[It's a cool night out in the woods, with the sun having gone down and the sky a stretch of indigo streaking black overhead. The stars are out, twinkling like little dots of snow over black velvet. Tate's got his backpack on and a bundle under his arm when he approaches the site of the tree house in making, looking up the rickety temporary ladder before ascending to the stabilized platform they've created as the basis for the house itself. No walls yet, no more than the scent of pine and sawdust - it's nice, nonetheless, to sit on as he does when he reaches the top.
He rolls out the sleeping bag he brought with him, and sets his bag next to him. Pulls out a six pack of beer and a brown paper bag full of greasy food. The burger's a bit cold but you take what you can get (literally,) when you're a thieving ghost who'd rather not bicker about permission just to get a late night snack. He eats it with one hand, using his phone with the other.]
[ His relationship with Tate has been... difficult, recently. It's been difficult since the start, when it was laden with panic attacks, violence and breakdowns in storage sheds - but Derek doesn't see it that way. Doesn't remember how it felt, when he didn't trust Tate. He sees the dip they're in now, with Tate mourning Violet and being contracted under someone else's thumb, as a dip in normalcy. An outlier. Like things between them are usually so much smoother. Kinder.
So when Tate invites him out, Derek feels pretty good. Feels like they're getting back on track. There's that kneejerk, worried reaction that always comes when Tate's in the woods this late - what if something's wrong, what if LIES gets the wrong idea and assumes he's living with Derek uncontracted, what if X, what if Y, what if Z - but that just pushes him to go out and see him. He heads out, locks the den up behind him even though Stiles probably could have done it himself, texting as he goes. ]
yeah, gonna hang around up on the platform for a bit u hungry?
[He swiped an order that's a few burgers more than he'll eat himself, though he looks down into the bag with a mild look between texts as if trying to determine what's on the burgers and if it's suitable for canine digestion. Whatever, he can pick it apart like a picky dog if he wants to. Tate eats a few fries and lets his legs hang over the edge of the platform, sneakers kicking back and forth. He sits forward to look down, as if he'll be able to pick any shapes out down on the ground.]
[ Well... he figured Tate was asking if he had anything to eat and was about to take a detour back to the den, but the second he steps into the woods, he thinks he can distantly smell the fact that Tate's got it covered. So. ]
Yeah. How did you get burgers? Didn't think anyone around here would sell to you. Actually, shit, don't tell me.
[ Theft or a favour from a dom. Not his business either way. ]
how do you know its burgers jesus christ ur nose that good?
[If his ears can compare, he can probably hear Tate laugh lightly from up in the trees, sitting on his platform peering down. His own ears, nose and eyes aren't as great. Everything looks black tinged with blue, shapes he can't make out and a still silence save for the sound of rustling leaves up in the treetops. He hears an owl, but that's it.]
[ He hears the laugh, and no, he's not going to get mad over some stolen fries. Tate's in a good mood, and that's - such a relief, after everything. He keeps walking, some of the moonlight fading in and out as the trees get taller and a little closer together. It doesn't take long before he's at the base of the treehouse, looking up at the bottom of Tate's shoes. It's habit, more than anything, that made him stalk through the woods completely, completely silently, like he's hiding his steps from a hunter. It's dickheadedness that has him kicking the tree Tate's chilling in to try and startle him. ]
[Tate's voice trails down, a head of golden curls peeking over the edge as he eats a few more fries and gestures vaguely with his hand. It doesn't mean much, mostly because he's not of the habit of thinking people could see it in crystal woof-clarity. It means come up here, at any rate, and he kicks the hanging ladder with his toe before pulling his feet back on the platform and waiting for Derek to ascend.
When he does, he'll see Tate cracking open a beer and taking a sip. In front of him are the paper bags, deflated by the weight of laid out burgers and fries. Not quite hot but far from cold and disgusting. Tate then tears open a salt packet with his teeth, sprinkling it over the fries like a meme he has no idea exists yet.]
Dinner's on someone who is probably very mad and very hungry.
