[Tate doesn't see it as a rejection - he doesn't see it as anything but an honest feeling. He wants to be able to say he's someone who belongs, who would be able to live an honest life without someone giving him a side eye. Without feeling like he's going to boil over at the slightest provocation. Without the bloody walls and staggered whispers in his head. He wishes he was what people hoped he'd be - even if he resents the notion of thinking that way solely because of the insurmountable void inside him from knowing he'll never be.
He's breathing hard when Derek speaks, looking down at his hands before quickly glancing back up. Tate's hopeful, for a breath, hinging on what Derek's saying with a furrowed brow and a small lean in his direction. He may not be perfect but Derek claims he's not necessarily broken in contrast.]
I... I know that. I - I just.
[His eyes are wet and he rubs at them with the back of his hand, feeling heat flourish in his cheeks from the embarrassment of crying so easily. Paired with the tiredness that still leeches from his bones, he just wants to curl up and sleep while he still feels protected in some capacity.]
Why's it have to be so hard? It never works out for me.
[ It's hard for Derek to give an honest response to that - like he said before, the world can be cruel. It chews people up, breaks their bones, drinks their blood, spits out the mess that's left behind. If things don't work out for Tate - maybe he's a victim to that. Like Cora, like Paige. Like so many people who deserved better than what life - what Derek - gave them.
Tate cries, and Derek isn't put off by it at all. He makes eye contact, expression a mix of... steady neutrality, with concern bleeding in around the edges. He's trying to be stone, but that's never been who he is. ]
I think... it's hard... because you're spiralling. You're still new here, relatively speaking - you haven't had time to adjust, and you've been alone. Without someone to take care of you, without a pack, it's just been - you. Suffering. That's... why I want to be someone you can lean on. I want to make things work out for you.
[ He rubs his eye with the heel of his palm. He hopes he sounds... reassuring. Kind. He's never been good at that, he thinks, but Tate's the idiot who called him kind in the first place, so. Maybe it's coming across okay. ]
Life'd probably be easier if you didn't get white boy wasted quite so hard, though.
[Tate listens and yearns to believe Derek, wiping at his eyes a time or two more before sniffing and seeming to conquer stemming the flow of tears down his cheeks. Derek's offering to be something for him, someone, and he wants to believe that too. To trust in that, even though he feels shaky about it since the Fort. But he's winning him over. Which honestly isn't difficult when you appeal to the needy, egotistical center of Tate's brain.]
I had to... you - you won't get it. Because it wouldn't work for you.
[Blotting out his problems with unhealthy drug abuse.]
I just wanted to feel okay. That's all. It was worth it, even if it didn't last.
[ Not all the way - of course not all the way - drugs just die in his system, his cells regenerate too quickly to feel the effects of them. He understands the need, though. The yawning, aching void in your stomach and your chest and your head that just gets bigger and darker and sharper. The horrible noise you can't keep quiet, so you drown it out with louder, bigger things. ]
After - the fire, it was just me and my sister. I don't remember the first couple of years very well. I slept a lot, worked out a lot. Got in fights. Fucked. Things I didn't want to do, but did, because they were the only outs I had.
[ He still feels like that, sometimes. A need to run through the woods until his legs give out and he collapses, near-dead, maybe for good. He's felt it less, since Stiles. Tate's too young to grapple with something like that. He's too young to need an out. ]
I know - the draw. I just... don't... think it'll help you.
[Tate doesn't know what to say, so he stays quiet for little bit; he tugs down the sleeves of his shirt, and rubs his thumb over his nail beds one by one as if to inspect them. It gives him something to look at that isn't Derek, while he tries to think of what to reply with. Defending his habits won't fly well. Explaining the need for them? Probably not, either.]
I just want to feel balanced. I don't think I ever have.
[He always expected to, or hinged his belief he could be on someone. But was he ever?]
Maybe with my girlfriend. But I only have so many options here, y'know.
[ And he could repeat himself - make it clear, again, that he wants to be a balancing force for Tate - but he's done it enough, and anymore will feel empty and cheap. He needs to show Tate that he wants to balance him, that he wants to be there for him. Tate doesn't carve power and hope, the way that Boyd, Erica and Isaac did. He just wants to be normal.
He needs to figure out how to sway him to the bite. It would fix all his problems. Save him. Derek wants to save him.
