[Again, defensive, but - spent, a little, from the energy he had before. His voice lifts but then it relaxes. He doesn't like the idea of someone thinking that about him, regardless of the fact it was more or less true. Sabrina waltzed into his life a lot more in line with who he was than Peter'd ever be. Aware of and alright with death, unique herself in a dark and twisted way. Tate's really enamored by her, but still. He doesn't want it to seem that... well, he's shallow.
He looks away, pale brows twisted before he huffs a breath.]
It's not like we were - it was open, and...
[He couldn't have all of Peter, ergo - he sees no shame in liking Sabrina simultaneously.]
[ Derek didn't think Tate was shallow. He understands that sometimes people just - drift, or change, and that kids Tate's age can become different fucking people at the drop of a hat. For someone who's been dead for as long as Tate has, for someone who seems to struggle against the stagnation of their own growth, he feels like it wouldn't be too much of a surprise, if he and Peter had gone in different directions and grown apart. Tate moving on to Sabrina is no different to Scott moving on to Kira.
But - well - his opinion does get a little colored when Tate gets defensive. It's kind of a childish reaction, which makes him look shallow in a way that he hadn't before - like he's mad at Derek for suggesting there's something wrong with forward momentum, because he was in love and Derek just couldn't understand, or something. He adjusts his approach to this conversation, a little, looking out over the woods rather than at Tate directly. ]
... Well, who knows. You said something about how - people never really go home, right? Maybe he's just stuck in a freezer somewhere and we'll be able to get him out one day.
[Tate doesn't like that just as much as he doesn't like being considered shallow - he looks like Derek's deflated something in him with that reminder, and he sets his beer can down. He wants to go slam a door and climb into bed, but he doesn't. He just tugs down his sleeves and moves to the balcony edge, in the opposite direction of Derek, and leans against it staring off at the trees as well.]
[ Maybe Derek's being too callous. Maybe he should be offering something better than your now ex-boyfriend's probably stuck in a freezer somewhere. Derek wets his lips, looking back to stare at the back of Tate's head, then sighs through his nose, getting off the safety rail, landing on the balcony again with a thud. ]
Can't get stuck on people leaving, Tate.
[ There's more sympathy in his voice now, but - that's all he's really offering. Derek walks to Tate's bedroom, slipping through the window, talking to him from inside. ]
[Tate watches Derek go, moving away from their moment of refuge on the balcony and he looks to the bottles, the bat, but follows suit... after snagging the rest of the six pack by the plastic ring. He carries it in, shadowing Derek and straggling back a few steps. He's still a bit quiet, but still successfully defused.]
[ He doesn't know how much Tate can get away with - or how much Tate wants to get away with - so leaving this decision in his hands and hoping Tate would rather be with him than with Kavinsky tonight is all he can really do. Derek doesn't look back at Tate as he walks - he scales down the ladder to his loft and heads down the front steps of the tree house itself, dodging cats as he goes.
He leads Tate out of the woods and up to the den, but when he gets there - the ward's still in place. Derek has no idea that Tate was never allowed past the barrier, so he doesn't bother inviting him in, effectively locking him outside. He just opens the front door, heads inside, and expects Tate to be able to follow him. ]
[Tate has the intention to stay overnight, but doesn't know what Derek considers to be those decisions he has to make so he stays silent. He snags a book off the coffee table as they leave the treehouse, slinging on a backpack full of beer and shadowing Derek after a pause in which he strokes Cobain's ears and makes her purr. Then he trots on behind Derek, followed by said cat, who watches from the treeline as Tate approaches the den.
Derek goes inside and it feels like a weird twist of fate that he stays outside. He thought he told him he couldn't go in - did he not get how literal Tate was being? Paused on the doorstep, Tate's expression is a sharp one - he furrows his brow and looks down to his hands, like he's a dog waiting on the outside of a sliding door. Only Derek doesn't seem to notice he needs in.]
