Stiles snorts. “Food,” he mocks. “Derek you have like seven Hungry Man frozen dinners in your freezer and half a jug of milk in your fridge for the stale cereal in your cabinet.” The look that accompanies his list holds way more gotcha than Derek thinks it deserves.
Still, he can feel the tips of his ears turning red as he crosses his arms. “Food,” he insists, adding a glare that is completely ignored.
theproblemwithstardust 