Archive of Our Own ^beta

i.

Although she loves the warmth and brightly painted walls of her own home—not to mention her mother’s front garden bursting with succulents of all shapes and variegation—she can’t deny the Madrigals’ Casita comes a close second. The house is literally alive, for goodness’ sake! Casita’s window shutters flying open to wave at her always puts a smile on her face. Maybe that’s why she loves coming over so much. Well, aside from wanting to see her two best friends.

One of said best friends happens to be sulking on the front steps of his house. This time, Casita’s shutters droop then swing in Camilo’s direction, as if asking her to do something for the boy. Her usual sprint slows to a walk.

She pats down her lemon skirt and sits next to him. 

“You okay, Milo?” she asks, turning her head toward him.

He doesn’t lift his gaze from his shoes. “My gift ceremony is coming soon….”

She beams at him. “Aren’t you excited?’

Camilo vigorously shakes his head.  His voice drops so low and quiet, she swears only Dolores can hear him. “What if I get a bad gift?”

“A bad gift?”

“You know, like my Tío Bruno. Everyone is scared of him. They say his gift makes bad things happen....” This time, his large doe eyes look at her pleadingly. “What if mine does too? And everyone starts hating me?”

Without skipping a beat, his friend says, “I could never hate you."

She sees hope start to glimmer in Camilo’s eyes. “Even if I get a bad gift?”

“Even if yours was the baddest gift in all of Encanto!” To accentuate her point, she throws her arms so zealously into the air, she nearly topples over the stairs, if not for Casita’s floorboards righting her. 

This earns a giggle from the boy, one she finds incredibly infectious.

“You mean it?” asks Camilo. Although a smile has formed on his lips, his tone betrays a hint of fear. This, she knows she has to stamp out.

“Of course, Milo. No matter what happens I’ll always be on your side.”

“Like Papi when Mami summons a storm and gets everyone wet?”

She hums, considering this for a moment. Beaming, she gives him a resounding “yes!”

“Then, let’s get married!” Camilo yells, his smile evolving into a bright grin.

“What, why?” She furrows her brows in confusion.

“Mami always says getting married means the two of you will stay together forever. So if you marry me, I know you’ll really be by my side, no matter what. Just like her and Papi.” He looks so confident she’s tempted to take him up on his offer then and there. But she recalls a conversation she had with her own mother not too long ago.

There are three things to look for in a husband, mija. One, he must treat you right.

Her Milo is one of the kindest people she knows, so she crosses that off the list.

Two, he must have a roof over his head that he can offer.

Camilo already has a house—a magical one, at that. 

And three, you both must be grown enough to take care of yourselves, with or without each other.

While she just learned how to bathe herself and brush her own teeth, neither she nor Camilo can cook their own meals yet, and they aren't even tall enough to reach the top shelves of the pantry (or counter drawers, for that matter). 

And so she tells him, “That’s only for grown-ups, silly!”

The corners of Camilo’s smile turn down ever so slightly, but only for a second. The next, he springs to his feet and declares, “Okay, then I’ll ask you again when we’re grownups!”

ii.

He doesn’t wait until they’re grownups, though. In fact, he brings it up again merely three years later, when both have just turned eight.

While she was ecstatic to hear her parents and relatives coo variations of “you’re such a big girl now!”, her eighth birthday came with a much less favorable surprise: a pair of butterfly-framed eyeglasses. Well, they were more like triangles, really, but that’s what her mother called them.

She recalls how Mirabel gasped at the sight—in awe of the shape resembling her favorite animal and in glee at the fact that her best friend can now share in her bespectacled experience. If not for Mirabel jumping and cheering, the birthday girl may not have plucked the courage to slide the temples over her ears.

As soon as the party dissipated though, she slipped her new glasses right back into its hard shell. It only took an evening of her bumping into furniture in her own house for her parents to finally force the darn thing back on her face. She, however, resolved to leave those glasses behind whenever she stepped foot outside and prayed her parents wouldn’t catch her.

This morning, unfortunately, they did.

“Four-eyes, four-eyes!” cry three boys their age, laughing and pointing at her as they do. 

Standing between her two friends, the newly bespectacled girl ducks her head in humiliation. She faintly registers Mirabel scolding the group, though the Madrigal’s voice sounds distant for some reason. 

“Look at this four-eyed freak!” shouts the stocky kid who’s currently in a cackling fit.

"The only freaks around here are you three!" Mirabel snaps, her plump little face contorted in rage.

Sarcastic "ooh"s fill the plaza as the boys snicker and nudge one another.

The boy in the middle, the short and stocky one, elbows the kid to his left. “Hey, you know why she got glasses?”

“Why?” says the tall, brown-haired boy with a lopsided grin.

Smirking, the stocky boy looks at the silent girl. “To hide her ugly face, of course.”

The boys guffaw.

Camilo explodes when he hears the first sniffle.

From a wiry, four-foot-something boy, Camilo’s build shoots to the towering, muscular form of his prima Luisa. Even though she’s barely a teenager, Luisa’s pubescent growth spurt on top of all the heavy lifting she’s been doing around town have formed the formidable silhouette she has now—well, formidable to a group of children, at least.

The shapeshifter releases a guttural growl, one much deeper and louder than his friend thought he was capable of. The boom of his voice alone is enough to send the bullies screaming and scampering for their lives, as if they’d just seen a mohán.

Apparently, this isn’t enough for Mirabel. As soon as the kids turn on their heels, Mirabel sprints after them, yelling threats at the top of her lungs.

“Are you okay?” 

Camilo’s voice, dripping with concern, pulls the poor girl back to reality. She wipes her own tears with her wrist, only then realizing she was gripping her folded glasses in her hand. She doesn’t remember taking them off.

“Yeah…” she says, though the crack in her voice gives her away.

Now back to his original self, Camilo approaches her and gently pries the specs from her fingers. He unfolds them and carefully places them back over her face, tucking a strand of hair over her ear as he does. His touch feels warm, she notes. Comforting.

“Don’t listen to them,” he assures her. “You're the prettiest girl in town."

She wipes her nose with the side of her hand. “No I’m not.”

“Yes you are! If you weren’t that’d make me a liar to my family.”

“You said that to your family?”

“I said it to Dolores, and she told everyone else. Isabela wasn’t happy about it…I can still taste hibiscus.” He scrunches his face and sticks his tongue out, as if he’s just eaten something foul.

She giggles. Like pulling magnets apart, she lifts her eyes from the ground to meet his gaze. Weakly, she asks, “You really think that?”

“Yeah!” Camilo flashes her a grin. “And if they can't see it, then they're the ones who need glasses. Or they’re just jealous.”

“Jealous of what?” Her head still feels fuzzy from crying, but  the corners of her mouth are starting to turn up.

“Jealous of me,” says Camilo, thrusting a thumb at his chest. “Cuz everyone wants to walk the prettiest girl down the aisle. But I’m gonna beat ‘em to it!

She can’t help chortling at the absolute certainty with which he said it. At the sound of her laughter, Camilo’s face brightens even more (as if it couldn’t get any further). 

Before she can respond, the pitter pattering of footsteps interrupts them. Heaving yet looking victorious, Mirabel runs back to the two while waving what looks like a slipper in the air.

“That should—” Mirabel gasps for air, “show ‘em.”

Mirabel then shoves the slipper (yep, definitely a worn, pungent leather slipper) in her friend’s face as if it were a trophy. 

Both she and Camilo gag at the smell, and the former motions for Mirabel to put it away. Giggling, she sticks the garment into her embroidered cloth bag.

“How did you even get that?” asks Camilo, his face still twisted in disgust.

“Unlike you, I don’t need a gift to beat someone up,” says Mirabel with a proud smile.

