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Rody Lamoree had worked with many patients throughout his career as a psychiatric doctor, but none had ever made him question his instincts quite like Vincent Charbonneau. Vincent was unlike anyone Rody had ever met. The nurses and other staff members spoke of him in hushed tones, often warning Rody about the dangers of getting too close. “He’s unpredictable,” they would say, their voices tinged with unease. “Be careful.”
When Rody first laid eyes on Vincent, he was struck by the contrast between what he had been told and what he saw. Vincent was tall, his frame thin to the point of fragility, his skin pale and his dark eyes hollowed out by deep shadows. He barely spoke, and when he did, his words came out in hesitant, stuttering fragments that seemed to cost him great effort. His hair was dark and unruly, often falling into his eyes, which were always downcast, never quite meeting Rody’s gaze.
Vincent had been at the facility for years, though Rody could never quite piece together the full story of how he ended up there. The file they gave him was sparse, with much of the information redacted. What was clear, however, was that Vincent had endured things no person should ever have to face. He was a victim of human trafficking, taken at a young age, and he had killed his abuser. The trauma had left him nearly mute, distrustful of everyone-everyone except, inexplicably, Rody.
From the moment they met, Vincent had latched onto Rody in a way that was both heartbreaking and perplexing. He followed Rody almost everywhere, his steps quiet and careful, like a shadow. He never spoke unless spoken to, and even then, his replies were often nonverbal-a nod, a slight shake of his head, or a barely audible hum. When he did speak, his voice was soft, broken by stutters, and his words were few.
“D-doctor…” Vincent had murmured once, during one of their early sessions. His voice was strained, as though the very act of speaking was painful. “Th-thank… you.”
Rody had been caught off guard by the simple words, the sincerity behind them cutting through the professional detachment he usually maintained. “You don’t need to thank me, Vincent. I’m just here to help.”
Vincent had only nodded, his eyes flicking up to meet Rody’s for the briefest of moments before they darted away again. It was the longest he had ever held eye contact with anyone, and Rody could see the deep well of pain and fear buried within those dark eyes.
Over time, Rody noticed that Vincent didn’t like to be touched. He would flinch if anyone other than Rody tried to lay a hand on him, pulling away with a look of panic. But with Rody, it was different. Vincent allowed Rody to guide him through the facility, to gently touch his arm during sessions, to offer him comfort in the only way Vincent seemed to accept. It was as if Rody was the one anchor Vincent had in a world that was otherwise terrifying and uncertain.
Vincent rarely ate, and when he did, it was only because Rody insisted. Meals were a struggle; Vincent would push the food around on his plate, his appetite nonexistent. Rody tried his best to encourage him, sitting with him during mealtimes, offering small bits of conversation in hopes of coaxing Vincent into eating. Sometimes, it worked. Other times, Vincent would simply shake his head, his expression distant, lost in some place Rody couldn’t reach.
It wasn’t long before the other staff members began to notice the bond between them. They watched with a mixture of concern and curiosity as Vincent trailed after Rody, always at a distance that was close but not too close. They whispered among themselves, wondering how it was that Vincent had become so attached to the new doctor, when he had remained distant and unreachable for so many years.
Rody, too, wondered about this connection. He found himself growing increasingly protective of Vincent, despite the warnings he had received. He knew Vincent’s past, or at least what little he could piece together, and he understood that the man had every reason to be wary, to keep everyone at arm’s length. But with Rody, it was different. Vincent sought him out, followed him, stayed by his side as though it was the only place he felt safe.
One evening, as Rody was reviewing patient files in his office, there was a soft knock at the door. He looked up, expecting one of the nurses, but instead found Vincent standing in the doorway. The look in Vincent’s eyes was one Rody had seen before-hesitant, almost fearful, but with a glimmer of something else. Trust, perhaps.
“Vincent,” Rody said gently, setting down the file. “Is everything okay?”
Vincent didn’t reply immediately. He stepped into the office, closing the door softly behind him. He stood there for a moment, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his sweater, before he finally spoke.
“C-could I… s-stay here?” His voice was barely above a whisper, and the stutter made it clear how difficult the words were for him.
Rody’s heart tightened at the request. He had seen Vincent’s terror during thunderstorms, the way he would curl up in a corner, trembling and silent, as if trying to make himself as small and invisible as possible. Rody had always wanted to do more for him, but the professional boundaries made it difficult.
“Of course,” Rody replied, his tone as soothing as he could make it. “You can stay as long as you need.”
Vincent moved to the small couch in the corner of the office and sat down, curling up with his knees drawn to his chest. He looked so small, so fragile, that Rody felt an overwhelming need to protect him. He walked over and sat beside him, careful not to invade Vincent’s space.
