[ Derek's lived his entire life with one ear to the ground. Always listening for movement, always expecting someone to sneak up on him, always knowing he's never safe. It's a surprise, then, that he doesn't hear Tate approach. Doesn't even expect him to.

It's not a surprise, actually, it's - fucking disarming. Tate has the better of him. That'd be... a problem, Derek thinks, if he hadn't decided to trust Tate.

Tate moves his tanktop aside and Derek just stands there, letting it happen. He knows his tattoo isn't fucking uneven, but he does still get that knee-jerk reaction Tate was fishing for, that kick of anxiety. He just - grunts, shaking Tate off and turning around. ]

Had to burn my skin off so it would stick. Werewolf cells regenerate too quickly. Had to make sure as much of it stayed as dead as possible.