"You’re late."
{ It was a weak joke at best, because even in the afterlife — Skye still felt so guilty for leaving him. So guilty for dying before they got the chance to live, really live — They talked about their life together. Going to college, he was going to marry her. They were going to have a house and 2.5 kids and a god damned white picket fence and yeah, sure, everything might still be wolfy — But it would be perfect because it was them.
Skye McCall and Stiles Stilinski. Like it was always meant to be.
She licked her lips tentatively, trying to hide her shaking hands by running one through her long hair. She looked the same — Young, seventeen, all big eyed and hopeful. And he? — He looked like Stiles. Like the Stiles she knew and loved and fought so hard to keep, even though she managed to lose it all in the end.
All she could hope was that he wasn’t too angry with her, wasn’t bitter and frustrated with the fact that she was ripped away from him. She hoped that he had found happiness, that he found someone better for him, someone that didn’t manage to get themselves killed all for the sake of a few kids. She wondered if he still loved her the way she loved him, wondered if he was looking at her with the same adoration and butterflies-in-your-stomach face. It was all she could think about as she rushed forward, stopping right in front of him on a dime. }
"Please tell me that you still love me so that I can kiss you."
[ He knew as soon as he opened his eyes that he was dead, and that whatever this afterlife was, it was good to him, because Skye was standing in front of him and he looked like the Stiles that Skye had loved, not the one that he'd been before he'd had a heart attack.
He'd nearly given up after she died, the only things dragging him back from doing something stupid his dad and Lydia. They'd clung together, after Skye and Aiden and Allison, and getting married after college had -- been easy. They'd loved each other, not the way that he'd loved Skye or Lydia had loved Jackson, but it didn't matter because they'd been together. And it hadn't been the same as either of them had dreamed, their kids hadn't had brown hair and golden beta eyes, (or in Lydia's case, defined cheekbones and blue-green eyes), but they'd been theirs and named after the people they'd loved and it had felt right.
Seeing Skye again was like getting a do over. Lydia had died last year in her sleep, and their kids were grown with kids of their own. But here, now, it was like being a kid again and having the whole world at his feet. ]
"I never stopped, Skye."
