The Boy in Denim ✓

one

The funeral home was basically empty. The four walls were only holding one dead body, and a tall brunette beauty.

The brunette with hair in pigtails wore a white v-neck shirt tucked into a pink pencil skirt, and a pair of white Nike Airs.

Her eyes were glossed over while she stood, the dead corpse inside the white coffin in front of her. She breathed out a sigh and forced a smile on her reddish face, letting her tears fall down freely. As soon as the droplets of tears fell down on her cheeks, the smile disappeared. She choked a sob. As if a force pulled her down, she found herself kneeling next to the white wooden coffin. She sobbed.

She couldn't believe that the person who she had just seen hours before was now trapped inside a glass covered coffin. Not breathing. Heart not beating. Her eyelids not opening. She was now dead.

The brunette had not expected such thing to happen. Hours ago, when her father broke the news to her, she had awaited her grandmother to pop out from behind the hospital door saying that she was alive and that her father was just messing around. But alas, her fate was not messing around.

The stomach operation needed for her Grandmother's colon cancer Stage IV did not go well, and ended up with her dying. Her mother and her siblings went on a war about who was at fault. She could care less about who's fault it was. She could care less about them fighting.

All she cared about was her grandmother.

Her dead grandmother.

The sound of the door creaking open made her halt in her dramatics. She looked up, her naturally tan skin now reddish, eyes red as well, due to the excessive crying.

A guy entered the funeral home. He was someone that she had not seen before. Well that, or her mind was a little bit too fuzzy to think straight and remember the face.

As he shut the door, she wondered who he could possibly be. Was he a family friend? A relative? Her grandmother's ex-lover?

The last option was highly impossible, seeing as her Grandmother was 69 and this guy didn't look a day older than 19.

Maybe he was a relative.

His blue eyes found its way to her golden yellow ones- a gene she had inherited from her late grandmother. The contact of their irises gave her heart a jolt the she had never felt before. Even her two exes never gave her that kind of jolt. What made this blonde guy different?

Her eyes scanned his profile. His hair was light blonde and was in a rather modelesque hair cut. He had a pointed yet slightly crooked nose that implied that he had it broken multiple times. His lips were plump, in a light shade of red. He had high cheekbones and long lashes. His body was quite built. He was wearing a denim jacket over a white almost see through shirt, a pair of jeans, and white Jordan's. From the brunette's point of view, he was quite the looker.

If her grandmother hadn't just died, she would have probably given him her number instead of sitting there with bloodshot eyes and a haggard appearance.

The guy made his way to the white plush seat at the very back of the home. As he did this, the brunette picked herself up and dusted off some dirt her clothes may have gotten whilst she was crying on the floor.

She could feel his electric blue eyes watching her as she did so.
She took her white sling bag off of the floor and then got a few tissues. She began to wipe her tears off.

With one last glance at the blonde guy, she opened the door, and exited the funeral home.