[ Derek isn't entirely receptive to the idea, really, and he loves Tate, he really does, but - he's not entirely sure he trusts his baseline for a gentle buzz. He shrugs, not committing, lightly running the heel of his palm over his bicep where Tate nudged at it a second ago, and then...

And then Tate calls him pack, and his mood - shifts. Back to good. Back to happy. A smile breaks through, all wide and open. He laughs, again, just because he can't help it. ]

I'm supposed to be the one watching your back.

[ If he were more attentive - and if he let himself think about Kavinsky more than he has to - he'd remember the talk they had at the bar. I could get you drunk, he said. As it is, though, fuck, Kavinsky doesn't even enter his thoughts. He just smiles a little less wide, scratching his cheek. He kinda wants another beer. ]

If... okay. If you promise not to tell Stiles I was getting high in the woods like a fucking teenager, then. Yeah. It'd be...

[ He feels kinda giddy. Kinda like a sixteen year old again. ]

It'd be - fun. Maybe. Maybe.