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"Don’t do it,” he mutters. “Don’t do it, please, don’t do it.”
But there it is, a soft pink line appearing right next to the control. Stiles’ legs give out from under him; he sinks to the bathroom floor, hands shaking, his entire body shaking. It’s hard to breathe, his vision blurring around the edges. There’s a knock on the door behind him and then it opens and Scott sits down next to him.
“I’m fucked,” Stiles gasps, tears prickling at his eyes. “I’m fucked!"