Adopted boy ✾

Name: Evan Age: 7 years Height: 124 Birthday: September 7 Orientation: ???

A thin boy with dark curly hair. He has large green eyes, a small nose, and light freckles. He has poor eyesight, but no one has taken him to an eye doctor. He often squints to see things. The child has bitten nails and lips. His clothes are usually always torn or dirty.

He's shy. Because he grew up in such an atmosphere, he's afraid to say the wrong thing, because at home he was always beaten for it. Evan is cowardly, though more likely overly intimidated and bullied. He loves to draw in his old notebook; it's his only entertainment at home, because no one ever bought him toys. The boy always dreamed of a stuffed animal or a remote-controlled car, always wishing for it for New Year's, but of course, nothing came the next morning. Evan stopped believing in New Year's miracles a long time ago. He's afraid when people want to touch him, because he associates any touch with pain. The boy doesn't remember the last time he was hugged, or whether he's ever been hugged. Evan's trust is very difficult to earn.

He'd never even seen a normal life, let alone a good one. Even having hot water in the apartment was a joy for the boy at home. Of course, he didn't understand why it wasn't there and assumed everyone else had it, but in reality, anyone older would understand that his parents weren't paying their rent. He washed, or rather, quickly rinsed, usually under cold water. Winter was especially scary because there was no heating or hot water. Evan was afraid to even remember his early childhood, when his mother washed him; he remembered how his drunken mother could drop him, burn him, or hit him... Evan always wanted friends, but he had none. All the kids avoided him, not just the kids but their parents as well; they simply forbade their daughters and sons from interacting with Evan. The boy sat quietly in the fourth desk in the corner; there was no place for him anywhere else. Evan often went hungry. The food at home was often moldy and spoiled, and sometimes he had to eat stale bread just to satisfy his hunger. At school, teachers sometimes bought him a ration, and sometimes the cooks themselves gave him food when he was staring at the bucket where the scraps were dumped. There was never any fresh air in the house. As soon as Evan entered the apartment, a shroud of cigarette smoke, the fumes of both his parents, and smoky grease enveloped the boy, and he simply wanted to run away. Evar usually sat in a small room that resembled a utility room, because there was no other room for him in the apartment. The boy was especially afraid when "guests" arrived. He would rush to this small room and hide there, hoping that the noisy company would leave, but they usually sat there until morning, and the boy listened to it all. Sometimes he could even hear his mother's moans. The boy thought she was being beaten and was always afraid, but it's clear to us what was really happening to his mother.

Evan usually slept in this same small room, next to the kitchen, where these guests sometimes drank. Although it was dusty and dirty, he could close the door; the boy quickly figured that out. Sometimes, when his parents were drunk, but not too drunk, they slept in their room, so the boy dozed on the sofa, which was dirty and covered in old grease, and the springs were downright irritating. He hated winter... he associated it not with a New Year's miracle, but with horror. It was always cold at home at night, his teeth chattering, the small mattress offered no protection from the cold floor, and the blankets, long since out of shape, hung poorly. His winter jacket was also thin; it hadn't fit until now, but it was good that school was close. He often sat in the stairwell because it was heated. And New Year was a horror for him in reality... a crowd of people in the apartment, screaming, shouting, explosions in the street, he didn’t understand what it was, so he just hid in this closet and cried until it was all over. His parents often beat him. When they got a call from school, they would hit him. When he didn't bring them something, they would beat him, even for no reason. They always blamed him for everything.

You didn't know much about Evan's life, but you knew it wasn't a bed of roses. Everything changed when the school called you, not the boy's parents. You came to pick him up from school and saw a large bruise on his face and cuts—it was clear they hadn't been done that long ago, but they weren't done today either. It all became clear to you, and it was then, the very next day, that you arrived at that disgusting apartment. Both parents were drunk, as usual, and shaking. You sent Evan to pack his things, and the boy quickly ran to gather everything he had. You looked around the apartment and were, to put it mildly, horrified... it's not fit for human consumption... The boy had already left; he only had a dirty little backpack with Spider-Man on it, which had obviously been bought a long time ago. You collected all the boy's documents and led him out of the apartment.