Derek takes a breath, looks up at the ceiling, shifting his weight. Everything feels distant, suddenly. Beacon Hills, his family. He's realizing with this fine, precise awareness that everything he's ever known is - kind of in the past. This isn't the first time he's realized he's the only Hale left alive, but it might hit him harder now than it has before. There's a long stretch of silence before he finds his voice again. ]
I wish I could do more than just promise to be here.
[Tate's voice is soft and low, and he's chewing on his nails again. He's used to promises. Kept or otherwise, the majority of them let him down. People let him down. But if Derek wants to actually make vows and promises? Keeping them is going to be what has Tate trust him indefinitely. The way he wants to.]
I'm trusting you so... that's all you need to do for now.
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no subject
He's breathing hard when Derek speaks, looking down at his hands before quickly glancing back up. Tate's hopeful, for a breath, hinging on what Derek's saying with a furrowed brow and a small lean in his direction. He may not be perfect but Derek claims he's not necessarily broken in contrast.]
I... I know that. I - I just.
[His eyes are wet and he rubs at them with the back of his hand, feeling heat flourish in his cheeks from the embarrassment of crying so easily. Paired with the tiredness that still leeches from his bones, he just wants to curl up and sleep while he still feels protected in some capacity.]
Why's it have to be so hard? It never works out for me.
no subject
Tate cries, and Derek isn't put off by it at all. He makes eye contact, expression a mix of... steady neutrality, with concern bleeding in around the edges. He's trying to be stone, but that's never been who he is. ]
I think... it's hard... because you're spiralling. You're still new here, relatively speaking - you haven't had time to adjust, and you've been alone. Without someone to take care of you, without a pack, it's just been - you. Suffering. That's... why I want to be someone you can lean on. I want to make things work out for you.
[ He rubs his eye with the heel of his palm. He hopes he sounds... reassuring. Kind. He's never been good at that, he thinks, but Tate's the idiot who called him kind in the first place, so. Maybe it's coming across okay. ]
Life'd probably be easier if you didn't get white boy wasted quite so hard, though.
no subject
I had to... you - you won't get it. Because it wouldn't work for you.
[Blotting out his problems with unhealthy drug abuse.]
I just wanted to feel okay. That's all. It was worth it, even if it didn't last.
no subject
[ Not all the way - of course not all the way - drugs just die in his system, his cells regenerate too quickly to feel the effects of them. He understands the need, though. The yawning, aching void in your stomach and your chest and your head that just gets bigger and darker and sharper. The horrible noise you can't keep quiet, so you drown it out with louder, bigger things. ]
After - the fire, it was just me and my sister. I don't remember the first couple of years very well. I slept a lot, worked out a lot. Got in fights. Fucked. Things I didn't want to do, but did, because they were the only outs I had.
[ He still feels like that, sometimes. A need to run through the woods until his legs give out and he collapses, near-dead, maybe for good. He's felt it less, since Stiles. Tate's too young to grapple with something like that. He's too young to need an out. ]
I know - the draw. I just... don't... think it'll help you.
no subject
I just want to feel balanced. I don't think I ever have.
[He always expected to, or hinged his belief he could be on someone. But was he ever?]
Maybe with my girlfriend. But I only have so many options here, y'know.
no subject
[ And he could repeat himself - make it clear, again, that he wants to be a balancing force for Tate - but he's done it enough, and anymore will feel empty and cheap. He needs to show Tate that he wants to balance him, that he wants to be there for him. Tate doesn't carve power and hope, the way that Boyd, Erica and Isaac did. He just wants to be normal.
He needs to figure out how to sway him to the bite. It would fix all his problems. Save him. Derek wants to save him.
Derek takes a breath, looks up at the ceiling, shifting his weight. Everything feels distant, suddenly. Beacon Hills, his family. He's realizing with this fine, precise awareness that everything he's ever known is - kind of in the past. This isn't the first time he's realized he's the only Hale left alive, but it might hit him harder now than it has before. There's a long stretch of silence before he finds his voice again. ]
I wish I could do more than just promise to be here.
no subject
[Tate's voice is soft and low, and he's chewing on his nails again. He's used to promises. Kept or otherwise, the majority of them let him down. People let him down. But if Derek wants to actually make vows and promises? Keeping them is going to be what has Tate trust him indefinitely. The way he wants to.]
I'm trusting you so... that's all you need to do for now.