The apartment was dim, only faintly illuminated by the dying light of the evening sun as it filtered through the window blinds. Dust swirled lazily in the orange glow, a stark contrast to the restless energy simmering inside Rody. He sat on his worn-out couch, legs sprawled out in front of him, a half-empty bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. His eyes stared ahead, unfocused, lost somewhere in the space between the present and a past he couldn’t seem to shake off.
Beside him, Vincent sat with his usual poised elegance, one leg crossed over the other, a wine glass lightly balanced in his hand. His pale fingers wrapped around the delicate stem with a certain care, but his dark eyes were focused on Rody, quietly observing the lines of tension that marred his expression. Vincent had always been the quiet one, the type to speak only when necessary, but there was a heaviness in the silence tonight that pressed on both of them.
The air felt thick, filled with words neither of them could bring themselves to say.
Rody sighed, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. He hated this-the way it always felt like he was teetering on the edge of something dangerous whenever they were together. He could feel it lurking beneath the surface, the unspoken truth, the unresolved feelings that hung between them like a ghost.
Vincent remained still, taking a measured sip of his wine. His eyes flickered toward Rody’s hand, watching the way it trembled slightly. He didn’t say anything, but he knew what was coming. He always knew.
“Vin,” Rody began, his voice rough, thick with something he couldn’t name. “Why do you… why do you put up with this?”
It was a loaded question, one that had been hanging over their relationship for months now. They’d fallen into a rhythm, a kind of dysfunctional dance that had become familiar. Rody would take what Vincent offered-his presence, his affection, his love-and Vincent would give it without hesitation. But there was always an edge to it, a sharp reminder that they weren’t exactly on even footing.
Because Rody wasn’t with Vincent because he’d chosen him. He was with Vincent because Manon wasn’t an option anymore.
Manon-*his* Manon-was alive and well, but she was out of his reach, having chosen a different path, one that didn’t include him. And despite the finality of it all, despite the fact that she broke up with him, Rody couldn’t let her go. She was everywhere, in every thought, every memory, every lingering touch he shared with Vincent.
Vincent knew this. He always had.
But instead of pulling away, instead of demanding more, Vincent had quietly accepted the role of the replacement. The stand-in for something Rody couldn’t have anymore.
Vincent’s expression didn’t change as Rody’s question hung in the air. He was composed, as always, though there was a weight in his dark eyes that betrayed the calm exterior. He set his wine glass down on the table beside him, turning slightly to face Rody. His hand brushed against Rody’s knee, the contact grounding, solid.
“I put up with it because I love you,” Vincent said, his voice smooth, steady, but heavy with meaning. “And that’s enough.”
Rody’s breath caught in his throat. It was always like this. Vincent had a way of saying things that cut through all the noise in Rody’s head, leaving him feeling exposed, vulnerable. He stared down at the floor, his brow furrowed, jaw tight.
“You know that’s not fair,” Rody muttered, his voice low. He could feel Vincent’s gaze on him, unwavering, patient. “It’s not fair to you. You deserve… hell, you deserve someone who actually-“
“Loves me?” Vincent interrupted, his tone even but not cold. There was no bitterness, no anger. Only a quiet resignation, as if he’d already accepted the reality of their relationship long ago.
Rody winced, running a hand through his messy auburn hair. His heart felt heavy, weighed down by guilt, by shame. “Yeah. Someone who isn’t just using you to fill a void.”
Vincent shifted, leaning back slightly, his posture relaxed despite the tension crackling between them. He regarded Rody for a long moment, his eyes dark and unreadable. Then, with a small sigh, he spoke again. “Fairness has never been a guarantee in life, Rody.”
There it was again-Vincent’s ability to strip away the complications and lay things bare. It both infuriated and humbled Rody. He hated how easily Vincent could accept the situation, how he could look at their relationship, fractured as it was, and still find a way to be at peace with it.
“I’m not using you,” Rody said, his voice tight with frustration. “I don’t want to be, at least. It’s just…”
“You still love her,” Vincent finished softly, not as a question, but as a simple statement of fact.
Rody’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t have the energy to deny it. How could he? Manon was still there, in the corners of his mind, in the lingering regret that gnawed at him day after day. She had been everything-his anchor, his hope for a future. And when she had left, he had been lost.
“I do,” Rody admitted, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. “I still love her.”
Vincent nodded once, his expression unreadable. But there was no shock, no anger, no hurt. He had always known, after all. He had known from the beginning that to Rody, he was a substitute, a stand-in for someone who had walked away.
And yet, he stayed.
“Vincent,” Rody said, his voice soft, almost pleading. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. You deserve better than this-better than me.”
Vincent leaned forward, his hand finding Rody’s, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re not hurting me,” he said quietly. “I knew what I was getting into. If being with you means living in someone else’s shadow, I can accept that.”
Rody stared at him, disbelief flickering in his green eyes. “Why? Why the hell would you accept that? You’re… You’re Vincent Charbonneau. You could have anyone.”
Vincent’s lips twitched into a small, sad smile. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”
There was something in his voice, something raw and honest that made Rody’s heart ache. He didn’t deserve this-didn’t deserve the way Vincent loved him, the way he patiently stood by, even knowing he wasn’t Rody’s first choice.
“I don’t understand you,” Rody whispered, shaking his head. “How can you just… be okay with this?”
Vincent’s thumb brushed over the back of Rody’s hand, the gesture almost soothing. “Because it’s you, Rody,” he said softly. “And I love you too much to let you go, even if I’m not the one you love most.”
The words hung between them, heavy with truth. Rody swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in his throat. He didn’t know what to say-how to respond to the kind of love Vincent was offering. It was selfless, unconditional, and it terrified him.
He leaned forward, his forehead resting against Vincent’s shoulder, eyes closing as he let out a shaky breath. He could feel Vincent’s heartbeat, steady and calm, beneath his skin. It was a comfort, a reminder that despite everything, Vincent was here. He was always here.
Vincent’s hand came up to gently run through Rody’s messy auburn hair, his fingers threading through the strands with practiced ease. “It’s okay,” Vincent whispered, his breath warm against Rody’s temple. “I’m not asking you to forget her. I’m just asking you to stay.”
Rody’s chest tightened, guilt and longing warring inside him. He didn’t deserve this kind of love, but he also didn’t know how to let it go. He wasn’t ready to let go of Manon-maybe he never would be. But Vincent was here, offering him something steady in the chaos. Something that felt real.
“I’ll stay,” Rody whispered back, the words trembling on his lips, barely more than a breath.
Vincent pressed a soft kiss to the top of Rody’s head, his hold on him tightening just slightly, as if to reassure him that it was enough. “That’s all I need.”
And for now, in the quiet of the fading evening, with the weight of past loves still lingering in the air, it was enough.
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