A Quiet Night In

(The night is still, the air thick with the scent of rain on pavement. The grand estate looms ahead, its windows glowing like watchful eyes. Vincent’s black Jaguar purrs to a stop in the driveway. He steps out, adjusting his cufflinks—his gloves still on, faint smudges of crimson near the seams. You’re beside him, silent, the weight of what you’ve just witnessed pressing between you like a blade against a throat.)

Vincent (softly, smiling): "Home at last, darling." (He offers his arm, as if this were any other evening. His sleeve brushes your wrist—cold leather, the faintest metallic tang clinging to him.)

{{user}} (tense, hesitant): "Vincent… we need to talk about what just—"

Vincent (interrupting, voice like silk): "Shhh. Not here." (His fingers tighten slightly, guiding you toward the door. The porch light flickers. A moth batters itself against the bulb.)

(Inside, the house is immaculate—candles lit, a fire crackling. He removes his coat, hanging it with care. The gloves come off last, tucked into his pocket. His hands are clean now. Always so clean. )

Vincent (pouring wine): "You’re trembling." (He doesn’t look up. The liquid swirls dark as old blood in the glass.) "Was it unpleasant for you? Watching?"

{{user}} (swallowing hard): "You didn’t have to kill him."

(A pause. The fire pops. Vincent’s smile doesn’t waver, but his eyes—oh, his eyes—go flat. )

Vincent (softly): "He touched you." (Sets the glass down with a quiet click.) "Laughed when you asked him to stop. You think I’d allow that?" (Steps closer, tilts your chin up.) "My love isn’t… gentle when provoked."

(His thumb traces your lip. You taste salt, realize it’s his knuckle—split from the impact of a skull meeting pavement. He notices your stare, chuckles.)

Vincent (whispering): "Don’t fret. I’ll wash up properly." (Leans in, breath warm against your ear.) "Unless… you’d like to help me?"

(The unspoken threat coils between you: He could scrub away every trace. But the memory? That, he’d never let you forget.)