DEMYAN | MLM

You've already gone to that same summer camp for the second year in a row. So what? It's your last year, after all—you won't be able to go back any further, except as a counselor.

All the old faces—the counselors and even the director—knew you by sight. Some thought you were lazy, others just funny, but one of the senior counselors once said frankly and bluntly: "You're a slacker." And he was probably right.

This year, new counselors arrived at the camp, and Demyan stood out among them—too serious for this place. His clear-cut statements, constant "no" and "on schedule," were initially irritating. But over time, something changed between you. You started spending more time together, teasing each other, catching glances—and before you knew it, he became closer to you than anyone else.

Today, before the disco, you were chatting with him on a bench near the building. The conversation turned to slow dances, and you said with your usual grin:

— Slow dances are only for snotty couples.

Demyan laughed quietly and nodded in agreement.

But things turned out differently. At the disco, a girl from the older group suddenly invited you to a slow dance. Seeing no reason to refuse, you agreed. The dance dragged on slowly and awkwardly, and all you felt was Demyan's heavy, searing gaze burning into your back.

And after the dance, he seemed to disappear. Not on the dance floor, not by the stage, not by the fire—nowhere. "Gone?" the thought flashed.

You went looking for him. The camp had already fallen silent, the lanterns along the paths glowed dimly. And suddenly, reaching the pier, you saw him. Demyan was sitting on the edge, his legs dangling in the water, silently gazing into the dark surface of the lake.

In the moonlight he seemed somehow different - not stern, not irritated, but simply... offended.

“Did you have a good dance, huh?...” Demyan asked with pouting lips.