my personal devil in prada // lydia martin

The perks of being an orphan.

I sighed, finally biting the bullet and chucking my jeans in the trash. After the events of Friday night, I had spent practically the whole of yesterday and today desperately trying to scrub the dumpster juice and Derek goo -- because of course, it splashed onto me -- and yet to no avail, my favourite jeans are ruined. I was about to go and wallow in my despair when my phone buzzed; it was a message from Stiles.

my dad says to invite you to come out to dinner tonight.

we're not going anywhere fancy. It's just the patrol car and takeout.

im sorry this was all his idea.

I sigh and set about putting clothes on that aren't my sweats, which I'd been living in, looking at my recovering shiner in the mirror, it's not too bad, so I can't be bothered to cover it up. I'm ready just as Stiles knocks on the door. I open it and see his apologetic face.

"I'm sorry this is so embarrassing."

"Eh," I shrug, "Not your fault. I'm sure if my parents were still alive they would've something embarrassing."

"And thanks for killing the mood," he says as we descend the stairs.

"You see, I hear sarcasm, but you should really be grateful seeing as I just killed your embarrassed mood."

"Ha ha ha -- hilarious."

I open the backdoor of the patrol car and greet Stiles' dad when I get in, "Sheriff."

"Charlie, nice to see you again," he returns.

We spend the next few minutes engaged in awkward small talk until we pull up to the drive through and order our food. Noah pulls up and puts the car in park, handing us our bagged dinner and it's then that I realise I haven't eaten all day and begin to tear into the bag and stuff my face.

It's between mouthfuls of food that I ask, "So, what's brought this on?" gesturing with my fingers to this whole awkward and messy situation.

"I just wanted to see how you're getting on. These years of your life are big ones, and moving cross country into a whole new situation, hasn't made it easy in you. So I just wanted you to know that I'm here for you."

I find myself squinting at the very-not-Noah-like words coming out of his mouth, I turn to see that Stiles has a similar expression on his face. I wasn't the only one. It was then that I put two and two together.

"Jody asked you to, didn't she?"

He neglects to reply -- which gives me the all the answer I needed -- and rifles through his bag.

"Mm. Did they forget my curly fries?"

"You're not supposed to eat fries, especially the curly ones," Stiles argues.

"Well, I'm carrying a lethal weapon. If I want the curly fries, I will have the curly fries."

"If you think getting rid of contractions in all your sentences makes your argument any more legitimate, you are wrong." I can't help but snicker at Stiles' reply, and was about to interject too when the scanner goes off.

"Unit one, do you copy?"

Stiles reaches over to press the intercom buzzer when his dad slaps his hand away, and shoots him an unimpressed look.

"Sorry."

"Unit one, copy."

"Got a report of a possible 187." 187... that's-

"Murder?" Stiles and I both chorus.

Noah sends me a disturbed look, "How do you... You know what, scratch that, I don't want to know."