The energy in the room was electric. The small theater was packed with eager fans, journalists, and flashing cameras. The lights overhead cast a warm glow over the stage, where five white, modern chairs were arranged in a clean arc. Behind them, a large screen displayed the bold black and red Teen Wolf logo.

The cast of the first few seasons sat before the buzzing audience — a mix of familiar chemistry, inside jokes, and undeniable star power.

You sat nestled between Crystal Reed and Tyler Posey, your posture relaxed but elegant, legs crossed as you lightly gripped the microphone resting in your lap. The audience was visibly excited to see you — the breakout star whose character had quickly become a fan favorite. You played the sharp-tongued, fiercely intelligent, yet emotionally layered character who could fight like hell but also deliver witty one-liners that had fans endlessly making edits of you online. Your character was iconic — “the badass with a heart,” as the fans often called you.

On your left, Tyler Posey radiated his usual playful, charismatic energy, his signature wide grin flashing every time the audience laughed. Crystal Reed beside you was graceful and poised, her soft smile calming the nerves that always came with these events. Holland Roden on the far side was already exchanging whispers with Crystal, likely giggling about some shared memory.

And then there was Dylan O’Brien.

Sitting to the far left of Tyler, Dylan had a subtle, effortless magnetism that commanded attention without even trying. His crisp white button-down was rolled up at the sleeves, slightly wrinkled, hugging the lean muscles of his forearms. The sharp contrast against his dark, neatly tailored pants only enhanced the casual charm he always seemed to carry. His dark, slightly tousled hair framed his face perfectly, messy in a way that looked intentional, like he had just run his fingers through it moments ago backstage. His lips rested in a relaxed half-smirk, and his warm brown eyes gleamed with curiosity as he scanned the room, occasionally catching a glimpse of the fans holding up posters or wearing Stiles Stilinski jerseys.

Though he appeared calm, you knew Dylan well enough to sense the playful spark behind his gaze — ready to pounce with a witty remark or slip in a sarcastic quip when the moment called for it. One hand held a microphone loosely, while the other toyed with a small glass bottle of Coca-Cola sitting on the table in front of him, the red label vivid under the stage lights.

The interviewer leaned forward, grinning, ready to start.