[ The last thing Derek wants to do is invade Tate's privacy, but - this is going to be his first time delving into someone else's mind, and by using his own claws instead of relying on Talia's as a set of safety wheels, he's not going to have the control he might need to find already corrupted memories in Tate's head. He's made the promise, though, and after curling his hand against Tate's chest, he nods, standing and stepping back. ]
Alright. This is going to hurt, but - I've got you.
[ He moves until he's standing behind Tate, reaching over the back of the sofa to grip him by the shoulders, gently squeezing in an attempt to get him relaxed. Derek wets his lips and follows the curve of Tate's spine, beating down all the worries trying to convince him that this is a bad idea. Too deep and Tate could end up a wolf - too imprecise and he could end up paralyzed or dead. Again. Derek's stomach twists. ]
[He's not ready - he's still caught up in the whirlwind in his head that even after Derek moves, it's not until he's squeezing his shoulders that he really realized where he went. Tate is hunched forward just a bit and tries to correct, leaning back against the support of Derek's hands before slanting forward again on second thought. His heart flickers in its beat and he turns to look over his shoulder, vaguely present but also - rightly apprehensive.]
Do I need to do anything? Should I- do anything?
[Close his eyes. Take off his shirt? Hold his breath or count to twenty?]
[ Derek's grip on Tate is still affectionate and reassuring, but the hold on his shoulder gets tighter, once he's worked up the guts to go through with this. He darts his tongue between his lips and takes a quick breath to steady himself, and - and he considers preparing Tate more concretely about what's to come, but the faster this starts, the sooner it'll be finished.
Claws extend from Derek's right hand, and Tate feels the sharp, violent pain of four sharp nails pressed in a vertical line against the tip of his spine. Derek holds Tate steady, exhibiting more force than he'd like just to hold him still, and he shuts his eyes, searching for the images and shapes and sights haunting Tate. ]
[Tate murmurs something of an 'okay' but aside from feeling Derek's grip tighten he's woefully unprepared for the feeling of his claws gliding into the back of his neck. It's like a jolt and Tate lets out a softly strangled noise, back rigid and his lips parting in a silent gasp as all breath in his lungs is extinguished in the quickest of moments.]
Sh-Shit.
[He scrunches his eyes closed and grits his teeth, trying to focus on the memories in question as if it might help Derek find them somehow.]
[ The pain from Derek's claws doesn't last long, which surprises even him - he presses against the right nerves and forges the right connection, and despite a strong sense of physical discomfort, Tate, if anything, would more likely just feel exposed. There's the overwhelming sense of Derek's presence covering every part of him, enveloping him in every thought and feeling that makes Derek Derek, and it feels like now, more than ever, Derek can really see him.
Derek's head is a mess, with Tate's thoughts infiltrating his own. His eyes stay clenched shut as he searches through flashes of memories too fragmented and minor to understand, but he pushes through the noise in his mind until, with Tate's help, he focuses on the day the boat arrived. He sees Noah, briefly, he sees cabin walls and smells the spray of the sea, but his mind warps and changes until he sees the eldritch, horrible visions that crawled into Tate's head while he was drowning. Derek doesn't flinch, but he nearly does - which would have been enough to make this disastrous.
He takes the memories away. One by one, Tate just - forgets the horrible shit he saw. There's a faceless woman, an endless expanse of space, and one second they're there, and the next, they're not. It takes a few minutes of careful navigation, but before long, anything Tate saw while he was drowning is just - gone. ]
[Tate doesn't know how to properly describe this moment, and that's strange considering all that he's been through - including a merry amount of deaths. But he tries to keep himself focused, to fish through the mess in his head for the haunting images that blur and move before his eyes but fail to escape him in words. He almost relives the moment of suffocating on jet black water, and flashes of other memories come in through association. Fading in and out of consciousness with drugs in his system. Choking on a mouthful of blood as a room full of SWAT warily watch him fall.
He panics and thinks of something else in the half-heartbeat his mind skipped to that, realizing he can't remember what the other memories were. They're gone, like a dream he stirred from - they aren't recorded anywhere in recent memory. He opens his eyes, looking up, feeling oddly... strange about that. Did he make the right decision?]
