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SATURDAY: THE DAY AFTER.
(When things catch up with you and some pizza is in order.)
Living off campus, Stiles decided as she rolled herself out from under Scotty's bed, had so far been the best decision of her college career. In her tiny little flat she didn't get her door run down at odd hours of odd days demanding she join the drunken festivities that is students' go-to pastime when they're not passed out from said drinking or crashing after vicious exams. Stiles could attest from the pounding in her head and dead Things in her mouth that it was the former, in her case. Not to mention the less than ideal nest she'd made out of a blanket, pillow and Scotty's clothes under her friend’s bed. Urgh, mothballs and dust bunnies everywhere.
"Why, Scotty, whyyy?!", she whined from where she'd rolled out onto the floor, staring balefully up at a shitty water damaged ceiling. A muffled moan to her left had her rolling her head to the side facing the bed, looking up just as a mop of tangled brown curls came into view from over the bed's edge. It wasn't long before a pair of blood-shot eyes joined in.
"Gay freak-out", Scotty said as she pointed at herself, pausing to wince at the rough sound of her voice before pointing to Stiles, "Straight freak-out."
Sighing as it all came back to her, she eyed Scotty miserably. "Bottle of Tequila?", she asked, resigned. Scotty's grumbled reply of "Body shots" had her covering her face with both hands.
"Pizza and coke?", Scotty enquired after a few moments of them both silently stewing in the fact that what they’d planned to be a quiet night in moping while passing a bottle of Jack back and forth had somehow escalated to a full-blown, body-shots, dancing on tables kind of not at all quiet night out. This only happens when they’re at Scotty’s dorm, she swears. (Lies).
“Water, pills, bed, sleep,” Stiles rattled off, groaning as she rolled over once again to shakily pull herself up on all fours as she reached out for the bed for support and climbed to her feet, “Then pizza and coke, and Midsumer Murders marathon.”
“Troy, Scott or Jones?” Scotty shot back, scooting over to leave space in her tiny single for when Stiles came back from her noble crusade of procuring glasses of water and painkillers.
Stiles hummed thoughtfully, unconcerned as she wandered out into the shared kitchen in a pair of panties and her top from last night. She waited to reply for when she was back, glasses in hand and bottle of pills clutched in her armpit.
“I’m feeling Troy’s adorable face and horrid driving. The confused homophobia and puppy-dog everything he’s got going seems appealing today,” she concluded, collapsing in bed half on-top of Scotty after placing the glasses on her bedside table. Scotty grunted at the extra weight but didn’t complain, just rearranged herself to fit against Stiles by habit. She didn’t hesitate to bury her face in Stiles’ chest, legs tangled and hair getting all up in Stiles’ face. Urgh.
“Deal,” Scotty agreed after a few moments of fidgeting into a comfortable position. Glasses drained half-empty and pills swallowed, it didn’t take them long to conk out with a fuck you to the sun shining through the wonky blinds. Phase one concluded.
FRIDAY: THE DAY BEFORE.
(When things are processed in a healthy and sensible manner.)
Leveling Scotty with a serious stare, Stiles watched her friend squirm guiltily. “Dude, I can’t take it anymore. You’re being weirder than that time you had a crush on my dad. Spill.”
Blushing beet red, Scotty hid her face behind both her hands and whimpered. “You promised to never ever bring that up ever again, oh my god, Stiles.”
Dismissing this with a wave of her hand, Stiles forged on, because she was the master of diversions and she was onto Scotty and she wasn’t letting this go. It had been laughably easy to make Scotty crack back then and she didn’t think now would be any different. She’d brought a bottle of Jack as a back-up plan.
“Whatever, dude, my dad’s awesome and it’s totally understandable. Though if there are ever details I will murder you,” she warned before moving on. “But whatever, now’s the time you tell Antuie Stiles all about your problems. Go on.”
Peeking through her fingers, Scotty sighed before dropping her hands to her lap and biting her lower lip. Another sigh, deeper, was heaved before she accepted defeat and slumped in her seat. “Fine. I don’t know why I haven’t talked to you about it yet, I guess I’m just…freaking out.”
