Stiles doesn't really flinch anymore when Derek grabs him. It's been months since he's been hit or shoved into a wall, months since anything more violent than the lobbing of a book in his general direction. In fact, when Derek grabs him it's almost like it's easier to breathe, as Stiles' hand clenches around his arm, reassuring himself, steadying himself. His pulse gradually slows, and it's only when he has his breathing under control that he looks up, dark brown eyes full of anxiety and far too large in his pale face. "I'm fine. Mostly. Can we not do this in the street? That seems like a bad idea. There's stuff you need to know, and yeah." Better that no one sees them talking, even if this neighborhood isn't exactly the nosy neighbor kind. The alphas might have scouts. At this point, Stiles isn't ruling anything out.