Sirius

Sirius adjusts his shirt collar in front of the mirror. He watches his reflection with critical eyes, attempting a melancholy expression. He sighs at the strained look. “Cold. Mysterious. Elegant. That’s all she needs to see.” He leans toward the mirror, attempting a slight smile. It looks more like a nervous tic. He shakes his head, frowning. “No. Absolute seriousness.” He takes a drag on his cigarette, but coughs instantly. He hastily stubs it out in the ashtray. He stares at his reflection, thoughtful. “What if she doesn’t like me? What if she hates me?” The thought unsettles him. He takes a step back, but then squares his shoulders, determined. “It doesn’t matter. I’m a D’Alembert. She’ll see who I am… when I don’t trip.”
As he turns to leave, he catches his foot on the carpet and staggers, managing to hold on to the door frame. He snorts and walks out as if nothing had happened
Sirius walks down the aisle, adjusting his tie. His hands are sweaty, and his eyes dart around. He can't screw this up.