Crazy About You...Literally (AU Teen Wolf Story)

fourteen.

Group session ends rather abruptly, the teenage patients dispersing the moment after "Alright guys, I'll see you next week, yeah?" leaves Ally's lips. She waits until they've all gone before letting her shoulders droop and her head drop to her hands. She lets out a strained sigh, fingers running through her greasy hair. It's absolutely disgusting, and completely repulsive, but she just hasn't had time to take a shower. She's been doing everything to avoid Lydia, which means surprise overtime here and at her non-profit organization that she volunteers for every now and again. These past few days "every now and again" has been every day from the moment she wakes up ( seven a.m sharp) until her shift at the hospital starts ( seven p.m most days, though, sometimes eleven a.m-ish) and she's absolutely positive that they're sick of her and her half-asleep-all-troubled-though-still-trying-to-be-perky-as-hell face by now.
"Hey, Ally." It's Lydia. Obviously.
Ally can recognize her voice from anywhere; it's the only voice rushing through her mind from seven a.m to p.m shifts at the non-profit and the reason she can never. fucking. sleep. Not even for a moment.
"Oh, h-hey, Lydia," Ally students, her eyes locked on the rounded edge of the coffee table. "I, erm... I didn't know you were there."
"It's okay," Lydia says softly. "I just got here so if you did anything illegal over ten seconds ago, you're safe." It's a joke, duh, but Ally can't find it in her to laugh so she just weakly smiles, rubbing at the bags under her eyes. "Well, Ally. No need to look so enthused. Note my sarcasm."
"Sorry, Lydia. It's just... I've been... It's been a really long week, okay?" Ally says, tapping her feet rhythmical on the carpet and looking up, her chin on her fist. "A really fucking long week."
Lydia looks at her, sympathy oozing out of her eyes.
"M'sorry. Is there anything I can do for you? You know, to make it less-long-feeling?" She clasps her hands together, her thumbs twitching and fingers tapping against each other. Ally hesitates, not sure what she means. She almost answers, but Lydia beats her to it. "Unless, you know, that's weird or whatever... like, I don't have to, or-"
"No, no," the other girl says before she can even think about planning out an answer. "No, that's fine, yeah. But, like, what would you be doing to make it less-long-feeling...?"
"I dunno..." Lydia says, smile on her face and a blush on her cheeks. She rocks back and forth on her heels, her polka-dot skirt swaying in her self-made breeze. "How about we come up with something? Like, at dinner maybe?"
"Dinner?" Ally repeats. She hasn't been to dinner with anyone since college which, honestly, forever and a day ago, or, at least, it feels that way.
"Yeah. Dinner. Like, after my shift we could go get something. Unless, you know, seven's too late to eat or whatever? It doesn't matter," Lydia looks probably too fucking cute for her own good, and definitely too hot to decline her offer.
"Yeah... yeah, sure. I can... erm, I can do dinner. But, like, where would we be going?" Ally ducks her head in an attempt to hide her burning cheeks with her hair. It doesn't work, not even a little, because Lydia can see it clear as day.
"Uhm... maybe, like, the Pasta Garden?"
The Pasta Garden is arguably the most romantic restaurant within the hour and a half of here, which freaks Ally out more than a little bit. "Oh... uh, definitely, yeah. So, like, after your shift? Today?"
"If you want, yeah."
Ally does want, so she fumbles out a Yeah, sure, I'd love to, and watches as Lydia retreats to her station (it's really just the front desk, but Lydia prefers to call it her station; she says it sounds cooler).
Ally sits there for a second or two wondering what the actual fuck just happened before getting up abruptly and heading for the showers.

--

Staying outside in the goddamn pouring down rain for the whole fucking day isn't the best idea Derek Hale ever had and Stiles Stilinski ever agreed with. But they really didn't have much of a choice. Stiles has been crying the whole time, bless his soul, and nowhere suitable for relocation. By now-which, Derek notes with his watch's help, is eleven fucking thirty- Stiles has been reduced to hiccups and sneezes, with the occasional coughing fit. Derek rubs the younger boy's back, letting his fingers trail to the boy's shoulder, and then down his arm. He grasps his hand, pulls the two of them up, and then steadies Stiles before saying in a hoarse and soft voice, "Stiles...c'mon Stilinski, we need to get you inside. You're bound to be sick by now."
Stiles hums, one long and continuous "hmmm" for at least a minute while Derek brushes hair out of the boy's face, scanning over his features, sympathy sprawled out on his own as Stiles goes into a violent fit of sneezing, his nose twitching and his head jerking. His hum turns into a low groan of pain.
"C'mon, Stiles, let's get you inside. You've been in a hospital room for too long this week." He helps the staggering and sneezing boy to the door, where Stiles stops in his tracks.
"Stiles? What is it?"
"D-Derek... I-I...uh..." he stutters, his eyes drooping low and his damp hair sticking to his pale forehead.
"What is it? Are you okay?" Derek's voice is soft and gentle, flowing through the air easily.
"I... I l-love..." the boy begins to say, but he can't find the rest of his words in his throat, so he just leans his forehead on Derek's chest, moments away from dozing off. He tries again at finishing his sentence, but it comes out a muffled, "Iwshnuffuchus..."
Derek chuckles at the boy, his eyes dancing over Stiles. He grabs the boy's face in his hands, forcing his gaze upwards. "Love you too, Stiles," he says, placing a kiss on Stiles' ghostly pale cheek. Something snaps inside the boy's head, and he just can't help himself as he presses up on his tiptoes, straining to crane his neck upwards.
It only takes a second, but it feels like an eternity, for Stiles' lips to weakly smash against Derek's, leaving them both in pure ecstasy and terrible shock. It's not some huge make out session or anything- not even close- only a little lip nudging and nose-pressing-together, but Derek is left so fucking senseless and so fucking stunned, he doesn't know what to do with himself. One second later, they've pulled back, scared as fucking hell. Well, Derek is scared as fucking hell, Stiles is drowsy as fuck, half asleep on the older boy's chest.
Derek, though still in shock, manages to get Stiles to his room in one piece- he interrupts a Ethan and Danny moment- before making his way to his own room and collapsing onto his bed, exhausted.
He studies the ceiling for a moment, his hand lying across his chest which is heaving with uncried tears and unyelled yells and unsobbed sobs. He just wants to let everything out, to vent. He wants to talk and he wants to scream and he wants to dance- just fucking dance- because, goddamn it, Stiles Stilinski just kissed him. An actual fucking kiss on his actual fucking lips. He turns himself over, burying his face into the pillow and inhaling. It smells like Ethan and emptiness because that's pretty much the only thing that's been in the room for over a week. Derek allows the first tear to roll down his cheek, but after that, there's no stopping his sobs.
He cries himself to sleep, despite the early hour, with an ache in his heart, a pain pounding through his skull, and a pleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Fuck everything.