Dead Plate Oneshots I Am What I Am

The cabin was quiet, save for the distant rustle of leaves outside and the crackle of the fire that barely lit the small room. Rody sat at the table, staring at the half-empty plate before him, the remains of their meal glistening under the low light. Vincent was across from him, cleaning his knife with deliberate care, his movements slow, methodical. There was a chill in the air, but it wasn’t from the weather.

“I can tell you didn’t like it,” Vincent said, his voice low but carrying that sharp edge. He didn’t look up from his task, his pale fingers running over the blade, cleaning it with a practiced ease.

Rody shifted uncomfortably, his stomach churning. “It’s not that, Vin,” he muttered, glancing away toward the window. The moonlight barely filtered through the thick forest outside. “It’s just… you know how I feel about this.”

Vincent finally looked up, his black eyes locking onto Rody’s. There was no emotion there, not in the way Rody was used to seeing in other people. But with Vincent, the lack of emotion was its own form of communication. He didn’t need to say anything for Rody to feel the tension that now hung between them.

“I didn’t ask you to eat it.” Vincent’s voice was steady, but there was a chill to it. “You know I won’t change.”

Rody ran a hand through his disheveled auburn hair, feeling the sweat on the back of his neck. He didn’t know why it still bothered him after all this time. He knew what Vincent was—what he *needed*—and he had accepted it. Or at least, he thought he had. But every time Vincent brought home *meat* from his hunts, it was like a knot tightened in Rody’s chest.

“It’s not that simple,” Rody said, trying to keep his voice calm. He loved Vincent, really, he did. But there were lines that he still had trouble crossing, and tonight had been one of those nights where everything felt too real, too raw.

“Then explain it to me,” Vincent said, leaning back in his chair, his knife now clean and shining under the dim light. His eyes never left Rody’s face.

Rody took a deep breath, avoiding Vincent’s gaze. “I can’t just ignore it, Vin. It’s… it’s people.”

There was a long silence. The fire crackled, and outside, something scurried through the underbrush. Vincent’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers tapped lightly against the table, an almost imperceptible rhythm.

“You think I’m a monster.” It wasn’t a question.

Rody’s head snapped up, alarm flashing in his green eyes. “No! No, I don’t think that at all, it’s just…” He faltered, struggling to find the right words. How could he explain this? How could he tell Vincent that while he accepted the dark, predatory nature of his lover, he couldn’t stand the idea of what Vincent did to survive?

Vincent’s mouth curled into a faint smile, but it wasn’t warm. “I am what I am, Rody. You knew this when we started.” His voice had taken on that cold, almost clinical edge, the one that always made Rody’s skin crawl. “I don’t ask you to partake. I don’t ask you to hunt with me. But this is how I survive. If you can’t accept that, then maybe—”

“Don’t,” Rody interrupted, his voice breaking slightly. “Don’t say that.” His chest felt tight, his hands gripping the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t imagine life without Vincent, not now. They had been through too much together.

Vincent leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Then stop pretending you can change me.” His voice was quieter now, but there was something dangerous in it. “Stop pretending you don’t want me to be something I’m not.”

The room felt colder. Rody swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. He had never been afraid of Vincent before, not really. But sometimes, when Vincent got like this, when the hunger sharpened his features and his eyes darkened with something primal, it was hard to forget what he truly was—a ghoul. A creature that hunted and consumed flesh to survive.

“I’m not trying to change you,” Rody said, softer now, his voice almost pleading. “I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Vincent’s smile widened, but it still didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m the one who does the hurting, remember?”

Rody shuddered, looking down at his hands. He could feel the weight of Vincent’s gaze on him, like a predator watching its prey. He hated this—hated the feeling that he was somehow complicit in the darkness that surrounded Vincent. But he also couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him.

“Why do you stay?” Vincent’s voice cut through the silence, soft but cutting. “If it bothers you this much… why stay?”

Rody looked up, meeting Vincent’s gaze. There was a quiet intensity there, something that had always unnerved him about Vincent but also drew him in. “Because I love you,” Rody whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Vincent’s expression softened, just for a moment, and for the first time that evening, Rody saw something almost human flicker behind those dark, predatory eyes. But then it was gone, replaced by the cold, calculating mask Vincent wore so well.

“You know what I am,” Vincent said, standing up from the table, his movements graceful, almost too graceful for something that looked so human. He walked over to the window, his back to Rody. “I can’t change that.”

Rody stood up as well, his heart pounding. He crossed the room, standing behind Vincent, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do. He reached out, his hand hovering just over Vincent’s shoulder, but he hesitated, afraid that touching him would somehow break the fragile peace between them.

“I know,” Rody said quietly. “I don’t want you to change. I just… I want to make this work.”

Vincent turned, his eyes softening for the first time that night. He reached out, brushing a strand of Rody’s hair behind his ear. “Then stop torturing yourself.”

Rody closed his eyes, leaning into Vincent’s touch. It was moments like these that made everything worth it—the softness, the quiet intimacy that no one else saw. But even now, with Vincent’s hand against his skin, there was a part of him that couldn’t forget what Vincent was, what he did when the hunger came.

“I’ll try,” Rody whispered, his voice trembling slightly.

Vincent leaned in, his lips brushing against Rody’s ear. “You don’t have to eat what I bring home, Rody,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, but there was a darker undertone there, a reminder of what lay beneath his calm exterior. “But don’t forget… I’m not like you.”

Rody swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. He loved Vincent, truly, but he wasn’t sure if he could ever fully come to terms with the darkness that lingered just beneath the surface. And as Vincent pulled him closer, his cold hands wrapping around Rody’s waist, he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before that darkness consumed them both.