**AUTHORS NOTE: okay, so this is my first story, I am in love with American horror story and have always loved reading fan fiction but never actually wrote it myself. It's probably going to suck and this might be a one shot if no one likes it. Okay so enjoy (hopefully) **

DICLAMER: I own nothing but the storyline.

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The crunching of snow being demolished under the soles of Violets converse was the only sound that punctuated the perfectly crisp February air as she walked home. Trudging to her house she noted that her bag was unusually heavy for a Friday, ignoring the realization of this she goes to grasp the door knob to her house. It's locked. She groans resting her head on the pastel pink colored door her mother insisted would look fabulous.

"Fuck." She mutters out an icy breath.

Turning on her heel she ventures to the side of her house to retrieve a key that is always kept in the flower pot next to the back door. How original. She sucks in a hissing breath after her left leg is buried it the knee deep snow. Even though she's covered in multiple layers of various clothing items, she's still only wearing tights on her legs. She grasps a hold of her hat with one hand keeping it on her head and pushes through the cold leaking through her tights. After she finally makes it through what seems to be a sea of thickly drying cement disguised as snow, she clings to the railing of the steps. Once she finally looks up she realizes something is terribly wrong.

The back door is slightly ajar with lost snowflakes falling from the gutter lightly dancing in and out of the frame. Peering through the ever so slightly open door, she sees nothing but an abyss of black. She racks through her brain thinking of anyone who might be home. Not her mother, she gets of work at selling shit coffee and even worse food at six. Obviously, her father isn't in the house since her mother kicked his ass out 8 months earlier for sleaze balling it with one of his whore students and threw a knife at his head to seal the deal.

She is broken from her thoughts by the high pitched scream of the door hinges being slightly moved from the wind. Simply being one with the cold Violet, ascends the stairs and starts for the door. Pushing it open the rest of the way she steps inside and soaks in her surroundings, nothing seems to be out of place. Everything is still pin straight and clean, all of the perfectly out of date furniture still lies where it always has, and everything desirable to steal in her breadbox of a home is accountable for.

Not being convinced she's alone she continues to scope out the house for another two minutes. Once her blood pressure and interest in the situation seizes to boil within her anymore, she decides to turn in the towel of finding her ax murderer stowed away in one of the closets.

Taking the stairs two at a time to the only room on the second level, she goes to open her door, and start her homework. When finally inside her room, she realizes she hasn't checked upstairs yet. Before she even has an actual chance to process this, she feels two strong arms wrapping around her torso and pulling her small frame back into the hallway with a sharp tug. Her bony body flailed angrily against the steal fingertips of the intruder but does little to stop the oncoming attack. After a few short moments that feels like hours later, the attackers grasp loosens and he backs away.

Brow furrowed, violet turns to face the intruder and finds him hunched over but still standing with arms cradled around his abdomen as if he's been dealt a hard blow to the gut. When she hears him howl with laughter and sees his shoulder quake with giggly hiccups she realizes it's not an intruder at all. Not really anyway. It's her best friend.

"SCREW YOU TATE!" she shoves him hard into the wall and if he wasn't so caught off guard by laughing the shove would have been futile with its attempts but it was just enough have his back be pressed into the wall

"Damn, I'm glad to see you too sunshine. What I can't surprise my favorite person I the whole world?" He's sardonic.

'No," she says flatly pushing past him feigning boredom but the scowl she's plastered on her face gives her away. He got to her. His whole life seems to be jumbled moments of him simply trying to get to her and it's starting to piss her off. She doesn't look back but can tell he's following her to the kitchen. When finally in the kitchen she heads for the cabinet fishing out a mug for coffee and then turns to find him sitting at the kitchen table. Following in suit she pulls out a chair and pushes the steaming liquid and into his waiting hand while sitting down too.

"What happened?" she questions. Taking in his exterior. Overly tousled blond winglets framing his face with a load of grease at the roots, sunken brown eyes being eclipsed by prominent bags lining his eyes, and dirtied clothes to pull the whole thing together. He takes an huge slurp of the coffee, waiting for the caffeine to sink in before answering.

"Things got bad again." He answered after a while averting her eyes, words laced with a secret apology for leaving her again. She nods her head knowing the routine by now. Things get bad at home with Tate, so he leaves for a few days and then goes to crash at violets for a few more days. It been that way since pre-k.

Violet and Tate's friendship wasn't normal, but neither were they and for some reason, even though it was fucked up what they had, whatever they had, was enough. Belated I'm sorry's, elongated sleepovers, continuous ball busting, sadistic senses of humor, and an uncalled out dependency on each other was enough. For now. Because no matter how many times Tate left, he never forgot to come back to his flower.

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