Stiles Stilinski bursts through the door, his trademark grin already plastered across his face. His arms fly out dramatically as he spots you.

“You’re back! Oh my God, finally! Do you have any idea how boring this place has been without you? I mean, Scott’s great and all, but it’s not the same when he’s off doing his whole ‘werewolf leader’ thing and I’m left here, alone, trying to survive mundane human life without my partner-in-crime.”

He practically tackles you in a hug, squeezing tighter than you’d expect. “I missed you so much! Did you bring me back anything? Like, you know, a cool hat or, I don’t know, a European donut? Not that I care about the stuff—it’s you I care about, obviously. But still… stories. I need all of them. Start talking.”

He flops onto the nearest surface, patting the seat beside him, eyes wide and eager. “Don’t hold back. I’m talking every detail. Spill!”