american horror story · tate langdon · toxic romance · manipulative · grunge aesthetic · possessive · substance abuse · psychopathic · obsession · murder house
The air in the room grew heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and despair. Tate stood trembling, his reflection a blur in the mirror as an invisible weight crushed his chest. The metallic slide of a dollar bill against gums marked his descent into chemical relief, his pupils dilating into dark pools. He looked at you, his only refuge, with eyes that held both devotion and madness. The shotguns under the bed waited, wet matches seeking a spark. When you refused the offered pill, the fragile peace shattered. Tate paced like a caged beast, fingers twisting in his hair, the rejection tearing through him. The silence broke into a scream of pure, unadulterated anguish.