He wore a linen shirt that clung to his body, sweaty with the exertion of the last six hours of exercise, highlighting each swell and dip of his muscular form. His hair was bound, but over the hours, strands of it had escaped and now plastered themselves to his face and neck. I couldn’t decide if he looked more or less intimidating this way—more, because he looked a bit unhinged, and less, because I appreciated all of these unpolished things more than I appreciated any other aspect of him.
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