"Of course you'd know that, sour wolf," Stiles quips. Maybe Stiles is the fruit fly in this analogy, because the more cranky and grumpy Derek is, the more Stiles finds himself drawn in. He is so fucked up.
The phrase sits there, heavy with affection, until the doorbell rings.
His stomach growls, loudly, at the prospect of real food, and he rolls his eyes at Derek's directive, grabs the door and starts to close it, wedging Derek out of the bathroom. "Yeah, yeah. Be down in a minute. And there better still be eggrolls left."