[ But. Derek's not criticising. After climbing the ladder two rickety rungs at a time (because, you know, he's manly,) he does a few stress tests of the platform, something that he's, uh... done unreasonably often, actually. It's like every chance he gets, he's gotta put his feet in the corners or bounce on his heels to see if the whole thing will hold. It will. It's sturdy as fuck and surprisingly well-made. But. Gotta be sure.
He drops down, hanging his legs over the side, and... it's nice, up here. Derek slaps around behind him for a beer of his own. ]
[Tate makes a face that clearly states how he feels about that mysterious stranger, who probably got their order remade easily enough. He watches Derek pace around and do his little stress tests, and crosses his legs as he continues to eat his burger while sitting near the edge with Derek when he joins him. He likes being able to lean and look over the edge, and flicks a loose piece of lettuce off into the night with a small smile. The kind of pleased smile a kid has at something very, very cool.]
I got some stuff for you, to give back.
[He speaks between bites, chewing on what's in his mouth before setting his half of a burger back down on the greasy papers. He uses a napkin to clean his hands, before reaching for his backpack. He freezes for a second, staring at his sleeve - the sleeve of Derek's jacket - before returning to animation to pull out a bundle of clothes. The borrowed sweatpants.]
The henley I still got. I was hoping you'd, y'know, not miss it? And...
[He starts shrugging off the jacket, leaving him in a hoodie and t-shirt that are still warm from the kept in body heat. He offers the leather jacket back to him after throwing the sweats at him if he doesn't take them back soon enough.]
Week's a week. But like I said, I don't do laundry, either. So...
[ Derek disapproves more of the littering than the theft, and he frowns as the lettuce swirls off into the dark and out of sight. Granted, he's not going to actually say anything - how could he? He looks at Tate and Tate's just... smiling, and it's such a nice sight after everything with Violet. Derek's chest feels warm, and that frown dissolves. They might not be pack officially, but they're close enough to it for Derek to be proud of him.
But god, the joy in that pride pales in comparison to having his jacket back.
He's just - glowing, when Tate hands it back to him, threading his arms through each respective sleeve as he feels at home. He's annoyed about the henley, but not enough to demand it back, and the sweats - well - the sweats are complicated. Derek's... not going to go into why, even if Tate asks, but he hesitates in taking them back long enough for Tate to get impatient and throw them at him. Stiffly, he nods, folds them up, leaving them in the corner to take home later. To wash. ]
Thanks.
[ He stretches his arms in front of him, then up over his head, and just - relaxes. He picks up the beer he'd been grabbing at before Tate interrupted him, then cracks off the top with his teeth. ]
I was actually trying to buy you one of your own a couple days back. A jacket, I mean. But.
[ He shrugs. Takes a sip. Swings his leg in the moonlight, just a little, barely even an inch. ]
Some bitch stole the one I wanted, so I got mad and left.
[Tate's attention is snagged like a fish on a hook, and he leans forward - snapping his eyes to Derek all wide and dark, reflecting bits of moonlight. He misses the feeling of his jacket, rubbing his hand over his arm and holding on to his elbow now that it's gone. The scent of leather, the faint reminiscence of Derek, it's gone. Sitting now across from him, still so close and yet so far. He feels like he wants to move closer. He does so by picking up a burger, offering it to Derek.]
[ Derek didn't really think he was hungry before coming up here, but the burgers do smell good. He takes one in hand, sinking his teeth into it. Not as hot as it could be, but. Fine. ]
You need your own. So we can match. It's - you know. Solidarity? Shows we're pack.
[ Sounds stupid, saying it out loud. Worse, it sounds like he's conscripting Tate to a fucking gang, but. He takes another drink just so he doesn't have to keep talking. ]
[Tate smiles when Derek takes the burger, nudging more of the food aside to make room for him to edge forward in. He's staring at Derek with the expectancy of a dog, he realizes, but he can't help the giddy little feeling in his chest he gets from being around him. If he had a fucking tail it'd probably be wagging right now.]
I'm gonna say up here tonight, if that's okay? I wanna sleep under the stars.
If it's not cool enough, you'd probably just fucking steal mine again.