For a long while, they sat in silence, the only sound the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. Rody didn’t push for conversation, didn’t try to coax Vincent into talking. He knew that the silence was what Vincent needed most.
Eventually, Vincent’s head slowly tilted until it rested on Rody’s shoulder. Rody froze for a moment, surprised by the gesture. It was the first time Vincent had sought out physical comfort from him. He remained still, letting Vincent lean against him, offering him the quiet support that seemed to calm the storm inside.
“Y-you’re… n-not like them,” Vincent murmured, his voice trembling. “N-not like the o-others.”
Rody wasn’t sure if he meant the other doctors, or something else entirely. “I’m just here to help you, Vincent,” he said softly. “That’s all I want.”
Vincent’s breathing hitched slightly, and Rody could feel the tension in his thin frame. “Th-they s-said I’m… d-dangerous.”
Rody thought about the warnings from the staff, the fear in their eyes whenever Vincent was mentioned. But as he sat there, with Vincent curled against him, he found it hard to reconcile that image with the man beside him. “I don’t think you’re dangerous, Vincent,” Rody said carefully. “I think you’ve been through things no one should ever have to go through. And I think you’re doing your best to survive.”
Vincent didn’t respond, but the way his fingers clutched at Rody’s sleeve told him that the words had meant something to him. They sat like that for a long time, with Vincent resting against Rody, taking in the comfort that he rarely allowed himself to feel.
In that quiet moment, Rody realized something profound. He had come to care deeply for Vincent-not just as a patient, but as someone who had managed to touch his heart in a way no one else ever had. The bond between them was fragile, delicate, but it was real. And Rody knew he would do whatever it took to protect Vincent, to help him heal from the scars that haunted him.
When the time came for Vincent to return to his room, Rody walked him there, staying close but allowing Vincent to set the pace. They didn’t speak, but the silence was comfortable, filled with an understanding that words could never quite capture.
As they reached the door to Vincent’s room, Vincent hesitated, turning to look at Rody with an expression that was almost fearful, as if he was afraid this fragile connection between them would shatter.
“G-goodnight,” Vincent whispered, the stutter more pronounced, but his voice filled with a quiet sincerity.
“Goodnight, Vincent,” Rody replied softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Vincent nodded, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips before he slipped into his room, closing the door behind him.
Rody stood there for a moment, staring at the door, his mind racing with thoughts of the man who had become so much more than just a patient. He knew the road ahead would be long and difficult, but for the first time, he felt certain that they would face it together.
And as Rody walked back to his office, he couldn’t help but feel that, in some strange and inexplicable way, Vincent had saved him too.
Rody could hardly focus on his work the next day. The thoughts of Vincent, curled up beside him, replayed in his mind like a broken record. He’d never had a patient who’d affected him this way. There was something about Vincent-his fragility, his quiet resilience-that pulled at Rody’s heartstrings in a way he wasn’t sure was entirely professional.
The morning was filled with the usual rounds, checking on other patients, reviewing notes, and consulting with the staff. But throughout it all, Rody found himself wondering how Vincent was doing, if he’d slept well, if he was eating anything today. It wasn’t until after lunch that Rody finally had a chance to see Vincent again.
He found him in the common room, sitting in the corner by himself. Vincent wasn’t interacting with anyone else, not that he ever did. His dark eyes were fixed on the floor, his hands resting in his lap, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. The moment Rody walked in, Vincent’s head lifted, his gaze immediately seeking Rody out.
Rody could see the faintest trace of relief wash over Vincent’s features, a softening of the tension that always seemed to hold his body in a constant state of alertness. Without hesitation, Vincent stood and made his way over to Rody, his steps quick but tentative, as if he was afraid Rody might disappear if he didn’t move fast enough.
“Vincent,” Rody greeted, his voice warm. “How are you today?”
Vincent didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stopped just a foot away from Rody, close enough that Rody could see the slight tremble in his hands. Rody waited patiently, knowing how hard it was for Vincent to find the words.
“O-okay,” Vincent finally whispered, his voice so quiet Rody almost missed it.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Rody replied, offering him a small smile. “Would you like to talk in my office for a bit?”
Vincent nodded, and Rody led the way. The walk to his office was silent, but not uncomfortable. Vincent stayed close behind Rody, his presence like a shadow, always there but never overbearing.
Once they were inside the office, Rody shut the door and motioned for Vincent to sit on the couch. Vincent complied, but he seemed more restless today, his fingers tapping against his knees, his gaze flitting around the room. Rody took a seat in the armchair across from him, giving him space but keeping the distance between them small.
