Dead Plate Oneshots My Socially Inept Roommate

Part 2 of Is My Roommate A Murderer?

Weeks passed, and Rody had learned a few more things about his roommate. First, Vincent had an unusual knack for showing up when Rody *least* expected it—usually with some overly-intense look in his eyes and an absolutely chilling silence. And second, Vincent’s idea of showing affection was… well, a little concerning.

It started innocently enough. One night, Rody was half-asleep on the couch, TV barely audible, when he sensed Vincent looming beside him. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Vincent’s pale, unblinking face, staring at him as if he were studying the fine details of his soul.

“AH!” Rody yelled, jolting upright, heart racing. “Dude! What are you *doing*?!”

Vincent blinked, finally breaking his eerie trance. “You were… resting.”

Rody tried to calm his breathing. “Yeah, it’s called sleeping. You should try it sometime.”

Vincent frowned, like Rody had just suggested eating grass. “I wanted to make sure you were… comfortable.”

Rody raised an eyebrow. “You wanted to make sure I was comfortable, so you… stood there… staring at me like a haunted Victorian doll?”

Vincent blinked again, seeming genuinely baffled. “Yes.”

Rody threw his head back, letting out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Look, Vincent, if you want me to be comfortable, maybe don’t channel the whole ‘creepy antique store mannequin’ vibe while I’m trying to sleep?”

Vincent nodded, absorbing the critique in his usual solemn way. “I’ll… work on it.”

The next night, Rody found a blanket and a cup of tea waiting for him on the coffee table. He looked around suspiciously before settling in, feeling oddly touched. Maybe Vincent was just an awkward weirdo with zero social skills but a good heart? He took a sip of the tea, and nearly choked. It tasted… strange. Like Vincent had brewed it with tree bark and sorrow.

“Is this… did you put *lavender* in here?” Rody called out, hoping Vincent could hear him wherever he was lurking.

Vincent appeared in the doorway like he’d been summoned from the depths of the night itself. “It’s good for sleep.”

“Yeah, if you want me to sleep forever,” Rody muttered, dumping the tea back into the mug. “Look, man, I appreciate the gesture, but maybe leave the drinks to me, alright?”

Vincent’s face fell in what Rody could only describe as an expression of *tragic despair*—like he’d just ruined their entire roommate arrangement by misjudging the tea.

“Or, you know, maybe just a little less lavender next time,” Rody added quickly, not wanting to be responsible for Vincent’s descent into an existential crisis.

Vincent gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. “Noted.”

Rody had to admit that, weirdness aside, he was getting used to Vincent’s “gestures.” He still woke up to random food on his nightstand, like a single, ominous strawberry next to his alarm clock, or a slice of perfectly toasted bread with a suspiciously symmetrical cut. He wasn’t sure whether to be charmed or terrified.

But Vincent seemed determined, in his own unnerving way, to make Rody’s life… better? Or, at least, to keep it interesting.

One evening, as Rody was cleaning up in the kitchen, he felt Vincent’s gaze on him again. He turned, finding Vincent just… standing there, holding a lemon.

Rody stared at the lemon, then at Vincent. “Uh, buddy… what’s with the lemon?”

Vincent looked down at the lemon in his hand like it had appeared there by magic. “It’s for you.”

Rody’s mouth twitched. “You got me… a lemon?”

“It’s a gift,” Vincent said solemnly, as if he’d just presented Rody with the crown jewels.

Rody held back a snort. “Aw, that’s sweet. Totally normal, too. Super romantic.”

Vincent’s face betrayed a flicker of confusion, and Rody felt a pang of guilt. He took the lemon and offered Vincent a genuine smile. “Thanks, man. I’ll… I’ll treasure it.”

Vincent’s expression softened ever so slightly, as if Rody had just given him the highest praise imaginable.

Later that night, Rody set the lemon on his nightstand as a joke, half-expecting Vincent to check in on it like some sort of creepy lemon guardian. Sure enough, the next morning, he found it freshly polished and repositioned slightly closer to his pillow.

