Chapter Text
"Ack-! " Vincent hissed as the sharp blade of a knife slashed a small and deep cut on his hand. His blood slowly trickled out and dropped onto the cutting board below, leaving small, red, bloody splotches on the board.
Vincent held his injured hand in front of him as blood dripped down his wrist and the length of his arm, before stopping at the crook of his elbow.
"Vincent! You've cut yourself again?" An cook cried out as he rushed over to the man. He quickly grabs his hand to look at the wound.
"This looks bad, Chef. "
"It's nothing." Vincent said as he tried to pull his hand away, only for the other cook to grip strengthen his grip.
"No, we need to get this cleaned and bandaged. The last thing we want is for it to get infected. " The cook said as he looked around the kitchen frantically, trying to find something to cover the wound.
"Guys, do we still have the medical kit here?" The cook asked.
"I think we have one in the break room." Another cook replied, "somewhere towards the back of the cupboard"
"Alright, I'm taking Chef out the kitchen for a few minutes, can you guys cover the kitchen until we get back?" The cook said while looking over at the other staff in the kitchen.
"Vincent hurt himself again?" The cook who replied him just now turned towards the two, glancing down at Vincent's blood covered arm. He winced slightly at the sight of the all too similar colour.
"Yeah, but I'll be quick and try to patch him up. He'll be okay"
Vincent was slightly appalled at their conversation. It was only a small cut and the wound is practically already closing up. He could just wash off the blood and the cut would be gone in a matter of minutes. They're treating him as if he was a child, why are they making such a big deal out of it?
"It's just a cut, I can't see what the fuss is about. Just let me wash it off and then I'll go back to cooking." Vincent said, trying to free his arm from the cook. "Besides, the blood hasn't dripped onto any of the food, there is nothing to worry about. "
An cook raised his eyebrow at his statement, glancing back at Vincent's workstation, before sighing and shaking his head in disbelief. Splatters of blood covered the surface of the countertop, with a few more falling onto the meat that he was cutting. A large smear of blood could also be seen running across the edge of the countertop, indicating where Vincent's hand had slipped.
"Vincent, there's blood all over your cutting board. We can't serve that. If anyone sees it, they'll think we're using bloody meat."
Vincent's quickly glanced at the meat. There, along with the streak of blood, was his blood-stained palm print.
Vincent was unsure how to react. "Well, we could wash the blo-"
"We've got this handled, Nick. I'll cover the kitchen while you patch Chef up. Don't worry." A female cook said to the man holding Vincent's wrist with a reassuring smile.
"He's gotten quite clumsy as of late, hasn't he?" She chuckled, walking off towards Vincent's cutting board to tidy up.
Nick nodded with a smile forming on his face. "He has been, but we know he's still trying his best. We all appreciate that." He said, looking down at Vincent, whose expression was of utter surprise at the strange and sudden compliment. "What the hell are you all-"
"Off you go now! It's not the time for sentimental speeches! " A male cook called out from the other side of the kitchen, making a shooing motion with his hands.
"No, I can still cook!" Vincent protested, though it was ignored as he was promptly dragged out of the kitchen by Nick.
"You'll end up slicing your finger off by the end of the day, Chef..." The cook sighed
Vincent grumbled quietly as they made their way through the narrow corridor and towards the break room. With the cook's hand still firmly holding onto Vincent's wrist, and his injured hand now starting to throb, Vincent begrudgingly followed along.
The cook's grip loosens a bit as they enter the private staff-only breakroom, gently guiding Vincent towards a small couch in the corner to sit down.
The staff room was a small, cramped space that had just enough room to fit a few cupboards and a single sofa in it.
It was more of a storage room than an actual break room. Though, it served its purpose and gave the staff a comfortable place to rest and eat.
The cook turned around to open one of the cupboards, rummaging around the messy contents inside, pushing pass several bottles of alcohol, old coffee cups and a stack of old newspapers.
Vincent sighed, sinking down into the couch as he watches the other men fumble around the shelves.
"I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself. " Vincent grumbled, glaring at the cook's back.
"You're always so stubborn. " Nick replied, not taking his eyes off the task in front of him.
"It's not that bad. " Vincent muttered as he tried to flex his fingers, wincing slightly as a sharp pain shot up his arm.
"Whatever you say, Chef. "
Finally finding what he was looking for, the cook pulls out a first aid kit from the cupboard and turns back to the chef, who was now slouching over in his seat, still staring daggers at him.
"Let me see. " Nick said, kneeling down in front of Vincent and motioned for his hand.
Vincent rolled his eyes and held his hand up.
The cook carefully takes hold of his wrist and brings the injured hand up to his face. He gently runs his thumb across the cut, inspecting the injury.
He sighs, shaking his head as he reached into the medical box. "Chef, this is the fourth time you've injured yourself this week. You really should be more careful."
