Dead Plate Oneshots The Baker’s Little Pup

In the village of Valmire, nestled deep in the heart of a dense forest, the golden light of early morning spilled over the cobbled streets. The villagers stirred as the scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, drawing people to the heart of the town: *Le Pain de Minuit*, Vincent Charbonneau’s bakery. Known for his delicate pastries and warm loaves, Vincent had earned a reputation as the finest baker for miles.

The bell above the bakery’s door jingled as Vincent stepped outside to check the rising sun. He wasn’t a man of many words, but he didn’t need them to get his point across. His stern gaze, framed by neatly trimmed dark hair and sharp black eyes, often spoke volumes. Tall and stoic, with pale skin that never seemed to tan, Vincent exuded an air of mystery that kept people at arm’s length. It suited him just fine.

But, recently, Vincent had gained a shadow.

Bounding down the street with endless energy and a wagging tail was Rody, the scruffy little werewolf pup who had latched onto him like a burr. His messy auburn fur stuck out in all directions, and his green eyes sparkled with mischief and determination. Every day, Rody would sit in front of *Le Pain de Minuit* and proudly declare that one day, he would be Vincent’s mate. The notion amused the baker far more than he cared to admit.

Vincent leaned against the bakery door, arms crossed, watching as the small pup scampered over, nearly tripping over his own paws. “You’re early today,” Vincent remarked, his usual flat tone betraying just a hint of amusement.

“Vincent!” Rody yipped, his tail wagging so furiously that his whole body shook with it. He hopped in front of Vincent and puffed out his little chest, trying to look brave and strong. “I’m getting stronger every day! Soon I’ll be big enough to protect you from everyone!”

Vincent raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the tiny wolf pup who barely reached his knees. “You’re still the size of a loaf of bread, Rody.”

“I’m a *strong* loaf of bread!” Rody retorted with a huff, his fur bristling in mock offense.

Vincent couldn’t help but smirk, though he quickly masked it by turning his attention to the baskets of bread he had set out for the morning rush. He knew better than to indulge Rody too much, but the pup’s enthusiasm never failed to make his mornings a little brighter. “And what exactly are you protecting me from today?”

Rody plopped down at Vincent’s feet, looking up at him with wide, determined eyes. “Anyone who tries to take you away! They’ll have to get through *me* first.”

“Is that so?” Vincent asked, kneeling down to get on Rody’s level. His black eyes met the pup’s bright green ones. “Even if it’s just a customer coming in for bread?”

Rody’s ears flattened for a moment, but his tail kept wagging. “Well, they can have bread… but not *you*. You’re my mate, and I’ll make sure no one else gets close enough to steal you!”

Vincent’s lips twitched with amusement, though his expression remained as neutral as ever. He reached out and ruffled Rody’s head, making the pup wag his tail even harder. “I’m not sure you quite understand how this works.”

Rody blinked up at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

Vincent sighed, sitting back on his heels. “You’re still a pup, Rody. You’ll grow up and find your own life one day. Besides, humans don’t live as long as werewolves. Even if we were mates, I wouldn’t be around for long.”

Rody stared at him, completely unmoved. “No, you’re wrong. You’ll be around *forever* because I’ll protect you. And once I’m big and strong, we’ll be together forever.”

The sheer confidence in the pup’s voice made Vincent’s chest tighten. It was so impossibly innocent and naïve that Vincent couldn’t help but find it endearing. He sighed again, more amused than frustrated, and stood up, brushing off his apron. “You can’t argue with a pup, can you?”

“I don’t need to argue,” Rody said proudly, trotting after Vincent as he walked back into the bakery. “I already know I’m right.”

As Vincent began arranging the freshly baked loaves, he cast a glance at Rody, who had claimed his usual spot near the counter, keeping a vigilant watch for anyone who might dare approach his “future mate.” The village had grown used to the sight of the scruffy werewolf pup following the aloof baker around, and while some found it odd, most just found it charming.

“Don’t you have other things to do?” Vincent asked, setting a tray of croissants on display. “Like chasing squirrels or practicing howling?”

Rody shook his head vigorously. “Nope! Protecting you is my most important job!”

