[Tate doesn't know where to look; Derek's hand moves against the ground and it snags his attention, watching his hand pick at the dirt and intermittently looking back up to his face. He doesn't know what to think either - and hopes he's not too obvious in this, with the way his heart feels like it skips a beat as it lodges itself up in his throat. Maybe it will seem like nervousness or uncertainty, rather than a puddling of warmth in his gut at the concept of being wanted by someone so viscerally.

If he didn't know about Stiles, about how much Derek cared about Stiles, he might see this moment as more. But that's why he's perplexed - is it more? Intimacy isn't always sexual, and he wonders if that's different for wolves. If they can be like that, be like this, giving off confusing vibes that he only knows how to read into in a human way.

'I wanted to be as close to you as possible, and I was determined to get that, no matter what.'

Tate swallows hard, wondering how many people can say that about him and really mean it. Kavinsky claims him as his own because he's signed to him - does he really care about Tate this deeply, or is he just a stand in for Ronan? Derek's proving more likely than not that he's truthful in how Tate's got a unique spot in his life. In a way nobody really has.]

I think I liked that, though.

[Being dependent. Relying on Derek, needing him. Tate looks down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. Picking at his nails and then slowly rotating the ring around his thumb in even, counter-clockwise turns.]

You do help me. And I do need you. But I think - I think, as long as you need me too? It's okay. Right?