"W-well, I didn't need to! I scared them so good, they ran away!"

"Sure, but I bet you couldn't take them in a fight."

Camilo opens his mouth to retort, but he’s cut off when their friend engulfs them both in a tight group hug. She rests her head where Camilo and Mirabel’s shoulders meet and allows herself to sink in the warmth of their embrace. After a final squeeze from Mirabel, they let go of one another.

–

That night, she meticulously cleans her glasses with the cloth it came with. When she deems it spotless, she tucks it into its case with utmost care, before placing it on her bedside table. As she lies in bed awaiting sleep to take over, her mind wanders back to the memory of Camilo declaring himself her groom. 

When she closes her eyes, she sees herself in a white dress, the one she's seen her mother wearing in wedding photos around the house. And she imagines herself walking down a path of flor de mayo petals, leading to an altar lit by a candle carved with intricate patterns. Standing next to it is her Milo, smiling ear to ear and dressed in a matching white suit. 

She smiles and hugs her stuffed bear close to her chest, over her positively glowing heart.

iii. 

It's not often she gets the house to herself. Since her parents are away on a trip, she's grateful for the chance to be in her own company. With all the chores she has to do during the day being an only child and therefore sole helper to her family, she's found that sitting quietly with a good book is her favorite way to unwind. She allows herself to simply get lost in these fantasies. 

From the plush cushions of the couch, the thirteen-year-old girl presses the book to her chest and sighs. She feels her cheeks warm and a smile form on her lips, just from thinking of what Alfonso said to his sweetheart Celeste. 

“'Even if you pick me apart petal by petal, my love for you will blossom again and again,'” she whispers sweetly to herself, in the empty living room.

No, in what she thought was an empty living room. 

“How sweet of you, corazón.” 

Her torso lurches forward, sitting her up in surprise. Her neck snaps towards the nearest window, where, to her chagrin in its purest form, the head of a certain Madrigal is peeking. His elbows rest on the window frame, hands cupping his face. Camilo's half lidded eyes scour hers, his lips curled in a mischievous smirk. As if her face wasn’t flush enough from the romance novel she was reading, she feels it heat up even more.

“What are you doing here?” she sputters.

"Just paying mi vida a visit," he says, voice laced with flirtatiousness. 

She scrambles to her feet, setting the book down on the coffee table with more force than she intended, creating a prominent thud. He appears to take glee in her visible annoyance, as his smirk widens more than she'd have liked it to. 

"I am not your ‘everything,’" she snaps, ignoring the tingle in her chest. 

"Then you can be my novia." Camilo lifts his head and presses his hands together, curling them in a lovestruck ball. 

“That’s even less likely.”

“But still likely?”

“Let me rephrase that.” She approaches the window and holds the shutters. “That is not happening.”

She tries to shut the window, but Camilo pushes back.

“Come on, I just wanna show you how far my petals can blossom for you." 

She groans, earning a chortle from the boy. 

"Be a dear and let me in?" He widens his eyes, pleading.

The girl crosses her arms and shoots him a bemused look. 

"Not if you keep being a sap," she retorts. 

"A sap?" Camilo throws his head back and clutches at his heart. "It's called sincerity, cariño! I'm pouring my heart out to you in every word!" 

"Uh-huh." She raises an eyebrow at him. 

"I’m serious! Must I serenade you to convince you?" At this, he shapeshifts into Mariano, the man she's seen courting Isabela Madrigal. He flexes his bicep and proceeds to play an imaginary guitar. 

She lets out an exasperated huff and rolls her eyes at him. "I'd rather you don't, or you’ll have Señora Pepa thundering in agony." 

"Excuse you, I happen to be an excellent singer." Camilo feigns an offended look. 

This, she can't deny. She's heard the kid sing over the years—from outside the bathroom while she and Mirabel wait for him to finish up; to kids and babies as he lulls them to sleep; in the town plaza when they put up stage plays; in either her bedroom or Mirabel’s when the three of them hold sleepovers and he sings to keep them up. Her usual response is throwing a pillow at him or begging him to let her sleep. Doing so only makes him more relentless, though. (And maybe that’s what she aims for.)

Right now, she chooses to dodge.

“I’ll let you in if you promise to keep it down,” she says, unlocking the latch on her front door.

Camilo’s face glows at this, and he hurries to the main entrance of the house. “Ah, you know me. That’s pretty much impossible.”

“Then go home.”

“Kidding, I’m kidding.” His voice softens to a whisper, as he pushes back against the door that the maiden tries to close on him.

She fixes him a stern look, before swinging it open.

He immediately lets himself in. Once she’s closed the door, she turns around to find the boy has plopped himself on the very couch she was resting on earlier.

“I’d tell you to make yourself comfortable, but it seems you already have.”

“Tú casa es mi casa,” he replies, putting both hands behind his head.

“Pretty sure it’s the other way around, tonto.” She tries to sound chiding, but she doesn’t actually mind. Especially when she’s practically been welcomed as the thirteenth inhabitant of Casa de Madrigal. She’s there way more often than Mirabel and Camilo are at her own home, to the point she almost forgets how to host a guest. “Anyway, I’m gonna get us some snacks. Behave, okay?”

“Of course, querida.”

“And stop calling me that.”

“Can’t, to do so would be to deny my undying love for you, amada.”

“Again, not your amada…” she grumbles as she makes her way to the kitchen. While she puts on a pot of tea and prepares a serving platter, she calls out, “You want empanadas?”

“I’ll eat anything you make, amor!”

“Keep that up and you’ll be chewing on air!” she says, making her voice sound as cheery as her flirt of a guest.

She hears him give a distant laugh, which she pays no mind to. Within minutes, she returns to the living room with their merienda. 

To her horror, she finds him flipping through the pages of her book.

“‘To me you are like a fairy, a spirit, the beautiful, simple, loving, frank embodiment of my homeland,’” Camilo reads aloud.

“Drop. It.” She glares at him while she sets down the tray of food on the coffee table. 

“'Could I forget you?'” he continues, dramatizing each word like he was the character himself. “'Sometimes I thought I could hear the sounds of your piano and the accents of your voice, and the whole time I was away, as night fell, as I wandered in the forests inhabited by fantastic creatures of its poets and the mysterious legends of its generations, I called upon your name.'”

“Ugh.” She snatches the book from him, thankfully with little resistance from the shapeshifter. 

“I was just getting to the good part!” he says, laughing.

“Eat your food or I’ll make sure you won’t live to read another chapter.”

“Have I ever told you I like feisty girls?”

She lightly flicks his forehead at that and feels herself smirk when she hears an “ow! ” She then sets the book down next to the tray and sits on an armchair adjacent to him.

“For real though, I always knew you were a huge bookworm, but I had no idea this was the kind of stuff you’re into,” he says, leaning back on the sofa.

“Something wrong with that?” she asks.

“Nah. I think it’s actually pretty cute.”

“You know what would be cuter?” She points her empanada at him.

“Yeah?”

“If we changed the topic. I heard someone fell off Casita’s roof yesterday playing swords with a cat.”

“No, I like our first topic better.” He rests his chin on his hands and bats his lashes.

“Too bad, I think this one’s more interesting.”

“To preserve my honor as the victor, I refuse to comment.”

“Yes, because dueling a cat is so honorable.” She smirks.

“Come on, hermosa, tell me why you like that book so much.”

She gives him a wary look. “What, should I be reading books about sword-wielding vigilantes instead?”

“Not saying that.” Camilo leans towards her, looking actually interested to her surprise. “Okay, look. That scene on the roof I was rehearsing yesterday? My character wasn’t a ‘vigilante.’ He was some dude who’s so whipped for a woman he just met that he went and challenged her fiance to a duel. So I’m no stranger to cringey romances.”

“I knew I got it from somewhere.”

