[Tate wanders closer, giving Michael a bit of space to do his bit - knowing full well this probably extends past his hired duties and wonders if he should tip him for it. He mulls that over while massaging Cobain's head with two fingers after she bumps her face into his palm while sitting on the back of the couch. Her tail sways side to side and she relaxes, perhaps because Tate's body is now between her and Michael.]

Not really. I used to live in the Falls, but I moved here to be by the beach. My old roommate ported out, too.

[And now that he's dating his new one, it seemed to make more sense to condense officially into one place. But he still struggles to be that open with his relationship, battling negative connotation in his own head that keep him from saying 'boyfriend' without the assurance it'll be a nonissue. Being 'legal' now should make shit easier and yet he still feels like he'd prefer to keep quiet.

He scratches the back of his own neck before walking away from Cobain, who mewls and resumes watching Michael with an observant look that her offspring (who just fell off the couch face first,) lacks. He steps into the kitchen space, casting a glance back over one shoulder.]

Did you want that beer, by the way? We have water and soda, too.