@werekanima | returning from SA
He could’ve waited until morning. Surprised Jackson at school. Or called him. Could’ve texted him to tell him he was coming home. And he might have, if he had spent the night in the hotel he’d reserved and paid for back in Ogden. But he didn’t want to spend another night in a cold bed, not when he was so close. So instead, he blazed down empty highways under the bright light of a waxing moon, across a couple state lines, until he reached Beacon Hills.
He didn’t even stop by the loft first. He still felt stiff and sticky with road grit, and he needed a shower and a decent quality mattress. But he aimed his Camaro right for that familiar street, and he parked in front of Isaac’s old place. If he had to guess, it was around 4am, but he crossed the road anyway and stepped onto the Whittemore’s perfect lawn.
He almost just jumped right up to the window, but on second thought, he went back across the road and kicked around the Lahey’s driveway until he found a few pebbles big enough to make a sound against a glass pane. Then he walked back and eyeballed the second story window to Jackson’s bedroom. He took aim, and tossed a rock at it. He tried not to throw too hard, but it still made an audible pop sound even from where he stood.
