[Tate takes his time stripping down, putting his belt next to his belongings and then loosening his jeans. He lets them fall to the floor even before he notices the door nearly closed, issuing him privacy, just not completely. It doesn't bother him but it does remind him of what Derek might think of him, what Stiles might - that he's the kid who carried razors, a plausible danger to himself. Who's to say now, at his low point, he might not do something stupid?
He wishes. He feels almost too apathetic for that, stripping naked before getting in under the hot spray of the shower after turning it on. It's too hot, but that's how he likes it, stinging his skin and turning it pink. The water plasters back his hair and the heat spreads through him, fighting away the chill like a flame lighting up the dark. He doesn't scratch at himself, even if seeing some red might make him feel anchored - instead he just tips back his head. Takes his time under the spray. Derek can tell, he knows he can, that Tate cries just a little more - letting his tears wash away with a soft, anguished sigh before he carries on with washing up.
Takes longer than it should for him to pull out of the shower, skin pink from the heat and his hair slicked back over his head. His eyes are hollowed, a little red around the edges and he looks much more reserved as he stares at his own reflection through a foggy mirror and wraps a towel around his waist after drying off his arms. Water trickles down lines on his back as he walks, dripping off from the tips of his hair and beading against his shoulder when he leaves the room to walk back into the adjoining one, seeing Derek waiting for him.
He's better now, he'd like to think, less panicked. Less brimming with tears. He's got his belongings in one hand, and walks over to set them on the bed next to the clothes lined out for him. He shoots a glance to Derek soon after, before picking up the henley and starting to put it on after making sure with a cautious tuck that his towel's secure around his waist.
He doesn't know what to say. So he doesn't say anything.]
no subject
He wishes. He feels almost too apathetic for that, stripping naked before getting in under the hot spray of the shower after turning it on. It's too hot, but that's how he likes it, stinging his skin and turning it pink. The water plasters back his hair and the heat spreads through him, fighting away the chill like a flame lighting up the dark. He doesn't scratch at himself, even if seeing some red might make him feel anchored - instead he just tips back his head. Takes his time under the spray. Derek can tell, he knows he can, that Tate cries just a little more - letting his tears wash away with a soft, anguished sigh before he carries on with washing up.
Takes longer than it should for him to pull out of the shower, skin pink from the heat and his hair slicked back over his head. His eyes are hollowed, a little red around the edges and he looks much more reserved as he stares at his own reflection through a foggy mirror and wraps a towel around his waist after drying off his arms. Water trickles down lines on his back as he walks, dripping off from the tips of his hair and beading against his shoulder when he leaves the room to walk back into the adjoining one, seeing Derek waiting for him.
He's better now, he'd like to think, less panicked. Less brimming with tears. He's got his belongings in one hand, and walks over to set them on the bed next to the clothes lined out for him. He shoots a glance to Derek soon after, before picking up the henley and starting to put it on after making sure with a cautious tuck that his towel's secure around his waist.
He doesn't know what to say. So he doesn't say anything.]