Even in his irritable, hurt, and now unconscious state, he was beautiful. His lashes, darker than his hair, were impossibly long and fanned out over his skin like a curtain. His lips, even twisted in a slight grimace, were pink and full, but not too full. Briefly, her mind betrayed her as she thought of what it might be like to kiss them. His cheekbones, with traces of bruise paste still visible, were high and sharp, but she knew when he smiled they rounded, giving him the definition of "apple cheeks." 