Aloyoshenka. His Papa’s name and his Papa’s before him. The esteemed family named bestowed to each first born son in his mother’s family.
That was the last time anyone had ever called him that. It was the last time he’d ever allowed anyone to call him that. He wanted to preserve it in his memory; the way a slight hint of accent would roll out over the syllables, her proud smile, the twinkle in her eye as she looked at him.
He’d adopted a nickname from his last name, used that to introduce himself to everyone, got his father to start calling him that when he’d cover his ears and shout before he could even get ‘Aloy' out.
She’d made him promise to watch after his father, to make sure he didn’t over do it. So he took to watching what his father ate, made sure to keep the supernatural away from him, made sure to keep him safe.
As the memory faded away, Stiles remembered one thing even clearer than her saying his name. He never did see her the next day.
The next time he saw her, she was in a coffin.