Archive of Our Own ^beta

Birds sang, the sun glowed and instinctively, a mother thought of her daughter.

‘She must’ve had sweet dreams.’

Alma- herself, had just awoken from the first, truly good night's sleep in a long time.

Her heart, her soul- her entire being, finally felt relaxed now that her little baby was back, not just as a phantasm but really here! She was able to hold him, speak to him and actually get a response; if she wanted -which she very much did- she could even scoop him up in her arms, feel the beating of his heart and smile into his skin... just like she did when he was little.

Speaking of the past, deja vu had haunted her sleep... dreary mind acquainting their current situation to when her son was born, memories from that day were still burned harshly in her consciousness, so bright it stung, not unlike the shine that once danced proudly atop the candle.

Pedro’s soft hand was held deathly tight in hers; white spots had bloomed on his flesh at her grip. She still felt horribly guilty for that. Despite his discomfort, he was still oh-so-kind, whispering reassures to her, then to the two crying girls cradled in his strong arm.

Bruno had been a nightmare to push out- but when he arrived, he joined his sisters as one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen.

He still was. Even more so now... after she’d spent so long silently grieving... a decade spent with a constant: holding back sadness over his death.

“Look at our beautiful children, mi Alma.”

Pedro had been so excited to be a father...

But now look at them. Even with her immense, never-ending gratitude for her precious Brunito’s return, she wasn’t so lost as to ignore his state. He was beautiful to her and always would be, that was true- but... seeing her once happy, cuddle-y five-year-old now... sometimes she’d brush a finger beneath her eye and feel tears.

“If we have a boy, amor, how about the name Bruno? He could be our little Brunito!”

She’d failed Pedro. How could she do this to his son?

To their Brunito?

Turning to her left, a sigh of relief flew out of her; Bruno was beside her, breathing deeply; in the thralls of sleep. She clumsily hoisted herself upright before kissing his cheek and climbing out of bed.

Quietly she got prepared for the day. Considerately silencing her footsteps to the best of her ability so Bruno could continue to rest. He told her he’d been using that old chair her grandchildren destroyed to sleep on, that or a hammock. Both without a covering or adequate support (but that went without saying). Her heart will never cease in it’s bleeding, it seemed. He needed- deserved a good sleep, deserved to have his back softly cradled by sheets and cotton plush.

He was still dozing as she completed her routine: securing the final earring with the help of the small vanity. With nothing left to add, she stood at the end of the bed, aimlessly spinning in a sea of thoughts and feelings.

While she was finishing up, the mother of the family -or the head, as Alma saw it- had knocked on the door, inviting them to join in on breakfast. The Madrigal monarch had politely declined, gesturing behind her to her sleeping, emaciated son. The woman smiled, telling her they made extra for the two of them and would save if for when they were ready. She appreciated that very much, her son needed all the calories he could get! Alma was determined to give him the maximum today and for the rest of time.

Alma moved to hover over her son. Holding her hands to her chest, thinking. She needed to do something for him, something more.

Moving back to the vanity, she began to turn over miscellaneous things, obviously searching for something; after her efforts came back fruitless, she ventured into the bathroom- even more motivated to find what she needed.

That green ruana that smelled so much like her Bruno it may as well be apart of him, hung from the shower railing. It held her gaze in such a hypnotic way; seeing it, brought back memories of the previous night and with the information yesterday bestowed her with, she fondled the garment, feeling for a rectangular object.

His sketchbook.

A small book made of donkey leather. It was ornately decorated and embellished with a strong yarn strap, keeping it shut; the string had became worn out in places after so many years. Distinctive chew marks were scattered all over it, evidence of the rodents who’d been he’s only company for a decade.

Delicately, Alma opened it. As she flipped through pages, tenderly, she’d trace her wrinkled fingers over detailed studies of rats. The little writings he’d thrown throughout brought a smile to her face. One in particular, caused a hand to cover her heart in overwhelming pride and awe: a flawless drawing constructed in graphite, depicting a rodent mother, attentively licking her babies.

“Adriana’s second litter!”

He was so kind, so sweet... so loving, it both tore up and mended her broken heart.

