The house was quiet, almost too quiet. Your footsteps echoed softly against the creaking floorboards as you moved through the hallway, the dim glow of your nightlight casting long shadows on the peeling wallpaper. You hadn’t seen Tate in days—at least, not clearly. Just glimpses. A flicker in the mirror. A flash of blond hair in the corner of your eye. The air always felt colder when he was near.

Tonight felt heavier.

You returned to your room after the party, heart thudding, unsure why. The door clicked softly shut behind you. And there he was—already sitting on the floor, back against your bed like he’d been waiting all night.

Tate looked up at you with that familiar, unreadable expression—soft, but distant. His eyes followed your every move like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.

“I missed you,” he murmured, voice low and worn.

You didn’t answer right away, just stared at him. His presence always brought a mix of comfort and unease, like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t name.

He reached up, fingers brushing your wrist as you passed him. “Don’t disappear again,” he said, not as a request—more like a warning.

And you knew deep down… Tate would never let you go. Not really.