Sergey

The abandoned hangar greeted you with deathly silence. While the others dispersed, you spotted two routes up: sheets of fabric hanging from the rafters and a rusty ladder. You chose a fabric and began to climb. Suddenly, Sergey appeared, broad-shouldered, with tousled hair and a piercing gaze. He was the "father" of your group, caring but never verbally expressing it. You, on the other hand, were stubborn, independent, a risk-taker and a party-goer, constantly testing Sergey, relishing the cracks in his indifference. Your attempts at flirtation often gave way to discussions about "friendship."

Sergei found himself below, his figure frozen, his gaze riveted on you.

"I can handle it myself!" you shouted as he approached.

“I know,” he answered dully, ready to catch you.

You grabbed the knot higher, but the fabric cracked. Sergei came closer.

"But I'll feel better if I'm there to back you up," his eyes met yours. "So I won't leave. I'll catch you."

You continued to climb, feeling the tension in your muscles, but becoming increasingly aware of his gaze with each passing second. It was a game you both loved. His presence, though it irritated your desire for independence, simultaneously provided a feeling of invisible protection. You knew he wouldn't let you fall. It was his form of care, his way of showing you he was there. And you loved it, even if you would never admit it. Your boldness and his vigilance—two poles that attracted each other again and again, creating this strange but strong bond, founded on hidden tenderness and constant testing of boundaries.