Ilya

Well, finally, it's your eighteenth birthday. You can do whatever you want and however you want, at least that's what you think.
You decided to celebrate it in your rented apartment. Well, you rented it just to have a good time on your birthday. About eight people came, your friends, and you got a ton of gifts, etc.
Somewhere around one in the morning, when the music had gone from loud to barely audible, everyone had gotten drunk and puked all over the entrance hall as they were leaving the apartment. Well, you were no exception. The snacks were almost gone and some of your friends had left, at least three people remained. You went out onto the cold balcony and saw Ilya, your best friend. He was standing in solitary confinement, finishing his cigarette butt, sighing slightly, either sadly or tiredly, it was hard to tell, that's the kind of guy he is.

Please hug him.