You'll regret letting me call you my friend when you're sober. I'll see you soon.
[ this is bad. derek heads down two steps at a time, shoving his phone in his jacket pocket, the leather cool and hard as it brushes against his knuckles. he needs to go over everything he knows about tate in his head - he's caustic and slipping and self-destructive, he's quick to violence, he's quick to hurt. he's lonely and angry and unchained, he's jealous and so often afraid. he's riddled with hang-ups, afraid of his sexuality. he hurts himself when he needs release.
there's too much weakness in him, there to be played with and moulded by someone who means him harm. derek's already hurt him a couple of times, between orientation and the fort, and it sucks, because he's only ever wanted to be there for him. he's only ever wanted to make things better. the railing down the stairs is smooth and cold to the touch, and derek grips it a little faster as he picks up speed. he needs to try harder to cage tate. needs to find a way to clip his wings before somebody breaks them.
his feet hit the ground floor and derek starts moving. tate's in the down, so it'll take a while to get there and another fucking elevator to descend, but of course he's in the down, the up's parties probably aren't half as capable of getting a 17 year old this fucked up. it takes a while, but - sooner or later, derek's following the sound of shitty music getting steadily louder and tracking it to tate, and tate's waiting on the sidewalk in the muggy heat like he asked. derek approaches, all in leather and black, hands in his pockets and curled into fists. he can see how wasted tate is already. ]
no subject
I'll see you soon.
[ this is bad. derek heads down two steps at a time, shoving his phone in his jacket pocket, the leather cool and hard as it brushes against his knuckles. he needs to go over everything he knows about tate in his head - he's caustic and slipping and self-destructive, he's quick to violence, he's quick to hurt. he's lonely and angry and unchained, he's jealous and so often afraid. he's riddled with hang-ups, afraid of his sexuality. he hurts himself when he needs release.
there's too much weakness in him, there to be played with and moulded by someone who means him harm. derek's already hurt him a couple of times, between orientation and the fort, and it sucks, because he's only ever wanted to be there for him. he's only ever wanted to make things better. the railing down the stairs is smooth and cold to the touch, and derek grips it a little faster as he picks up speed. he needs to try harder to cage tate. needs to find a way to clip his wings before somebody breaks them.
his feet hit the ground floor and derek starts moving. tate's in the down, so it'll take a while to get there and another fucking elevator to descend, but of course he's in the down, the up's parties probably aren't half as capable of getting a 17 year old this fucked up. it takes a while, but - sooner or later, derek's following the sound of shitty music getting steadily louder and tracking it to tate, and tate's waiting on the sidewalk in the muggy heat like he asked. derek approaches, all in leather and black, hands in his pockets and curled into fists. he can see how wasted tate is already. ]
Tate.
[ he says, after approaching. that's it. no hi. ]