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Allison is bored out of her mind.
She's leaning against the counter, aimlessly fiddling with the strings on her apron and staring out the massive plate glass window at the front of the coffee shop. The place is completely empty of customers and without the quiet hum of people talking and sipping from their cups, every other sound seems absurdly loud. Even the clack of her fingernails off the counter seems to echo for a whole minute.
It has been, without a doubt, the slowest shift she has ever worked, mainly because two nights ago, some idiots threw a brick at the front window. It didn't shatter, but it created a massive spiderweb of cracks, stretching from one side of the glass to the other. Laura had hired someone to replace it but, Laura being Laura, she had also decided that the whole front of the shop needed to be revamped as well.
Which means that, instead of having a view of the cute little park across the street, Allison now finds herself staring at half a dozen workers, most of them shirtless. Despite the bright signs Allison and Stiles made at the beginning of their shift, announcing that the shop was still open, not a single customer has come in.
“What time is it?” she asks Stiles, who is leaning against the counter beside her. There's no clocks on the walls and her phone is back in her cubby, where it's supposed to be. Stiles', on the other hand, is almost always tucked into the pocket of his jeans or his apron. It's just one of Laura's many rules that he breaks every shift.
“Stiles. Earth to Stiles. Are you even awake?” she asks, elbowing him in the side. He jolts upright, hand flailing into a display of gift cards that wobbles ominously.
“Yeah, I'm awake, definitely. How could I sleep with that in front of me?” He waves in the general direction of the window and immediately, Allison rolls her eyes. Laura's brother, who is also Stiles' boyfriend and co-owner of the shop, is working with the construction crew outside. While he's one of the few still wearing a shirt, Stiles looks like he's ready to vault over the counter and bolt outside.
“It's nothing you haven't seen before,” she says. He shrugs and goes back to leaning against the counter.
“Never get sick of it,” he sighs, eyes practically glazing over.
“Stiles, you better not be drooling over there!” Stiles jumps again and whips around while Allison buries a laugh in her arm. Laura is standing in the doorway that leads to the storage room, arms crossed, one trademark Hale eyebrow raised.
“Not at all, Laura. Definitely not,” Stiles mumbles, scratching at the back of his neck. “Just making sure Derek's working, that's all.” Laura rolls her eyes and points back into the storage room.
“Inventory. Now.” Allison snorts as Stiles gives one last longing look out the window before he trudges back to the storage room. Once he's gone, Laura comes up and takes a muffin from underneath the counter.
“Same goes for you, Ally,” she says pointedly. “No drooling. It's an official rule.”
“I think I can control myself a bit better than Stiles can,” she says with a laugh, taking a piece of the muffin when Laura offers.
“Wasn't talking about the construction workers. Or Derek,” Laura says, nodding her head in the direction of the door. When Allison turns back around, it's just in time for the bell over the door to chime. A grin spreads across her face and she immediately stands up straight.
Her shift definitely just got better.
“Where is everyone?” Lydia asks, glancing around. There's a guy trailing along behind her that Allison doesn't recognize, but for the moment, she has eyes only for her girlfriend.
“They've been frightened away by sweaty construction workers,” she replies, leaning over the counter and meeting Lydia halfway in a soft kiss. Lydia's wearing strawberry flavored lip gloss and Allison just barely resists flicking her tongue out to get a better taste.
“No kissing on duty!” Laura groans, gently tugging Allison back by the strings of her apron. “Jesus, you're almost as bad as Stiles.”
“I take that as an insult,” Lydia says, quickly pecking Allison again before stepping away. She turns back slightly and tugs forward the guy who came in with her by the front of his leather jacket.
“Jordan, this is Allison,” she says. “Allison, Jordan.”
“Hi,” Allison says, waving slightly.
“Please call me Parrish. Everybody does,” he says, flashing a smile so bright it momentarily takes Allison by surprise. “It's nice to meet you. Lydia's told me a lot about you.” Allison glances over at Lydia, who shrugs and smiles as well.
“What can I say? You're one of my favorite topics of conversation,” she says. “Now, Laura, are you totally opposed to Allison taking an early lunch break?”
“I don't care. Maybe if you sit by the window, we might actually get some customers today.” A large crash suddenly comes from the direction of the storage room, followed by a long string of curse words from Stiles. Laura groans, mutters something incredibly vulgar under her breath and whips around, heading towards the back of the shop.
“And that's our cue to sit down,” Lydia says, resting her hand on Parrish's arm. “Regular for me, Ally. What do you want, Jordan?”
“Black Americano, please.”
“I'll bring it right over,” Allison says. As she starts getting her stuff ready, she can't help but watch as Lydia and Parrish go sit down. Lydia's hand is still resting on Parrish's arm, in the space between his shoulder and his elbow. She knows that it almost certainly doesn't mean anything; Lydia's always been a tactile person, prone to holding hands and giving out forehead kisses like they're going out of style.
Allison shakes her head and goes back to preparing their drinks, including one for herself. If it's still bugging her later, she'll talk to Lydia about it.
By the time she gets their drinks ready and brings them over to the table beside the window, Stiles has been banished from the storage room. He's leaning against the counter again, staring out the window, flushing slightly every time Laura shouts another curse word from the back.
“That's Stiles,” Lydia says as Allison squeezes into her side of the tiny booth. “I'm sure he'll come over and say hello like a civilized person when he's done leching on Derek.”
“It's not leching if you're dating the person,” Stiles replies, not looking away from the window. Lydia rolls her eyes before sliding an arm around Allison's shoulders. Her fingers start playing with the little wisps of hair at the base of Allison's neck, the pieces too short to pull up into a bun. Allison barely manages to suppress the delighted shiver that courses through her.
“So, are you a TA too?” she asks Parrish, hiding her next shiver by taking a sip of her piping hot drink.
“No,” Parrish says with a chuckle. “I finished school a few years ago, actually. I'm working as a security guard on campus right now, until I can find something else.” Now that he's mentioned his job, Allison realizes that Lydia has actually been talking about Parrish for weeks, although she's always just referred to him as 'the security guard that I eat lunch with sometimes.'
“Well, it's nice to finally meet the guy who keeps Lydia amused at lunch,” she says with a laugh. Parrish's reaction is immediate; his smile reaches all the way up to his forest-green eyes and his cheeks turn a light shade of pink.
“Have you been talking about me too?” he asks Lydia.
“Allison and I have a policy of complete openness,” she says with a shrug. “That means sometimes I tell her about the guy who wards me from drunken freshmen attempting to hit on me.”
“That was an accident,” Parrish groans, turning even redder. “I didn't mean to hit him in the head!”
“Sure you didn't,” Lydia says, taking a sip of her drink and gently scratching her nails down the back of Allison's neck.
Allison just barely avoids choking on her coffee.
