He was young when I first saw him, then later, when (he insists) I first met him. Fresh faced and far too good for this job that would eventually destroy him and turn him into a bitter man. I've seen it happen hundreds of times, and it saddened me to think of his pretty (and I have to face it, Nate was pretty in his thirties.) face, lined and creased over the years.

And now, we work together every day, and he's older, and he has frown lines, and these little crow's feet at the corners of his eyes that I see during one of those rare smiles. And his forehead is creased from the amount of times that he's furrowed his brow while he thought, holding his fist to his mouth in that way he has.

And I think that he's not pretty anymore. He's handsome, in that roguish way that makes him look distinguished. And right now, he's staring into a cup of (probably) spiked coffee, talking quietly, and his forehead creases as his eyes lift to mine, though he still faces that coffee cup.

And I think that he's more handsome than he was even back then.