[ Fuck. Derek watches Tate panic like a startled dog, reflecting its owners anxiety and not knowing how to handle it. He wets his lips and he nods in rapid, shaky dips of his head, caught between wanting to make calming, shushing noises and being afraid that those would only make things worse. He listens to Tate, because he knows that's the best thing he can do, and he pulls the towel a little closer around his neck. He's... he only ever makes things worse, Derek knows that about himself, but he drops his voice to a softer volume, and he tries to sound calm and stable without sounding callous and disinterested. ]

I'm sorry. It's... I know it's never easy, when people... go. I've never been able to handle it.

[ Derek wraps the towel around Tate's hair like a cozy hood, taking his cheeks in his hands and dabbing his face dry. He sighs, looking at Tate like he just - doesn't know what to do with him, soft and affectionate and worried. A part of him is fucking furious, because both this world and the world he came from has been nothing but cruel to Tate, and he doesn't know what the fuck he's done to deserve this much cosmic punishment. He's doing his best to bury that anger. It's not what Tate needs.

What can he even do, other than offer Tate a place to stay for the night and something warm to drink? What can he do to make this okay. He takes a stab in the dark, voice still soft and carefully measured. ]

You told me. I know how much you love her, and - and I know you, I know how good you are. I know she would have been with you again if she gave you a chance.

[ a pause - ]

I should've done more. Should've helped her connect with you again. Should've tried, at least.