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As a bartender, Boyd has seen every sort of drunk there is.
You got your classic giggly sways, who drop a hiccupy laugh at the way someone blinks. Boyd likes those ones; they’re unproblematic and kinda adorable.
You’ve got the horny handsy ones, Boyd’s second least favorite, who get - as the term so elegantly puts it - horny and handsy with everyone within a touching radius. He sics Erica and Isaac on those ones because Isaac is a man-whore who flirts aggressively, and Erica has nails that can draw blood with one swipe.
You’ve got the good ol’ angry drunks and the I-can-totally-belt-Celine-Dion-right-now drunks, neither of which are a good combination during Karaoke Night.
And then, of course, there’s Boyd’s least favorite type of drunk.
Weepy.
The ones that imbibe the entirety of one glass and are suddenly full of tears and snot on his bar counter, regaling him with stories of broken hearts, terrible financial decisions, and just plain ol’ stupidity. They’re whiny and annoying, and they use up all his bar tissues and eat his damn peanuts, and Boyd really has to dig in deep to find the patience his mama instilled into him.
Mieczyslaw ("Yes, that’s my real name. No, that’s not a fake ID! Yes, my mother had a terrible sense of humo– dude, my father is literally a cop, and if this were a fake, I would not name myself Mieczyslaw!!") ‘Stiles’ Stilinski, as it turns out, is a weepy drunk.
Not at first, though. At first, Stiles is very much a giggly drunk; something Erica adores. He sways in his seat and snickers, eyes sparkling as he peppers Boyd with inane questions about bar etiquette, and has anyone ever used snail mucin in a drink before (No, Boyd seriously has no fucking idea how they got to that topic), and why the word pilsner is ridiculous.
Two drinks later, Stiles becomes a I-can-totally-belt-Celine-Dion-right-now drunk. Which is fine, because the kid can actually carry a note to save his life, and it’s not the worst singing Boyd has ever heard during Karaoke Night.
But that’s when Boyd cuts him off. A total of three drinks. For the sake of his sanity, and his tissues, Boyd always tries to ensure that the rest of the drinks he plys Stiles with are watered down to the point of just being H2O. And because he kinda likes Stiles (something he’ll only ever admit on pain of death or if Erica withholds sex from him), Boyd never charges him for those “drinks”.
Unfortunately, sometimes it’s a busy night. And while Boyd, Erica and Isaac know better than to give Stiles four drinks, sometimes they mess up and forget to check in.
Which is when they get weepy Stiles Stilinski. And weepy Stiles Stilinski only ever weeps and whines and gripes about one thing.
Derek Hale.
More accurately, Deputy Derek Hale.
Who works for Sheriff Stilinski.
Who is Stiles’s father.
Do ya’ll see the problem here?
No? That’s fine, Boyd didn’t either at first.
But thankfully (and yes, Boyd is emphasizing heavily on the sarcasm here), Stiles extrapolates on the misery that is his life.
You see, Deputy Derek Hale is apparently the greatest thing to ever be created since curly fries (and Stiles loves curly fries). He’s smart, a hard worker, can sass with the best of them, loves niche books about history and old black and white films, adores his family, looks fucking fantastic in khaki, and respects the hell out of Sheriff Stilinski. Not to mention how he also goes grocery shopping for seniors, volunteers at an animal rescue center during his time off, and ensures that the Sheriff watches his diet.
Hell, it makes Boyd kinda attracted to the man.
What? He has a soft spot for kitties, okay?
Unfortunately, Deputy Derek Hale also believes in keeping his work and personal life separate, and since Stiles very much falls under the category of work life by being related to Derek’s boss, their potential love life has no future.
Now, normally, Boyd doesn’t care much about weepy drunks. He’ll ignore them until it’s time to close out their tab or direct Erica towards them because his girlfriend has a mean streak and enjoys making grown men cry.
But they can’t really do it to Stiles. For one, Erica has an inane soft spot for him and would rather coo at the brunette and pet his hair instead of encouraging the crying. And two: Stiles looks downright devastating when he gets weepy. He’s got those big amber doe eyes and glistening cheeks which really should not work on Boyd but stupidly does.
Which is his first mistake.
Actually, second, because his first mistake was to give Stiles his fifth shot of the night, and only realize his error when he went to add it to Stiles’ tab.
“Isaac! Why didn’t you tell me you served Stiles?” Boyd snaps at his friend, watching in horror as those whiskey eyes go all big and glassy.
