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[needlebomb]

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[confiscated]

[It always comes back to the bare truth - Tate, like Marcus, isn't normal. He never was, never will be. There were times he tried, back when he was younger, eager for his mother's praise and her approval. But it was always skimmed short and he became resentful of having to put himself in a condensed little box, fighting tooth and nail to appear a certain way only to still not get any recognition. So he stopped trying, he stopped being whatever he thought his mother wanted and yet it still burns a hole in his chest to know he'll never be right even if he doesn't want to be.

Tate will always be the quiet boy in the library, who reads books over lunch and on his free breaks. He'll be the kid who sat at the far end of the field on summer days after school, hunched over books and a sketchbook. He's the kid who obsesses over a girl and watches her sleep because he's so desperate to make something out of the potential between them. He's a kid who cracked at the seams, who went down in gunfire and spite. He's a kid who killed just to set the world on fire and he'll never, ever be someone normal.

He rubs his hand across his nose and stays silent for a long few beats. Marcus gives good points, truthful ones, and Tate still sees Kavinsky as a valuable source. Someone who showed him attention, but who's drifted away like a lot of people. Tate fucked even that up, it seems. But at least he's got what he has now - stability, with Derek.]

That's why it's good to find people who like you for you, right? I don't know. Maybe I'm just fucked up from growing up in a shitty place. Doesn't matter what did the damage, it's there. No erasing the marks.

[Well, this is. Despairing and depressing again. Tate lolls his head back and closes his eyes.]

Things might not be the same for you. You've got me around, remember?

[needlebomb]

[ The marks - yeah, Marcus has a few of those. He's subconsciously tugging the sleeve of his blazer down over his wrist while Tate talks, made uncomfortable by the concept of people liking him for him but too desperate for that to be his reality to say how he really feels. Every friend he's ever had has only liked him for what he could provide - to Chester, Marcus was an unwilling ear who could listen to the horrible, deviant bullshit he was into, a way to waste time in the boy's home. To Saya, he was the key to her good grades - to Maria, the key to fucking up Chico. To Billy, to Willie, to fucking Lex, to fucking Petra, he was this kid with a rep willing to kill for them or compliment their taste in music or share the weed and the drinks and the powders and the pills he smuggled into the dry, synthetic wasteland of King's Dominion. All those loves felt a lot more real when his friends were around to reaffirm them.

People don't like him for him. Marcus isn't going to get that from Tate, who clearly sees him as a responsible employee and a stand-in he can project onto and act like a hero for to make up for some of the shit Tate himself saw when he first arrived. Marcus is a cynical, pessimistic, weak, needy, selfish piece of shit, and he's starting to regret being here for Tate, listening to him, giving him a shoulder to lean on. They're getting too open. He's gonna scare him off. He's gotta reign this in. ]

Yeah - maybe.

[ He offers Tate a smile, weak and final, wrapping up this conversation now before it gets any worse. In record time, he rushes through his food, polishes off his drink and then gets to his feet, wiping his hands on the thighs of his pants and scooping up a package from the bed at random. If he seems curt and sudden at all, well - that's on purpose. ]

I should probably get ready for my first delivery. Don't wanna be late.

[confiscated]

Right. Have fun.

[Tate blinks back from the moment, shifting away to get up and move across the room to where some of his belongings are still strung. He nods his head to Marcus as he gets his own together and loiters for a moment, going to wash his face in the bathroom. He'll wait in there until Marcus has gone, and he too will be gone by the time Marcus returns - if he does - to the hotel room.

He makes a mental note to check in when he can, but not to be overbearing with it. The room'll be rented and he debates extending it, but decides to figure that out later. He's got an empty treehouse to return to, some weed to smoke and a stretch of restful and depressing sleep ahead of him.]