But despite his pristine suit, perfectly trimmed dark hair, and fancy designer loafers, bits and pieces of the rugged Julian I knew peek through. The slight bump in his nose after I accidentally broke it with my elbow. A thin, white scar running across his stubbled cheek from when we thought it was a good idea to compete for who could jump the highest from a swing set. The firm press of his lips whenever someone speaks to him—a habit he picked up when we were kids to stop himself from talking out of turn. As if he senses me staring at him, Julian looks in my direction. The dismissive pass of
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