“You seem a bit anxious today,” Rody observed gently. “Is there something on your mind?”
Vincent’s eyes darted to Rody, then quickly away. He bit his lip, a nervous habit Rody had noticed before. Rody waited, his heart aching at how difficult it was for Vincent to express himself.
“C-can I…” Vincent started, his voice barely a whisper. He looked down at his hands, struggling with the words. “C-can I… s-stay with you?”
Rody frowned slightly, not out of displeasure but out of concern. “You mean… like last night?”
Vincent nodded, his hands clenching tightly together. “It’s… s-safe. W-with you.”
Those words hit Rody like a punch to the gut. The raw honesty in them, the vulnerability Vincent was showing, was overwhelming. He could see how much effort it took for Vincent to say even that much, and it only deepened Rody’s resolve to help him.
“Of course, Vincent,” Rody said, his voice soft, reassuring. “You’re always welcome to stay with me if it makes you feel safe.”
Vincent looked up at him, his dark eyes wide and filled with an emotion Rody couldn’t quite place. There was something more in Vincent’s gaze today, something deeper, more intense. It was as if Vincent was trying to communicate something that words couldn’t convey.
Rody felt his breath catch as Vincent slowly, almost hesitantly, reached out towards him. It was a small gesture, a slight movement of his hand, but Rody could tell how much it took for Vincent to do it. Rody met him halfway, gently taking Vincent’s hand in his own.
The touch was electric, a spark of connection that sent a shiver down Rody’s spine. Vincent’s hand was cold, trembling slightly, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he seemed to relax at the contact, his fingers tightening slightly around Rody’s.
“I’m here, Vincent,” Rody said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re safe with me.”
Vincent’s gaze was intense, his eyes locked onto Rody’s as if searching for something. There was a silent plea in those eyes, a longing that went beyond the need for safety or comfort. It was something more-something Rody hadn’t seen in Vincent before.
“I…” Vincent started, his voice trembling. He swallowed hard, his grip on Rody’s hand tightening. “I… l-l-like… you…”
The words hung in the air between them, fragile and uncertain. Rody’s heart skipped a beat, his mind racing to process what Vincent had just said. It wasn’t just the words themselves, but the way Vincent said them-the fear, the vulnerability, the hope.
“Vincent…” Rody began, his voice gentle. He wasn’t sure what to say, how to respond. Vincent’s feelings were clear, and Rody felt a mix of emotions swirling within him-compassion, concern, and something else he wasn’t ready to acknowledge just yet.
Vincent’s face fell slightly, a look of panic flashing across his features. He started to pull his hand away, but Rody tightened his grip, keeping him close.
“It’s okay,” Rody reassured him quickly. “It’s okay, Vincent. I’m not upset.”
Vincent looked at him, a mixture of hope and fear in his eyes. He was searching for something in Rody’s expression, some sign of acceptance, of understanding.
“I care about you, Vincent,” Rody said slowly, choosing his words with care. “More than just as your doctor. But I need you to understand that we’re in a complicated situation.”
Vincent’s eyes dropped, but he nodded slightly, his expression resigned. Rody could see the struggle in him-the fight between his feelings and the fear of rejection, of losing the one person who had made him feel safe.
“I’m here for you, Vincent,” Rody continued, leaning in slightly, his tone firm yet kind. “I’m not going anywhere. But we need to take this one step at a time, okay?”
Vincent looked up at him again, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He nodded again, more firmly this time. Rody gave his hand a gentle squeeze, offering him a small, reassuring smile.
“We’ll figure this out together,” Rody promised. “You’re not alone.”
Vincent’s shoulders relaxed slightly at Rody’s words, and he managed a faint, trembling smile. It was a small victory, but one that Rody knew meant the world to Vincent.
They stayed like that for a while, holding hands, the silence between them filled with unspoken understanding. Rody knew they had a long road ahead, filled with challenges and uncertainties. But as he looked at Vincent, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of hope.
Whatever came next, Rody knew they would face it together. And maybe, just maybe, they would both find the healing they needed.
Rody spent the rest of the day in a haze, his thoughts consumed by the quiet confession Vincent had made. The words echoed in his mind, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that had settled deep in his chest. It was a warmth that hadn’t been there before, something tender and protective that went beyond mere concern for a patient.
By the time his shift ended, Rody was exhausted-not from the work, but from the emotional turmoil that had been swirling inside him all day. He found himself standing outside his office, hesitating before turning the handle. He knew Vincent would be waiting for him, like he always was. But tonight, something felt different. There was a tension in the air, a sense of anticipation that made Rody’s heart beat faster.