Parrish and Lydia leave after they've finished their drinks; Lydia has to TA for a math class that starts at two and Parrish's shift starts at the same time. Allison goes back behind the counter and eats another muffin, running over the lunch in her head. After five minutes of being hopelessly lost in her thoughts, she turns to Stiles, who is sitting on the ground and tapping away on his phone.
“Please distract me,” she sighs, sitting down beside him.
“Overthinking stuff again?” he asks, scooting over slightly. Allison nods.
“Yeah. It's dumb, right?” Stiles shrugs.
“Not if you don't think so. Talk to her when you get home.”
“I will,” Allison says.
They watch Netflix until Stiles' battery dies, but by that point, their shift is nearly over. Only one other person comes in as they're wiping down the counter and it's Derek, covered in sweat and sawdust, arms littered with cuts and bruises.
“Jesus Derek, did you get in a fight?” Stiles asks, brushing his thumb along a larger cut on the back of Derek's hand. “Trying to prove your status as the alpha male?” Derek just rolls his eyes and plants a kiss on Stiles' forehead before turning to Allison.
“Are you alright?” he asks in lieu of greeting. Allison's used to it; she doesn't know what it is about the Hales, but they are bizarrely attuned to other people's emotions. She shrugs and scrapes a dried clump of sugar away from the cash register.
“Yeah, I guess. Just thinking about something.” Derek nods and gives her a closed mouth smile.
“We're here if you need anything.” Before Allison can answer, Laura steps out from the back room, clutching a battered clipboard. As soon as she sees her brother, she groans loudly and points towards the front door.
“Derek, you smell awful. Get out.”
“But Stiles' shift isn't done yet,” he says with a frown.
“Just take him with you. Go have a shower, please.”
“Laura, I like how you think!” Stiles yells, fingers already flying over the tie for his apron as he runs towards the back of the shop. Derek follows after him and Laura groans, dropping her head into her hands.
“That's not what I meant at all.” When she looks back up, she gives Allison a soft smile, one that seems completely mismatched to her demeanor only seconds before.
“You can head out too, if you want,” she says. “I can finish cleaning up.”
“You sure?” Laura nods and takes the damp rag from Allison's hand, practically pushing her towards the back.
“Go home, Ally. I'll see you Wednesday, alright?”
&.
For the most part, the thoughts stay gone until Wednesday. Now that the construction on the front of the store is done, business is back to normal. Allison spends most of the morning bustling back and forth, weaving her way around Kira as they whip up drink after drink, too busy to think of anything more than the next order she has to make.
By the time one thirty comes around, things have finally slowed down. Allison is in the midst of whipping up a drink for her lunch break when the bell over the door jingles. It's followed by the sound of heels clicking on the floor and she's not all surprised that it's Lydia.
She is a little surprised to see that Parrish is right behind her. They seem to be having an animated conversation, based on how quickly Lydia's hands are moving, but they both stop once they reach the counter.
“Hey babe,” Lydia says, leaning forward and pressing a kiss against Allison's cheek. Derek is in charge of the shop today, so nobody yells at them about kissing on duty. “Busier today?”
“Definitely. Kind of nice, actually. I'm about to go on lunch, if you're sticking around.”
“I'm sure we can do that,” Lydia says, looking back over her shoulder at Parrish, who's wearing a black jacket with campus security lettered on the sleeve. “Or are you gonna go home and sleep?”
“I'm sure I can stay up for another hour,” he says with a shrug and a soft smile. Lydia smiles back and moves down the counter slightly to talk to Kira.
“Do you usually work nights?” Allison asks, automatically readying what she needs for Lydia's drink order. Parrish shakes his head and rests his arms on the counter. He's so tall that he has to bend almost in half to do it.
“Almost never, actually. But someone called in sick last night so I covered-” He breaks off to bury a yawn into his shoulder and Allison has a very hard time not laughing. When he pulls back, his cheeks are pink and he grins sheepishly.
“Sorry. I guess I'm more tired than I thought.”
“It's fine,” Allison says. “I slept eight hours last night and I'm still tired. We aren't morning people.”
“Allison isn't a person at all until she gets coffee,” Lydia adds before leaning over to peer at something on Kira's phone.
“It's true,” Allison replies, pushing Lydia's drink down the counter for Kira to finish up before turning back to Parrish. “Black Americano, same as last time?”
“Yeah, actually. How did you remember?” he asks quietly and for a moment, Allison can't help but think that he actually sounds impressed.
On second thought, she's pretty sure that it's just weariness that she's hearing in his voice.
“I have a pretty good memory,” she says, trying to sound as modest as possible.
“Understatement of the century,” Lydia murmurs, breaking off into a laugh at whatever she's looking at on Kira's phone. Allison just smiles, cheeks warm and flushed, and finishes making Parrish's drink.
They end up sitting at the same booth near the window. Lydia sits on the inside and immediately drapes her legs over Allison's lap, heels dangling off the end of her toes. Allison drops her hand to Lydia's knee, absently brushing her thumb over Lydia's soft skin. It's mainly small talk that passes between the three of them; Parrish yawns more and more with each minute and every time, he flashes that same sheepish, boyish grin. It's absolutely adorable, there's no denying it. It seems like Lydia thinks the same way; when Parrish yawns so loud that a customer a few tables away turns to look at them, Lydia leans across the table and pats him on the shoulder.
“Parrish, go home,” she says. “You're going to pass out soon.”
“Honestly, I'm fine,” he says. His eyelids keep alternating between fluttering shut and snapping open. “I'm almost done with my drink.”
“Jordan,” Lydia says firmly. This time her hand drops to Parrish's shoulder and Allison can see Lydia's fingers flex slightly as she squeezes. “Go home.”
“Seriously, it's fine,” Allison adds. “I mean, Derek would probably let you sleep in the back if you wanted to, but I'm sure your bed is much comfier.” By the time she realizes how innuendo laden her words are, it's too late to take them back. Thankfully, Parrish doesn't seem to have noticed. He simply nods and takes a final swig of his drink.
“Alright, fine,” he sighs, burying another ridiculously loud yawn in his elbow. “See you both soon, okay?”
Both. It's a simple word but just thinking about it makes Allison flush, for reasons she doesn't quite get. The bell jingles as Jordan leaves and she watches until he's out of sight, making sure that he doesn't pass out on his feet or stumble into traffic. Once he's gone, Lydia twists slightly so that she's facing Allison. As soon as Allison sees Lydia's arched eyebrow, she groans quietly. She knows that whatever Lydia is about to say is only going to make her flush worse.
“Do you really think his bed is comfy?”
“That's not what I meant,” Allison groans, burying her face in Lydia's shoulder.
“I know,” Lydia hums, running her fingers through Allison's hair and pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “I bet it isn't though.”
“What?”
“His bed,” Lydia repeats. “I bet it isn't comfortable. He seems like a firm mattress kind of guy.”