[ It takes a second or two for Derek to figure out what Tate needs. He turns, looks at Tate from over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed - and it clicks, then, what he means by couldn't. Derek had kind of assumed it was an emotional thing, or... that the doors were fucking locked, or something, even though that wouldn't have stopped him from ghosting his way across the premises. Derek's... gonna have to find that ledger, but. He wonders, briefly, why his name isn't already in it. ]
Come in.
[ It's a temporary measure - until he leaves or Derek retracts his invitation, he'll be welcome here. Derek's gotta sign his name to that book so he doesn't need an invite every time he wants to come inside, but... for now, it's... fine.
The Den still doesn't officially belong to him again, but it's his house, his territory, same as it always was. The bedroom door is closed, and Derek hasn't been in there very much at all, scared of disturbing Stiles' scent more than he has to - but the rest of the place is getting better. Still dust on a lot of surfaces, still a couple of bags of trash to take out, but it's cleaner than it has been over these past few months. Once Tate's inside, Derek'll close the doors behind him, walking to the kitchen.
He doesn't have any real food here yet either, but... Derek's still gonna make Tate something to eat. When he gets angry and upset, Tate never eats, so. ]
[And just like that, an invisible wall is lifted - Tate almost feels it evaporate in front of him. He looks - a few mixed emotions all at once, breathing in deep before pressing inward to test the newly invite by sliding into the den. How many times had he stood by the door, trying to get by and failing before now? And it's so simple, Derek just invites him in. Of course, he does so now that he's back - so Tate can't poke and pry around. Figures.
Tate stands sullenly inside once Derek closes the door, like he's still a bit bitter he had to ask for that. Wondering, absently, if he should address it. Why wasn't he allowed in? Was it just... everyone? He thought they talked about this. Thought he'd be... part of this. He scratches his cheek and for the moment, tries to ignore the budding feeling in his chest.]
[ Honest answer. Derek'll talk about this if it's something Tate wants to talk about, but he's curt with it - he told Tate to sit down, and he doesn't want to repeat himself. He arches his eyebrows, points to the sofa in the living room, then disappear into the kitchen. Whether Tate does as he's told or just follows Derek instead, he'll focus on finding a decent meal. He mostly just has... canned fruit and moldy cereal, but there's some slightly stale pasta that'll come good with some boiling, so... spaghetti for lunch.
He'll start getting to work on that, rinsing the dust from a pot he barely even used when he actively lived here, and then he'll get to work, talking to Tate as he goes. ]
There's a ledger - if your name's in the book, the barrier doesn't affect you. Stiles was in charge of it. I don't know why he didn't put you on the list.
[Tate's - annoyed. Stiles is no longer here so it's not the insidious feeling it could be, but still. He doesn't like that it wasn't just his intuition telling him Stiles was feeling a certain way about him. He didn't trust him? Did he think, rightfully so, that Tate would look to snoop into his life the way he had before - staring down the foot of the bed like he had to so many people, countless times in the past? Stiles didn't want him here. It feels like a sick sense of satisfaction that hey, he's here now, isn't he Stiles?
He looks hurt, just a bit, sulking in the living room and contemplating sitting on the couch like he's told - but ultimately he follows Derek to watch him rinse a pot. He puts the beer down on the table, fishing it out of his bag and detaching another one - he forgot his at his place - and puts the rest inside Derek's fridge to busy his hands.]
[ Takes a while, before Derek responds. He focuses on Tate's food, bringing water to boil and searching out sauce that isnt past its expiration date. When he answers him, he's got his back turned. ]
Think I've gotta get over you running back to Kavinsky before that happens.
[ He looks up at Tate, just briefly, watching him put his beer away. He quickly drops his eyes back now. ]
Things are fucked up between us. We're talking, right now, but somehow there's still this hole in my chest because of how badly I miss you. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you? Die for you, kill for you. That kind of devotion, that's... that's what you're supposed to have for someone, when there's... love, there. When you're pack.
[ Or - love between you and your home. Derek did the same for Beacon Hills. Killed for it. Tried to die for it, more than once, though that was less because of a grand sacrifice and more because he was tired. Tate's food is getting prepared and all it has to do now is cook, so Derek doesn't have a reason to keep his back to Tate anymore. Reluctantly, he turns back around. ]
But I'm scared that that's all one sided. I don't believe some of the things you've said to me, I don't... know if you even think of me, when we're not in the same room together. I'm really, really confused about us, and I just... I mean, how am I supposed to give you all my loyalty if I can't even give you a spare magical house key? It's insane. This all feels insane.