A little wide-eyed, Scotty looked at Stiles with a pleading if slightly scared expression. Frowning, Stiles motioned for her to go on, settling in on her bed braced for whatever was causing her friend distress.
“So, you know how I’m straight?” Scotty begins, gaining momentum at Stiles’ confused nod. “Well I thought I was too okay! I really did! I’ve dated guys, I’ve slept with guys, and I like it. A lot, okay, dicks are awesome. But, like, there’s this girl in my animal science class and at first I just thought she was really pretty, like, straight girls can think other girls are pretty, you’ve gone on about that often enough. But…”
Leaning forward in attentive interest, slightly worried at the frantic breathing of her friend, Stiles raised her brows. “But..?”
“But then,” Scotty continues, slightly desperately. “But suddenly she’s in my study group and she’s all friendly and I think, awesome, a new friend! But she’s got these dimples, right, and she’s just so pretty Stiles. She’s pretty and smart and kind, and she makes my head spin and my stomach flip like I’m fucking 16 again and oh my god since when am I a dyke?!”
Blinking, Stiles stood to drag her into a hug, snuggling in close. “First off, don’t sound so offended. Dykes are awesome, as you know. Second of all, she sounds like the kind of girl to turn any straight gal around the bend. What’s her name?”
Sighing, Scotty wraps her arms around Stiles’ waist and relaxes slightly. “Allison,” she replied, sounding slightly breathless and Stiles hoped she wouldn’t need her inhaler. “Allison Argent.”
“That’s a pretty name,” Stiles commented, running her hands through Scotty’s messy hair. “Think she’d say yes to a date?” When Scotty tended, Stiles rolled her eyes and tugged at her hair. “From you, you dope. BFF’s crushes are off limits.”
“I don’t know,” Scotty whispered, forgoing to comment on the last bit.
“Sounds like that’s the actual problem here,” Stiles nudged, “And not the fact that you’ve got a crush on a girl. Though not a girl crush, but actual crush crush. The only experimenting you’ve done is with me and dude, that was bound to fail, sister of another mister.”
Leaning away from Stiles’ chest, Scotty looked up with hopeful eyes. “Yeah?”
“Yep,” Stiles confirmed. “Wanna get drunk and come up with increasingly awesome ways of wooing a possibly straight young woman?”
Nodding, Scotty laughed. “Hells yeah!”
Stiles untangled herself before reaching for her bag with the bottle of Jack, presenting it to Scotty with a wide grin and a fist bump. “It’s on!”
.
A few sips in, as the alcohol has started to buzz through their bodies and settle a lazy haze over their minds, Scotty nudged Stiles with her toes from where they’re sprawled on the floor. “Your turn,” she demanded, taking a swing of Jack and no longer grimacing. Years of sneaking Stiles’ dad’s whiskey in empty coke bottles, watering off the original bottles to hide the evidence, had rendered them both used to and sometimes inclined to the burn and taste. “You’ve been acting weird as shit as well. Weirder than when you admitted you thought Jackson was attractive.”
Groaning, Stiles thumped her head against the wall she’d been leaning on and made grabby hands for the bottle. “Oh my god dude, it’s like, exactly the same shit only worse! Because gay girls can find boys attractive, I’ve told you so, but…”
Scotty let out a groan of her own, handing off the bottle to let Stiles gulp some more down. “Fuck, not you too.”
Miserable, Stiles glanced over to her best friend. “Yeah, me too.”
“What’s his name?”
“Derek,” she mumbled, cradling the bottle to her bosom. “Derek Hale.”
Scotty looked up at the ceiling. “We need more alcohol.”
.
“The thing is,” slurred Stiles, bottle of Jack empty on the floor. “You were m’firt kiss an’ it was sorta hot bu’, ya know, sisters. Then there was Erica, at least ‘till she got all, y’know, leather-y. Bu’ I still thought, ya know, that was it. Girls were it. Thought I had myself all figured out.”
Scotty’s pout matched Stiles’. “Me too buddy, me too.”
