Derek bumps foreheads with Stiles and gives him such an upset look that Stiles isn't sure what the hell is going on; he has no idea what could be so bad that it makes him look at him like that. His mouth falls open to ask, but Derek looks away from him and he naturally starts to follow his eyes.
Holy shit. It's Scott.
His grip on Derek's shoulder goes deathlike, hard and fast for a moment, and then he lets go, hand lingering as long as it can on Derek until he literally can't anymore, arms flying fast around Scott in the limb-iest, gangliest, hardest hug he's ever given his best friend, nearly bowling him over. "Scotty! Oh my god. No way. Holy shit, you're here." It should be bittersweet, because he knows what it means that he's here, but Stiles thought he'd never see his friend again. It's as much of a relief as it can be.
He finally takes a step back toward Derek to give Scott room to breathe, hands sliding down to his shoulders to hold him at arms length, looking him over before looking back at him with the faintest of laughs. "You been working out, man?"
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Holy shit. It's Scott.
His grip on Derek's shoulder goes deathlike, hard and fast for a moment, and then he lets go, hand lingering as long as it can on Derek until he literally can't anymore, arms flying fast around Scott in the limb-iest, gangliest, hardest hug he's ever given his best friend, nearly bowling him over. "Scotty! Oh my god. No way. Holy shit, you're here." It should be bittersweet, because he knows what it means that he's here, but Stiles thought he'd never see his friend again. It's as much of a relief as it can be.
He finally takes a step back toward Derek to give Scott room to breathe, hands sliding down to his shoulders to hold him at arms length, looking him over before looking back at him with the faintest of laughs. "You been working out, man?"