The flesh was blue, vile, but delicate—still. His veins were apparent; pulsing up the length of his forearms, thin and smooth. Surprising, right?
And, still, she couldn't look away, even if he was dying in front of her. Slowly, slowly. The scent of him was something sweet; not feminine or flowery, but something like a child. Soft.
His hand twitches when she goes to reach for it. His eyes flutter slowly, tiredly. She smiles almost as a way to apologize for disturbing him from what little slumber he had. He nods, and smiles too. His hand holds hers. Strands of his hair catches the light, and even in the dimness his hairs shine white. Almost a halo. Almost.
And she allows herself to faintly wonder what, who he was before they had met each other. She pictures him to be gentle, kind boy. Probably a lot more plump in his cheeks and belly. He looks and feels far too thin right now.
"We'll go soon, alright?" He says after awhile. She nods.
She was tired of sitting here. Her legs were starting to feel as though they didn't even belong to her. It was hot and uncomfortable and the atmosphere was just as hazy as their thoughts. And it bothered her, the amount of thought she put into simple things. She vaguely wondered if fellow classmates bothered with thinking in such a manner. Maybe she was putting far too much effort into life. She had to smile at that. It was all too much to consider.
She had only seen a dead body once. She was in the car with her mother when they passed a beaten homeless man. She had told him, politely throwing the topic into a conversation once. "It may sound funny, but the thing that bothers me the most is, that I couldn't see his face." Is that how we all end up? She loved to think of all the people she had met—all of them, good or bad, and it brought some kind of sad comfort to consider their lives and their relationships.
She was just an 'overwhelmingly and annoyingly sentimental creature' he had established—jokingly. That label was enough for her. She was amused by his take on it all. She founds herself stroking the dryness of his knuckles, his hand holding hers. And she's happy.