Isaac flails a hand out to the hectic bar in explanation, and yeah, okay, they’re busy tonight. It’s the end of finals week, and while Boyd’s bar isn’t on campus (he has some sense of self-preservation), they’re still close enough to attract a solid crowd of old regulars, ecstatic college students, and exhausted TA’s.
Growling low to himself, Boyd closes Stiles’ tab and slides a water over to the man, but he knows the damage is done.
He’s proven right when not three seconds later, Stiles lets out a pathetic little sniffle and goes, “Did you know Derek learned to cook so that he could make healthy and delicious meals for my dad? He preps them for a week! Every Sunday! He goes and cooks and he makes sure my dad won’t die.” Another sniffle and then a wail of “Why is he so fucking perfect?” It’s followed up with “Why can’t he love me?”
It’s a lament that earns the full support of the bar, with a few patrons thumping Stiles on the back in solidarity, and a few drunk sorority girls descending upon him to tell Stiles that he’s absolutely wonderful, and he deserves better, and all men are terrible.
Of course, that is the wrong thing to say because it immediately has Stiles waxing poetic about why Derek Hale is utterly perfect.
For forty-five minutes.
Boyd knows that because he timed it.
Fifty-five minutes later, the sorority girls have gone, stumbling off into an Uber, the bar has calmed down a little, and Stiles has finally run out of steam about Derek Hale and is now slumped face down on the bar counter, his hair in disarray and sniffles still audible, and phone in his limp fingers.
Today’s tirade included more lore on the great Derek Hale, like how his green eyes are like ever changing pools of river water, how he has the cutest bunny teeth, and how he needs to stop doing nice things for Stiles every time the TA goes back home for the weekend because it just makes him like the deputy more.
Now’s about the time when Stiles does the responsible thing and calls his best friend and roommate - one Scott McCall who is all uneven jawlines, shaggy hair, and a ridiculous puppy-like disposition for a grown ass man.
Unfortunately, Scott is in the middle of a vet emergency and won’t be able to leave for another hour at best, hence why the criminal justice graduate is now lamenting to the sticky counter about the un-justness of it all. What’s so unjust about having to wait for Scott to come, during which he can make sure Stiles is hydrated, Boyd has no clue, but he simply hums during the appropriate breaks in Stiles’ lamenting and cleans around him.
And then Boyd makes his third mistake of the night - really, he needs to go home and go to sleep - because like an absolute fool, he asks Stiles, “Why not just ask for someone else to take you home?”
Which is when Erica gets that gleam in her eye. The same one she got when she realized Boyd was watching her with just a little too much interest all those years ago. The one she got when she was about to make someone feel very sorry for themselves. The one that has Boyd looking heavenward and praying for patience because some bullshit is about to go down.
Before he can get another word in, Erica is rounding the bar and hightailing it for Stiles, catching the phone before it can fall out of the man’s hands. The lack of object in his palm makes Stiles pout for a second before he refocuses on Erica. The phone is still unlocked from the last call so Erica has no issues swiping away at the screen, something that makes Stiles frown.
“Whatcha doing?” he slurs out with a hiccup, and Erica pauses her swiping to tousle Stiles’ dark hair like he’s a puppy.
“Don’t you worry your pretty lil’ head about it, sweetie. Erica’s going to make life wonderful for you!”
Stiles merely blinks, before his lips wobble and he’s nodding, looking all pathetic and adorable as he tells Erica that she’s the best ever and she’s so pretty and so nice and Boyd should marry her, what the hell is he waiting for??
“That’s what I keep telling him,” Erica quips, sending Boyd a smirk before she lets out a victorious cackle. “Found it!”
“Found what?” Isaac asks, emerging from the back with a small crate of lemons and limes to be cut up for garnishes, towel draped over one shoulder. A double whammy of sorority and frat goers emptied out their supply and Boyd knows they'll get a few regulars who are sticklers for line wedges and peels in their drinks, so Isaac gets credit for getting started on that. But he drops in common sense points for not using a cutting board. Despite Boyd reminding him repeatedly. If the idiot's going to bleed over their citrus, Boyd’s taking it out of his scarf allowance.
“Found out how to keep us entertained for tonight,” is Erica’s response and then she’s holding the phone close to her ear, plopping herself onto the open seat next to Stiles.
For his part, Stiles slumps back onto the bar, seemingly dead to the world.
Boyd slides a beer over to one customer and pours a double shot of vodka for another, just as Erica starts speaking into the phone.
“Yeah, hi! Is this Deputy Hale?”
