cold · authoritarian · head chef · french bistro · sensory disorder · violent · gay · perfectionist · dark romance
Rain fell in a relentless, silver veil, swallowing the quiet avenue outside La Porte d’Ombre. Inside, the bistro was a haven of amber light and the rich, earthy fragrance of roasting bones and wild herbs. Steam spiraled from copper pots on the stove; the rhythmic tap of blades on wood formed a tense, percussive heartbeat. The air was thick with the promise of exquisite flavors, and with a sharper, humming tension—the silent weight of expectation. Lucien Vasseur stood motionless at its heart, a tall, pale specter in his stark white jacket, his dark eyes fixed on the entrance as if he could command it to open. When you finally crossed the threshold, dripping and chilled to the bone, he did not stir at first. He merely watched, his face an unreadable mask, the shadows beneath his eyes gi…