[ 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.
[ Derek likes long hair. That's all. Tate pulls on his curls and Derek doesn't let it show on his face, but man, what a waste this is gonna be. Oh well. ]
Okay.
[ A few nights together doesn't mean they're better, and this sure as shit doesn't mean Derek's going to sign Tate's name to the ledger. Tate hasn't done a thing to earn either of those things. It's just - peace of mind, for Derek, knowing that someone he (maybe foolishly) cares about won't spend every fucking night with a needle in his arm, or whatever dumb, desperate shit he does when Derek's out of sight. Feels like he's even more at risk of that kind of thing, now that Peter's gone.
Shit - okay. Derek sighs, pointing his thumb to the bathroom. ]
Finish eating. I'll get my kit. We can cut your hair when you're done. You're gonna want a buzz cut, right? Just - completely bald up there?
[Tate rolls his eyes, but seems - amused. He then gives Derek the finger, while shoveling more pasta into his mouth. After being seated for so long and starting to eat, his hunger's rearing up like an old friend back in town. He eats a little more intensely after that, sipping beer between bites.]
Just a little off the top, okay? I'll kill you if you fuck my hair up.
No, we're doing this my way. Full shave. Gonna start calling you Eminem.
[ Did he have a shaved head? Doesn't matter. Derek leaves Tate alone, gets his shit from the bathroom. Being a werewolf does tend to involve a decent amount of shedding, so like, he's got what he needs to give Tate a fucking trim. He'll wait by the kitchen once he's got his supplies, a little black case filled with scissors and an electric razor with different sized clippers. ]
[Tate's brows pinch together and he shoots Derek a puzzled look, clearly not getting the reference. He lets Derek get to what he gets to - eating pasta a little past the half way mark but then leaving his plate, fork down, and finishing his beer before standing up. He's going to grab another from the fridge, just because the buzz is... nice. He cracks it open.]
Where do you want me? I can sit on the floor in front of the couch.
[ It's fine. Derek checks on Tate's plate, sees that he went over the halfway point, and there's a second or two where he thinks about just straight up asking if he wants to finish it - but he'll just get compared to Constance again, probably, and he doesn't need to be in a sour mood for this. ]
Outside. Balcony. Take a chair.
[ Plate goes straight in the fridge, no cling wrap to cover it, Derek catching the door and keeping it open after Tate gets his beer. The living room opens up directly onto the beach, and that's where they're doing this. Derek points to the door with his chin. ]
[Beer in one hand and a chair from the kitchen in the other, Tate drags it out onto the balcony and slips through the doorway to plant said chair outside. He figures Derek's the one who's going to sit in it so he drops down in front of it, crossing his legs and setting his beer down. The sound and smell of the beach sings to him and Tate looks a little less tense, eyes gravitating outward and getting distracted by the view.]
I love the way the waves come in on days like this.
[ Derek's - not gonna sit in it, man. He joins Tate on the balcony for a second, his own fresh beer in hand, and when he sees Tate on the ground, it takes him a second or two to realize what he's doing. He rolls his eyes, nudges him with his foot, and nods to the chair, probably inadvertently snapping him out of the pull of the ocean while he's at it. Sorry. ]
Dumbass.
[ But he gets what Tate's saying - Derek loves the waves, too. He never made it out to the sea all too often, and now, the waves remind him of... other people, other places. Windex is here, laying down, quizically looking up at Derek and Tate when they join her. Must have followed them back from the woods. ]
... You come to the beach much when you thought I was gone?
[Tate gestures, not making a move to get up - he sips his beer and then rests his can between his crossed legs, in the little alcove of space there. He looks back to the water, then lets his gaze drift to Windex. He stretches out his hand toward her, making a soft noise to see if she'll come closer.]
Yeah. I came here pretty often - the beach, the treehouse. Not... here, not more than once or twice. These are my favorite places... of course I came.
