She hates also, perhaps this the most about him, just how beautiful he is despite everything that the war has stolen from all of them. He’s a living, breathing, provocation against anyone who looks at him—daring them to steal the pieces of his youth that everyone yearns so dearly in war, to covet the softness of his pink lips because nothing is fair in this world, and neither is he, and some things should be stolen for the sake of implausibility. 