[Tate doesn't know what to say, so he stays quiet for little bit; he tugs down the sleeves of his shirt, and rubs his thumb over his nail beds one by one as if to inspect them. It gives him something to look at that isn't Derek, while he tries to think of what to reply with. Defending his habits won't fly well. Explaining the need for them? Probably not, either.]

I just want to feel balanced. I don't think I ever have.

[He always expected to, or hinged his belief he could be on someone. But was he ever?]

Maybe with my girlfriend. But I only have so many options here, y'know.