Isaac yelps as he nearly slices his palm open with the knife, and Boyd sighs. See? Bullshit.
Erica just grins and continues speaking, “My name’s Erica, I’m– Stiles is fine! He’s just a little drunk and his regular ride isn’t available to come get him. He’s talked about you so much, I figured it might be best to call you. Do you think you could come pick him up? We’ll be closing pretty soon!”
They won’t be closing for another two hours at least, but because Boyd has some sense of self-preservation (and he wants to get his dick sucked tonight), he very smartly says nothing and makes a Sex on the Beach for old Mr. Perez (Boyd does not judge).
“Oh, awesome! See you in a bit then!” Erica chirps and just before she can cut the call, she does the gleaming eye thing again. Boyd has to try very hard not to roll his eyes heaven-ward when his scheming girlfriend says very loudly, “Oh, Stiles, honey, you don’t know this strange man, do you? You want to go home with him? Oh, sweetums, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
She ends the call on that lovely note, grinning all the while like a maniac, while Isaac snickers (now having moved to a cutting board - the idiot). Slipping Stiles’ phone into his jacket pocket, Erica ruffles his hair once again before walking around the bar, her heels clacking loudly on the wood.
She looks so damn pleased with herself that Boyd can’t help but reel her in with an arm around her waist, dropping a kiss to her blonde hair, and then another to her cheek. “You’re a lil' shit, you know that, yes?”
Erica simply grins back, all red lips and devastatingly gorgeous, and kisses Boyd full on the mouth, eliciting a few catcalls. She wipes the trace of her lipstick away from his lips when they break apart. “You like me like that. Besides, you were getting tired of all his whining too. At least, now we’ll get to know for sure if Hale likes Stiles or if our baby needs to move on!”
There are plenty of better ways to figure that out but Boyd has long since learned that it’s best to leave his girlfriend to her scheming, hand-rubbing and evil laughter when she’s in that mood, so he simply huffs, kisses her temple, and hopes that the rest of his night will be less entertaining.
That’s his fourth mistake.
Beacon Hills, the wonderful little town where Stiles resides when he’s not busy writing his dissertation and being a TA, is about an hour’s ride away from campus.
Derek Hale makes it in thirty minutes.
There’s only a few stragglers left around and the music has been switched from RnB bass to something a little more mellow and easy going. Which means everyone hears the sirens and the screech of tires as a car pulls up outside.
Erica looks ecstatic, Isaac plops himself onto a seat to watch the nonsense unfold, and Boyd… well, Boyd pours himself a shot of whiskey and throws it back in a single gulp. He definitely needs alcohol for this.
Three seconds later, the sirens are cut, and the bar door is being shouldered open by someone nearly as large as Boyd. And Boyd is pretty big.
The man stalking in isn’t wearing the customary Beacon Hills deputy uniform, but Boyd doesn’t need the uniform to know who this is. Despite being clothed in a simple red Henley and jeans, Stiles’ long winded poetic descriptions of green eyes, bunny teeth, bearded jawline, and judgy eyebrows are enough for Boyd to understand that this is the elusive Deputy Derek Hale.
The man garners more than a few appreciative looks, including a low whistle from Erica - and honestly, if Boyd were a lesser man, he’d be jealous. But he gets it. Deputy Hale is fine.
Hale scans the bar with a quick look, jaw tight and muscles bulging… until some of that tension in his shoulders seeps out when it catches sight of Stiles slumped over in his seat.
And then it sweeps right back in again. Probably because Stiles is slumped over in his seat.
He crosses towards them in four steps, and nearly gets a hand on Stiles to shake him awake, when Erica whips her hand out and grips Hale’s wrist tight. “Oh no, sweetpie. We do not touch people we do not know in this bar. Identify yourself please.”
Boyd is in love with a shit-stirrer.
To his credit, Deputy Derek Hale does not rip his hand free of Erica’s grasp. Instead, he simply raises an eyebrow at her and gives her an almost clinical once over.
When he speaks, Hale’s voice is soft and pleasant, and not at all what Boyd thought it would be. “You must be Erica. I'm Deputy Derek Hale with the Beacon Hills Sheriff Department. We spoke earlier on the phone."
Erica looks delighted, taking back her hand. “Is my voice that recognizable?”
Hale nods once. “That, and Stiles talks about you a lot when he comes to visit. Says this is his favorite bar in town. He said you're gorgeous but scary. Boyd, which must be you, is awesome but also scary, and Isaac is a man whore who wears too many scarves.”