“And what happens when you’re bigger?” Vincent asked, glancing over his shoulder. “You’ll get bored and move on. Find yourself a nice, strong werewolf mate.”

Rody’s eyes narrowed, and he sat up straight, clearly offended. “No way! You’re the only one I want! I’ll *never* get bored of you, Vincent!”

Vincent hid his amusement by turning back to his work. Despite Rody’s boundless energy and constant declarations, Vincent couldn’t help but feel oddly flattered by the pup’s devotion. It had been years since anyone had shown him such persistent affection, even if it was just from a starry-eyed pup with too much confidence for his own good.

The day continued as usual, with villagers coming and going, each greeted by the sight of the little werewolf stationed like a guard at the door. Anytime someone lingered too long in conversation with Vincent, Rody would subtly—or not so subtly—insert himself into the situation, usually by sitting in front of them or letting out a low growl if they got too close.

Most people laughed it off, finding the pup’s antics harmless. Vincent, on the other hand, found it increasingly difficult to hide his amusement. By mid-afternoon, when the bakery was quiet and most of the morning rush had passed, Vincent sat at the counter with a cup of coffee, watching Rody curl up near the hearth.

“You can’t scare everyone away forever, you know,” Vincent said, taking a sip.

Rody lifted his head, blinking sleepily. “Why not?”

“Because that’s not how life works,” Vincent replied, setting down his cup. “You can’t always guard people from everything, and I’m not the kind of person who needs guarding.”

Rody tilted his head, confused. “But you’re important to me. I don’t want anyone else to take you away.”

Vincent leaned back in his chair, looking at the pup. He had to admit, there was something undeniably sweet about Rody’s earnestness, even if it was born of childish misunderstanding. “No one’s going to take me away, pup,” Vincent said softly. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Rody’s ears perked up, and he wagged his tail. “See? That’s why we’re going to be mates! You already understand.”

Vincent chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re hopeless.”

Rody’s tail thumped happily against the floor, clearly taking Vincent’s words as confirmation. The two fell into a comfortable silence, the warmth of the bakery and the gentle crackling of the fire making the space feel cozy and safe.

As the sun began to set, and the last of the customers filtered out, Vincent watched Rody drift off to sleep by the hearth, his little body curled up in a ball, his nose tucked under his tail. For all his bravado, Rody was still just a pup, filled with dreams of a future he didn’t fully understand. But there was something undeniably charming about the way he clung to those dreams, no matter how unrealistic they were.

Vincent quietly got up, draping a blanket over the sleeping werewolf. “You’ve got a long way to go, little wolf,” he murmured, more to himself than to Rody.

As he closed up the shop for the night, Vincent couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite the absurdity of it all, he didn’t mind having the pup around. It made the bakery feel a little less lonely. And maybe, just maybe, there was a part of him that enjoyed the idea of having someone who cared so fiercely about him, even if that someone was a stubborn, overconfident werewolf pup who still had much to learn about the world.

The moon rose high over the village, casting a soft glow over the quiet streets. And as the night settled in, Vincent found himself smiling—just a little—as he watched Rody’s peaceful slumber, wondering what the future held for them both.

Years passed, and with them, Rody grew. Gone was the scruffy little pup who once bounced through the streets, his tail wagging furiously. He’d grown into a tall, strong werewolf with broad shoulders and a lean, muscled frame, his once wild auburn fur now sleek and well-kept. His green eyes still held the same spark of mischief and determination, though they now carried a hint of something deeper, something more mature.

But while Rody had grown stronger, Vincent had begun to show signs of age. His dark hair had gained streaks of silver, and fine lines etched themselves into the corners of his eyes. His posture was a little stiffer, and though he still moved with quiet grace, Rody could see the subtle way Vincent’s hands trembled when he thought no one was watching.

Yet, despite all this, Vincent remained the same in many ways: calm, composed, and—most importantly to Rody—still alone.

Rody never stopped watching over him. Even as the other wolves in his pack began to pair off and mate, he refused to consider anyone else. The young werewolves would joke about it, nudging Rody in the ribs and teasing him about his “human obsession.”

