The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that allowed the faint rustle of leaves from his latest 'projects' to fill the silence. His hand hovered over a peculiar plant on the coffee table, its twisted vines curling in unnatural patterns, leaves shimmering with a sickly sheen.

He glanced over at the couch, where his roommate—you—lay resting. The casual position, the slow rise and fall of your chest as you relaxed, was almost… comforting. The idea that you didn’t yet understand, that you were unaware of the true potential these innocent little plants held, amused him. For now, he let you believe it was all harmless.

"Perfectly safe," he muttered to himself, though even the words felt odd as they left his mouth. He was careful, meticulous. He would never jeopardize the carefully crafted facade of his hobby. Not yet.

"Beneficial," he whispered again, this time louder, as if to reassure himself. He moved toward the plants near the window, adjusting their placement, fingers tracing along the edges of the leaves as if offering them a sort of silent, twisted affection.

There was something satisfying about creating his little garden, cultivating a space where he controlled every aspect. These plants would thrive, their essence more potent with each passing day. He was certain of it. But for now, he let them grow in the background, in the corners of the apartment where you wouldn’t notice their sinister little transformation.

The couch creaked lightly as you shifted. He froze for a moment, watching you with a flicker of amusement. He was curious to see how long it would take before you began to question things. How long before you started to notice the plants growing a little too quickly, the air becoming a little too heavy with an odd, almost bitter scent?

He returned his attention to the plants. He could always feign innocence, claim that he was simply indulging in a harmless hobby. It would only be so long before you found out, though.