When he finally stepped inside, he wasn’t surprised to find Vincent already there, curled up on the couch. Vincent looked up as soon as Rody entered, his eyes lighting up in that familiar way. But tonight, there was something more in Vincent’s gaze-something that made Rody’s breath catch.
“Vincent,” Rody greeted softly, closing the door behind him. The room was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the heater in the corner. Rody walked over to his desk, setting down his things before turning to face Vincent.
Vincent was watching him closely, his dark eyes tracking every movement Rody made. There was a nervousness in his posture, a slight tremble in his hands as he fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve. Rody could see the anxiety, the uncertainty, and it tugged at his heart.
“Did you have dinner?” Rody asked, knowing the answer but wanting to ease into the conversation. He didn’t want to overwhelm Vincent, especially after the vulnerability he’d shown earlier.
Vincent shook his head slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor. Rody sighed, walking over to the couch and sitting down beside him. He didn’t press Vincent to eat; he knew that forcing the issue would only make things worse.
For a few moments, they sat in silence, the weight of the day pressing down on them. Rody could feel the tension between them, the unspoken words that hung in the air. He glanced over at Vincent, taking in the way his hands trembled, the way his shoulders were hunched as if he was trying to make himself smaller.
“Vincent,” Rody began, his voice soft but steady. “About what you said earlier…”
Vincent tensed, his hands clenching tightly in his lap. He didn’t look up, but Rody could see the fear in the way he held himself, as if he was bracing for rejection.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Rody continued, choosing his words carefully. “And I need you to know that… I care about you, too. More than I probably should.”
Vincent’s head snapped up at that, his eyes wide with surprise. He stared at Rody, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Rody reached out, gently taking Vincent’s hand in his own. The touch was familiar now, comforting, and Rody could feel Vincent relax slightly under his touch.
“I’m not sure when it happened,” Rody admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But somewhere along the way, you became more than just a patient to me. You’ve been through so much, Vincent, and all I want to do is keep you safe.”
Vincent’s eyes filled with tears, his lip trembling as he tried to hold them back. Rody could see the battle going on inside him-the fear of being hurt again, of letting someone in only to have them leave. Rody squeezed his hand gently, trying to convey all the reassurance he could through that simple touch.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Rody continued, his tone soothing. “I just want you to know that you’re not alone in this. Whatever you’re feeling, I’m right here with you.”
Vincent let out a shaky breath, his shoulders trembling as he tried to keep his emotions in check. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears from his eyes, but they spilled over anyway, trailing down his cheeks. Rody’s heart ached at the sight, and he couldn’t help but reach out, gently brushing the tears away with his thumb.
“Rody…” Vincent whispered, his voice barely audible. He looked up at Rody with such raw emotion, such vulnerability, that it took Rody’s breath away. “I… I’m s-scared.”
“I know,” Rody replied, his voice soft. “But you don’t have to be scared with me. I’m not going anywhere, Vincent. I promise.”
Vincent stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to find any hint of doubt or deception in Rody’s eyes. But all he found was sincerity, and slowly, cautiously, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Rody’s shoulder.
Rody wrapped his arms around Vincent, holding him close as the tears continued to fall. He could feel Vincent’s body trembling, the years of fear and pain finally breaking through the fragile walls he’d built around himself. Rody didn’t say anything, just held him, letting Vincent release everything he’d been holding inside.
As the minutes passed, Vincent’s sobs gradually subsided, leaving him exhausted and emotionally drained. He remained in Rody’s embrace, his breathing slow and steady, his hands clutching Rody’s shirt as if he was afraid to let go.
Rody rested his chin on top of Vincent’s head, his heart full of conflicting emotions. He knew that this was far from simple, that their situation was fraught with complications. But in that moment, none of it seemed to matter. All that mattered was the man in his arms, the man who had suffered so much and yet still found it in himself to love.
“I love you, Vincent,” Rody whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. They felt right, natural, and he didn’t regret saying them for a second.
Vincent stiffened slightly at the words, but then he melted further into Rody’s embrace, his grip on Rody’s shirt tightening. He didn’t say anything in response, but Rody didn’t need him to. The way Vincent clung to him, the way he relaxed in his arms, said more than words ever could.
They stayed like that for what felt like hours, the world outside fading away. Rody knew they would have to face the reality of their situation eventually, but for now, he was content to hold Vincent close, to offer him the comfort and security he so desperately needed.
Whatever challenges lay ahead, Rody knew they would face them together. And maybe, just maybe, they could find some semblance of peace in each other’s arms.
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