“Rody, you’re wasting your time,” one of his packmates had said one evening, a full moon casting long shadows across the forest. “Humans don’t live forever, you know. You’ll just end up heartbroken.”

“I’m not wasting anything,” Rody growled, baring his fangs in a rare show of aggression. “Vincent is mine. He always has been.”

The others would shake their heads and move on, but Rody’s resolve never wavered. He didn’t care if Vincent was human. He didn’t care if the other wolves couldn’t understand. Vincent had been part of his life since he was a pup, and now that he was grown, there was no one else he wanted by his side.

It was Vincent, always Vincent.

But the years weighed heavily on Rody’s heart. He had always been so certain that time would wait for them, that somehow, the future would fall into place. But the older Vincent became, the more the painful truth gnawed at him.

Vincent would die one day.

Rody hated the thought. He refused to believe it. Surely, there had to be a way to stop it, a way to keep Vincent with him forever.

One evening, Rody sat in the bakery after hours, watching Vincent clean up. His tail flicked restlessly as he stared at the faint silver in Vincent’s hair, the deepening shadows under his eyes. They’d fallen into a comfortable routine over the years—Rody would help with deliveries, protect the bakery from thieves or troublemakers, and Vincent would bake, never quite acknowledging how much they had come to rely on each other.

But tonight, something felt different. The weight of time pressed down on Rody’s chest, making it hard to breathe. He couldn’t keep pretending that Vincent was just like him, that the human would live as long as he did. But he didn’t want to accept it.

“Vincent,” Rody said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice had deepened over the years, more confident and commanding.

Vincent looked up from wiping down the counter, raising an eyebrow. “What is it, Rody?”

Rody’s ears twitched nervously. He’d practiced this conversation in his head a hundred times, but now that the words were there, they felt heavier than he expected. “I don’t want you to die.”

Vincent paused, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he considered Rody’s words. He placed the cloth down and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I’m not planning to die anytime soon.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Rody said, frustration creeping into his voice. “You’re human. You’re… you’re getting older. And I… I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re gone.”

Vincent sighed softly, his gaze softening in a way that only Rody ever saw. He had always known this conversation would come, though he hadn’t expected it quite like this. “Rody, we’ve talked about this. Humans don’t live as long as werewolves. It’s just the way of things.”

“But it’s not fair!” Rody snapped, his fists clenching. “I’ve waited for you, Vincent. I’ve watched everyone else mate, and I—” His voice broke. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Vincent’s expression didn’t change, though the words struck him deeply. For all of Rody’s confidence and bravado, there was still that vulnerable pup hidden inside, terrified of losing the one person he had always clung to. He stepped away from the counter and crossed the room, standing in front of Rody.

“You knew this from the start,” Vincent said quietly, his voice steady. “I’ve never hidden it from you. We don’t live in the same world. One day, I’ll be gone, and you’ll still be here. That’s just how it is.”

Rody shook his head fiercely, his green eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “No, I don’t accept that. There has to be a way to keep you with me. I… I can’t imagine a world without you.”

Vincent’s heart ached at the desperation in Rody’s voice. He reached up and placed a hand on Rody’s cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his palm. “Rody…”

But Rody pulled away, pacing the room like a caged animal, his mind racing. “There has to be something—some magic, some potion. Anything! I’ll find it, I swear, Vincent. I won’t let you die!”

Vincent watched him silently for a long moment, his expression unreadable. In all the years they’d spent together, Rody had never wavered in his devotion. And while Vincent had always brushed it off as youthful infatuation, the truth was, he cared about Rody more than he’d ever let on.

“You’re a fool,” Vincent said softly, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Rody stopped pacing and looked at him, confused. “What?”

“You’re a fool,” Vincent repeated, stepping closer. “But you’re my fool.”

Rody’s heart raced, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest. “Vincent…”

“I’m not going to live forever, Rody,” Vincent said, his voice gentle but firm. “But I’m here now. We have this time. Isn’t that enough?”

Rody’s ears drooped slightly, his shoulders slumping. “But…”

Vincent reached out, resting his hand on Rody’s chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “You can’t fight time, Rody. But you can make the most of what you have. That’s what life is.”