Things continued like this, Vincent’s attempts at connection becoming progressively stranger. Rody would walk into his room to find neatly folded blankets or pillows meticulously arranged in shapes that… vaguely resembled hearts? Sometimes Vincent would leave him oddly specific notes, like “Remember to eat breakfast” or “Avoid looking into the void too long.”

Rody wasn’t sure if Vincent meant the void as in *existential dread* or, like, a literal void that he just *knew* about, and honestly, he wasn’t ready to ask.

***

One night, Rody’s friend Jules stopped by, clutching a six-pack of cheap beer.

“You still living with that spooky dude?” she asked, handing him a beer.

Rody grinned, cracking it open. “Yep. He left me a lemon this week. Like, as a roommate gesture.”

Jules laughed, nearly choking on her drink. “Wait, he left you a *lemon*?”

Rody shrugged. “Apparently that’s his idea of a gift. I mean, I’ve gotten worse, right?”

Jules shook her head, trying to process it. “Rody, that’s not ‘weird cute.’ That’s like, ‘I buried something sinister in the garden’ creepy.”

Rody smirked, taking another sip. “I don’t know. I think he’s just… awkward.”

Jules gave him a deadpan stare. “Awkward? Dude, he watches you sleep!”

“Only sometimes!” Rody protested, waving her off. “He doesn’t even blink. It’s like living with a haunted mannequin, sure, but I dunno… it’s kind of sweet?”

“Sweet,” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You mean like, ‘brotherly bonding’ sweet or ‘final-guy-in-a-horror-movie’ sweet?”

Rody shrugged. “Hey, I don’t know. He just… cares, in his own freaky way.”

They clinked beers, laughing as Rody relayed more stories of Vincent’s bizarre attempts at bonding, from the time he found a perfectly symmetrical fruit salad waiting for him at 3 a.m. to that time he’d caught Vincent gently petting his coat, claiming he was “removing lint.”

By the end of the night, Jules was howling with laughter. “Rody, you’re either the bravest person I know or the dumbest. Honestly, I’m not sure which.”

Rody chuckled, thinking about Vincent’s silent attempts at connection. “Yeah, maybe both.”

But despite the strange gestures and deadpan looks, Rody felt… well, he couldn’t quite put a name to it. Was it *affection*? Attachment? Stockholm Syndrome? Whatever it was, he didn’t mind it as much as he probably should.

And so, the uneasy, weirdly wholesome domesticity continued, with Vincent’s attempts at bonding becoming just another part of Rody’s bizarre everyday life. Whether he was polishing lemons, lurking in doorways, or offering random food at odd hours, Vincent was always there, hovering like some sort of eerie, ghostly companion.

One day, he’d figure out what this “normal” thing was all about. Until then, Rody would just keep ignoring the weird red flags.

A few more weeks went by, and Vincent’s “gestures” had only grown more intense. He was constantly rearranging things in Rody’s space—organizing his shoes into neat pairs, refolding his clothes, and even leaving little cryptic notes on his mirror like “Only look ahead” or “The world can be a dark place; avoid staring at the shadows too long.”

Rody kept brushing it off, but something finally clicked one night when he found a candlelit dinner for one waiting for him in the living room. There was a single plate of pasta on the table—perfectly made, complete with an artsy drizzle of sauce, topped with a little sprig of basil. The room was dimly lit, almost romantic, and a note was propped against the plate. It simply read, “For you.”

Rody squinted at the note, then glanced around. “Vincent?” He expected his roommate to be lurking somewhere, as usual.

Vincent emerged from the shadows, a little paler than usual, his expression awkward but determined. “I… thought you might enjoy a meal.”

Rody blinked at him, then back at the plate. “You… made this for me?”

Vincent nodded, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he glanced at the floor, then back up at Rody, almost… shyly? It was the first time Rody had ever seen Vincent look anything less than ghostly confident.

“Wow, thanks, man,” Rody said, picking up a fork and twirling it around the pasta. “You really went all out.”

