The light poured into Violet's room through her shade-less windows, waking her up from the little sleep she could have, if it was even called sleep. Her arm instantly went up to shield her eyes from the bright light, and she rolled over to the other side of the bed that had been unused for a year and five months, unused since the night she had bid Tate a tearful farewell.

After the first few weeks it still smelled like him, so she washed it, not wanting to wake up clutching the pillow to her chest anymore. But still, even after the countless number of months, every time Violet rolled over, a small part of her expected to see Tate laying there.

Tate was so peaceful when he slept, which made Violet feel like they were a normal couple. He would lay on his back, his arm bent up behind him so he could rest his head on it. Tate would drift in and out of "sleep" all night, and he rarely ever moved, except to look over at Violet while she was sleeping. On occasion he would wrap her up in his arms, cradling her petite frame to his body. But, that didn't happen too often, only when her dreams made her squirm and cry out. Although, it did tend to happen more, once she had died because her body wasn't meant to sleep for such a long time.

Violet reached her hand out and placed it on the mattress, in the exact spot Tate's chest would have been. She allowed herself another minute of thinking about him before she rolled back over to her side and sat up, slowly and groggily. The alarm clock on her nightstand read 7:03 a.m. and Violet decided it was a decent enough hour to get up.

She stripped from her pajama bottoms and a loose tank top, throwing them in a pile on her unmade bed. Violet then fished through her drawers to grab a black bandeau, a baggy white shirt that had the sleeves cut off of it, an oversized plum cardigan, and black leggings. She finished off the outfit with a pair of black platform ankle boots and a light brush of blush over her cheeks.

Violet had always been pale, but being dead brought her from pale to stark white, forcing her to wear blush every day. She usually didn't bother with any other make-up anymore. She saw the same people day in and day out and without Tate, there was no need to try and impress anyone.

Without anyone lurking around in the common spaces of the house, Violet went out into the garden and sat on the brick wall. She kicked her feet back and forth, hitting the wall and making a quiet "thud" sound. Violet stayed in the shade, knowing the sun wouldn't be able to supply any color to her skin, so there was no point in sweating without a reward.

The wind soon began to blow, and as it did a familiar scent wafted up Violet's nose. It was a scent she would know anywhere, one that had imprinted itself into her brain. "Tate."

She spoke aloud, but didn't turn to face him. Now that she knew he was there, Violet knew exactly where he was standing; slightly behind her and to the left.

"Hi Vi." She could hear his footsteps on the ground as he walked around the small wall and to the other side so he could see her more clearly. The first thing she saw on him was his beat up black Vans that had so many holes in them she was surprised they hadn't fallen off his feet yet. "Is it okay that I'm out here? So close to you."

Violet's eyes slowly made their way up his body, over the ripped jeans and a tight fitting black long sleeve tee shirt. When her dark brown orbs reached his face, her heart fluttered in her chest a bit, causing goose bumps to appear on her cardigan covered arms. "No Tate, don't leave. We're working on becoming friends right?" She moved over slightly on the wall to make room for him.

Tate hopped up on the bricks, sitting rather close to Violet. He wasn't touching her, but she swore she felt some sort of energy pass between them. She reached her hands down onto the maroon bricks and wrapped her delicate fingers around the coarse edge of the wall. As soon as she did, Tate did the same thing, except his hands looked rough and calloused. She peered down at Tate's hand, resting close to her, mere centimeters apart. Without thinking, Violet stretched her pinky out and brushed his hand, but didn't leave it there, only passing contact, which lasted for less than a second.

"Sorry," she muttered, hoping Tate would think the physical contact was some sort of an accident.

Her gaze left his hands and she finally gathered the courage to set it on his face. He was even more beautiful up close, like some sort of angel, a beacon of light in this hell hole, except for his eyes. His eyes were so dark, it was like looking in the face of the devil himself, his eyes terrified her, but she loved it. Tate was dangerous, with looks that made her swoon, but words that made her want to crawl inside her own skin.

Violet was trying to find something to say to him, but she didn't know what. They used to sit in her room for hours on end, talking about nothing, but that seemed too casual now, something that the living did; not the dead. Before she could string together a coherent sentence, she felt his calloused hand wrap around hers and give it a squeeze, then leave it there.

Alarmed, she flashed her eyes down to their hands and then back up at him. "Tate, I said friends." Violet tried to shake his hand off of hers, but he wasn't letting go.

"Friends do this. Don't they?" He raised his eyebrows up at her, and she let out a deep sigh.

"I-I don't know. I'm not really the best at making friends."

"Well you have me, forever." He gave her hand another quick squeeze before launching into a conversation, like she had never said goodbye.

Here is the second chapter! I hope you guys like it... if anyone is actually reading this.

I'm thinking about starting up some one-shots, so if any of you have any suggestions or requests for one-shots, leave a comment.

xoxo~Emi