#thewailingman

Isaac had woken up earlier than usual that morning, so he'd decided to take a detour to the coffee shop before going to school. He was sure that a good cup of coffee was going to help him face the day ahead, especially since he had no idea how bad it was going to get. As he walked out from the coffee shop, cup in one hand and cellphone in the other, he was so focused on reading the text he'd received that he almost walked into someone walking in the opposite direction. He looked up just in time to avoid collision and offered a simple, "Sorry." 

                If it wasn't already evident from the bags under his eyes                and the way he flinched whenever someone did anything                even remotely out of context -- Stiles was tired. And there                 were only a select few who were allowed to talk to him                 when he was tired.                                                     It wasn't his fault, though. It's not like                he stood up for hours on end playing video games, or                something equally dumb -- he stood up for hours on end               trying to get sleep. It was an evasive bitch. Coaxing you to               come join the fun, then right when it had you wrapped                around its fingers, it slipped away like the tease it was.

                               He didn't even know what class he was in.                                Was there someone he had to keep up a                                good front for? One of his pack?

                                              He was too tired to check.                                         His vision was much too blurred.                                 Just... please let him keep his head down.