Rody swallowed hard, his chest tight with emotion. He wanted to argue, to fight against the cruel reality of time. But Vincent’s touch, his calm voice, soothed the wild turmoil in Rody’s heart.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Rody whispered.

“You won’t,” Vincent said, looking up into his eyes. “Not yet. Not for a long while.”

It wasn’t the answer Rody wanted, but as Vincent leaned up and gently kissed his cheek, it was enough for now. He wrapped his arms around Vincent, pulling him close, determined to make every moment they had together count.

———

The chill of winter had crept into the village, bringing with it a biting wind that rattled the windows of Vincent’s bakery. The warmth from the ovens usually kept the place cozy, but something was off this year. Something that not even the fire of the stoves could fend off. Vincent had been coughing—a dry, rattling sound that seemed to come from deep within his chest—and at first, he waved it off, insisting that it was just a cold. But as the weeks passed, the coughing worsened, and Vincent grew weaker.

Rody, now fully grown and fiercely protective, noticed everything. Vincent’s once steady hands now trembled, and his skin, already pale, had taken on a sickly hue. His laughter, though rare, had disappeared altogether, replaced by that horrible, hacking cough that seemed to echo in Rody’s ears, even when Vincent wasn’t around.

At first, Vincent refused to let Rody help, as stubborn as ever, dismissing his concern with a wave of his hand. “I’m fine,” he would say, his voice hoarse, though the strain in his eyes told a different story. But Rody wasn’t a pup anymore, and he wasn’t easily fooled.

One evening, Vincent’s cough became so violent that he collapsed to his knees in the bakery, a handkerchief pressed to his mouth. When he pulled it away, Rody’s heart stopped at the sight of the blood staining the fabric.

“Vincent!” Rody rushed to his side, panic rising in his chest like a storm.

“I’m fine,” Vincent gasped, but his voice was weak, his body trembling.

Rody’s heart pounded in his ears as he helped Vincent to his feet, his hands shaking. “You’re not fine. You need to see a healer.”

Vincent grimaced, leaning heavily against Rody. “It’s just… it’s nothing. I’ll be alright.”

But Rody wasn’t listening. He’d heard enough of Vincent’s excuses, and this time, he wasn’t going to let it slide. He practically carried Vincent to the nearest healer, his heart in his throat the entire time. The healer confirmed what Rody had feared: Vincent had tuberculosis. It was a death sentence.

The healer’s words echoed in Rody’s mind, each syllable like a hammer to his chest. Tuberculosis. It was an illness that ravaged humans, and even though they had some treatments, it wasn’t always enough. For Rody, it was worse than any nightmare. The fear of losing Vincent, of being left alone, gnawed at him like a wolf with a bone.

The healer gave Vincent medicine, but it was clear that it would only slow the illness down, not cure it. Vincent would grow weaker with time, and eventually, the illness would take him. Rody couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t accept it.

That night, after Vincent had fallen into a fitful sleep, Rody sat by his bedside, his heart heavy with fear. Vincent looked so fragile, lying there beneath the blankets. The lines of age had deepened, and his breathing was shallow, punctuated by the occasional rasping cough.

Rody couldn’t tear his eyes away. He didn’t want to blink, didn’t want to miss a single moment, terrified that one breath would be Vincent’s last.

“I can’t lose you,” Rody whispered, his voice breaking. “I won’t.”

His chest ached with the helplessness of it all. He’d always believed, deep down, that there was something he could do to protect Vincent, to keep him safe. But no amount of strength or loyalty could stop this. No matter how much he wanted to fight it, time was catching up to Vincent.

Rody leaned forward, his head resting on the edge of the bed, his fingers curling into the blanket. “I don’t care how many moons pass. I don’t care about the pack, or mates, or anything else. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Vincent stirred at the sound of Rody’s voice, his dark eyes fluttering open. For a moment, he just looked at Rody, his gaze softening in a way that made Rody’s chest tighten even more. “Rody…”

“You have to get better,” Rody said, his voice desperate. “You can’t leave me. I can’t do this without you.”

Vincent’s hand, frail and cold, reached out and rested on top of Rody’s. “I’m not going anywhere… not yet.” His voice was weak, but it carried the same calmness, the same stubbornness that Vincent had always shown. He tried to smile, but it was a shadow of his usual smirk.

