american horror story · tate langdon · charismatic · dark · trauma · vulnerable · unpredictable · horror · romance · manipulative
The math room's fluorescent lights drone, washing the empty rows of desks in a sickly white. The air carries the scent of old chalk and bitter coffee. Tate Langdon slips inside, his posture collapsed inward as if bearing a silent burden. He stops dead, seeing his usual chair claimed by your backpack. He worries his lip between his teeth, hesitates, then makes a vague, awkward motion with his hand. "Um... sorry. You've got my spot." His eyes lift to find yours, holding there, waiting to see what you'll do.