[It's - more slaps to the face for Tate, even if he's heard the words already and knows where Derek's coming from. Why should he trust Tate? Tate can't come up with an answer, not easily, but he still looks stretched in response to being told he's not believed. It hurts, it's evident, because his eyes shutter and glean with a wet show of tears and his lips turn to a very thin line. He crosses his arms defensively, looking away, nostrils flaring as he tries hard not to lose his cool.
Then he scoffs, humorlessly, wetness coming from his eyes being rubbed off on his knuckles. He's turned from the first response of being startled at the confrontation to now just being offended. One sided? One sided? Tate looks at Derek, eyes narrowed.]
I don't know what you want from me. I promised you no lies. I've told you how much... how much I missed you. I come to you first with my problems and - isn't that being pack? And you still... you're telling me you don't trust me. You don't want me around. You want so much from me but you're telling me it's not enough at the same time. How am I supposed to trust you'll ever really want me? How am I supposed to feel like you - like this place is safety if I...
[He sniffs, rubbing at his eyes again. He shakes his head.]
Nevermind. It's fine. I don't give a shit. And I'm not hungry, so.
[Fuck you and your pasta. He cracks open the beer can instead, taking a long swig.]
[ This is probably the reaction Derek should have expected, but - it just sucks. Tate's making him feel like an awful person, and months ago, he would have just caved, given in, found the ledger and written Tate's name then and there, right in front of him. Derek wasn't trying to slap Tate in the face, he wasn't - wasn't trying to make him feel like he wouldn't be safe here, in this house or with him. He's staring at Tate while he talks, intense and scrutinizing, trying to figure out how much of Tate's complaints about his behaviour are real, and how much are just based on his hurt.
At the very least, he feels like Tate not knowing what he wants from him is - a real place to start. Derek's eyes are kind of stinging, but he's gonna blame that on the steam. ]
I just want to trust you again. I don't know how to force that. If I could, I would.
[ He shrugs with one shoulder, pinching the bridge of his nose. ]
You're right, though. I've been asking too much of you. I've just been trying to figure all of this out, but - shit, I'm sorry. If you're saying this can't be fixed, or - or that you don't trust me either, then - I don't really know what to do to make all of this right.
I'm not saying I don't trust you - just... it's a two way street.
[If Derek's going to tell him he doesn't know if he can trust Tate, why shouldn't he say the same in response? He wants to trust Derek. He just also wants to be trusted. That's the downfall of being self-centered, after all. Everything has to be about you, and when it's not, you feel displaced. Tate looks at Derek, while tipping back his beer to drink more of it in a few gulps. He then wipes his mouth off on his sleeve.]
I'm also not saying it can't be fixed. I'm - I'm just tired. And I don't want to get into this again. Can we work through this later?
[ Derek doesn't know what he's done not to earn Tate's trust, but... if it's a two way street, it's a two way street. He wants this to be fixed, one way or another, and they've... they've gotta get there, somehow. Derek looks at Tate, watching him blow off the rest of their conversation, and honestly, it's for the best. They used to dump all their feelings out on one another at once and it led to some pretty ugly places, so maybe doing these little bites of conversation over the next few weeks is the only way to get through all this with civility. ]
... Yeah.
[ Tate's food is done, and Derek doesn't really know what to do with it, now. He strains the pasta, fucks with the sauce, does everything he needs to do, and he dishes up a plate full of food. He... puts it down in front of Tate, but he knows it probably won't go anywhere. ]
Still want you to spend the night here, if that's... the call you want to make. Just - promise me you'll try to eat something.
[Tate looks at the pasta and it's plain to see that he's got no appetite for it. But he doesn't push it away, but neither does he sit. He just kind of hovers, like he's evaluating his choices. If Derek hadn't asked him to eat, he would've already left the room. Instead, well. He quietly sits after pulling back the chair, sighing like this is a real big effort to be making as he picks up a fork.]
