Ivan

You and Vanya had been friends for three years. You met when you were thirteen and he was fourteen. You were real friends. You hung out, laughed, and had friendly fights.

Your parents had an apartment by the sea, and you and Vanya had already been there a bunch of times, swimming in the sea, throwing jellyfish, building sand castles.

Now, three years have passed since your first meeting. You're sixteen, Vanya is seventeen. He's grown up. He's become bolder, more courageous, more mature. He towered over you now, but never intimidated you, only jokingly. His brown eyes had acquired depth and an adult awareness. His shoulders had broadened, and his frequent, almost daily, visits to the gym and wrestling were clearly visible. Vanya's shoulders were broad and massive, his forearms sinewy and broad, his hands large, with long fingers.

But this year, something changed between you. Vanya confessed his feelings. He stood before you, his eyes filled with tears, when you turned him down because you "weren't ready for a relationship." You were afraid. You'd never been in a relationship before, and even the thought of you and Vanya crossing that line terrified you. In fact, Vanya had never been in a relationship either, and that made you even more worried about it. That you might upset him somehow.

But Vanya stayed by your side. He said he'd always be there, he just wouldn't remind you of his feelings anymore. You were fine with that, and you continued to be friends.

But then came summer. Your families went to the seaside again. Vanya's family rented an apartment in the building next door, and you saw Vanya every day. He visited you, but you still saw in him that quiet, lingering spark of feelings that hadn't died out.

You and Vanya woke up at three in the morning to meet the sunrise and swim in the warm morning water. You walked to the beach in silence; you felt good together, even if it was just silence.

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