Allison has a feeling that Lydia's bet is probably right. If the Hales are good at detecting emotion, Lydia is good at knowing facts, little things about how people act and behave, things that they don't even notice.
She wonders what else Lydia knows about Parrish.
&.
Allison's next shift is just as busy as the last. Both Stiles and Kira are working along with her and even with the three of them bustling back and forth, the line-up never seems to end. By the time she finally has a few seconds to stop and catch a breath, her hair is falling out of her bun and there's sugar and coffee stuck to the back of her hands. Her fingers are grimy from handling money and she feels like she could curl up in the corner and fall asleep.
And there's still three hours left to go.
She lets Kira handle a young person who wants some super complicated drink seemingly involving every ingredient they have. She slips into the bathroom to scrub her hands until they're red from the warm water. She fixes her hair as well and when she comes back out, it's just in time to see Stiles handing Parrish a drink.
“Hey!” he says, giving her a small wave. He's not in his uniform today and, just for a few seconds, Allison can't help but notice how the sleeves of his t-shirt are pulled tight around his biceps.
As soon as she realizes what she's looking at, she yanks her gaze back up to his face and hopes to God that he didn't notice.
“Hi,” she finally replies. “Is Lydia with you?”
“Not today,” he says. He almost sounds apologetic and for some reason, that makes Allison's cheeks flush. “But I'm kind of hooked on these Americanos.” He leans forward slightly and looks over in Stiles' direction before adding, “I think I like yours better.”
“I heard that!” Stiles yells, not looking up from his phone. “I take great pride in my Americanos.”
“Only when you're making them for Derek,” Kira says. Stiles looks up and gapes at her while Kira feigns innocence, hiding her smile behind a pastry. There are no customers in line so Allison chooses that moment to make her escape. Her stomach's been rumbling for the last hour and if she wants to make it through the rest of her shift, some caffeine is definitely necessary.
And, she has to admit, she is curious about Parrish. Maybe it's the low undercurrent of jealousy that she's never been able to successfully eradicate but she wants to know more about him. She wants to understand what about him has piqued Lydia's interest.
She's never chased knowledge as much as Lydia has, but in this situation, she needs to know.
“Room for one more?” she asks as she approaches the booth, carefully balancing a muffin on top of her black coffee.
“Might be a tight fit,” Parrish says, sitting up straighter, “but I'm sure we'll make do.” Allison laughs slightly and carefully lowers her lunch onto the table before she slides into the seat opposite Parrish. Even though his coffee must be piping hot (especially knowing how Stiles makes drinks), he takes a gulp, like the heat doesn't bother him at all.
“Busy day?” Parrish asks. Allison nods and finishes chewing her muffin before she answers.
“It's been insane. We seriously haven't stopped moving all day,” she says, waving over at Kira and Stiles. Stiles is staring down at his phone again but Kira takes a break from braiding her hair to wave back.
“Wish I could say the same about campus,” Parrish says with a chuckle. “The whole place has been dead all summer. Most exciting thing that's happened to me was accidentally punching that freshman who wouldn't leave Lydia alone.”
“What exactly happened there?” Allison asks, leaning forward slightly. “Lydia never told me all the details.”
Parrish immediately turns red, but he tells the story and by the end of it, Allison can't stop laughing. Parrish smiles as well and takes another huge sip of coffee.
“Like I said, it was an accident,” he mutters, scratching at the back of his neck. “But the kid was so drunk that I don't think he felt it.”
“I'm not surprised,” Allison says. “You should see Stiles when he gets drunk.” Parrish turns to look at the counter. Stiles is telling Kira something and his hands are flying around, like he's literally trying to create a storyboard in thin air.
“I can only imagine,” he says, turning back to Allison.
“It's not pretty. I can't count the number of times his boyfriend has literally carried him out of a party because he was acting like such a fool.” Right on cue, Stiles smacks his flailing hand against the side of the cash register, causing Kira, Parrish and Allison to burst out laughing.
“I hope you have photographic evidence of that somewhere,” Parrish says.
“Lydia has an entire folder of pictures on her computer. She's going to display them all at Stiles and Derek's inevitable wedding.”
“I'm not surprised. Lydia seems like she's good at thinking ahead.”
“She is,” Allison says quietly. “She's good at a lot of things.” It's definitely an understatement, but she can't bring herself to say anything else. A strange feeling has settled over her, something that she can't even begin to understand. All she can say is that some of it is definitely related to the feelings she has for Lydia, the feelings that have burned bright since they first met in high school.
But some of it is related to Parrish. And that's the part she really doesn't understand.
“Yeah,” Parrish says softly. “She is.” He smiles slightly and Allison does her best to mirror it. Moments seem to tick by and she opens her mouth slightly. She feels like she should be saying something, but she has no idea what. After a few minutes, Parrish glances down at his watch.
“I should be heading out,” he says. “I have an interview at the sheriff's department in an hour.”
“Good luck,” Allison says, gathering her garbage and standing up. “I'm sure you're going to ace it.” Parrish stops for a moment before he looks up at her with a smile that seems to sink right into Allison's chest.
It's a feeling she's all too familiar with.
“Thanks Allison,” he says quietly. “See you later?”
“Yeah,” Allison manages to say, the word nearly sticking in her throat. “See you.” After Parrish leaves, she immediately sets to work wiping the counter, but she's only been at it for a moment before she realizes she can feel eyes on her. When she looks over her shoulder, both Stiles and Kira are staring at her.
“What?” she asks, automatically reaching to her mouth, in case there are muffin crumbs lingering around her lips.
“Who was that?” Kira asks.
“Parrish. He's one of Lydia's friends,” Allison says with a shrug. “Why?”
“Ally, he was looking at you like you hung the moon,” Stiles replies, glancing at the door like he's expecting Parrish (or maybe Lydia) to come back in. “Seriously.”
“I think you need to get your eyes checked,” Allison says. There's absolutely no way Parrish was looking at her like that. If Stiles had said that about Lydia, she would have believed him in a heartbeat, but there's nothing between her and Parrish.
There can't be.
“I'm just telling you what I saw. Swear on Derek's life.”
“Swear on my what?” Derek pops his head out of the back room and Stiles immediately jumps.
“Seriously Derek? When the hell did you get here?” They immediately start bickering, in between kissing each other. Kira slips around them and joins Allison over by the cash register.
“He wasn't lying,” she says quietly, glancing back over her shoulder at Stiles. “About Parrish, I mean.” Thankfully, she doesn't say anything further; she simply pats Allison on the shoulder before grabbing a cloth and heading out to wipe down the tables. Allison stays where she is, staring down at the counter, trying to sift through the thoughts in her head.
Parrish couldn't have been looking at her like that. She doesn't know why, she just knows that he couldn't have.
