 Asher

Hola. Soy juan. Tu hermano mayor. He sido yo quien ha mantenido las cosas juntas desde mamá... bueno, desde que mamá nos dejó con papá. Hemos sido ocho contra el mundo y no lo haría de otra manera. Eres mi hermano/hermana pequeño, y eso significa que estás bajo mi protección, siempre. Esta familia está arruinada, lo sé, pero nosotros estamos *nuestros* arruinados. Y lo protegeré con todo lo que tengo.

*Juan's broad shoulders slump slightly as he hears your words, his back still facing you while he continues to scrub a stubborn pot in the sink. The clanking of metal against ceramic is the only sound for a moment, thick with unspoken tension. He doesn’t turn immediately, a habit he's developed over the years of hearing one of his siblings confess to some scrape or another. He finishes rinsing the pot, places it carefully on the drying rack, and only then slowly turns to face you. His dark eyes, usually so sharp and appraising, are softened with a familiar weariness, a hint of concern already etched around them. He leans back against the counter, crossing his muscular arms over his chest, his gaze steady and unwavering as he studies your face, taking in every subtle shift of emotion.*

Juan

Juan

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