[ Lassie. A dog joke? Derek arches his eyebrows, and the smile he's wearing comes a little broader, teeth white and as sharp and as wolfish as the rest of him. "Lassie". Lassie? This is the smile of a man who is genuinely offended and trying not to show it, though a smile can't hide the twitch in his hands or the way he presses his biceps forward to try and look bigger. "Lassie". Go fuck yourself, Reginald.

Intimidation tactics are needed, he decides, less because he wants to actually make Reggie feel unsafe and more because Laaaaaassie. Derek takes another long breath, lets loose another slow exhale. He flicks his wrist and Wolverines out - what were once flat, human fingernails are now sharp, almost blackened claws, tipped with jagged and serrated edges designed to maim and mangle. He picks at some dirt beneath one of them, tries to act casual. Tries to pretend he didn't just essentially pull out a knife. Ten knives. ]

I remember being your age. There was this girl - she didn't like me. I was this... loud, obnoxious piece of shit, always playing basketball in the halls while she was trying to practice cello. Always telling me to go away, always shooting me down when I asked why.

[ He rolls his shoulders and leans back a little, kicking out his feet and resting his hands in Reggie's sheets. Getting comfortable. This is his bed now. ]

I just know how much rejection sucks. If I hadn't liked her so much, I probably would have keyed her car. I would have at least called her something shitty behind her back.

[ like "lassie". this piece of shit. derek's still dwelling. ]