[Derek says the l-word and Tate's mood just blanks. He doesn't get angry, he doesn't get sad, he isn't happy and he's not having fun. It's just a mix of everything and nothing all at once. He's trying hard to filter his feelings, to learn from Derek how to master them before the mix becomes toxic and spills over into tears and bloodshed. The only note that something is off is in the way he breathes, slow but purposely so. He holds his breath between intakes and looks out into the water - trying to imagine it in crimson sheen, washing over him. Doesn't work.
He wants to be loved. Wants someone to look at him protectively, like Derek did Stiles. He wants someone to be so dedicated to him they blow off someone else's advances so easily, so earnestly. To be so committed to someone. He wants that from someone, because he's so ready and willing to give it in turn.
The frown on Tate's face softens, and he relaxes without gouging his nails into his arms - but that's not to say he goes without hurting himself. There's the taste of blood in his mouth from biting down on his inner cheek, but he swallows it away and snorts lightly.]
He's lucky.
[Tate wonders if he's counted in the dead friendzone or not.]
I like you. And him. I wouldn't hurt you two, you know that - right?
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He wants to be loved. Wants someone to look at him protectively, like Derek did Stiles. He wants someone to be so dedicated to him they blow off someone else's advances so easily, so earnestly. To be so committed to someone. He wants that from someone, because he's so ready and willing to give it in turn.
The frown on Tate's face softens, and he relaxes without gouging his nails into his arms - but that's not to say he goes without hurting himself. There's the taste of blood in his mouth from biting down on his inner cheek, but he swallows it away and snorts lightly.]
He's lucky.
[Tate wonders if he's counted in the dead friendzone or not.]
I like you. And him. I wouldn't hurt you two, you know that - right?