A/N: Go read my newest story - Saint. It's based off a recent relationship of mine. The more love you show it, the quicker I'll update Tate. Also! Check out the music above. I saw Russ in concert and it changed my life.
Later that night, when I was in bed and wrapped up in Tate's jacket, I wondered how an encounter without a single word said could have been so intimate. It was, to me, at least. I couldn't read Tate's blank face. Just his dull eyes.
I inhaled deeply as I pressed the neck of the fabric against my nose, eyes slipping shut.
I was almost asleep, when a sharp rap on the window snapped me awake.
My heart stuttered and then began to pound when I spotted the figure at the window.
Tate.
My breathing was harsh as I slipped out of bed on weak legs, shaking. A I slid the window open, I became very aware that I was wearing panties and a t-shirt. My face was bare and my hair was damp from my shower.
I was staring at his face as his gaze ran over me. He spotted the jacket and tilted his head ever so slightly, the corners up his full lips turning up in a smile. It wasn't a cocky smile either, just a smile. And it made me feel at ease.
"Hey." I said, like it wasn't almost 1 AM and he wasn't supposed to be here.
"Poppy." Was all he said, snapping a piece of gum in his mouth casually, like Oliver wouldn't kill him if he found out he was here.
I moved out of the way, letting him in. Our shoulders brushed as he passed me, and he merely stood there until I closed the window and faced him. His face was blank again, blue eyes staring into mine.
"Tate Moore is fucking psychotic."He snapped his gum again.
I blinked, unsure if I'd just heard what I thought I'd heard.
He plucked the gum from his mouth and stuck it on my nose, thumb pressing it onto my skin until it stayed. I flinched, but stayed put. Before I realized what he was going to do, he ducked forward and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was short and brief, and he pulled away with that same expressionless look.
I could feel the cool air drying the gum on my nose as he said, "Now, Poppy Dawson is fucking crazy, too."
I wanted to say his name, but I just stared.
My fingers raised up to my lips, slowly, as if to check. Check that they'd been kissed.
He watched me, arching a brow.
"Tate." I said, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to kiss him again or slap him.
I went with the latter.
YOU ARE READING
Tate
Teen Fiction"Tate Moore is fucking psychotic." He stared at me blankly, like he hadn't just insulted himself. He snapped his gum, as my mouth hung open. Then something completely unexpected happened. He plucked the gum from his mouth and stuck it on my nos...
