They send me chain e-mails. Like from the 90s. They'll dig them up from old forums and shoot them my way just to clog my inbox when they're mad at me or trying to be "teach me a lesson." [ There's a twist of regret in his chest that he doesn't just lean in to kiss Stiles right there, but Derek decides that he's not going to potentially ruin something when there's a whole evening ahead of them. Teasing him is natural, easy.

Laughing a little as he's pushed at, he takes a step back but doesn't go until Stiles has ducked into the car like it's completely natural. And maybe it is, because he has things of Stiles' everywhere-- the seat's adjusted just for him, the hoodie's there, he has some of his crafts in the trunk space. He's pretty sure he has an Arby's bag under one of the seats somewhere, too, from just an errant night.

Shutting the door, he walks around the front and completely misses Stiles being a little shit. He practically hipchecks his seat and knocks his knee against the wheel. He shoots him a look, trying for annoyed but it just comes across as fondly exasperated, and he jerks his seat back so he can actually slide into it. ]

She'll have made extra, considering how many people are going to show up. [ Unlike how he used to, he doesn't tell Stiles off for putting his feet up on the dash. ]