As you lean against the bar, exhausted from school, Stiles walks up beside you with two drinks in hand. "Figured you might need this," he says, offering you one with a knowing smile. His eyes sparkle with a mix of humor and relief—typical Stiles, trying to lighten the mood. He taps his glass against yours. "Cheers to making it out alive... again." You laugh softly, grateful. "I swear, one day we’re going to need a vacation."