Work Text:
Stiles has had moments where he was less than brilliant. He would like to think that they are few and far between, even though college often makes him feel like a complete and utter dumbass. He’s a pretty smart guy, though, or at least he likes to think he is. And now that he’s finally tinkered until he found the right blend of ADHD meds and caffeine to survive his 8:30 AM classes without dying, he’s even figuring this college thing out, too.
This one, though. This moment of sheer dumbassery. This one he walked right into. He should’ve known better than to keep in touch with Greenberg on Facebook. And he definitely should’ve known better than to reply when Greenberg messaged him on Facebook asking if he was still single.
“I have a friend in the D.C. area, bro, I think you’d like her. I can hook you guys up if you want,” seemed really good when Stiles read it on his computer screen at 3 AM Eastern Time. Stiles was pretty enthused, even though Lydia warned him that blind dates are almost always terrible (unless she sets them up).
Somewhere along the lines, after being away from Beacon Hills from two years, Stiles somehow forgot that Greenberg was… well. Greenberg. Oblivious at best, but mostly just self-absorbed. So Stiles said sure, and Greenberg told him where to meet this apparently legendary girl, and Stiles passed along what he would be wearing so Greenberg could help the girl find him when they got to the meeting spot. And on that day, Stiles went all out, dressed nice but casual and ran terrible jokes by Scott on Skype to test them out and everything.
Stiles maybe should have thought about how Greenberg knew this girl in D.C. Because then, just maybe, he would’ve anticipated showing up at the coffee shop that afternoon and sitting across the table from the entirely too familiar person Greenberg described as “tall, brown hair, green dress, could probably kill you in your sleep, but, like, in like a good way.”
In other words, Allison Argent, who Stiles definitely dated for a few months back in high school.
And who definitely dumped him when her family moved, because neither of them can do long distance for shit.
“Well this is awkward,” Stiles says, because what else does he say? “This is why Greenberg is the worst.”
“I did think it was kinda weird that he was trying to set me up on a blind date,” Allison admits. “We weren’t even friends back when we were in Beacon Hills, and he messaged me out of nowhere. I mostly agreed so he would leave me alone.”
Stiles laughs without really intending to. Because there are things he remembers about Allison that even the break-up couldn’t paint over, things he remembers positively still. How gorgeous she was, how strong. How knowledgeable she was about pretty much every possible way to break someone’s nose unarmed. How she looked without any clothes on. How she looked when she let herself relax, her hair up and her pajamas on and a package of red licorice on the bed.
It’s easy to remember the Allison who was running around kicking ass and taking names, and it’s easy to remember the Allison that Scott dated before Stiles, the Allison Stiles thought was soft and sweet. But Stiles sometimes forgets how Allison actually was when he bothered to really get to know her. How funny Allison was, how she sometimes surprised him with how sharp her humor was. It used to be one of his favorite, subtle things about her.
It still kind of is. Which is a little bit of a kick in the gut, these days.
“I was just sleep-deprived and horny,” Stiles admits, enjoying the way that he can still make Allison laugh, apparently, too. “So you’ve got me beat there.”
What starts out as about Greenberg turns into talking about Scott and Lydia and Kira and Malia, and then turns to hearing about Allison’s adventures in D.C., where she’s apparently been living for a couple years now. And that turns into Stiles getting them both coffee to keep the workers from glaring at them for sitting there without buying anything. And that somehow turns into Allison giving Stiles recommendations about places to eat, and Stiles admitting he isn’t going to remember them all, and then.
“I could take you, if you want. I know the city pretty well.”
“That almost sounds like a second date, you know,” Stiles says, because he can’t keep his mouth shut, at all.
“Does it count as a second date if we’ve already have a second date before?” Allison asks, because, apparently, neither can she.
They talk about it, in broader terms. About how both of them could’ve handled the breakup better. About how it was the smart thing to do for them at the time, even though it didn’t feel like the right thing to do. Stiles doesn’t talk too many specifics. He doesn’t talk about how much he missed her, or about how often he teared up as he jerked off for the month or two after, because they are in a classy establishment, and because Allison definitely does not need to hear that. He’s sure Allison has some things that she definitely thinks he does not need to hear, too.
His newfound ability to stop himself from word vomiting embarrassing details in this one, rare instance pays off. Because it means that they have a real conversation without getting distracted, and it means that when they get to the end of the conversation, they land at “but we’re both in town now.”
“It’d be the opposite of long-distance,” Allison admits. “Which was our problem in the first place.”
Stiles knows that things are different now than they were back when they were sophomores in high school at Beacon Hills High. Stiles knows that they’ve both had a number of years apart, years in which they both probably did a lot of growing up, and growing apart.
But Stiles wants to know about those years. Stiles wants to know about Allison. This Allison. This Allison who still likes her coffee as sugary as possible but who holds herself with more authority than the girl he knew, the one who was taking the fake it till you make it approach. This Allison whose smile still lights up the entire room she’s in, but who has a detailed map and internalized schedule of the Washington Metro in her head. This Allison who wears her Argent necklace around her neck, but who doesn’t seem so weighed down by it.
“You mentioned there was a decent but inauthentic French bakery near GW’s campus, right?” Stiles asks. He knows he’s taking a chance and going out on a limb, but he thinks that it is maybe worth it. That maybe it was worth it the first time, even though things ended. Even though things hurt. “I’m free next weekend around this time, too. We can grab breakfast and go see a matinee or something.”
“Making me come to you this time?” Allison teases, and Stiles doesn’t deny it.
“Yeah,” Allison says. “I’d like that. That sounds good.”
They see Logan, which is amazing, but also depressing and bloody, and neither of them feels like making out through any of it. It isn’t exactly an ideal second-date-without-actually-being-a-second-date movie, even though Stiles spends a third of the movie with his face buried in Allison’s shoulder, Allison consistently wincing in sympathy.
But breakfast is good. And they hold hands as they walk out of the movie, and they exchange new numbers and talk about going out again.
Stiles is never, ever, ever trusting Greenberg to set him up on a blind date, ever again. And it was probably not his best moment agreeing to in the first place, and it’s not something he ever plans to repeat.
But this time?
Stiles think it worked out pretty well, after all.