erroneous manoeuvres
“Hey, Stilinski!”
Stiles clenches his teeth. “What do you want, Hale?” he shouts back, not bothering to turn around. The smug smirk that’s most likely waiting for him is already seared into his mind from overexposure.
“A date!” the answer comes, still as loud, and most of the bystanders giggle or snort in Stiles’ direction.
Stiles rolls his eyes. This is the third time this week. He’d complain that Hale’s jokes are getting pretty stale, but he’d probably be milking this situation for all that it’s worth, too, if their roles were reversed. “Wrong aisle,” he grouses back, “try the bakery section. I hear they have fresh tarts.”
Or, in which Stiles grievously misjudged his bullying situation.