Work Text:
“Could I speak to Chef Charbonneau?”
Rody has to do a double take, already turned away from the table he just served. It's been a busy day and he does NOT have the time for chatty customers.
“Ah, sorry?”
“I'd like to give my compliments to the chef. Is he available?”
Oh, good. They're Vince's problem now.
“I'll go check with him.” Rody gives the best customer service smile he can and whisks away to serve the next two tables. Everyone else is either eating or looking over the menu, so now's the perfect chance. Hastily, he makes his way into the kitchen and weaves between the practically synchronized chefs towards the garbage. Tying the bag, he calls out, “Hey. Vince.”
There's a sigh, and then silence.
“Viiiiince,” Rody says just before walking outside with the trash. He dumps it into the bin, startling as two cats scuttle away, then rushes back inside.
“We don't have time for chatting, Lamor—”
“A customer wants to meet you,” Rody grins, making note to definitely pester Vince later.
“Oh.” Vince's eyebrows go up, the only show of surprise that ever graces his features. Rody wonders if his expression even can change from that flat monotone. He watches Vince consider this for a few moments, likely calculating how much time he can spend outside of the kitchen. Then he nods and motions for Rody to lead the way.
They walk out into the dining hall, where Rody drops Vince off, then goes to collect more orders. He doesn't need to stick around; he practically has all the customers’ praises and ass-kissing memorized. At least now he knows what to spout off if Vince ever actually gets him to eat his food.
Vince usually spends about two or three minutes with a customer before retreating back to micromanage his chefs. His face remains predictably stoic, but Rody always just feels the pride radiating off of him afterwards.
So, Rody's able to ignore them for the time being. Admittedly, the first few times Vince had visited the dining hall, it'd made Rody nervous. He knows Vince watches everyone like a hawk, but it's really unnerving to see his every move being picked apart and criticized. It's like every mistake gets ten times more embarrassing when Vince's around.
He serves a few more tables, takes out the trash, comes back out, and—
Vince's still here.
Talking to the customer.
Why is Vince still here?
Another table calls Rody over, and he doesn't have the time to think about it. Taking their order is quick, and Rody passes by Vince and the customer on the way to the service window. They're just chatting. The customer looks happy, and Vince… also looks happy. Well, ‘happy’ might be an exaggeration; the corners of his lips are tilted upwards in what could almost be called a smile.
It's weird. Super weird.
Rody takes a few more orders, serves at least three tables, and they're still chatting. It has to have been almost ten minutes now; since when is Vince okay with leaving his kitchen unattended?
Rody glances at the customer. Are they somehow holding Vince at gunpoint? They haven't even called him back to order their side! It's a few minutes later until Rody caves and walks over to the table.
“Just checking up. Will you be wanting anything else?” he asks, refilling their drink.
“Oh, um… yeah, sure,” they say, glancing at the menu as though they’d forgotten that they're in a bistro. “I'll have a side.”
“Noted.” He glances at Vince, who's staring at Rody's apron. Why— oh, it's all tilted. Embarrassing. Rody fixes that as he rushes over to the service window and inputs the order.
Just then, two more dishes are put down. He really doesn't have the time to be questioning this right now. It's not really his business anyway. He'll leave them to their chat and then pester Vince about it later. Right now, Rody focuses on not being a fuck up and getting these orders right. Who ordered the main and who ordered the dessert?
It's the end of the day, and Rody's busy wiping down tables. He never got a chance to ask Vince what happened earlier, because that customer is still here, chatting away at the cash register. Rody glares glances over at them and wonders, incredulously, what the FUCK they are talking about. Even Rody's never taken up this much of Vince's time— and Vince would never allow it! Probably. Rody hasn't actually tried talking to Vince for an entire work day. But he has a feeling it wouldn't end well.
The last chef leaves, and Vince rings up the customer himself. One less thing for Rody to do. In a move that, somehow, remains baffling to him, the customer fails to leave even after receiving their receipt. Though, it seems like the conversation is winding down, which is a relief.
