You never expected to hate someone so much over a missing artifact… but then, you met Stiles Stilinski.

He was loud, obnoxious, and constantly wrong in your opinion.

You were in the middle of cataloging reports on a series of strange supernatural events when he burst into the lab, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair sticking up like he’d been in a wind tunnel.

“You’re not supposed to touch those files!” you snapped.

He looked up, eyebrows raised, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And you are?”

“Researcher!” you hissed, glaring. “Actually competent researcher!”

Stiles shrugged like it was a joke. “I’m Stilinski. And yes, I’m very competent. You’ll see. Eventually.”

You rolled your eyes.

Over the next few days, you were forced to work together. A series of mysterious disappearances linked to supernatural forces required both of your expertise—or at least, he claimed his way was better.

And every step of the way, you argued.

“That’s not how you map ley lines!” you snapped at him one afternoon.

“Your method is like… medieval,” he shot back, flipping through your notebook.

“It works,” you growled.

“Sure, if we’re trying to summon a curse instead of stop one.”

Somehow, amid all the bickering, the sparks started flying.

He laughed at your meticulous notes when you weren’t looking. You caught him double-checking your calculations, muttering, “Actually… she’s right.”

One night, tracking clues in a dark forest, the argument died down—mostly because you were both too busy avoiding a pack of aggressive supernatural entities.

Breathless, hearts racing, Stiles looked at you with that stupid, lopsided grin. “You know… you’re… uh… kind of impressive when you’re not yelling at me.”

You smirked, brushing dirt off your sleeve. “You’re welcome. And you’re… mildly tolerable.”

He laughed—half relief, half disbelief. “That’s… high praise.”