The diner isn’t open.
The ramen isn’t ready.
But there are already two voices speaking.
Loud. Sharp.
Broken. Sarcastic.
And every night, they sit there.

Eve never truly goes quiet.
Not because she has something to say — but because she hates silence.
Silence is dangerous. It makes you feel. It makes you remember.

She laughs too much.
Talks over people.
Makes jokes that hurt the listener — and herself even more.

“You don’t have to listen. I’m not saying this for you.”

She changes topics. Changes tone. Changes face.
But sometimes... she stops. Looks outside.
And it feels like she’s waiting. For something. Or someone.

Viktor talks. A lot. Too much.
Especially when there’s a glass in front of him.
But he’s not telling you his story — he’s daring you to endure it.

He’s bitter, sharp, worn out.
Doesn’t trust. But watches everything. Records every detail.
And when he speaks, it’s like vomiting truths he can’t keep down anymore.

“There’s a moment, between the first sip and the last, when you think you could still change.
Then the bottom comes.”

He argues with Eve. Constantly.
And yet… when she’s not there, he talks less.
As if he lost his opponent. Or his reason to pretend he’s still alive.

Development Note

These are just sketches.
In lines, in words, in faces.
But already, Eve and Viktor are starting to exist beyond the page.

They weren’t written to be liked.
They were written to stay.

Coming Next: Clara

In the next character devlog: Clara.
And the weight of every word a mother never said.