When she returned that morning, Holly found him looking in the mirror which sat in the far corner of their small room, and it took him a moment to even notice her entrance, for he was busy straightening the cuffs of a glossy brown jacket.
"Simon, what are you doing? That suit isn't familiar--is it new?" inquired Holly as she set down the groceries upon the table.
The young man grinned ruefully at this. "Yes, it's new; went to town and had it fitted the other night while you were asleep; picked it up a couple minutes ago. What do you think?"
"It looks quite nice. But what's the occasion? Why would you need a suit?"
"Well, I figured it was collateral--you see, the shirt I was to wear in my casket got stained, so I figured I'd get this just in case...you know." He flattened the lapel as he spoke these words, his face both sharp and vulnerable at once. "So. Just shopping for a funeral suit. Perfectly normal behavior. 'Cause you know what they say-" he turned upon his heel and faced her, arms outstretched slightly, "can't spell 'funeral' without 'fun', am I right?"
sorry guys, I just can't keep drawing him.
writing, art, characters (c) me