[Tate doesn't feel guilt toward leading Derek along this path of belief - he doesn't feel anything at all, really. He does feel comforted by his presence while he retells the story in his favor, though, breathing out slowly from a deep breath and letting his eyes close lazily when Derek's fingers slip into his hair. The reaction is subtle but instantaneous; he relaxes, soothed and almost heavy headed by the affectionate touch that his head dips forward somewhat before leaning into Derek's palm like a cat.

He could lay like this indefinitely. He could fall asleep like this.

Tate softly sighs, breath shuddering in a way that betrays those feelings and is hopeful for Derek not to stop. Fingers through his head reminds him of the days Nora would take to him, playing with his curls and treating him like the son she lost and the son she loved. It feels warm and nice in the wake of everything cold and wicked.]

I was there for her... I just? I don't know. I wish a lot of things had gone differently for me. Wish I knew someone like you back home.