[Derek talks about cars in a way Tate doesn't mesh with, but all the same - he smiles when he hears that sort of affection in his voice about it. He talks about his car like Tate would his favorite book or musician; it's an influence on him, and just as well is a part of who he is. He stops dragging his pencil over the page, starts drawing little spirals instead of thought out designs. The type of little doodles you do on the phone, when you're only half paying attention.]

No, not really. I was - little. I was six when he left.

[/was murdered, thanks Mom.]

He'd always be going away for business. Always working. But whenever I saw him it was - great? He'd bring home toys, gifts, all the kind of stuff you'd get your kid to make up for ignoring them for your job. Loved this stupid dump truck the most. Think it's probably still in the basement.