“Hey! How come I’m not scary?” Isaac is indignant.
“Because you wear too many scarves,” Hale says without missing a beat, and then his eyes drop to Stiles again. This time when he reaches out to touch him, Erica doesn’t interrupt. No one does.
Which means they all see the way Deputy Derek Hale fucking softens as he runs a gentle hand through Stiles’ messy hair.
Jesus fuck, Boyd wishes he had a camera right now because that? That is the look of a besotted man. Was Stiles fucking blind? Was Hale fucking stupid?? What the hell was all the weeping and lamenting for when both of them were clearly into one another?
A sentiment that Isaac seems to agree with wholeheartedly because he lets out a cry of frustration. “Oh my fucking God! You can’t be serious!”
It makes Hale jerk slightly, his fingers catching in Stiles’ hair. The little jerk rouses the brunette a bit, and Hale quickly pulls his hand back as the TA plucks his head up from the bar counter, looking around blearily. “Wassgoinon?”
No one has a chance to say anything before Isaac stalks forward, all righteous anger and pointed fingers. “I can’t with the stupidity I am seein— take your drunk boyfriend home and fucking kiss him please! Ya’ll cannot be real!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Hale snaps just as Stiles zeroes in on him. The emotions that go through his mole-speckled face are quick but expressive, starting with surprise, hovering around joy, melting into confusion, and ending squarely with pure devastation - something that has Hale looking concerned and reaching out.
But before he can touch Stiles, the man is looking at Boyd with the most betrayed expression (which, what the fuck, how is any of this Boyd’s faul– okay, fine he didn’t cut Stiles off after drink #3, damnit) and then wails, “You got a clone! I don't want a clone, I want the real Derek!”
That has Hale looking perplexed and a bit lost. “Stiles, I’m real. What are you–”
Stiles lets out a great sob, dropping his head into his arms on the bar, but they can all hear him as he cries and says, “See? This isn't the real Derek! My Derek always calls me Mr. Stilinski because he's being respectful and shit! I don't want this imposter! I want my Derek! The one I'm in love with!”
Hope is a particularly lovely emotion on Hale’s face. Amusement, even more so. And the fondness… well, we already know about the fondness.
Huffing out a soft laugh, Hale gently tugs at one of Stiles’ shoulders, but the TA resists, sniffling as he tells clone Derek to leave him alone. Still, Stiles is drunk, and Hale must have all those muscles for something because he finally gets Stiles upright, and then cups his chin to get him to look up properly.
Stiles’ tear stained cheeks and glistening eyes are enough to make Erica let out a soft coo in comfort, but it seems to send a bolt of something through the deputy because Boyd has never seen a man nearly buckle under the force of someone’s stare.
Clearing his throat, Hale keeps his voice soft. “Stiles. Hey no, come on, look at me. I am the real Derek okay? See? I'm touching you; can't you feel how real I am?”
Stiles isn't convinced, looking utterly heartbroken as he says, “But that's just it! The real Derek wouldn't touch me! He never does. The one time he did, he snatched his hand back like I'd given him a cootie.” Stiles' lower lip quivers pathetically and besides Boyd, Erica lets out a growl, narrowing her eyes at Hale.
Hale, for his part, looks confused before comprehension dawns on him and he hastens to explain, “No! God, no, Stiles. I wasn’t— I never— Jesus Christ, I like you so much it’s ridiculous but–” Hale sighs and drags his thumb across Stiles’ cheek, wiping at a tear track, “Your dad told me that he’s had deputies before use you in an attempt to get closer to him and I didn't want you think that I was like that. I like your dad because he's a great man and a great boss, and I like you because you’re– hell, Stiles, you’re amazing. You care so much about your dad and about Scott. You— you have the biggest heart of anyone I know. You’re the only person I know who stays late during the holidays to let a student write a missed exam and then mark it the same day. The ladies down at the senior center adore you cause they know you’ll sit and let them talk your ears off about their glory days. And they love that you never complain about them blatantly pinching your ass.”
“It’s a very pinchable ass,” Erica confirms next to Boyd. Boyd simply continues to wipe glasses and tries not to make it look like he agrees.
Hale ignores them and continues speaking, looking ridiculously earnest. “Every time you visit home, Parrish has to elbow me so I stop looking like a - and these are his words - a love sick puppy, but I get so excited because it means I get to see you walk into the Sheriff’s station. I like you very much, Stiles. I really do.”
