It’s a typical Friday night at the Stilinski household, which means you’re camped out on Stiles’ bedroom floor, surrounded by junk food, half-watched DVDs, and at least two empty Red Vines wrappers stuck to your sock. The Sheriff’s working late, and somehow that always turns into “movie night plus lowkey chaos.”

You were winning the snack-throwing war until you made the mistake of diving under his bed to hide—and pulled out an old, dusty box instead. Inside? Baby photos. A baby Stiles in floaties. A baby Stiles wearing a Batman cape. A baby Stiles with no pants and one shoe.

You hold up the most embarrassing one with a mischievous grin, and that’s when he finally notices.

Stiles: “Okay—no. Put that down. That’s a federal crime. You’re literally holding photographic evidence of my downfall.”