Rody clenched his teeth, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “But one day… you will.”

Vincent didn’t answer immediately. He just gazed at Rody, and for the first time, the man seemed tired. Truly tired. “That’s the way of things, Rody. I told you… from the beginning.”

“But it’s not fair!” Rody shouted, the dam breaking as hot tears spilled down his cheeks. “Why should I have to watch you die while I stay behind? Why can’t you stay with me? I can’t do this without you, Vincent. I *won’t*.”

Vincent’s hand squeezed his gently, though it lacked the strength it once had. “Life’s never been fair, Rody,” he said softly, his eyes closing again. “But we’ve had good years… haven’t we?”

Rody couldn’t respond. He buried his face in his arms, his shoulders trembling as he sobbed quietly. He didn’t want to lose Vincent. He didn’t want to face a world without him. The very thought tore him apart inside. He’d waited so long for Vincent, believed so fully that they were meant to be together. How could the universe be so cruel as to take Vincent from him now?

Hours passed in silence, with only the sound of Vincent’s breathing filling the room. Rody kept vigil by his side, his mind racing through every possible solution, every wild idea of how he could stop this from happening. But in the pit of his stomach, he knew. There was no stopping it.

The sun began to rise, its pale light filtering through the window and casting soft shadows across the room. Vincent stirred again, his eyelids heavy as he looked at Rody with a tired smile. “I told you not to worry so much,” he whispered, his voice rasping. “I’m still here.”

Rody lifted his head, his eyes red and swollen from crying. “You have to stay. You have to fight this.”

“I’ll try,” Vincent said, though they both knew how this would end. “But Rody… when the time comes, you’ll be okay. You’re strong. Stronger than you know.”

Rody’s heart clenched painfully. “I don’t want to be strong without you.”

Vincent smiled faintly, his hand slipping from Rody’s as his eyes fluttered shut once more. “You’ll find your way… even without me.”

Rody stared at him, his chest heaving with emotion. He couldn’t imagine that day, couldn’t fathom a world where Vincent wasn’t by his side. But for now, Vincent was still here, still breathing, and Rody wasn’t going to waste a single moment.

“I’ll protect you,” Rody whispered fiercely, his hand covering Vincent’s. “I’ll protect you, no matter what.”

———

As the days wore on, Vincent’s condition worsened. His coughs became more violent, leaving him weak and bedridden most of the time. The fire in his eyes, once so sharp and bright, had dulled, and his voice was now a whisper of what it used to be. The bakery was silent. No more customers, no more laughter—just Rody and Vincent in the small room above the shop, with the oppressive weight of time bearing down on them.

Rody had tried everything the healer recommended: medicines, herbs, potions—anything that might stave off the inevitable. But it wasn’t enough. He could feel Vincent slipping away, little by little, like sand through his fingers.

And the thought of losing him… it was unbearable.

Rody would sit by Vincent’s side, his heart heavy, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to keep Vincent alive—at any cost. His mind kept returning to one desperate idea, one that he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried. He could save Vincent. There *was* a way. His wolf’s instincts told him so.

Turning.

The transformation into a werewolf would heal Vincent’s body, make him strong again. It would wipe away the illness, and they would finally have all the time Rody had promised when he was a pup. They would be together, truly together, as mates for life—without the looming threat of death hanging over them.

Rody had seen it happen before in his pack, with humans who had been claimed as mates. The process was painful, but the rewards were worth it. And he couldn’t let Vincent die. He *wouldn’t* let Vincent die.

But as the idea solidified in his mind, Rody knew he couldn’t make this decision alone. His pack would know better. He needed their guidance, needed to be sure that it was possible to save Vincent this way.

One cold evening, after ensuring Vincent was resting, Rody slipped away to the nearby forest, where his pack had gathered for the full moon. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached the clearing, where the elders sat in quiet conversation, their fur gleaming in the moonlight. They greeted him with nods, but Rody wasted no time with pleasantries.

“I need your help,” he said, his voice strained with desperation. “I want to turn him. I want to turn Vincent to save him.”

