[Tate's silent and it might be, to the wiser of ears, a bad thing - the way children are silent before they're caught up to no good, hands in the cookie jar. His notebook ruffles when Derek's back is turned, and after a pause - Tate's behind him, hooking his fingers into the back of Derek's tanktop to try and pull it askew enough to see what he's talking about.]
Fuck you're sweaty.
[But, huh.]
It's cool, I guess. Little uneven, but nobody'd notice.
no subject
Fuck you're sweaty.
[But, huh.]
It's cool, I guess. Little uneven, but nobody'd notice.
[JOKING.]