A/N: Before I start this chapter lets get some things straight.

1. This story is based off of Tate Langdon from American Horror Story because I found him utterly intriguing. However, this is not a fan-fiction.

2. I haven't updated in months because my depression got the better of me and I lost inspiration. I was also in a mental hospital for a while.

3. Poppy smokes. Suck a dick. Get over it.

4.That's all, folks. Enjoy. #Toppy.

                                                                              Chapter| 6

I met Tate's eyes, a sense of curiosity washing over me as I noticed the freckles kissing along his cheeks and nose. A damp strand of ink black hair drooped over his forehead and brushed the arch of his left brow. My eyes drifted to his array of tattoos, and when I realized I still had yet to say something, I opened my mouth to ask him about them.

"What do they me-?" I began.

"Poppy?" My brother finished from downstairs as the door slammed behind him. 

"Fuck." I answered quietly, rising from the bed to stumble over towards Tate. My fingers snaked around his wrist as I struggled to figure out where to stuff him so that Oliver wouldn't see.

"Poppy, you here?" He called from the bottom of the stairs as I pulled Tate's lanky frame towards my tiny closet.

"Uh, yeah. I'm in my room, Oli." I managed to sputter as I pushed Tate into the closet. I only met his eyes when I began to close the door and in them I saw -

Fear. 

Utter terror. 

It shocked me enough that I almost froze, but then I heard Oliver's footsteps on the stairs and I had no choice. I closed the closet door and slumped into the vanity chair just seconds before Oliver opened my bedroom door.

He peered around as my heart thudded inside my chest, his brown eyes startlingly observant. His leather jacket was wet from the rain, like his silver hair. 

"I need my keys." Was all he said as he leaned against the doorframe and ran his eyes over my tense figure.

I shakily reached into my pocket and tossed them at him.  

"Thanks." He bobbed his head at me as he caught them. "Me and Cecilia are going to dinner. I'll bring you back something." 

And then he was gone.

And I was glad he hadn't heard the thudding of my heart.

Or the soft thud of Tate's head against the closet door.