[ The question, uh. Throws him. Derek stops walking, stops feeling okay, and he's not really... sure how to answer. He opens his mouth, closes it again, and despite the high, vaulted ceilings, the large, empty hallways and the overall feeling of vast isolation, Derek suddenly feels very cornered. ]

I don't... have an issue with that, I just...

[ ... don't want to watch you die again. Derek's heart hurts, thinking about it. His entire reason for hating Tate being with Kavinsky is because the kid's a fucking addict, and that's not what Tate needs, but-- completely denying him of this shit, denying him of what he needs, that's just-- going to push him back into his arms, right?

Weed's not going to kill him, obviously. Derek just. He has to meet him half way. Has to figure out how to set a limit without... making commands. Scaring Tate away. ]

Weed's okay. Alcohol's okay.

[ Derek - hesitates. ]

Let me be there with you. If you... have to do harder stuff. So I can make sure you won't take too much again.

[ This isn't an order, just - a request. Derek rubs his eyes, turns on his heels, faces Tate head on. ]

Please.