[ Tate feels it all. The slight flare of panic from Derek when Tate stirs into clearer consciousness, the urge to tell him to wait flooding through Derek's brain as an electric impulse, the muscle memory that forges the w and the a and the i and the t through lips and tongue and teeth. They're still connected, intimately so, and Derek tells Tate to stay still before carefully, carefully taking his claws from his neck.
Tate's blood drips on the floor and Derek doesn't seem to mind the mess. He retracts his claws, exhales softly and walks around to the front of the couch, dizzy and unsteady on his feet. He stands over Tate, though, face to face, one arm folded over the other, and he tilts his chin up before he speaks, completely disconnected. ]
[Derek's looming over Tate as he pinches together his brows, feeling a bit heady but unsure - clarity is quick to return to him and he looks up at Derek with wider brown eyes than usual. He's softer around the edges, a little more present now that he can stop fixating on what he couldn't see, share or control. He's more alive but still a bit dead around the edges, gray circles under his eyes as he reaches back to touch his fingers to his neck and brings them back wet with red.
He stares at the blood on his fingertips, not all that concerned either. The wound will heal in ten minute's time but Tate's just searching again for the memories that were taken from him. He shakes his head, dismissing the notion that Derek hurt him. It hurt, yes, but it was for the best.]
[ It's not until Tate's talking again that Derek starts seeing through the fog that's clouding up his mind. I didn't hurt you, did I, he asked, only now having the delayed realization that that was a pretty stupid question to ask - Derek can smell Tate's blood in the air, he can see the red stain on both of their hands. He winces, guilty, looking down at his fingers before wiping blood off on his shirt. ]
It's-- fine.
[ If Tate says he feels better, then - fine. Derek's struggling to sort through the images in his head, but they're fading, image by image. Derek finishes cleaning off his hand before it hits him at once that he fucking hates the sight of Tate's blood on his shirt, so he pulls it off over his head and leaves it on the ground, wandering towards the laundry to find a replacement. ]
You're still spending the night here. I don't want you going back to the treehouse.
[There's no fight in Tate against that, not when he's still feeling like his head is churning itself inside out - only now without the images that once accompanied the sway-like feeling resonating through him like he was still awash in the tide. He rubs his hand up and over the bones of his wrist, curling one finger against his forearm to scratch up toward his elbow and back again in an idle tic.]
... Are they just going to be in your head now? Forever?
[A question that bubbles out of him after he looks up, not sure how he feels. Still happier not to have them in his own head, but Derek's continued burdening of himself leaves Tate feeling like he's not able to keep the balance. He should be protecting Derek too, or at the very least not continuing to prove how weak he is by needing assistance every five steps.]
[ Derek wanders out before too long, dressed again, his hands hidden away in the cotton of his thumbhole sweater. He notices the tic, before he notices the strain in Tate's voice, and Derek wants pretty badly to lie to him. It's physically possible for Derek to get rid of these thoughts, but - he won't. He never does. Someone needs to remember things like this. That someone has always been Derek. ]
Yeah.
[ He drifts back over to Tate, running a hand back through blond curls, idly playing with Tate's hair without really thinking much of the action. ]
I knew that when I offered to help you, though. Don't want you feeling bad over that.
[Tate murmurs the fact aloud, leaning in toward Derek's palm not unlike the three legged cat that roams around them half the time. He stares off for a moment into the distance, eyes unfocused, before he blinks back into himself and the present. He tilts his head to look up at Derek, reaching up with two fingers to snag the front of his clean shirt and give it a little tug right at the hem. Right over his dick.]
[ If Derek thought doing a lot for Tate was a bad thing, they never would have gotten this far. He still looks pretty worn, even with everything relatively settled back into focus now, so when Tate tugs at his sweater, Derek knows what he's after. He smiles, soft and easygoing, rocking forward on the balls of his feet, and then just slowly drops his hand to grab the back of Tate's. ]
Maybe. I still need to talk to you about something, remember?
