Trust. Trust was such a powerful word in this day and age. It was honestly hard to think of any other scenario for this place, other than it being incredibly left field. This wasn’t like him at all. Secret club houses? “What are you, five?” Violet teased him and gave his hand an equally firm squeeze. “You could have at least made a tree house. I’m disappointed in you, Tate.” It was all sarcasm and playfulness of course. Her Converse sneakers had nearly fallen over a loose tree root in the foliage, but he had a good enough grip on her that she didn’t tumble to the ground or trip.
Watch your step. No shit. The first thing the blonde noticed, was the candles lit every which way. It was extremely romantic. A little cliche, but still hit home in the ways of her heart. “You built this?” Her hazel gaze took inspection of the wide and strong lumber, all the way to the perfectly installed screws. That was until something caught her eye in the dim lighting And just like that, her hope fizzled out like a wet candle. There were a few cans, perhaps veggie cans or soup cans–with bullet holes in them. Why on earth would a teenage boy have a secret clubhouse and something that he used for target practice?
So peculiar. Her lips pulled up into a smile, still slightly irked by the cans that stayed off to the side. “It’s really nice.” Honesty was in her eyes as well as adoration. “You did all this for me?” Violet smirked, glad she had left the rose in the car. The last thing she needed was to drop it along the way or mess it up. As soon as the girl would get home, she would put that in water. Not sure how long it would last though.
Slowly, but surely, the teen was putting the pieces together. They both hated everyone at school mutually. But he had been more quiet lately, almost calculating before she got there. He seemed to be talking to himself a lot, before Violet approached him at Westfield. Tate would always look tired too, blank. As if he couldn’t feel any pain or remorse, he was just a blank slate. Numb.
Still, the equal hate of their school and gun training practice…she was finally starting to figure it out. Her first instinct was to call the police, but Constance probably was too broke to bail him out. In her heart, Vi knew that she had to get into his house soon, just to check his things. Sadly, the girl was the worst liar in the world; and Tate could see right through her. “This isn’t about candles or hand built club houses.” Her tone was concerned, but firm. “What you’re thinking of doing, is going to get you killed. I watch the news. It always comes down to two options, killing yourself or go out fighting.” There were tears in her eyes. She turned his chin to face her, holding the soft warmth of his cheek with the opposite.
“Don’t ever leave me, Tate Langdon. I don’t care what vendetta you have, fuck them. Stay with me.”
―― and just like THAT, the magic of the moment he’s worked so hard to craft is broken. with the touch of her hands guiding his gaze, her skin ever so slightly COLD against the flush that’s working its way up his cheeks, he locks eyes with her in a seriousness he hadn’t anticipated jarring the levity of their evening out. she doesn’t KNOW, has no proof. it’s too much of a stretch that she’s figured it out, not matter how smart he knows his counterpart to be. there’s nothing here that screams ‘i’m buidling pipe bombs!’, nothing she can truly use to SHOW any tangible evidence against him, but his heart is beating out of control with the sudden realization that letting ANYONE into his world ― even the girl he loves ― may have been a grave and SERIOUS error.
❝ what the hell are you TALKING about, vi? i’m not leaving you. jesus, this is supposed to be our first date ― like, y’know, our first REAL one, anyway. why would i leave you? ❞
there’s no way in HELL he’s confessing anything, not until or unless he absolutely has to.
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