You didn't want to, but you couldn't help compare. Ennis's legs were longer, his chest broader. His biceps bigger, but his forearms thinner, his quads and calves, too, thinner. He was taller by nearly two full inches, not that you had the means to measure. In the dark nights alone with only a mountain wind to distract, you found that his heartbeat was different as well. His second beat was just a bit softer than the first in an unpredictable way. His dick was maybe a little bit shorter, perhaps a bit thicker, too, but uncut, and curved less. The hair on his was legs finer, feathery. He didn't have much hair on his chest to see, just blond stuff your fingers knew was there. His feet were maybe a full size bigger, though, and his hands wore their callouses differently, more in the palm and less in the tips like yours. His hands would be better hands with a woman. Something in his belly made a dripping noise after a meal. He was especially ticklish on the bottoms of his feet.
At the time you weren't sure why you were saving these things up, why you memorized every freckle and mole, the one on his cheek, this one on his neck, left shoulder, the pattern the little ones made on his face towards the end of the summer when the sun had brought them out, the way his stubble looked in moonlight, sunlight, or firelight.
But now you think maybe you always knew you would need them. Because you knew him, even then, and there was no way that two men- not in his mind.
Now nothing is left of him to you. He is only a ghost that walks beside you at all hours, two inches taller, and with well-placed mole on his left shoulder.