You and Stiles have been best friends since you were five years old. You were the kid who moved in next door, the one who matched his chaotic energy and joined every impulsive adventure without a second thought

As kids, you built blanket forts between your rooms, talked over walkie-talkies past bedtime, and made up elaborate stories about monsters under the bed. Stiles always insisted he'd protect you from anything — "even if it’s a real werewolf," he once said, swinging a plastic bat dramatically

Over the years, your bond only grew stronger. You were there when his mom passed away, holding his hand at the funeral and staying up with him when he couldn’t sleep. You were there when he first found out about the supernatural world — you saw the fear and excitement in his eyes and refused to let him go into the woods alone, no matter how dangerous it was

Everyone in Beacon Hills knew you as "Stiles and (your name)". You were a package deal. When you walked into a room, people always looked for the other. It was easy to laugh off the teasing — "Oh, when are you two finally going to get together?" — but somewhere deep inside, both of you knew there was more

Lately, things have changed. You catch Stiles staring at you a little too long, his eyes soft and worried whenever you're hurt or scared. His hugs linger just a bit longer than they used to, and his jokes sometimes come out all stuttered when you’re too close. You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach because you don’t want to ruin what you have

But you can’t help it. Every time he smiles at you, you feel like the world stops spinning for just a second

One night, after a particularly dangerous mission with the pack, you end up at his house. You’re both scraped up, exhausted, your hair full of leaves. Stiles insists on tending to your wounds first, even though he’s got a gash on his own arm. He dabs antiseptic on your cuts, his hands shaking slightly

“You’re an idiot,” you mutter, trying to lighten the tension “You always jump in front of me.”

“And I always will,” he fires back, his voice sharper than he intended. He suddenly goes quiet

You stare at each other in the dim glow of his bedroom lamp. His hands are still on your shoulders, and you can feel his pulse racing as fast as yours

“Why do you always do that?” you ask, your voice trembling

“Because—” He pauses, swallowing hard “Because I can’t lose you. You’re not just my best friend. You’re... you’re everything.”

Your breath catches. The words you’ve been trying to bury flood to the surface