confiscated: (⇀ surveyed from)
Brooks Myers ([personal profile] confiscated) wrote in [personal profile] calloused 2019-03-10 02:15 am (UTC)

[They can go back to the party, he says. Tate feels a sweep of relief at that, like a hand has coaxed its way through his hair, alleviating the tension that built at the back of his neck. It dissipates the nagging thought that something's left behind. He doesn't even own much here, making the shirt all that more important, so he exhales sharply with a soft nod. And then he closes his mouth, mouth a bit dry as he looks into Derek's eyes because there's nowhere else to look.

He shies away from the intensity first, staring down at Derek's lips or at his cheek, but like a scolded dog, he eventually caves and looks into the hazel of his eyes directly. And feels like he's suddenly exposed, swallowing hard and feeling his stomach tense. If he wasn't already flushed with color he might've blushed at that moment, the swooping feeling in his gut not unfamiliar.]


No. Yeah? Maybe, okay.

[That wasn't just an answer, it was every answer - but he's pulling away from Derek to keep moving. Just slow drags of his heels, sneakers shuffling on the pavement as he glances at Derek before watching where he's walking instead. His arms sting and he just rubs his fingertips over the welts absently, looking up at every street light as they pass it.]

I lost my beer too. Do you have beer at your place? I'm thirsty.


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