Rody's not the only one who thinks this is weird, right? Like, he hasn't been working here for that long, but he's never seen Vince do this. The only reaction from the chefs seemed to be less tension in the room. None of them made any comment on it. But, then again, they don't talk all that often.
Finally, finally, the conversation comes to an end. Not before the customer grabs a pen and writes something on the receipt, handing it back to Vince. Rody hasn't been able to listen for most of the day, but he's pretty sure he hears “Call me” just before they exit.
What.
Moving a bit closer, he's pretty sure he sees numbers scribbled out on the paper. A phone number.
Ha.
HAH.
Did someone— did they just—
—ask Vince out?!
Mr. “Petty romances aren't the end-all be-all in life” Charbonneau? Yeah, surely that guy is the pinnacle of romance.
Rody doesn't realize he's holding his breath until his eyes flicker over to Vince. Vince, who…
The look on his face is unreadable, per usual. But it’s decidedly not disinterest. And, for some reason, that makes Rody’s skin prickle. It prickles so bad he has the urge to claw the feeling out of himself.
He moves without realizing, and only notices once he's reached the front desk. Vince glances over at him for the first time in hours, then back down at the paper.
“Sooo,” Rody starts, trying to be casual. And he is casual. So casual, why would he not be casual? “Who was that?”
“Hm? Just someone I went out with once. Didn't get their number last time.”
“Right. And, um, you guys— Well, you were talking for a while. What was…” Rody drums his fingers on the counter, “why?”
“We were catching up,” Vince says as he folds the receipt. “Sort of lost track of time.”
Rody shoves his hands into his pockets, because, for some reason, he feels like he might do something impulsive. “Cool. Are you— um, will you— are you gonna go out with them?”
Vince turns and gives him a weird look. “Maybe. Why?”
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
Vince sighs and glances back at the dining hall. “Looks like you're done for the day. You can start heading ho—”
Rody snatches the receipt.
Vince stares at him incredulously. It's a look that Rody thought he'd seen before, but this time, it's different. His eyes are wider, and that perpetual look of faux disinterest is no longer present. His mouth is even slightly agape, and the expression is so captivating that Rody forgets to react for a moment. They're both frozen for what feels like forever, until he takes a step back. Rody has no idea why that happened, but it's too late to undo it.
“...Lamoree?”
Be casual. “Uh, yeah?” Too casual.
Vince's shock mixes with a look of exacerbation. “Give it back.”
Rody stays silent for a moment, then two, then starts backing towards the door. Vince's expression turns almost daring, a silent warning of ‘Don't.’
Rody does.
The bistro's doors are thrown open as he makes for his bike. Rody hears Vince call something out, probably his name, but he's too busy freeing his bike from the rack to listen. Vince rushes out just as the lock clicks off, and Rody starts running down the street, bike in hand.
“I remember the number you know!” Vince calls out as Rody hops on his bike.
“Forget it!”
Rody goes as fast as he can, and Vince doesn't follow. He makes it back to his apartment in record time and rushes up the stairs, adrenaline still pumping. What the fuck was that about? Vince is gonna kill him tomorrow.
He feels for the receipt in his pocket. Why does he even care who Vince goes out with? He doesn't. He shouldn't. He's… too tired to figure this out right now.
Rody accidentally closes his apartment door a little too harshly, and the neighbors call him a few colorful names through the wall. What a day. The sight of the fridge reminds him that he didn't grab Vince's leftovers before making his escape. That's… probably for the best. It's one more thing for Vince to be mad about, but the food still sitting in his fridge is starting to rot at this point.
He'll clean it out eventually. Maybe.
Part of him is sad he left the leftovers.
Ugh— nothing makes sense today!
Rody decides that he's not hungry, but still walks over to the microwave. Spitefully, he grabs the receipt from his pocket and shoves it inside. The door slams shut (his neighbors are mad again) and it beeps thirty seconds later. He doesn't need to open the door to know all that's left is ash, but he does anyway. The number is gone, and that inexplicably quells some of his anger.
