[ Oh, shit, he made the dog panic. There's a flare of guilt in his chest that he quickly stifles by reminding himself what he's here for, but-- honestly, Moose's fear is more of a deterrent than anything Reggie could do to get him to leave. He'd rather deal with being called Lassie while choking down another few hundred accusations of stalking than freak that poor angel out. Sorry, Moose. It'll be over soon.

Derek still looks pretty intimidating, smiling down at his claws as he grips the bed a little tighter and starts to gently, gently tear a line through Reggie's sheets with all the ease of a fish through water... but man. He feels like such a dick. Why'd you have to have a dog, bro. ]

This is about Tate Langdon.

[ Derek gets to his feet, arms back across his chest, drumming his fingers one at a time over his bicep. he watches Reggie for a reaction, wanting to see what he might provoke with the namedrop - but he keeps talking, eyes sharp. ]

Getting turned down can piss a guy off. I get it. It's rough out there. And - I mean, to be turned down by Tate? Skinny, raggedy Tate. Always has his nose in a book, always looks like he's had too much weed. That must be such a blow - sorry - for a star athlete like you. I mean - you drive multiple cars. Does he not get how important that makes you?

[ So important, he mouths, trying as hard as he can not to roll his eyes. Derek shifts his weight to his other foot, still attempting to look relaxed, at ease, alert. ] I just hope your ego isn't too fragile for you to rise above it. I'm tired of busting people's kneecaps, man.