He smiles, then taps the hardcover of the book. “So what do you like about this?”

She bites the inside of her cheek, hesitating to answer. But at this point, she can tell he’s not here to make fun. “In these kinds of stories, you sort of feel swept away, you know?”

He hums, listening intently.

“Even if the main character has a crappy life, there’s always this assurance that things will get better for her by the end of the book.”

“So it’s like escapism for you?”

She replies, “Yeah, I guess so. Not that I’m saying I have a crappy life or anything, but sometimes I wish I could just snap a finger and make everything easy.”

“The same way big rich hunks make life easy for the protagonist.”

She laughs a little. “Exactly.”

“I could do that for you, you know.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Mm, does that mean you’ll stop being a little twerp so I can stop babysitting you?”

“Ah, you wound me, bonita.”

Despite that, he picks up one of the savory pastries and takes a bite. Camilo hums in delight. “Did you make this?”

“Yeah,” she says, with barely concealed pride. “I helped Mamá with it this morning.”

“You’re a really good cook. I dare say even better than Tía Julieta.”

“Don’t let Dolores hear that.” The maiden feels her ears reddening. In an attempt to hide this, she ducks her head slightly to bite down on the snack in her hands.

“I wouldn’t mind if she does,” says Camilo, leaning forward. 

“Not even if she tells your Tía?”

“I don’t fear speaking the truth.”

“I wouldn’t call that a truth….”

“But it is.” He places two fingers under her chin and lifts up her head. “And you know what else is true?”

She has no idea why her heart fluttered at his touch. Or why she isn’t pushing him away. Or why her voice suddenly goes weak when she asks, “What?”

She certainly doesn’t expect how serious Camilo’s voice becomes when he says, "If it means I can taste your cooking everyday, then I'd gladly spend the rest of my life with you."

That’s when she finally shoves him away by the shoulder. Yet his body fluidly moves downwards with the motion, curls bouncing in the process, and before she realizes it he’s on one knee and holding up his half eaten empanada like a ring.

“So what do you say, mi tesoro? Will you marry me?"

Empanada in one hand, she grabs her book with the other and smacks him upside the head.

(From the other side of town, in the middle of preparing dinner, Julieta Madrigal turns her head when she hears a high-pitched "hm! " from her niece.)

iv.

“Again, thank you so much for welcoming us into your home,” says Alma Madrigal, shaking hands with the couple who hosted tonight’s dinner. “Our family cannot be more grateful for your hospitality.”

The tinkling of cutlery fills the dining room, as the entire Madrigal clan tidies up after their meal. It’s been around a month since Casa de Madrigal fell, and each household in town has been rotationally inviting the family for dinner.

“The honor is ours, Alma,” the husband assures her.

“This is the least we could do for the Madrigals,” says his wife. “Especially after how much you’ve helped us and the town.”

Alma gives them a warm smile—different from the stiff, rehearsed one she used to wear when facing townspeople—and it only  grows when she turns to the hosts’ fifteen-year-old daughter. “I’d like to thank you as well, for letting Mirabel stay with you during these troubling times.”

“It’s no big deal, señora,” says the teen. “It’s just like a really, really long sleepover.”

“And goodness knows our little girl has had plenty of those at your Casita,” says her mother.

The girl snorts. “At some point you told me I should just pack my things and move there.”

“And you did!” calls Mirabel from the other end of the dining room, a stack of used plates in her hand. “Abuela, remember when we were ten and she stayed there for almost an entire summer?”

“I think I do recall that, yes.” Alma chuckles.

The young host giggles at the memory. “I must have brought half my wardrobe there. I had to take multiple trips to get them all to the laundry.”

“Casita was so sad when you left with your last sock!”

“Oh yeah, I don’t think I ever found its pair,” says the maiden. She nods at Alma before approaching the dining table with a rag in her hand.

“Casita probably held it hostage until you came back,” Julieta adds, sending a soft wave of laughter across the room.

“We’ll make sure to look for it in the rubble, hija,” says Alma, chuckling.

“Now it’s my turn to thank you.” The host smiles at her.

“Anyway, we’re always happy to have Mirabel over,” her mother tells Alma. “The house is livelier when they’re together.”

“Our only regret is that Camilo couldn’t join them,” says her father, smiling at the boy.

“Right? Their nights must be so dull without me,” says Camilo.

“At least we can actually get some sleep this time around,” says Mirabel.

The bustle in the room continues as the two families clean up together. In the middle of wiping the surface of the table, she looks up to see the curly-haired Madrigal boy. One hand holding up the hem of his ruana, he starts stacking dishes on the fabric, creating a dip in the center. He manages to balance it well, along with a few cups and glasses, until Luisa bumps into him and sends the pile sliding down the garment.

A wide-eyed Camilo yelps and flails his arms forward to salvage what he can, but before they could come crashing on the floor, Luisa catches each falling item in her thick arms. 

“Careful, cous’!” she says, before effortlessly carrying everything to the kitchen sink. 

The young host bites her bottom lip to stifle her laughter. It’s rare for her to see Camilo be so out of his element. She would have pointed this out, but the look of helplessness and pure embarrassment in Camilo’s eyes makes her think twice.

When he notices her staring, he jerks his head ever so slightly to the side—a signal she knows all too well by now. She raises her brows a little, wondering what this is about, but she stands up straight anyway and folds up the rag in her hands. She places it on an island counter in the kitchen, then, motioning for Camilo to follow her, slips away up the stairs.

When they reach her bedroom, she quietly closes the door behind him.

“I see you made it in one piece,” she teases.

“Truly a miracle after that advanced technique.” He walks past her to sit on the edge of her bed. “But I’ll master it in time, you’ll see.”

“Hard to master ‘advanced techniques’ when you haven’t even gotten the basics down.” She sits on the spot next to him and lets herself fall on her back.

“Untrue, mi amor. Not only am I this town’s most talented entertainer, I’m also its best housekeeper.”

“And its most blatant liar.” No longer flinching at his pet names, she points an accusatory finger at him.

He cranes his neck to look at her, a grin spreading across his face. “What is performing if not creative lying?”

She slaps him lightly on the forearm, and he laughs. “So why’d you call me up here?”

Camilo’s foot nudges the corner of Mirabel’s cot on the floor. Feigning a hurt tone, he says, “So I can process your betrayal.”

The girl groans. “You can’t still be mad I took in Mirabel.”

“Yeah, you chose her instead of your best friend!” He threads his eyebrows and places the back of his hand on his forehead, as if about to faint. "How could you leave me homeless after everything we've been through?"

“First, you’re not homeless,” she shoots back. “You’re staying with the Ortegas, who literally own the grandest house in town.”

“Fair point.”

“And second—” She holds up a finger, urging the boy to listen closely. “Mirabel’s my best friend too. Not to mention you’re like the most unruly roommate ever. Unlike some people, she makes her own bed and doesn’t probe into other people’s drawers without permission.”

“That was one time, corazón.”

“And I’m not letting it happen again.” 

Camilo stoops down and picks up one of Mirabel’s pillows, then throws it at his friend’s face.

She sputters at the sudden contact. With a dramatic gasp, she sits up and flings the pillow back at him. “You’re just proving my point, pendejo!” 

He laughs and lets it fall on the wooden floor.

“Pick it up,” she orders.

“Nah, guests don’t do chores.” He has the audacity to lean against the wall and rest his hands behind his head.

She grabs the book on her bedside table and raises it at him.

“Fine, I’ll get it, chill.”

She doesn’t drop her arm until he’s off the bed.

Remnants of a smile on his face, he returns the pillow to its rightful position on the cot. As he does, she notices the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. They look pensive, she notes, not bearing the usual mischievous sparkle in them.

