[Tate's silent in a way that's a bit telling about how he feels about the notion of only eating a little, but after a long stagnant pause he picks up the fork. He takes his time to get a plate, meandering around the kitchen like he's drifting along and making no hurried motion to fill up. In fact it's not until Derek offers to make him something else that he teeters over the edge, using his fork to part a bit of rice onto his plate and what you'd consider a morsel of meat.]
This is fine - I'll try.
[He's never quite felt as vividly dead here as he does now, but he supposes he's just forgotten it. It's been two years pretty much since he drifted in and even though he feels bogged down by a persistent fog in his head, he's going to try to shake it off. This isn't the House - he needs to keep moving and not become a forgotten afterthought. He steps closer to Derek, closer than he needs to, side to side as he takes a fortune cookie and tears its packet open with his teeth.]
no subject
This is fine - I'll try.
[He's never quite felt as vividly dead here as he does now, but he supposes he's just forgotten it. It's been two years pretty much since he drifted in and even though he feels bogged down by a persistent fog in his head, he's going to try to shake it off. This isn't the House - he needs to keep moving and not become a forgotten afterthought. He steps closer to Derek, closer than he needs to, side to side as he takes a fortune cookie and tears its packet open with his teeth.]
Where do we eat? Couch?