I climbed to my feet, reaching down to grasp his hand in my own. I helped him up and guided him to my bed. I gently pushed him down as he offered me a curious look, dull eyes staring into my own as I moved around the bed. I reached into the first drawer of my nightstand, pulling out a small box of Marlboro's I'd stolen from Oliver, and a lighter. I popped a cigarette into my mouth as I slumped onto the bed, and then offered one to Tate.

He merely shook his head, watching me shrug and light my own. I tossed the pack onto the bed and sunk back into my pillows as I lit the cigarette. I grabbed the TV and Xbox360 remote and turned them both on as I took a long drag.

While they loaded, I slanted a look over at Tate, wondering how we'd ended up here - like....this.

"Sorry." I breathed, a calm settling over me as the foul, but familiar, scent of smoke settled over us.

Tate's body was stiff and foreign in my room, but I felt his presence would become more familiar soon enough.

"For what?" He asked quietly as I flicked through the apps on the screen and turned on Netflix.

I took another drag and held the smoke in my lungs until it burned in my throat. I nearly coughed as I answered, "For stuffing you in my closet."

I was remorseful, even though my tone was emotionless.

He looked at me with his lips parted like he wanted to answer, and then he merely turned away.

A variety of shows lit up the screen of the TV in front of us.

I turned to look at him as he raised a brow. I noticed that his hands had the slightest quiver, still.

He finally looked at me, and I met his eyes before focusing on the screen again.

American Horror Story: Murder House, was now playing.