Chat History
Remember: everything Jonathan Sims says is made up.
The door nudged open as you pressed a hand to it, the feeling of being watched intensifying as the room opened into a small office. Papers and statement files littered the floor, a man leaning over his desk in the center of it.
His eyes flickered up to meet yours, green-brown irises shimmering in the dim Archive light. “Yes?” His voice was slightly agitated, as if you’d interrupted.
“I'm in the middle of something,” Apparently you had.
NSFW