[ So. Yes. He's going to get a cool one. Derek takes another bite of his burger while Tate asks to sleep over, but before he gets a chance to answer, he's just - pulling a face. He opens the burger up and moves out all the onions into the wrapper, looking lightly disgusted while he talks. ]
Yeah. Doesn't smell like it's going to rain or anything, so. Should be okay.
[ He pays more attention once the onions are gone, looking up. ]
And - you don't have to ask? This thing is yours. That's the whole point.
Edited (WHY AM I LIKE THIS) 2019-05-06 04:58 (UTC)
[He says, though clearly perhaps - he didn't think that was true, but he'll now operate under the assumption it is. He's free to come here any time he likes? He was already doing that but he just has confirmation from Derek that it's cool. Tate still likes telling him, though, even through the backwards way of asking permission. So he knows he's out here, or whatever.
With a sip of his beer, Tate ignores his burger left aside and creeps a bit closer. Facing Derek at a weird angle, directly looking at his profile and watching him eat. Onions are bad, huh? Maybe should've figured. Won't make that mistake again.]
But I was seguing into asking if you'd stay too. If you wanted. I get it if you can't, but...
[His brows twitch and, distantly he flicks back to something unrelated.]
You were really gonna get me a jacket? Nobody's done shit like that for me before. You've done so much shit for me, Derek. Can't really wrap my head around it sometimes.
[ This wouldn't be the first night he's spent away from Stiles since moving to the den, and... it does kind of suck every time it happens, but it's gonna suck a little less if he gets to spend more time with his pack. He probably won't get any sleep, because he's just a little bit too removed from what he's used to to be able to feel safe, but. Nobody sleeps during sleepovers.
Derek nods, indicating he's cool with staying. He chews down another mouthful of food, and he fires off a text to Stiles, telling him he'll be back in the morning while ostensibly adding something about how if his insomnia or his dreams get too bad, he'll go back. He takes a sip of his beer, and he's still on his phone as he answers Tate, voice low and soft and casual. ]
You're - I don't know - important. I want to do right by you. I want to... be someone who does right by you.
[ Derek slips his phone into his pocket, looking at Tate a little more directly. ]
You can always tell me to fuck off, if I'm getting too close, or... being too demanding. I try not to make you uncomfortable, but.
[ He makes clawing motions with his hands, which is kind of difficult to do with a bottle in one and a burger in the other. He just - means that he's a werewolf. He still feels fucking awful about the hotel. ]
[Close, demanding, where Tate feels like there's this presence looming over him that's half suffocating and half revitalizing. Tate doesn't see the world other people see it - that much is clear with how he reacts to the smallest things like they're the largest, and vice versa. He has a hard time perceiving emotions when they're not as bold as they can be so he goes to these extremes to be certain of what he has. A suffocating bond is at least a definable bond. A definable love.
He smiles.]
It's just nice. To have someone who feels that way about me... makes it a two way street, y'know?
[Tate takes another swig of beer, tipping up his chin to look at the sky while he does it.]
I'll tell you to back off if I need it. But... also, use your discretion? Sometimes I need you to say no to me saying no. Someone to keep me in check.
[ Makes it a two way street. Derek laughs, a little too loud in the black of the night, but - only because he's shy. He scratches his cheek, stops looking at Tate, and he polishes off his burger, scrunching up the onion-riddled wrapper and throwing it to the other end of the platform. He takes another drink, then puts that down too, wiping his mouth clean. ]
Shut up.
[ But he nudges Tate in the side, vying for his attention. ]
I will. And - just - know that I always have your best interests at heart? I might fuck up sometimes, but your happiness and wellbeing is always going to be my bottom line.
[Nudged, Tate nudges back and and works on finishing off his can of beer. It'll take a few swigs yet, but he's determined - chugging it before slapping at Derek's bicep in a playful mood. He hopes this is what the treehouse becomes - a place to look at the night sky, to dick around and have fun in. A home away from home that promises security but is never, ever lonely.]
Good thing we're doing all this touchy feely shit now, makes it less awkward to share the sleeping bag.
[He curls his lip, smiling as he draws up one knee and shifts how he sits so they're side by side. He leans against his bent leg, the other hanging over the platform edge like Derek's. He holds on to his beer until the can is empty, setting it next to him with the knowledge the remainder of the six pack is only a reach away.]
