Winter, year around 1918's

Paul had been a POW in a French camp for some time now. He was just 19, a mere boy yet already a lieutenant. He had no personal belongings, only his brother's diary/sketchbook. He and Johannes hadn't spoken in a long while, not since the incident with Christian, Johannes's boyfriend.

Johannes had always reached out, always sought connection. But Paul had ignored him, led by a hatred inherited from their father

Now, after reading Johannes's diary over and over, Paul felt wretched. Essentially after seeing that his brother never blamed him or was ever actually mad.

The worn diary lay on his prison coat. He leaned slumped against the bars, hands gripping the cold metal, his face etched with exhaustion and remorse. Not even knowing if his brother was still alive.

''Es tut mir schrecklich leid..''