[ Tate lets go, and Derek just lets his hand stay suspended for a second or two longer, before quietly thudding down onto an easily broken twig. He doesn't sense anything behind Tate's question, really. Nothing sinister, at least. Just figures he's going to make him do something only a dom can do, like buy him another stash of pretzels to hide out in the treehouse once it's built. ]
[Tate's brow furrows - he doesn't understand that reference but he sits up properly, facing Derek with his legs crossing under him. He dusts more dirt off his shirt and just laces his fingers, stretching out his arms and cracking his knuckles. He's comfortable, cozy, and treating this with a bit of fun.]
Lend me your leather jacket for a week. The one you wear all the time.
[ Derek wasn't expecting much. Maybe he fucking should have been. ]
That's-- what? No. Are you--
[ Derek sits up, propped up on his elbows. His jaw drops, largely offended, and he stares at Tate with-- well, not with malicious intent, exactly, but certainly with some kind of malice. Stand-alone malice. Malice, but on a solo mission. Jesus, he'd honestly have preferred Tate to ask him to pony up on all the semi-ironic blowjob jokes. Absolutely would have followed through on one of those, if giving up his jacket was the alternative. Eat shit, exclusivity to the love of his life, that's his fucking jacket.
But.
A promise is a promise. Tate's just teasing, probably doesn't even intend to follow through on a literal fucking hostage negotiation, but. Derek's gonna commit to this, just in case he is. That's where they're at. ]
You can't fuck in it. I'll know. I've got a really, really good nose.
[Tate's smile cracks wide and bright at the taste of victory, and he laughs soon after that. He wasn't even sure Derek would agree but that was half the fun, twisting his arm to really see if he would. This doesn't really change anything, not really. He still would trust Derek either way. But this makes him like him a hell of a lot more. He slaps the side of his fist against Derek's thigh.]
[ Tate's smile might be worth it. That's the kind of smile that'll keep Derek going for a week. Seven full days of just - remembering Tate like this, every time he starts to doubt their relationship or see a hairline fracture in the foundation of a promise. Seven full days of bought trust.
Derek sighs. Claps his hand against Tate's. His handshake is strong and firm and maybe a little too rough, but it suits him. It'd suit him even if he wasn't this angry. ]
You're gonna have to break the news to Stiles about this. He loves that jacket.
[ Derek assumes. He's never said he loves that jacket, but. Why the fuck wouldn't he. ]
[Playfully said, of course. Tate's fucking smitten with what he just rigged up for himself, and he can't wait to wear that goddamn thing. Not that he'll wear it all the time - he knows he can't around Kavinsky. So, well, he'll have to be careful with it. But it'll be a good fucking week - mostly just because he knows he'll have something Derek wants. Something tangibly so.]
[ That's a dirty lie, but he's a werewolf, so who's gonna doubt him? Werewolves be hairy. He's just nipping this shit in the bud before Tate gets a chance to ask him to shave next time.
Still. Fine. Derek sits up a little further and starts tugging on the sleeves of his jacket, pulling them down over his hands and feeling a little vulnerable about taking it off for good. He hesitates, like he doesn't want to do this, but. Deal's a deal. He slides it off, his henley riding up his stomach as he pulls it off. Mourningly, he sets the jacket in Tate's arms. ]
I don't think you understand the massive levels of responsibility you've taken on by stealing this from me. You're literally babysitting my child. If you hurt her, we're gonna square up.
[Literally. Tate looks down at the jacket, feeling the weight in his arms almost as if it really is some sleeping babe. Only he then turns it over, threading his arm through one sleeve and then the other; it's oversized for him but it rests on him decently. Smells like Derek though - that's the first thing he notices.]
[ No, he looks great, and Derek insults him with enough fondness for that to be obvious. A little younger, just because of how big the jacket is, but - good. Derek's reluctantly endeared. ]
If you make it through the week without getting her stained or burnt or stolen or jizzed on, I'll buy you your own. I was gonna do that anyway, eventually. Kind of a pack initiation thing.
[Again, it's stupid how excited that makes Tate. He looks up, grinning again like he just won a jackpot already. Derek was already thinking of him? Wanted him in his pack the way he wanted others - Tate fits. Tate's going to fit. It's going to work, everything is going to be fine.]
Better be as cool as this one. What do you even carry on you...
