Dead Plate Oneshots Deserve Someone Better

Rody stood outside the dimly lit apartment building, a grocery bag clutched tightly in one hand, the other hovering near the door. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead. He knew how this was going to go. Vincent wouldn’t want his help—he never did—but Rody had made peace with that long ago. Even if Vincent didn’t want him around, Rody would keep showing up. He *had* to.

The truth was, despite their breakup months ago, Rody couldn’t leave Vincent behind. Not with how bad things had gotten.

He pushed the door open and walked into the building, greeted by the familiar stale air of the old complex. The stairs creaked under his weight as he made his way up to Vincent’s apartment, his mind racing. Rody had been through this enough times to know the pattern. Vincent would brush him off, insist he was fine, and then refuse to eat or rest. They’d argue, and in the end, Rody would stay anyway. It was a cycle.

But Vincent’s illness had worsened recently—drastically so. The chronic fatigue had become debilitating, and some days, Vincent could barely move. Every time Rody came over, he found his ex looking weaker, thinner, more fragile. His body was giving up on him, and Vincent was letting it happen, either out of pride or a desire not to burden anyone.

That was the reason Vincent had broken up with him in the first place. He didn’t want to be Rody’s responsibility.

But Rody couldn’t accept that.

When he reached Vincent’s door, he hesitated, listening. The apartment was silent. Too silent. With a soft sigh, he unlocked the door and let himself in.

Inside, everything was the same as ever—quiet, clean but neglected. Dishes sat in the sink, untouched for days. The living room was nearly barren, save for the threadbare couch and a small coffee table, both looking as though they hadn’t been used in weeks. Rody swallowed hard. It had been days since he’d last been here, caught up in arguments with Manon about spending too much time with his ex.

Manon didn’t understand why he kept coming back here. She never did.

He set the grocery bag on the counter and walked toward the bedroom, pushing the door open softly. The room was dim, the blinds half-drawn, casting long shadows across the floor. Vincent lay in bed, curled on his side, his breathing shallow. His dark hair was limp and unwashed, and his skin was so pale it almost seemed translucent in the dim light. He looked so much smaller than Rody remembered, like a ghost of the man he used to be.

“Vin?” Rody’s voice was soft, almost tentative.

Vincent stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open. He blinked a few times, trying to focus. When he finally recognized Rody, a faint smile touched his lips. “You’re back,” he rasped.

“Of course I am,” Rody said, stepping into the room. He pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat down, looking Vincent over with concern. “How are you feeling?”

Vincent’s eyes slid shut again, his smile fading. “Tired,” he murmured. “Always tired.”

Rody frowned. He had heard those words too many times lately. “You need to eat something,” he said gently. “I brought some groceries. I can make you—”

“Not hungry,” Vincent cut him off, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rody clenched his jaw, feeling the familiar frustration rise up in his chest. “You’ve got to eat, Vin. You can’t just… let this happen.”

Vincent’s eyes opened again, a flicker of something—pain, frustration, resignation—crossing his face. “Why are you still doing this, Rody?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “You don’t need to keep taking care of me.”

“I *want* to,” Rody shot back, a little sharper than he intended. “I’m not going to just leave you here like this.”

Vincent’s gaze softened, but he didn’t say anything. He looked so tired, so worn down by the weight of his illness. It hurt Rody to see him like this, so different from the strong, capable man he had fallen in love with years ago.

Rody opened his mouth to say something else when the buzzing of his phone cut through the silence. He pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen.

Manon.

He hesitated, glancing between the phone and Vincent. He didn’t want to take the call, didn’t want to hear her say what he knew she would.

But she wouldn’t stop calling until he picked up.

With a sigh, Rody stood and walked into the hallway, answering the call as quietly as he could. “Hey.”

“Are you with Vincent again?” Manon’s voice came through the line, tense and clipped.

Rody closed his eyes, leaning against the wall. “Yeah,” he admitted. “He’s… not doing great today.”

“He’s never doing great, Rody,” Manon said sharply. “He’s sick. And you can’t keep running over there every time he needs something. You’ve got your own life.”

