Til The Dawn [Midnights #1] ✓

chapter 12

It was Friday night and Stiles Stilinski was staring at his ceiling like some lovestruck teenager who couldn't stop thinking about the person they had a crush on. Like some kind of idiot. Except it wasn't his crush at all. It was his best friend. The same best friend that refused to accept reality.

Butthead.

At least, he reasoned, his insults to Scott in his head had become a lot less imaginative. Of course, now he sounded like a five-year-old, but he'd take it. This way he could see himself getting over it whenever Scott finally came around instead of hanging onto the bitterness forever.

His hands were propped behind his head as he watched the fan, letting it lull him to sleep. There was no point in wondering what Scott was up to since it wouldn't do anything but make him more frustrated. And a frustrated Stiles wouldn't be able to sleep.

As much as he hated it, he just needed to go to sleep and deal with whatever happened next with a clear head. Or as clear as it ever got with Stiles anyway.

His phone dinged from somewhere close by and he rolled his eyes as he went to check it. Even though he'd listened to his dad already give a play-by-play of each time he got the ball, he didn't doubt he had remembered something else and was texting to fill him in. Stiles couldn't help but smile at his dad's excitement either way, though.

It was certainly better than the alternative.

But when he pulled up his phone, the screen was emblazoned with Scott's name, not a text from his dad. Something was wrong. Scott had no reason to call him. Unless the full moon was finally cresting and Scott couldn't deny what was right in front of him anymore.

He sat up on the edge of his bed and pulled the phone to his ear with shaky hands. The message played quietly, but the frantic edge to Scott's voice was unmistakable. It had happened. It had finally fucking happened. And Stiles hadn't been there for him.

He shook his head and jumped up, embarrassed that his bruised ego and Scott not believing him had gotten in his way. He had gotten in his way. Again.

God, idiot didn't begin to describe it.

As he paced beside his bed, wondering how best to handle the situation. He could stay in his room and wait for Scott to find him, probably, or he could go searching for him and hope he found him before Scott did something monumentally stupid. Either way, he didn't see a case in which they weren't already in some sort of trouble.

Surely he hadn't been capable of keeping it a secret in the bowling alley. Or on the way out of it. Or through town.

He shook his head again just as a loud bang at his window caused him to yelp. He clutched his chest right over his heart as he took in the thing on the other side of the glass.

He recognized parts of Scott, but they were carefully hidden behind the golden irises and fangs that Stiles was seeing now. Even though he knew this was real and true, it completely went against everything he knew of the world.

Stiles watched and stared at Scott in horror as he carefully pulled up his windowpane, his long yellow fingernails gripping the wood. Then an impossibly sinister growl echoed through his room as he entered slowly, rumbling somewhere deep in Scott's chest.

He wanted to scream. Stiles knew he should. That he needed to, but he couldn't find the strength. It was like he was trapped in one of those dreams where you're frozen and there's no way out. No one to hear you. No way to make a noise. But in this, Stiles knew there was no waking up. Because he hadn't fallen asleep. This would just be it.

Scott continued to stalk closer and closer to him until he was inches from his face. Then he roared and Stiles stood planted in the same spot Scott had found him when he'd jumped on his roof outside his room.