With every word, Stiles’ wide eyes get impossibly wider and were Hale not cupping his chin, Boyd’s pretty sure the man’s jaw would be hanging open. As it is, he seems lost for words, barely breathing as Hale unloads the confession onto him.
Then a few seconds later, barely audible, “You… you swear you’re the real Derek Hale?”
Hale looks unbearably fond, his other hand going up to card through Stiles’s hair. “I swear.”
“And you… you really like me? Like… like me like me?”
“I like you like you, Stiles. And I would really like to kiss you too, once you're sober.”
That makes Stiles pout, lips turning down. “Oh, phooey.”
Erica seems to agree, booing Hale with a thumbs down. “I feel cheated!”
“We all do!” Isaac chimes in, as do the few bar patrons who’ve been witnessing the entire exchange.
Hale’s entire face seems to go red, and he clears his throat roughly, turning to look at Boyd. “How much is his tab? I’ll cover it.”
“$34.67. Cash or card?” Erica squawks in outrage as Boyd goes about doing his job, and yeah, he’s definitely going to pay for that later, but what the hell does Erica want him to do? Shove Hale and Stiles at each other’s faces till they kiss?
…actually yeah, that’s exactly what Erica would want them to do.
Hale pays with his card, quickly tapping at the machine and leaving a substantial tip (the man is really rising in the respect department). Tucking an arm around Stiles’ waist, Hale tugs him up, taking much of his weight as he looks at Erica, “Thank you for taking care of him. I’ll get him home safe.”
Erica sniffs, looking put out but she softens when she catches the way Stiles melts into Hale, nearly nuzzling into the man’s chest. “Make sure you do. Shoo now.”
Hale offers them a quick nod and then turns, basically holding up Stiles as he walks them out, and Boyd really expects that to be the end of that.
Cue his final mistake of tonight.
Just as Hale is shouldering open the door, Erica’s eyes gleam and she calls out for the deputy, her voice loud and clear, “I expect to see a freshly fucked Stilinski the next time he graces our bar, Deputy Hale!”
By some miracle, Hale doesn’t drop Stiles, and all Boyd sees before the door swings shut is pink ears peeking out under that dark hair.
Shaking his head, Boyd eyes Erica, who looks entirely too pleased with herself. “That went well,” he remarks dryly.
“That went fantastic,” she agrees, before pouting, “Except for the part where I was denied seeing Stiles getting absolutely macked on.”
“Oh? So we’re forgoing consent, huh?”
For that, Boyd gets a pinch to the arm which doesn’t really hurt, but he yelps obediently because… yeah, he knows better. Erica is nothing if not a huge advocate of consent and is the one shutting down situations where it looked like someone was unsafe.
He offers an apologetic kiss to his girlfriend to mollify her. “Who knows? Tomorrow’s a new day; Stiles will be back within the week and we’ll find out.”
But they don't actually see Stiles that week. Or next week. Or the week after.
In fact, they don't see Stiles for another month. Classes are done so they can't exactly check with students if they've seen a flailing mole speckled criminal justice TA around campus, they don't have his number, and he’s terrible at using his social media because Erica's Instagram and Facebook messages go unanswered. Calling Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department gives them nothing other than Stiles is alive - the apologetic sounding lady at the desk can't give out any private information.
All in all, it's a terrible time because despite the reassurance that Stiles is alive, they have no other info and that's not enough for Erica and Isaac. Or Boyd for that matter. It makes all three of them snappy and irritable with their regulars (other than old Mr. Perez because Boys is not that much of an asshole).
Which is why when Stiles walks into the bar nearly four and a half weeks later, calling out an enthusiastic hello, it’s not Isaac or Erica who get to him first.
It’s Boyd.
He barely registers Isaac dropping a full tray of drinks at the wrong table or Erica fucking up her eyeliner that she was trying to refresh; he's too busy rounding the bar counter to get to Stiles and thwacking him upside the head.
“Jesus fuck ow! What was that for?!” Stiles yelps, rubbing at his head, and then he squawks when Boyd yanks him into a hug.
“You mouthy motherfucker. Where the fuck have you been?”
“Let me at him!! Let me at him!” Erica shrieks and Isaac’s cursing a mile a minute, screaming about Stiles being dead (dramatic dumbass) before Stiles is being consumed by a three person hug. While also being simultaneously smacked.
“Will you people stop hitting me!! I'm fucking fragi– Christ! Erica, watch the claws, woma– Derek! Help!”
That’s what gets them all to stop, all three of them lifting their heads to see Deputy Hale stride in with a smirk on his face. He's dressed casual like last time, though today's outfit is a tight V-neck and the addition of a leather jacket.