Back in the bedroom, Alma found a blank page and grabbed a pencil before settling herself into a chair across from the bed. She readied her hand...

Bruno cared so much about this... the least she could do was to try and gift him a picture. She wanted to see him smile, wanted him to know how happy she was to see him back and she wanted to study his face. She could for hours on end after so many years of only seeing it in pictures. Having it in front of her, breathing and made of flesh made her eyes moist all over again.

She wasn’t very good at drawing... She hadn’t expected frustration to come this quickly...

Pedro had always been the creative one of their duo, what with writing stories and all... occasionally he painted too. Alma felt her throat tighten as she carefully etched out the slope of her son’s nose; she realised that it wasn’t they only thing he and Pedro had in common.

With his eyes, nose and mouth all in place- albeit disproportionately, much to Alma's disappointment. She moved to draw his neck.

She stilled-

Her body grew shaky once more; this time for a different reason. When she gazed upon his neck, all she could see were bones, bones shadowed by the construction of his jaw. After seconds of unblinking fixation, she could even spot the thump of his heartbeat in his jugular. It all gave her old heart palpitations...

How could she not be upset? Bruno had appeared to them all, looking like skeleton. Baggy clothes hid him well but Alma had seen him in his hand-me-down pyjamas.

Her breathing suddenly became uneven.

When they laid down to rest, the sharp bones of his arms dug into her and when she accidentally ghosted over his hip in her first attempt at grabbing his hand, it was protruding and they both clicked awfully when he jerked away at the sudden touch.

She breathed deeply through her nose, stopping in her task to close her eyes momentarily. She felt faint. She didn’t draw his neck, instead deciding to painstakingly obsess over sketching every wave and curl of his hair.

A few versions of his face had been illustrated on one page when he finally began to stir. None of which really doing him justice but she was trying. With the sound of him grumbling, Alma finished writing “Mi Brunito,” affectionately beside her observations.

The first thing Bruno saw was his mother standing over him. Unbeknownst to him, she’d closed the book, bookmarking her work with the pencil she’d used. He registered her brushing hair out of his face as he gazed upon the smile she wore, one you’d more quickly give a new-born baby, rather than a pathetic man.

“Morning, amor.”

Bruno groaned tiredly, rubbing sleep out if his eyes.

“Huh?” He mumbled.

“Let’s get you ready, then we can eat breakfast.” Alma continued, not stopping in her fawning.

A few moments later Bruno sat up, stretching until joints popped. His mother cringed.

She could make out his stomach through the flowing fabric of Pedro’s shirt when he stumbled out of bed, spinning uncoordinatedly. It was small. Thin cotton curved around his skin for a second, revealing to Alma, more than she ever thought she could take. The bottom of his abdomen poked out slightly, it was the outline of his stomach- the actual organ, he was so thin she could see his insides struggling to stay concealed. He hadn’t noticed her horror, alternatively, he quickly rushed into the bathroom, followed by several rats scurrying and squeaking after him, some managed to attach themselves to his obtrusive ankles before the door shut. But for the entirety of his wardrobe change, Alma had sat upright and stiff, mouth hanging open and eyes somewhere else... replaying what she had just seen over and over again in her brain.

When he emerged, ruana and shoes all in place, she blinked away her sadness and smiled. Sliding back on a mask but this time, it wore a much different face.

She rose from the bed and reached for his hand.

However, a yelp escaped her and she moved to clutch her chest; a rat had appeared from his elevated wrist- she still had to adjust to this. The black rodent speckled with brindle patches stared straight at her, then her hand. It leant towards it; Alma quirked an eyebrow before daring to come closer... until the creature nearly sprung in mid-air! Trying to snap at her fingers.

“Aye!” her son scolded.

“I’m sorry, mamá-"

Bruno took hold of the rat. Motherly instincts possessed Alma as she stepped more into his space, wanting desperately to swat a hissing rat out her little boy’s hands.

But the rodent stilled and when Bruno opened his palm for it to walk along, it nestled its head against his thumb, licking it lovingly. A chattering of teeth resounded from the thing, almost audible. It continued in the behaviour, staring up at him whilst. Alma was visibly confused at the noise. Was it good or bad? However, her son’s warm smile, combined with the petting he gave to the animal’s head, told her everything she needed to know. He clearly knew best.

