Chapter 1: Raining Thoughts

Stupid.

What a stupid little man, who forgot his stupid umbrella, with his cute stupid head and his cute stupid eyes—

Those thoughts ran through Vincent's mind as he used a towel to dry off the stupid little brunet that had stupidly come to the restaurant without any umbrella for some strange reason.

No, he knew the reason, he just couldn't, in any comprehensible way he could think of, understand it—who, on this goddamn Earth, would think cycling really fast would dry him as he went in the middle of a rain? And now this stupid guy had somehow managed to make Vincent, the Vincent Charbonneau himself, dry his hair.

Honestly, who did he think he was? This was utterly ridiculous. Vincent was the boss here, his job was to ensure his clients receive the highest quality of service, and that began with his employees. Call him the worst names you could think of, but this restaurant did not get here by him being forgiving and loving. Disgusting. Prestige and excellency were grounded on discipline, therefore every one of his employees was to put their best self forward, as well as be put through rigorous training. Every safety protocol was to be followed to a tee, every rule was to be obeyed, and every dish was to be made to perfection with flawless precision and techniques.

Not with love.

In his restaurant, the concept of making a dish "with love" was absolute, unadulterated nonsense, a sad excuse of the people who was not of his class to enjoy his dish, and a sad excuse for people to not learn proper culinary. Ironically, however, that sounded like the crap Rody, the guy whose hair he was drying, would talk.

To be as generous as Vincent was willing to be, Rody was a mess. One did not look at him and assume he even knew a single ounce of proper dining etiquette, let alone how to serve clients of the higher social status, some of which are regulars at La Gueule de Saturn. He was just... a guy. A guy you would see hanging about at the local run-down bar on a Friday night, drinking and singing his heart away without a single care in the world with his red hair always unkempt, his two moles were placed on his cheek and his green eyes glaringly bright, childlike and hopeful, all complemented by a stupid smile that could never leave his lips. Not good. Not good at all. That was not a look Vincent wished his restaurant to present. No, this wasn't some love-themed café that you would take your girlfriends to for a sickly sweet latte and to fantasize about that one charming barista taking note of your presence. This was the La Gueule de Saturn, even the name alone should've suggested what the restaurant was about—prestigious, high-class service and dining experience, with one-of-a-kind meals prepared only by the most qualified, well-trained chefs out there.

Unacceptable. Utterly unacceptable. Rody should've been fired since day one. Vincent would've kicked anyone like him to the curb since day one.

And yet, he hadn't. And even more strangely, he still did not have any intention to.

After seeing how Rody worked and presented himself yesterday, one question had kept Vincent up at night—why did he not want to fire Rody? Why did he even hire him in the first place? Vincent knew better than not to hire someone who looked like that, let alone hiring a college drop-out with no adequate qualifications. No culinary school. No training in dining etiquettes. Nothing to convince Vincent that he was a perfect fit for the job. Vincent didn't have to hire anyone less than perfect, he couldn't afford to let restaurant suffer from incompetent employees. If it was anyone else, Vincent would've likely laughed in their face and told them to screw out of his office. But Rody... When Vincent saw that stupid desperate face of his that day, something in him clicked.

It was as if he lost all of his senses, all his reasoning, and before he realized it, he nodded in agreement to give Rody this job he wanted so much. It was strange, and Vincent dared not let this be known, especially not to Rody, but he had spent the entire morning pondering that question and he could barely concentrate on his job. It was a rare experience for him, so much so that lately, his mind had been somewhere else other than work, somewhere that made it difficult for him to be at the top of his game when normally, there was not a thing happening in the kitchen that would escape his watchful gaze. His focus was always known to be unrivaled, something that one would realize was not at all easy to rattle should they foolishly attempt to do so, and yet here he was, struggling to think because of this idiot that he wouldn't have batted an eye at on the street.

Or would he?

That in itself was another question for him to solve, and if he had to guess to answer to it, it would have to be the look in Rody's eyes. Those pleading green eyes, there was just so much passion in them, so much... love.

