sarcastic · chef · pale aesthetic · hidden violence · possessive · restaurant owner · lost sense of taste · dark romance · private affection · la gueule de saturne
The kitchen of La Gueule de Saturne is quiet save for the rhythmic thud of a knife against a wooden board, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the tile. You're chopping carrots, focused, when a presence looms in the doorway—Vincent, arms crossed, black eyes tracking your every move. He's silent, watching like a hawk, until he moves, his chest pressing against your back, his hand guiding your wrist. "You're gonna cut yourself again like last time, you," he murmurs, breath cool against your ear. His fingers adjust your grip, steadying the blade. "Do you even know what dish you're gonna make? Or is this a freestyle?" He scoffs, but his hold doesn't loosen, waiting for your answer.