Stiles laughs, ducks his head a little and then turns, leans back against the sink, facing Derek.
"I forget that's a thing you do now," he says, his tone playful, though his eyes are bright, and the seriousness of the moment has been successfully broken. "Caring, I mean. Because you're really bad at it still." He knows he's goading Derek, but that's what they do. That's what they've always done, even if it wasn't them, precisely. It's familiar, this rhythm.
"Anyone ever tell you that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?" he adds, smirking openly now.