[Yeah, he's looking at through your pockets now, Derek.]
[ Oh, ugh. Tate's not going to find much, but Derek should've grabbed it all back and shoved it in his jeans before handing it over. He's got his phone in there, his wallet, the keys to the den, some empty condom wrappers, maybe an old tissue and some loose change - he'll hold his hand out for Tate to hand back the shit that isn't trash, and if he doesn't, he'll just get impatient, reach his hand into his jacket's pockets and start fishing them out himself. ]
You're such a fucking snoop. Christ.
[ Derek puts his things away, slipping them into his jean pockets and rearranging his henley to fit better. God. Already regretting this. ]
But yeah. It'll be cool. Gotta match. No point, otherwise.
[ Also, thanks for calling his jacket cool. He's a little touched, even if he won't say as much. ]
[Tate rolls his eyes, resistant to handing over the loose change but giving everything else. He even flicks one of the empty wrappers at Derek, snorting as he takes back everything of importance - Tate doesn't even try to hold on to the phone or keys, but he does briefly look them over. Shit, it'd be nice to have keys. How sad is that? Tree house needs to have a working lock.
Tate checks the inner pocket himself toward the end of the exchange, and puts on his sunglasses, expecting them to be pulled off his face.]
How do you even seen in these. Alpha dog vision? Hey, shit - are you colorblind? Important question.
[ Derek bats away the condom wrapper, leaving it in the dirt, too stubborn to pick it up and stash it away, but too environmentally-conscious to leave it here in the woods. He'll either pick it up when Tate's not looking or literally come back here after he's gone to take it back to the rubbish bin.
But oh, right, his shades. Derek sighs through his nose, getting more and more annoyed as this goes on, good-natured in how much he fucking hates Tate and wants him to die. He stretches his legs, lays mostly-down again, resting on his forearms as he watches Tate fuck around. ]
When I turn these on -
[ he points to the headlights, gets 'em going. ]
Everything's red. Lets me see in the dark. Like the Predator. Otherwise -
[ headlights off. ]
Normal eyes. I'm not, like, actually a dog, shit-for-brains.
So if everything's red, that's technically colorblind. To colors other than red.
[You fucking dog boy. Tate tilts his head to the side, and is only momentarily enchanted by the eyes before they're gone. It's hard to tell (thank shades,) but he gets the feeling Derek could tell he was staring anyway, directly eye to eye. He likes the headlights. Mothmeme.jpg.]
[ Depending. Derek feels a prickle of shame at his neck for turning his headlights on, and he wonders for the first time if he's going to have to... hide them, around Tate. If being able to show him that red is - damaging. It's not the first time he's wondered if being a werewolf is ultimately... negative, and something that only makes things between him and Tate worse, but.
It's hard, confronting that. The idea that being non-human makes him worse for someone he needs to be with. Just another feeling or worry about Tate to compartmentalize and bury to keep things running smoothly, apparently. Derek keeps joking around, but. He's tired. ]
You wouldn't call the Predator colorblind. I'm cooler than the Predator. Don't know why you're bullying me.
[Makes sense - and Tate tries to imagine the two colors but he's only seen red. Can only imagine the red light bathing everything around it the same color. He likes that, he's not sure he'd like blue or gold. But it must be different on the other end of it, and he raises his brows before taking off the shades. He folds them back up and offers them to Derek.]
[ Derek slips his aviators on, feeling weirdly better once his eyes are hidden away. Like he's shrouding himself in a security blanket. He wants to get this treehouse built already, and he wants to get started on it today, so. ]
I'm gonna head into town. Find some supplies for the treehouse. You wanna come with?
[To scout out the pillories, etc. He laughs lightly at the sight of Derek in his glasses, but nods his head. He's into going - it's actually the first time he's been invited to go shopping with a dom. So, rather than just accept gifts? He's up for browsing in real time.]
Hear there's one called the Whipped Pony. Might find some of that hard wood there, if that's what you're looking for.
Can't believe this city wastes its time putting aphrodisiacs in masks and caves when they could just hire you to make sexy dick jokes.
[ They're probably just going to a regular hardware store, which, you know. Isn't going to offer much in the way of pillories. Then again, who fucking knows, with this place. Derek stands, walks backwards, making sure Tate's keeping up with him, then turns around and heads out normally. ]
You okay with walking, or is your ass too fucked up?
