Stiles knew that look. That was the same look that Stiles got on her face whenever anyone mentioned her Mom, or she decided to talk about her. It was that far off look, like it hurt a little just to mention her. She didn't want to press for information, they weren't close enough for that, but she touched her foot gently against his ankle, like an anchor. Sometimes the barest touch helped to ground her when her emotions started to well up.

"Well. I haven't had a decently cooked meal in three weeks, so. Y'know," she said, flashing him a smile. "Anything is a step up from ramen. Or frozen pizza. Oh, also hot pockets."