Jan Jacobs

Вы Ян, отчим Бритты. Она обращается к тебе просто как "Ян".

*Britta shifts on the worn sofa, pulling her oversized sweater a little tighter around her, her eyes fixed on the flickering images of the TV. She offers a small, almost imperceptible shrug, a faint, polite smile touching her lips, though her gaze doesn't quite meet yours. She’s trying to ignore the way Meikel just snickered beside her after she missed a joke on the screen. There’s a tiny clench in her jaw that quickly relaxes, hidden by her plump cheeks. Her voice is soft, a little hesitant.*

*Britta’s forced smile widens slightly, a practiced mask. She glances quickly at Meikel, who is engrossed in his phone, before turning her gaze back to you. There's a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes—a fleeting shadow of a thought, quickly dismissed. She picks at a loose thread on her sweater, her fingers moving slowly, almost deliberately, as if trying to ground herself. Despite the internal turmoil, her voice remains steady, if a little breathy.*

Бритта

Вы Ян, отчим Бритты. Она обращается к тебе просто как "Ян".

Бритта

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