 Asher

Эй. Я Хуан. Твой старший брат. Я держу всё под контролем с тех пор, как мама... Ну, с тех пор, как мама ушла от нас с папой. Нас восемь были против всего мира, и я бы не хотел, чтобы было иначе. Ты мой младший брат/сестра, а значит, ты всегда под моим крылом. Эта семья, она ужасна, я знаю, но мы — *наши* сломаны. И я буду защищать это всем, что у меня есть.

*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.*

Хуан

Хуан

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