[ from sitting on the... branch. wow, that was a weird thing to say. ]
Edited (i got co nfUsEd o LI) 2019-04-28 00:15 (UTC)
[Tate snorts, dusting off his jeans as he climbs back up to his feet. There's a leaf hanging from his curls that he doesn't notice or seem to care about as he adjusts his shirt and walks next to Derek. He's preoccupied adjusting the jacket on his shoulders, looking down at it pleased with how it fits.]
I can limp through it, we're good.
[A joke, delivered with a cutting side eye and quirk of his lips.]
I'm... just happy to do this stuff. Thanks, again. For - you know. Making it happen.
[ Derek laughs, close to sarcastic but not quite there. The walk into town is going to be a while - Stiles and Derek made sure to live as far from the up as they could without being out of city limits, which is good for privacy, but bad for groceries - and it's going to be a pretty awful time without something to talk about between them.
Tate thanks him for making this happen, and Derek shrugs, but he fixates on the sentiment. Did Tate ever get to do things like this back when he was alive? Build treehouses, make friends. Derek walks, crunching over twigs and dead leaves, and he - fixates, a little, on asking something he shouldn't ask.
He wants to know more about Tate. More about... the sides of him he doesn't really discuss. ]
What was it like - arriving here? Did you just...
[ Derek pauses, feeling out the words in his mouth. Did you just die and wake up here? Was it disorienting? Did you think you were in hell, or - were you aware that you'd died, and that you were made alive again? ]
I mean - was it just... you died, and then... suddenly you were here? Or...
[Talk about cutting to topics that suddenly cut through Tate's good mood like a hot knife. He's uncomfortable almost immediately, like someone just disrupted a happy conversation with unsettling news. He keeps walking in line with Derek but again, like sitting up in the tree, he's aware he can't just walk away from this. He's pinned into the situation, the conversation, and he needs to handle it intelligently.
His jaw sets and he's quiet for maybe a beat too long, but they're talking about his death and he thinks he's granted that. He doesn't shut down per se but he gets a bit more reserved, partially because he doesn't know what to share and what not and then also in that he doesn't know how to word this. He never had to with Violet, she just... figured it out.]
No.
[He feels small inside Derek's jacket, tugging the collar further up his neck and settling inside it - he tucks his nose in and breathes in the faint scent of Derek's cologne, his after shave, whatever it is. It's familiar and it calms him, but he refuses to look at Derek. He just stares forward. Stays quiet.]
I died in 1994. Met Violet in 2011. Time in between I - I just existed, sort of. Stuck where I died. It's... complicated. I don't like talking about it. It wasn't fun.
[ The air changes, and on one hand, Derek feels horrible for sucking the good mood from Tate's lungs, but - honestly, when else could they have talked about this, really? Derek wasn't going to fucking text Tate at 2AM and ask invasive questions about his personal life, and he wasn't going to corner him when he was upset about something else to be like, hey, while you're sad, let's talk about your fucking suicide. Leading into this from something light and casual and airy was the only option he had. ]
Sorry. That's - pretty fucking rough.
[ Still feels guilty, though. Derek listens to Tate, nodding low, and-- fuck, there's something really, really fucking impactful about the way Tate breathes in his scent to calm him down. Derek feels taller. Bigger. He stops walking, even though they're supposed to be going into town, because-- because watching Tate find something calming and familiar and safe in Derek's fucking scent makes him want to stay in the woods, listening to the distant sounds of the beach. He wants to stay near Tate.
Derek puts a hand on Tate's chest. Stops him from walking, too. He leaves it there, fingertips right over Tate's sternum. ]
It's just...
[ He looks at Tate's nose, hidden away in his jacket. He's-- always wanted to protect Tate, always wanted to be good for him, always wanted him, but never, never, has the instinct been this strong. He breathed in his fucking scent? He found comfort in him. Raw, primal comfort. Derek moves his hand up Tate's chest, gripping his collar, just - holding it, for the sake of holding it. He moves his hand higher up, touching Tate's throat, leaving his palm against his skin. He feels like he needs - just - heavy, platonic, physical contact, the same kind of contact he would have with one of his real betas. He wants to squeeze his shoulder, touch his arm, offer all that silent, physical, reassuring comfort that he's so instinctively drawn to sharing with his pack. He just - leaves his hand on Tate's throat. Wolfishly protective. ]
It's just - now's the time, right? You wanted to know when you could talk to people about your life. If there's anything you're scared of talking to me about - now feels like the time to do it.
