then Vincent blinked, his expression unreadable, and turned back to his task.
Rody clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. *He’s just so… perfect.* The thought twisted inside him, growing roots in the fertile soil of his obsession, winding tighter and tighter around his mind.
The kitchen felt too hot, too small, with Vincent just feet away but impossibly out of reach. Rody couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Vincent-something beyond the polished exterior, beyond the quiet efficiency, something dark and passionate that only Rody could uncover. He needed to know Vincent, needed to have him, like he needed air to breathe.
And yet, Vincent was so distant, so detached. He spoke little, his words always clipped and to the point, never revealing anything more than necessary. It drove Rody mad. How could someone so beautiful, so enigmatic, not see what was right in front of him? How could he not see that Rody was the one who truly understood him, who could give him what he needed?
Rody’s obsession began to seep into every aspect of his life. He found himself arriving at the restaurant earlier each day, staying later into the night, all just to catch glimpses of Vincent. He memorized the chef’s every movement, every expression, cataloging them in his mind like precious treasures. He would lie awake at night, replaying their brief interactions over and over, dissecting every word, every glance, searching for hidden meaning.
—
Day 5
The obsession grew, festered, gnawing at him like a hungry beast. Rody began finding excuses to linger in the kitchen, to watch Vincent from the shadows as the chef worked late into the night. He studied every detail-the way Vincent’s hands moved, the curve of his lips, the way he sighed when something didn’t meet his standards.
It wasn’t enough to just watch anymore. Rody needed more. He needed to feel Vincent’s presence, to leave a mark of his own on the chef’s life, no matter how small. He started leaving little notes in Vincent’s office, scribbled confessions of his feelings that he would never dare to say aloud.
At first, they were simple-compliments on his cooking, admiration for his skill. “Your hands are like poetry,” one note read. “I want to feel them on my skin, to know what it’s like to be touched by someone so perfect.”
Another: “I dream of you every night. You’re all I think about. I would do anything to make you mine.”
Vincent found the notes each morning, his pale face betraying no emotion as he read them. But he never mentioned them, never reacted, simply tossing them aside and continuing with his day.
It drove Rody mad.
The fantasies grew darker. Rody imagined what it would be like to force Vincent to acknowledge him, to make him understand the depth of his obsession. He imagined cornering Vincent in his office, pressing him against the wall, making him feel everything Rody felt. He imagined Vincent struggling, his breath hot and ragged, his eyes wide with fear and something else-something that Rody knew would be there if he just pushed hard enough.
Rody knew it was wrong, knew that what he felt was spiraling out of control. But he couldn’t stop. Vincent was under his skin, in his blood, a sickness that Rody didn’t want to cure.
—
Day 6
By now, Rody’s obsession had taken complete control. He was a slave to it, his every thought consumed by Vincent. The world outside the restaurant had faded away, leaving only Vincent, only the need to possess him, to claim him as his own.
Rody’s behavior became erratic. He started slipping up at work, his usually flawless performance marred by his inability to focus on anything but Vincent. His coworkers noticed, whispering behind his back, but Rody didn’t care. None of them mattered. Only Vincent mattered.
That night, Rody couldn’t take it anymore.
He waited until the restaurant was empty, the lights dimmed and the streets outside quiet. Then, he slipped into Vincent’s office, the small space lit only by the pale glow of the moon filtering through the window.
Rody’s breath was shallow as he approached Vincent’s desk, the familiar scent of the chef’s cologne intoxicating. His hands trembled as he reached out, touching the edge of the desk where Vincent’s fingers had been earlier.
“Vincent…” Rody whispered, his voice thick with longing. “Why won’t you notice me? Why won’t you see how much I care?”
The office door creaked open, and Rody froze.
Vincent stood in the doorway, his dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Rody? What are you doing here?”
Rody’s heart pounded in his chest, his thoughts a chaotic swirl of fear and desire. “I… I needed to see you,” he stammered. “I needed to tell you… I can’t stop thinking about you, Vincent. You’re all I want.”
Vincent’s expression hardened. “Rody, this isn’t appropriate. You need to leave.”
“No!” Rody’s voice cracked, desperation clawing at his throat. “You don’t understand! I love you, Vincent! I need you! Please, just give me a chance!”
Vincent’s face twisted in anger. “Rody, you’re out of line. Leave, now, before I have to call the police.”
The threat sent a surge of panic through Rody, but it only fueled his obsession. He couldn’t lose Vincent. He couldn’t let anyone take him away.
“I won’t let you leave me!” Rody’s voice was wild, his eyes crazed as he lunged forward, grabbing Vincent by the shoulders. “You’re mine, Vincent! You’re mine!”
Vincent struggled, his eyes wide with fear as he tried to push Rody away. But Rody was stronger, driven by the all-consuming need that had taken over his mind. He pulled Vincent closer, his grip tightening as he whispered feverishly into his ear.
“I’ll make you see, Vincent. I’ll make you understand how much I love you. You’ll see… you’ll see…”
Vincent’s struggles grew weaker as Rody tightened his grip, his strength fueled by madness. He forced Vincent down onto the desk, pinning him there as he loomed over him, his breath hot and ragged against Vincent’s ear.
“You’re mine now,” Rody whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “No one else can have you. No one else will ever touch you. You belong to me, Vincent. Forever.”
Vincent’s eyes, once so sharp and calculating, were now wide with terror. But there was no escape. Rody’s grip was ironclad, his obsession unbreakable.
“You’ll learn to love me,” Rody murmured, pressing a kiss to Vincent’s temple. “I’ll make you love me. We’ll be so happy together, Vincent. Just you wait…”
—
Day 7
The sun rose over La Gueule de Saturne, its golden rays filtering through the windows and casting long shadows across the empty restaurant.
In the kitchen, a pot of soup bubbled on the stove, filling the air with the rich aroma of herbs and spices. But the kitchen was empty, the usual bustling energy replaced by an eerie stillness.
In the office, the scene was far more sinister.
Vincent’s body lay slumped over his desk, his once vibrant eyes now dull and lifeless. His hands, those hands that Rody had admired so much, were cold and still, a small note clutched between his fingers.
“I’m sorry,” the note read, written in Rody’s messy scrawl. “But I couldn’t let you go. You’re mine now, Vincent. Forever.”
Rody sat in the corner of the room, his eyes glazed and empty as he rocked back and forth, muttering to himself. The madness that had consumed him had finally reached its peak, leaving him a hollow shell of the man he once was.
But in his twisted mind, he had won.
Vincent was his.
And no one would ever take him away.
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