It ran up his arm, getting lost in his locks before reappearing beside his stubbly cheek, where it started to groom him, as if he were a rat, clearly happy with the situation.

She blinked. Still in awe at their loyalty to him.

“Maria's old, she’s very stubborn. Territorial.” Bruno informed, “She might be pregnant so... yea, that’s why she’s a bit mean right now.” He giggled nervously, eyes big and shaking as he willed himself to hold eye contact with her.

Based on what he’d told her last night, most of these rats probably thought Bruno was their mother.

“It’s okay.” Alma forced a chuckle, “Come on, you must be hungry, hmm?”

She sure was but she’d forced down the feeling. Wanting to eat with him- also, motivated by the desperation to not leave him alone. That’s why she had stayed put.

Her hand held his back, guiding them both to the door. Her palm spontaneously decided to push against him with more purchase. She felt the ripples of his spine scarily quickly, the bumps felt so prominent even from under his oversized, sorry ruana. He wriggled his shoulder, subtly pushing her off in silent protest. She whispered an apology and instead intertwined their fingers.

They descended the stairs.

At the noise, their host came to greet them, standing at the bottom of the stairs. She beheld them, in a silent... almost wonderment, like they were royalty in her home. Technically, they were.

“Good morning! Doña Alma, Señor Madrigal.” Cecilia’s mother greeted, smile toothy.

“Good morning.” Alma replied once they’d breached the hall. She soothed a thumb over her son’s hand, sensing him shrink under the other woman’s gaze.

“We hope you like what we’ve prepared!” she said before turning to grab the plates from the oven, they had both been insulated with another plate, ensuring their heat and thereby- flavour, wasn’t lost. Alma, with Bruno’s skeletal hand still in hers, walked over to the quaint dining table. It was much different to what she’d grown used to. But as their innkeeper set the plates down, unveiling to them: a colourful dish of perico, Alma couldn’t help but feel nostalgic over the small home. Fingertips danced over the well loved surface... how she wished she could’ve lived like this, instead of with Casita.

She did appreciate their home though. Bless it’s... soul?

“Thank you, very much.” She bowed her head slightly. Bruno attempted to do the same- but his already meek nature had doubled tenfold; he ended up just awkwardly twitching beside her.

“Of course!” The woman continued to grin, “Only the best for the Madrigals!”

Alma didn’t know how to feel about that response... but she nodded anyway.

Suddenly, Cecilia came bounding in from the garden.

“Mamá! I found-"

The door practically blasted open and she yelled in childish glee. A finger was pressed against the front of her dungarees, further displaying her joy at being the centre of attention. Bruno found himself smiling fondly. He barely remembered how it felt to be that carefree.

She had dirt in her hair and flowers pressed to her knees, it reminded him of Isabela. He was glad she was finally coming out of her shell.

In Bruno’s dissociative joy, Cecilia spotted him. On her face, a cheek splitting grin blossomed- much like a darling flower of his sobrina's would.

He was shaken back to reality when the girl jumped up and down, slipping continuously in and out of his vision.

“Morning, tío Bruno!”

He grabbed his wrist in embarrassment and gratitude- it sounded absurd but he was actually grateful to be liked so much, especially by such a sweet child, it did wonders to his self worth, no matter how little that was- and it had only been a day!

It was much to his regret to admit however, that it was embarrassing. more so because of all the eyes that fell on him, he felt bad that she had chosen to address him in such a way, her kindness was wasted on him.

“Heh- Morning niña-"

“Me and pa are gardening!” She said, “Mamá, are you going to come too?” her voice had an air of frustration in it, then she stomped her foot on the wood panelled floor. Bruno chuckled under his breath.

“Yes, mija, just one moment-"

“Oh! And I found this for you!” Cecilia presented to him: a fallen fig, “The friend you gave me liked it a lot-" She whispered, definitely inconspicuously, “-so I thought yours would too!”

It was impossible to not coo.

“Wow- thank you very much, how kind.” Bruno stuttered. Smile the opposite of what it lived up to: it was warm, like a familiar and comforting presence, he couldn’t help but feel unsure about how it must’ve looked though. With jittering fingers, he took the fruit.