You better not give me food poisoning.
[He's still not eating, but - he's closer to it than before.]
[ For all the doubt and the suspicion that's been permeating this relationship lately, Derek takes it surprisingly hard when Tate sighs like that. Maybe it's just because this is something he's specifically trying to do for him, but it kind of - sucks, knowing that he might've fucked up. Derek scratches the back of his neck and just shakes his head when he's asked a question. ]
No. That, uh - that was my dinner, actually.
[ All he really had left, and he's giving it to Tate. Derek shrugs. ]
I'm fine, though. More worried about you than I am about me.
[He says, already decided. He stabs his fork into the pasta, takes his sweet time setting up a bite. He feels oddly watched in the process, so he glances at Derek through his bangs before he takes said bite, chewing quietly. If Derek thinks he's going to protest to this plan, Tate'll stub that out with a quick addition of:]
Pack's about meeting half way sometimes. Suck my dick if you don't agree.
[ Okay, well, fuck that. Derek's already getting ready to argue, mouth open and eyebrows meeting in the middle, but Tate intercepts and shuts him down. He exhales through his nose, long and slow, then turns away, trying to think of a way out of this. He... can't, so he sounds kind of small when he just mumbles out his feelings. ]
I want to take care of you, though.
[ Tate's the one who's hurting right now. Derek is, too, but - Derek didn't go to Tate for help the way Tate did for him. He narrows his eyes, looks back. ]
You - know that, right? Putting aside all of this bullshit between us right now, you - you know that's the bottom line for me, don't you? Making you happy, and... loving you, and... all of that. That's still... what I want.
[Tate speaks between bites, his head tucked forward but gaze lifted up; he holds his fork away from his plate as he speaks, but then resumes taking another bite of pasta soon after that. Shit could use a little cheese but, well, he's not complaining. He uses his fork to split the pile of pasta down the middle, working it into halves so he can leave some behind for Derek.]
... But I want to let you take care of me too. I'm just... not used to it. I like it, but it's new.
[ He doesn't know that - that's the fucking bullseye on the dartboard that is his issues with Tate. Derek at least has the self-awareness to not bring them back into another fucking argument, though, seconds after Tate said he didn't want to talk about all this. So. Derek just nods, like he believes it, keeping his eyes open and alert and neutral. ]
Well - get used to it. I don't want this to feel new. I want this to be - normal, for you.
[ Whatever, though, he's - done. Derek stands a little straighter, leaves all the worrying about his and Tate's relationship behind him. He walks around Tate, stands behind him, and he just - roughs Tate's hair the fuck up, all affectionate and annoying, laughing a little when it reaches the point that it's probably pissing Tate off. He's not being unkind, just... a little obnoxious. ]
I'm not eating that, by the way. [ the pasta that Tate's so diligently dividing. ] Changed my mind. You can meet me halfway on something else. Not on this. I want that plate spotless by the time you're done with it.
[Spotless plates and never taking helpings you don't plan on finishing - he's not too sharp with it but after pawing at Derek's hand to get him to stop shitting around with his hair, he's miffed just enough to huff that out. He's only going to eat a half, if that, and Derek can suck his dick if he doesn't like it. He combs back some of his hair from his eyes, then sighs.]
... Can you help me out with something after? I need to cut my hair.
Don't care. I know how long you can go without eating when you're going through something. I don't know if you're... taking care of yourself, or... if you're gonna get sick, or...
[ Or anything else like that. Derek's gonna stay pretty stern about this, for at least another five or six seconds. Tate's asking for his help, and Derek doesn't want to just cave and stop talking about what they're talking about, but.
Whatever. He leans on the counter by Tate, giving him his attention. The request makes him frown a little, looking at Tate's curls for a second, then back down to his eyes. ]
I... can help you. But - I mean - I like your hair like this. It's...
[ It's... well, Derek doesn't end up saying whatever he thinks of Tate's hair. He just trails off, looks away. Looks back. Looks at the pasta. ]
If I cut your hair, and if I don't make you finish all this - will you promise to let me make you something the next time you get hungry?
