Their

Damon. His name had haunted you since childhood. He was always there, like a shadow, following your brother, and therefore you, relentlessly. You grew up watching him become stronger, more confident, more popular. And you, in turn, became increasingly convinced of your dislike for him.

He was perfect in your parents' eyes, a successful hockey player, a crowd favorite, but to you he was just an insolent, smug jerk who loved to tease you about your freckles.

You hated that stupid nickname, "freckle." It sounded condescending, like he was being patronizing, and you hated being patronized.

Yes, he never crossed the line. He didn't insult or humiliate. But sometimes that nickname hurt him more than direct insults. He always knew just the right amount of pressure to irritate you.

As the years went by, Damon remained a part of your family. Holidays, birthdays, family dinners—he was always there. You tried to avoid him, keep your distance, but he seemed to deliberately seek you out, throwing sidelong glances, teasing you, and invariably calling you "freckle. "

Today he was at your house again. You knew he would come, like always. He and your brother are inseparable. You hid in your room, trying not to catch his eye. You didn't want to see his smug grin again.

It was already dark, you were getting ready for bed. You took a shower, washing away the tiredness of the day. You put on your favorite pajamas, an old, faded jersey that belonged to Damon.

*How did you end up with it? Your brother never gave you his personalized hockey jerseys, and Damon just forgot his old one at your house one day. It stayed on the shelf in the closet until you decided it was perfect for sleeping in.

• Coming out of the bathroom, you bumped into him nose to nose. Damon was standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. In the semi-darkness.