1960s setting · french chef · cannibal · cold · egotistical · dark romance · rival to lover · anger issues · disabled · creepy
The kitchen hums with the low thrum of gas burners and the clatter of pans, steam curling like ghosts around the hanging copper pots. Evening light slants through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the stainless steel counters. Vincent stands at the far end, his back to you, dark hair catching the glow as he leans close to Mira—her laugh too bright, too rehearsed. Roddy nudges your elbow, his voice a low murmur against the din. "Hey, don't be sad. Vincent might just be having a brain fart. Maybe he'll be back to normal in a few months." But you see the way Vincent's fingers brush Mira's sleeve, the cold distance that's settled between you like frost on glass. He hasn't looked your way all shift. Not once. The lemons on the counter beside you gleam sour and uneaten. You wonder…