[The relief still feels stagnant in his chest, like he expected it to get better. To expand and take over the cold shards of ice that are still inside him. But it doesn't, it stays the same, and it's probably for the better. He just nods his head, hanging it low and tugs his sleeves down over his hands. He wanted to talk about so many other things that they can't now, because anything could be a mine. He'll have to talk to Stiles, maybe. He wonders if he could ask him his opinion on this - situation, too.
They'll surely talk. Will he talk about Tate? Stiles is already someone who feels like... he's smarter than Tate in a few very important ways. And that he can't be fooled or won over like most people. If he loses his trust, he loses it. And Derek's too, by proxy. He needs Stiles. Needs him if he wants to keep Derek.]
I want - you to be able to trust me. That's all I want. Is your...
[This part wasn't planned. He stammers, surprising himself.]
[ Tate... stammers, and there are some very real feelings behind what he says, but Derek doesn't know how to react. There's a second, just briefly, where Derek looks at him with completely unguarded emotion. He's sad, he's lost, and maybe he's even a little bit helpless. He had all these hopes for Tate, for what they could be for each other. He had the early sparks of genuine, honest love for him, and now it feels damaged and fractured and weak. He feels like he doesn't know who Tate is, anymore. Feels like losing family, or at least the potential for it. He should be used to that by now.
But Tate signed a contract with his drug dealer, and Tate put himself under the control of someone who either didn't care that he was dying or else actively helped it happen, and Derek doesn't say you're going to have to work hard to get my approval after this bullshit, but he does slowly shake his head, looking off to the side. That alone makes it clear. ]
Look - I'm burned out. We can talk more about your rebellion idea another time, if you still want to. I need...
[ Stiles. Derek scratches his eyebrow with his thumbnail, shaking his head again, looking down and away. ]
[Tate didn't get to cover what he wanted to cover and Derek wants to go again. This time he can't hold him back, can't make him stay, he just has to unclench his hand from its tight grip against his jeans and nod. He needs to let him go because that way, he might come back. If you try to take away the autonomy, it doesn't work. He knows this. But it's still a fierce fucking impulse.]
Okay. Can we... talk later?
[Too soon? His gaze skirts away, but returns in a slow circle.]
[ Derek quickly shakes his head, and he realizes that looks like a solid, point-blank rejection, but that's not what he means. Just - next week is far, and as angry as Derek might be right now, he's not going to let someone as self-destructive and prone to anxiety as Tate dwell over this and worry about what their relationship is going to be like for an entire fucking week. ]
Tomorrow. If you want.
[ Derek starts getting to his feet, and his hands are trembling a little, so he balls them into fists and pulls down the sleeves of his jacket, covering his wrists and his hands up to his knuckles. This was a lot of emotion for one fucking day. ]
Just - not tonight. Tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest. It's the full moon. I need...
[ To fuck Stiles within an inch of his life to try and work out his energy and calm the fuck down, honestly. To collapse in the woods and howl at the moon, or some shit. ]
[Tate watches every little response, ready to read into it as rejection so predictably that he looks so damn relieved when Derek reassures him the day after is fine. He needs time away from Tate but he leaves the door open and Tate nods, looking almost too satisfied with that. Like in the snap of Derek's fingers, Tate's happy again beneath the mask of tears and blotchy faced sadness.]
Okay. I'll... I'll talk to you later then.
[Derek brings up the full moon and rather than leave it just at that, Tate looks back up at him with a softer look. He doesn't know what it means other than the few things he's gathered, but he can extrapolate from there. This was supposed to be the day he decided whether or not to be bit. It's a big day. Important. Dangerous?]
[ Would it be petty, Derek wonders, if he said you too. If he responded to Tate's genuine display of concern with something sarcastic and biting about how Tate needs to stay safe, too, under this stupid fucking idiotic decision he's living his life by. For a second, he looks at Tate like he... genuinely wants to say something. Genuinely wants to take a shot.
Ultimately, he says nothing. He just - needs time away. Needs to burn himself out, through running and anger and physicality instead of-- fucking-- drugs. He looks at Tate, bites his tongue, and...
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[The relief still feels stagnant in his chest, like he expected it to get better. To expand and take over the cold shards of ice that are still inside him. But it doesn't, it stays the same, and it's probably for the better. He just nods his head, hanging it low and tugs his sleeves down over his hands. He wanted to talk about so many other things that they can't now, because anything could be a mine. He'll have to talk to Stiles, maybe. He wonders if he could ask him his opinion on this - situation, too.
They'll surely talk. Will he talk about Tate? Stiles is already someone who feels like... he's smarter than Tate in a few very important ways. And that he can't be fooled or won over like most people. If he loses his trust, he loses it. And Derek's too, by proxy. He needs Stiles. Needs him if he wants to keep Derek.]
I want - you to be able to trust me. That's all I want. Is your...
[This part wasn't planned. He stammers, surprising himself.]
Your approval.
no subject
But Tate signed a contract with his drug dealer, and Tate put himself under the control of someone who either didn't care that he was dying or else actively helped it happen, and Derek doesn't say you're going to have to work hard to get my approval after this bullshit, but he does slowly shake his head, looking off to the side. That alone makes it clear. ]
Look - I'm burned out. We can talk more about your rebellion idea another time, if you still want to. I need...
[ Stiles. Derek scratches his eyebrow with his thumbnail, shaking his head again, looking down and away. ]
I need to go.
no subject
Okay. Can we... talk later?
[Too soon? His gaze skirts away, but returns in a slow circle.]
Next week, even? Just to talk. Or hang out.
no subject
Tomorrow. If you want.
[ Derek starts getting to his feet, and his hands are trembling a little, so he balls them into fists and pulls down the sleeves of his jacket, covering his wrists and his hands up to his knuckles. This was a lot of emotion for one fucking day. ]
Just - not tonight. Tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest. It's the full moon. I need...
[ To fuck Stiles within an inch of his life to try and work out his energy and calm the fuck down, honestly. To collapse in the woods and howl at the moon, or some shit. ]
I just need a day.
no subject
Okay. I'll... I'll talk to you later then.
[Derek brings up the full moon and rather than leave it just at that, Tate looks back up at him with a softer look. He doesn't know what it means other than the few things he's gathered, but he can extrapolate from there. This was supposed to be the day he decided whether or not to be bit. It's a big day. Important. Dangerous?]
Be... be safe, okay?
no subject
Ultimately, he says nothing. He just - needs time away. Needs to burn himself out, through running and anger and physicality instead of-- fucking-- drugs. He looks at Tate, bites his tongue, and...
Then he's gone. ]