[ tate looks at him like he doesn't even realize he's there. glassy-eyed and ghostly. derek watches him, doing his fucking damnedest to make sure he looks as convincingly neutral as he can, holding his hand out mechanically even after tate grazes their hands together and lets go, even after tate stumbles and loses his place. tate doesn't seem like he's in his head enough to see derek's non-reactions as suspicious. maybe he is. derek's comfortable risking it. ]

I'm here for you. Not the party. I want to be alone with you.

[ derek needs help to get tate out. his instinct is to call erica, but then his stomach twists when he realizes she's not here to be forward and social and charming in all the ways that derek isn't. his second instinct is to call stiles, but he - can't. not after the fort. he can't derek and stiles this, just like stiles couldn't stiles and derek this if he were here instead. tate wouldn't deal well with that.

so... fuck. he shifts his weight to his other foot, stretching out his arm a little more insistently, but just a little. this is manipulative, and he knows it is, but he doesn't know how else to talk to tate without making him angry. least of all when he's like this. derek bows his head, holding eye contact. tate's eyes are dilated and bloodshot, but derek knew they would be. ]

You don't want to hang out with me? I thought you said we were friends.