[Tate looks - saddened, like he can tell he's not as important to Derek if he's not willing to be bitten. Which he is, immensely so, but he's a boy whose poet souls still wishes to mean something of its own merit. He swallows hard and looks down at the sand, thinking quietly to himself what it would mean to just - say yes, here and now. He has time, he needs to take that time. To pretend he's rational and sane.]

Okay. I'll - I'll tell you when I know.

["I already know."]

This is where - where you gotta tell me any freaky shit, though. Like how bad's the flea deal.