Chapter Text
Camilo’s favorite cousin was Mirabel.
Everyone in the family and town knew this.
They had been incredibly close when they were children, always running around and playing. Things changed after their ceremony, after looking at Camilo would cause a pang in Mirabel’s chest - a painful reminder of what she was lacking.
It went away eventually but it was never the same.
On his part, Camilo never stopped looking out for his cousin. He’d notice her hurt, her self-esteem being destroyed little by little until she’d built herself up once again on pure positivism and effort - Mirabel would try to please their family and people in town, doing whatever that needed to be done and did not require a gift, smiling brightly at even the tiniest tasks she’d been given.
He sympathized even though he couldn’t understand it. From his earliest memory, Mirabel has always been brilliant, unapologetically herself, the one who used to plan the best pranks and games.
He wished he had the courage to grab her and tell her that she was perfect just the way she was, no gift needed. That their Abuela was blind, that the whole town was blind if they couldn’t see how brightly she shined all on her own.
Maybe that was what had captured his attention - that same fire that drove her to do whatever she could to help others, to prove herself even to those that were not kind to her, always a smile on her face and a swish of her skirt.
He loved her, he’d found out soon enough.
And with that realization, ever since they turned 13, he had made sure she knew how important she was to him.
He couldn't care less if they were in the middle of the town. If it was crowded and bursting with energy or deserted in the early hours of the morning, he’d make sure he approached her every time he saw her around, kissing her cheek or bringing her against his body, enjoying her warmth.
The first few times he’d done it, she’d been confused. She’d scrunched up her nose, looking at him like he had lost it just to be met with a smirk and a shrug. By the tenth time, she had brushed it off and melted against his body, not used to the blatant physical affection from anyone other than her Mama.
There had been times when he’d been scolded for leaving a chore half-done, but he couldn’t worry about it - not when she reacted so shyly, so adorably. Not when she’d look up at him, expressive brown eyes behind green glasses returning the affection, grasping his hand, and dragging him to where the children that would usually follow her around were.
They’d learned to ignore the comments others would make about them as they knew it was absurd.
(‘‘Can you believe them, Cami? Honestly, it’s like they don’t have anything else to talk about’’)
He had accepted that nothing could come out of it.
His beautiful cousin could never be his nor could he ever be hers. He had thought he had made peace with that, he really did.
Still.
It hadn’t been less of a shock when he saw her in the embrace of another, kissing him the way she kissed him in his dreams. He prayed he was dreaming even though it felt more like a nightmare. But he squeezed and twisted the skin of his arm, hard enough to leave a trace of red on it, it didn’t disappear. They were still there, gently holding each other.
His face was a blur. Even if he wanted to be angry, get him away from her - he knew it wouldn't matter.
She didn't know. And it wouldn't change anything if she knew.
She’d never see him the way he sees her. She’d never dream of a life together, of holding him outside of Casita, proudly announcing their love in front of the whole town.
His heart sank, a pained sound coming out of him without permission as he felt a sour taste on his tongue, his pounding head making it difficult to focus. He just needed to get away. From them. From her.
He barely reached his sister’s room before breaking down. He’d rather avoid the dreariness and superficiality of his room, all spotlights, and mirrors. The last thing he wanted right now was to look at himself.
Dolores’ room was empty as he knew it would be, the sudden absence of sound just making his heavy breathing more shrill than it actually was. However, the familiar tone of vivid red, the one he had grown to associate with his sister, was calming. He climbed into her bed, snaps of his childhood coming to him as he sprawled the blanket over his body.
He used to do this more often, that he knew. Every time he had a nightmare - usually about getting stuck on a different body, of not finding a way back to who he was, and of taunting spiteful laughs directed at him, Dolores would be the one he’d reach out to first.
He loved his mom but never wanted to upset her and when the panic settled inside him, the last thing he wanted was rain souring his mood further (not that he’d ever admit that to her).
Dolores was gentle, serenity compared to the tempest their mom could be. She’d hold him tightly against her frame, a barely audible hushing would be the only sound she’d made. She had learned (and had taught him) that words were not the only ways to express affection.