[ He's teasing, obviously. Derek's skin feels pretty itchy, keeping Tate on the floor like this, but if it's what he wants, it's what he wants. He takes his seat, balancing the case full of his shit leaning against one of the chair legs after taking out a particularly hefty pair of scissors. Should be all he needs, really. He used to cut Cora's hair for her all the time - this isn't new territory for him.
Tate says these were his favorite places, and Derek doesn't know what to make of it. Favorite because of him, or favorite because they're just - there? He's... not gonna ask. ]
[Derek sits though, and Tate moves accordingly - leaning back just a little to rest against his legs, more or less between them, and tilts his head back to look up at him with brows raised. Then he squints his eyes.]
Just a trim. You try any funny shit an' I'll get your cat high as fuck on catnip.
[ Windex, Trisk. Neither of them feel like his cats, but technically, they both are, now. Stiles isn't there to look after Windex, and Trisk - well, Trisk has her home in the woods, but he always feels bad when he leaves her, and she always seems to feel bad when he goes. Derek wouldn't mind moving her to the house full time, if Tate would let him.
He gets to work - he's not going to cut Tate's hair as short as he wants it, at first, just because he wants to give him the option to tell him to stop before doing something irreperable. He trims dead ends, marvelling, somewhere, in the back of his mind, how Tate's not really - stagnating, the way he should be as a ghost. He's growing. Aging. Capable of change. ]
Mm. Gotta find you some dog drugs too - you need to have a good time too.
[Not that he's going to ask for any, not from Kavinsky, but - well. Maybe there's dognip somewhere in the world? What's the closest thing to a good time for a dog? Beef jerky? Tate leans back against Derek's legs, feeling kind of reminiscent of the times when he was younger and Constance would do this on their back porch. And when Nora would take over in the basement, when his mother became too drunk to keep up.]
Trisk's a lot happier now that you're back. She was sad for a while. Lost, y'know?
No, I've - been wasted in Duplicity enough. Hasn't ever been fun for me. Don't think you were ever really around for that, though.
[ Wasn't there when Kavinsky drugged him. Certainly wasn't there any other time. Derek used to really want to get drunk or fucked up as a kid, when everyone else in his life could do it and he could only ever watch - but. Hasn't been as positive of an experience as it could've been, losing control of his senses like that.
Tate leans back against him, and Derek doesn't really think anything of it. He's just focusing on cutting his hair, dusting down his shoulders when he needs to. Too bad they don't have one of those stupid black capes. ]
... I'm sure you took care of her. You were always good to those cats. That's probably why they stick around in the woods. They could go anywhere, if they wanted to.
[Tate's spoiled them a fair bit - things got a bit tight while Derek was gone, mostly because he didn't want to go to Kavinsky for help with this half of his life. Selfish as ever, Tate wanted to keep things divided. During the riots he stole and traded to keep their little furbrains alive.]
I like having them. Taking care of them. Wasn't allowed pets at home - not really. Drove my mom nuts having a rat, though.
[ That's - weirdly surprising. Derek laughs, not sure what to make of that, letting go of the scissors for a second to just - look at him. He guesses it makes sense, the more it sits with him. Cute but slightly edgy. Something Constance would consider filthy. More than anything, he's just surprised he trusted his mom not to flush it while he was at school. ]
Cobain probably eats rats, you know. Bound to be a few in the woods.
[ Hm. Derek goes quiet, focusing on the task at hand. He's gentle, as he gets his hand in Tate's curls, but it feels a little different to how it used to when he would do this. He's not stroking Tate's hair, not smoothing curls from his eyes. He's just... careful, like he's barely even there. Last thing he wants to do is hurt the little bastard. ]
... So am I getting you a snake for christmas or a dog? Can't keep changing your mind, man.
