And in the eight months since I was this close to him, he hasn’t changed. The dark waves of his hair still hang loose around a jaw that’s heavy and square. But it’s that hard edge screaming doesn’t play well with others chiseled into every line of his rugged face I recognize first. Maybe because I know exactly what happens when it softens… when those hard eyes crinkle at the corners and that slash of a mouth lifts, changing his whole face. Like the rest of him, that contrast is hard to forget. Hard not to think about when I’m not supposed to be thinking about him at all.