[Tate agrees quietly, resisting the urge to give another shrug. He eats a few more bites, watching Derek with inquisitive dark eyes before pulling on one of his curls to straighten it out - when tugged, it's much longer than it looks. He lets it snap back up into place.]
I wouldn't mind eating dinner here a few times a week. Or in the treehouse. I'm not really good at making things myself, so it'd be... cool, I guess.
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[Again, defensive, but - spent, a little, from the energy he had before. His voice lifts but then it relaxes. He doesn't like the idea of someone thinking that about him, regardless of the fact it was more or less true. Sabrina waltzed into his life a lot more in line with who he was than Peter'd ever be. Aware of and alright with death, unique herself in a dark and twisted way. Tate's really enamored by her, but still. He doesn't want it to seem that... well, he's shallow.
He looks away, pale brows twisted before he huffs a breath.]
It's not like we were - it was open, and...
[He couldn't have all of Peter, ergo - he sees no shame in liking Sabrina simultaneously.]
I really liked him. I did.
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But - well - his opinion does get a little colored when Tate gets defensive. It's kind of a childish reaction, which makes him look shallow in a way that he hadn't before - like he's mad at Derek for suggesting there's something wrong with forward momentum, because he was in love and Derek just couldn't understand, or something. He adjusts his approach to this conversation, a little, looking out over the woods rather than at Tate directly. ]
... Well, who knows. You said something about how - people never really go home, right? Maybe he's just stuck in a freezer somewhere and we'll be able to get him out one day.
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I'm tired of throwing bottles now.
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Can't get stuck on people leaving, Tate.
[ There's more sympathy in his voice now, but - that's all he's really offering. Derek walks to Tate's bedroom, slipping through the window, talking to him from inside. ]
C'mon. Let's go back to the den.
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Are we gonna stay there tonight?
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[ He doesn't know how much Tate can get away with - or how much Tate wants to get away with - so leaving this decision in his hands and hoping Tate would rather be with him than with Kavinsky tonight is all he can really do. Derek doesn't look back at Tate as he walks - he scales down the ladder to his loft and heads down the front steps of the tree house itself, dodging cats as he goes.
He leads Tate out of the woods and up to the den, but when he gets there - the ward's still in place. Derek has no idea that Tate was never allowed past the barrier, so he doesn't bother inviting him in, effectively locking him outside. He just opens the front door, heads inside, and expects Tate to be able to follow him. ]
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Derek goes inside and it feels like a weird twist of fate that he stays outside. He thought he told him he couldn't go in - did he not get how literal Tate was being? Paused on the doorstep, Tate's expression is a sharp one - he furrows his brow and looks down to his hands, like he's a dog waiting on the outside of a sliding door. Only Derek doesn't seem to notice he needs in.]
Uh...
[He hates this feeling? His face heats up.]
Derek?
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Come in.
[ It's a temporary measure - until he leaves or Derek retracts his invitation, he'll be welcome here. Derek's gotta sign his name to that book so he doesn't need an invite every time he wants to come inside, but... for now, it's... fine.
The Den still doesn't officially belong to him again, but it's his house, his territory, same as it always was. The bedroom door is closed, and Derek hasn't been in there very much at all, scared of disturbing Stiles' scent more than he has to - but the rest of the place is getting better. Still dust on a lot of surfaces, still a couple of bags of trash to take out, but it's cleaner than it has been over these past few months. Once Tate's inside, Derek'll close the doors behind him, walking to the kitchen.
He doesn't have any real food here yet either, but... Derek's still gonna make Tate something to eat. When he gets angry and upset, Tate never eats, so. ]
Sit down. Anywhere.
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Tate stands sullenly inside once Derek closes the door, like he's still a bit bitter he had to ask for that. Wondering, absently, if he should address it. Why wasn't he allowed in? Was it just... everyone? He thought they talked about this. Thought he'd be... part of this. He scratches his cheek and for the moment, tries to ignore the budding feeling in his chest.]
Why aren't I allowed to come in?
[So much for waiting.]