FRIDAY: REWIND A MONTH.
(When first impressions are made and opinions established.)
“I’ll be here to answer any of your questions,” Stiles said, looking out over the spattering of students. “I’ll provide any help you need, as long as you ask for it. That’s what I’m here for. The rest is up to you guys; I don’t care if you slack off, it’s your problem if you do and not pass. I’m your TA not your mother. I’m not here to hold any hands, we’re all adults here. With great grades comes great responsibility. Capiche?”
A few nods came her way, some of the students frowning and others looking approving. Well, she’d thought, that’s about as good as it gets.
“Okay then. Welcome to Anthropology 160: Forms of Folklore, I’m Stiles Stilinski. Let’s go through what Professor Deaton discussed last time. Any questions?”
A few moments of silence, as always, before this year’s verbal brood made itself known. Discussion soon flourished after some probing and steering on Stiles’ part and she made note of the quiet ones. Her second go at TA went off without a hitch.
Mostly.
.
“Ms. Stilinski,” one of the students approached her as she was tidying up at the desk, stuffing down papers and folders into her bag and piling books in a stack for easier maneuvering. She looked up and was met with a face of thick eyebrows, pretty green eyes and impressive cheekbones. The man was broad in build and held himself tall, towering slightly in a distinctly Alpha male way that had her hackles up in moments.
“Just Stiles is fine; nothing disrespectful with my name,” she said with a sharp smile. The guy inclined his head, eying her for a moment before breaking out into a charming smile that revealed a silly set of bunny teeth. Urgh, one of those.
The stench of his fake everything made her nose scrunch up. His smile softened slightly, more sincere, but she had little patience with people that expected their pretty face to get them anywhere. Having been bottom rung of the social ladder from preschool to high school, Stiles had had her fair share of unpleasant encounters with that type. She had learned to use her sharp tongue (the latter in more ways than verbal after Erica) to make her way through the world, but the healthy dose of humility her father made sure to subject her to whenever she attempted to apply her wit to him and his Sheriff-ing ways, had made sure she never presumed, nor expected, things to always get her way just because she could talk anyone but her dad in circles.
“Professor Deaton suggested I’d take this up with you,” he explained, adjusting the strap of his manpurse, hitching it up his shoulder to keep it from sliding off. “About the essay I’m writing. He said you’d be able to help a man out.”
Clapping her hands together and rubbing them, she nodded, because this she could do. Professional was her middle name, hell yeah. (Much better than Bronislava.)
“Tell me about it and I’ll see what I can do.”
.
Stiles tore out a page from her notebook and quickly scrabbled the times down. “Great, Derek, feel free to drop by my office hours if you need me to check up on your progress or just need an ear to vent to or a second pair of eyes. Here.”
She gave him the paper with a smile, slightly excited by his essay topic (werewolves, yay!) and got a nod in reply. “Thanks,” he said, smiling still, “You’re a life-saver.”
She wanted to ask him if that works for him but she’s aware enough to know it probably does. Rolling her eyes, Stiles shrugged. “Just doing my job. I gotta go now though. Lunch waits for no one.”
Derek paced himself to her shorter legs walking by her side and holding the door open as they excited the classroom. “Need some help with those?”, he nodded towards the books she carried. She shook her head, “Nah, I’m good,” and continued down the hall. Shooting a curious look his way as he followed, Stiles tried not to start a heated monologue on presumptuous chivalry vs. polite manners and the pitfalls of feminism with modern society’s misconceptions. She’d stayed up late on tumblr, okay, it always leaves her in an argumentative mood.
“You headed to the cafeteria too?” Derek asked after a few moments of silence, to which Stiles grunted the affirmative. “Not stopping to drop all that off?”
Shrugging as they turned a corner and made their way down a flight of stairs, Stiles huffed. “No time. I need some of the books later anyway.”
Derek grinned sheepishly. She could particularly feel the flirting vibes coming off of this man, like an annoying poke in her side. “Sorry, did I take up that much of your time?”
She shook her head. “Nah, s’cool man.”
