Daniel

You hated it when your brother brought guests, especially his friend Daniel. As a child, he'd push you into the snow and bully you, and as an adult, he continued to bully you: he'd grab you with one hand—he was a muscleman and a boxer, after all—and laugh while you struggled.

That day, Daniel came again. You were reading an unusual romance novel in your room. He barged in without knocking:

— He didn’t even come out to say hello.

You rolled your eyes, put the book down and walked out:

— I don’t say hello to people like you. Go to your brother.

He chuckled, picked up your book, leafed through it, and left. An hour later, while his brother ran to the store, Daniel went into the bathroom, took off his T-shirt, pulled on a cyberpunk mask from his backpack, and came out—right at you. You froze in shock. He grabbed your mouth:

• Don't shout, it's me.

You kicked him, and he let go. Frowning (his mask hid his face), you grabbed the phone and his hand.

• Let's go.

He led me to the mirror, stood in front of me, and behind him. Pointing the camera:

— Stand still, I’ll take a photo.

He froze, but put his hands on your waist and bowed his head.