The day he asks her is just like any other—boring and humid.

And the way he asks her is definitely not tradition. He doesn't have a ring, he doesn't kneel onto one knee—in fact, she doesn't even hear him the first time he asks.

This will be his third try now, for the idea has been floating around in his head for weeks now. The first time he asked her they were out in the gazebo, and she was teaching him how to braid hair. She borrowed a doll from one of the burned little girls in the basement to let Tate practice on.

"Why can't I just braid your hair?"

She had laughed at him, as if he'd asked the most ridiculous question in the universe. "There's no way in hell I'm letting you ruin my hair."

He scoffs, "Maybe I'm amazing at it. By the time we're done here you'll be begging me to be your hair stylist."

"I doubt it."

They bantered back and forth for hours, Tate trying to make Violet laugh whenever possible. It was one of those days when they forgot about everything except each other; the fact that they were both dead didn't bother them.

He had been watching the distinct way the light of the setting sun turned her hair almost auburn when the words tumbled out of his mouth. "Will you marry me?"

But, that's not exactly how it went. You see, he'd caught himself just before he finished those four words, the four words that had the capacity to ruin his relationship with the one girl he'd ever loved. He'd stopped himself just in time, so the real phrase sounded more like; "Will you ma—ggy mer."

She turned to him, and the look on her face was so adorable he had to resist the urge to kiss her right then. "What?"

He can feel his face heating up, and hopes she doesn't notice. "Um, I was just wondering if you wanted to head inside? We can listen to music and raid the fridge."

Violet still looks suspicious, but nods. "Sure."

The second time he asks her, he's half-delirious with sleep.

They're lying in her- well, what used to be his- bed, and he's running his fingers down her back. She's tracing the outline of his collarbone, musing the way the shape of his chest looked like two outstretched wings ready to take flight.

Her eyes are drooping from his strokes down the length of her spine, and she hums happily. "I love you."

Watching her even breathing is lulling him to sleep, as well. "I love you too," he slurs, and leans down to kiss her. He misses, however, and ends up smashing his nose against her jaw.

She lets out a breathy laugh and a tender, "Idiot." and he knows he's going to say it before the words escape his lips.

"Would you marry me?"

She frowns. "What?"

And that's what he was afraid of, the terrifying feeling of rejection ready to pounce on him again. He backpedals furiously to try to outrun it. "I mean, in the future. Could you see yourself marrying me?"

"Tate, we're dead. Can dead people even get married?"

"Why not? Someday."

"My parents'll flip."

"They don't have to know. We can elope, some Halloween. We can go somewhere we've always wanted to visit, and just get married. It doesn't even have to be legal. I just want to be your husband."

"Tate…"

He can hear it in her voice: she's trying to figure out a way to let him off easy. He knows and he hates it, and his chest tightens with rage at her pity for him.

He rolls over to the other side of the bed, giving her one last kiss, actually on the lips this time. "Never mind, it was just a stupid idea. I love you."

A quiet, "I love you, too." and she's silent.

The next morning she doesn't say anything, and he avoids the topic as much as possible. He's just grateful that she didn't leave him, didn't run away.

But this last time he's ready. He's planned it, painted the rose for an hour the previous day, put up with all of Hayden's tormenting and complaining. He's even asked Ben's permission, although the psychiatrist had simply brushed him off with a, "Yeah, sure." Tate knows that he hadn't actually heard the question, but he's not complaining. Technically he has the father's blessing, so he's allowed to do anything he wants now. He's allowed to get creative.

"Violet? Vi, are you here?" he walks into her room, knocking gently on the door.

She's laying on her bed, the covers tangled around her small body, earbuds placed firmly in her ears. She smiles gently when he walks in. "Hey, doofus. Get over here."

He grins, "I didn't think of you to be the teasing type."

She smiles back and sits on her knees when he approaches. He leans down and she cranes her neck upwards to kiss him, and her lips feel so soft against his he just has to reach out with his free hand and squeeze her waist. She hums happily into his mouth, and he's never felt happier.

When they pull apart he's already showing her the rose, painted black, just like the one he presented her with the day of their first date. "This is for you."

She beams, "What's the occasion?"

He swallows thickly, suddenly wondering how he got something stuck in his throat and when did the room get so hot? He takes her small hands in his trembling ones, and can't even think to be embarrassed about how sweaty his palms must be. His tongue is too heavy for his mouth and he can't say anything. Oh god, this was a stupid idea. She's going to say no, of course she is. Why would she want to marry a psychopath?

"I, um, Violet, I was just…"

"Yeah?" she's frowning, and it pains him to see her concerned. "Is everything alright?"

He pulls away from her in his haze, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Violetwillyoumarryme?"

"Come again?" her eyes are wide.

"Violet," he leans down so he's below her, looking up at her face, framed by her pin-straight golden hair. "I love you, and I need you to know that."

"I do know that." She whispers, and he laughs humorlessly.

"I want to show you." He explains, "I want to make you mine forever."

"Tate, you don't need to show me."

He realizes the irony too late, how he's practically on one knee, ready to ask her. And suddenly the weight's lifted off his chest, and his tongue has shrunk back to its original size, and his lungs expand with air again. "Violet, will you marry me?"

She stares down at him, her eyes huge and mouth hanging open, and he can't even feel the raw pain of her possible rejection. He's too numb with the knowledge that he actually did it, and, she's never looked more beautiful.

"Tate," she breathes, "We're dead. I'm suicidal. Are you sure you want me?"

He stands up quickly and takes her hands in his once again. "Of course! Violet, I love you more than anything in the world. You complete me, and thinking about it in any other way is just a waste of time."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive, Vi. I love you, even if you don't want me."

"Then yes." She grabs her earbuds from where she'd set them down on the comforter.

He blinks. "What?"

Violet sighs in annoyance, "I said yes, I'll marry you, you idiot. I love you."

He can't help the smile that erupts on his face then, the feeling of his skin being stretched too tight over his cheekbones. "Are you serious?"

"Of course. Why would I lie about this?" she puts the earbuds into her ears and reaches over to turn on her iPod.

Tate swoops down to grab her face in his hands and kiss her like he's never done before. "Oh my god, Violet. I love you so much. I've been trying to ask you for so long."

She flicks her eyes up to him and smirks softly. "I know, and it was getting really annoying. What was that, like your third attempt?"

LINE BREAKS WON'T SHOW UP GAHHHHHHH
So sorry if this is a little choppy. Oops.

Violate proposal, whoooooo! There totally aren't enough of these, and my violate feels need to be settled. I hope you guys enjoy this! Poor Tate, and Violet knew all along ;)

Please review! -A