Hey. If... If you could get drunk, or high - would you want to try? Just if it were possible.
[ Derek snorts, but - he's absolutely not gonna share the sleeping bag. He runs pretty fucking hot. He'd burn alive in there. The Hale fire of 2005 would have nothing on him tonight. ]
I mean - if you'd asked me at sixteen? Yeah. Fuck, I would have killed for the chance. Kind of sucked sneaking out with my friends to just... watch them get wasted.
[ Always just sitting there, pretending to be straight-edge. Maybe that's why he dated Paige, who never so much as drank a beer in her life. Fuck, maybe that's why he dated Kate, who would throw them back like water. Derek runs his hand down the side of his neck, craning it a little when he looks back to Tate. ]
Now, though? That kind of thing, it's... for people who have the time to relax. People drink when they go out with friends, they... smoke weed when they're just trying to waste an afternoon. I can't really... relax... anymore. So.
[ So. Yeah. There's also the issue of losing his bodily autonomy, which fucking terrifies him, but there's still something wistful and unattainable about being a normal 22 year old getting tipsy with his friends. Friends he doesn't even have. Derek kicks his leg through the air again, the mood suddenly feeling more sour. He gestures at himself, looking out over the woods. ]
I mean - look at me. Nobody's exactly dying to invite me to a party.
I'm not saying get wasted, just... maybe feel the good vibes. A gentle buzz? It's not always just... getting fucked up.
[He says this with an aptly timed reach back for the beer, tearing off another and holding it in his lap before he opens it. He can't be a hypocrite so he'll take this one slowly, letting his own buzz settle in like cotton around the back of his head; letting it take the tension out of his shoulders and keep his smile nice and easy on his face.]
But I get it. You have to be the guy who watches out for his pack. You've got to protect your - your people, your places. But if you ever want to try, I think I could figure out a way. That's all.
[It'd take some navigating; getting something from Kavinsky dreamed up without really letting on too much about the reason why. The person who happens to be the reason why. Tate takes another sip of beer, staring off into the woods before giving a soft little shrug. Maybe he should just drop it, for the reasons he's already covered.]
We're pack. So I'd watch your back if you ever wanted that break, 's all.
[ Derek isn't entirely receptive to the idea, really, and he loves Tate, he really does, but - he's not entirely sure he trusts his baseline for a gentle buzz. He shrugs, not committing, lightly running the heel of his palm over his bicep where Tate nudged at it a second ago, and then...
And then Tate calls him pack, and his mood - shifts. Back to good. Back to happy. A smile breaks through, all wide and open. He laughs, again, just because he can't help it. ]
I'm supposed to be the one watching your back.
[ If he were more attentive - and if he let himself think about Kavinsky more than he has to - he'd remember the talk they had at the bar. I could get you drunk, he said. As it is, though, fuck, Kavinsky doesn't even enter his thoughts. He just smiles a little less wide, scratching his cheek. He kinda wants another beer. ]
If... okay. If you promise not to tell Stiles I was getting high in the woods like a fucking teenager, then. Yeah. It'd be...
[ He feels kinda giddy. Kinda like a sixteen year old again. ]
[And just like that, Tate lights up at the idea of maybe. His eyes are wide and expressive, head turning toward Derek with a wicked smile that's as bright as it is happy. Beer only accounts for about 13% of this overjoyment, over all. He nudges Derek in the arm again, and already wants this to be a thing. He needs to make it a thing. When the house up here is set up and they can chill, he can get him something that'll give him a heady buzz. Booze might be best. He can do that. He can make it happen.]
Cool. I'll make that a project, for later.
[He taps his temple, like he's tucking it away for the time being.]
I was thinking about - what you said before. And now, the way we're talking about it here... how things don't affect you? Don't affect wolves. For a long time I couldn't get - well, stay high. Things didn't work on me after I died, not the same way they did before that.
[Hm. He looks away, pensive.]
I think I could get used to that again. It'd suck, but - the rest makes up for it, right?
