You'd fallen asleep on his lap. So with loud, bated breaths he pet your hair. Eyes focused intensely on you, Tates eyes were scorching over every feature on your face.

Obsessed in a way no one else but tate could be, he murmurs desperate yearnings to you in your sleep. Nervous and needy and loving every imperfection you were graced with. He'd kill, without hesitation - just for a small laugh to escape your throat at something he said. To smile at him. To love him like he adored you.

His appetite for you is monstrous. A breath of your air in his lungs akin to an angels visions. You were his angel.