Thinking about Dolores reminded him of why he was there, hiding like he was seven again.
The sobs that had started to abate came back with a vengeance as his hand brought the blanket around himself tighter, a pitiful mock of a soothing embrace. He didn’t like to be this pathetic but the thought that it was over, that she was outside with someone else - that she would never know because he never gave them a chance.
He thought he had been fine with that. What changed?
You lost her. And you didn’t even have her in the first place.
The sound of the door startled him. His sister made her way to the bed, placing herself against his back and hugging him.
"I’m sorry, Milo," she whispered after a few minutes, before hesitating "but… it may not be as bad as you think."
He laid there, not bothering to ask her what she meant by that. Dolores tried her best to not share what she had listened to in others' conversations out of respect and it wouldn’t be fair if he asked. But the comment stayed with him, something akin to hope lightning inside his chest.
It’s been days and the topic hasn’t been brought up.
Not a blushing statement during dinner. Not a playful remark from any of her sisters. Not even a sympathetic comment from his own sister.
Camilo can’t live like this. He needed to know.
He waited for the perfect moment and it didn’t take long to find it. Before breakfast, Luisa and Isabela had casually mentioned to their Mama that they were going to the market and probably would be out for a few hours. Mirabel hadn’t come down yet - meaning, she did not know that.
He looked at himself in one of his big mirrors, making sure he had everything right. He moved his head, grimacing at the absurd amount of hair weighing him down. How did Isabela do this every day? He couldn’t even put it in a bun or something because Señorita Perfecta didn’t do that, ever.
Camilo huffed, moving towards his door.
As he stood outside Mirabel’s room, he went over simple reminders: Isabela and Mirabel’s relationship was better now, still teasing but not aiming to hurt. Isabela calls Mirabel ‘sis’ and its variants, rarely Mirabel and never Mira. Isabela may hunch over from time to time but she never fidgets.
Taking a deep breath, he smiled, knocking on her door. A ‘come in!’ made him open the door, noticing Mirabel on the floor while she worked on one of her sewing projects.
"I’m fairly sure you have a chair, Mirabel." He said, smirking as he went inside and closed the door behind him.
"Hmm? Do I?" She answered, barely looking up as she worried at her lip. She moved her needle a few more times before dropping the fabric and looking at him. "Sorry, Isa, did you need something?"
"Oh, no, not quite. I just heard something interesting, that’s all" Mirabel hummed, wordlessly asking her, "I heard you were seen kissing some boy in town, little sis. Something to tell me?"
Mirabel blushed but otherwise just shrugged, picking the needle again. "It was nothing."
"Nothing?" He asked, incredulous.
She rolled her eyes at his tone, "Okay, Judgy. It was nothing. He asked and I was curious. But I don’t like him or anything. Can we please talk about something else now?"
Camilo gaped at her for a second. He hadn’t been sure what he was expecting from this little stunt but this wasn’t it. But it was good, right? She didn’t like him! Now, since he was already doing this: "So, you don’t like him. Is there someone you do like?"
Dolores was going to kill him.
Mirabel looked up at him, confusion shining through her growing blush. "What’s with all these questions, Isa?"
He shrugged, asking back. "Why are you not answering?"
They locked eyes, hers slightly glaring. It was a stalemate, neither of them quite knowing what else to say.
Until Tia Julieta called for her daughter, asking for help preparing lunch. She stood up, moving around his body, and left the room.
Overall, it had been a very enlightening exchange. Camilo shifted back and sneaked back into his room, careful to not be seen.
He was pacing. He never paced - unless it was part of some dramatic antic.
But his head was circling back from one thought to the other, putting him on edge and the only way to let go of some nervous energy was, well, pacing.
After everything, a huge relief had washed over him. He hadn’t lost her, not yet. But that also reminded him that she wasn’t his. He had been prepared
(had he?)
to live with that. But his, quite literally, breakdown said otherwise. He wasn’t prepared and he never wanted to be.
This time it had been nothing, according to her (and Dolores, who had confirmed after smacking him for using his gift like that). But what about next time? And the one after that?
It was like a fucking wake-up call.
He couldn’t lose her. Not without a fight.