Vincent’s eyes stayed on Rody with that familiar, intense gaze, like he was hanging onto every little reaction. Rody tried to ignore it, but a new thought crept into his mind. Vincent wasn’t just being “nice.” This was something… else.

As Rody dug into the pasta, he noticed Vincent was watching him with this strange, soft intensity. “Vincent, are you… okay?”

Vincent’s face turned even paler. He cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his turtleneck. “I am… concerned.”

Rody nearly choked. “Concerned about what?”

Vincent leaned forward, his hands clenching the edge of the table. “About… you.”

Rody’s brain started connecting the dots. The creepy hovering, the food offerings, the blanket-straightening, the tea… Was Vincent actually… *interested*? And, if so, why did that suddenly make his stomach twist into knots?

“Wait,” Rody said slowly, putting his fork down and eyeing Vincent. “Are you… are you doing all of this because… you, uh…?”

Vincent’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, like a deer caught in headlights. He didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, as Rody leaned closer, studying him.

“Oh my god,” Rody breathed, a grin spreading across his face. “You *like* me, don’t you?”

Vincent’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly, his expression flickering between horror and utter defeat. He looked at the ground, then back up at Rody, his lips parting as if he was going to deny it… but no words came out.

Rody’s grin turned into a laugh, a genuine, belly-deep laugh. “Vincent, you… you absolute *weirdo*! This whole time I thought you were just, like, an overprotective ghost, and you’re actually just… in love with me?”

Vincent opened his mouth, looking a little horrified at Rody’s bluntness, his pale face going pink. “I—love is perhaps… an overstatement—”

But Rody couldn’t help himself. He grabbed Vincent by the shoulders and shook him gently, grinning all the while. “Nope, too late, Vince! You’ve been making me weird candlelit dinners and standing in my doorway like some lovesick vampire for weeks now. I think that qualifies as love.”

Vincent blinked, clearly at a loss. His usual composure was utterly shattered, and for the first time, he looked small, almost vulnerable. He shifted awkwardly, looking at his hands, as if they might hold the answer to his sudden lack of dignity.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “Perhaps I… feel… something.”

“*Something*?” Rody teased, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, right. So, uh, what does ‘something’ feel like?”

Vincent swallowed hard, his gaze dropping again. “Like… an inconvenience,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rody smirked, amused. “Only you would describe love as an ‘inconvenience.’”

Vincent lifted his eyes, something soft and almost pleading in his gaze. “It’s… distracting.”

Rody let out a long sigh, his teasing grin softening. “Look, Vincent, if you’re into me, you could’ve just *said* something. You didn’t need to go full haunted house on me.”

Vincent’s face turned even pinker, and he looked at Rody with an expression that was almost… hopeful? “You’re… not bothered?”

“Bothered?” Rody said, laughing. “Vince, if I haven’t been bothered by the midnight lemon offerings, random food at 3 a.m., and you staring at me like some cursed porcelain doll, I think I can handle whatever this is.” He nudged Vincent playfully. “And, honestly… it’s kind of nice.”

Vincent’s face softened, his usual icy exterior melting ever so slightly as he absorbed Rody’s words. He seemed lost for a moment, studying Rody’s face as if trying to memorize every detail.

“So,” Rody continued, crossing his arms with a cocky grin, “are we gonna keep dancing around this, or do I get to say that I’m dating the creepiest, weirdest roommate ever?”

Vincent’s eyes widened. “Dating?”

“Yeah, dating!” Rody laughed. “That’s what happens when you’re into someone, right? You go on dates, do cute stuff… maybe lay off the lurking in doorways, though. Just saying.”

Vincent actually smiled—a small, shy, almost imperceptible smile that was worlds away from his usual haunting demeanor. “Very well,” he said softly. “I will… try.”

With that, Vincent turned to look at Rody, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. He didn’t quite know what to do, or how to act now that his feelings were out in the open, but there was a quiet warmth in his gaze, like he’d finally found a place he belonged.

And despite the lingering creepiness, Rody realized he didn’t mind one bit.