Between his expression, his tone, and his words, she just loses it completely. It starts as a little snicker, and before long she’s laughing so hard she can’t /breathe/, much less hear his question. She wheezes in air desperately, face flushed and bright and grinning so hard it hurts, and reels over onto the keypad. “That should not have been that funny,” she gasps, wiping at her eyes.
Stiles sighs theatrically, just as exaggerated as the expression he made a few moments ago, and leans forward against the computer tracking their scores. He stretches both arms over it, slumping his body against it, and generally makes as much of a scene about flopping over as he can manage. “I really feel like I should be used to people laughing at my face by now. I thought you’d be different, Summer. I really did.”
The sniff he gives off sounds more like a giggle.
“Stiiiiiles,” she manages. That sets her off again, after she’s barely recovered from the last fit of laughter. She can’t even make any sound now, just random whoops as she drags in a breath, and she wraps her arms around her middle. She can’t even /look/ at him without continuing to laugh. “You … did that … on purpose … “