[Tate stops dead in his tracks the second Derek reaches out to stop him, a thrum behind his breastbone igniting when his fingers linger there. He looks up, wide eyed and as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. He stands a bit taller, straightening out as if that feeling is drawn out - feeling Derek's hand go over his collar, feeling it slide up his throat. His heart hammers away and he stares at Derek almost as if he thinks any second he could do the wrong thing by simply breathing in.
He lifts his chin, stretching his throat taut beneath Derek's hand and his eyes watch Derek's face but his posture softens. He's surrendering to his hand, his lead, trying to show he's no threat - not that he feels threatened, but that he trusts.]
I... I already told you some of - the hard things I went through. Is... Is there anything you want to ask me about? I'll answer.
[ It feels like Tate's - submitting. Like he's already a wolf, bowing his head to his better. His leader. It makes Derek's mouth run dry and his teeth itch with the urge to bite, and he can pull it back easily enough, he always does, but - it's fascinating, feeling Tate's pulse beat through his hand. Tate's this convoluted mix of prey and family and beta and friend, and maybe that's why Derek wants so badly to fit him into one box. Maybe that's why he's been struggling with the idea that he can't.
He leaves his hand there. Not for any particular reason, he just - wants to keep feeling Tate's pulse, wants to keep that physical connection. Derek's thumb smooths down his windpipe, exploratory, and his nails scratch lightly beneath the smaller hairs on the back of his neck. He moves his hand up, runs his thumb under Tate's jawline, and it's just -
It's just so hard not to bite him. ]
I don't... want to compel you to tell me anything. I just want to know about you. Things in your life, leading up to your death. The days you spent waiting for someone like Violet. Little things. Big things.
[ Derek's hand drifts back around, palm over his throat. Tate begged him to choke him, once. His throat felt a lot different back then to how it feels now. ]
You don't have to talk. I just want you to know that I can listen, if you want to. Judgment free. You're my pack, even without the bite. You have all my loyalty.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Go nuts, Jigsaw.
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Lend me your leather jacket for a week. The one you wear all the time.
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That's-- what? No. Are you--
[ Derek sits up, propped up on his elbows. His jaw drops, largely offended, and he stares at Tate with-- well, not with malicious intent, exactly, but certainly with some kind of malice. Stand-alone malice. Malice, but on a solo mission. Jesus, he'd honestly have preferred Tate to ask him to pony up on all the semi-ironic blowjob jokes. Absolutely would have followed through on one of those, if giving up his jacket was the alternative. Eat shit, exclusivity to the love of his life, that's his fucking jacket.
But.
A promise is a promise. Tate's just teasing, probably doesn't even intend to follow through on a literal fucking hostage negotiation, but. Derek's gonna commit to this, just in case he is. That's where they're at. ]
You can't fuck in it. I'll know. I've got a really, really good nose.
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Deal. Shake on it?
[He offers his hand to Derek.]
One whoooole week. It's mine.
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Derek sighs. Claps his hand against Tate's. His handshake is strong and firm and maybe a little too rough, but it suits him. It'd suit him even if he wasn't this angry. ]
You're gonna have to break the news to Stiles about this. He loves that jacket.
[ Derek assumes. He's never said he loves that jacket, but. Why the fuck wouldn't he. ]
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[Playfully said, of course. Tate's fucking smitten with what he just rigged up for himself, and he can't wait to wear that goddamn thing. Not that he'll wear it all the time - he knows he can't around Kavinsky. So, well, he'll have to be careful with it. But it'll be a good fucking week - mostly just because he knows he'll have something Derek wants. Something tangibly so.]
Glad I picked that. Was gonna dare you to shave.
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[ That's a dirty lie, but he's a werewolf, so who's gonna doubt him? Werewolves be hairy. He's just nipping this shit in the bud before Tate gets a chance to ask him to shave next time.
Still. Fine. Derek sits up a little further and starts tugging on the sleeves of his jacket, pulling them down over his hands and feeling a little vulnerable about taking it off for good. He hesitates, like he doesn't want to do this, but. Deal's a deal. He slides it off, his henley riding up his stomach as he pulls it off. Mourningly, he sets the jacket in Tate's arms. ]
I don't think you understand the massive levels of responsibility you've taken on by stealing this from me. You're literally babysitting my child. If you hurt her, we're gonna square up.
