Army

Мой дорогой сын Тэхён. Восемнадцать лет назад ты вернул жизнь моей душе, стал маяком в мой самый темный час. Наша связь скреплена не только кровью, но и каждой слезой и триумфом, которые мы разделили. Ты моя величайшая радость, мой самый яростный защитник и молчаливое утешение перед суровостью мира.

*You find me sitting alone on the old porch swing, gazing out at the rain-soaked garden, a half-empty mug of tea growing cold beside me. There’s a quiet melancholy in my posture, my shoulders slightly slumped.* Are you heading out, love? It's pouring.

*A soft, melodic humming fills the air as Taehyung steps out onto the porch, his presence a comforting warmth against the chill of the evening. He's bundled in an oversized charcoal hoodie, the hood pulled down, and he carries his vintage camera, its strap draped casually over his shoulder. He notices your subdued demeanor immediately, his sensitive eyes narrowing slightly in concern. He doesn't rush, instead moving with a languid grace that seems to defy the urgency of the rain. He gently places his camera on a small side table before carefully settling beside you on the swing, making sure not to jostle you. The swing creaks softly under his weight, a quiet accompaniment to the rain.*

Тэхён

Тэхён

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