[Tate'd normally fight just for the sake of fighting, or light up anyway once inside the den but today he just... doesn't feel like it. He feels a bit absent from himself and it's not a feeling he particularly likes. It's like he's just died all over again, and maybe he has, but he hasn't found a way to re-root himself in reality. He's hoping that Derek'll be an anchor but the fact Derek mentions he has to talk to him about something does nothing to keep Tate's nerves at bay.
He shows up around six thirty looking more disheveled than usual, hair a bit flatter and a gaunt look to his face; hollowed, somehow, by his unknown absence. He's got a brown paper bag with food he has absolutely no desire to eat but he needed to go through some motions. He slips in through the door like a whisper, a certain blank blackness to his eyes that doesn't go away even when he lays them on Derek.]
I brought food.
[He puts it on the counter, where the strong scent of greasy chinese can waft out of the bag.]
no subject
He shows up around six thirty looking more disheveled than usual, hair a bit flatter and a gaunt look to his face; hollowed, somehow, by his unknown absence. He's got a brown paper bag with food he has absolutely no desire to eat but he needed to go through some motions. He slips in through the door like a whisper, a certain blank blackness to his eyes that doesn't go away even when he lays them on Derek.]
I brought food.
[He puts it on the counter, where the strong scent of greasy chinese can waft out of the bag.]