[Tate snorts, dusting off his jeans as he climbs back up to his feet. There's a leaf hanging from his curls that he doesn't notice or seem to care about as he adjusts his shirt and walks next to Derek. He's preoccupied adjusting the jacket on his shoulders, looking down at it pleased with how it fits.]

I can limp through it, we're good.

[A joke, delivered with a cutting side eye and quirk of his lips.]

I'm... just happy to do this stuff. Thanks, again. For - you know. Making it happen.