“I know, but—”

“No,” Manon interrupted. “You don’t know. Because if you did, you’d stop dropping everything for him. I get that he’s your ex, but you broke up for a reason. You’re not responsible for him.”

Rody felt his chest tighten. He had heard this argument before, and it always ended the same way—with him staying, and Manon growing more and more frustrated. “I can’t just… abandon him,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “He’s got no one else.”

“What about me?” Manon said, her voice softening slightly, but still laced with frustration. “You spend so much time at your exe’s apartment it feels like you don’t even want to be with me.”

Rody pressed a hand to his forehead, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him. “Manon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“This isn’t just about today,” she said, cutting him off again. “You’ve been doing this for *months.* I thought we were building something together, Rody. I thought we had a future.”

“We do,” Rody said quickly, his heart racing. “I just…”

“You just keep choosing him,” Manon finished. There was a long pause on the other end of the line before she spoke again, her voice low. “You need to figure out what you really want, Rody. Because I can’t keep waiting around while you take care of your ex-boyfriend.”

With that, she hung up, leaving Rody standing in the hallway, staring down at his phone. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, and for the first time, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was right. He *was* choosing Vincent. Every time.

But what else could he do?

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and returned to Vincent’s bedside. Vincent’s eyes were open again, watching him with a mixture of sadness and resignation.

“Manon?” Vincent asked softly, though he already seemed to know the answer.

Rody nodded, sitting back down in the chair. “She… doesn’t understand.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” Vincent said quietly, his voice strained. “You’re with her now. You should be with her, not here.”

“I can be with both of you,” Rody argued, but even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. He had been spending more and more time at Vincent’s apartment, canceling dates with Manon, skipping plans. She had been patient at first, but he could see her growing more distant every time they talked.

Vincent shook his head weakly, a bitter smile crossing his lips. “You can’t.”

Rody’s heart ached at the sight of that smile, the way Vincent’s illness had hollowed him out, leaving nothing but this frail, fragile shell of the man he once was. He reached out and took Vincent’s hand in his, surprised by how cold it felt. “I’m not going to leave you,” he said softly.

Vincent’s gaze met his, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes—something like hope, or maybe guilt. “You will have to,” he whispered. “We’re not together anymore. You have a girlfriend who loves you.”

Rody didn’t have a response to that. He sat there in silence, holding Vincent’s hand, the weight of everything pressing down on him like a vise. He wanted to be there for both of them—for Vincent, who had once been his whole world, and for Manon, who he cared about deeply. But he knew, deep down, that he couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep living two lives.

“Rody?” Vincent’s voice was soft, barely audible.

“Yeah?” Rody looked up, meeting Vincent’s gaze.

“You need to go.”

Rody’s heart clenched. “No.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” Vincent said, his voice breaking. “That’s why I broke up with you. I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“You’re not a burden,” Rody said quickly, but the words felt hollow, even to him.

Vincent smiled faintly. “Yes, I am. And that’s okay. But you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep sacrificing your life for me.”

Rody wanted to argue, to tell Vincent that he wasn’t sacrificing anything. But he couldn’t bring himself to lie. Manon’s voice echoed in his mind, her words ringing with uncomfortable truth. He was sacrificing parts of his life—his relationship, his time, his energy. And while he didn’t regret being there for Vincent, he couldn’t deny that it was costing him something.

Rody swallowed hard, his grip tightening on Vincent’s frail hand. “I don’t care about any of that. I’m not going to abandon you.”

Vincent’s eyes softened, but there was a sadness there that Rody couldn’t ignore. “You don’t have to take care of me anymore,” Vincent whispered. “It’s not fair to you. It’s not fair to her.”

Rody shook his head, his heart racing. “I don’t care about fair. I care about you.”

For a long moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the conversation hanging heavy between them. Vincent’s breathing was shallow, his body too weak to do much more than rest, but his eyes never left Rody’s. There was something unspoken there, something Rody didn’t know how to handle.

