“Shut up,” Stiles mutters as soon as Lydia comes into the room.
Lydia stops by the end of the couch, absently tucking her laptop more under her arm.
It takes a few seconds to sort out all the various bodies from the lumps and dips outlined in the blanket thrown across the couch bed—she always forgets about
the children’s stuffed animals—but eventually she determines that Peter’s curled up between Stiles and the far couch arm, holding Cora across both of their laps,
while Laura’s flopped out with her fingertips just peeking from the blanket at Lydia’s end, with her feet near Stiles’ hip and Basil Stag Hare rounding over her belly.
And that’s Derek tucked up against Stiles’ other side, his stuffed wolf making him look as if he’s got an extra-large scruff of hair brushing Stiles’ shoulder.
“I should tell Scott he doesn’t need to feel so guilty about giving up babysitting duty,” Lydia says, while Stiles makes an impressive selection of annoyed faces at her.
“Every time we send him out of town, he ends up buying them a toy store’s worth of apology presents.”
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