She Loved Him and He Died

7. The Golden Haired Girl

How? What? When? Where?

He likes me?

He thinks I'm beautiful?

He wants me to be his?

This is all too much to process for me. I've never had a guy say these things before, let alone a man like Hero. He carries himself with confidence but not self-centeredness, he is both cold and hot. Fire and ice all in one.

He can make me the happiest woman alive or the most heartbroken. Is that even possible in the such small amount of time that I've known him?

Is love at first sight real?

Everything about him captivates me.
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Heat pouring over my face slowly draws me out of my sleep, I pry them open only to quickly squeeze them shut again once I feel as if I have looked directly into the sun. I flop onto my back and open my eyes once again, noticing a stream of sunlight was shining through a crack in the curtains displaying right on the place I was sleeping.

Speaking of which, where was I sleeping? I look around to see that I am in a king sized bed, itself dressed in black sheets and comforter. Directly across from the foot of the bed is a pair of glass double doors that look like they lead out to a living room with a open kitchen behind it. To my right is another set of glass double doors but these ones lead out to a deck lined in black railing that looks over the city of London.

Steadily I throw the sheets back from where they were covering my torso down and put my legs over the edge of the tall bed. I feel the cold dark oak floors below my bare feet once they touch the ground. It feels nice.

I take longing steps towards the doors to my right and push back the white silk curtains that we're doing a poor job at covering the sun from my eyes. The white curtains pair well to the black sheets in quite a eretheal way. When I raise my hand up to the door, I pause, feeling something foreign brush against my arm. Looking, I see I am in something that I wasn't previously.

I see that I am now in a black satin button up shirt that is way too big for me... and no pants?

Quickly lifting up the front of the shirt I let out a sigh of relief when I see that I still have my panties on. But this isn't what I fell asleep in. I clearly remember falling asleep in leggings and a sweatshirt.

"I changed you," I hear from behind me. I quickly tug the shirt down as far as it'll go and turn to face him. He's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, staring at my face and not letting his eyes roam my half naked body like most people would.

"Why?" I demand.

"Because, you kept tugging on both the pants and sweatshirt like you weren't used to sleeping in them and it made you look like you were in discomfort, so I changed you. Don't worry, I didn't look." He explains thoughtfully.

He's right, I am not used to it and I don't like it.

I usually just sleep in panties and a shirt cause other clothing feels like it restricts me and makes me feel too hot. I look down and nervously shuffle my feet.

"Well, um, thank you." I whisper and look back up at him.

He bites his bottom lip then releases it and let's a small smile grow on his face. "Of course," his voice comes out low and smooth. "By the way," he starts still staring deeply into my eyes, "my shirt looks great on you," he starts laughing and running out of the room once I start grabbing pillows from the bed and throwing them at him. His laughter booms through the apartment and make my own laughs erupt from me.
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"So, what are we doing today?" I ask as I stuff a amazing tasting bagel in my mouth and he eats pancakes. (A/n: I hate pancakes but I love bagels lol)

"Hmm," he pauses and thinks for a moment with a concentrated face, it then suddenly lights up. "We can go hang out with the only people to ever truly know me." He smiles fondly, his pupils dilate as a distant look grows in his eyes. He's getting lost in his thoughts.

"And who might they be?" I ask curiously as I rest my chin in the palm of my hand.

"My mates of course, they should be down at the fields today playing football." He looks down at the table and scratches the back of his head.

"Mmm," I draw out, "am I going to be getting the honor of seeing you play?" I ask with a smirk and bite my lip.

He leans over so that his elbows are resting on the table and his face is close to mine. "Would you like to see me play?" His voice is low and seductive and his eyes stare deeply into mine, feels as if he's looking at my soul.

"Mhm," I whisper lightly as I nod.

"Then you shall see me play."
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We walk side by side down the busy streets of London, Hero dressed in a pair of joggers and a sweatshirt paired with a beanie, me a pair of loose jeans with rips in the knees and the back pockets painted along with a oversized black turtleneck sweater and my black Doc Martins.

It's odd to see Hero dressed like this, I'm so used to him being in a suit, but now he looks so laid back and relaxed. "Your staring," he breaks the silence.

"I'm gazing," I reply.

"Same thing," I roll my eyes at his response.

"Is not," I argue.

"Is too."

"Not."

"Is."

"Not."

"Is."

"Whatever," I grumble and hear him chuckle.

He throws his arm over my shoulders. "Awe, c'mon, don't pout," he chuckles and squished my cheeks together with one hand.

"Ah, stop it," I grunt and smack his hands away.

He looks like he's about to give some type of snarky comment back but is cut off before he can.

"Ay yo! Is that H?!" A different English accent yells.

It's just now that I notice we are standing next to some fields and there are a group of intimidating guys standing there all staring at Hero with huge grins.
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Her smile is absolutely everything to him. He wishes to see it everyday till he dies. Which will someday soon happen.

When he had came into the room this morning, he had to have a double take of her.

'Was he seeing a real life angel?' He asked himself.

Everything about screamed 'mythical' and 'pure', she was glowing. Her hair delicately brushed against her back, it contrasting deliciously against the black of the shirt that had a shine to it because of the sun.

Her legs were pale yet creamy, with a light brush of hair covering them indicating that she has not shaved them in a while.

Had he died sooner than he thought he would and she is his guardian angel? Here to bring him to wherever he deserves to go?

He doesn't know... but with the blue eyed beauty now facing him, it sure seemed that way.

And at this point he'd gladly go if she was the one taking him.

You know you love me xoxo,
Zoë