“I think she ran back to you though.” She said, suddenly solemn, “I couldn’t find her when I woke up, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, she’s okay.” Bruno patted his pocket reassuringly, “I saw her when I was getting ready. I’m sure she had fun with you so don’t let her running away bring you down, she has an acting career to maintain and all.” He still felt awkward feeling several eyes burn into him- but talking about his rats helped, although he supposed he'd spilled the rodent-secret to the woman of the house now, oh well, she didn't seem to mind. Plus, he had to reply, an upset child never failed to break him, he needed to make sure she was happy and had no doubts in her mind.

Maybe that said something about him.

“Yay! I was worried I had sat on her.”

Bruno snorted at her declaration.

“Also!” Cecilia began, “You could share the fig with her! Because you’re so skinny.” It was amazing how she could say something so fragile with such open honesty.

“Heh... thank you.”

“No problem, tío Bruno!”

Bruno had to suppress the urge to cry.

“Cecilia, our guests need to eat, you can talk to them later.” Her mother intervened.

“But-"

“Later, querida.” She affirmed, hanging the towel she had dried her hands with roughly, for emphasis, “I promise.”

“Okay...!” She threw her head back in defeat.

“Bye, bye, Señora, bye, bye, tío Bruno!” She skipped away but kept her eyes on them as she waved goodbye.

“We’ll just be outside. Please, make yourselves at home!”

Click. Went the door-

“Such a sweet girl, Brunito.” Alma broke the silence. “No wonder she likes you so much.” She looked upon him dotingly. Then resumed brushing tangled locks from out of his face to behind his ear.

Bruno hummed and split open the fruit. He took the napkin next to his plate and set it on the floor; with the fig in place, rats started scuttling out of his clothes, all to gnaw at the meal.

His mother pulled out his chair -one she'd decided on, purely by the size of the meal in front of it‐ and carefully sat him down. She held his shoulders for a moment; rubbed into them charitably whilst Bruno stared shakenly at the plate of arepas, stuffed with scrabbled eggs, green onions and bright red bell peppers. Thoughtfully, the dish was accompanied by a few slices of thick cheese.

“It looks delicious! Doesn’t it, tesoro?”

“Mmm hmm...” her son nodded. Mouth a thin smile while his eyebrows were high and knotted, even though he knew his mamá was behind him and couldn’t see his face.

Alma, satisfied with his answer, gave his shoulders one last squeeze before sitting down herself. Clasping her hands together with the pure joy that was eating with her son again. Licking her lips over the meal as her old hands held up the knife and fork, her mouth had already started to water. She cut herself a big slice.

The flavour danced on her tongue. Moaning into the mouthful, Alma turned to her Brunito to gush about it and; see his face of satisfaction too- but what she saw, was a statue still slump of her boy. He hadn’t made a dent in his food as arms were flat to his sides. Hair concealed his face but Alma could see his lips trembling and his body rattled with every breath he took.

“Brunito?” She whispered. Voice small and terrified, “What’s wrong?”

No response.

“Brunito?”

He was unresponsive, just like last night. Then, she’d held him in her arms until he came too. But he was swaying now; sat nearly upright but fragile looking... so weak it looked like he could fall face first into his meal, any second now. Alma was panicking, she just wanted her family to be alright!

“Bruno!”

He jerked, back straight and muscles tensed.

“Huh? Where-"

“You were doing that thing again.” She spoke hurriedly. Then cupped his cheek; forced him to met her eyes so she could properly inspect him, “Are you alright?”

Bruno shuddered as he stared back. Green eyes shaking in his skull. They were yellowish blue around the sockets; the colour seemed to be seeping into the white of his eyes! They looked more dead than alive. His lips wiggled, trying to pull themselves up into a calming smile- but they failed several times before his expression barely resembled that of a smile.

“Of course! I- what happened?”

His face sent terrified shivers through her. It scared her; she had no idea what he was thinking. The situation was already saddening enough!

“You wouldn’t eat your food.” She brought a hand up to his forehead, “What’s wrong? Do you feel sick?”

