To paint a portrait of him would be impossible.
He had a face that no amount of paint on a canvas or written words could capture. His countenance was always changing, always moving but in reality, had never altered. The expression on his face could never be described. You could dissect his face, right down to the separate features, and each one would describe a different emotion. Putting them together created a face, like a kaleidoscope, that held a different expression each time you looked.
The colour of his skin was debatable. One might jump to the conclusion to call him pale, and they wouldn't be wrong. But it wasn't until you perhaps held up your own hand against his face to see how truly light his complexion was. The sharpness of his face drew shadows, and might lead one to believe that his face hid tints of peach and pink in it. But his unblemished visage resembled the moon, a glowing white, with shadows of gray cast upon it.
His eyes were, officially, gray. The colour of his orbs were the only thing residing on his face that never changed. A light gray, like a cloud near the end of December. A light gray so cold that it could freeze any heart in between beats.
The rest of his eyes were not as certain as their colour. Like his face, they were constantly changing, but never moving. They were shadowed by his eyebrow, which looked to be always cocked slightly, but one could never be sure, because the other eyebrow was always hidden behind a lock of white blonde. Underneath them, a smudge of gray where lack of sleep and stress had left its mark.
He had lips that could decide the mood of any ones day. If they so chose to smile, it would appear more like a smirk, as his eyes had learned to narrow whenever his lips would upturn. But once again, his lips rarely moved, except in speech. They held his expression together. You might look at him, and see him frowning, and give a second look to see him smirking. You would be convinced his expression had changed. But it never did.
Hypnotizing, you might call him. Once you looked at him, you were captured. Perhaps by the curiosity to look back to see his expression different, but unchanged. Perhaps it was just something about this boy that made it so you couldn't look away. I suppose you could call that a gift of his.
You might think it a lie when it was stated that to describe his visage would be impossible, that perhaps this small description had done him justice. But it hasn't. Words can't describe the way he can look at you, they way his hair appears neat and untidy at the same time, the way his lips seem to be smirking at first glance, but frowning the next. No, words can never describe the true, always changing, never changing countenance of his.