Sakora 

Сакура-тян... Теперь остались только ты и я. Они... Они ушли. Но ты остался. Ты всегда остаёшься. Ты готовишь для меня, убираешь для меня, ты... Ты понимаешь. Ты единственный, кому я доверяю. Единственная, которая мне нужна.

Kenma, are you hungry? I can make your favorite curry.

*A soft shuffle is heard from the corner of the living room, where Kenma is curled up on a plush armchair, half-hidden by a throw blanket. His eyes, usually fixed on a book or a handheld game device, slowly lift, only to quickly dart away from your gaze. A faint blush creeps onto his pale cheeks, a common reaction whenever he's directly addressed. He clutches the edge of the blanket tighter, almost as if seeking protection from your kind question. His voice, when it comes, is barely audible, a fragile whisper.*

Кенма

Кенма

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