[ Anything else can come - after. Later. If at all. He gets the feeling Tate's gonna get upset, again. ]
[Tate's fingers unhook, slow and deliberate, ghosting down the front of Derek's thigh as he lets 'maybe' sit at the forefront of his mind and feels curbed away from what he wanted with minor annoyance. He chews on his lower lip before looking back up, dark eyes intent in how they study Derek's face - waiting for the next cue on how to act. What to say. What to do.]
[ It's funny - Derek kind of forgot the weird, oppressive feeling of dread that came over him every time he had to talk about Stiles to Tate. He had to work to keep the two of them separate, seeing as Stiles always seemed to trigger some of Tate's anxiety attacks, and he's still not entirely sure why things always played out that way. Derek's remembering that feeling now, though. His chest's all tight. ]
Stiles is back.
[ Derek lets that hang in the air for a second before-- clarifying, in case he needs to. ]
He's been here for a couple of weeks. Doesn't remember being here before. Thought you should know, because... things always felt complicated between you two, I guess.
[Tate feels a pulse of something run through him and he hates how that might be noticeable, hopefully brushed off as surprise with the way his eyes widen a fraction before Derek lets him put his worry to rest by telling him that Stiles doesn't remember. That Stiles won't hold anything he once told him against him, tip toeing around sensitive subjects by lying and feeling like the only person who had nearly called him on his bullshit isn't actually back to do it again. He swallows hard, breathing in deep before exhaling slowly and really craving a smoke.]
Oh.
[There's a lot to process there and maybe it's a good thing that Derek can sense the way Tate twitches, the way he scratches at his arm again idly - because it might be perceived as the jealousy it in part truly is. Someone Derek cares about is back and Tate is just so quickly becoming agitated by the notion of having to share the attention he's receiving.]
[ Derek must be happy, right? That's the sentiment that's been swirling around in his head for a while now - he must be glad to see Stiles' face again. And he is, of course he is, there's no doubt about it, but - "happy", in some long-term, identifying kind of way? He doesn't know about that. Derek just watches Tate in silence before very subtly shaking his head, like there's something almost taboo about being honest, here. ]
I'm not. I don't think I am, at least.
[ Derek's noticing the nervousness in Tate, though it's nothing he thinks he should bring attention to. The jealousy, the fear, the anxiety - Derek kind of expected it all. ]
But - whatever. We don't need to talk about it. I just wanted you to know.
[Tate can sense that the topic is about to slip away and if he doesn't ask now, he might not get the chance to. The chance to get Derek to elaborate on what he's saying, because it raises goosebumps over Tate's skin with a tingle of surprise in his gut. He's not happy? That's promising, to Tate, selfish as he is. If he can breed more of that doubt, he wants to so that his claws never leave Derek's flesh.
He needs the reassurance. It's what drives him to wet his lips and speak:]
It won't change... anything, will it? For us. How we've been living and... our contract, and all that.
[ It's not that Derek's uncomfortable with talking about this, exactly, but there's a lot to think about here that makes him feel as if he has his back to the wall. His shoulders are tense, and he's ready to walk on eggshells here if he needs to, but after all this time, Tate deserves honesty when he seeks it out. Derek can't just shut down because he's scared of saying the wrong thing, or - looking too vulnerable to the people he cares about, or anything. They've known each other for too long, for that. ]
Not unless you want it to. You're in charge, legally speaking.
[ That's a non-answer, and Derek seems to realize that, because he shrugs one very tense shoulder and quickly takes another stab at it. ]
I don't want to change anything. He might stay here for a while, but - that's just to get him out of the dorms. He's a Sub again, so.
[Tate chews on the inside of his cheek, biting down hard enough to leave grooves in his lip before fiddling again with his sleeve and the way his nails can rake against his skin. He could abuse his power to keep Derek from interacting with Stiles, sure, but that wouldn't do anything for him. He is mildly relieved to hear that Stiles is a fellow sub and that on some level, anything he and Derek do together might get them in trouble.]