[ Surprising people isn't new to Derek, man, but most of the time his surprises come in the form of roaring at people or tearing the doors off their cars or shoving them face-first into lockers. He makes a quiet, thoughtful noise, trying not to give away too much about his holiday plans. Still such a weird line to walk, between wanting to love and spoil the shit out of someone and feeling a very real fear that it's just gonna end up hurting him. He's supposed to be past this. ]
... Okay. Turn around. Face me.
[ He's gotta do the front. Still more to do everywhere else, but - once Tate's turned around, Derek's gonna brush his fingers through Tate's hair a little, getting everything laid out easy for him. ]
Can't believe you're cutting all this off.
[ He's, like, barely done more than a trim, but he's still unhappy. ]
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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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Okay.
[ A few nights together doesn't mean they're better, and this sure as shit doesn't mean Derek's going to sign Tate's name to the ledger. Tate hasn't done a thing to earn either of those things. It's just - peace of mind, for Derek, knowing that someone he (maybe foolishly) cares about won't spend every fucking night with a needle in his arm, or whatever dumb, desperate shit he does when Derek's out of sight. Feels like he's even more at risk of that kind of thing, now that Peter's gone.
Shit - okay. Derek sighs, pointing his thumb to the bathroom. ]
Finish eating. I'll get my kit. We can cut your hair when you're done. You're gonna want a buzz cut, right? Just - completely bald up there?
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[Tate rolls his eyes, but seems - amused. He then gives Derek the finger, while shoveling more pasta into his mouth. After being seated for so long and starting to eat, his hunger's rearing up like an old friend back in town. He eats a little more intensely after that, sipping beer between bites.]
Just a little off the top, okay? I'll kill you if you fuck my hair up.
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[ Did he have a shaved head? Doesn't matter. Derek leaves Tate alone, gets his shit from the bathroom. Being a werewolf does tend to involve a decent amount of shedding, so like, he's got what he needs to give Tate a fucking trim. He'll wait by the kitchen once he's got his supplies, a little black case filled with scissors and an electric razor with different sized clippers. ]
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[Tate's brows pinch together and he shoots Derek a puzzled look, clearly not getting the reference. He lets Derek get to what he gets to - eating pasta a little past the half way mark but then leaving his plate, fork down, and finishing his beer before standing up. He's going to grab another from the fridge, just because the buzz is... nice. He cracks it open.]
Where do you want me? I can sit on the floor in front of the couch.
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[ It's fine. Derek checks on Tate's plate, sees that he went over the halfway point, and there's a second or two where he thinks about just straight up asking if he wants to finish it - but he'll just get compared to Constance again, probably, and he doesn't need to be in a sour mood for this. ]
Outside. Balcony. Take a chair.
[ Plate goes straight in the fridge, no cling wrap to cover it, Derek catching the door and keeping it open after Tate gets his beer. The living room opens up directly onto the beach, and that's where they're doing this. Derek points to the door with his chin. ]
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[Beer in one hand and a chair from the kitchen in the other, Tate drags it out onto the balcony and slips through the doorway to plant said chair outside. He figures Derek's the one who's going to sit in it so he drops down in front of it, crossing his legs and setting his beer down. The sound and smell of the beach sings to him and Tate looks a little less tense, eyes gravitating outward and getting distracted by the view.]
I love the way the waves come in on days like this.
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Dumbass.
[ But he gets what Tate's saying - Derek loves the waves, too. He never made it out to the sea all too often, and now, the waves remind him of... other people, other places. Windex is here, laying down, quizically looking up at Derek and Tate when they join her. Must have followed them back from the woods. ]
... You come to the beach much when you thought I was gone?
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[Tate gestures, not making a move to get up - he sips his beer and then rests his can between his crossed legs, in the little alcove of space there. He looks back to the water, then lets his gaze drift to Windex. He stretches out his hand toward her, making a soft noise to see if she'll come closer.]
Yeah. I came here pretty often - the beach, the treehouse. Not... here, not more than once or twice. These are my favorite places... of course I came.
