Or we can skip straight to you carrying me over the threshold of a shitty motel.

[He's saying it just to say it, dry and half-amused but not serious. He takes another long drag, burning the tip of his cigarette bright before once again exhaling away from Derek's direction. Ashes flick to the floor and Tate doesn't actually know what he wants to do now. He doesn't feel hungry, but - not marking this makes it feel weird, somehow. But he doesn't want to pretend this is anything more than it is. A signing of his life off to someone else.]

I'm not hungry. And we don't have to pretend this is something amazingly joyful - I'm glad we're signed, don't get me wrong. But all signing those papers really means is now it's you who I have to ask for permission to buy a fucking candy bar if I want it.

[He runs his hand back through his too-long bangs, glancing at Derek.]

I'd rather just spend time with you like before.