“Oh no. You're on your own for this one, baby. Not my fault you forgot every single time I reminded you to call the bar and tell them you got waylaid at home.”
Stiles squawks in outrage just as Erica grips his collar and shakes him with a glare. “Yeah, you lil’ fucker, you couldn't just pick up a phone and call–”
She stops. Blinks. Looks at Hale who's still grinning softly, body relaxed, and then at Stiles, who looks like he might be slightly choking from the tight hold on his t-shirt. “Did he just call you baby?”
The switch up is instant; Stiles goes from cowering under the force of Erica's glare to smiling shyly, his pale cheeks going pink. “Yeah… we’re a– we’re a thing now.”
A moment of silence and then Erica is shrieking, loud enough to make Boyd, Isaac, and every other patron wince but she doesn’t care, yanking Stiles towards her with a, “Fucking finally!!” and Isaac thumping Stiles’ back hard enough to bruise.
There's a rousing chorus of cheers from the rest of the bar, something that makes both Hale and Stiles flush… that is until Erica pulls back enough to send them a sleazy grin. “Took my advice then did you, Deputy? Fucked him hard enough that he had to be kept home for a month straight?”
Stiles’ shriek might have broken a few glasses, Boyd thinks, watching as the man stumbles backwards, arms flailing. Hale just manages to catch him and keep him upright, face bright red under his beard as Stiles stammers through an explanation, "Jesus Christ, no! I mean– we did fuck but that’s not why– Derek fucks me great, don’t get me wrong - like I totally need a few hours after he spends the night, and once he definitely had to carry me because my legs wouldn’t work, but that’s–”
“Sweetheart? Maybe skip all that?” Hale grounds out, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here but the fact that he doesn't once let go of Stiles’ hand is very telling.
“Oh…yeah.” If it’s at all possible, Stiles blushes harder, but all it does is make Isaac coo at him, reaching out to poke the speckled cheek. Flapping a hand at him, the brunette explains, “My dad ended up getting hurt during a dispatch call so I stayed back to help take care of him. I’m sorry I forgot to call and let you guys know I was okay." He does look genuinely remorseful, eyes going all big and amber and Boyd knows Erica's will cave in 3 - 2 - 1…
“Oh, get over here, you weirdo; I'm gonna get you your usual.” Boyd's girlfriend is a sweet lil’ kitten, he thinks smugly as she leans in to kiss Stiles on the cheek. Wiping away the trace of her lipstick, she pushes them towards a pair of open seats and heads around the bar. “Hale, what’s your poison?"
“Margarita on the rocks. And call me Derek.”
Erica sends him a bright grin. “A man after my own heart. Isaac! Get in the kitchen and whip up a Stiles special - extra curly fries! Boyd, baby, I need those sexy arms of yours to shake. Let’s go people, we got a bar to run!” The orders are snapped out and Boyd sends Hal– Derek a small grin and follows after his girlfriend, already pulling down bottles.
As he works on mixing drinks, Boyd is glad to see the easy way Derek cares for Stiles, tugging the man closer, keeping an arm around his waist, leaning in to whisper something or the other that makes the younger either burst into snorting laughter or flush bright red.
It's obvious how happy Stiles is… and Erica is happier than anyone when Stiles tries to be a little shit and teases Derek about his bunny teeth, only to be shut up with a hard kiss. It’s enough to send the whole bar into hollers, Isaac fanning himself with the tray he’s carrying, and Erica announcing free shots for anyone who was turned on by that display.
Boyd takes one.
What? Stiles and Derek are both attractive people and Stiles make noises, okay? Little whimpering moans as Derek plunders his mouth, hands flailing before finally gripping the front of the leather jacket. They're both decidedly pink once the kiss is over, though Stiles looks pleased as anything.
Besides… Erica downed two shots.
In any case, Boyd surmises as he slides Stiles’ his fourth drink of the night, this is the end of weepy Stiles. Hallelujah!
…it's his nth mistake.
“Did I tell you guys about the way Derek walked me home from the hospital after spending the entire day with me there after my dad’s surgery? And then he carried me to bed! Like a gentleman! He’s so amazing, you're so amazing, Derek, I love you, oh my God, I love him. Don't you love him– oh peanuts! Boyd, you are so amazing, he’s so amazing, Erica, why haven't you guys gotten married yet? Can I be there at the wedd– I always cry at weddings, I love weddings - oh my god I love all of you!”
Ooo