Eventually, Vincent broke the silence. “I know I hurt you by breaking up with you,” he said softly. “I thought… I thought it would be better for both of us. But I never wanted this—for you to keep taking care of me out of guilt.”

“It’s not guilt,” Rody said quickly. “I still care about you. I… I never stopped.”

Vincent’s eyes flickered with something—pain, maybe, or regret. “I didn’t stop caring about you either,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m not your responsibility anymore, Rody. You deserve more than this. You deserve someone who can actually be with you, who doesn’t… drag you down.”

“You’re not dragging me down,” Rody said fiercely, though his voice cracked as he said it. “You’re sick, Vin. You didn’t ask for this. I want to be here for you.”

Vincent closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling slowly. “But you’re not really with me, are you?” he murmured. “Not in the way you want to be. You’re here because you feel like you have to be.”

Rody’s throat tightened. He didn’t know how to answer that, because maybe, on some level, Vincent was right. He had spent so long trying to take care of Vincent, trying to make up for the fact that he couldn’t fix things, that he hadn’t stopped to ask himself why he was still doing it.

“I can’t just leave you,” Rody said again, his voice rough. “I can’t.”

Vincent’s hand squeezed his weakly, a faint smile touching his lips. “I know,” he said softly. “But maybe… maybe it’s time you started thinking about what you need, too. I don’t want to be the thing that ruins your life.”

“You’re not ruining my life,” Rody insisted, his heart aching. “You’re—”

A knock sounded from the front door, pulling Rody out of the intense moment with Vincent. He tensed immediately, already knowing who it was.

“Rody,” Manon’s voice called from the hallway, firm but soft.

Rody glanced at Vincent, who nodded weakly, giving him permission to go. Reluctantly, Rody stood up and walked to the front door, his heart pounding as he opened it to find Manon standing there. Her arms were crossed, her expression a mixture of concern and frustration.

“You’ve been here all day,” she said quietly. “We were supposed to have dinner hours ago.”

“I know,” Rody said, running a hand through his hair. “I just… things got worse. I needed to be here.”

Manon sighed, her gaze flickering past Rody to the room where Vincent lay. “He’s not your responsibility anymore, Rody,” she said, her voice softening slightly. “You need to let this go.”

“I can’t,” Rody said, his voice raw. “He’s… he’s alone, Manon. He doesn’t have anyone else.”

“You have me,” Manon said quietly, stepping closer. “And I love you, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep watching you give everything to someone who isn’t even in your life anymore. You’ve got to choose, Rody.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. Choose? How could he choose between two people he cared about so deeply, in such different ways?

“Manon, it’s not like that,” Rody said, his voice pleading. “I’m not choosing him over you. I’m just… I don’t know what to do.”

“You have to figure that out,” Manon said, her tone firm. “Because I can’t be in a relationship where I’m always second place to your ex-boyfriend. You can’t keep splitting yourself in half like this.”

Rody’s chest tightened, the weight of the situation pressing down on him from all sides. He looked back at the bedroom, where Vincent lay silently, watching them, though he couldn’t hear the conversation. Then he looked at Manon, her expression a mix of love and frustration, and felt his heart break a little more.

He wanted to be with her. He really did. But how could he walk away from Vincent now, when things were worse than ever? How could he abandon the man who had once meant everything to him, even if Vincent was the one who had pushed him away?

Manon reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m not asking you to stop caring about him,” she said gently. “I’m just asking you to think about what you really want. Because right now, you’re not really with either of us.”

Rody swallowed hard, feeling the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to say something, to reassure her, but the words wouldn’t come. He was torn between two people, two lives, and he didn’t know how to bridge the gap.

After a long moment of silence, Manon sighed and let her hand fall to her side. “I’m going home,” she said softly. “Call me when you figure things out.”

She turned and walked away, leaving Rody standing in the doorway, his heart in his throat. He stood there for a long time, listening to the fading sound of her footsteps, feeling the weight of the decision he had to make pressing down on him like a heavy stone.

When he finally turned back to the bedroom, Vincent was watching him with a sad, knowing expression.