It’s a look she’s been seeing more and more often since the Madrigals’ house crumbled. The usual Camilo who ran marathons around town, going house to house to see where he was needed, always wore a smile that spread to his neighbors. Growing up, she called this effect “a shower of fairy dust” falling over the Encanto. But nowadays, his more pronounced slouch makes her wonder if he’s run out.

When he sits back down on the bed, she places a hand on his shoulder.

“Everything okay?” she asks softly.

Camilo hesitates for a second before meeting her eyes. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t they be?” he responds coolly.

“Because you look like you’re deep in thought. Which, you know, never happens.”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” He says his next words slowly, not seeming to mind the jab. “I am deep in thought about you.”

“Milo.” She matches her scolding tone with an equally stern glare. “I know you didn’t pull me over just to torment me.”

She watches his chest rise as he inhales, his lips part slightly when he decides to speak.

“Well, since you so kindly asked...” He flops down on the bed. “I have noticed I’ve been, uh, dropping a lot of things lately.”

“Like plates.”

He gives her an amused smile. “Mhm.”

“And pillows.”

“Yep.”

“And shovels.”

“Now you’re just rubbing it in.” He shakes his head disapprovingly.

This elicits a laugh from the girl. “So your hands are a little slippery, it happens.” 

“Are you saying I have sweaty hands?”

“You said it, not me.”

“They’re not, look.” He makes a grab for her hand on the mattress.

She pulls it away, but this only urges him to move closer and wrestle it from her side.

“No–stop it, cabrón!” she laughs, as she squirms under his figure, her hands safely tucked between her waist and the sheets.

“Just feel them!” he says, resorting to rubbing his palms on her cheeks.

“Gross, did you even wash those?” She finally unsheathes her own to grab at his wrists, pushing them away from her face.

“You made me clean up right after dinner, of course I couldn’t.” He tries shaking out of her grip, to no avail.

“Eugh!” She pushes him off, only releasing him once she’s sat up.

“So are they sweaty or not?” he asks, kneeling in front of her.

“They’re nasty.” She wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“But not sweaty.” He looks at her triumphantly.

She shakes her head, thinking how ridiculous her guest was being. “Well I know for sure it’s not your grip.”

“That’s the thing.” He drops his voice, like he’s revealing a secret. “If it’s not sweat or my grip, then why does it keep happening?”

“Maybe,” she mimics his hushed tone, “it’s because you keep picking things up like you’re juggling at a circus.”

“What can I say? I’m an entertainer,” he says proudly.

“Not everything needs to be entertaining.”

“But they can be.” He leans forward.

“Doesn’t mean they have to be.” She does as well, until their noses are almost touching.

They stay like that for a while, neither wanting to budge. The starting contest goes on long enough that she starts making out the green flecks in his irises. Her brain, for some godforsaken reason, short circuits from that single observation. She fears she’ll lose even more sensation in her face if she doesn’t retreat, but thankfully he does it first.

“I think it’d be kinda boring if we just did everything the same way all the time.”

“Okay, so,” she pushes her glasses up her nose, trying to get this straight, “to be unique, you start dropping whatever you're holding?”

His smile weakens. “It’s not like I mean to.”

The room is silent, save for the distant chattering from downstairs, as she waits for him to elaborate.

“I never used to . ”

“Milo….” Her tone is softer this time. She lies on the bed next to him.

“That’s weird, right?” He forces a laugh. “It’s weird that it bothers me this much.”

“Why does it bother you?” she asks, lowering her voice.

“You saw what went down back there. Before, if something like that happened, I could just shapeshift into Jose—or anyone with beefy arms, really—and take care of it myself. I wouldn’t have needed to bother other people to do things for me.”

He turns his head away.

“I hate how it makes me feel so useless. Like I can’t do anything when I’m…when I’m just me.”

Camilo spits that last word out like venom.

She doesn’t say anything. She only listens to his breath hitch, watches for any sign of his tightly shut eyes blinking open.

“Even without their gifts, everyone in my family helps out in some way.” Camilo’s words are shaky as they leave his throat. “Luisa’s rebuilding the house. Mirabel does sewing work for the town. Even Antonio helps at the ranch. And then there’s me. The only Madrigal who’s not good at anything.”

“Hey.”

That’s not true, she wants to scream at him. But she knows he wouldn’t believe her if she repeated it a thousand times.

So, for the second time that night, she touches his shoulder instead. This time, she lets her hand rest there. 

Her chest tightens when he croaks out her name.

Camilo turns to his side so that his back faces her. “Everyone’s doing their part, and I can’t even lift a fucking shovel.”

“Camilo.…” Silence falls between them as she considers her next words. After a minute or so, she says, “Remember when we were kids and we played at the river that one time? And I slipped on the rocks and twisted my ankle?”

He doesn’t answer.

“You tried to carry me to Señora Julieta’s station, but fell over on our first try. So you shapeshifted into your dad and piggybacked me.”

“I can’t do that anymore,” he mutters, curling further into himself. He pulls his ruana tighter over his scrawny arms.

“I know, but hear me out.” She continues, “On the way there, you were doing these awful impersonations of your tía and going all, ‘dios mio, Agustin! You’re such a klutz, what would you do without me, huh?’ Only you had your dad’s voice, so you had to say all that really high-pitched.”

She gently squeezes his shoulder, nudging him to look at her.

He does.

“I was bawling my eyes out, Camilo. I was in so much pain I just wanted to cut my damn foot off.”

She feels her heart swell at the sound of his airy laugh.

“That was the worst pain I’d felt in my life, and I kept worrying it wouldn’t get better. But the whole time…you were making me laugh.”

His lashes flutter softly against his cheeks as he blinks at her. He parts his lips slightly, then presses them together again as if deciding not to speak.

“It hurt like hell too,” she says, her own lips curling into a smile. “My whole body ached and you made me laugh so hard it hurt even more.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally smiling.

“You should be.” His curls fall over his forehead as he turns to his other side to face her. She tucks a strand away behind his ear. His skin is warm. “But anyway, what I’m trying to say is…that was all you, Milo. Not your dad, not some rando from the Encanto. Making that long, painful walk bearable for me had nothing to do with your powers. It was just you. Some dumb kid cracking jokes.”

“And it worked.” 

“That it did.” She lightly flicks the corner of his mouth, where a smug grin was starting to form. “And you know what?”

“Yeah?” His eyes search hers for an answer.

“I like this version of you the best.”

She watches Camilo look away and blink rapidly. This close to him, she can see how his bottom lashes start to dampen—a sight that squeezes air from her lungs.

She wants to hold him close, to tell him if he wasn't perfect the way he is, then why do the stars revolve around him when he laughs?

But she settles for taking his hand instead.

Camilo says nothing. He just lets the tears roll down his cheeks. In the quiet, she uses the pad of her thumb to run circles on his palm, hoping each stroke conveys the words that die in her throat.

When his breathing has evened and the last of his sniffles mellowed by the fabric of his collar, the boy asks (not without a voice crack), “When do you think Casita will be finished?”

She hums, pondering his question. “Soon, amigo. Until then, mi casa es tú casa.”

A grin blossoms on his face. One that reaches his now pink, puffy eyes. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

She takes a second to process his words, then realization dawns on her.  She drops his hand like it’s hot iron. “Ay, not this again.”

“Because the answer is yes, mi vida.”

She rolls away from him and jumps out of bed, heels landing on wood with a thump.

Camilo follows suit, getting up with a grunt. “Yes, of course I’ll marry and live with you.”

An idea popping into her head, she faces him with a shy smile. “Camilo?”

“Yes, cariño?” 

She steps closer until her mouth is over his ear. She doesn’t miss how it turns a slight shade of pink.

Then she whispers, “Go wash the dishes before I kick your ass outta here.”

v.