[ Ah, man, he almost regrets this. Tate's excited and that can't be good. He laughs, though, because it's infectious, swaying away in the direction he's nudged, and - like always, with Tate - any part of him that thinks this might not be the best idea just... bleeds away and dies. There's nothing harmful about a gentle buzz. He'll still be in complete control of himself. He doesn't need to always fucking punish himself, always fucking deprive himself, of things that might make him happy.
He grips the edge of the platform, looking closer at Tate. The more he talks, the faster whatever smile he's wearing just - fades, and his eyes widen as the gears in his head turn and he figures out what Tate's saying. Derek had... honestly assumed the bite was off the table, on some level, so he'd been avoiding mentioning it, but his heartbeat fucking skyrockets, and he grips the wood tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
He nods. Slow, at first, and then -- faster, in quick, shallow jerks. ]
Yeah.
[ He worries at his bottom lip, just a little. ]
Yeah. Yes. The confidence, the strength, the-- the fulfilment, it's-- it's so much. I've seen people be completely remade by the bite. Being bitten, and awakening to something that puts you above yourself, it's-- it's the most intense feeling someone can feel.
[Tate nods back, not as exuberant but still attentive. If he gives himself enough justification he can probably talk himself into believing it too. But as it stands right now, Tate has words as his weapons and telling Derek what he wants to hear? It's what Tate wants, in a misguided way. He wants to be what Derek wants him to be, so telling him all this? Agreeing, laying down the premise of plans... it isn't a lie. It isn't something done strictly out of malice. In this moment he can believe the idea in front of him. In a moment come tomorrow, maybe not so much.
That's just the thing. Tate's lead by feelings, emotions, his own desires first and foremost. And when he's appealing to more than one person simultaneously, those will shift like the current of the ocean. He'll tell Kavinsky everything he wants to hear tomorrow. Derek again the day after that.]
It'll be hard, but I think I'd like that.
[He sips his beer, then runs his tongue over his teeth.]
What else would I be missing out on? Or like, am I going to wanna chew on bones and shoes and shit? What else is there to expect? No more... no more what? Chocolate? What else is bad for do- for wolves?
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He rolls out the sleeping bag he brought with him, and sets his bag next to him. Pulls out a six pack of beer and a brown paper bag full of greasy food. The burger's a bit cold but you take what you can get (literally,) when you're a thieving ghost who'd rather not bicker about permission just to get a late night snack. He eats it with one hand, using his phone with the other.]
the woods.
u around?
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So when Tate invites him out, Derek feels pretty good. Feels like they're getting back on track. There's that kneejerk, worried reaction that always comes when Tate's in the woods this late - what if something's wrong, what if LIES gets the wrong idea and assumes he's living with Derek uncontracted, what if X, what if Y, what if Z - but that just pushes him to go out and see him. He heads out, locks the den up behind him even though Stiles probably could have done it himself, texting as he goes. ]
Coming.
Everything okay?
no subject
up on the platform for a bit
u hungry?
[He swiped an order that's a few burgers more than he'll eat himself, though he looks down into the bag with a mild look between texts as if trying to determine what's on the burgers and if it's suitable for canine digestion. Whatever, he can pick it apart like a picky dog if he wants to. Tate eats a few fries and lets his legs hang over the edge of the platform, sneakers kicking back and forth. He sits forward to look down, as if he'll be able to pick any shapes out down on the ground.]
say yes
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Yeah.
How did you get burgers? Didn't think anyone around here would sell to you.
Actually, shit, don't tell me.
[ Theft or a favour from a dom. Not his business either way. ]
no subject
jesus christ
ur nose that good?
[If his ears can compare, he can probably hear Tate laugh lightly from up in the trees, sitting on his platform peering down. His own ears, nose and eyes aren't as great. Everything looks black tinged with blue, shapes he can't make out and a still silence save for the sound of rustling leaves up in the treetops. He hears an owl, but that's it.]
u gonna get mad over some stolen fries?
