"…or we could just eat at the all-ages buffet that also happens to be free," Stiles suggests instead, some inherent, sheriff's son part of him instinctively balking at the idea of sneaking into a bar, even if it's only to eat chicken wings. Underage drinking he has no qualms with; it's the anxiety of being caught—An anxiety which he isn't entirely sure he buys from Isaac, who is pulling into himself now, but also has the wolf-born ability to walk into any place like he owns it and leave a trail of women (and probably men) passed out on the floor behind him.

Of course, now the dude looks more like that weeping dog-shaped bank they put in convenience stores to raise money for the Humane Society. I'm so hungry I could cry, if you don't help me I may die…

Stiles swallows hard against the sudden lump in his throat as they pass into the brightly-lit hotel lobby.

"Time stops for you back home when you come here, right?" he asks, shooting Isaac a meaningful look. Hiding out here only works so long; the music back home is on pause until you face it.