You were close. He doesn't remember that, but you do. Is that what you want again?
[ Loaded question. Despite how long they've been together, and despite Derek's decision, like, three seconds ago to include Tate in this conversation, now that he's being asked to have a heart to heart with a seventeen year old about his love life, he just feels stupid. That's been at the core of a lot of what he's been feeling, lately. ]
I don't know. It's been a long time.
[ Which, again, Derek realizes isn't an answer. He leans back, bounces his foot against the floor a little, then pushes forward. ]
Right now - no. It's...
[ Derek's clearly trying to get past some kind of mental block that's making this hard to talk about, but he eventually just sighs, seemingly dismissing the whole thing out of hand. Talking about Stiles to Tate always felt kind of taboo, and this is giving him the same anxiety he would've had a couple of years back. He shoots Tate a side-eye, trying to get a quick read of his feelings. ]
Do you really want a play-by-play of how I'm feeling? Not exactly going to be a fun conversation.
I just want to know if you still want to have a relationship with him the way you did before. I know you care for him a lot, even if he doesn't remember it. But I do know that that might change things for us.
[Tate can't bring himself to say 'I know you love him' so he doesn't even try. He drops his gaze and tries not to feel annoyed by the prickly feeling that always arose when he was around Stiles too long. It was like he could see through every aspect of Tate's facade without even trying. He was too smart, too dangerous. Tate doesn't want him here again, not in between them. Not as a rival.]
But if that's what you want, I can take a few steps back. Or something.
[ Derek has this guilty, nagging feeling in the back of his mind, listening to Tate talk. He's always thought of himself as more of a mentor or a protector of Tate than something more romantic, but Duplicity goes out of its way to blur lines and heighten ambiguity. Maybe he's said things he shouldn't have, here and there, and maybe Tate's done the same - maybe he should've been more responsible in how he handled things between them, if it would have kept Tate from feeling like his relationship with Derek might impact his relationship with Stiles. It wouldn't. Or, fuck, christ, maybe it would. Derek doesn't know.
What he does know, though, is that Tate's jumping ahead a little too much, here. Derek just - dismisses this, idle and quick. ]
I haven't been thinking about dating him again. He's had a lot going on, and frankly, so have I.
[ With Stiles dealing with shit from home and trying to settle in, Derek's mostly just been navigating minefields trying to keep Stiles' past time here a secret - he hasn't allowed himself to wonder if he wants to pursue a relationship with Stiles again, but it's a daunting idea, given that they'd have to build so much up from scratch. He's not sure he has the guts. ]
I actually feel kind of stupid, actually. I spent a year waiting for him to come back - and now that he's here and doesn't remember me, it's just... I feel embarrassed for pining for so long. I don't know.
[ A pause. Derek looks at Tate, cautiously trying to gauge his reaction. He doesn't know if he wants Tate to agree with him on what he's about to say or not. ]
I feel like I've been kind of pathetic. I mean - I've kept half of what he owned exactly where he left it before he went home. I've got an entire guest room locked off because he kept all his research in there, and I didn't want to disturb it. I mean, for fuck's sake, I barely even sleep in my own bed, because that's where he used to sleep, and it feels... just...
[ Hard. Sad. It doesn't matter, so Derek trails off. Derek doesn't sound particularly sad while he's talking about all this, only frustrated, maybe a bit embarrassed. What was the point of caring so much and worrying so much if Stiles was just going to forget him? Feels like the world played him for a chump. Again. ]
I think I know what it's like. Only Violet's never come back.
[Tate held off on giving up hope, and to this day he still thinks about her time to time. What he'd do if she did show up again, a thought stirred up recently by his discussions with Harley. The same could be said for Sabrina or Peter, though Tate's fixations on other people have really been what's carried him by without losing his shit over losing those people. He's been able to jump person to person, finding someone new to obsess over. Finding Derek to be an anchor he's the most focused on now, hearing things about Stiles that make him feel a bit cold inside.
