Laughing, Stiles shakes his head. "I mean, I don't have enough hair to braid or a bra to freeze, and talking about boys would be harder since we don't have any guys in common and we won't know who the other person is talking about," he points out. Although that doesn't really give her any reason why she can't paint his nails, so that doesn't help much in retrospect.

"Fair enough," he calls back as he starts looking through the buddy cop selection, because he figures that covers the most bullet points. He finally settles on something that they've both seen a couple of times and finally toes his shoes off to get a little more comfortable on the couch. While she's in the other room, he's trying to figure out the best way to look casual — when he isn't — and get comfortable while also appearing inviting for her. Which, really, feels kind of like the wrong thing to do because it feels ulterior-motive-y of him, but before he can think too much on it — or accomplish anything other than an awkward and uncomfortable position that's half-laying and half-sitting that he has to shift out of quickly anyway — she comes back into the room laden with blankets and pillows.

Stiles gets back to his feet to help her with them only for her to drop them on the floor. "Okay, are we fort-building, what are we doing here, Sawyer?" he teases playfully. "I went with Rush Hour, by the way," he adds.