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If there’s one thing Allison doesn’t understand the appeal of, it’s weddings.
She’s only been to a few, enough to count on one hand, and none of them had been enjoyable experiences. Sure, the dresses were always gorgeous and sure, Allison always found herself tearing up in time with the happy couple, but that didn’t make up for the fact that weddings were always long, tedious and hot.
And yet, despite all that, Allison would take any other wedding over the absolute disaster that is Jennifer and Kali’s.
Sure, the ceremony itself goes off without a hitch. It's mercifully short and held outside on one of the coolest days of the summer. Jennifer looks absolutely stunning, practically floating down the aisle in a tight mermaid dress, long black hair hanging loose over her shoulders. When Kali steps up the aisle in a tight black suit, bare feet padding along the grass, Allison's jaw drops. Their vows are short and to the point and after less than fifteen minutes, Kali tugs Jennifer into a kiss so passionate that Allison thinks they might start tearing each other’s clothes off.
Allison wipes away tears as the two of them walk down back the aisle hand-in-hand, the perfect finishing touch to a beautiful ceremony.
The reception, on the other hand, is the very definition of an actual fucking disaster.
Allison ends up getting stuck in traffic and by the time she walks into the community center where the reception is being held, the main room has dissolved into chaos. The song that was supposed to be Jennifer and Kali’s first dance is still playing but it’s only barely audible over the sound of the brides screaming at each other in the center of the dance floor. From her spot at the back of the room, Allison can only hear every other word, but it’s still enough for her to figure out that they’re arguing about Jennifer flirting with an ex who was invited to the reception.
Allison knows that, as one of Jennifer's bridesmaids, she should probably do something to try and calm the situation down. But before she can consider her options, Kali whips around and storms away from the dance floor, heading for one of the exits. On her way out, she swipes at a bottle of whiskey sitting on the bar and even before it hits the ground and shatters, Allison can’t help but wince.
There goes the damage deposit down the drain.
By the time she makes it across the dance floor to help clean up, one of Kali’s bridesmaids has already stepped up with a broom. So instead, Allison pops over to the bar, grabs a glass of wine and perches on the nearest stool, peering through the crowd to see if she can find Jennifer.
She doesn't have any luck, but after a few moments, it becomes clear that something is happening to the crowd. People keep abruptly darting from the floor towards the various bathrooms, some of them clutching their stomachs or mouths. It’s too early for it to all be from alcohol and after a few more minutes of watching people swiftly leave the room, Allison has a feeling that there's something not quite right at the meal table.
(Allison’s willing to bet that it’s the pork tenderloin. She may not be a great cook, but she still knew the meat smelled funny when they stopped by to check on it before the ceremony.)
The food poisoning is the last straw. Allison waits until the bartender is distracted by another sobbing guest before she reaches over the counter and grabs the nearest bottle of wine. She sidesteps someone else who looks like they’re about to puke on their shoes as she heads outside. There’s a small grassy area near the doors that’s miraculously unoccupied by anyone else and she plops down against the wall, kicking off her tight stilettos. She tilts her bead back towards the sky as she takes a sip of the wine. The sky overhead is clear and she can see dozens of constellations overhead, their names automatically popping into her head.
Sure, there’s a bit of a nip to the air and she wishes she had a sweater to cover her bare shoulders, but she’d rather deal with the cold than run the risk of being thrown up on or stepping on some tiny shards of glass.
By the time the door bangs open again, Allison is well on the way to being tipsy. She tilts her head just in time to see a young man with disheveled dark hair and a slightly ill fitting suit slide down the wall to sit beside her. He looks pale and tired but, thankfully, he doesn’t look like he’s going to throw up.
“Want a drink?” she asks, holding the bottle of wine in his direction.
“Fuck, yes please,” he mutters, grabbing the bottle and taking a swig. Wine drizzles from both sides of his mouth and splashes onto his suit, but he doesn’t seem to be even remotely concerned. “This is the worst wedding ever.”
“You’re not wrong,” Allison sighs. “What happened to you?”
“Oh, you know. Turns out my date brought me along to make their ex jealous. I think they’re making out in the coat closet now.”
“Ouch,” Allison says, passing the bottle back. After his next gulp, the man squints slightly and peers at her.
“Weren’t you one of the bridesmaids?” he asks.
“Yeah, unfortunately. Don’t remind me.”
“Shouldn’t you be in there, consoling the bride or something?” Allison shrugs and takes another small sip from the now nearly empty bottle.
“Maybe, I guess. But I don’t really know Jen, not enough to console her or anything. I don’t even know why I said yes when she asked me to be in her wedding party.” After only a moment of consideration, she tilts her head back and fully empties the bottle of wine.
“Huh,” the guy says. “Sounds like your night is going even worse than mine. Want some more wine?”
