i'll see you soon, sherlock.

🥀

 With shaky fingers, Stiles adjusts the buttoned blazer over his frame, peering up at himself in the mirror with pursed lips and glossy eyes. A trembling sigh breezes past his lips, taking a moment to assess his outfit.

"Have you ever worn a suit before?" Your voice is as sweet as the finest honey to him, even if you are currently giggling at the sight of himself struggling to smooth out his formal getup. Stiles unbuttons his blazer for the fifth time, fiddling with the buttons and silently struggling through it all until he feels your soft fingers brushing against his own, ceasing his actions.

 Stiles licks over his lips, slowly, shutting his eyes. "Not today." He whispers, trying to ignore the heavy weight pressing down on his chest. "She wouldn't want you to." His hushed words of encouragement do little to lift any part of his spirits, but it keeps his cheeks dry. Stiles knows that if he does not keep himself together before it's time to leave, he won't leave at all. "She wouldn't want you to."

 He holds in a breath as you fix his buttons for him, your fingernails occasionally brushing against the thin material of his dressy, button-up undershirt. "Perfect." He hears you mumble, watching you inspect your work, and he grins adoringly down at you. You meet his eyes and immediately look away with a prominent blush on your, already, rosy cheeks. He turns to look at himself in the mirror, his grin widening in a surprise approval. "Lydia will think you're the handsomest date she's ever had."

 He squeezes his eyes, jumping as his mind continues the memory, almost being able to feel her hands curled around each bicep of his. "Why would she think that?" He whispers in time of the memory plaguing his mind, a stray tear trailing down his cheek as he awaits the answer he already knows.

 "Because that's what I would've thought." Your quieter, softer, voice echoes throughout himself, and he snaps his eyes open, losing all sense of presence of you, finding himself alone. Just like he has been the past few weeks.

 Numbly, Stiles swallows, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Oh God, how am I going to do this?" He asks his reflection, stubbornly wishing it would give him some sort of answer. He figured that he dealt with so much supernatural shit that, for once, it could help him instead of hurt him or cause him trouble, such as telling him how in the world he is going to face an entire group of people like this. That wasn't the part that he knew was going to sting; it was speaking in front of them about you, seeing their faces, keeping composure. He hated how every time he thought of you now, he felt sad, because he knew you wouldn't want that.

 Soft knocks on his door causes him to jump once more, startlingly turning around to see his father standing at the frame of his door. "Are you ready to go?" He sighs, and Stiles peers at his reflection one last time before nodding dishearteningly.

 "Yeah." He mumbles, leaning over to grab his phone and checking his pocket for a slip of neatly folded paper, walking towards his dad once he is reassured that it is there. "Yeah I'm ready."

 Stiles picks his nose up from his reading, eyes easily settling on you. You're working on your own things, focused on cleaning up on what he presumed to be notes, and he chuckles softly. He knows that you have always been a perfectionist. He tilts his head, fascinated at how concentrated you are, finding it seemingly adorable. He only frowns when he starts to see you become a bit upset, closing shut your notebook suddenly and covering your face with your hands.

 He rigidly pulls the seat belt over his upper body, staring down at his lap with a sigh as his father seats next to him. His dad's police car is much more crowded than his jeep, but Stiles hasn't been able to drive his jeep since the incident. "We don't have to do this, you know." Stiles looks over at his dad, and he shakes his head.