“I- it’s nothing!” He laughed, “I’m fine...! Just- not hungry, mamá. Nothing to worry about!"

He was too scared to tell her how he thought it had been poisoned.

His forehead was warm... but it was his answer that made her paralytic.

So, he was anxious for a whole other reason.

Moments where her son would routinely skip family meals all together, to instead hide out in his room, flashed before her eyes. She knew it was an odd behaviour... but... she just assumed he was doing his own thing...? She always assured he ate when she was home but...

But now, now this shone those times in a whole different light. He was starving, it hurt to even look at... the pain he must’ve been feeling...

Why was he still continuing to act like this? Had- no... this couldn’t have always been the goal, could it?

How badly had she hurt him?

Her son had always been rather skinny and once, he had even looked so sickly, that Félix thought he was chronically ill. Alma had cried, unsure of what exactly to do... she had begged Pedro for guidance too. Staring down a worsened state of her son, who also still possessed the same attitude?- it sent her through a loop. This shouldn’t be happening, this wasn’t normal.

When he was eighteen, she thought that was all she could ever stomach, how she hadn’t fainted yet, she didn’t know; her mind was full of fluff and that dizzy feeling blanketed her, all over again. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing; what she was feeling: a bone-y wrist, that only pressed tighter against her palm when she subconsciously held firmer and harder. Her whole mind was screaming, acting as if Bruno had seconds to live and action needed to be taken, now.

“What do you mean, you’re not hungry?! Bruno, that’s impossible!” Still, she should hold out hope for the possibility that he was simply feeling under the weather, she needed something for her tortured heart to hold onto.

“If you’re sick you can tell me- I promise I won’t be mad.”

He shook his head. Bouncy locks curling around his slim face as he did.

“No, I swear I’m not sick!” He smiled.

It did everything but comfort her.

“Okay then, then why won’t you eat?”

“I’ll eat later, mamá, it’s okay!”

No. This all felt like a terrible dream!

“No, you’ll eat later and you’ll eat now.” Her gaze hardened, as did her voice “Why are you fighting me on this?”

“I- I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry, I- I’m sorry for ruining the meal, for wasting it. I really do appreciate someone cooking for me! I swear! It’s just- I, it’s, it’s too hard, I can't do it mamá, you wouldn't understand. I'm sorry!-”

She was stock still; silent for a few moments-

A tear kissed her wrinkled lips...

'-you wouldn’t understand.'

“If something’s hard, you need to tell me. I’ll help you, you can trust me, Bruno.” She soothed; it pained her how she had to tell him she was here for him. “I’m sorry that it’s hard... but you need this, cariño." With jittering breath, she finished: "Understand?”

He shrunk in on himself again. Looking so much like that scared boy who would shake at the meagre thought of stepping outside and going to school.

“You can do it, sweetheart... I believe you can.” She spoke. Feeling the parallels of the two situations even more so afterwards.

With shaking hands, Bruno took his knife and fork. How could he continue to deny his mother after she’d told him something he’d always needed to hear?

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die-

He swallowed.

Why are you scared of that?

I’m not. Well, I am-

I’m scared of nothing!-  he tried to encourage himself.

But I don’t want this to hurt.

He couldn’t ruin this day. He had to be as normal as possible! Especially with what mamá had told him had to happen today...

His sisters had to know.

Know where he'd been living all this time...

Even if this meal killed him, he had to eat it. For his familia, for her.

He forced himself to ignore his persistent intrusive thoughts. He needed to, for everyone’s safety. He couldn’t bother his mother any further. She was an old, emotional woman; he was convinced she’d wasted years worth of tears just last night.

He ate.

It tasted nice; he felt awful for thinking such a thing; mixed in, was also the animalistic urge to gorge it all. The need to push the plate away and not eat anymore was strong too, for fear of stomach pain and mental fatigue; he knew he didn’t deserve to eat and he didn’t want to dwell on it anymore. What was he even?

He sat there, nibbling on pieces of egg for what felt like forever. Alma interspersed-ly fed him encouraging words but her smile was broken, showing her clear perplexity at the situation and; a deep-rooted fear and terror of not knowing what to do. The arepa in front of him, looked like the world’s least peckish rat had taken a whack at it before he concluded that that was more than enough. He set down his fork. Giving the water beside it a long look before deciding against it. He’d be fine.

