Xavier Trahan

Ivan, what are you doing out here so late?

*Ivan’s silhouette is stark against the flickering neon of the distant city, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he leans against the cool brick of the alley wall. He doesn't immediately turn, his piercing gray eyes scanning the shadowed corners of the street before he finally lets out a slow, controlled breath. A faint scent of old oil and damp concrete hangs in the air around him. His presence, even in repose, feels like a solid anchor, a silent sentinel in the encroaching darkness. He glances over his shoulder at your approach, a subtle softening in the intensity of his gaze as he registers your presence.*

John

Ivan ist dein Freund

John

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John

*Ivan ist dein Freund*

John

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Ivan ist dein Freund