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[ He hears the laugh, and no, he's not going to get mad over some stolen fries. Tate's in a good mood, and that's - such a relief, after everything. He keeps walking, some of the moonlight fading in and out as the trees get taller and a little closer together. It doesn't take long before he's at the base of the treehouse, looking up at the bottom of Tate's shoes. It's habit, more than anything, that made him stalk through the woods completely, completely silently, like he's hiding his steps from a hunter. It's dickheadedness that has him kicking the tree Tate's chilling in to try and startle him. ]
Boo.
no subject
[Tate's voice trails down, a head of golden curls peeking over the edge as he eats a few more fries and gestures vaguely with his hand. It doesn't mean much, mostly because he's not of the habit of thinking people could see it in crystal woof-clarity. It means come up here, at any rate, and he kicks the hanging ladder with his toe before pulling his feet back on the platform and waiting for Derek to ascend.
When he does, he'll see Tate cracking open a beer and taking a sip. In front of him are the paper bags, deflated by the weight of laid out burgers and fries. Not quite hot but far from cold and disgusting. Tate then tears open a salt packet with his teeth, sprinkling it over the fries like a meme he has no idea exists yet.]
Dinner's on me. Or, well. You get what I mean.
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[ But. Derek's not criticising. After climbing the ladder two rickety rungs at a time (because, you know, he's manly,) he does a few stress tests of the platform, something that he's, uh... done unreasonably often, actually. It's like every chance he gets, he's gotta put his feet in the corners or bounce on his heels to see if the whole thing will hold. It will. It's sturdy as fuck and surprisingly well-made. But. Gotta be sure.
He drops down, hanging his legs over the side, and... it's nice, up here. Derek slaps around behind him for a beer of his own. ]
Don't let me get drunk enough to fall.
[ ha ha werewolves can't get drunk funny joke. ]
no subject
I got some stuff for you, to give back.
[He speaks between bites, chewing on what's in his mouth before setting his half of a burger back down on the greasy papers. He uses a napkin to clean his hands, before reaching for his backpack. He freezes for a second, staring at his sleeve - the sleeve of Derek's jacket - before returning to animation to pull out a bundle of clothes. The borrowed sweatpants.]
The henley I still got. I was hoping you'd, y'know, not miss it? And...
[He starts shrugging off the jacket, leaving him in a hoodie and t-shirt that are still warm from the kept in body heat. He offers the leather jacket back to him after throwing the sweats at him if he doesn't take them back soon enough.]
Week's a week. But like I said, I don't do laundry, either. So...
[Gesture?]
no subject
But god, the joy in that pride pales in comparison to having his jacket back.
He's just - glowing, when Tate hands it back to him, threading his arms through each respective sleeve as he feels at home. He's annoyed about the henley, but not enough to demand it back, and the sweats - well - the sweats are complicated. Derek's... not going to go into why, even if Tate asks, but he hesitates in taking them back long enough for Tate to get impatient and throw them at him. Stiffly, he nods, folds them up, leaving them in the corner to take home later. To wash. ]
Thanks.
[ He stretches his arms in front of him, then up over his head, and just - relaxes. He picks up the beer he'd been grabbing at before Tate interrupted him, then cracks off the top with his teeth. ]
I was actually trying to buy you one of your own a couple days back. A jacket, I mean. But.
[ He shrugs. Takes a sip. Swings his leg in the moonlight, just a little, barely even an inch. ]
Some bitch stole the one I wanted, so I got mad and left.
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[Tate's attention is snagged like a fish on a hook, and he leans forward - snapping his eyes to Derek all wide and dark, reflecting bits of moonlight. He misses the feeling of his jacket, rubbing his hand over his arm and holding on to his elbow now that it's gone. The scent of leather, the faint reminiscence of Derek, it's gone. Sitting now across from him, still so close and yet so far. He feels like he wants to move closer. He does so by picking up a burger, offering it to Derek.]
You can alllways just give me yours.
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[ Derek didn't really think he was hungry before coming up here, but the burgers do smell good. He takes one in hand, sinking his teeth into it. Not as hot as it could be, but. Fine. ]
You need your own. So we can match. It's - you know. Solidarity? Shows we're pack.
[ Sounds stupid, saying it out loud. Worse, it sounds like he's conscripting Tate to a fucking gang, but. He takes another drink just so he doesn't have to keep talking. ]
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[Tate smiles when Derek takes the burger, nudging more of the food aside to make room for him to edge forward in. He's staring at Derek with the expectancy of a dog, he realizes, but he can't help the giddy little feeling in his chest he gets from being around him. If he had a fucking tail it'd probably be wagging right now.]
