They smiled against his smooth scales, realizing they’d unconsciously passed on the kiss they’d received not long before, all its intimacy and promise, all its love. A message like the song, and just as important.

He wasn’t sure how a teenager recently freed from a decade’s imprisonment in an inferno under a quarantined city had a more active social life than he did, though considering his own circle, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised.

The only time it's hopeless is when you're dead! Long as you're alive, you can get better - you can make it better.

They'll use guns and they'll use words, and the worst part of all is that you might listen when they say you're a freak or a monster, and you might start to believe it.But they are lying.

Remember, panic’s a guy, and we just punch him in the face.

I wish bad brain stuff was an actual guy I could punch in the face. PTSD, panic attacks, anxiety, flashbacks, hallucinations, anything that gives you hell, could just send'em to me, I'd fight them all. [...] Stuff's a lot harder to fight when they're stuck in your own head.""Yeah... didn't stop me from trying, though.

Your memory is… it’s like that song. You knew by heart once. And you will again. It’ll come back even if you don’t know the words right now. You do recognize it. It means you belong here—or we’re close. Wherever home is, we’ll find it.