Unfortunately, Stiles’ good opinion of the man who kept him company that day by the storm drain has now—pun intended—been flushed down the toilet. He doesn’t miss the dramatic shift in Will’s presence, but doesn’t know what it means. The obvious conclusion is that the guy must be a werewolf; and if he is, then maybe that explains the temper. Licking his lips, Stiles doesn’t say anything for a near minute.

“This is a really bad joke,” he remarks lamely, laughing a bit. The sound is weak. “All I wanted was a drink. If I come out of the closet—” Ha. “—can you promise me you’re not gonna go all American Psycho on me?”