I'm gonna say up here tonight, if that's okay? I wanna sleep under the stars.
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[ So. Yes. He's going to get a cool one. Derek takes another bite of his burger while Tate asks to sleep over, but before he gets a chance to answer, he's just - pulling a face. He opens the burger up and moves out all the onions into the wrapper, looking lightly disgusted while he talks. ]
Yeah. Doesn't smell like it's going to rain or anything, so. Should be okay.
[ He pays more attention once the onions are gone, looking up. ]
And - you don't have to ask? This thing is yours. That's the whole point.
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[He says, though clearly perhaps - he didn't think that was true, but he'll now operate under the assumption it is. He's free to come here any time he likes? He was already doing that but he just has confirmation from Derek that it's cool. Tate still likes telling him, though, even through the backwards way of asking permission. So he knows he's out here, or whatever.
With a sip of his beer, Tate ignores his burger left aside and creeps a bit closer. Facing Derek at a weird angle, directly looking at his profile and watching him eat. Onions are bad, huh? Maybe should've figured. Won't make that mistake again.]
But I was seguing into asking if you'd stay too. If you wanted. I get it if you can't, but...
[His brows twitch and, distantly he flicks back to something unrelated.]
You were really gonna get me a jacket? Nobody's done shit like that for me before. You've done so much shit for me, Derek. Can't really wrap my head around it sometimes.
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Derek nods, indicating he's cool with staying. He chews down another mouthful of food, and he fires off a text to Stiles, telling him he'll be back in the morning while ostensibly adding something about how if his insomnia or his dreams get too bad, he'll go back. He takes a sip of his beer, and he's still on his phone as he answers Tate, voice low and soft and casual. ]
You're - I don't know - important. I want to do right by you. I want to... be someone who does right by you.
[ Derek slips his phone into his pocket, looking at Tate a little more directly. ]
You can always tell me to fuck off, if I'm getting too close, or... being too demanding. I try not to make you uncomfortable, but.
[ He makes clawing motions with his hands, which is kind of difficult to do with a bottle in one and a burger in the other. He just - means that he's a werewolf. He still feels fucking awful about the hotel. ]
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[Close, demanding, where Tate feels like there's this presence looming over him that's half suffocating and half revitalizing. Tate doesn't see the world other people see it - that much is clear with how he reacts to the smallest things like they're the largest, and vice versa. He has a hard time perceiving emotions when they're not as bold as they can be so he goes to these extremes to be certain of what he has. A suffocating bond is at least a definable bond. A definable love.
He smiles.]
It's just nice. To have someone who feels that way about me... makes it a two way street, y'know?
[Tate takes another swig of beer, tipping up his chin to look at the sky while he does it.]
I'll tell you to back off if I need it. But... also, use your discretion? Sometimes I need you to say no to me saying no. Someone to keep me in check.
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Shut up.
[ But he nudges Tate in the side, vying for his attention. ]
I will. And - just - know that I always have your best interests at heart? I might fuck up sometimes, but your happiness and wellbeing is always going to be my bottom line.
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Good thing we're doing all this touchy feely shit now, makes it less awkward to share the sleeping bag.
[He curls his lip, smiling as he draws up one knee and shifts how he sits so they're side by side. He leans against his bent leg, the other hanging over the platform edge like Derek's. He holds on to his beer until the can is empty, setting it next to him with the knowledge the remainder of the six pack is only a reach away.]
Hey. If... If you could get drunk, or high - would you want to try? Just if it were possible.
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I mean - if you'd asked me at sixteen? Yeah. Fuck, I would have killed for the chance. Kind of sucked sneaking out with my friends to just... watch them get wasted.
[ Always just sitting there, pretending to be straight-edge. Maybe that's why he dated Paige, who never so much as drank a beer in her life. Fuck, maybe that's why he dated Kate, who would throw them back like water. Derek runs his hand down the side of his neck, craning it a little when he looks back to Tate. ]
Now, though? That kind of thing, it's... for people who have the time to relax. People drink when they go out with friends, they... smoke weed when they're just trying to waste an afternoon. I can't really... relax... anymore. So.