Music fills the first floor of the Casita. Around the room, townspeople from the Encanto dance and spin around to the beat, limbs and skirt hems flying in all directions. Somewhere at the edge of the room, right at the kitchen entrance, stands Mirabel and her friend.

Both women sip their drinks as they watch the party unfold before them. The guest, still getting used to the taste of alcohol, winces as the liquid burns her throat on its way down. 

"From wingwoman to wedding planner," she says. “Great job, Mira.”

The Madrigal girl looks ahead with a proud look, like a mother sending off her child on their first day of school. "Aw, stop. It only took eight months of micromanaging, sleep deprivation, and constant nicks on my hand from sewing the most intricate dress I've ever made."

At the center of the room, Mariano twirls his bride in her white silk dress, its laced hem brushing the floor with every step. Dolores glows on the dance floor, and her rosy lips part in laughter when she lands back in the arms of her groom.

“Eight months of grinding for her lifetime of happiness,” says the guest.

Mirabel’s gaze softens as she watches the couple, and she hums in agreement.

Her friend playfully elbows her. “So when’s my turn, huh?”

“Hm?” asks Mirabel distractedly, eyes having drifted somewhere farther in the room.

“To set me up, of course.” She points her now empty shot glass in Dolores and Mariano’s direction. “Judging from this party, I presume your services have a high success rate.”

At this, Mirabel bursts out laughing. The sound of it sends her friend in peals of laughter as well—a gift shared by her primo, she notes. 

Must run in the family.

Speaking of, where was the chameleon? She hasn’t seen him since the reception began.

“I thought you weren’t interested in dating,” says Mirabel once she’s calmed down.

“Well, ever since I turned eighteen, my Mamá’s been dropping very unsubtle hints about wanting a grandkid. So I think it’s time to reconsider.”

“Then you came to the right gal.” Mirabel points up a finger to signal ‘wait ’ as she hurries to the kitchen to set her glass down on the counter. When she comes back, she wipes her hands on her dress and starts scouring the room. “Okay, let’s do this. I charge by the hour, by the way.”

“I’ll pay when I see results,” her friend jokes.

“It won’t be long, trust. So how about Stefan?”

The maiden’s eyes follow Mirabel’s gaze and land on the tall, lanky man laughing with his group of friends. The next moment, the thick-bearded men start groaning and bumping chests with one another.

“Too rowdy.”

“All right, then…Miguel?”

It takes the guest a couple moments to spot Miguel, who turns out to be drinking alone in a corner, his eyes flicking nervously between the room and his feet.

“He’s a bit…shy for my taste.”

“Maybe he’s nice,” Mirabel offers.

At that moment, one of Bruno’s rats scamper towards the guy. His face immediately contorts in anger as he tries to stomp on it, its frazzled owner pleading “Noooo!” several feet away.

“Never mind.” Mirabel starts looking around again. She lets out an ooh! followed by, “Pablo?”

As if on cue, the handsome Pablo turns around and takes his best friend Emanuel’s hand. The pair both sport a bright blush as they slow dance.

“Yeah, I don’t think that's happening.”

Mirabel mutters a “damn.”

They spend the next few minutes going through pretty much every guy in town. But with the maiden shooting down each one with variations of “too dull” and “not my type,” they eventually run out of bachelors their age and start going up a generation.

“This is impossible,” she huffs, though not without the corners of her lips turning up.

“Hey, we’ll find you someone, all right?” Mirabel assures her. “We just need patience.”

“And another drink.”

“Okay, what do you think of Alberto?”

“Isn’t his daughter like fourteen?”

“Er, Tomas?”

“Mira, I saw him walk with a cane the other day.”

Mirabel huffs in faux exasperation. “Now you’re just being choosy.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to be widowed at thirty!”

“Fine, then how about—”

“Me?”

The two women whip their heads towards an all too familiar voice. From behind the nearest pillar, Camilo Madrigal emerges, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I’d sooner marry Tomas,”  the maiden deadpans. 

“You say that now, but…” Camilo steps closer, runs a hand through his chestnut locks (which have grown just past his shoulders) and purses his lips in an attempt to appear seductive.

She makes a gagging noise.

“She’s got standards, you know,” says Mirabel, looking unimpressed by her cousin’s antics.

“Standards I far exceed,” says Camilo, and he looks like he believes it. 

"I'm sure you didn't need your sister’s gift to hear her reject every single guy in the Encanto."

“Obviously she did.” The shapeshifter rolls his eyes. “Because you didn’t pitch me.”

“And why would I wish a lifetime of misfortune on my best friend?” 

“Think about it, Mira. Don’t you want her to join the family? Like, officially?”

This actually makes Mirabel pause. She glances between the two, her eyes widening slightly as if realizing something for the first time.

“You can’t seriously be considering it,” her friend tells her. She’s not sure what’s making her head foggy–her last two cocktails, or this whole squabble.

“I mean, it would give you an excuse to live here forever,” Mirabel says slowly.

“I’m here, like, half the week, Mira. Besides, if I really wanted to marry into your family, I’d just pick you.”

“Not if Luz beats you.” Camilo points with his lips at their young, dark haired neighbor. 

“What do you—” Mirabel sputters.

“Hey, Luz!” says Camilo, his voice dripping with cheer. The same tone he uses when he’s about to do something someone would regret.

Red instantly creeps across Mirabel’s cheeks. Her friend has to look down at the floor and purse her lips into a thin line to keep from laughing.

“Hey Camilo,” Luz responds, approaching the trio.

“You enjoying the party?”

“Yeah, it's been a while since we had one like this.” Luz smiles. “Your last party was what, two years ago?”

“Yeah, since Casita was rebuilt," Camilo confirms. "Hey, did you know this took almost a whole year to plan? You wouldn’t believe the stress it caused my prima.”

Mirabel mouths a let’s go at her friend and is about to turn around, when said friend slid a foot in front of hers to keep the Madrigal in place.

“Your prima?” says Luz, cocking their head to the side.

“Yep, this one right here.” Swift as his mother’s lightning, Camilo steps to the side and wraps an arm around Mirabel’s shoulders. And in a tone mimicking hers from all those years ago, when she did the exact same thing to his sister, he asks, “Have you met Mirabel?”

The maiden nearly chokes on her own spit when she sees the stiff, nervous smile on Mira’s face. The latter lifts a hand in greeting.

“I don’t think I have,” says Luz, their own mouth curling in a smile much more relaxed than the wedding planner’s. “Not properly anyway. Care for a dance?”

Mirabel blinks at her neighbor’s palm being offered to her, as if she’d just hit her head and woken up in an alternate reality. After a second or two, she manages to stutter a “sure” before taking their hand and allowing herself to be led to the dance floor.

You’re dead to me, she mouths to Camilo over her shoulder, but the elated sparkle in her eyes betrays her.

Once the two are safely out of earshot, Camilo and his friend burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” says the maiden, hand on the wall to steady herself. “I’ve never seen her like this before.”

“I think you need new glasses, cuz she’s been eyeing Luz for ever.” The shapeshifter himself has to lean on a pillar for support.

“Maybe I should hire you as my wingman.” She looks up at the young man, traces of laughter on the creases around her eyes.

“Or you could accept me as your husband,” Camilo shoots back, his prideful smirk returning.

“Really? You’re doing this now?” She crosses her arms and raises a challenging brow at him.

“When’s a better time?”

“Never.”

“Fine, if you won’t acknowledge my proposal, at least let me have this dance.” 

“Sure, if you’re prepared to be stepped on.”

“No worries. As the best dancer in Encanto, I’ll be sure to guide you.”

“Ever the compulsive liar.” She smiles.

“It’s creative liar,” he corrects her. And just like Luz mere moments ago, Camilo offers her a hand.