The way Derek talks about roped off rooms and not sleeping in the bed they once shared, though? It makes Tate feel like he's been challenged to taint those lingering ideas, to paint himself over where Stiles once sat so that Derek can see him instead. He's happy to hear Derek's not quick to jump back into pursuing Stiles. Tate, a jealous little gremlin, is already trying to think of how to keep that from happening by his own hand.]
It took some time but I moved on. Letting go was really hard though, but... would it be the same otherwise? I think I'd be disappointed if she came back and forgot everything we had. Rebuilding it would feel fake.
[He shrugs, mild expression given as he glances up to Derek's face to try and read his response.]
I was so lucky when you came back. You remembered me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Alright. This is going to hurt, but - I've got you.
[ He moves until he's standing behind Tate, reaching over the back of the sofa to grip him by the shoulders, gently squeezing in an attempt to get him relaxed. Derek wets his lips and follows the curve of Tate's spine, beating down all the worries trying to convince him that this is a bad idea. Too deep and Tate could end up a wolf - too imprecise and he could end up paralyzed or dead. Again. Derek's stomach twists. ]
You ready?
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Do I need to do anything? Should I- do anything?
[Close his eyes. Take off his shirt? Hold his breath or count to twenty?]
Don't count down or anything. Just do it.
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[ Derek's grip on Tate is still affectionate and reassuring, but the hold on his shoulder gets tighter, once he's worked up the guts to go through with this. He darts his tongue between his lips and takes a quick breath to steady himself, and - and he considers preparing Tate more concretely about what's to come, but the faster this starts, the sooner it'll be finished.
Claws extend from Derek's right hand, and Tate feels the sharp, violent pain of four sharp nails pressed in a vertical line against the tip of his spine. Derek holds Tate steady, exhibiting more force than he'd like just to hold him still, and he shuts his eyes, searching for the images and shapes and sights haunting Tate. ]
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Sh-Shit.
[He scrunches his eyes closed and grits his teeth, trying to focus on the memories in question as if it might help Derek find them somehow.]
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Derek's head is a mess, with Tate's thoughts infiltrating his own. His eyes stay clenched shut as he searches through flashes of memories too fragmented and minor to understand, but he pushes through the noise in his mind until, with Tate's help, he focuses on the day the boat arrived. He sees Noah, briefly, he sees cabin walls and smells the spray of the sea, but his mind warps and changes until he sees the eldritch, horrible visions that crawled into Tate's head while he was drowning. Derek doesn't flinch, but he nearly does - which would have been enough to make this disastrous.
He takes the memories away. One by one, Tate just - forgets the horrible shit he saw. There's a faceless woman, an endless expanse of space, and one second they're there, and the next, they're not. It takes a few minutes of careful navigation, but before long, anything Tate saw while he was drowning is just - gone. ]
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He panics and thinks of something else in the half-heartbeat his mind skipped to that, realizing he can't remember what the other memories were. They're gone, like a dream he stirred from - they aren't recorded anywhere in recent memory. He opens his eyes, looking up, feeling oddly... strange about that. Did he make the right decision?]
D-Derek?
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[ Tate feels it all. The slight flare of panic from Derek when Tate stirs into clearer consciousness, the urge to tell him to wait flooding through Derek's brain as an electric impulse, the muscle memory that forges the w and the a and the i and the t through lips and tongue and teeth. They're still connected, intimately so, and Derek tells Tate to stay still before carefully, carefully taking his claws from his neck.
Tate's blood drips on the floor and Derek doesn't seem to mind the mess. He retracts his claws, exhales softly and walks around to the front of the couch, dizzy and unsteady on his feet. He stands over Tate, though, face to face, one arm folded over the other, and he tilts his chin up before he speaks, completely disconnected. ]
Was that okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?
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[Derek's looming over Tate as he pinches together his brows, feeling a bit heady but unsure - clarity is quick to return to him and he looks up at Derek with wider brown eyes than usual. He's softer around the edges, a little more present now that he can stop fixating on what he couldn't see, share or control. He's more alive but still a bit dead around the edges, gray circles under his eyes as he reaches back to touch his fingers to his neck and brings them back wet with red.