Urgh, love. Vincent let out a grunt, rubbing the towel faster in an attempt to not let Rody notice it. Love this, love that, blah blah blah. Such rubbish. What in the world is "making a dish with love"? Such flowery language in a pathetic attempt to mask their lack of understanding in their expertise, knowing damn well they would be the first to yap about their filet mignon being too well-done.

While letting his train of thoughts run, still mildly angry about those negative reviews, a pair of green eyes—those bright green eyes that he despised so much—looked up at him and snapped him out of his trance. Oh right, why was he drying this fool's hair in the first place? Rody should've had his job taken away and left out to stand under the rain for being late on his second day of work, not being pampered like this.

"Dry off, you can't be seen by customers like this." Vincent blurted out the first reason his brain could think of that wasn't suspecious. Yeah... Yeah, it was for the restaurant's sake. A dirty, soaked and unprofessional waiter would definitely tank his beloved restaurant's reputation. It was only for the restaurant and for his own self, surely, as it had always been for him. "You do know umbrellas exist for a reason, yes?"

"Don't own one." Rody replied as soon as his stupid little head registered the question and Vincent couldn't help letting out a big, audible sigh.

"I'm giving you mine on the ride back so this doesn't happen again." Vincent was a smart, quick-witted man, yet somehow his mind wasn't able to catch it in time to stop whatever that was from escaping his lips. Seriously, what was up with him today? First, he not only didn't fire Rody, but he also helped dry him off, and now he was letting him borrow his umbrella? What was he going to do next, give him a cookie for reaching quota today? Tell him about his undying love for h—

"Oh uh—thanks, but ah... Then how are you gonna be getting home without one?" Rody's question broke him out of his train of thoughts again, which drew out another sigh from Vincent, but a quieter one this time.

This idiot just couldn't not worry about his own ass for once, huh?

"I live here."

"Like, in the restaurant?" Rody was clearly in shock and Vincent was close to letting out a third sigh in the row in the past one minute until he stopped and reconsidered it—the guy was desperate for a job so it wouldn't be too unreasonable to assume he probably could barely afford his rent, let alone have a place to completely call his own, and let alone a restaurant that he could also call his home. Perhaps it was a concept too big for him to understand, too far out of reach for him to comprehend with that stupid look that seemed as though there was never a thought behind those eyes, so Vincent figured that maybe it was best that he approached this by getting straight to the point.

"My apartment's upstairs."

"Oh—Oh yeah, that makes a lot more sense. Wow..."

Rody trailed off a little, which caught Vincent's attention. "Is there a problem?"

"Nah, it's just—" Rody took a few seconds to continue his sentence. "Isn't that worrying? Like if something happens to the building, it's all gonna be gone."

Vincent gave him a deadpan stare before shoving the towel down his stupid little face. This guy had no qualification and couldn't even muster up a proper sentence with the clients, but he sure liked to talk about imaginary scenarios. "If you have enough time to talk nonsense then you're ready for work."

As Rody mumbled a hurried "Yes, chef", he scurried off to the front, fixing his hair and collar before doing so, and disappeared behind the doors. Surprisingly, he still had some awareness to make himself at least a tad bit presentable.

Standing there with the towel still in his hand, Vincent kept looking down at it, then at the doors through which Rody just got out, then at the towel, then the doors, and the process repeated before he shook his head as an attempt to clear his head.

Just... what was that? What just happened?

And when he shoved the towel down Rody's face, why was there a hint of adoration in the way he did it?

Author's note:

Uh... for my followers... hi again? XD

After saying I was leaving this site and writing forever due to lack of time and motivation, this is kinda awkward, huh. But for some reason, I got a rush of inspiration after seeing these two gobbers, so now I'm here again lol. I can't promise I'll write as often as I did, but if I see something I like, I'll write about it XD

Hope you enjoy this story after 4 years of my absence! That goes for people who just found me too ^^