She waits for a moment, just to tease him. Then she takes it.

She doesn’t expect how gently Camilo leads her to the dance floor, swerving between couples and groups of people jamming to the music. But in regular Camilo fashion, that gentleness is short-lived.

Within seconds, the young woman yelps as her world turns upside down. She doesn’t realize Camilo had dipped her to the floor until she’s being pulled back up and she lands flat against his chest. To her partner’s credit, his grip on her waist is firm enough to steady her.

“You didn’t come here to play,” she gasps, eyes wide in surprise.

“Of course not,” he breathes out. Something about his low tone sends shivers trickling up her spine.

Without warning, he throws her forward by the arm, sending her spinning about a foot away from him with their hands just barely connected, then he tugs her back towards him in a motion equally swift and forceful. Seeing this, the other dancers start backing away in fear. The Madrigal spares no time taking advantage of all this new space—he grabs her other hand, and the two swing wildly from side to side, the vigorous motions causing some of the girl’s hair to slip from its meticulous hairdo. Any inhibitions she had to dancing in front of the whole town vanish. At some point, the guest loses her ability to distinguish between Camilo tossing her around and Casita’s floor tiles pushing her back to balance.

“Could you be a little gentler?” she says in between laughter.

“Is that how you like it, prinsesa?” He steps closer to her, their foreheads nearly touching. 

She untangles one hand from his grip and smacks him on the shoulder. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

He laughs in response, then reaches up to fix her skewed glasses. 

“Seriously, what’s gotten you this hyper?” she asks him, not moving away.

“I dunno, could be anything.” Despite all his joking, Camilo does start swaying her more slowly. “The lights? The food? The company?” 

They’re close enough that she can see the sprinkle of freckles on his nose. 

Cute.

She shakes the thought away. His honey brown eyes—with flecks of green, she keeps noticing—bore into hers, and he lets out a soft exhale through his mouth. That’s when she catches a faint whiff of alcohol.

“Milo,” she chides. “Are you drunk?”

“Me? No, never.” His lips curl into a small, almost guilty smile. “At least I don’t think so. Maybe a little tipsy.”

She sighs and leans her head on the crook of his shoulder. He places a hand on the small of her back and pulls her close.

“Normally I’d scold you for this, but I’ll let you off the hook tonight.”

“And what warrants this generous act of kindness?” 

“Only because it’s your sister’s wedding. And I know your family won’t get a big one like this for a while.”

“I’m not too worried about that,” he murmurs, breath tickling her ear.

“Oh?”

“I’m just saying another big Madrigal wedding is right around the corner.”

"Please." She smiles against his cream shirt. It smells faintly of cologne and a little bit of sweat. "Mirabel's not even past the awkward introduction stage."

"Who said it was her?"

"No one else is remotely close to dating anyone."

"Yeah," Camilo scoffs, eyes drifting to his prima who's now apologizing profusely for stepping on Luz's foot. "And Mirabel is?"

"Closer than you."

“I beg to differ.” He rests his cheek against her temple, the tips of his curls lightly brushing her skin. “I’m telling you, mi cielo. It’s only a matter of time before you say yes.”

She leans her head into his touch. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

At that moment, Mariano’s voice booms from the second floor terrace. Everyone in the room whips their heads towards the top of the staircase, where the newly weds are standing. Mariano starts beckoning his and Dolores’ male friends and relatives to come forward.

The maiden, whose attention has been on the groom, turns to her dance partner when she feels him pull away.

“Watch,” Camilo tells her. He gives her a sly wink before running up the stairs.

His friend snorts when the boy, in his intoxicated state, stumbles at the landing and is caught by one of Mariano’s pals. 

Once all the men have gathered around the spouses, Mariano says, “Gentlemen, you know what to do.”

They each start taking one shoe off.  Dolores lifts the bottom of her skirt mid-calf.

One by one, the bachelors crouch to place their footwear underneath the bride’s dress. Looking up from the ground floor, the maiden’s nerves are set aflame when she realizes what’s happening. She gulps nervously as she watches Camilo strut to his sister’s side, dress shoe in hand.

Guests chatter excitedly as they wait. When the last shoe has been placed, Dolores releases her grip on her skirt, letting it fall back to the floor.

“It’s time for the bride to choose!” Mariano announces to the crowd. “When Dolores picks a shoe, its owner is fated to be next at the altar.”

She doesn’t know when or why she started, but the bespectacled guest finds herself chanting prayers in her head. When she realizes what she’s praying for, she mentally kicks herself.

Mariano murmurs something in Dolores’ ear. It’s inaudible from this far away, but she makes out a “Whenever you’re ready, mi amor ” from his lips.

Dolores nods. She takes her husband’s hand, and he twirls her a few times until she’s unsteady on her feet. Then with a sheepish smile, she stoops down and starts fishing beneath her dress.

There’s no way, right?  

And in one swooping motion, Dolores raises an unmistakable brown blucher in the air.

The girl’s heart stops.

When a roaring “YES!” reverberates throughout the Casita, Dolores’ face contorts in discomfort and she immediately covers her ears, dropping the shoe.

It’s caught by her younger brother.

The older of her younger brothers.

There’s  a whoop. A couple of toasts. A roomful of cheers. But the only thing the maiden’s brain can register is the Madrigal boy jumping in glee and waving his leather shoe high in the air.

Not even bothering to put it back on, he runs down the stairs, each step alternating between a thud from his single sole and a muffled thump from his sock.

It’s only a matter of time before you say yes.

She hears him calling her name, his voice getting louder as he nears her.

Its owner is fated to be next at the altar.

“What did I tell you?” He’s panting a little from the run, but the wide grin on his face shows no hint of fatigue. He dangles his shoe in front of her like a trophy.

The girl blinks. Her mind goes blank. What’s she supposed to say?

Definitely not this.

“Shouldn’t you court me first?”

Camilo’s grin fades and his jaw slackens. His eyes widen, and he looks like he’d just forgotten how to breathe.

Though her cheeks are burning, she feels a surge of pride. For once, it's Camilo who's taken aback.

He gapes at her, mouth never quite closing but parting like he wants to say something. From the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of what suspiciously looks like Mirabel's figure leaning against a taller woman's side.

A ruffling noise shoots through the air, and the next thing she knows Camilo's fumbling to catch a bouquet of flor de mayo in his arms. He looks about as dumbfounded as she feels, but sure enough, when she turns around she sees Mirabel ushering a giggling Isabela away.

Seemingly remembering where he is, Camilo rolls his shoulders back and clears his throat.

"May I?" He unceremoniously thrusts the flowers at her.

She bites her bottom lip, fighting back a smile. "You may."

His face blossoms into another grin, though it's definitely more sheepish than she's used to.

She gently takes the bouquet in her arms. When her own smile finally comes through, she ducks her head and hides it behind the petals.

"Get over here, coqueto!" Luisa's voice booms from the side of the grand staircase, where the rest of the Madrigals are gathered in front of a camera.

With the way Dolores jerks her head away from Pepa’s ear, the maiden just knows she broadcast their whole conversation to the family.

"I'll be back," Camilo says.

She nods and watches him run to his family. From afar, she sees Mirabel, hands on her hips, give her primo a look that screams you better do this right. Next to her, Isabela's smirk is just as threatening. 

Félix ruffles his eldest son's hair when he finally takes his position. Camilo slings an arm over Antonio's shoulder, just as the words "La familia Madrigal! " resound through the room. 

Dolores and Mariano, both glowing brighter than anyone in the house, greet the crowd's applause with a wave. The rest of the family give way for the newlyweds' couple shot, and Camilo doesn't waste a second looking for his girl.

She meets him halfway. 

Before either of them could say anything, Mirabel cuts in. She sticks her palm at her friend. "I'll take my payment now."

