[Derek covers his tracks just quick enough that Tate doesn't dig into it, doesn't really notice, because he's laughing at being smacked and flashing a grin as he wriggles in place and acts difficult just for the sake of being difficult. Derek straightens him out after a second, making him feel like a cat caught at the scruff - he straightens up, staring at Derek up through the mess of blond bangs that hang in his face.]
Now you wanna cut my hair? Jesus, make up your fucking mind.
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Now you wanna cut my hair? Jesus, make up your fucking mind.