#BUT HEY the show continues so 😔 enjoy it Vincent 🙏

[howthesleeplesswander]

Rody barely had time to catch his breath before his boss' voice startled him out of attempting to relax for five damn seconds. Having not even registered Vincent walking over, the moment he spoke, Rody jolted with all the grace of tumbling out of bed. He immediately stood up straight as if his posture would improve how disheveled he looked. Half a second later, he realized the state of the necktie that Vincent had already fixed for him once, and hastily tried to tug it back into neatness.

"Oh, u-uh—!" he tried, only for his stammering to turn into a chuff when blindly fiddling with his tie just knocked the towel around his neck to the ground. Rody blinked dumbly down at it. Then at Vincent. Back down then up again in a flash. Finally, he stooped to snatch it and popped back to standing straight with a bounce on the balls of his feet, so fast that he could feel the way his hair stuck out every which way from the momentum.

When Rody finally got it together enough to process what he was hearing, he was surprised at the lack of reprimand. He'd figured Vincent came over to yell at him for taking a break. "I did drop those plates earlier..." he found himself saying, as if he wanted to get yelled at. Which he didn't, to be clear. He just never knew what to do when Vince gave him that amused little smirk. (Partially because Rody was pretty sure it meant Vince was laughing at him internally...and also because Rody usually didn't get the joke.) "But, I mean—no crashes yet today! So...'somewhat,' I guess, yeah! It happens."

At the mention of a particularly irate woman from earlier that afternoon, however, Rody couldn't smother a grimace. "I know, I tried to tell her—..." But before he could try to explain, Vincent...

Wait. Hold up. Did Vince just...praise him for a job well done?

Rody's eyes widened a fraction. If asked, he'd defend that it was from the shock. (But that wouldn't explain the way his hands unconsciously clenched that towel a bit tighter, now would it?) "Wha...really?" The question was carried on a weighted exhale. In truth, Rody hadn't thought he'd done an overly great job handling that customer, but hey—what did his opinion matter, anyway? If Vincent thought he'd done well enough to go out of his way to tell him as much, then...

"Wow, uh..." He was too focused on fighting down the flutters in his chest to care that he'd spent the last five seconds just staring at Vincent like a slack-jawed idiot. When he finally snapped out of it, he laughed incredulously as a big grin spread from ear to ear. "Thanks, Vince. I'll...I'll keep that in mind for next time!" After all, anything he could do to please his boss got him one step closer to remaining employed for at least another day.

Clearing his throat sharply, he slung the towel back over one shoulder and scratched idly at his cheek that was, possibly, a subtle shade rosier than before. "If I had my skates, I could've been faster and maybe that lady wouldn't have gotten so mad." He shrugged a shoulder. "I dunno, though; it seems like everyone's way more impatient today than usual."

Though it wasn’t at all planned on Vincent’s part—and most assuredly not on Rody’s (the idiot probably didn’t even know what the word “plan” meant in any capacity)—the lack of rollerskates ended up working to some sort of advantage here. Rather, an advantage beyond the aforementioned reduction of chances to crash—and, truly, the amount of times Rody didn’t fumble over himself over the course of the lunch rush was almost impressive. Vincent kept a sharp eye out. Which is precisely what leads us to that other advantage:

Without those stupid fucking skates, his work was admittedly more difficult. Physically-speaking, though Vincent would just as easily argue that his aptitude for wiping out wasn’t exactly a good trade against avoiding exhaustion. But since the trade-off here was the latter, his busy little bee was out of breath quickly today. At one point, he’d rolled up his sleeves, baring skin that eventually donned a tasteful glisten under the restaurant’s low lights. He’d made short work of screwing up the tie Vincent had taken the time to fix . . . and yet that was far from his mind under the shadow of everything else. By the time the flood of patrons had ebbed and those currently seated had gotten their orders in, Rody was a right mess there in the pickup window.

Vincent didn’t have it in him to complain, to harp on him for how utterly disheveled he looked, how far from proper it was in an establishment like this— After all, he’d been enjoying the show.

And so, with that new opening, he crossed the kitchen, cast a swift glance over his chefs to take stock of what they were all working on, and met his solo waiter’s wrecked visage with a calm, if not teasing smile. “Fewer messes today,” he noted, hesitating only to give Rody another slow onceover as he considered his wording. “—of the typical variety, I mean. So, you are capable of being somewhat coordinated.” His head cocked, grin stretching higher in one cheek while mischief flashed in his eyes.

But, as quickly as it came, that impishness simmered back down, and he cleared his throat gently. “I saw you handle that particularly . . . difficult customer earlier.” Which was acknowledged first with a bite of venom in his tone, words grating through his teeth like he rather wished to grind the customer down. A hateful look was shot to the door they’d left through, and when his attention circled back to Rody’s exhausted face, he didn’t even have to try for that look to genuinely soften. “You did well.” Vincent arched his neck forward, peered at him a touch more closely. “Good job.”