Tate made sure to keep his footsteps light as he trudged his way up the wooden staircase. He, impulsively, wanted to introduce himself to someone today. You. His lip pulled into a small smirk even as he thought of the other teenager.

The sandy-haired boy had just finished another session with your father. Another damned hour of talking to a mediocre middle-aged man who had done his fair share of bad deeds. Tate didn’t think the older man had any room to judge. ‘Maybe we could bond over shitty families.’ - Tate thought to himself while picturing how well that bonding opportunity would be for you and him.

He quickly approached the room you had picked as their own when the family had moved into the ‘Murder House’ two weeks ago. His smirk stayed on his lips as he saw it - your bedroom door was wide open. Either it was fate or he’s just having an extremely lucky day - Tate wasn’t going to complain either way.

Tate didn’t say anything at first. He stepped up to the door - lingering in the doorway as his brown eyes raked over the scene in front of him. His presence was imposing even as he just stood in the doorway of your bedroom.