“She’s right, you know,” Vincent said quietly. “You’re not with me anymore. Not really.”

Rody swallowed hard and walked back to the chair, sitting down heavily. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to fix this.

Vincent reached out weakly, taking Rody’s hand in his. “You’ve got to let me go, Rody,” he whispered. “It’s time.”

Rody shook his head, his throat tightening with emotion. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I don’t know how.”

Vincent’s smile was faint, sad. “I’ll always love you,” he said softly. “But I need you to love yourself enough to move on. You deserve that. You deserve her.”

Rody closed his eyes, squeezing Vincent’s hand tightly, as if holding on would stop the inevitable. But deep down, he knew Vincent was right. He had been holding on for too long, unable to let go of the past, unable to move forward. And now, it was costing him everything.

When he finally opened his eyes, he met Vincent’s gaze and saw the same sadness mirrored there. But there was something else, too—something like peace.

“I’ll still be here,” Vincent said softly. “But you need to live your life, Rody. For both of us.”

Rody nodded slowly, tears slipping down his cheeks as he held Vincent’s hand a little longer, feeling the weight of the years between them, the love that had never really gone away, and the painful reality of what had to happen next.

And for the first time in a long time, Rody let himself imagine a future where he wasn’t constantly torn in two—a future where he could finally let go, without losing himself in the process.

—

As the front door clicked shut, signaling Rody’s departure, the silence of the apartment enveloped Vincent. He stared at the empty space where Rody had just sat, the warmth from his hand already fading from Vincent’s frail fingers.

Vincent exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling with a faint tremble. He tried to steady his breathing, tried to remind himself that this was the right thing. It had to be. Rody deserved better—someone who could keep up with his energy, someone who didn’t constantly need caring for, someone… healthier.

But as much as Vincent tried to convince himself, the tightness in his chest only grew heavier, the ache spreading until it felt like it would consume him whole. Rody had been his light once, had been his everything, and now Vincent was the one snuffing out that connection for Rody’s own good.

It was supposed to be selfless. It was supposed to be right.

And yet, as the door stayed closed and Rody’s footsteps faded further away, Vincent felt the first tear slip down his cheek.

“Rody deserves better,” he whispered to the empty room, his voice cracking. The words felt hollow, like a mantra he had repeated so often it had lost its meaning, but still, he tried to believe them. Rody deserved a healthy partner, someone who could offer him a future that wasn’t filled with sickness and frailty.

“Someone like Manon,” he muttered, another tear following the first. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the flood of emotion rising inside him.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He had broken up with Rody because he didn’t want to be a burden, because he had seen the toll his illness was taking on the person he loved more than anyone. He wanted Rody to live a full life, to be happy, even if that life couldn’t include him anymore.

But deep down, no matter how much he tried to convince himself, Vincent still loved Rody. And watching him walk out that door, knowing it might be for the last time, was tearing Vincent apart.

His body shook as he let out a soft, shuddering breath, the tears falling freely now. “He deserves more than this. More than me.”

He brought a hand to his face, wiping at the tears with trembling fingers, but they kept coming, slipping through his weak defenses. He felt so useless, so broken, trapped in a body that was betraying him day by day. What could he offer Rody now? Nothing but burden and guilt.

Vincent swallowed the sob rising in his throat, his fingers digging into the blanket draped across his lap. He was useless, wasn’t he? He couldn’t be the partner Rody needed. He couldn’t even take care of himself.

The thought twisted inside him, gnawing at the fragile hope he had tried to hold onto. No matter how much he wanted to stay close to Rody, it would never be fair. Rody didn’t deserve this weight. He didn’t deserve someone as broken as Vincent.

So, Vincent did what he had done all those months ago—he tried to let go, to tell himself that this was for Rody’s sake. Even if it shattered him.

“He deserves better,” Vincent whispered again, his voice a quiet plea in the stillness of the room.

But as the last tear fell, and the silence settled over him once more, he realized that no amount of convincing would ever dull the pain of losing the only person who had ever truly loved him.

—-