Dead Plate Oneshots Blue Day

Rody wasn’t exactly a morning person, but he was energized in his own clumsy way, moving around his apartment as if it were a game. It wasn’t even 9:00 a.m. yet, but he’d already texted Vincent a good five or six times. Each one felt like the equivalent of a big, warm “good morning” hug from him: snippets of an odd dream he’d had, a picture of his tangled hair that he hadn’t even tried to brush yet, and a weirdly close-up photo of a half-empty cup of coffee. He tossed in a “How’s my favorite bookworm doing?” as the final touch—he knew Vincent would be scrolling through them by now, rolling his eyes but secretly smiling.

Or at least, that’s what Rody hoped.

By 10:00, though, the stream of messages went quiet. Vincent had only replied once with a plain “Good morning” and a slight smile, which was barely a response by Vincent’s standards. Usually, he’d have some dry comeback, like calling Rody an “oversized cat” or sending a random fact about the French countryside. So when the silence continued, Rody started to feel something was off.

Rody finally caved and called him.

Vincent picked up after two rings. “Hello?”

“Hey, are you alive? I’m seriously considering barging into your place and doing a welfare check,” Rody teased, but there was a hint of real concern in his tone. “You good?”

There was a pause, and then Vincent’s voice, flat and quiet, “Just… tired today, that’s all.”

Rody frowned, immediately jumping into solution mode. “Tired? I can bring over coffee. No, wait—tea. You’re more of a tea guy, right? Or, hey, I could grab some pastries from that bakery you like.”

Vincent sighed softly. “Rody, I just… I don’t think anything’s going to help today. I’m having one of those days.”

Rody hesitated, the words not quite computing. “One of those days?” he repeated. “You mean, like… you’re sad? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened,” Vincent said, his voice even softer now, almost as if he were trying to hide within it. “It’s just a low day. Happens sometimes.”

Rody wasn’t quite ready to accept that. “So you’re telling me you’re just… sad? Without a reason?”

“Exactly,” Vincent said, with a touch of exhaustion.

“Well, that doesn’t make sense,” Rody replied, his tone laced with confusion. “I mean, people don’t just get sad for no reason, right? Can I do anything to fix whatever’s wrong”

Vincent took a breath, and Rody could almost see him running a hand over his face, like he often did when he was frustrated but didn’t want to show it. “Rody… sometimes, people just have off days. It doesn’t always need to be fixed.”

Rody paused, thrown off. He had always been a fixer; he couldn’t help it. If something was wrong, he’d throw everything he had at it until it was better. But this? This sounded like Vincent was asking him to do… well, nothing.

“Alright, then,” Rody said, finally. “How about I come over anyway? I won’t be loud. You won’t even know I’m there if you don’t want to.”

He heard Vincent’s faint sigh on the other end, and there was a pause before he answered, “Fine. Just… keep it quiet, alright?”

Rody nodded even though Vincent couldn’t see him. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse,” he promised, grabbing his keys and heading out the door.

—

When he arrived at Vincent’s apartment, he was greeted by dim lighting and silence. Vincent was sitting on the couch in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, a blanket draped over his lap as if he was hiding from the world under it. His hair was slightly messy, and his eyes looked dull, distant.

Rody made a beeline for him, half-expecting to wrap him up in a bear hug, but Vincent raised a hand, stopping him mid-step.

“Sorry, just… not feeling touchy today,” Vincent murmured, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

Rody’s heart sank a little. He was still struggling to understand, to grasp that there wasn’t some magic thing he could do to snap Vincent out of this mood. But instead of pushing, he sat on the floor next to the couch, his knee brushing the edge of Vincent’s blanket.

“So… what do you want to do?” Rody asked, looking up at him. “We could watch something, or read… or I could just sit here, being quiet like I promised.”

Vincent gave him a small, tired smile. “I’d like it if you just… stayed. Don’t need to do anything.”

Rody nodded, determined to just be there, even if it felt unnatural to him. He started talking anyway, though—quietly, and mostly just to fill the silence. He mentioned the random facts he’d learned at work that week, told him about his failed attempt to cook something decent, and even shared the latest misadventures with his neighbors.

Vincent didn’t respond much, just the occasional nod or soft hum, but he didn’t seem annoyed, either. Rody caught a few small smiles here and there, the tiniest lifts of Vincent’s lips, and he clung to each one like a small victory.

After a while, he got up to grab a couple of glasses of water from the kitchen. When he returned, Vincent looked at him, his eyes a little clearer than before, as if he’d surfaced from underwater.

“Thanks for coming over,” Vincent murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey, I’d come over a hundred times if you needed me to,” Rody replied, his voice warm. He wanted to say more, to insist that he could do something to make Vincent feel better, but he bit his tongue, remembering what Vincent had said about it not needing to be fixed.

As the day drifted into the afternoon, Vincent slowly leaned over until his head was resting against Rody’s shoulder. Rody held his breath, not wanting to ruin the small, quiet moment. They stayed like that for a while, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator in the background.

Vincent spoke, his voice soft and hesitant. “Sorry, Rody. I’m… probably not the best company today.”

“Hey, that’s not true. You don’t need to be anything for me, you know that?” Rody’s tone was gentle, his usual teasing nowhere to be found. “I’m just here ‘cause I want to be. You don’t have to do anything.”

Vincent exhaled softly, his head still resting on Rody’s shoulder. “It’s nice… being here with you. Even if I’m quiet.”

“Then be as quiet as you want,” Rody murmured. He glanced down at him, tempted to brush a hand through Vincent’s hair, but he held back, not wanting to break the calm. Instead, he just shifted a bit closer, making himself more comfortable as Vincent slowly relaxed against him.

They didn’t need to talk about it anymore. For the rest of the day, they just sat together, and slowly, Vincent’s breathing grew a little softer, a little easier. Rody didn’t fully understand it, but he could feel it—the weight slowly lifting from Vincent’s shoulders.

By the time the sun had set, Vincent had dozed off against Rody, and Rody couldn’t help but smile, feeling a strange peace settle over him too. Maybe he didn’t need to fix everything. Maybe being there, just being with Vincent, was enough.