The guest laughs. She plucks a flower from her bouquet and places it in Mirabel's hand. "I'll send the rest later."

Her wingwoman nods in satisfaction. "But seriously, if this guy does anything stupid, as he's prone to do—"

"Hey!" Camilo interjects.

"I'm always ready to kick his ass into the next dimension, all right?"

"I know, Mira." The girl places a reassuring hand on Mirabel's arm. "And I'd do the same for you. If Luz fucks up and all that."

"God, please just. Never mention Luz in my presence again." Mira groans.

Her friend laughs. She's just about to turn to Camilo when another interruption comes their way.

"Your turn, Camilo." Looking at his nephew, Agústin jerks his head towards the camera. The space where Dolores and Mariano once stood is now empty. 

Camilo gives his uncle a confused look.

"Go on, mijo, a suitor mustn't keep his woman waiting," says Julieta, dimples high on her cheeks as she looks at the young woman in question.

She feels her face heat up, realizing what they meant.

"Hey, um. You up for it?" Camilo asks her, pointing his thumb at the camera.

She’s certain she still looks flustered, but with confidence springing from who knows where, she hooks an arm with his. “Your tía’s right. You shouldn’t keep me waiting.”

It’s satisfying, really, watching her best friend blush. 

He guides her to the shooting area, both met by whoots and wolf whistles from the Madrigal kids (except for Dolores, who opts to shake her head in a cross between took you long enough and I wish I didn’t live long enough to witness this). Once they’re in position, the girl swears she hears Pepa whimper to her husband, “Two in one night…now we only have Antonio…” Felix whips a handkerchief from his coat pocket, which Pepa promptly blows her nose into. It’s a relief, at least, to see a mini rainbow peek between the rain clouds above the spouses’ heads.

“On three,” says the cameraman.

He starts counting, and Camilo scoots closer to her.

“Your collar, mijo, your collar!” Felix chides. 

With his free hand, the shapeshifter hastily straightens the offending fabric.

“Two.…”

“Chin up, chica!” Isabela calls, and the maiden does exactly that. She receives an approving smile from the Madrigal.

“Three!”

She hugs the bouquet to her chest and smiles, just before the light flashes.

—

Later, when the party dies down and quiet fills the house, she finds herself wedged between the boy and the kitchen counter. 

A hand on her back and the other gripping the counter's edge, Camilo leans forward and presses his forehead against hers. She doesn't know if it's the alcohol or the stuffiness of the room amplifying it, but she doesn’t care–she wants to drown in his warmth. 

"Normally," she breathes out, "I'd wait for your first serenade. But knowing how long you've wanted this, I'll do you a favor."

She feels his breath over her cheek. His voice is husky, sending a current down her neck. "Mm. When did you say that wedding was?"

"I didn't." 

She almost regrets saying it, when Camilo starts running his fingers through her hair. His touch is gentle, every shift and movement electrifying. 

"Either way, it's getting harder to wait."

In the darkness, his hand finds its way to the back of her head.

And his lips find hers.

They're much, much softer than she imagined.

(Not that she's been imagining this.)

She lets her eyes fall gently closed, drinking in the heat from his skin. The kiss is chaste, but the moment makes it feel longer.

Their noses bump when he pulls away, and she immediately misses the contact. The way he looks at her though, eyes half lidded and pupils blown, makes up for it. If she were to guess, it's not just the liquor he's drunk on. If she were honest, neither is she.

They both jolt when the floor tiles start clattering beneath their feet. They jump against her heels, pushing her closer to Camilo.

"Okay, okay, Casita!" she laughs. 

Camilo grins when she circles her arms around his neck. "Would you look at that, we got the whole clan's blessing."

She rolls her eyes, but she kisses him again anyway.

vi.

“I told you this wasn’t a good idea,” she says, clinging onto Camilo’s waist for dear life.

“You need to trust me more.” He leans forward and pedals faster, steering the bike past rocks and lumps on the ground. Every time he misses one, the bump of the wheels sends her bum jumping above the seat for a frightening moment. She spits out the curls that escaped her boyfriend’s ponytail.

“I want to, I really do, but you’re kinda making it difficult right now.” She yelps as the vehicle takes a sharp turn.

To her pleasant surprise, the ride goes smoothly from there, as they drive past the crack in the mountains. In her head, she thanks the town for deciding to build a road there connecting the Encanto to the outside world. Colorful houses fade into greenery and the sparkling blue of the river, as the two drive farther into the heart of the woods.

She closes her eyes, feeling the cool afternoon breeze sweep across her face. The wind whistles in her ears and whips at her hair. She can count on one hand the number of times she’s traveled past the Encanto, and now, with the hum of the river’s current and the chirping of birds surrounding her, she vows to herself to do this more.

When the front wheel smashes against a deeply rooted rock, she rescinds her promise.

She hears Camilo curse, as the bike lurches forward and topples over, sending both skidding across the ground.

Pain shoots up the maiden’s arm and shoulder when she lands on her side. From the corner of her eyes, she makes out Camilo’s figure curled up beneath the bike. Despite his body having made a louder thud than hers when it hit the ground, he had pushed the vehicle off himself and was on his feet faster than she could register what happened.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” Camilo asks, worry painting his face. He crouches next to her.

“I think I severed my foot,” she moans.

To her surprise, Camilo's expression shifts to alarmed and his eyes dart to her ankles.

He sighs when he sees they’re still attached to her legs. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Bad joke, sorry,” she says, feeling a pang of guilt.

“You’re good.” He smiles, features relaxing.

Groaning, she manages to sit up with Camilo’s help. Even with her blurred vision, she can tell her clothes, skin, and hair are mangled in dirt and grass. There are a few scratches on her limbs, but they can wash off in the river later.

“My glasses….”

“Here.” Camilo reaches past her. He picks up her glasses and uses the hem of his shirt to wipe off the mud. 

“Thanks, Milo.”

He fits the plastic frame on her face. The lenses are still intact, thank god.

That’s when she notices his lip.

“Tonto, you’re bleeding.”

He touches his lip and looks surprised at the blood that comes up. Then he leans forward and says, “Kiss it better?”

She rolls her eyes, but she kisses the untainted corner of his mouth. This makes him smile.

Even after five years of dating (four, if you don’t count the courtship), she still marvels at how soft Camilo’s lips are.

“Now let’s get you to Tía Julieta,” she says, getting on her feet.

“No need, querida, you got me covered.” He takes her hands and she pulls him up.

“That’s sweet of you, but I’d rather not make out with your busted mouth.”

“Oh, I see you’ve made plans.” He wiggles his brows.

She playfully slaps her arm, even though no one’s around to hear them. 

He laughs, then quickly looks panicked.

“What’s wrong?” She watches him pat down his pants pockets.

“Nothing, I just dropped something,” he says curtly.

“What is it?” 

“It’s fine, I’ll know it when I see it.” He starts stalking around, eyes carefully scanning the grass.

She frowns. This’ll go faster if he just told her, she thinks. But she starts scouring the area as well, keeping an eye out for anything out of place.

Camilo occasionally bends down and pats the ground at his feet, only to get up looking disappointed and do the same thing at another spot.

Eventually, she notices something glistening under the sunlight. She follows its glint, bringing her near their fallen bike. 

Once she’s close enough, she makes out what it is. Butterflies soar from her stomach.

She debates whether to pick it up or not, but when Camilo walks in her direction, she silently kicks the object towards him.

When he finally notices it, he stoops to pick it up. She has to bite her lower lip to keep from smiling.

“Have you found it?” she asks, praying to whatever’s out there that her voice is level.

“Yeah, thank god,” he says, pocketing the thing. 

She walks towards him and hears a soft gasp escape his lips.

