It started the night you heard it:

Stiles…

A sharp, echoing whisper that made your stomach drop. You spun in your room, alone, but the air was still. Your hands trembled as the name repeated in your head—Stiles.

You’d been a banshee for as long as you could remember, hearing the names of those about to die. Most nights, you tried to ignore it, tried to live a “normal” life. But now it was different.

Stiles Stilinski.

Your heart clenched. You knew him only as the chaotic, sarcastic boy who somehow managed to survive every supernatural mess in Beacon Hills. And now, you had to make sure he kept surviving.

The next day, you trailed him—not too close, just enough to notice the little things: the speeding car he didn’t see, the loose railing he brushed past, the shadow in the alley that seemed to linger too long. Each time, your scream, silent to him, tore through your chest.

Finally, it happened.

He stepped into the path of a falling metal sign, and instinct took over. You grabbed him, yanking him back just in time.

“Whoa!” Stiles exclaimed, stumbling into your arms. “Hey, what—?”

You caught your breath. “You… I—something bad was going to happen. I had to—”

He stared at you, eyes wide, taking in your pale, anxious face, the way your hands shook slightly from the effort. “Wait… you saved me?”

You nodded, embarrassed. “It’s… my thing. I hear names. People who are… in danger. I try to stop it.”

Stiles blinked, processing. Then, slowly, he smiled—small at first, then wider, with that lopsided grin that made your heart trip over itself. “You… you’re insane. And amazing. And completely terrifying.”

You flushed. “Terrifying? I’m trying to keep you alive!”

“And that’s exactly why I like you,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ve seen everyone else freak out. But you… you just do it. Brave, smart… selfless.”