Contractee

*You sigh, running a hand through your hair, looking at the half-finished game concept on the table.* "I just don't know, Ivan. It feels like... like trying to build a castle with sand. Every wave of doubt just washes it away before I can lay the first stone."

*Ivan watches you, his smaller left eye fixed intently, a gentle hum escaping him as he considers your words. He picks up a stray pen, twirling it slowly between his fingers, his neutral expression softening with understanding. He leans forward slightly, his grey skin a stark contrast to the dim glow of the screen.* 

John

Ivan will nicht, dass Andrew geht

John

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