AHS Imagines

9: Debate (Tate Langdon)

My mind couldn't focus on the other speeches our classmates presented after us. All I could think of was how irritated I was at Tate. I didn't notice it until later when my mind came back to real life, but my gaze was fixed on my opponent the entire duration of the rest of class. My cheeks were completely heated when I realized the perplexed and bothered look on his face was aimed towards my unintentional stare. 

The bell rang, ending the class and signaling for everyone to pack up their things for the next class. Tate came up to my desk and questioned me.

"Why'd you stare at me like you wanted to set me on fire throughout class?" He asked, a lopsided smile hinting over his lips.

I huffed, "It's not important. And I didn't want to set you on fire, Tate." 

"Well, since the next class starts soon and I have a feeling this is a long story, you should come to my house after school. Plus, we have to do that reflection assignment on our opponents." He offered.

"Sure, why not." I shrugged, taking my things and pushing through the hallways to my next class.

- - - - - - - - - -

School was over so I started walking around towards the main entrance of the building. I spotted Tate lingering around the sidewalk as other students passed by him and decided to walk over to him.

"So, when'd you want me to come over?" I asked.

"I guess now, my mom's not home for another 3 hours and it's better if you don't run into her." He explained.

"Alright, lead the way." 

He smiled slightly, turning down the street and walking down a few blocks towards his house. I followed along behind him, still feeling the heavy weight of my textbook-filled backpack on my back. Luckily, the walk wasn't very long and the weather was relatively warm as sunbeams streamed through the leaves of tree branches. Tate welcomed me inside his house once we arrived and then led me up to his room.

He sat down on top of his bed, silently telling me that I was supposed to sit by him over the sheets. I pulled out two pieces of lined notebook paper, handing one to Tate, and started writing the reflection assignment about how I thought he did for his speech.

"So, are you gonna tell me why you stared me down? Because if looks could kill, you probably would've killed me like 40 times over." Tate joked.

I chuckled, "Oh, it was just a stupid thought. I couldn't wrap my head around how you didn't even bother to show up to class and completely memorized what you were gonna say with that perfect speech. I mean I spent weeks writing it all out and figuring out any nonverbals plus asking the teacher questions about if my points were good enough and mine wasn't nearly as good as yours and now I'm worried about my gr-" I explained, going off without a filter on my thoughts.

"Woah, woah, you're talking way too fast. Relax." Tate insisted, gently taking one of my hands in his as though that would help calm me down.

Instead, I felt like my hand was growing clammier by the second and my face redder. My brain couldn't formulate words again and I only managed to look into his incredibly dark brown eyes in hopes that he understood what my deer-in-the-headlights expression meant.

"You actually had a great speech, I wouldn't freak out about getting a good grade in that class. I mean at least two of the dumbasses that went after you completely forgot what they were talking about. You'll be fine." He reassured.

I smiled shyly, "Yeah, you're right. It's just crazy for me to think about how you totally winged the speech final like that and killed it even though the teacher told us a hundred times not to wing it and to plan everythi-"

It was clear that I wasn't over what happened earlier through how the speed of my voice kept accelerating every time I tried to explain my thoughts about it to Tate. The reflection assignment was completely forgotten at this point because I didn't stop rambling from my own distraction or anything. My smart opponent shut me up in probably the cheesiest way possible: covering my babbling lips with his own. His hand was entangled in my hair and I could feel my eyelids instinctually closing lightly. 

The fire in my stomach from before came back, but now I knew it wasn't anger or jealousy. It was admiration for how Tate was so naturally clever. My heartbeat seemed to flutter and shoot electric pulses through my veins instead of blood. I dropped the paper that was in my lap as I felt him lightly push me backwards to lay down beneath him. My eyes opened then and I broke away from him, silently looking up at his sure face. Tate kissed me again, deeply, and I had a feeling that he'd planned it to go this way but went along with it. I wasn't afraid of what would come next but rather felt a sense of growing anticipation in my chest. Part of me hoped that once we went further, he'd see (or rather feel) my point of the debate better: feeling loved or respected by others was much better than being feared and left without any intimacy.