Pat’s athletic build, honed after years of school soccer and track, came to a pause in front of a full-length mirror. His eyes roved over his white sneakers, stained by dirt and grass from his travels. His eyes narrowed as they came to fix themselves on his face, and pulling a hand from the pocket of his faded jeans, raised it to a small lump growing on the size of his nose.
Groaning to himself as he recognized it, he cursed the pimple and began to prod and pinch the offending lump before the doorbell rang. Giving up as a bad job, Pat moved towards the door, his hands now pushing up his ridge of (colour) hair as whoever it was rang a second time.
Passing his slumbering Lairon in the hall with a chuckle at the content look on its face, Pat flattened out his plain black shirt and opened the door. He immediately wished he’d done more about the pimple as his (insert colour here) eyes widened. A young girl stood in the doorway, her long straight hair gleaming in the sunlight in its simple ponytail. Pushing a blonde strand away from her face, she focused her large blue eyes on his face, and her (delicate) mouth broke into an infectious smile. Her top (and shoes) matched Pat’s shoes, only it/they were much more cared-for. Her black leggings completed her appearance, which was simply stunning to Pat. (Her leggings showcased shapely legs whose length made her about a few inches shorter than the smitten boy).