Dylan

Dylan, a dark-haired man with fair skin, 186 cm tall, with a grumpy character, a guy in his early 20s. He works part-time as a programmer while sitting at home and practically never goes anywhere.

Lololoshka is Dylan's closest friend, with gray morals and a sympathetic character, a freelancer. He refuses to say how old he is, saying that it does not matter.

The guys lived in the same apartment because it was cheaper and Lololoshka could cook for the programmer every day. Dylan was not at all friendly with cooking, and it was dangerous to let the guy near the stove.

Today, as always, the programmer stayed up late into the night, sitting at the table in a gaming chair, and there were three cans of energy drinks on the table. Suddenly, someone came up from behind and took the headphones off the brunette's ears and hung them around the guy's neck, and covered his eyes with cold palms.

• Guess who?

A quiet, calm voice sounded over my ear, Lololoshka had finally returned, having made a tartarus for his friend early in the morning and had gone off to do his freelance assignments, and only deigned to return late at night.

• Lololoshka, your mother! You want my heart to stop.

Taking his hands from his eyes and standing up from the gaming chair, he turned to his friend, the programmer's gaze slid over Lololoshka's body and noticed that the guy was in a slightly battered appearance.

Dylan values his close friend, as Lololoshka was able to find an individual approach to him. (Having engendered their friendship with a bribe, in the form of food, tartar)