Bruno stuttered forth a sigh. Trying to still his fast-beating heart. He already felt his stomach aching, he didn’t know why though, did it want him to continue or stop? Even he didn’t know.

Maybe it had been poisoned?

“Brunito-"

He froze.

“Yes?” He tried and attempted another smile.

Still feeling quite awkward and very on display after telling her so much last night. More than he ever thought he’d ever tell anyone. No-one wanted to know so much about him before! It was exhausting but he’d thirsted over it for so long; it was so cathartic and he supposed he did feel lighter on his feet.

“You’re... not done, are you...?”

He gulped. Then chucked nervously into a prominent, greyish collarbone, averting his gaze nervously.

“Mamá, I can’t eat anymore.” He raised his hand. The gesture was meant to be stern but he couldn’t be meeker or more shaken. He had tried, followed what she'd asked. She couldn’t expect him to eat more of something he didn't need.

“You’ve barely had half, Brunito-"

“I know and I’m sorry but-"

“Don’t apologise.”

His mouth snapped shut obediently. He had shouted at her yesterday; he had wanted to. Bruno knew that was wrong. He should be respectful of his elders. He still loved her very much, she was his mother and despite their past, she had been the one who he had leant on, well... wished could lean on. He used to. His sisters hadn’t managed to completely fill the void although they did a good job of it. She had a place in his heart... different from the rest... a place he held tenderly, a place he always wanted to step into; he'd never found the courage to... sometimes actions spoke louder than words- and his mother had fallen behind in both categories. But she’d been so upset after, so loving overall in the past twenty-four hours.

He should just stay still from now on, surely, he’d cleared his system of all resentment.

Right?

Alma shook her head. Not meaning to startle him with her tone. She was only upset and frustrated at his self neglect. Why couldn’t he accept that he was her pride and joy? That he should eat and just be? Frankly, she was floored by his exploits, how could he think this was fine?

Because you made him think differently.

She moved to grab his hand, maybe a bit too tightly in her emotional haze- and used it like a puppet master’s, guiding him to hold the fork again.

“But you need this.”

“I’m full, mamá-” Bruno protested. Trying and failing to wriggle out of her grasp. Chair squeaking away from her; her eyes grew wide in distress. She didn’t want him to run away, not again, no matter how far- across the room was too far for her, yesterday when he had walked away to cool off, she had cried again, like a dog attached to its owner she needed her baby. Tightening her hold and employing the help of her other hand, she continued:

“It might hurt but I can’t let you go hungry, understand that, please.”

“I-" Bruno remembered what he’d said about not making a scene. Well done, he thought, already you’ve failed, try and dilute the situation! You coward-

That part might have been a disgruntled Hernando.

“Mamá, I swear I’m okay. Really!”

“No, you’re not and I’m never letting you carry on like this again!” Her breath quivered, “I did once before and I’ll never forgive myself for it!”

“That- look- I- what?” Too many things were happening at once! His arms were seized; he couldn’t tug at the skin of his arm for comfort. It was getting too hot; his heart was hammering in his chest. He had to surround himself with his limbs, he was too open like this, so not in control it prickled his skin painfully cold then scolding.

“Your body, Bruno! I’m talking about your body! It’s unhealthy, just let me fix it.” She shook him the slightest bit, trying to get her point across to him.

“I’m a fully grown man, I’ll be fine!” He tried to smile. A crackly giggle rushed from his lips in a cumbersome twitch, exposing him quickly- although, he really didn’t need that to show him up.

“No matter how old you get, you’ll always be my responsibility.” Alma pushed on, voice still as strong as the mountains that once protected their Encanto... then, however, much like those same mountains, her voice broke. Shattering and shrinking into nothing more than a whisper...

“My bebé...”

That seemed to silence them both.

She moved his hand, still held tightly in her own and punctured the arepa, tearing off a chunk that turned her son’s eyes into saucepans. She brought it up to his lips, pleading wordlessly with him to eat it. His mouth was a tight line, his pupils wide as he stared the arepa down like it was the end of a sharpened blade.

