[ Tate doesn't have the energy to flip Tate off in return. He just looks at him kind of blearily, sun filtering through the leaves and lighting him up. He's so - excited, to get this all done. The tree house, the contract. The life he's going to build for the people that matter most. ]

I do. I like you very much. More than you like me, which is - you know. Heartbreaking, but understandable.

[ Given, you know, all this. Derek references his face with one hand, as if he's ugly and plain and not this fucking bullshit, unfair depiction of chiseled masculinity. Tate's just joking when he says he'll be all over these woods forever, but - shit, Derek takes him too seriously. It goes straight to his chest, making it hard to breathe, and he doesn't say much until Tate's safely sprawled out alongside him. He keeps looking at the sky, rather than at him.

He's getting anxious, and it's the kind of anxious he needs Stiles around to help him with, and - he's not here, so. It's just there, now. Anxiety. ]

Don't make promises like that unless you mean them.