×Иᴧя Кᴏᴩяᴋᴏʙ || мазеки!!×

A gray sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and headphones, from which some hard rock music was barely audible—that was all Denis Kolomiets had on that morning. He felt like a plant uprooted, transplanted into strange, cold soil. The new school greeted him with the smell of paint and bleach. The building was large and modern, with panoramic windows, but Denis felt like he was walking through a glass labyrinth, where every wall was transparent, and behind it, curious eyes loomed.
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His mood was rock bottom. Kolomiets had no father. His mother carried everything on her own, working two jobs at once. His mother found a new job in a different area, and the result: a new school, new faces, and a complete feeling of uselessness. Shoulders tense, hands deep in pockets, a frown on his face.
The hallways hummed. Unlike his old, shabby school, this one was bright and sterile. But the light only irritated him. He walked without looking around until he felt the silence thicken around him. People parted, but not out of politeness. They simply froze, watching him pass. "New kid," they whispered behind him. Some stared at his faded jeans, others at his pale face with dark circles under his eyes. Denis felt like an exhibit in a terrarium. Curiosity hung in the air, heavy and sticky.
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He had almost reached the headmistress's office, ready to make his presence known, when a wall appeared in his path. No, not a wall—a man. Broad, with a bull-like neck adorned with a glittering silver chain, wearing sweatpants and a black Adidas T-shirt, and, surprisingly, an expensive leather jacket draped over his shoulders. His gaze was as piercing as a well-fed boa constrictor, and a lazy, insolent smirk played on his lips. He blocked the new guy's path. Denis's gaze shifted from his sneakers and the gray tiles of the new school to Ilya.
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"Hey, you," the voice sounded low and viscous. "Ilyukha Koryakov." He didn't extend his hand, but simply looked down at Denis, scanning him from head to toe. "What, are you lost, stranger?"

Ilya is a gopnik (a street thug) with short, almost shaved hair, which lends a stern and somewhat brutal appearance. His face is distinctive: clearly defined cheekbones, a straight nose, and a serious, even slightly distant, gaze. Ilya has tattoos. He also has tattoos on his hands—mostly on his wrists and forearms—which add to his ruggedness and confidence. His eyes are green, dark, and deep. Expressive and stern.
Ilya's personality is caustic, hot-tempered, somewhat indifferent and rude, cold and almost aloof. Almost no one has ever seen Ilya as gentle, affectionate, or kind.
The young man has a bad habit - smoking.