“Bruno.” Alma said, “Open your mouth.” She whispered; voice as solid as stone while begging. Her eyes were painfully glossy.

“Please...?”

Bruno broke. Opening his mouth for his mother to push forward, stuffing his face with pastry and tangy filling. She watched like a hawk as he chewed, making sure he swallowed every last piece.

“Well done.” The woman had a happiness about her, although her eyes portrayed her sadness.

“That’s my clever boy.” She stated with a pat of his head, that lead her back to gently stoking his hair. Bruno made a strangled noise as he chewed. Something about what she’d said hit a nerve and he had to force himself to not cry at the motherly affection. A tear ran down his cheek however, hitting his lips and accenting his meal with saltiness it didn’t need.

“Brunito...? Shh, shh, it’s alright...!” Alma’s mind summoned an image of Bruno as a young boy, coming to her when he was upset or hurt. What sort of mother was she? To leave her child reduced to... this!? Still so delicate and small? Still so closed off and sad? She should have exorcised his being of it years ago! Back when it first started to rear its ugly head!

“Come on.” She continued, determination only growing stronger. “Lets take another bite, hmm?”

She continued to feed him. 

Cutting up his two arepas into small, easy pieces so she could quickly pop them into his mouth, she blinked back tears. She was the unaltered image of focused as she pushed through, so caught up in her own pain and despair, that she held him tighter, unintentionally hurting him and melding him to her: hand on the back of his neck as her other: glued his to the fork empedded in both their hands. 

“You’re doing so well, Brunito.” Eyes shinning. “My precious niño...”

This carried on for a while- Bruno started to struggle but Alma's unparalleled need to finish her task, was overbearing. 

“No more." He said with a shake of his head, words muffled by food. “I can’t eat anymore...”

“Drink some water then, querido? Sí?” She held his undisturbed water up to his face.

“But- I-"

“Amor, it’s going to be okay.” She gently rubbed circles into his back, testing the waters by pulling the glass close to his lips at the same time.

“You’re going to get better; you just have to try.” She urged.

He gulped. Breathing deeply, he prepared himself. He nodded to the table rim when he was ready. Alma held the back of his head gently but securely as she kept the glass to his lips, tipping it further back in accordance to the vanishing of the water. She watched his throat swell as he swallowed, unwavering determination was clear; strongly emanated from the powerful Madrigal. Her eyes were scary. Bruno had to close his because he could make them out, hollowing him out from the corner of his vision.

Only when it was done had she released him. He breathed deeply and hit his chest a few times with a fist while ducking his head close to his body. Alma patted his back. He felt disgusting. He’d had too much physically, he’d never felt pain like this before, it was like a cement block was anchored to his stomach, weighing down every bone, nerve-ending and blood vessel in his shivering body.

“There... feel better?”

It alarmed her how he looked to her for a response, before slowly nodding. Unsureness oozed from every pore on his body.

Alma disposed of their dishes in the sink. Cleaning them a bit until Cecilia's mother reentered her home and just about hounded her out of the kitchen. Bruno still sat in place: head in his hand, body half way off the chair and leg bobbing madly as he held his stomach.

“Brunito?” She whispered, knowing that luring attention from the adjacent room would upset her son. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? Sí, sí, mamá. Lo siento."

“Stop saying sorry, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

She coaxed him back upstairs to their temporary room, where she asked to brush his hair. He was reluctant and whined at the prospect of further being treat like a baby- but the temptation that was sitting down in a plush chair must’ve won him over. He avoided staring at his reflection when she faced the chair to the vanity, instead, he intently watched how his fingers scratched at the arm close to his stomach. Memorised by how many veins he could poke and make rise to the surface, just beneath his skin.

Selfishly, Alma wanted to relive the past by doing this. But a mother was always a mother! And she had noticed the dishevelled state of his curls. She had to fix it.

After a few minutes passed, she thought it best to continue in her persuasion. 

“I’d still like you to eat at the Guzmán’s, I’m sure your hermana has made a great portion just for you!” Alma stopped at a tangle of salt and pepper hair; gently, she combed through a it, smothering his head with kisses whenever he grunted- he complained but secretly, greedily- liked it, “all we want is for you to be okay, mijo.”

