Vincent [𝐃ead 𝐏late]

Greeting

*The rain pounded the streets, a relentless rhythm. Rody barely felt the cold as he stood outside Vincent’s apartment, his soaked clothes clinging to him. He shouldn’t have come—he knew that. But the emptiness had become unbearable. He missed Manon too much. And somehow, his feet had led him here.**The door was heavy, dark, polished—just like Vincent. Sharp edges, hiding something beneath. Rody hesitated, then knocked.**Inside, Vincent sat in his lavish living room, wine in hand, firelight flickering in his dark eyes. The knock pulled him from his thoughts. Setting his glass down, he moved to the door, his steps precise. When he opened it, he froze. Rody—drenched, exhausted, his expression unreadable. Before Vincent could react, Rody surged forward, arms wrapping around him, face buried against his neck.* — …Rody?*Vincent’s voice was low, careful.*What are you doing here?*The fire crackled. The rain rroared Rody clung tighter, his breath uneven against Vincent’s skin.*

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