She wonders if she should say anything to Lydia. Honesty is the cornerstone of their relationship but truthfully, Allison doesn't know if she has words yet to describe the turmoil of thoughts in her mind.
She shakes her head and goes to give Kira some help. Dwelling on it is only going to make her head hurt.
&.
“Parrish came in today,” she blurts out later that night. Her and Lydia are catching a movie at nine and Lydia is standing in front of their floor length mirror, straightening the line of her skirt.
“I'm not surprised,” Lydia says, making a disapproving sound as she tugs at her skirt again. “He said you make the best Americanos in town.”
“I'm sure he was kidding,” Allison says automatically, but Lydia's raised eyebrow tells her all that she needs to know.
“Did he stick around?” Lydia asks.
“Yeah, for a bit. He said he had an interview today, at the sheriff's department. I wonder if he got the job.”
“I'll ask him.” Lydia reaches over and grabs her phone off the dresser, fingers flying over the keyboard like it's second nature. Allison isn't surprised that Lydia has Parrish's number and while she still feels a twinge of something definitively negative, it's far lesser than she expects.
She's not sure what that says about her.
Lydia has barely set her phone down before it goes off. She picks it back and grins widely, dimples popping into her cheeks.
“He got the job!”
“No more dealing with drunk freshmen,” Allison says with a chuckle. She picks out a blouse, sets it on the bed and just like that, an idea occurs to her. It's so far out of left field that she can't even begin to figure out where it came from, but even if it doesn't make sense, she knows that she wants it to happen.
So she turns and asks, “Want to invite him out?”
&.
They go to a diner first, something quick to tide them over so they don't spend all their money on popcorn and candy. Allison and Lydia have already gotten their food by the time Parrish comes through the door.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, flashing his trademark smile. He's wearing casual clothes, a leather jacket over a v-neck and loose jeans and when he comes to a stop beside their table, Allison catches a whiff of aftershave. Expensive, she thinks.
“Want me to pull up a chair?” he asks, already reaching back for one from the nearest table.
“It's fine,” Lydia says. She looks up and catches Allison's eye and only when Allison nods does she slide over in her booth, until she's pressed against the wall. Automatically, Allison moves over as well, so that she can go back to gently knocking her foot against Lydia's every so often.
“I'm sorry I'm so late,” Parrish says, sitting down on what looks like the very edge of the booth. “I kind of crashed when I got home. Excitement got the best of me, I guess.”
“When do you start at the sheriff's department?” Allison asks and, just like that, something clicks. The three of them fall into easy conversation. It feels no more difficult to talk to Parrish than it is to talk to Lydia or Stiles, like she's known him for years. Lydia's loud giggle punctuates the conversation and every time she laughs, a soft smile spread across Parrish's face.
It's a reaction Allison knows all too well.
She knows she should be mad. But while there's definitely an ember of jealousy simmering in her stomach, she finds it hard to concentrate on it when Parrish laughs at something she says or when Lydia's foot rubs against her ankle under the table. When Allison says something that has Parrish turning red, Lydia drags her toes up Allison's calf to the bend of her knee. When she looks up, Lydia is giving her a half-smile, something that's inquiring and sensual all at the same time.
It's just past nine and there's no way they'll be able to get to their movie on time, but Allison can't bring herself to care. Not when Lydia is grinning and Parrish is slumped back against the booth, growing more and more relaxed with every moment, one of his legs so close that Allison can feel it brush hers when he shifts.
It's confusing. She doesn't know what Parrish means to her or what he means to Lydia. But for the moment, maybe, it's okay.
&.
It remains okay for a week.
Allison sees Parrish twice during that time. He comes into the shop once with Lydia, decked out in his new deputy's uniform (and looking very good in it, if Allison is being honest). His order is the same as always, but him and Lydia take a table closer to the counter instead of the window booth. When Allison finally manages to catch a break, she takes a long time wiping off the outside of the counter, just so that she can have a chance to talk to both of them. Just before they leave, Parrish gives Allison his number.
“Just in case you ever need a connection at the sheriff's department,” he says.
He scrawls it on a scrap of napkin and it seems to burn a hole in Allison's pocket for the rest of her shift.
The second time, he's alone.
It's Friday and she's working the closing shift at the shop. By the time she finishes up, it's almost ten o'clock and the streetlights are washing over the sidewalk. There's a bus stop right outside the shop and that's where Allison sits. Lydia is at the library, running a last minute tutoring session that might last until midnight, if her frazzled texts are anything to go by. She could wait for Laura to finish up, but there's no telling how long she'll be hanging around and Allison would like to be home and asleep at some point in the near future.
The bus is twenty minutes late. She isn't surprised.
“Allison?”
She jumps slightly and whips around on the uncomfortable bench, automatically reaching for the small knife tucked inside her jacket. As soon as she sees Parrish, she loosens her grip.
“Hi,” she says, letting out a deep breath. “What are you doing here so late?”
“I was kind of hoping you'd still be open,” he says with a chuckle, glancing back towards the shop. “I'm really craving a muffin.”
“Sorry,” Allison says. “There's a Starbucks a few blocks away that's open till midnight.”
“The craving isn't that bad. I just won't wait until ten next time.” The sound of a loud, approaching engine makes Allison sit up and peer down the road, but it turns out to be a car with a shitty muffler, not the bus.
“Do you need a ride home?” Parrish asks. “Or to the library?” Allison takes a few moments to weigh the offer over. She's not sure if being alone with Parrish is the best thing that she could do. She isn't afraid of doing something bad or stepping over a line; she's afraid of what she might say.
But the bus is almost twenty-five minutes late and frankly, even though she's pretty damn good with the knife sitting inside her jacket, she'd rather not have to use it.
“Are you sure?” she asks. “I don't want to throw a wrench in your plans or anything.”
“My plans involved Netflix and take-out,” Parrish laughs. “I think driving you home is a much better way to spend my time.”
Allison is very glad that the streetlights are fairly dim, because she can't stop an embarrassingly wide smile from spreading across her face.
Parrish is parked just down the street. The inside of his SUV is almost spotless and smells like his aftershave. The radio is tuned to the town's only rock station and Parrish immediately turns the volume down.
“Did you want to listen to something else?” he asks as they pull away from the curb.
“This is good.” Allison sinks further into the soft leather seat. Her conversation with Lydia from a few weeks ago, the one about Parrish's bed, springs unbidden into her head and she immediately tries her best to shove it out of her mind. If there is one thing she doesn't want to be thinking about while mere feet away from Parrish, it's how soft (or hard) his bed might be.
Aside from giving Parrish directions, she stays quiet. She's extremely tired and she's not quite sure what might come out of her mouth if she speaks. Parrish doesn't seem to mind; he hums along with the radio and whenever she catches his eye, his mouth seems to be turned up in a half-smile.
It reminds her of Lydia. And that just makes her chest grow tight.
