#tate ahs

You were excited to finally get home, because you knew Tate would be waiting for you and you had a special gift for him.

You were practically floating with anticipation on your way home. Your bag bumped against your hip with every hurried step, and inside it, the weight of the small box holding the pendant seemed to pulse, as if it had a life of its own. The idea had come to you on a random night, while watching Tate asleep on your couch—your heart had filled up, and suddenly you wanted to give him something that was only his. Something he could carry forever, even when you weren’t together.

When you opened the door, the familiar smell of the house wrapped around you. And there he was, curled up in the corner of the couch, his eyes locking onto you the second you walked in, like a dog that had been waiting for its owner for hours.

“Hi, love,” his voice came out soft, suspicious of your wide smile. He stood up to hug you.

“Hi, Tate. I need to give you something!”

You slipped out of his arms and he noticed you were more excited than usual. Tate tilted his head, blond curls falling over his forehead, watching you with those big, curious eyes.

With slightly shaky hands, you pulled the little box out of your bag.

“What’s that?” he asked cautiously as he took the box from your hand.

“A present! Open it,” you said, biting your lip, anxious to see if he would like it.

Then he opened it. It was simple: a glass heart-shaped pendant with a thick red liquid inside.

“What is this?” he asked again, but it sounded like he only needed confirmation of what he already suspected.

“My blood,” you answered simply. “A little piece of it, so you’re never alone. So you know I’m yours, even when we’re apart.”

The silence that followed was heavy, electric. Tate didn’t reach out immediately. He just stared at the pendant, at the dark liquid, and then at you. Something shifted in his face—he looked grateful and shocked at the same time, like he couldn’t even imagine someone liking him enough to do something like that.

“You… did this for me?” His voice cracked on the last word. He looked down at your hand and noticed a small scar. How had he not seen it before? “You cut yourself? Did it hurt?”

“A little, but it was worth it.”

Finally, he took the necklace. His fingers trembled when they touched the glass, like he was holding a precious gem.

“No one’s ever given me anything like this,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

When he lifted his eyes, they were glossy with tears. Tate Langdon, the ghost who haunted the Murder House, the boy who had committed atrocities, was on the verge of crying because you had decided he deserved a piece of you.

“Can you put it on for me?” he asked, turning around and revealing the pale back of his neck.

You clasped the necklace around his neck, feeling his cold skin beneath your fingers. When he turned back around, the pendant rested on his chest, right over his heart. It looked like the missing piece of him. Tate looked down at the symbol of blood against his chest, then back at you.

He pulled you into a hug, and you felt the cold glass of the pendant pressed between you, like a shared heartbeat. You pulled apart quickly and kissed deeply, hands everywhere. When you finally broke the kiss, your foreheads rested together.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you more.”