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he, Igor, smiled involuntarily, smiled, driven by his newly sounded melody, smiled openly and trustingly, like children smile at the sight of an adult on whom you can absolutely rely on everything, but the sergeant, ignoring this involuntary, completely unintentional rush, to Igor’s smile did not react, – shortly throwing Igor “follow me”, after the other sergeants, he took Igor into the depth of the sleeping room to show where the branch in which Igor fell is located, and where he will be young for the duration of the course his fighter Igor, bed and, accordingly, a bedside table.
It all happened a week ago, – after half an hour from the boys, who arrived a little earlier, Igor learned that the sergeant of his department was called Andrey.
Of course, in his heart Igor was always a dreamer – he was a romantic, not a pragmatist, although outwardly it did not manifest itself, in no way expressed, and therefore no one ever noticed it.

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Lying under a blanket, Igor looks out of the darkness of the sleeping room at Andrei standing in the lighted aisle, and in Igor’s chest melts the feeling of inescapable-sweet languor – in the soul of Igor that very melody sounds, which he heard for the first time with all clarity when he, Igor, It was fourteen years old: once, at the very beginning of spring, a new guy appeared in their yard, and suddenly – quite unexpectedly – Igor felt an incomprehensible to this guy, nothing intelligible, not motivated; the boy was older than Igor for a year – he quickly joined the yard company, and Igor himself did not notice how soon all his thoughts were occupied with him, this new friend.
It was like a phantom: in Igor’s fantasy thoughts, there was absolutely no banal desire for sex, as is often the case with boys at fourteen years old and, like in adolescence, between boys, friends and friends, this happens quite naturally in Igor, thinking about Artyom, that was the name of the new friend, was not thinking about sex, but dreamed-thought about “true friendship”, putting something fragile and uncertain into this concept, he himself until the end incomprehensible, but passionately desired – desired.

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It was spring, and in the endless evening, Igor’s soul was sweetly languishing from hopelessness, from the inability to express his feelings out loud, from the deliberate impracticability of his vague desires; then summer came.
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