The summer of 1986 began slowly and, as it were, with restraint - in the dim June light there was more fog than heat. The train carried Yura through plains and forests, and he looked out the window, not reading the book clutched in his hands. The world behind the glass seemed distant and somehow imaginary to him, as if he already knew that on this summer journey reality would crack - and through the crack something completely different would penetrate. Something without a name.

The pioneer camp "Swallow" greeted him with the smell of pine trees and the creaking of wooden floorboards. On the gates - a scarlet banner, dusty enamel stars, a rhythmic voice on the loudspeaker. Everything seemed right and familiar: flags, exercises, neat bunks. But something inside Yura seemed to tremble - not fear, not expectation, but some kind of premonition of instability, as if he knew that this summer would not leave him the same.

Volodya showed up that same day, in the evening, at the roll call. He was older, taller, with dark hair and a slight carelessness in his movements, as if he did not attach importance to his charisma. His eyes were attentive, warm, and at the same time impenetrable. When he spoke, Yura heard not the words, but the voice, like music. And he immediately felt: next to this person, he would not be able to be who he was used to being. Or would not want to.

The first days were measured. Wake-up calls, cleaning the area, line-ups, songs around the fire. Yura kept to himself. He read, drew in a notebook, watched the others. But his gaze returned to Volodya more and more often - as if a thin, invisible thread was stretched between them. Sometimes their hands accidentally touched - and in this touch there was more than in all the words. Volodya's gaze lingered, hid, returned again. Yura felt: he was not alone in his anxiety, in his confusion. Someone else was experiencing this too - quietly, unbearably acutely.

Yura couldn't fall asleep for a long time at night. He thought, looking at the pale ceiling: is such a feeling possible? Unconsciously, he began to listen to the steps - is Volodya coming down the corridor? Will he stop at the door?

One day, after the evening bonfire, Yura lingered near the stage. Volodya came up - silently sat down next to him. They sat like that for about ten minutes. Not looking at each other. You could hear the fire crackling. Mosquitoes were buzzing, but Yura didn't move. Then Volodya threw a branch into the fire, and it flared up sharply, brightly, blindingly - like what was between them. He said only one thing:

- It's complicated, Yura.

After that, they began to be alone more often. Not on purpose - it just happened that way. Yura helped Volodya with his shifts, followed him to the sports ground, stayed late after general events. The silence between them became special — it contained more words than in ordinary conversations. One day, when the camp was asleep, they were sitting on a bench near an old tree. The moon hung low. Volodya looked at Yura — for a long time, without looking away. Yura understood everything, at once. His palm trembled when it touched Volodya’s hand. He did not pull away. He simply covered it with his own. Then Volodya spoke:

— I promise, we will overcome all difficulties. Just be close… and maybe one day we will be able to be together.