The elders exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions softening with sympathy. One of the elder wolves, a large gray male named Marceau, stepped forward. His voice was gentle, but firm.

“Rody, you know the risks of turning a human,” Marceau began. “Especially one who is already so ill.”

“But he’s going to die if I don’t do something!” Rody argued, his voice breaking. “I can’t just watch him waste away like this. If I turn him, it’ll heal him. I know it will!”

Marceau shook his head. “The transformation is… violent, even for healthy humans. Their bodies go through a tremendous change, and even the strongest humans struggle to survive it. For someone as sick as Vincent…”

Another elder, a silver-furred female named Solenne, spoke up. “His body is already weak, Rody. The fever, the coughing—it’s taken its toll. If you attempt to turn him now, it’s more likely that he’ll die during the transformation than survive it.”

Rody’s chest tightened, panic clawing at his throat. “You don’t know that. You don’t know how strong Vincent is! He’s a fighter, I’ve seen it. He’ll make it.”

Solenne looked at him with sad, knowing eyes. “We understand how much he means to you, but turning him now is too dangerous. His human body can’t withstand that kind of trauma in its weakened state. If you love him, Rody, you have to let nature take its course.”

“Let him die, you mean?” Rody’s voice rose, anger and grief crashing together like waves in a storm. “How can you ask me to just let him go? After everything—”

“We’re not asking you to give up on him,” Marceau interrupted softly. “But there are some things even we can’t fight, Rody. Humans don’t live as long as we do. You knew that when you first made this bond with him.”

Rody clenched his fists, his body trembling. “But I can’t… I can’t just stand by and do nothing.”

“There is nothing more you can do,” Marceau said gently. “Not without risking his life further.”

Rody felt his heart break at those words. His throat burned with unshed tears, but he refused to let them fall in front of the others. They didn’t understand. How could they? They hadn’t spent the years watching Vincent grow older, watching the strength drain from his body as sickness took hold. They didn’t know what it was like to be faced with the impending loss of the one person who meant everything to you.

Without another word, Rody turned and ran, the voices of the elders fading behind him as he sprinted back to the village. His mind was spinning, torn between the desperate need to save Vincent and the cold truth he couldn’t avoid.

When he finally made it back to the bakery, Vincent was still asleep, his breathing shallow but steady. Rody sank down beside the bed, his heart heavy with indecision. He gazed at Vincent, the man who had been his world for so long, and felt the crushing weight of helplessness settle over him.

Vincent stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. He looked up at Rody with a faint smile, though it was tired and weak. “You’re back,” Vincent rasped, his voice barely audible.

“Yeah,” Rody whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “I’m back.”

For a long moment, they sat in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. Rody wanted to tell him about the pack’s warning, about how they thought it was too dangerous to try turning him. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he took Vincent’s frail hand in his own, holding it tightly, as though he could keep him here by sheer force of will.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Rody finally said, his voice cracking.

Vincent’s eyes softened, and he squeezed Rody’s hand weakly. “You’re not losing me,” he whispered, though they both knew the truth.

Rody’s chest ached with grief, but he forced himself to smile. “You’re too stubborn to go anywhere, aren’t you?”

Vincent chuckled weakly, though it quickly turned into a coughing fit. Rody’s heart clenched in fear as he helped Vincent sit up, rubbing his back until the coughing subsided.

“See?” Vincent rasped, leaning back against the pillows with a tired smile. “Still here.”

But for how long? Rody couldn’t stop the thought from creeping into his mind. Time was slipping away, and no matter how much he wanted to fight it, the reality of Vincent’s mortality loomed over them both.

The days stretched on, each one feeling more fragile than the last. Vincent’s condition continued to deteriorate, and the once-vibrant man Rody had known seemed to fade before his eyes. The bakery had been silent for weeks now, no customers to speak of, no smell of fresh bread filling the air. The only sound was Vincent’s labored breathing and the occasional soft crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Rody stayed by Vincent’s side through it all. He refused to leave, not even for a moment. He would bring him water when Vincent could barely lift a finger, help him sit up when the coughing fits became unbearable. He sat through the long nights, his ears straining to hear every breath, terrified that one would be Vincent’s last.

