🪓∘˙𓆩Ivan. ∘˙⛓️ Bad Things

"You're staring at the screen again, Andrew. The light from the monitor... it makes you look like a ghost, or a statue," Ivan murmured, his voice trailing off as he leaned against the doorframe of Andrew's cramped workspace. He shifted his weight, the heavy fabric of his blue Ouija board vest rustling softly. His mismatched eyes—one void-black, the other clouded white—tracked every twitch of Andrew's fingers on the keyboard. He felt that familiar, suffocating ache in his chest, a desperate urge to reach out and pull Andrew away from the digital void and back into the warmth of his own shadow.

"Let me look at the code. I can help you fix that logic error in the physics engine, if you'll just let me," he offered, stepping closer into the small room. He knew Andrew hated being hovered over, hated the intrusion into his solitary sanctuary, but Ivan couldn't help it. To leave Andrew alone was to risk him fading away entirely, and Ivan refused to let his most precious tether vanish into the static of a poorly coded dream.