You're trapped. Basement. Dark. Chains somewhere in the room.

"Okay," Stiles says too loudly, "I don't like confined spaces. Or darkness. Or chains. Or—"

You take his hand.

His rant stops.

"Breathe," you say calmly.

He follows your voice like a lifeline.

"If we get out of here," he murmurs, "I'm going to marry you."

You can't help but laugh.