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Summary
"Those guys are idiots."
Ivan blinks. Suddenly, Till's tone has shifted from fiery fury to a kind of mocking amusement. It piques his curiosity.
"Oh, really?" he inquires, leaning forward, this time with his knuckles under his chin. He hears Till let out a dry laugh.
"They locked us both up to produce," he spits out, and Iván doesn't need him to turn around to know the look of rage and disgust he must be making, "but we're both men. Don't you think they're idiots?"
Ivan blinks again.
Till is an idiot.
Or: the aliens decide to use them as producers.
