[Derek doesn't answer Tate's question and Tate spends a little too long after the fact wondering why. He's not fully paying attention for a few seconds, swept into his own head - wondering why this woman would've done this to Derek, and how she did it. But then he blinks a few times, stirring back to the conversation and honing in on the rest of what Derek's saying.
He could defend himself - state he wasn't ever going to hurt them despite the evidence. He could rile himself up and get mad, try to pull Derek to his side here but. That's tiring. He's tired. He's tired and he won't be able to sleep for a while, uppers still in his system despite the exhaustion that's sloped back into his bones. He just rests his head a bit more soundly on the bed, dark eyes shifting to look at the bedding with a distant, unblinking stare.]
I'll trust you if you'll trust me.
[He wants that. He wants someone to care for him after so long without. He's tired of these uphill runs, these moments of failure. He's still not sure that Derek will ever want him as much as he must want people he knows and likes more. He must trust Stiles, therefore saying 'I don't trust anyone' has to be a lie. But he's not going to call that out. He'll just remember it later, when he justifies to himself that hiding things is fine.
Tate keeps staring, unfocused, at the bed his head is resting on - barely moving except for the rise and fall of his breath. He has no plans to move, either, to just absorb these blank seconds and let them linger on. It feels like being alone with this conversation, their voices the only things in an otherwise empty room. He no longer even notices Derek's there physically.]
no subject
He could defend himself - state he wasn't ever going to hurt them despite the evidence. He could rile himself up and get mad, try to pull Derek to his side here but. That's tiring. He's tired. He's tired and he won't be able to sleep for a while, uppers still in his system despite the exhaustion that's sloped back into his bones. He just rests his head a bit more soundly on the bed, dark eyes shifting to look at the bedding with a distant, unblinking stare.]
I'll trust you if you'll trust me.
[He wants that. He wants someone to care for him after so long without. He's tired of these uphill runs, these moments of failure. He's still not sure that Derek will ever want him as much as he must want people he knows and likes more. He must trust Stiles, therefore saying 'I don't trust anyone' has to be a lie. But he's not going to call that out. He'll just remember it later, when he justifies to himself that hiding things is fine.
Tate keeps staring, unfocused, at the bed his head is resting on - barely moving except for the rise and fall of his breath. He has no plans to move, either, to just absorb these blank seconds and let them linger on. It feels like being alone with this conversation, their voices the only things in an otherwise empty room. He no longer even notices Derek's there physically.]
Moving forward. It'll be better. Right?