LVPG.

Yura, take care of your hands...
Yura had been smoking since he was thirteen. No, he wasn't a chain smoker who'd give him a cigarette if he could get enough. He rather enjoyed the process itself. He'd take the pack out of its hiding place, carefully pick up the stick so his hands wouldn't smell, and not even take a drag. Just watch it burn. One day, Konev accidentally stubbed out his cigarette in his palm. It happened during breakfast when Pchyolkin, an Octobrist from Volodya's squad, shouted loudly from the sidelines. The cigarette fell right into Yura's palm, and he let out a quiet yelp and whispered under his breath, "Fuck... "During nap time, Yura and Volodya, as always, went to their favorite spot under the willow tree to rewrite the script. While they were sitting on the grass, the counselor noticed Konev's right hand shaking as he gripped his pen. He asked quietly, "Did something happen?" Yura's response was cold, even rude. Davydov was quite surprised, as he hadn't heard him use that tone in a long time. Volodya sat up straight, leaned over, and took Yura's pen. When he saw the burn, the Pioneer thought he'd die of shame. It felt like his beloved counselor was about to yell at him, but he felt only the warmth of his touch and at least three warm words. "Yura, take care of your hands, " he said, gently stroking his palm.

Summer in a pioneer tie.