Evan, this is a character description Options

[infubilu]

i wrote this for a writing contest i never entered. it's supposed to aptly describe a fictional character in exactly 500 words. tell me if i've accomplished the task or not:

Love, I know love. This is not love. Morning breaks the tiles of the kitchen floor. Still twisted up in sheets, I watch from the bed of his apartment at Evan preparing the eggs, seasoning with a tad of salt. The white grains fall like snow from his fingertips. Completely absorbed by the sizzling in the charred pan, he flips one with a time-weary spatula. Sunlight loves this man-child. Through blinds, it peeps in, plays with his ochre locks, and dashes around the corner. He licks his finger, easing the sunny side ups onto a plate. All the wares in his cupboards are charmingly mismatched, purchased at the flea market on Emmert Street. Evan is humming the overture of ‘La Forza del Destino.’ I roll to the edge of the mattress, metal spokes in my back, and the bed creaks softly under the weight. I am percussion for his music. He smiles at me, his eyes, green as clover and flecked with 24K gold flakes, glint brilliantly. That easy grin, comfort floods me. That’s why I came here. I walked eleven blocks in the night with no shoes, no cell phone, and no jacket for this. Memories from last night permeated my thoughts. The pavement had numbed my feet, my hair damp with cold. Hush, you’re safe here. Evan retrieves the frozen block of packaged bacon slices from the fridge, his lanky body moving with ease around the cramped space. Shirtless, a subtle farmer’s tan traces its fingers along his collarbone, his biceps. They flex as the tear the bag open. Four portions are laid out in the frying pan and the crackling of the bacon pulls me out of my dreamy state. I sit up in bed, hand outstretched to feel the vacant spot beside me, searching the rumpled bedspread for a hint of warmth from Evan’s body. My, Evan, how we’ve grown up. We’re not the little children who used to jack bubble gum and comic books from Mr. Lee’s corner store any longer. I admire my personal Norse god. Drinking him in, his eyes find mine. Suddenly shy, I look down in my sheet-draped lap, tucking loose strands behind my ear. The aroma wafts to my bedside, enticing, seducing, and arousing my hunger. Familiar dimples appear on the cheek that I felt against mine. His hand had found the small of my back, outlining intangible thoughts onto my skin. The stove clicks off and a plate on a tray is carried over. Evan’s face lost of its baby fat, hinting of battle scars of old acne, but now decked with a shadow that needs to be shaved. Evan’s face has seen two decades pass by, been burned and learned, but has not lost its familiarity. My fingers, still sensitive from it’s unspoiled dormancy, trace the lines that he wears now. My friend, we’ve come so far. Here and now, it hits so close to home, my heart. This may not be love, but it’s pretty damn close.