[If Tate's supposed to feel suddenly connected with Michael over this admission, something went wrong in his wiring - at least, in the visible sense. Sure, the story rings close to home for Tate - astonishingly so, more than he'd ever fathom - but rather than lean forward with an empathetic smile he just sort of lifts a brow and thinks it over. Michael's not the only one with a shitty family background, big fucking deal.

But after a silent moment, Tate's dark eyes flick back to his new 'friend'. He doesn't feel close enough to talk about Constance yet, acting calm and cool about the whole thing. Rather than suffer the idea of having to feign compassion, Tate decides to focus on the few things said that he can actually divert the conversation with. Namely:]

Basically you wanna live your own life. I get that.

[He quirks his brows.]

So that's your list, though? Get drunk, get high and have fun? C'mon, you have to have a few more things on it than that.