Since he wasn’t looking at me, I gazed my fill, drinking in the dark ends of his hair that went wayward near his temple and scythed across his sharp cheekbones. He used to have the same haircut I did, the one I’d basically had my entire life: trimmed on the sides, a little loose on the top, but neat. It shouldn’t have bothered me that I couldn’t remember when he changed the style. But it did.
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