[Tate dips into the fridge, pulling out two beers and setting them down on the counter. While he rummages around for the opener they have in one of these fucking drawers, he looks back up at Michael when he asks about his cat and flicks his gaze over to Cobain. He pops the lids off neatly while he replies, dropping them into an open mason jar to keep for later.]
Cobain. Cat Cobain?
[He's not sure if the joke flies, but the lilt in his voice might make it obvious that there's more to it. He heads back toward Michael in the living room, holding one bottle out by the neck as he tips back his to take a long sip. It's the shit Derek brought home and it's not exactly what he likes, but Derek'd be right in expecting that Tate's much happier with it.]
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Cobain. Cat Cobain?
[He's not sure if the joke flies, but the lilt in his voice might make it obvious that there's more to it. He heads back toward Michael in the living room, holding one bottle out by the neck as he tips back his to take a long sip. It's the shit Derek brought home and it's not exactly what he likes, but Derek'd be right in expecting that Tate's much happier with it.]
Here.