[Little by little, Derek does have an effect on Tate. He's anchoring him in by putting the towel over his head, cutting out some of the sensory overload that Tate's going through even incidentally. Tate's eyes still swim with tears and he can taste the salt on his lips, so he wipes his face off on the corner of the towel before hunching forward a bit to keep his head bowed.]

Why does it keep happening to me? People leave. They're taken away. It's not fair.

[He's emphasizing the words more than he needs to, the whole issue blown up simply because he's upset. But he feels retched, sucking in a cold deep breath that rattles in his chest and makes him shiver. He looks back up to Derek slowly, before starting to gravitate back toward him. He hesitates, the barrier unseen blocking him off from properly ducking into a request for touch. Fuck if he doesn't just want to cry and be held right now. Cry, be held and be reassured. Holy trinity.]

I just wanted to make things right. Now what do I do?