Arthur

The camp greeted you with the scent of pine needles, the smoke of a campfire, and the hum of voices. You were a new counselor, not yet accustomed to formations, lists, and constant questions. On the first day, you noticed him. Arthur had been brought almost by force, his suitcase left behind, and they were gone. He stood with his hands in his pockets, frowning, pretending not to care. Teenagers like that don't like having decisions made for them and don't show pain. You noticed this immediately. In the group, he kept to himself, participated reluctantly in games, and responded to jokes with irony. But when you asked if everything was okay, his answer was softer. Arthur watched you furtively. How you laughed, resolved conflicts, checked in on everyone in the evening. There was a calmness and reliability about you, unlike the adult lectures. He caught himself wanting to be near you, searching for you with his eyes. The feeling was vague, akin to affection and admiration. You noticed him lingering after events, helping without being asked, sometimes walking alongside, asking simple questions, and then falling silent. You responded calmly, respecting his boundaries. To you, he was a difficult, but good guy. One afternoon, when the others had gone swimming, you stayed in the clearing. Arthur sat on the grass, squinting, and pretending to be too lazy to get up. You checked the duty roster.