He stares at the blood on his fingertips, not all that concerned either. The wound will heal in ten minute's time but Tate's just searching again for the memories that were taken from him. He shakes his head, dismissing the notion that Derek hurt him. It hurt, yes, but it was for the best.]
I feel better. Because of you.
[He looks up again.]
Thank you.
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It's-- fine.
[ If Tate says he feels better, then - fine. Derek's struggling to sort through the images in his head, but they're fading, image by image. Derek finishes cleaning off his hand before it hits him at once that he fucking hates the sight of Tate's blood on his shirt, so he pulls it off over his head and leaves it on the ground, wandering towards the laundry to find a replacement. ]
You're still spending the night here. I don't want you going back to the treehouse.
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[There's no fight in Tate against that, not when he's still feeling like his head is churning itself inside out - only now without the images that once accompanied the sway-like feeling resonating through him like he was still awash in the tide. He rubs his hand up and over the bones of his wrist, curling one finger against his forearm to scratch up toward his elbow and back again in an idle tic.]
... Are they just going to be in your head now? Forever?
[A question that bubbles out of him after he looks up, not sure how he feels. Still happier not to have them in his own head, but Derek's continued burdening of himself leaves Tate feeling like he's not able to keep the balance. He should be protecting Derek too, or at the very least not continuing to prove how weak he is by needing assistance every five steps.]
no subject
Yeah.
[ He drifts back over to Tate, running a hand back through blond curls, idly playing with Tate's hair without really thinking much of the action. ]
I knew that when I offered to help you, though. Don't want you feeling bad over that.
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[Tate murmurs the fact aloud, leaning in toward Derek's palm not unlike the three legged cat that roams around them half the time. He stares off for a moment into the distance, eyes unfocused, before he blinks back into himself and the present. He tilts his head to look up at Derek, reaching up with two fingers to snag the front of his clean shirt and give it a little tug right at the hem. Right over his dick.]
Will you do one more thing for me?
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Maybe. I still need to talk to you about something, remember?
[ Anything else can come - after. Later. If at all. He gets the feeling Tate's gonna get upset, again. ]
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[Tate's fingers unhook, slow and deliberate, ghosting down the front of Derek's thigh as he lets 'maybe' sit at the forefront of his mind and feels curbed away from what he wanted with minor annoyance. He chews on his lower lip before looking back up, dark eyes intent in how they study Derek's face - waiting for the next cue on how to act. What to say. What to do.]
What is it?
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Stiles is back.
[ Derek lets that hang in the air for a second before-- clarifying, in case he needs to. ]
He's been here for a couple of weeks. Doesn't remember being here before. Thought you should know, because... things always felt complicated between you two, I guess.
no subject
Oh.
[There's a lot to process there and maybe it's a good thing that Derek can sense the way Tate twitches, the way he scratches at his arm again idly - because it might be perceived as the jealousy it in part truly is. Someone Derek cares about is back and Tate is just so quickly becoming agitated by the notion of having to share the attention he's receiving.]
You must be happy.
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I'm not. I don't think I am, at least.
[ Derek's noticing the nervousness in Tate, though it's nothing he thinks he should bring attention to. The jealousy, the fear, the anxiety - Derek kind of expected it all. ]
But - whatever. We don't need to talk about it. I just wanted you to know.
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[Tate can sense that the topic is about to slip away and if he doesn't ask now, he might not get the chance to. The chance to get Derek to elaborate on what he's saying, because it raises goosebumps over Tate's skin with a tingle of surprise in his gut. He's not happy? That's promising, to Tate, selfish as he is. If he can breed more of that doubt, he wants to so that his claws never leave Derek's flesh.
He needs the reassurance. It's what drives him to wet his lips and speak:]
It won't change... anything, will it? For us. How we've been living and... our contract, and all that.
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Not unless you want it to. You're in charge, legally speaking.
[ That's a non-answer, and Derek seems to realize that, because he shrugs one very tense shoulder and quickly takes another stab at it. ]
I don't want to change anything. He might stay here for a while, but - that's just to get him out of the dorms. He's a Sub again, so.
