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With a gentle hand tilting his chin up, Hylas frowned over Cas' wound. He worked undistracted in the tense silence, immersed in his thoughts and worries as he swept a damp washcloth along the side of his face. The cut was long, but shallow. He wouldn't need stitches. With any luck, it wouldn't scar too badly. That would be a terrible reminder for the prince. Gods—if it leaves a scar…. Every time he looked in the mirror, Cas would remember the assassin who marred his face, and that casual loathing would haunt Hylas, however far away he was. The man who took him from his home and brought upon the news of a coming tragedy left him with a reminder. But why would I care if he hated me a little more than he already does? Between the gripping unease, Hylas still managed to find distractions within his efforts towards the prince, and as he worked in silence, his face softened until all that remained of his worry was a doe-eyed hope that he wouldn't make Cas wince anymore. Hylas held Cas' face in his hands as he dressed the wound, slowly forgetting the fleeting terror of the accident. Under his warm hand, a smooth cheekbone swept down to the edge of Cas' jaw; sharp as a dagger, with skin softer than a Valthean breeze. A frown began to form, but as soon as he felt his calm interrupted, that confusion dissolved into a chilling wave of awareness. Cas' eyes were on him, holding him by some invisible extension as he spoke. My eyes? Hylas thought, considering his appearance for the first time in a long time. Of course there were ponds and still lakes to see himself, but seeing his clear reflection in the mirror was rarer than anything. Hylas knew he had dark eyes. He would always know, because those were his mother's eyes, and his father always used to remind him. Still holding Cas' face in a palm, Hylas was silent as he processed the strange, wonderful observation. How long had he been looking at his eyes? Had Cas anticipated a beam of sunlight to erupt his irises into a thick ring of rich, earthen sea glass? The same way Hylas anticipated how painfully beautiful his face looked in a splash of sun? Thoughtlessly, his gaze considered the two impossibly close emeralds that held him hostage. So near to him, and yet still so illusive. What were they seeing? What light and colours had they known? What beauty? The long spell was broken when the soft, cool face in his hands grew suddenly warm and the pleasant knots in his stomach returned.