[ So. Yeah. There's also the issue of losing his bodily autonomy, which fucking terrifies him, but there's still something wistful and unattainable about being a normal 22 year old getting tipsy with his friends. Friends he doesn't even have. Derek kicks his leg through the air again, the mood suddenly feeling more sour. He gestures at himself, looking out over the woods. ]
I mean - look at me. Nobody's exactly dying to invite me to a party.
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[He says this with an aptly timed reach back for the beer, tearing off another and holding it in his lap before he opens it. He can't be a hypocrite so he'll take this one slowly, letting his own buzz settle in like cotton around the back of his head; letting it take the tension out of his shoulders and keep his smile nice and easy on his face.]
But I get it. You have to be the guy who watches out for his pack. You've got to protect your - your people, your places. But if you ever want to try, I think I could figure out a way. That's all.
[It'd take some navigating; getting something from Kavinsky dreamed up without really letting on too much about the reason why. The person who happens to be the reason why. Tate takes another sip of beer, staring off into the woods before giving a soft little shrug. Maybe he should just drop it, for the reasons he's already covered.]
We're pack. So I'd watch your back if you ever wanted that break, 's all.
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And then Tate calls him pack, and his mood - shifts. Back to good. Back to happy. A smile breaks through, all wide and open. He laughs, again, just because he can't help it. ]
I'm supposed to be the one watching your back.
[ If he were more attentive - and if he let himself think about Kavinsky more than he has to - he'd remember the talk they had at the bar. I could get you drunk, he said. As it is, though, fuck, Kavinsky doesn't even enter his thoughts. He just smiles a little less wide, scratching his cheek. He kinda wants another beer. ]
If... okay. If you promise not to tell Stiles I was getting high in the woods like a fucking teenager, then. Yeah. It'd be...
[ He feels kinda giddy. Kinda like a sixteen year old again. ]
It'd be - fun. Maybe. Maybe.
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Cool. I'll make that a project, for later.
[He taps his temple, like he's tucking it away for the time being.]
I was thinking about - what you said before. And now, the way we're talking about it here... how things don't affect you? Don't affect wolves. For a long time I couldn't get - well, stay high. Things didn't work on me after I died, not the same way they did before that.
[Hm. He looks away, pensive.]
I think I could get used to that again. It'd suck, but - the rest makes up for it, right?
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He grips the edge of the platform, looking closer at Tate. The more he talks, the faster whatever smile he's wearing just - fades, and his eyes widen as the gears in his head turn and he figures out what Tate's saying. Derek had... honestly assumed the bite was off the table, on some level, so he'd been avoiding mentioning it, but his heartbeat fucking skyrockets, and he grips the wood tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
He nods. Slow, at first, and then -- faster, in quick, shallow jerks. ]
Yeah.
[ He worries at his bottom lip, just a little. ]
Yeah. Yes. The confidence, the strength, the-- the fulfilment, it's-- it's so much. I've seen people be completely remade by the bite. Being bitten, and awakening to something that puts you above yourself, it's-- it's the most intense feeling someone can feel.
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[Tate nods back, not as exuberant but still attentive. If he gives himself enough justification he can probably talk himself into believing it too. But as it stands right now, Tate has words as his weapons and telling Derek what he wants to hear? It's what Tate wants, in a misguided way. He wants to be what Derek wants him to be, so telling him all this? Agreeing, laying down the premise of plans... it isn't a lie. It isn't something done strictly out of malice. In this moment he can believe the idea in front of him. In a moment come tomorrow, maybe not so much.
That's just the thing. Tate's lead by feelings, emotions, his own desires first and foremost. And when he's appealing to more than one person simultaneously, those will shift like the current of the ocean. He'll tell Kavinsky everything he wants to hear tomorrow. Derek again the day after that.]
It'll be hard, but I think I'd like that.
[He sips his beer, then runs his tongue over his teeth.]
What else would I be missing out on? Or like, am I going to wanna chew on bones and shoes and shit? What else is there to expect? No more... no more what? Chocolate? What else is bad for do- for wolves?
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