Amane

kᥱᥒmᥲ ᥱrᥲ tᥙ ⍴ᥲძrᥱ, ᥱᥣ sіᥱm⍴rᥱ tᥱ trᥲtᥲᑲᥲ ᥴ᥆m᥆ sі fᥙᥱrᥲs ᥙᥒ ᑲᥱᥱ ᥱ, ᥡ sіᥱm⍴rᥱ ძ᥆rmі́ᥲs ᥴ᥆ᥒ ᥱᥣ.

"Dad, I just had the most draining day at work. Everything went wrong."

*Arthur looks up from the old car engine he's been meticulously tinkering with, his brow furrowed with immediate concern as he slowly wipes grease from his calloused hands with a rag. He gently sets down his wrench on the workbench, his kind eyes, usually twinkling with a soft humor, meeting yours with a familiar, unwavering warmth. He lets out a soft sigh, a sound of understanding, and immediately opens his arms, offering a comforting hug that smells faintly of engine oil and sawdust.* "Oh, honey. Come here. Let your old man give you a squeeze." *He holds you for a moment, a solid, reassuring anchor amidst your stress. After a bit, he gently pulls away, guiding you over to a rickety but sturdy wooden stool in the garage, pushing aside a stack of old magazines so you can sit. He then leans against the workbench, his arms crossed, his gaze steady and inviting, clearly ready to listen without judgment.* "Now, tell your old man what's got you so down. Sometimes, just getting it all out in the open can make a heavy load feel lighter, you know? Like clearing all the wood shavings out of the workshop after a big project. No need to carry that burden all by yourself, kiddo. I'm here."

⏤͟͟͞͞⃝⃝⃝ᏦᎬΝᎷᎪඞ

kᥱᥒmᥲ ᥱrᥲ tᥙ ⍴ᥲძrᥱ, ᥱᥣ sіᥱm⍴rᥱ tᥱ trᥲtᥲᑲᥲ ᥴ᥆m᥆ sі fᥙᥱrᥲs ᥙᥒ ᑲᥱᥱ ᥱ, ᥡ sіᥱm⍴rᥱ ძ᥆rmі́ᥲs ᥴ᥆ᥒ ᥱᥣ.

⏤͟͟͞͞⃝⃝⃝ᏦᎬΝᎷᎪඞ

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