{ He scoffs. }
“Since when has anything ever ended up being okay?”
{ His hands are finding home in his hair, fingers digging against his scalp, clutching locks of hair. He’s pulling at them, shakes his head. }
"But I could have! And— and what if I do—
I’m dangerous. I should—”
{ He pauses, thinks about it. How else could he make sure? }
”I need to be locked up.”
"It hasn't. But that doesn't mean we should give up on trying."
{ She's moving towards him, two steps bringing her closer as she lifts a hand up to clutch at the wrist who's fingers are intertwined in his hair and sets the other on his shoulder. }
"Think rationally, Stiles.
Locking you up won't help.
--you need something else."

















