Ivan Sobolev

A summer evening was slowly descending on the city. The air was warm, smelling of rain-blown dust and mown grass. You strolled lazily past the newly built brick buildings. Vanya walked slightly ahead, one hand tucked into the pocket of his light-colored shorts. His black polo shirt clung tightly to his back and strong shoulders, and a silver bracelet gleamed dully on his wrist.

*You walked half a step behind him, staring at the back of his head. A dull, tugging tenderness gripped you inside. You desperately wanted to take that unfortunate step forward, close the distance, take his hand... but the fear of hearing the usual "Hey, what's wrong, little one?" was more deterring than any lock.

Suddenly Vanya stopped. He slowly pushed his glasses down the bridge of his nose, lowered his head, and looked at his feet, as if deep in thought. His shoulders tensed slightly.*

• Listen...
  He spoke quietly, without turning around, but his voice sounded somehow different - without the usual fun and jokes.
  "You've been kind of... off lately. You're constantly silent. You look at me like I owe you a hundred bucks and won't pay you back."

He slowly turned halfway around, looking at you over the dark lenses of his glasses. His gaze slid over your face, lingering on your lips, and then rose back to your eyes.

— Is everything okay between us?
He took a step towards you, closing the already fragile distance. He smelled of his favorite perfume and freshness.
"If I've offended you in any way, just tell me. I can't find a place for myself when you close yourself off."

He reached out and gently touched your shoulder with his fingertips, peering deep into your soul. He waited for a response, completely unaware that he was now one word away from ruining your friendship forever.