[Derek arrives and the treehouse is predictably empty, but it lingers with a few clues of what Tate was doing precisely leading up to that arrival. His sweater is on the bed, still faintly warm - scented of him with Derek's underlying tones on account of how he was wearing a stolen henley below it. Which is discarded to the side, headed down the steps to the loft where at the top sit the rest of his clothes.
A can of still fizzing soda is on the counter in the kitchen, next to a half-eaten sandwich. Beady eyes peer out from under the sofa, a little black claw reaching out if Derek should come near enough - batting at his bootlaces before clicking in a silent chirp. Probably trying to tell him what he can't see or sense - that Tate's standing unseen in the corner, a wisp of energy, watching Derek with wide brown eyes.
When Derek's across the room proper, that's when Tate does the most cliche thing he can think of and bats a book of the ledge next to him. Poltergeist style. Then he moves out of the way to go stand elsewhere.]
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A can of still fizzing soda is on the counter in the kitchen, next to a half-eaten sandwich. Beady eyes peer out from under the sofa, a little black claw reaching out if Derek should come near enough - batting at his bootlaces before clicking in a silent chirp. Probably trying to tell him what he can't see or sense - that Tate's standing unseen in the corner, a wisp of energy, watching Derek with wide brown eyes.
When Derek's across the room proper, that's when Tate does the most cliche thing he can think of and bats a book of the ledge next to him. Poltergeist style. Then he moves out of the way to go stand elsewhere.]