[Tate's been cleaning the bar, running a rag over it and getting ready to switch over with another bartender who just arrived for their shift. He sees Derek through his peripherals, lifting his head to see Mr. Leather for just a few seconds before something's tossed his way. Tate scrambles to catch it, cursing as he drops his rag and crinkles red wrapping paper in a hasty grip to keep from dropping the box too.
He looks down at it, before back up at Derek, and then rolls his eyes as he peels open paper rather than waiting.]
no subject
He looks down at it, before back up at Derek, and then rolls his eyes as he peels open paper rather than waiting.]
I'm not off the clock yet, asshole - but...
[Dog. Dish?]
Why are you giving me your dishware?