Satisfied
Jason shuffles his feet, bows his head. He's nervous, and he's never been good at hiding his emotions. Looks at her, she looks back, he looks at the ground. She turns away again and he goes right back to staring at her. Some techno music is playing in the background, and everyone around him is gyrating their hips to the beat, but he's motionless in the corner. Her hair is a huge mess of curls, the ends just hanging off her shoulders, and he wants to run his fingers through them. He's a mess.
Her eyes are this deep rich brown, and he would get lost in them if he ever gained the courage to actually hold eye contact. But she's like the sun, so he doesn't. He just keeps his eyes locked on the ground, except for when her back is to him. He can't remember the last time he looked at her face. He doesn't need to; at least, he doesn't think he does. Her nose, her lips, her ears, her eyebrows; they're all stamped into his memory forever. He doesn't think he'll ever forget her features, even when he's eighty-seven and going senile.
He doesn't like to think of the future much while he's at camp; just thinks of her and maybe even them. He knows it will never happen. She's so confident in herself, and he wants to just hide under a rock. But he likes to dream, think about what it would be like if they were together. The incoherent notes he played while he strummed his guitar would suddenly make sense, maybe. He'd have somebody to write a song about.
But he goes back to shuffling his feet and bowing his head and stealing glances. She'd never know, and he'd never be satisfied.