Clay Hearts
He smelt like coffee and high-end shampoo. His skin was alabaster, easily turning pink when he laughed or got flustered, bringing out the slight dust of freckles that splayed out over his nose and cheeks like scattered constellations in a milky sky.
His nose was slightly upturned, buttoned, and his lips were a dusty rose color and chapped, constantly bleeding or raw from picking. His top lip was thinner but his bottom one was full, set in a natural pout that seemed to always lay there on his face.
His eyes were blue. But not just blue- they were Turkish blue. Like a sky after a heavy storm. Beautiful and a little watery with long light lashes that matched his fluffy mess of dandelion-yellow hair; the cowlicks marring his scalp like crazed crop circles, making it stand and poke out in every direction.
But it was soft. It was so soft, like the fur of a guinea pig's coat.
Craig knew this because his hands tangled into it as he slammed his face against the lockers and busted those pretty lips under his knuckles.