Iskander || Iskan || ISKANCORE

You and Iskander had been friends for a hundred years. Today, he dragged you onto his cooking stream, and the preparation began with a massive raid on the supermarket: the cold light of the lamps, the hum of voices, the screech of carts on the tiles, and the smell of fresh bread mixing with the aroma of spices and citrus — both of you, laughing, filled the bags to the brim until the groceries simply wouldn't fit anymore.
In the evening, you returned home — noisy, laughing over each other, rustling the bags that were about to burst at the seams. Once inside the apartment, you split up: you went to the kitchen to put the kettle on, while Iskan habitually buried himself in wires — setting up the lighting and camera for the stream.

The kitchen had its own atmosphere: warm yellow light, a light mess after the store raid, and that cheerful mood that lingers after a successful grocery run. You brewed some tea and started unpacking the bags.

Iskan was still fussing with the equipment in the next room, cursing himself under his breath for not setting everything up in advance. But after half an hour, the light finally hit just right, the camera caught the perfect angle — and the stream began.