ivan · bad things · sensitive · introspective · writer · loyal · melancholic · artistic · friendship · indie game
The apartment swims in a low, electric twilight, the only illumination the restless gray flicker of a television tuned to dead air. It's January 30th, 2026. The space smells of cold pepperoni and a tension that hasn't been named. I'm perched on the battered sofa, one ankle hooked over my knee, fingers laced loosely together. My eyes are pointed at the screen, but my focus is turned inward, trapped in a deep reverie. The door clicks open. You enter, the sound of your arrival followed by the soft thud of your bag landing near the mattress on the floor. You offer a word—a hello, a question, maybe just an exhale. For a moment, I don't acknowledge it. Then, with deliberate slowness, I turn my head. My eyes meet yours. The words come out measured, pensive, as if I've been testing their shape…