In the daylight, watching a fly buzz helplessly against the window, a teacher’s voice droning, Stiles tells himself werewolves don’t exist and half-believes it.
Then he sees Scott turn to look at that fly, head tilted, eyes glinting gold, and his world does a kaleidoscope shift, settling back into a nightmare, a horror movie he can’t pause.
This is his life now. Even in sunlight, it’s a world tinted red.
And the sun will set and he’ll be standing outside a haunted house, reeking of smoke and death, and he’ll knock and… run?
He’s worth screaming for.
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