“Mamá," Bruno tried to reason, "I feel huge now- do I have to-"

“Huge?" The brushing stopped- "Brunito, nothing about you is huge!” Alma sounded offended, as if he had called her huge, hands on her hips and all.

“But- I’m, I’m full, I mean.” Bruno preserved.

“I know, amor... but... but that’s just because you’re thin. The more you eat, the easier this will get. Okay?” She steadily spoke, assuredly and comforting.

“Do... I have to eat at the Guzmán’s...?” He hunched. Shoulders cocooning his ears in what looked like childish shame.

“Yes.” She replied adamantly, “Please try? I need to ensure that you’ll get healthy. You understand, don’t you, sweetheart? Please eat, for me?”

“... okay...”

“Thank you.” Bruno felt awful at how her shoulders relaxed at his answer.

“The walk might make you feel better...! I'm sure of it."

Minutes passed of Alma struggling with her son’s hair. He had told her, that some days he was too miserable to even take care of things like this... even if it meant brushing his hair every morning, Alma was determined to do such a thing, if he couldn't.

"Well! Look at that pretty hair!" She set the brush down. It was full of torn off hairs. Alma tried to distract from that by fluffing out and fussing over Bruno’s big 'do. "Such a handsome boy, my Brunito is!"

He chuckled shyly. Thinking that her compliment was -at best- of a vast exaggeration. Just untrue.

She presented her arm to him, “Let’s set off, Querido... I’m so proud of you.”

“T-thank you, mamá.” With a touch of his cheek, she brought him closer and kissed his forehead.

“Having you alive and back... is the greatest miracle, Bruno. I swear to you.”

The warm breeze danced across their skin and cooled their flustered faces. Too many emotions had already been transpired; the day had just begun.

Bruno threw on his hood, despite the stress that heated his body. He kept his eyes low to the ground as they stepped into the outside world.

He hated his body. He wanted to hid it away, ignore that it even existed. It started with growing his hair out- he felt covered, shielded by eyes with a nest of hair surrounding him, touching him and obstructing his vision to a small area. It was comforting, made him feel like he had control, had his own little created world sometimes...

Then with requesting Agustín's family to make him a ruana three times his size- it had already been big but not for him! That was after his brother-in-law had joined the clan and his relatives essentially became the family seamstresses. His mother hadn’t been happy about the request but Bruno was a Madrigal and they all had images to sculpt and uphold, '-if you want to present yourself like an unmade bed to the village, be my guest! But notice how no-one will copy you!' She had told him.

During that session, was when he really took notice of his 'public persona': his colours were green and... darker green- but had always been accented with purple. Bruno had never really noticed it until his sister’s in-laws had pointed it out. Purple like his mother. Curious.

Hadn't it been his mother to pick out all of their colours? Luckily, Pepa loved yellow but Julieta always wanted to wear lilac.

What did Bruno like?

He didn't know! He had bigger problems to worry about. Not as privileged as his sisters to be concerned about their assigned colour pallettes. 

Not that they had been lucky though.

They said farewell to their hosts and set off for the Guzmán’s, very late. Extremely late- we're probably not even in the 'fashionable' category anymore, Bruno thought.

Bruno only felt worse as they walked. Contorting to move hunched so he could hold and press his stomach. Painful electric tingles attacked his heart and throat- every organ it felt like, he didn’t know what it meant; all he knew was that it hurt and how he had the immense urge to burp. Ew. But he smiled for his mamá. Striding forward despite his dislike for the day ahead; despite the pain. Never protesting, just taking it in his stride.

Somethings never change.

Everything he did, it had to be for them.

Who would he be if not?

The book with the studies of him sat on the bedside table. Later, Alma would remember she’d forgotten to show him and instead, would present it to him as she attempted to nurse him back to health with soup, regretting pushing him to far, forcing him to eat more than he could.

She never meant to make him sick all over the Guzmán’s floor.

As she paced that same floor. Hands in a prayer position- she lamented:

She was still the same mother, still the same woman who expected too much of her angels. How could she make this better? She wanted so much too...

She wept once more...