“Let me make it up to you,” he insisted. She’s about to interrupt and decline, but then he spoke the magic word. “Coffee. Let me make it up to you over coffee.”
Free caffeine, no one says no to that.
He doesn’t need to know he’s barking up the wrong tree just yet.
SATURDAY: FASTFORWARD TO PRESENT TIME.
(When hangovers are dealt with and no further action is taken.)
“Oh my god,” Scotty snorted at the laptop balanced on equal parts of their laps. “He’s actually worse than me.”
Before she commented, Stiles swallowed her mouthful of pizza and shook her head sadly. “No one’s worse than you. At least Troy can start the damn car.” For that, Scotty punched her arm, missing by a mile and connecting with her boob instead.
“Duuude,” Stiles wheezed, betrayed.
Unconcerned, Scotty sniffed. “Gimme another piece of pizza, bitch, and shut up. Troy’s gonna get the car stuck in the field. I don’t wanna miss Barnaby’s bitchface.”
Stiles sulked, but otherwise complied. “Boob puncher,” she muttered darkly, pacified only as the promised bitchface was executed perfectly.
Awesome.
SUNDAY: THE NEXT DAY.
(When various coping mechanisms are explored.)
Scotty poked morosely at a clothing rack, looking betrayed. “We’re girls, Stiles,” she whined, turning her gaze to where Stiles stood with an armful of cotton panties in bright, screaming colors. “We’re supposed to love shopping!”
“Heteronormative, sexist bullshit,” Stiles recited, to which a pretty blonde on the other side of the rack of glittery tops replied with an “Amen!”. They did an air high five. It was awesome.
“Why are you buying so many panties?” Scotty wondered as she gave up, walking over to poke at the garments Stiles was clutching. “I like the lime one. It makes me wanna stab someone. It’s surprisingly therapeutic.”
“I know right?” Stiles agreed cheerfully. “And dude, everything is in the dirty laundry. I’m too lazy to deal, you know this. New panties it is.”
“You could probably stand to throw some of your old period panties out,” Scotty noted with a wrinkled nose. “Some of them I remember from middle school, dude. Not cool.”
Scoffing, Stiles turned and made her way to the cashier. “They’re stretched and soft and awesome, shut up. Some holes and stains don’t matter with pads on anyway.”
“Classy,” Scotty snorted.
“Shut up.”
.
Throwing herself down in the booth, Stiles grinned. “Curly fries. Now that’s something that cannot go wrong!”
Scotty eyed the menu hungrily. “A cheeseburger,” she hissed, “A cheeseburger dripping in fat and a large coke with ice and a straw. Stiles.”
“I know, Scotty,” Stiles agreed, patting her hand. “I know. Just don’t forget the curly fries.”
Scotty moaned. “Best post-sexual-orientation freak-out ever.”
.
“I take it back,” Scotty said hours later, slightly breathless where they were perched on Stiles’ couch. “This is the best post-freak-out coping ever.”
Stiles nodded. “Porn. Extremely underrated as a group stress-reliever.”
“Boobs, Stiles,” Scotty sighed. “Boobs, they’re awesome.”
“Yep,” she agreed. “Next up; dick and abs."
MONDAY: FIRST DAY OF THE WEEK, POST-FREAK-OUT.
(When game plans are made and first action is taken.)
“Hi,” Stiles greeted with a smile, LGBTQ pamphlets ready on display. “Are you Allison?”
The dark haired pretty girl looked confused, but had a warm smile ready in return. “Ah, yes, that’s me. You’re..?”
“I’m Stiles,” she replied, maybe a bit too chipper. “Scotty’s BFF and soul sister extraordinaire. She’s talked a lot about you, so I recognized you. Thought I’d come over and say hi.”
Allison lit up. “Oh! Stiles! She’s talked about you too. It’s nice to meet you!” They shook hands, Stiles having to wrestle with the pamphlets for a bit before managing to clasp her hand.
“Yep, same!”, she grinned. “So, uh, not to be weird but I’ve been tasked to hand these out.” She gestures towards the rainbow-colored mess in her hand. “Want one? You’re free to join!”