Vincent stays silent, refusing to meet the other's gaze.
The cook pulls out a bottle of antiseptic and a roll of gauze. "This is gonna sting a bit. " He warns as he uncaps the bottle, squeezing some of the liquid onto a cotton ball. Vincent grits his teeth and tenses up, preparing himself for the sharp stinging pain. The cook gently presses the cotton ball against the wound, earning a small hiss from Vincent. He slowly and carefully cleans the wound, making sure not to hurt him anymore than necessary.
After a while, the cook could help but speak up.
"Chef... "
Vincent turns his attention back towards the cook. Nick has completely stopped cleaning the wound by now, instead he was looking back up at Vincent.
"What's been on your mind? "
The sudden question catches Vincent off guard, and he can't help but flinch slightly.
"What are you talking about?" Vincent asked.
"You've been acting strange these past few days. That dazed look you've had on your face, the constant clumsiness, and the way you seem like you're always somewhere else."
Vincent frowns. Nick still had his hand on Vincent's, his thumb subconsciously tracing light circles on the back of his palm.
"It's almost as if.. you're lost."
Vincent stares at him blankly, not really knowing how to respond. He had not noticed his own change in behavior, much less on how his co-workers would take notice of it. The thoughts in his mind were jumbled, like an incomprehensible mess of emotions and feelings that was quietly piling up and had gotten more and more chaotic.
Images of that night appeared in his head, replaying in his mind over and over.
~ ~
A young girl with flowy, light brown hair and hazel eyes could be seen through the bistro's large window, the dim streetlight illuminating her form. She was wearing a simple gray dress that fell just above her knees, with a white vest wrapped chest. She seemed to be waiting for someone, her face showing a mix of excitement and nervousness. Vincent remembered feeling a strange sense of deja vu at the sight of the girl, as if he had seen her somewhere before.
The girl shifts her head towards the left and suddenly perks up, a bright smile appeared on her face and her eyes lit with pure joy.
"You're finally here! " The girl yelled excitedly, waving her hand towards the direction she was looking at while stepping forward a few paces. Her figure was no longer visible from where Vincent was standing, though her voice still carried over.
"I thought you weren't going to show up! " The girl laughed, her voice was a lot softer than before.
Vincent shook his head and ignored the scene outside. "Just another couple,.. I should lock up the bistro already." He slowly walked towards the door as he took out the keys from his pocket.
But then, a thought stops him. If he were to unlock the door and walk out, wouldn't the girl and that unknown guy see him?
Wait...why should he care? It's not like he knew the young lady, nor was it any of his business who she was meeting up with.
"You're such an idiot! " The girl playfully exclaimed, punching the person's shoulder.
His gaze was fixated on the keyhole. Finally, he brings his key up to the lock,
"If it wasn't for your phone call, we wouldn't have been able to meet at all! "
The key twists and unlocks the door, a small click being heard.
"I sometimes wonder how you even survive without me. " The girl laughs.
Vincent's hand hesitantly rested on the doorknob, just as he was about to turn it, the mysterious man spoke up.
"Yeah...I really don't know what I'd do without you. "
Vincent's heart sank.
He knew that voice.
He could recognise it anywhere.
It was the same voice that would greet him every morning, the same voice that would call his name for dishes, and the same voice that would bid him goodnight after every shift.
"Hey, don't give me that look." The man laughed, ruffling the girl's hair and earning a small whine of protest. "It was only for a week"
"Seven days too many! I demand compensation!" The girl huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and pouted.
"Well.. Would this suffice?"
Vincent was frozen. His mind was screaming at him not to look. To not confirm what he already knows, and to just turn around and walk out the back door. Pretend like he didn't hear anything and all of this never happened.
But he couldn't move.
He just couldn't.
His heart was racing. His body cold and numb, accompanied by the scorchingly painful sensation he felt in the bottom of his stomach.
"How was that? "
"Hmmp. It'll do for now. "
There was a moment of silence, before the man spoke again.
"I love you, Mamon. "
Vincent felt his heart shatter into a million pieces.
"Yeah, yeah. I love you too, Rody. "
He could hear the soft laughter and footsteps fading away now, until all that was left was the sound of eerie silence.
Vincent's body finally gave out and he slumped to the floor, his knees hitting the hard tiles. Tears he didn't know he was holding back flowed down his cheeks, first a few droplets, and then a stream.
He didn't know when he had started crying, nor could he remember the last time he did. All he know now was that everything was too painful to bear. He felt as if someone had taken a knife and stabbed him through his heart, over, and over, and over again, before twisting it around and pulling it out. Leaving only the lingering pain of betrayal from someone he never had in the first place.
Vincent sat there alone with nothing. The soft spatters of tears echoed through the dark, empty bistro.
He felt cold.
So very, very cold.