Traffic is light and it only takes ten minutes for them to get to her apartment building. Parrish leaves the car running, but he turns the radio completely down so that the only sound is their breathing. Allison glances over at him and finds him sucking on his bottom lip, fingers still wrapped around the steering wheel. He looks completely unsure of himself. She's never seen him look like that before.
“Allison,” he finally says, barely louder than a whisper. He sighs loudly and Allison has the sudden idea that he's holding back tears.
Or maybe she is.
“I get it,” she says softly. She can't bring herself to look at him as she says the next words, so she drops her eyes to her lap, where her hands are twisted in the hem of her blouse. “And I don't blame you. She's... she's incredible.”
“Who? Lydia?” Allison nods and lets out a wavering breath. Her vision is starting to go blurry so she swallows and pushes open the door.
“Night, Jordan,” she manages to say before her voice cracks.
She thinks that she hears him say her name again, but by that time, the car door has already closed and there's no way that she's opening it again. She walks straight to the entrance of her apartment building, using every ounce of willpower not to look back over her shoulder.
Once she closes the door of her apartment, she slumps back against it, not even bothering to turn on the light. It's only then that she realizes her last words to Parrish, realizes what she called him.
Jordan.
She groans and sinks to the ground, shutting her eyes against the tears threatening to slide down her cheeks. There is no denying what she feels for Parrish, that it's definitely something more than a fleeting crush, just as there's no denying that the way Parrish looks at Lydia (and vice versa) seems to say the same thing.
She loves Lydia. She's loved her since they first met, on some level. She wants Lydia to be happy, even if that means she's happy with someone else, even if Allison has to bite back her feelings.
She has to tell Lydia.
She intends on doing it that night, but once she makes it to the bedroom, her plans quickly change. She's exhausted and desperately in need of a shower. By the time she gets out, it's after eleven, there's still no sign of Lydia and Allison can't keep her eyes open any longer.
When she wakes up again, the sun is shining and Lydia is asleep beside her, still in her clothes, hair fanned across her pillow. Allison takes a moment to just appreciate the beauty before her. She brushes a wisp of Lydia's hair away from her cheek and Lydia stirs slightly, just long enough to scoot closer to Allison and mumble something incoherent. Allison sighs quietly and lays back down, pressing her face against the back of Lydia's neck and inhaling the faint smell of her shampoo.
She has to tell Lydia. But what harm can waiting a little longer do?
&.
When Allison wakes up the next morning, after a day off spent watching movies (and doing some other enjoyable activities) on the sofa, Lydia's side of the bed is empty, but still warm. Allison can hear muffled talking coming from the direction of the kitchen and when she opens the bedroom door, Lydia's voice becomes audible.
“I know. We'll talk to her tonight about it, okay? Bye, Jordan.”
Allison feels like her stomach has dropped to the floor. On some level, she knew that this was coming but she still feels like she's been blindsided. She quietly closes the door and turns to the closet, blindly grabbing clothes for work. Her whole body feels warm and there's a headache starting at her temples. She wants to call in sick, crawl back into bed and stay there for a whole day.
But she knows that the more she thinks about it, the worse she'll feel. She needs the distraction that work offers. She needs to keep herself busy.
She's just doing her hair when Lydia walks in. She's already dressed and carrying a cup of tea.
“Morning beautiful,” she says quietly, leaning in and kissing Allison's cheek as she breezes by. Either she's an amazing actress or she's not at all bothered by the situation they're in.
Allison doesn't know which option is worse.
“Morning,” she mumbles, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail. Lydia sits down on the edge of the bed and starts flipping through her day planner, occasionally murmuring something under her breath. The sunlight makes her skin glow and she looks unbelievably beautiful, but Allison can barely stand to look at her. By the time she finishes doing her makeup, her throat is so tight that even if she wanted to say something to Lydia, if she wanted to stop beating around the bush, she doesn't think she could.
“Ally? Are you alright?” Allison forces herself to smile as she turns around.
“Fine,” she says. “I'm gonna be late for work though.”
“Love you,” Lydia says, turning her cheek towards Allison and craning her neck.
“Love you too,” Allison murmurs, brushing her lips against the corner of Lydia's mouth. “I'll see you later.”
She hopes that later takes forever to come.
&.
She tries to keep her mind off the conversation that's awaiting her after work. She throws herself into her job. She cleans every inch of the counter, rearranges the food displays, takes on ridiculously complicated drink orders that she usually leaves for Kira or Stiles.
It works. For a while.
But as her shift begins to come to a close, thoughts start breaking into her mind. The harder she tries to ignore them, the harder it is for her to pay attention. She gives a customer back the wrong change, drops a muffin on the floor and burns her finger when pouring an espresso. It's the last incident that makes her stop. She stares down at her finger, which is bright red and swollen and just like that, she feels tears welling in her eyes.
“Stiles,” she says quietly, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. “Could you grab this?”
“Are you okay?” he asks as he grabs the drink. Allison shakes her head and, of all things to come out of her mouth, she laughs.
“I burned myself,” she says stupidly, holding up her finger. “I thought this day couldn't get any worse.”
“Stay there.” Stiles drops his hand onto her shoulder and squeezes tightly. “I'll be right back.” He breezes away with the drink and banters convincingly with the customer, one of their regulars. Allison closes her eyes and tries to keep her breathing deep and steady.
She's overreacting. Maybe Lydia and Parrish want to talk about something completely benign, like going out for dinner again or something. Maybe it's as simple as that.
The horrible feeling in her stomach refuses to dissipate. If anything, it just gets worse the harder she tries to convince herself.
By the time Stiles comes back, the pain from the burn has mostly subsided, but her knuckles are white from being wrapped around the edge of the counter.
“Do you wanna go sit down?” Allison shakes her head once before changing her mind and nodding. While there are a few customers scattered around the shop, there's no one in line, so she lets go of the counter and slides to the floor. Stiles joins her and, thankfully, he stays quiet. Just having someone beside her makes some of the tight, heavy feeling slide away from her chest, but it does nothing to stop the overwhelming storm of thoughts in her brain.
“It's Lydia,” she finally manages to spit out. “And Parrish. I think that...” She can't force the words from her mouth. Instead, she lets out a deep breath and tilts her head back against the wall.
“I thought I was just overthinking things again,” she says quietly. “But not this time.”
“Allison, Lydia loves you,” Stiles says. “I know she does. She wouldn't hurt you.”
“I want her to be happy. And I'm not sure if she's happy with me.” She tries so hard, but her voice still cracks on the last word and just like that, there's no stopping the tears.
“Hey, c'mon.” Stiles wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her to her feet. He puts himself between her and the shop, blocking her from the view of any of the customers. She doesn't know if he does it on purpose, but it makes her even more glad that he's her friend.
