[Pressed close, Allison smells it: the sour hint of fear and rising panic, but it's fleeting. It's enough to make her let go and gently spin him around so she can hug him properly with a soft little noise of distress at his disquiet.

The last of the sour edge to his scent fades...much better.]

We need snacks. [She makes the declaration over his shoulder, content to keep hugging him, chin planted right back on his shoulder. Absently, she can see how Lydia fell in love with him: Stiles gives really good hugs. Like Isaac, only not quite as tall...warm, too.]

I mean...'cause I'm probably not leaving unless I have to, and I know you're not, and I'm on Stiles Maintenance Duty until Lydia arrives to relieve me.