“Hey, you’re hurt.” Still kneeling, he lifts her skirt every so slightly and starts examining the scrapes on her legs. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice before.”

“It’s fine, Milo.” 

“I’ll just carry you back if the bike’s too uncomfortable–”

“It’s nothing, they’ll heal quickly.” This time, she hears her own impatience.

He looks up at her, inquisitive. Then he sees the goofy-ass smile she’s been trying to contain, and she can almost hear the puzzle pieces scrambling in his brain.

Quietly, he says, “You saw, didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She doesn’t even know why she bothers putting on an ‘innocent’ face.

He lets out a defeated sigh (but with how he purses his lips like he’s swallowing a laugh, he doesn’t seem to feel that way at all). “This isn’t how I wanted to do this, but….”

Camilo shifts his weight to one knee, so that one foot is planted on the ground. 

He takes her hand. It’s a gesture they’ve done nearly everyday for the past couple of years; they can draw the patterns on each other’s palms with their eyes closed. But this time feels more raw, and Camilo cups her fingers in his without the same sureness she’s used to.

The way her name rolls off his tongue is the same as ever, though. Like it was made to be said by him.

His adam's apple bobs, like he’s gulping down his nerves. “When you asked me to court you—”

“When you asked to court me,” she corrects, and this seems to wipe away his nervousness.

“When I asked to court you,” he backtracks, grinning. “I honestly didn’t expect you’d agree to it. Because even after all your stolen glances and you writing ‘Mrs. Madrigal’ all over your journals—”

“What?” she says incredulously, laughing at his lies.

“—there was a part of me that always felt like I was dreaming it all up. Because sure, I may be gorgeous, smart, and talented.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. 

“But you’re also all that. And honestly, a lot, lot more. I couldn’t believe out of the millions of people in this world, you’d choose me.”

He tightens his grasp on her hands.

“Getting to love you for the last five years has been the greatest privilege of my life. But I think you and I both know that I’ve loved you for much, much longer.”

Camilo gently presses her knuckles against his lips. Her heart beats so fast she hears it pounding in her ears.

“Actually, I don’t even remember not loving you. Even in my earliest memories of us, when we were small and the rest of the world felt so enormous, all I remember is this constant feeling of wanting to stay by your side. And you know I’ve always loved making people smile, but there was no one else whose smile I yearned for more than yours. I couldn’t explain what it was then, but I know it now.”

The maiden feels heat pool behind her eyes and tries to blink it away, to no avail.

“You told me once it was silly to want that before we had grown up,” Camilo continues, a twinkle in his eyes.

She just nods, grinning—if she’d said anything, she had no doubt the dam would let loose.

“Well, I don’t know if I’m sufficiently grown up yet, but…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, velvet box. “I do know that whenever I picture the future, all I see is me standing right by you. And if you’ll let me, I’ll continue striving to be the best version of me—the version you deserve. So will you let me, cariño?”

Camilo opens the box, revealing the diamond ring within.

“Will you ma—”

“Yes! ”  

She throws her arms around his neck and tackles him to the ground. Her eyes prickle with tears and her heart threatens to burst from her chest, so she lets it all out by peppering Camilo’s face with kisses.

He laughs underneath her and wraps her in a tight embrace. The box is still in his hand, and she feels its corners poking at her back.

“You didn’t even let me finish, amor,” he says fondly.

She pulls away. Straddling him, she looks down at her now fiance. With sunlight streaming through his curls, hair spread out on the grass, and his eyes turned up from his grin, she thinks he’s never looked more handsome. 

“I already knew what you were gonna say anyway,” she counters.

“Really? So you knew I was going to tell you that even if you picked me apart again and again, my petals would bloom wider than—”

“Okay, I get it.” 

She leans down and kisses him. Softly at first, letting the languid movement of their mouths flow with the moment. When she feels heat grow in her stomach, she listens. She trails her fingers through Camilo’s hair, feels his hand press tighter against her back, and quickens the pace of the kiss. Then she sucks on his bottom lip and doesn’t even register the taste of iron until he says a muffled “ow!”

“Sorry, sorry. I forgot.” The maiden gets up and her fingers fly to the split in Camilo’s lip.

He’s wincing in pain, but he smiles at her like it’s nothing. “No worries, I know it’s easy to get carried away when it’s me.”

“Oh shut up, Madrigal.” 

“Soon I can say the same thing to you.” He takes her left hand and slips the ring onto her finger.

She lifts her hand so the jewel catches the sunlight. But it’s no brighter than the way Camilo beams at her. And she can tell she’s radiating too.

“Who said I was taking your last name?” she teases.

“Says the gigantic family tree in the middle of town.”

“Hm, I always thought it needed a new branch.” She gives him a thoughtful look.

Camilo lets his head fall back on the ground and blocks the sun with his forearm. “You know what, I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

The maiden giggles and lies down next to him. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he rubs circles on her arm. They stay there for a while, just basking in each other’s warmth.

They get up only when the sun begins to set.

As they’re walking, hands linked, back to their bike, a worrying sight greets them. 

Its front wheel is dangerously bent. 

The two of them stare at each other for a moment. Then they burst into fits of laughter. 

Together, they lift the vehicle upright, with each holding one end of the handlebar. 

“I’ll carry it—”

“No, it’s okay.” She places her free hand over Camilo’s before he can shapeshift.

“It’s a long walk back,” he warns her.

“We’ve got time.”

He relaxes at this, and she lets go of him. Pink starts dusting the sky, so truthfully she’s not sure about her statement. 

Though even if they get lost in the dark, she’s sure they’ll find their way back.

vii.

The sun beats down on her neck as she watches her husband run after two children—one boy and one girl. 

She sits back in her chair, fanning herself. Camilo shapeshifts into various people in town, chasing the squealing kids across Casita’s lawn until finally capturing them in his arms. He reverts to his own form and locks them in his hug, the sound of their laughter filling the air.

Once he releases them, Camilo ruffles their hair and sits next to his wife.

Wordlessly, she wipes the sweat from his face with a clean towel. He gives her a peck on the cheek in thanks.

They watch the twins run around the yard, occasionally tripping but one always there in an instant to help the other up. 

The sight of these kids never fails to warm her heart. But they’re not hers, oh no—she and Camilo don’t think they’re ready for that. After all, they just got married yesterday. No, they’re Dolores and Mariano’s—a blessing to have two at once, Abuela says, as they were the only next generation Madrigals at that point to want kids. (Mariano often assures her there’s three more on the way, though).

Just before noon, the family begins setting up tables and chairs outside for the post-wedding ceremony, putting a stop to the kids’ playtime. Camilo’s niece and nephew plop themselves down on his and his wife’s laps. They’re only four years old now, so they fit snugly. The young woman wishes they could stay this size forever.

“Tell us your story again!” the little girl pleads, tugging at the woman’s sleeve.

She chuckles. “Haven’t we told you a hundred times, chiquita?”

“I wanna hear it too,” says the girl’s brother, jumping up and down on Camilo’s lap.

“Pleeeaaase?” The girl bats her lashes at the couple.

“Okaaaaay,” the woman concedes. She shoots her husband a knowing look, and they share a smile.

“It all started,” says Camilo. The two kids immediately tune their ears to him. “When your Tía Mirabel brought home this beautiful little girl….”

And so the two of them launch into the long, winding tale of how they came to be together. At first the young woman wondered why they wanted to hear it so many times. Now, she realizes it’s because the couple remembers some new detail in each retelling.

By the time the story has drawn close to its conclusion, the kids have nearly licked their plates clean of asado sauce.

“And then what happened, tío?” asks the little boy.

“And then, after twenty-three long, painful years of waiting…”

She smiles sweetly at Camilo.

“She finally said yes.”