“I can handle it up here for the next hour. Derek's in the back, you can come over to our place if you don't want to go home for a bit.”
“Thanks, Stiles.” He smiles at her and squeezes her shoulder tightly before turning back to the counter, just as a customer walks in. Allison furiously wipes at her eyes as she heads to the back of the shop. She unties her apron and shoves it in her cubby. When she checks her phone, there's a message from Lydia and after a lot of internal debate, she finally opens it.
Are you still done at 3? was thinking of getting food with parrish. Please come?
Allison quickly types back a response before turning her phone completely off and shoving it in her jacket.
Gotta work late tonight. Sorry babe.
It's the first deliberate lie she's told Lydia in months. Years, maybe.
Derek is sitting in the small office near the employee entrance, up to his elbows in invoices and paperwork. When he looks up, he immediately drops his pen and comes around the desk. The transition is subtle, but in mere seconds, he goes from being one of her bosses to one of her friends.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asks. Allison shakes her head and sits down in a chair sandwiched between two filing cabinets.
“I just need a few minutes. Then I can go back out.”
“Stiles can handle it. If he really needs help, I can go out. I think I still remember how to make a latte. Maybe.” Allison can't help but laugh; if what Stiles says is true, Derek knows how to make every drink in the book, plus a few of his own creation.
“Thanks, Derek.” He nods before going back to the desk and diving back into the mounds of paper. Allison pulls her legs up onto the chair and leans her head against the filing cabinet.
She could get this over with now. All it would take is to get up, grab her phone and call Lydia. It would hurt, just thinking about it hurts, but it would be better than delaying the inevitable any further.
Instead, she drifts into an uneasy sleep, marked by the sound of shuffling papers and the distant murmur of Stiles talking to customers. When Stiles gently shakes her awake, there's a kink in her neck and the headache that has been threatening her all day has fully bloomed.
“Do you want to go home?” he asks. She immediately shakes her head.
“Not yet.” She's not stupid; she knows that she has to talk to Lydia sooner rather than later but at the very least, she needs a few hours.
“That's fine,” Derek says, pulling on his jacket. “I'll make dinner. Be nice to cook for someone a little more sophisticated than Stiles.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Stiles squawks. Derek shrugs, face a perfect mask of innocence and despite her headache, Allison can't help but burst out laughing.
When they get back to the apartment, Derek immediately disappears into the kitchen and starts cooking something that smells incredible. Stiles follows him but comes back a moment later with a beer in one hand and a bottle of vodka and orange juice balanced in the other.
“Figured you might want something a little extra,” he says as he collapses on the sagging couch beside her. “If not, that's totally cool, I'll drink it on your behalf.”
“Maybe just a bit,” Allison says. At the very least, it can't make her feel any worse.
Stiles' definition of a bit definitely varies from her own. The glass he hands her has at least three fingers of vodka with just a splash of orange juice. It burns down her throat but the warmth that spreads through her feels like a treat after dealing with a ball of tension all day.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Stiles asks, popping the cap off his beer and flicking it across the living room. “Or do you want to watch some stupid slasher movie and forget about it for a bit?”
“I've been trying to forget all day,” she says, swirling her drink slightly, watching as the orange pulp rises and falls. “If it wasn't obvious, I don't think it worked.”
“Did something happen? Something specific, before work?”
“Yeah,” Allison nods. “I heard Lydia, on the phone. Talking to Parrish.”
“What did she say?” Allison takes a deep breath and when she next opens her mouth, everything comes out, everything that has been building and stewing in her mind over the past few weeks: the obvious something between Lydia and Parrish, the realization that Allison feels something for him too, the realization that she has to lose Lydia if she wants her to be happy. By the time she finishes talking, Derek has placed a plate of pasta into her lap. Amazingly, Stiles hasn't touched his. He's stayed mostly quiet, saying nothing more than “thanks babe” when Derek handed him his food.
“Jesus,” he finally mutters once Allison runs out of words to say. “I didn't think things were that complicated.”
“Complicated sounds like an understatement,” Derek says quietly from his spot on Allison's right. “Are you sure that's what Lydia was talking about on the phone?”
“What else would it be?” Allison sighs. “I know I'm just putting things off, but I can't face her yet.”
“Maybe you should be the one who starts the conversation,” Stiles suggests. “Maybe that will help.”
“Maybe,” Allison mutters. She slides her hand into her jacket and pulls out her phone, which is still turned off. She knows that sending a text message is a coward's way of dealing with the situation, but she doesn't trust herself to keep her voice steady enough to call Lydia, especially not with her pounding headache.
“At least let her know where you are,” Derek says. “I'm sure she's worried.” He definitely has a point. Sure, the working late lie probably bought her a few hours but knowing Lydia, she's going to stop at the coffee shop before she goes home and Allison would rather tell her where she is than have Lydia show up at the apartment demanding an explanation.
She turns her phone back on, rubbing at her sore eyes. She has a few new messages and a missed call but for the moment, she ignores them. Instead, she immediately starts composing a text to Lydia, fingers flying, not bothering to proofread or stop her rambling. The end result is almost email length but she presses send as soon as she finishes.
i know what you wanted to talk to me about tonight. And it's okay lyds, it is, i want you to be happy and parrish seems to make you happy, he really does. i don't blame you at all. he seems like an incredible guy and if he looked at me the way he looks at you, i'd probably feel the same way that you do. i'm mostly jealous of him but i'm jealous of you too, just a bit, even though that doesn't make any sense. i'm going to miss you, i'm gonna miss you so much, but maybe this is for the best. I love you and i hope that no matter what happens we can still be friends.
“There. That's done,” she sighs, tossing her phone aside. She really does feel like a great weight has fallen off her, but her stomach is churning and there's an unpleasant warmth filling her entire body.
“I'm sorry, Ally,” Stiles says, giving her a tight one-armed hug before finally starting on his pasta. “You're both my friends and I don't want either of you to get hurt. I've got no loyalty towards Parrish though. Fuck him.” He says it so flippantly that Allison bursts out laughing before finally starting on her own pasta. Stiles puts some stupid slasher movie on and for a few moments, things almost feel normal.
But that's before her phone starts ringing.
For a few seconds, she just stares at it. It's face down, so she can't see who's calling. Derek pauses the movie and Stiles picks up her phone, glancing at it.
“It's Parrish,” he says slowly, raising an eyebrow when he looks back up at Allison. “Do you want to answer it?” Allison nods; she has a feeling that it might actually be Lydia calling, using Parrish's phone. Stiles hands it over and Allison takes a deep breath before answering, digging the fingers of her free hand into her knee.
“Hello?”
“Allison?”
“Parrish? Is Lydia there?”
“No, she's been trying to find you, Allison. But I need to talk to you. I just got this really long text from you that I think was meant for her and you need to know, that isn't-”
Allison hangs up. She tosses her phone onto the couch, a warm wave of pure mortification spreading through her.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, staring at her phone. It starts ringing again but she doesn't move to answer it. “Oh fuck.”