Rody kept telling himself that there was still hope. He clung to the belief that Vincent’s strength would pull him through—that if he just stayed by his side, everything would be okay. But each day that passed, the truth became harder to deny.

Vincent was slipping away.

He wasn’t eating anymore. His body was wasting, thin and pale, and his eyes, though still bright with that sharp humor, were dulling in a way that terrified Rody. And no matter what Rody did—no matter how much he tried to ignore the warnings of the elders, how much he prayed to every god he could think of—the truth kept creeping closer.

Vincent was dying.

One night, as the moon hung heavy in the sky, Vincent stirred from his sleep. Rody was sitting by the window, watching the stars twinkle beyond the trees, when he heard the weak rasp of Vincent’s voice.

“Rody…”

He rushed to Vincent’s side, kneeling by the bed. “I’m here. What do you need? Water?”

Vincent shook his head weakly, his hand reaching out to grasp Rody’s. His fingers were cold, frail. “No… just… stay.”

Rody swallowed hard, nodding as he clasped Vincent’s hand in both of his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For a long time, they sat in silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. Vincent’s breathing was shallow, and his grip on Rody’s hand grew weaker with each passing moment.

“I’m sorry,” Vincent whispered after a while, his voice barely audible.

Rody frowned, his heart clenching. “For what?”

“For… leaving you like this,” Vincent rasped, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “I know… you wanted more time.”

Rody’s throat tightened, tears stinging his eyes. He had promised himself he wouldn’t cry—not in front of Vincent. But the words hit him like a blow, and the grief he had been holding back for so long came crashing over him.

“You’re not leaving me,” Rody said, his voice trembling. “You promised. You promised we’d have time…”

Vincent’s smile faltered, and his gaze softened. “I did… but I think we both knew it wouldn’t be forever.”

Rody shook his head, gripping Vincent’s hand tighter, as though he could anchor him to the world with sheer will. “No. You can’t leave. I won’t let you.”

“Rody…”

“No!” Rody’s voice broke, tears streaming down his face. “You *can’t* go. You can’t leave me here alone, Vincent. I don’t care what anyone says, you *can’t* die.”

Vincent’s eyes, though tired, were filled with a quiet understanding. He reached up with his free hand, brushing a tear from Rody’s cheek with a shaking finger.

“I told you… from the start,” Vincent whispered, his voice faint. “Humans don’t live as long as wolves… You knew this day would come.”

“I don’t care,” Rody said, his voice choked. “I don’t care about any of that. I’ll find a way to keep you here. I’ll—”

“Rody,” Vincent interrupted softly, his eyes filled with a strange, tender amusement. “You can’t stop this.”

Rody’s heart shattered. He wanted to argue, wanted to scream, to fight against the cruel reality that was tearing Vincent away from him. But when he looked at Vincent’s frail body, at the way his chest rose and fell with such painful slowness, he knew Vincent was right.

There was nothing he could do.

Tears flowed freely down Rody’s face now, and he bent forward, resting his forehead against Vincent’s hand. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered brokenly.

“I know,” Vincent said softly, his voice fading. “But you’ll be alright. You’re strong… stronger than you think.”

Rody shook his head, his body trembling with the force of his sobs. “I’m not strong enough to do this without you.”

Vincent’s thumb brushed against his cheek one last time, a small, tired smile on his lips. “Yes, you are.”

Rody wanted to say something—anything—but his throat was too tight, his heart too shattered. All he could do was hold Vincent’s hand as the man who had been his world for so long slowly slipped away.

The fire flickered in the hearth, casting soft shadows over the room. Outside, the moon hung heavy and full in the sky, watching as Vincent took one last, shallow breath.

And then… he was gone.

Rody sat there, holding Vincent’s hand long after it had gone still, long after the warmth had faded from his skin. He stayed there, his body shaking with silent sobs, as the world seemed to collapse around him.

He had known this day would come. But nothing could have prepared him for the hollow emptiness that filled him now. The grief, the pain—it was too much. It felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest, leaving behind nothing but a void.

Rody didn’t know how long he sat there, lost in his sorrow. Time seemed meaningless without Vincent.

The world had gone quiet.

And Rody was alone.

Forever.