Well, time for sleep.
The couch is as uncomfortable as always, but Rody's determined to get to bed as soon as possible. If, on top of all this, he's late tomorrow, Vince will have his head on a silver platter.
In his nightmares, he's personally dissected, portioned and plated by the head chef for tomorrow’s menu.
It’s a bright, sunny day today. Rody knows this because he awoke to the sun directly hitting his eyes. Nothing like starting off the day a little blinded!
He goes through the normal motions; brush the rats nest of hair on his head, brush his teeth with hopefully not-expired toothpaste, consider showering and then realize it’s still clogged, consider eating and then remember he hasn’t bought groceries in a few months, grab his rusty trusty steed and head out. That smell in the hallway is a little more tolerable this morning, and the dog from 506 isn’t biting at his ankles, so overall it’s looking to be a pretty good day.
There isn’t too much traffic, so the ride is quite peaceful. He grabs a quick croissant before reaching the expensive part of town, and treats himself with an apricot jam spread. The roads get more and more paved as he approaches the bistro, and he finishes off his breakfast just as he’s tying his bike to the rack. The clock says 3:02PM, which is basically on time!
He walks inside, wipes off his hands, and is met with Vince.
Who looks upset, because—
Ah, right. Yesterday.
Hm. Yep. That may be a problem.
“Lamoree.”
Rody startles at Vince’s voice. It’s steely in a way he realizes it hasn’t been in a long time. He can’t even begin to decipher what Vince must be thinking beyond the bland expression he’s wearing. The juxtaposition between that and his tone is sort of off-putting and making it really hard for Rody come up with something that doesn’t sound stupid and his hands feel clammy—
Vince snaps his fingers in Rody’s face, looking a bit more pissed off than before. At least that much is obvious.
“Explain.”
Shit. Should he lie? No, Vince can probably tell. But there’s no truth to give! He just did everything on instinct, he didn’t think it through!
Vince opens his mouth to speak again, and Rody panics. “I— Idon’tknow,” he rushes out.
Vince stares at him for a long moment. “You don’t know?” Oh god, that’s the tone he used with that chef before he pushed them over an open flame. Shitshitshit, are there any knives around here that Rody should be weary of? Maybe he should just make a break for it—
Vince sighs.
“Whatever. Just—” his eyes harden, and Rody’s frozen in place, “don’t steal my shit again. You’re on thin ice, Lamoree.”
Then he’s being shoved into the kitchen, where he very barely avoids falling flat on his face.
“Grab your apron. Your shift started five minutes ago.”
Rody scrambles to follow orders, and Vince takes his usual spot at the back wall. He’s already pulling out a cigarette by the time Rody’s finished tying the apron.
“Tch.” Rody’s head snaps over to Vince, who just rolls his eyes. He looks vaguely amused as he says, “Nothing. It just seems like you wanted their number.” He takes a drag from his cigarette. “If that’s what that was, you could’ve just asked.”
Rody’s face goes red, because that’s definitely not what happened. Very much the opposite, in fact!
…
Wait.
“Get to work Lamoree,” Vince cuts in. “There are customers waiting.”
Rody shambles out of the kitchen, thinking it over. It’s not the opposite! Because the opposite would mean that he wants Vince’s number, or that he wants to go out with Vince. And that’s not true! He’s almost sure of it.
Rody can’t say how well he did his job today, because most of his shift was spent in his head. Does he want Vince’s number? He’s pretty sure he doesn’t. He’s not, like, interested in Vince. Rody just doesn’t want him going out with that customer. For totally normal reasons that he just can’t come up with right now. In fact, Vince shouldn’t be going out with anyone. Yeah, that sounds right.
Rody is so confused.