Without an invite.
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[ Honest answer. Derek'll talk about this if it's something Tate wants to talk about, but he's curt with it - he told Tate to sit down, and he doesn't want to repeat himself. He arches his eyebrows, points to the sofa in the living room, then disappear into the kitchen. Whether Tate does as he's told or just follows Derek instead, he'll focus on finding a decent meal. He mostly just has... canned fruit and moldy cereal, but there's some slightly stale pasta that'll come good with some boiling, so... spaghetti for lunch.
He'll start getting to work on that, rinsing the dust from a pot he barely even used when he actively lived here, and then he'll get to work, talking to Tate as he goes. ]
There's a ledger - if your name's in the book, the barrier doesn't affect you. Stiles was in charge of it. I don't know why he didn't put you on the list.
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[Tate's - annoyed. Stiles is no longer here so it's not the insidious feeling it could be, but still. He doesn't like that it wasn't just his intuition telling him Stiles was feeling a certain way about him. He didn't trust him? Did he think, rightfully so, that Tate would look to snoop into his life the way he had before - staring down the foot of the bed like he had to so many people, countless times in the past? Stiles didn't want him here. It feels like a sick sense of satisfaction that hey, he's here now, isn't he Stiles?
He looks hurt, just a bit, sulking in the living room and contemplating sitting on the couch like he's told - but ultimately he follows Derek to watch him rinse a pot. He puts the beer down on the table, fishing it out of his bag and detaching another one - he forgot his at his place - and puts the rest inside Derek's fridge to busy his hands.]
You'll put me down though, right?
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Think I've gotta get over you running back to Kavinsky before that happens.
[ He looks up at Tate, just briefly, watching him put his beer away. He quickly drops his eyes back now. ]
Things are fucked up between us. We're talking, right now, but somehow there's still this hole in my chest because of how badly I miss you. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you? Die for you, kill for you. That kind of devotion, that's... that's what you're supposed to have for someone, when there's... love, there. When you're pack.
[ Or - love between you and your home. Derek did the same for Beacon Hills. Killed for it. Tried to die for it, more than once, though that was less because of a grand sacrifice and more because he was tired. Tate's food is getting prepared and all it has to do now is cook, so Derek doesn't have a reason to keep his back to Tate anymore. Reluctantly, he turns back around. ]
But I'm scared that that's all one sided. I don't believe some of the things you've said to me, I don't... know if you even think of me, when we're not in the same room together. I'm really, really confused about us, and I just... I mean, how am I supposed to give you all my loyalty if I can't even give you a spare magical house key? It's insane. This all feels insane.
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Then he scoffs, humorlessly, wetness coming from his eyes being rubbed off on his knuckles. He's turned from the first response of being startled at the confrontation to now just being offended. One sided? One sided? Tate looks at Derek, eyes narrowed.]
I don't know what you want from me. I promised you no lies. I've told you how much... how much I missed you. I come to you first with my problems and - isn't that being pack? And you still... you're telling me you don't trust me. You don't want me around. You want so much from me but you're telling me it's not enough at the same time. How am I supposed to trust you'll ever really want me? How am I supposed to feel like you - like this place is safety if I...
[He sniffs, rubbing at his eyes again. He shakes his head.]
Nevermind. It's fine. I don't give a shit. And I'm not hungry, so.
[Fuck you and your pasta. He cracks open the beer can instead, taking a long swig.]
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At the very least, he feels like Tate not knowing what he wants from him is - a real place to start. Derek's eyes are kind of stinging, but he's gonna blame that on the steam. ]
I just want to trust you again. I don't know how to force that. If I could, I would.
[ He shrugs with one shoulder, pinching the bridge of his nose. ]
You're right, though. I've been asking too much of you. I've just been trying to figure all of this out, but - shit, I'm sorry. If you're saying this can't be fixed, or - or that you don't trust me either, then - I don't really know what to do to make all of this right.
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[If Derek's going to tell him he doesn't know if he can trust Tate, why shouldn't he say the same in response? He wants to trust Derek. He just also wants to be trusted. That's the downfall of being self-centered, after all. Everything has to be about you, and when it's not, you feel displaced. Tate looks at Derek, while tipping back his beer to drink more of it in a few gulps. He then wipes his mouth off on his sleeve.]
