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You hadn’t seen Violet in months since she’d moved to her new house and you wouldn’t wait. It had taken forever to convince your parents to let you go see your best friend and you were desperate to get there.
You and Violet had been best friends all your lives and it wasn’t right for you to be expected to live for so long without her. Other people could just be so painfully dreadful.
The funniest part about your relationship, if you were telling the truth, was that you were complete opposites. Violet was calm and didn’t particularly care about anything one way or the other, whereas you couldn’t have been more more emotional if you tried.
You wore your heart on your sleeve and no matter how hard you tried to change it-you couldn’t. You couldn’t very well keep your heart from beating a million miles an hour as you skipped up the steps of 'the murder house’.
Violet hadn’t known the history of this place before moving in but you did. She’d called you every day since she got there, and you already felt like you’d been there.
The building itself was extravagant and built beautifully, but in every brick and tile, you saw the grime history that surrounded you. The energy was practically electric and vibrated through your being with a crackle.
One…two…three knocks later, the door opened to reveal a bubbly, but aging Vivian Harmon, her red hair pulled up from her face.
“Hi” She grinned, taking your hand in her own as gently as she could. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face either, it felt like it had been years since you’d seen her and you were so glad to be near her again. In some ways, Vivian was more of a mother to you than your own flesh and blood.
After getting the greetings out of the way, you followed Vivian into the kitchen, getting a brief tour on your way down the hall. If you thought the outside of this place was nice, the inside was a castle.
Every little detail was perfect, and seemed to have a life of its own as if all you had to do was pay close attention and you’d catch it breathing all on its own. After seeing it, you weren’t shocked that they’d moved in the same day as closing. Violet’s stories didn’t do this magnificent building justice.
Perhaps even more magnificent were the local men-more specifically one man in particular. His name was Tate and you’d heard so many stories about him that you could practically write his biography with no help.
Based on everything Violet had told you, he was a punky dreamboat with a tortured soul and perfect teeth. He was just your type, and no one was more aware of how much you would like Tate than Violet herself. She’d been telling the man about you since you let her know you’d be visiting.
Sure, trying to set you up with her kinda creepy neighbor wasn’t the height of her best friend career but it also wasn’t her worst idea. Tate was a lot like Violet and they had all of their interest in common. You loved Violet so why wouldn’t you enjoy her perfect male-counterpart?
She meant well and you couldn’t blame her, so when she came through the door with Tate in toe, you had nothing to say. He was perhaps more attractive than you’d originally assumed which didn’t make any sense.
There was nothing you could say…he was just as grungy and odd as Violet had promised.
You knew how odd it was that you were that excited about some stranger but you couldn’t help it. There was just something about him that about him that told you there was something between you two.
It was almost as if you knew him, but you couldn’t place where from.
“Y/N, this is Tate, my neighbor” she hummed, plopping down beside you as haphazardly as she could, jostling you to the side. Luckily, she was so small and frail that she couldn’t have hoped to move you if she tried.
~
You spent a few hours talking to Tate after Violet left the room, just getting to know him. Surprisingly, you two didn’t actually have too much in common…though you did understand why he was so close with Violet.
The two of them were particularly similar in dark humor and strangeness, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by it. “What kind of music do you like?” Tate asked, playing absentmindedly with your shoelace. You watched his movements, amused by him.
Everything about him was so uniquely charming. “I just kind of listen to whatever” You answered, taking note of the fact Tate’s eyes never left your face the whole time you spoke.
You had no idea if that was the right answer or not, but it didn’t really matter. Tate had a ton of more important questions he wanted to ask you, like now…
“Why don’t you live here?” he wondered, glancing out the window casually before letting his eyes flick back to your face.
In all honesty, you wanted to know the same thing. You had lived there, a few months at a time when your father owned a house there, after your parent’s divorce.
It had been nasty, resorting in a strange custody system which meant part of the year you spent with your mother in Boston, and part of it with your father in Las Angeles, right down the street from where you were now.
Unfortunately, you stopped visiting this place after the death of your father three years ago. It hit you hard, and you didn’t like to take about it. Little did you know that Tate already knew it all-save for the death of your father-which was his reason for asking.
He’d been watching you grow and change every summer when you came to visit from the murder house window and he could hardly believe you were in front of him now.
Tate had hardly been able to cope when you stopped showing up to see him…or at least that’s what he told himself.
-That it was for him-
He wanted so badly to know you like he thought he did and it just so happened that Tate had found a way. When he saw you in a picture on Violet’s dresser, he just had to know everything he could.
This was his chance to finally make you his like he’d always wanted and it was nearly too much to bare.
“Um Tate?” you cooed, waving a hand in front of his face in hopes of getting his full attention. He’d started dozing off and you had no idea what was on his mind. -Never in a million years did you think it was you occupying all his thoughts.
But that didn’t change the fact that you were.
“Sorry, I do that sometimes” he shrugged, the glaze clearing from his eyes after a moment or so. You grinned, offering your own shrug in return.
It didn’t bother you that Tate could be a little spacey, what was odd though, was the fact he hadn’t stopped staring at you since he’d arrived. You didn’t know how but you felt like you knew him, somehow.
It was as if he’d stepped out of a distant memory or a dream you’d once had that you couldn’t recall.
“Can I ask you a question of my own?” you tried, letting your hand rest on Tate’s, still sitting on your shoe. Your touch stopped his fidgeting but he didn’t mind. Any excuse to touch you was good as far as Tate was concerned.
He was going to make you his, even if he had to wait a century to do so. It would all be well worth it in the end to call you his own, after waiting so long for you to come back into his life.
You were a woman now and he wanted to make you his woman…he needed to. At this point, there was no other option but your love for him. His soul couldn’t rest until you were by his side, he knew that now.
Tate’d gotten a taste of what paradise was like, and there was no giving that up.