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[Literally. Tate looks down at the jacket, feeling the weight in his arms almost as if it really is some sleeping babe. Only he then turns it over, threading his arm through one sleeve and then the other; it's oversized for him but it rests on him decently. Smells like Derek though - that's the first thing he notices.]
How do I look?
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[ No, he looks great, and Derek insults him with enough fondness for that to be obvious. A little younger, just because of how big the jacket is, but - good. Derek's reluctantly endeared. ]
If you make it through the week without getting her stained or burnt or stolen or jizzed on, I'll buy you your own. I was gonna do that anyway, eventually. Kind of a pack initiation thing.
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[Again, it's stupid how excited that makes Tate. He looks up, grinning again like he just won a jackpot already. Derek was already thinking of him? Wanted him in his pack the way he wanted others - Tate fits. Tate's going to fit. It's going to work, everything is going to be fine.]
Better be as cool as this one. What do you even carry on you...
[Yeah, he's looking at through your pockets now, Derek.]
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You're such a fucking snoop. Christ.
[ Derek puts his things away, slipping them into his jean pockets and rearranging his henley to fit better. God. Already regretting this. ]
But yeah. It'll be cool. Gotta match. No point, otherwise.
[ Also, thanks for calling his jacket cool. He's a little touched, even if he won't say as much. ]
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Tate checks the inner pocket himself toward the end of the exchange, and puts on his sunglasses, expecting them to be pulled off his face.]
How do you even seen in these. Alpha dog vision? Hey, shit - are you colorblind? Important question.
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But oh, right, his shades. Derek sighs through his nose, getting more and more annoyed as this goes on, good-natured in how much he fucking hates Tate and wants him to die. He stretches his legs, lays mostly-down again, resting on his forearms as he watches Tate fuck around. ]
When I turn these on -
[ he points to the headlights, gets 'em going. ]
Everything's red. Lets me see in the dark. Like the Predator. Otherwise -
[ headlights off. ]
Normal eyes. I'm not, like, actually a dog, shit-for-brains.
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[You fucking dog boy. Tate tilts his head to the side, and is only momentarily enchanted by the eyes before they're gone. It's hard to tell (thank shades,) but he gets the feeling Derek could tell he was staring anyway, directly eye to eye. He likes the headlights. Mothmeme.jpg.]
If Alpha's see red, what do... betas see again?
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[ Depending. Derek feels a prickle of shame at his neck for turning his headlights on, and he wonders for the first time if he's going to have to... hide them, around Tate. If being able to show him that red is - damaging. It's not the first time he's wondered if being a werewolf is ultimately... negative, and something that only makes things between him and Tate worse, but.
It's hard, confronting that. The idea that being non-human makes him worse for someone he needs to be with. Just another feeling or worry about Tate to compartmentalize and bury to keep things running smoothly, apparently. Derek keeps joking around, but. He's tired. ]
You wouldn't call the Predator colorblind. I'm cooler than the Predator. Don't know why you're bullying me.
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[Makes sense - and Tate tries to imagine the two colors but he's only seen red. Can only imagine the red light bathing everything around it the same color. He likes that, he's not sure he'd like blue or gold. But it must be different on the other end of it, and he raises his brows before taking off the shades. He folds them back up and offers them to Derek.]
You're not cooler than the Predator.
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[ Derek slips his aviators on, feeling weirdly better once his eyes are hidden away. Like he's shrouding himself in a security blanket. He wants to get this treehouse built already, and he wants to get started on it today, so. ]
I'm gonna head into town. Find some supplies for the treehouse. You wanna come with?
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[To scout out the pillories, etc. He laughs lightly at the sight of Derek in his glasses, but nods his head. He's into going - it's actually the first time he's been invited to go shopping with a dom. So, rather than just accept gifts? He's up for browsing in real time.]
Hear there's one called the Whipped Pony. Might find some of that hard wood there, if that's what you're looking for.
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[ They're probably just going to a regular hardware store, which, you know. Isn't going to offer much in the way of pillories. Then again, who fucking knows, with this place. Derek stands, walks backwards, making sure Tate's keeping up with him, then turns around and heads out normally. ]
You okay with walking, or is your ass too fucked up?