I'm also not saying it can't be fixed. I'm - I'm just tired. And I don't want to get into this again. Can we work through this later?
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... Yeah.
[ Tate's food is done, and Derek doesn't really know what to do with it, now. He strains the pasta, fucks with the sauce, does everything he needs to do, and he dishes up a plate full of food. He... puts it down in front of Tate, but he knows it probably won't go anywhere. ]
Still want you to spend the night here, if that's... the call you want to make. Just - promise me you'll try to eat something.
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You better not give me food poisoning.
[He's still not eating, but - he's closer to it than before.]
You gonna eat too?
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No. That, uh - that was my dinner, actually.
[ All he really had left, and he's giving it to Tate. Derek shrugs. ]
I'm fine, though. More worried about you than I am about me.
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[He says, already decided. He stabs his fork into the pasta, takes his sweet time setting up a bite. He feels oddly watched in the process, so he glances at Derek through his bangs before he takes said bite, chewing quietly. If Derek thinks he's going to protest to this plan, Tate'll stub that out with a quick addition of:]
Pack's about meeting half way sometimes. Suck my dick if you don't agree.
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I want to take care of you, though.
[ Tate's the one who's hurting right now. Derek is, too, but - Derek didn't go to Tate for help the way Tate did for him. He narrows his eyes, looks back. ]
You - know that, right? Putting aside all of this bullshit between us right now, you - you know that's the bottom line for me, don't you? Making you happy, and... loving you, and... all of that. That's still... what I want.
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[Tate speaks between bites, his head tucked forward but gaze lifted up; he holds his fork away from his plate as he speaks, but then resumes taking another bite of pasta soon after that. Shit could use a little cheese but, well, he's not complaining. He uses his fork to split the pile of pasta down the middle, working it into halves so he can leave some behind for Derek.]
... But I want to let you take care of me too. I'm just... not used to it. I like it, but it's new.
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Well - get used to it. I don't want this to feel new. I want this to be - normal, for you.
[ Whatever, though, he's - done. Derek stands a little straighter, leaves all the worrying about his and Tate's relationship behind him. He walks around Tate, stands behind him, and he just - roughs Tate's hair the fuck up, all affectionate and annoying, laughing a little when it reaches the point that it's probably pissing Tate off. He's not being unkind, just... a little obnoxious. ]
I'm not eating that, by the way. [ the pasta that Tate's so diligently dividing. ] Changed my mind. You can meet me halfway on something else. Not on this. I want that plate spotless by the time you're done with it.
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[Spotless plates and never taking helpings you don't plan on finishing - he's not too sharp with it but after pawing at Derek's hand to get him to stop shitting around with his hair, he's miffed just enough to huff that out. He's only going to eat a half, if that, and Derek can suck his dick if he doesn't like it. He combs back some of his hair from his eyes, then sighs.]
... Can you help me out with something after? I need to cut my hair.
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[ Or anything else like that. Derek's gonna stay pretty stern about this, for at least another five or six seconds. Tate's asking for his help, and Derek doesn't want to just cave and stop talking about what they're talking about, but.
Whatever. He leans on the counter by Tate, giving him his attention. The request makes him frown a little, looking at Tate's curls for a second, then back down to his eyes. ]
I... can help you. But - I mean - I like your hair like this. It's...
[ It's... well, Derek doesn't end up saying whatever he thinks of Tate's hair. He just trails off, looks away. Looks back. Looks at the pasta. ]
If I cut your hair, and if I don't make you finish all this - will you promise to let me make you something the next time you get hungry?
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[Tate agrees quietly, resisting the urge to give another shrug. He eats a few more bites, watching Derek with inquisitive dark eyes before pulling on one of his curls to straighten it out - when tugged, it's much longer than it looks. He lets it snap back up into place.]
I wouldn't mind eating dinner here a few times a week. Or in the treehouse. I'm not really good at making things myself, so it'd be... cool, I guess.
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