Flushing, Allison smiled as she nodded and reached for a copy when Stiles offered. “Thank you, I’ll be sure to drop by. I’d planned to look it up on my own, so thank you.”
Shrugging, Stiles phsawed. “No problemo! Gotta go now though, looking forward to see you there!”
“Say hi to Scotty for me,” Allison called after her as Stiles left before she’d let her mouth run wild and starting to ask way too invasive questions. She’d promised Scotty. “Sure thing!”, she called back with a wave, feeling accomplished. As soon as she was out of sight, she’d fished her phone out and called Scotty up one-handed.
“Mission accomplished; now all we’ve gotta do is wait for her to attend and figure out just how open she is to dating of the same sex variety.”
Shocked silence before deafening squeak. “You mean she said she’d go? It actually worked? Dude.”
“I’m a genius, bitch, when you gonna learn?” Stiles crowed, smirking. “Phase three of gay awakening officially initiated!”
“What?”
“Sshh, just go with it. Gotta go, places to hang, people to dazzle. See you later Scotty.”
.
Stiles is vaguely aware of the scent of coffee invading her space but she hasn’t had a cup since lunch hours ago. Grading papers for a certain amount of time have hallucinogenic effects, she’d come to understand. One day, she’ll research the shit out of that, write a paper and become world famous, respected by all. For now she scrunched up her nose in annoyance, grumbled less than flattering things under her breath, and bent over further over the mess of papers. Her trusty Gandalf stamp made a loud thud as she viciously stamped ‘YOU SHALL NOT PASS’ in glorious red, the powers of the Universe snorting in amusement.
The smell of coffee got stronger.
“I take it you’ve forgotten about time, again,” the powers of the Universe remarked dryly. Huh.
“Go away, bother another me. I’m sure there’s an alternative Universe I’m in need of some excitement. I’d recommend my high school years. Shit went down. Thanks for that, by the way,” she waved them off, like a BAMF. “I’d preferred werewolves, but beggars can’t be choosers. Not that I’m begging. For anything but coffee, that is.”
“You worry me,” the powers deadpanned.
Okay so it’s probably not the Q Continuum paying her a visit. Turning around, Stiles stared up in confusion as she met the amused stare of one Derek Hale. What.
Oh. Oh. Shit.
“Yep,” Derek said, grinning. “There it is. Welcome back.”
Stiles groaned. Shit. Totally forgotten about the standing appointment of one Derek Hale.
“Coffee?”, he offered, biting down on a laugh.
She made grabby hands towards him, voice strangled. “Please.”
The way his ears reddened would’ve probably been a good way of addressing her recent revelation on things dick and Derek related if Stiles had been paying attention. Instead, an hour later as Derek packed up his shit and Stiles started tidying up her desk, the same question he always asked took care of that.
“Dinner?”
It’d be the first time she’d said yes, though, and for a moment he’d seemed thrown off before he gathered himself and smiled a huge, annoying smile looking decidedly too proud of himself. Fucker.
FRIDAY: A WEEK AFTER FREAK-OUT.
(When persons of interests have been secured and it’s time for a re-con with white wine.)
Stiles rubbed her hands together, sitting cross-legged on her floor opposite of Scotty. No dorm this week, to minimize the chances of getting dragged out for Tequila body-shots and possible table dance related stripping. A box of white wine rests between them, plastic wineglasses filled up to their classy brim and ready to be consumed.
“So, you’ve bonded with Allison and her coming-out story to a homophobic mother, aunt and granddaddy. I’ve threatened to cut Derek’s balls off and force-feed him them if I turn out to be his ‘I turned a dyke straight’ accomplishment. How are we doing so far?”, she summarized, reaching for the wine and taking a long sip. Scotty mirrored her before she replied.
“Well, there’s the obligatory BFF threats to be made to respective others,” Scotty counted off on her free hand, “More bonding over shared freak-outs, double-dating in the future and first-time sex all over again.”
Stiles nodded. “Exchange of tips?”
“Please,” Scotty breathed, wide-eyed.
It had been a good week.