[ Ah, man, he almost regrets this. Tate's excited and that can't be good. He laughs, though, because it's infectious, swaying away in the direction he's nudged, and - like always, with Tate - any part of him that thinks this might not be the best idea just... bleeds away and dies. There's nothing harmful about a gentle buzz. He'll still be in complete control of himself. He doesn't need to always fucking punish himself, always fucking deprive himself, of things that might make him happy.

He grips the edge of the platform, looking closer at Tate. The more he talks, the faster whatever smile he's wearing just - fades, and his eyes widen as the gears in his head turn and he figures out what Tate's saying. Derek had... honestly assumed the bite was off the table, on some level, so he'd been avoiding mentioning it, but his heartbeat fucking skyrockets, and he grips the wood tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

He nods. Slow, at first, and then -- faster, in quick, shallow jerks. ]

Yeah.

[ He worries at his bottom lip, just a little. ]

Yeah. Yes. The confidence, the strength, the-- the fulfilment, it's-- it's so much. I've seen people be completely remade by the bite. Being bitten, and awakening to something that puts you above yourself, it's-- it's the most intense feeling someone can feel.