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[Tate chews on the inside of his cheek, biting down hard enough to leave grooves in his lip before fiddling again with his sleeve and the way his nails can rake against his skin. He could abuse his power to keep Derek from interacting with Stiles, sure, but that wouldn't do anything for him. He is mildly relieved to hear that Stiles is a fellow sub and that on some level, anything he and Derek do together might get them in trouble.]
You were close. He doesn't remember that, but you do. Is that what you want again?
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I don't know. It's been a long time.
[ Which, again, Derek realizes isn't an answer. He leans back, bounces his foot against the floor a little, then pushes forward. ]
Right now - no. It's...
[ Derek's clearly trying to get past some kind of mental block that's making this hard to talk about, but he eventually just sighs, seemingly dismissing the whole thing out of hand. Talking about Stiles to Tate always felt kind of taboo, and this is giving him the same anxiety he would've had a couple of years back. He shoots Tate a side-eye, trying to get a quick read of his feelings. ]
Do you really want a play-by-play of how I'm feeling? Not exactly going to be a fun conversation.
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[Tate can't bring himself to say 'I know you love him' so he doesn't even try. He drops his gaze and tries not to feel annoyed by the prickly feeling that always arose when he was around Stiles too long. It was like he could see through every aspect of Tate's facade without even trying. He was too smart, too dangerous. Tate doesn't want him here again, not in between them. Not as a rival.]
But if that's what you want, I can take a few steps back. Or something.
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What he does know, though, is that Tate's jumping ahead a little too much, here. Derek just - dismisses this, idle and quick. ]
I haven't been thinking about dating him again. He's had a lot going on, and frankly, so have I.
[ With Stiles dealing with shit from home and trying to settle in, Derek's mostly just been navigating minefields trying to keep Stiles' past time here a secret - he hasn't allowed himself to wonder if he wants to pursue a relationship with Stiles again, but it's a daunting idea, given that they'd have to build so much up from scratch. He's not sure he has the guts. ]
I actually feel kind of stupid, actually. I spent a year waiting for him to come back - and now that he's here and doesn't remember me, it's just... I feel embarrassed for pining for so long. I don't know.
[ A pause. Derek looks at Tate, cautiously trying to gauge his reaction. He doesn't know if he wants Tate to agree with him on what he's about to say or not. ]
I feel like I've been kind of pathetic. I mean - I've kept half of what he owned exactly where he left it before he went home. I've got an entire guest room locked off because he kept all his research in there, and I didn't want to disturb it. I mean, for fuck's sake, I barely even sleep in my own bed, because that's where he used to sleep, and it feels... just...
[ Hard. Sad. It doesn't matter, so Derek trails off. Derek doesn't sound particularly sad while he's talking about all this, only frustrated, maybe a bit embarrassed. What was the point of caring so much and worrying so much if Stiles was just going to forget him? Feels like the world played him for a chump. Again. ]
no subject
[Tate held off on giving up hope, and to this day he still thinks about her time to time. What he'd do if she did show up again, a thought stirred up recently by his discussions with Harley. The same could be said for Sabrina or Peter, though Tate's fixations on other people have really been what's carried him by without losing his shit over losing those people. He's been able to jump person to person, finding someone new to obsess over. Finding Derek to be an anchor he's the most focused on now, hearing things about Stiles that make him feel a bit cold inside.
The way Derek talks about roped off rooms and not sleeping in the bed they once shared, though? It makes Tate feel like he's been challenged to taint those lingering ideas, to paint himself over where Stiles once sat so that Derek can see him instead. He's happy to hear Derek's not quick to jump back into pursuing Stiles. Tate, a jealous little gremlin, is already trying to think of how to keep that from happening by his own hand.]
It took some time but I moved on. Letting go was really hard though, but... would it be the same otherwise? I think I'd be disappointed if she came back and forgot everything we had. Rebuilding it would feel fake.
[He shrugs, mild expression given as he glances up to Derek's face to try and read his response.]
I was so lucky when you came back. You remembered me.