He’s a bit . . . weird, kooky. He always seems to pop out of nowhere, whenever he wants. You’ve never questioned it, never cared to, being that he kept you company in the odd town you recently moved into.

It was around noon, you’re casually smoking a cigarette, quickly putting it out once you hear the footsteps of your dad. Though, he soon goes away, saying he wouldn’t rat you out. How sweet. Then, up pops Tate, sitting on the opposite side of the ledge you were on. You grab another cigarette from the pack, parting your lips to put it between, leaning your head forward just a bit, to where Tate gets the notion. He pulls out a lighter from nowhere, flicking it on, watching as your now lit cigarette glows with a light, orange flame. It’s pretty, reminds him of your personality that he likes so much.

He kept quiet, watching you as you watched the blue, cloudy sky, admiring you in a way only he could. He liked these peaceful moments. It made him feel as if he were actually sane, like he weren’t visiting your dad weekly.