—— { || ♕ || } ——
        [ Jackson could not see it, but he could smell it - BLOOD. Thick and metallic,         clinging to his skin like icy rust, and open wounds stung on his knuckles. Maybe         his head was on the ground as he raked dirt under his nails, grasping at the soil and         trying to keep from f l o a t i n g away, because his vision was dark and unseeing.         Maybe he had not been playing lacrosse when the wolves attacked at all; maybe         he had crashed his car as his mind spun around the sounds of the lycans howling. ]Â
    [ When he woke up, he realized it was neither of the above. He had slipped into     the river, hit his head on a rock. Why was the flamboyantly proclaimed gay dude     who       looked       like       Stiles       straddling       him?       ]Â
                        — What - wh - why are you here?
—— { || ♕ || } ——