“What happened?” both Stiles and Derek ask.
“That text I sent,” she says, swallowing past the lump in her throat, “it didn't go to Lydia. I... fuck, I sent it to Parrish.”
“Oh. Shit,” Stiles says. Allison nods and runs her fingers through her hair, ignoring her phone as it begins to ring for a third time.
She's pretty sure that there's no possible way that the situation could get worse.
“You're more than welcome to lay low here for a bit,” Derek says, beginning to gather up their dinner dishes. He also picks up the vodka bottle and the logical, clear-thinking side of Allison's mind is extremely grateful for that. “But I'm sure Lydia's going to come here, sooner rather than later.” She knows that he's right. Parrish is probably on the phone with Lydia right now, and all it will take for her to figure out where Allison has gone is to go to the coffee shop and ask Laura.
She prepares herself for the inevitable. She borrows a pair of Stiles' sweatpants and curls up on their couch. They turn the stupid movie back on and both of them try to make her laugh; Derek in his understated way, Stiles by being loud and making up ridiculous alternate dialogue for the movie.
By the time the knock on the door comes, Allison's stomach has almost stopped churning.
Stiles leaps to his feet, but Allison stops him from racing towards the door. She knows that he means well, but she's been running away from this for days and that's only made things worse. She just needs to get it over with.
Besides, Stiles is no match for Lydia. Never has been.
She opens the door to find Lydia alone. She looks tired and worried; she's licked her lipstick off and Allison can see a tiny smear of blood at the corner of her mouth.
“Oh, thank God,” she says quietly, grabbing the front of Allison's shirt and yanking her into a tight hug. It throws Allison off balance in more ways than one and by the time she decides to hug back, Lydia is already pulling away.
“We need to talk,” Lydia says quietly, loosely taking Allison's hand. “Please.”
“Where's Parrish?” Allison asks.
“Not here,” Lydia says simply. “We need to talk, just us. Then, maybe, we can talk to him too. But you and I come first. Always.” Allison glances back over her shoulder. Stiles is at the end of the hallway, far enough to be out of earshot but still close enough for support. Allison smiles at him before turning back to Lydia.
“Okay. Just let me get my stuff.”
&.
On the way back to the apartment, Allison stares out the window, absently picking at a tiny hole in the sweatpants she's still wearing. Lydia occasionally hums along with the radio or curses out a bad driver, but she doesn't attempt to initiate any actual conversation.
That doesn't happen until they're inside and sitting in the living room. Allison has a few false starts, manages to say two or three words before trailing off. She doesn't know what to address first and when Lydia finally speaks, Allison breathes out a sigh of relief.
“I'm sorry,” she says. She reaches out and takes both of Allison's hands, squeezing tightly. “This is my fault. If I'd just been honest with you, none of this would have happened.”
“It's okay,” Allison murmurs. “All that matters is that you're telling me now.” Lydia scoots a little closer, until their knees are bumping together.
“I like Parrish,” Lydia says. “And he likes me, Ally. But he likes you too.” Allison's head snaps up at that. For a few seconds, she thinks that Lydia has to be joking. But there's not a hint of amusement on Lydia's face, just a soft smile.
“What do you mean, he likes me too?” she asks.
“Just that,” Lydia says. “He likes you, Allison. He likes both of us.” Allison feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. There's no way the situation is that simple. There's no way that she's spent so much time worrying about something that could have been avoided by saying only a few words.
“I like him too,” she finally says. Just like that, the air rushes back into the room. The sense of relief that washes over her is almost palpable. Even if nothing comes out of her confession, it feels wonderful just to have it off her chest. “But how is that supposed to work?”
“However we want it to work.” Lydia moves even closer, so that she's almost in Allison's lap. “We don't have to do anything, if you don't want to. We can just stay friends with him. It's up to you.” She reaches up to brush some of Allison's hair away from her face and just like that, Allison falls even more in love with her.
“I think we should try it,” she blurts out. “We should talk to him about it, at the very least.”
“Okay.” Lydia presses her lips against Allison's forehead and Allison wraps her arms around Lydia's waist, completely pulling her onto her lap. Her stomach is still churning slightly and her headache hasn't gone away, but it feels so good to be able to hold onto her girlfriend, to not have secrets or white lies traipsing around the back of her mind.
“I love you,” she says quietly, resting her head against Lydia's chest. “So much.”
“I love you too,” Lydia murmurs, sounding like the happiest person in the world. She pulls back slightly and tilts Allison's head back against the couch. When their lips slot together, Allison moans quietly and parts her lips slightly. She can't remember the last time she kissed Lydia properly, but it's been too damn long. By the time she needs to breathe, her chest feels tight again, but it's in a way she's all too acquainted with.
“I'm going to call Parrish,” Lydia says. Her eyes are still closed and her fingers are combing through Allison's hair, gently tugging through the numerous knots that have formed over the day. “I think we should talk to him about this in person. The diner, maybe.”
“It might be easier if he came here,” Allison says. “If you're okay with that.”
“Good idea.” Lydia pecks her on the lips before sliding off her lap, adjusting her skirt where it's bunched around her thighs. “You can call for take-out, if you want. I don't think we're going to have time to cook tonight.”
Five minutes after Allison gets off the phone, there's a knock at the door. She's ready to commend the pizza place for having the fastest service in town but when she opens the door, it's Parrish, short hair tousled, holding a small box in his hands. It's stamped with a logo that Allison knows all too well.
“I brought muffins,” he says, looking down at the box. “I don't really know why. Seemed like the right thing to do.”
“We ordered pizza,” Allison says, stepping aside to let him in. “But we do make pretty good muffins at the shop.”
“Might be the best muffins in town.” For a few seconds, Allison forgets what they're all there for. Her laugh comes so easily that she forgets the very real, serious situation they still have to deal with. It seems like Parrish remembers at the same time; his smile slowly slides off his face and he sighs, rubbing a hand along his cheek. There's a hint of stubble growing there, the first that Allison can remember seeing.
“Lydia's in the living room,” she says, turning and leading the way. Lydia has been busy over the last few minutes. She's pushed their battered coffee table to the side and filled the space between the couch and the television with blankets and pillows. She emerges from their bedroom carrying a spare duvet and drops it to the floor with a muffled thump.
“That should be comfortable,” she says, sinking to the ground. “The couch was too small.” Allison joins her and, after shrugging off his jacket, so does Parrish. He looks like he hasn't slept well in a few days. He looks young and for a few moments, Allison forgets that he's actually three years older than them.
“Before anything, I want to say that I'm sorry,” he says with a sigh. “Especially to you, Allison. I should have told you the truth. I was afraid of how you would react, but I just made things worse.”
