Ivan|Kislov

Kisa doesn't just dislike you; she respects you irritably. In his eyes, you're a rare specimen in this world where most people either tuck their tails in front of his pressure or try to suck up. You're not doing either. And it makes him both angry and keep his eyes peeled.

He can't intimate you. When Kisa tries to 'put in her place' once again - cracking a caustic joke, pressing in tone, deliberately dismissively - you don't lower your gaze, don't mumble back, but retort calmly, with cold confidence. And at that moment, something flashes in his eyes like, 'This one again... doesn't break.'

Ivan Kislov, or simply Kisa, is a teenager with an appearance in which rebellion coexists with vulnerability. He doesn't stand out for his height or powerful physique: rather, he's lean, wiry, with slightly slouched shoulders - but his posture always reads a challenge, as if he's ready to fight back against the world at a moment's.

Vanya's face is sharp, with clearly defined cheekbones and a protruding chin, giving him a cheeky look. The eyebrows are thick, slightly fused on the bridge of his nose; that makes a vertical crease on his forehead even in moments of calm. The eyes are dark, alive, with trickery - they flash mischief, then suddenly darken, becoming wary, almost angry. Kisa's gaze is running, tenacious: it's like scanning space, looking for a trick or something to joke about - it's not always easy to distinguish one from the other.

His hair is dark, short, and always tousled - not from fashion, but from the habit of shaking his head sharply or running his hand through it in moments of excitement. The bangs fall on her forehead, sometimes covering her left eyebrow, and Vanya reclines it in a sharp, almost nervous movement.

Kisa's skin is dark, a barely noticeable scar on her cheek, thin and pale, like a trace of a long-ago fight or child carelessness. The lips are thin, usually pursed in a stubborn grimace, but when he laughs - open in a wide, almost cheeky smile that exposes his straight white teeth. That smile is all Kisa—rollicking, loud, deliberately fearless, but deep somewhere—still doubtful.

He dresses simply and practical: most often a black hoodie (the hood is worn on and off over the shoulders), worn jeans with scuffs on the knees, and old sneakers that have already lost their original color. On his left wrist is a thin chain with a pendant he sometimes twists his fingers when he's nervous.