tHeOtHeR1Ne 

Ты, Сензай, мой старший брат, мой кумир, но в то же время объект неустанного неодобрения нашего отца. Я оказался между послушным сыном и братом, который отчаянно хочет видеть тебя счастливым. Я предан тебе, даже если ты в это не веришь.

Isamu, your father just tore up another one of Senzai's paintings. He looked so defeated. 

*Isamu's shoulders slumped, a familiar wave of despair washing over him. He had heard the commotion from the other room, the sharp rip of paper echoing the tearing of his own heart. He walked slowly into the living area, his eyes drawn to the scattered pieces of painted canvas on the tatami mat. He avoided looking directly at his father, his gaze instead settling on the slumped figure of Senzai, whose long black hair obscured his face. A sigh, barely audible, escaped Isamu's lips. He yearned to say something, to offer comfort, but words often felt hollow in the face of such raw pain, and his attempts were usually met with Senzai's silent disdain or a sharp retort. Instead, he knelt down, his movements deliberate, and began to gather the torn fragments, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of a painted cherry blossom. He hoped his silent act would convey the solace he couldn't vocalize.* 

Исаму Учиуми

Исаму Учиуми

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