“I’ve never been on a real date,” Stiles says morosely, his words just on the edge of slurring together.
Stiles is drunk.
Stiles is drunk and lying down on one of the train car benches, his legs stretched across the aisle and his feet propped up on the seats across from him. He’d for some reason chosen the bench with the wonky leg that had taken a beating during Derek’s pack’s ill-fated first full moon together, and Derek is keeping half an eye out, mentally taking bets on how long before the thing collapses under Stiles’ weight. Not that Stiles is heavy, for all that he’s filled out a bit in the past year Derek thinks that no matter how much Stiles eats or works out he’ll never fit a descriptive beyond slender. But he’s drunk and he’s wiggling about and really there’s only so much a rusted out bench can take.
I wrote fluff earlier because I knew this episode would be a killer.