themilkoviches-deactivated20191:

“I don’t know why I always get picked to be the designated driver,” Boyd gripes from the front seat, thumbs tapping out an angry beat against the steering wheel.

Beside him, Erica giggles, leaning over and smacking a loud kiss to his cheek. “Because the last time you got drunk you spent three hours yelling at us about presidential assassination conspiracy theories.”

Everyone laughs, loudly, except Scott and Kira - when Stiles glances back, he can see Scott’s head dipped into her shoulder, eyes closed, Kira smiling softly and running her fingers through his hair - and Isaac, who, on Scott’s other side, is in the middle of another round of Angry Birds on his phone, undoubtedly.

And Boyd. Boyd huffs and pulls to a stop, glancing in the rearview mirror, catching eyes with him. “Get out of the goddamn car.”

Which would be a lot more threatening if they weren’t, like, right in front of his dorm.

Stiles smirks and claps him on the shoulder, sliding open the door of the Toyota that Boyd had definitely ‘borrowed’ from Derek, and hopping out. He’s about to slam it closed when a hand shoots out, long fingers wrapping around the edge of the door, and Allison leans forward.

“I left my sociology book in your room.”

She half-smiles and slips out onto the grass with him. From inside the van, Lydia worms her way over, red eyebrows drawing together in a moment of concern.

“Want me to come with? Walk you back to the dorm?”

It’d be a lot more appealing of an offer if Lydia’s eyes weren’t already drooping shut, her body swaying a little left to right.

Stiles smirks and slings an arm around Allison’s waist. “Lyds, I’m offended! I’m a gentleman! I’ll take care of the lady, no worries.”

Lydia just rolls her eyes and slams the door in his face, and that’s about what he expected. The car pulls away from the sidewalk, and Stiles lets his arm fall back to his side.

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