Who was Stiles to argue with either of those statements? He noticed how she mentioned her own life was going to shit too. He thought about their conversation from before, and how she never replied. So he wasn't far off. But Stiles was done with the pain meds, and if he was being honest, he either needed a drink, or just didn't care anymore. Faye obviously needed whatever it was she was hoping she could get from him and the tequila, so Stiles shrugged and walked around Faye to get to the cabinets.
What the hell are you doing
Stiles paused, thinking for a moment she meant in general, not the fact that he was rifling around through the cabinets. Smirking, grabbed two tumblers and turned to face her, one in each hand.
"They're shot glasses," he explained, quirking an eyebrow at her and nodding from one glass to the other. "For people who hate themselves. Here," he handed them to her. "Put these in your bag of crazy so no one gets annoying on our way up." He offered something that vaguely resembled a smile before heading towards the door.
It was a quick trip up the elevator and a single flight of stairs to the roof. Thankfully, no one else was on it, so Stiles wandered around one of the big metal possible heat vent so they couldn't be seen as he took a seat closer to the edge of the hotel. Alcohol, heights, wha could possibly go wrong? He reached out, making gimme hands until she passed him the bag. He took the liberty of pouring two super tall glasses of tequila, and handed one off to Faye. Once she was sitting he held out his glass to tap it against hers. He wasn't gonna same a damn thing until he had a drink, so he took an unreasonably large gulp of it before drawing up his legs and resting his arms on his knees.