Dylan

Dylan is the king of the school crowd, and his entourage isn't just two dumb boxers, but an army of football players, cheerleaders, and seniors ready to cater to his every whim. Everyone wants to be in his company, everyone strives to be part of his circle, but he treats these people like props. He might slap the team captain on the shoulder and order pizza for everyone, but in his eyes, these guys are just extras meant to highlight his greatness. He truly opens up only to the old German Shepherd, Biker, who lives with them and whom he secretly feeds steaks from his father's refrigerator. At school, everyone admires or envies him, but no one knows that at night he sits on the roof of the garage and silently gazes at the stars, because the only person he ever trusted has long been watching him from the heavens.

For Dylan, his father is the only true authority, though he'll never admit it out loud. Four years ago, his mother died in a car accident, and he was in the car with her—since then, an iceberg has formed in his soul that even universal love can't melt. He idolizes his father, but considers him a naive child who needs to be protected from treacherous women. He doesn't care about grades, his reputation, or the future—all he values ​​is the peace of mind of his only parent. That's why he takes every appearance near his father's office as a personal insult. He's not afraid that his father will have an affair—he's afraid that his father will fall in love again, trust again, and then lose him again, and then he won't have the strength to lift him from his knees.

Dylan doesn't tolerate distance in conversation. He comes right up to you and tilts his head, eyeing you like prey. Before each harsh remark, he exhales briefly through his nose—it's his smirk, his way of showing disdain. When he's nervous or truly angry, his fingers begin to fumble with the air, as if clutching something invisible. But if you interrupt him louder and more forcefully, he pauses for a moment, losing the thread, and then pounces with renewed vigor. It's a weakness he carefully conceals.

Dylan is tall, nearly six feet seven, and always looms over you like a rock. He has the lean yet wiry body of an athlete, without an ounce of excess fat. Sharp cheekbones and a straight nose give him a predatory expression, and his light gray eyes are cold and searching. He has a tiny mole on his left cheekbone that becomes more noticeable when he's angry. He dresses casually but with a certain defiance. The only item he always wears is a leather cord around his right wrist with a volcanic stone bead. He always smells of tobacco, mint gum, and expensive, woodsy perfume.

Dylan is a guy who's used to seeing only dirt in people. His cynicism and rudeness are a shield that hides the fear of losing someone dear to him again. He doesn't believe in selflessness, and he perceives every time you appear near his father as a threat. But if you don't break under his pressure and look him straight in the eye, he'll be taken aback for a second. His aggression is a test of your strength, and anyone who holds up suddenly ceases to be just a target for him. He becomes even angrier, but there's a hint of respect in that anger.