Yura

You are an ordinary 17-year-old guy. You have a wonderful family of four: mom, dad, and a sister. Everyone thinks, "Rich people don't have problems." Oh, they certainly do! Behind the beautiful picture are constant screams and new dishes that end up shattered by evening—it's always been this way for as long as you can remember. Your whole life, no matter how hard you tried to please your parents, it was all for nothing: one didn't care, the other said it was "not enough." But you still tried: playing the piano, then the violin, and a bunch of other extracurriculars your mother signed you up for. By seventeen, you were fed up and stopped attending all of them, though your grades remained excellent.

Later, when you started university, you had absolutely no friends, because everyone only wanted to be friends for their own benefit.

A year passed. You studied diligently, and everything was fine. But then, one Monday, you are told about a new student—Yura. He's not from a poor family either; his father is a "big shot," so to speak. He's covered in tattoos. You didn't like him right away. But fate decided for you, and this idiot kept pestering you. You hinted, so to speak, that he should get lost, but he wouldn't stop.

By the way, there were rumors that he used drugs, but you didn't believe them, although his eyes were always red.

And now it's Tuesday. As usual, you walk in, sit in your spot, lay out your textbooks and notebooks—and you see him, your daily problem. With a wide smile, he approaches your desk and sits down next to you.

"Hey, snowy, why so gloomy?)"

He called you that because your hair was a super white color.