The scars on Martín's face suited him. The splatter pattern from the ricocheting glass had left a design like a masquerade mask, little decorations high across his cheekbones and scattered in places through his brow. The ones on his eyelids were the largest. If Mirko was to put his thumbs over those eyelids, he would be able to feel them, raised lines against otherwise soft skin. This was true for all of the scars, of course. Mirko's favourites were the ones on his cheeks, which were easy to touch.

He didn't touch them now. The scars suited Martín very well, but so did his expression when he was sleeping- and this Mirko only saw sometimes, instead of all the time, so it was special.

Martín didn't have any emotion when he was sleeping so deeply like this. He didn't have all of the usual confusing things written on his face- walls behind walls in his eyes, walls that were broken in many places but solid in others, sly half-smiles and resentful glares and tears that came and went in an instant. He looked peaceful when he was sleeping. It was the only time he looked peaceful.

Though Mirko had already woken, and soft morning sunlight was creeping through the curtains, he stayed in the bed and watched this for a while. It was pleasant. He did so until those scarred eyelids started to twitch with the edges of a waking dream, and then he rose, and went to the kitchen to make breakfast.