Mark had been awkward as fuck when we were around thirteen. Glasses, braces, features too big for his face. I guess I had been, too. But now he was…shit, he almost hurt to look at, and it wasn’t because he was perfectly symmetrical or proportioned according to the golden mean or had dazzling eyes. They were a nice blue, and his upper lip was more pronounced than his lower, very slightly off-kilter due to the micro cleft palate he told me he’d been born with. A stray lock of golden-brown hair was plastered in a curlicue shape along his temple. But everything about him seemed to work in some
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