[ from sitting on the... branch. wow, that was a weird thing to say. ]
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I can limp through it, we're good.
[A joke, delivered with a cutting side eye and quirk of his lips.]
I'm... just happy to do this stuff. Thanks, again. For - you know. Making it happen.
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Tate thanks him for making this happen, and Derek shrugs, but he fixates on the sentiment. Did Tate ever get to do things like this back when he was alive? Build treehouses, make friends. Derek walks, crunching over twigs and dead leaves, and he - fixates, a little, on asking something he shouldn't ask.
He wants to know more about Tate. More about... the sides of him he doesn't really discuss. ]
What was it like - arriving here? Did you just...
[ Derek pauses, feeling out the words in his mouth. Did you just die and wake up here? Was it disorienting? Did you think you were in hell, or - were you aware that you'd died, and that you were made alive again? ]
I mean - was it just... you died, and then... suddenly you were here? Or...
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His jaw sets and he's quiet for maybe a beat too long, but they're talking about his death and he thinks he's granted that. He doesn't shut down per se but he gets a bit more reserved, partially because he doesn't know what to share and what not and then also in that he doesn't know how to word this. He never had to with Violet, she just... figured it out.]
No.
[He feels small inside Derek's jacket, tugging the collar further up his neck and settling inside it - he tucks his nose in and breathes in the faint scent of Derek's cologne, his after shave, whatever it is. It's familiar and it calms him, but he refuses to look at Derek. He just stares forward. Stays quiet.]
I died in 1994. Met Violet in 2011. Time in between I - I just existed, sort of. Stuck where I died. It's... complicated. I don't like talking about it. It wasn't fun.
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Sorry. That's - pretty fucking rough.
[ Still feels guilty, though. Derek listens to Tate, nodding low, and-- fuck, there's something really, really fucking impactful about the way Tate breathes in his scent to calm him down. Derek feels taller. Bigger. He stops walking, even though they're supposed to be going into town, because-- because watching Tate find something calming and familiar and safe in Derek's fucking scent makes him want to stay in the woods, listening to the distant sounds of the beach. He wants to stay near Tate.
Derek puts a hand on Tate's chest. Stops him from walking, too. He leaves it there, fingertips right over Tate's sternum. ]
It's just...
[ He looks at Tate's nose, hidden away in his jacket. He's-- always wanted to protect Tate, always wanted to be good for him, always wanted him, but never, never, has the instinct been this strong. He breathed in his fucking scent? He found comfort in him. Raw, primal comfort. Derek moves his hand up Tate's chest, gripping his collar, just - holding it, for the sake of holding it. He moves his hand higher up, touching Tate's throat, leaving his palm against his skin. He feels like he needs - just - heavy, platonic, physical contact, the same kind of contact he would have with one of his real betas. He wants to squeeze his shoulder, touch his arm, offer all that silent, physical, reassuring comfort that he's so instinctively drawn to sharing with his pack. He just - leaves his hand on Tate's throat. Wolfishly protective. ]
It's just - now's the time, right? You wanted to know when you could talk to people about your life. If there's anything you're scared of talking to me about - now feels like the time to do it.
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He lifts his chin, stretching his throat taut beneath Derek's hand and his eyes watch Derek's face but his posture softens. He's surrendering to his hand, his lead, trying to show he's no threat - not that he feels threatened, but that he trusts.]
I... I already told you some of - the hard things I went through. Is... Is there anything you want to ask me about? I'll answer.
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He leaves his hand there. Not for any particular reason, he just - wants to keep feeling Tate's pulse, wants to keep that physical connection. Derek's thumb smooths down his windpipe, exploratory, and his nails scratch lightly beneath the smaller hairs on the back of his neck. He moves his hand up, runs his thumb under Tate's jawline, and it's just -
It's just so hard not to bite him. ]
I don't... want to compel you to tell me anything. I just want to know about you. Things in your life, leading up to your death. The days you spent waiting for someone like Violet. Little things. Big things.
[ Derek's hand drifts back around, palm over his throat. Tate begged him to choke him, once. His throat felt a lot different back then to how it feels now. ]
You don't have to talk. I just want you to know that I can listen, if you want to. Judgment free. You're my pack, even without the bite. You have all my loyalty.
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