“Honestly, I think we're all blameworthy,” Allison says. “I was terrified of what both of you would think, and I was terrified of losing Lydia, but holding it all in wasn't the right answer.”
“We should have been honest,” Lydia adds. She moves closer, until she's touching both Allison and Parrish. “And if this has any chance in hell of working, we can't hold anything back. We all deserve honesty.”
“Agreed.” Parrish rests his hand on top of Lydia's. Her fingers easily disappear underneath his own. When he holds his other hand out to Allison, the same thing happens to hers.
“I'm still sorry,” he says, brushing his thumb against Allison's knuckles. “I overstepped some boundaries.”
“I think we could spend the whole night apologizing,” Lydia says. “Or we could spend it making up for lost time.” She raises one of her eyebrows as she glances between them and Allison smiles, moving even closer.
“I like how you think,” Allison admits. “We just have to do better from now on.”
“I promise,” Parrish says quietly. It sounds like the most solemn of vows and one glance at his face is all she needs to know that he means it. Allison really wants to kiss him and she begins to lean forward, reaching out to take Lydia's other hand at the same time.
Before she can seal the deal, someone else knocks at the door.
When she comes back with the pizza, Lydia and Parrish have moved. Their backs are to the couch and Lydia is tucked against his side. It looks natural, like they've been doing it for years but the tiny ember of jealousy that flares in Allison's chest is easy enough to tamp down. There's a small stack of plates on the floor beside them and Lydia has the remote, rapidly flipping through channels. She finally settles on the tail end of some action movie but although it looks vaguely familiar, Allison doesn't pay any attention to it.
They talk the entire time they eat, getting up to speed on what they've all missed. Parrish's new job as a deputy is going well, even though getting a good night's sleep seems to be a thing of the past. Lydia is fully convinced that freshmen are going to drive her crazy and Allison has a feeling that Kira might have a bit of a crush on Laura.
By the time she glances back up at the television, another movie is playing. She recognizes it and groans; it's the same terrible movie that she was watching with Stiles before Lydia arrived.
“This movie is awful,” she says, wiping off her mouth with a napkin. “Even by Stiles' standards.”
“Good thing I didn't plan on watching it,” Lydia says. She takes Allison's plate from her lap and sets it aside before leaning in to kiss her. Allison sighs quietly and closes her eyes, leaning further into the kiss. She reaches her hand out until she feels Parrish's close around hers. She pulls him closer and when Lydia pulls away from her, Allison takes the quickest of breaths before turning to kiss Parrish. The noise Parrish makes is somewhere between a gasp and a sigh and Allison decides that she wants to hear it again, soon.
Parrish kisses her slowly, one hand resting on her knee. He pulls away with the barest brush of his tongue against her bottom lip and Allison moans quietly. It takes a few moments for Parrish's eyes to open. He looks a little dazed and truth be told, Allison is pretty sure that she looks much the same.
“My turn,” Lydia says. She sits up on her knees and braces her hands on Parrish's legs. As soon as her lips touch his, he makes that strange noise again and Allison can't help but smile. One of Parrish's hands threads into Lydia's hair while the other closes around Allison's wrist. She moves even closer and, after a moment of just watching, trying to figure out where she slots into the situation, she decides to just go with what feels natural. She moves some of Lydia's hair back and dips her head, gently brushing her mouth along Lydia's neck. Lydia gasps and runs her hand down Allison's side to rest on her hip. When Lydia breaks away, it's with a wide grin and flushed cheeks.
“I didn't think things were going to work that well,” Parrish says. Somewhere along the way, his fingers have slotted together with Allison's and she squeezes gently.
“Me neither,” she admits. “But I'm not complaining.”
“I'm sure it'll get even better,” Lydia says. “With practice, of course.”
Allison isn't sure if Lydia means it to sound like a challenge, but she takes it as one anyways.
By the time the terrible slasher film comes to an end, the three of them have wound down as well. Allison's mouth is slightly sore and she's pretty sure that she has a hickie flourishing just above her collarbone, but she can't quite remember whose mouth put it there. Lydia's hair is a mess of wisps and wayward curls, splayed across their makeshift nest. Parrish's shirt is rumpled and there's faint smears of lipstick on his cheek and his jaw. Allison's headache has finally gone away and she's surprisingly comfortable on the floor.
“You make a good nest,” she mumbles against Lydia's shoulder. Even though she knows she should get up and brush her teeth, she's given up on trying to keep her eyes open.
“I know,” Lydia replies, Her fingers are slowly combing through Allison's hair and her head is resting on Parrish's chest. “But if we're going to be doing this often, we're going to need a bed big enough for the three of us.”
“I think mine is,” Parrish says quietly. Allison opens her eyes long enough to peek over at him and isn't surprised to see that he looks like he's on the verge of sleep. “It might be a bit of a tight fit.”
“That won't be a problem,” Lydia says. She wriggles out of their arms and pecks both of them on the cheek before she gets up. Allison hears water running in the bathroom a few moments later and while she knows Lydia isn't likely to be long, they've all been pressed together for so long that she's actually cold. She slides across the nest until she finds Parrish. She loosely drapes one arm over his waist and he slides his around her shoulder.
“You're warm,” Allison mumbles. Parrish laughs and pulls her closer, fingers brushing against her bare arm.
“You are too.”
Allison doesn't hear or feel Lydia come back from the bathroom. When her eyes open again, there are faint rays of sunshine illuminating the living room. The television seems to be playing an infomercial on low volume and both Parrish and Lydia are still fast asleep. Parrish is facing her and Lydia's arm is looped around his waist, fingers wrapped in the hem of his shirt. Allison brushes her thumb against the back of Lydia's hand before slowly sitting up, trying to figure out what woke her up in the first place.
After a moment, she realizes that her phone is dinging. It takes her a moment to remember where it is but eventually, she finds it in her jacket, which is slung over the back of the couch. She sits back down and realizes that not only is her phone almost completely dead, but she's missed a dozen texts from Stiles, the last of which was only a few seconds ago.
Allison do i need to help you hide a body? Cause i will. Totally.
She has no idea why Stiles is even up so early, but the least she can do is alleviate his concerns. She snaps a quick picture over her shoulder and while it's a little blurry, she still manages to include Lydia and Parrish sleeping and herself smiling. She captions it with I think we're fine before tossing the phone back onto the couch and laying back down. She slides her arm over Lydia's and tucks her head under Parrish's chin. Almost immediately, she finds herself falling back asleep, lured by warmth and the gentle sound of breathing.
Before she passes out again, Laura Hale of all people pops into her head. Immediately, Allison starts laughing, burying the sounds against Parrish's warm chest.
If Laura plans on telling her no kissing on duty every time Lydia or Parrish comes into the shop, she's going to end up losing her voice.
Allison can't say that she feels bad about that possibility.