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[ He's teasing, obviously. Derek's skin feels pretty itchy, keeping Tate on the floor like this, but if it's what he wants, it's what he wants. He takes his seat, balancing the case full of his shit leaning against one of the chair legs after taking out a particularly hefty pair of scissors. Should be all he needs, really. He used to cut Cora's hair for her all the time - this isn't new territory for him.
Tate says these were his favorite places, and Derek doesn't know what to make of it. Favorite because of him, or favorite because they're just - there? He's... not gonna ask. ]
... Sure you don't want a mohawk?
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[Derek sits though, and Tate moves accordingly - leaning back just a little to rest against his legs, more or less between them, and tilts his head back to look up at him with brows raised. Then he squints his eyes.]
Just a trim. You try any funny shit an' I'll get your cat high as fuck on catnip.
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[ Windex, Trisk. Neither of them feel like his cats, but technically, they both are, now. Stiles isn't there to look after Windex, and Trisk - well, Trisk has her home in the woods, but he always feels bad when he leaves her, and she always seems to feel bad when he goes. Derek wouldn't mind moving her to the house full time, if Tate would let him.
He gets to work - he's not going to cut Tate's hair as short as he wants it, at first, just because he wants to give him the option to tell him to stop before doing something irreperable. He trims dead ends, marvelling, somewhere, in the back of his mind, how Tate's not really - stagnating, the way he should be as a ghost. He's growing. Aging. Capable of change. ]
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[Not that he's going to ask for any, not from Kavinsky, but - well. Maybe there's dognip somewhere in the world? What's the closest thing to a good time for a dog? Beef jerky? Tate leans back against Derek's legs, feeling kind of reminiscent of the times when he was younger and Constance would do this on their back porch. And when Nora would take over in the basement, when his mother became too drunk to keep up.]
Trisk's a lot happier now that you're back. She was sad for a while. Lost, y'know?
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[ Wasn't there when Kavinsky drugged him. Certainly wasn't there any other time. Derek used to really want to get drunk or fucked up as a kid, when everyone else in his life could do it and he could only ever watch - but. Hasn't been as positive of an experience as it could've been, losing control of his senses like that.
Tate leans back against him, and Derek doesn't really think anything of it. He's just focusing on cutting his hair, dusting down his shoulders when he needs to. Too bad they don't have one of those stupid black capes. ]
... I'm sure you took care of her. You were always good to those cats. That's probably why they stick around in the woods. They could go anywhere, if they wanted to.
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[Tate's spoiled them a fair bit - things got a bit tight while Derek was gone, mostly because he didn't want to go to Kavinsky for help with this half of his life. Selfish as ever, Tate wanted to keep things divided. During the riots he stole and traded to keep their little furbrains alive.]
I like having them. Taking care of them. Wasn't allowed pets at home - not really. Drove my mom nuts having a rat, though.
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[ That's - weirdly surprising. Derek laughs, not sure what to make of that, letting go of the scissors for a second to just - look at him. He guesses it makes sense, the more it sits with him. Cute but slightly edgy. Something Constance would consider filthy. More than anything, he's just surprised he trusted his mom not to flush it while he was at school. ]
Cobain probably eats rats, you know. Bound to be a few in the woods.
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[He died. He drifts off from that course of conversation to shrug.]
I wanted a snake but that didn't fly. Snakes are cooler.
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... So am I getting you a snake for christmas or a dog? Can't keep changing your mind, man.
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[He doesn't expect either, but he laughs. Just a little.]
Or just one for my birthday, one for Christmas. Come out winning both sides.
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... Okay. Turn around. Face me.
[ He's gotta do the front. Still more to do everywhere else, but - once Tate's turned around, Derek's gonna brush his fingers through Tate's hair a little, getting everything laid out easy for him. ]
Can't believe you're cutting all this off.
[ He's, like, barely done more than a trim, but he's still unhappy. ]
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