“Sure,” she says with a shrug. She knows that more wine is probably going to go straight to her head, especially since she hasn’t eaten anything for a few hours, but she doesn’t feel quite as tipsy as she would like to be. The guy smiles at her before clambering back to his feet. He’s only gone for a few moments and when he bangs back through the doors, he’s carrying another bottle.
“Man, it's chaos in there,” he says, pulling a pocketknife from his trousers and prying out the cork. “I think everyone is too sick to do anything. I have no idea where the bartender is.”
“Probably decided to bail while he still had the chance,” Allison says, accepting the bottle when it’s passed to her. “I’m Allison, by the way.”
“Stiles,” the guy replies, sticking his hand out. After Allison shakes it, they simply sit in silence for a few moments, passing the bottle back and forth. Allison goes back to staring up at the stars above, naming the ones she can remember, coming up with new names for the ones she can’t. When Stiles clears his throat, she tilts her head to look at him. She has to admit, he’s pretty cute; there are moles spattered down the long line of his throat and there’s a bright, easy grin on his face that automatically makes her smile back.
“So what do you do when you’re not attending really shitty weddings?”
&.
By the time they finish the second bottle of wine, Allison is definitely past tipsy and is well on the way to being drunk. There’s no longer music echoing through the wall; apparently the DJ has quit as well. She’s seen no sign of Jennifer and Kali but every so often, a guest drifts out the door, either obviously drunk or clutching at their stomach. A few of them stop and ask if she wants a ride back to her hotel but even if Allison did trust their ability to drive, she says no.
She’s perfectly fine exactly where she is.
Stiles is mere inches away from her, shoulder occasionally brushing against hers. He’s definitely tipsy; his head lolls easily on his neck and every so often, he falls into a laughing fit, which continues until his eyes are filled with tears. He asks question after question and answers hers freely, going off on tangents that somehow end up miles away from the original topic. She finds out that he’s doing a masters of history at the same college as her and that they actually love the same coffee shop, although she doesn’t remember ever seeing him there. Long after the bottle is empty, their conversation continues, bouncing from topic to topic.
“I’m cold,” Stiles eventually yawns, shaking the dregs of wine left in the bottle.
“Do you want your jacket back?” Allison asks. She’s not quite sure when she ended up wearing Stiles’ jacket, but she’s kind of reluctant to give it back; it smells amazing and it’s protecting her shoulders from the abrasive surface of the wall.
“Nah, it’s fine.” Stiles scoots even closer to her, until his head is resting against her shoulder. “Looks better on you than me, actually.” Allison grins and lets her head rest on top of Stiles’. There’s way too much hair gel pushed into the front of his hair and it tickles her nose enough to make her sneeze.
“What’s with all of this?” she asks, tugging a few strands between her fingers and yawning at the same time. “Why the hair gel?”
“I don’t really know,” he mumbles, fingers brushing against Allison’s as he also reaches for his hair. “Violet said that it looked good.”
“Was that the person who ditched you for their ex?” Allison asks. “Because they definitely lied.” Stiles mutters something under his breath before slipping one arm around Allison’s waist.
“Is that alright?” he mumbles. She nods and returns the favor, wrapping both of her arms around his chest and letting her eyes close.
Allison knows that she should really be getting back to her hotel room soon. But she’s just so tired and her head feels heavy as a stone.
She just needs to close her eyes. For a few minutes, at least.
&.
Allison wakes up to a pounding headache and a mouth that tastes like death.
When she blinks her eyes open, she’s met with sunlight. It’s already a warm day, which kind of makes up for the fact that all of her muscles are sore and her ass is numb. Stiles is still asleep on her shoulder but as soon as she wiggles her arms out from around his waist, he bolts awake with a jolt, head whipping back and forth. After a moment, he slumps back against the wall, smiling sheepishly.
“Uh, morning,” he says. “Does your head hurt as much as mine?”
“Yeah,” Allison mutters, rubbing at her temples. “Probably still feel better than everyone else though.”
“I don't doubt that for a minute.” For a few moments, neither of them speak; Stiles rubs the back of his neck and Allison chews on her cuticles, absently listening to birds singing nearby. She doesn’t exactly regret how she spent the night, but she doesn’t want to suggest anything more, not without some kind of indication about how Stiles feels.
Thankfully, his next words give her a pretty good feeling.
“So, if I don’t get some coffee soon, I’m gonna be hungover for days,” he finally says. “Did you wanna come with, maybe, or something?”
“Yeah,” Allison says with a smile. “I need some too. Maybe we should just split a pot.” The sound of Stiles’ laugh seems shockingly loud and even though it makes Allison’s head throb harder, her smile still grows wider.
She’s not entirely sure yet, but she thinks it’s a sound that she could get used to.