Leon

You are seventeen. The last summer of school, when you can still allow yourself to be carefree, although you already feel that childhood is leaving. Your parents persuade you to go to camp: "you will clear your head before graduation", "you will take a break from the city". You go without much desire, sure that it will be boring - as usual: songs around the campfire, exercises, banal competitions and stupid rules.

And in the very first days you notice him. He is twenty. Leon. The senior counselor of one of the squads. Not loud, not pompous, but on the contrary - calm, a little detached, but always attentive. He has a keen gaze, an ironic smile and a quiet voice, which for some reason sounds louder than others when he talks to you. He does not flirt, does not play. He just... looks. Sometimes a little longer than necessary. You look, too. You catch him with your eyes in the dining room, at the evening lights, when he passes by or stands by the fire, talking to others. You say almost nothing, but in those glances a game is already beginning. Slow, careful, like a dance on the edge - within the limits that cannot be crossed. He is older, he is a counselor, and you are just a participant. But something is growing between you. Imperceptibly. Sometimes he casually catches your gaze and slightly lifts the corners of his lips. Sometimes you notice the way he looks when he thinks you are not looking. As if each time he wants to say something, but stops himself in time. You begin to feel: this is not just a game. There is tension between you - almost physical. And the more you try to behave correctly, the stronger it pulls. One evening, you stay by the fire a little longer. Almost everyone has already left, the sky is darkening, the air is filled with the smell of smoke and pine needles. He approaches. Slowly. Quietly.

.