[ There was almost a spin to that one - fragments of glass pinwheeled out from Tate's bat, full and satisfying, and Derek watches it go, genuinely impressed. He's got his hands in his pockets, giving Tate a second or two to breathe, and when he leans into this just a little, just enough to say that one went pretty far, Derek feels himself smiling again. This is - going okay. As good as it can. ]

Hell yeah, it did. Would've loved to play with you in high school. Probably would've kicked my ass at baseball, but... still would've had you beat on the court.

[ For a second or two, he just... watches Tate, takes in the sight of him, lit by the sun and starting to sweat. Derek still doesn't really know what to make of him. Still doesn't really know how much of a future they have together - still doesn't know if he's making a fucking fool of himself, taking care of someone who, deep down, maybe wouldn't take care of him the same way. Still - the mood is good. He's not going to let his doubts ruin what they have.

Derek heads back to the crate, taking out another bottle by the neck. He taps his fingernails against it, makes light, soft noises against the side. ]

You wanna go back inside? Still got a full case here. Thirty bottles, maybe more.