The last customer leaves, looking quite upset, which is fair because he’s pretty sure he got their order wrong at least twice. Instead of cleaning up the bistro as he’s supposed to, Rody finds himself making his way into the kitchen, where the last few chefs are tidying up and preparing to leave. He really should be doing the same, but instead finds himself walking towards Vince’s office.
He forgoes knocking and just walks straight in, yet another reason for Vince to glare up at him from the desk. “Yes?”
Rody doesn’t know what he’s here for. He doesn’t know what he’s hoping for. He doesn't even know why he took the damn number.
He says the first thing on his mind.
“Are you going to go out with them?”
Vince’s eyebrows raise, though it’s not that shocked expression Rody was treated to yesterday. No, this is the typical ‘amused-but-indifferent’ surprised face. Rody wants to see something more authentic than that. For normal reasons.
“Maybe. Why?”
Something clenches in Rody’s chest at the confirmation, and he both has the urge to walk over to Vince (to do what?) and or to escape the office and collapse onto his couch for the next year.
“So— so, like, today—? You’re gonna…”
Vince sighs and puts down his pen, leaning back in the overly ornate office chair. “Well, I was going to call today. Maybe tomorrow, if I’m too busy.” Rody glances at the phone on Vince’s desk and has the urge to— who knows, throw it out a window or something? He just wants that call to not happen, and can’t for the life of him figure out why. “But…”
But?
Rody waits, heart beating too fast in his chest considering the fact that all he’s done is stand here.
“I mean, if someone else were to make plans with me, well… I guess I’d be too busy to call.” Vince leans forward and props his head in his hand, something glinting behind his eyes. “Wouldn’t you think?”
Rody’s throat feels dry. For some reason. And his hands are sweaty— why are his hands so sweaty?
Why is his mouth moving?
“Would you like to go to dinner with me?”
Ffffffuck.
It takes him a long moment to even register what was said, nonetheless that he was the one who said it. He's gonna get fired, or murdered, or smacked in the face again. Maybe all of the above— not in that order though. Rody looks at Vince, who’s…
Smiling. Basically a half smile— barely even there— but he’s smiling. Oh god, is Rody going to get laughed at and then fired? That’s probably worse than the murder—
“Our reservation’s at ten.” Vince is already picking up his pen again, glancing down at the papers on his desk. “Wash up quickly; your suit’s upstairs.”
“...What?”
Vince glances back up, just for a moment, to give him an amused expression. “You asked me out, did you not?” Rody’s barely opened his mouth to say ‘Yes’ before Vince continues. “Well, I’m hoping you’ll be a little more presentable than you are now. It’s customary to put your best foot forward on a first date. Am I correct?”
Rody’s too overwhelmed for this trickery. “Um— yes. Kinda? Yes. Just, I—”
“Good, then get upstairs; your suit is collecting dust. The key’s in your apron pocket, you know the door.”
Rody’s so confused, that he moves automatically to follow Vince’s orders. He can’t imagine what his face looks like right now, but it must be pretty entertaining considering the chefs’ reactions as he passes them. The dining room is still a mess, but that’s a problem for later. For now, Rody just has to… um, get ready for their date. That they’re going on. In just over an hour.
He walks upstairs to wash up, because he’s going on a date. With Vince. His boss. A man. Rody’s going on a date with a man.
This is new.
He— he doesn’t know how to feel about this.
The suit neatly folded on the bathroom counter is nice. Super nice, actually, and definitely brand new. It probably costs six months worth of his salary. He’s terrified to see if it fits him, because part of him is certain that it will. Too certain that Vince somehow knows more about his suit measurements than Rody himself.
He’s— fuck, he’s going on a date with Vince. Vincent Charbonneau, the weirdly scary chef guy everyone knows about. And Rody’s going on a date with him. Vince is his date.
A strange sort of satisfaction runs through him at that. Along with some kind of jittery, excited energy. That it’s Rody going on the date rather than some random customer. He’s the one going out with Vince tonight.
It needs to be perfect. As instructed, Rody starts getting ready for his date.