Chapter Text
Living in the walls was, honestly, not all that bad.
"Careful…" Bruno took a step back, hands raised tentatively, in case the fragile structure threatened to topple at any sudden movements.
He stayed frozen in that position for a few more seconds, and when the fragile house of cards remained upright, Bruno let out a sigh of relief he was holding. He took a few steps back, admiring his work with a satisfied smile.
Sure, it didn't seem like much, but he still allowed himself to revel in the pride bubbling up inside himself.
He had always been the nervous, fidgety sort. Stacking cards wasn't exactly easy when your fingers trembled at the thought of the entire thing coming down. And anxiety never mixed with precariously stacked playing cards - very counterproductive.
So, one small victory for Bruno Madrigal.
A tiny squeak grabbed his attention. One of the rats, small and gray and looking at him with a pair of inquisitive black eyes.
With a proud grin still plastered on his face, Bruno tilted his head towards the tower of cards. "Well? Pretty good, right? It's even staying up this time!"
A few squeaks was the only response he got. He felt a pair of whiskers tickle his cheek as it shuffled and sniffed around Bruno's collar, before climbing beneath his ruana into his shirt pocket. It reemerged moments later with a piece of leftover arepa in its paws. Not even a passing glance to the sad little structure as it scurried down his leg and into a stray boot to enjoy his snack.
Bruno scoffed down at the unimpressed little creature. "Next time I'll make one out of arepas, how about that?"
A few ears perked up at the mention of food, but his little roommates only squeaked and scurried about the room in response to his quip, carrying on with their rat business. Always so busy, these guys…
Bruno gave his card tower one final approving look before settling down in his favorite, and only, chair. He stretched out, put his feet up, drummed his fingers on the worn arms of his chair.
Tap tap tap tap tap. Tap.
He glanced at the clock he kept on the shelf, with its hands permanently stuck in the same position. He wasn't sure why he kept the thing, or even felt the need to have a clock in the first place. It hadn't worked for quite some time, if ever. And besides, Bruno never had a real need to read the time.
Somehow, he always just knew.
The gift of prophecy came with the added bonus of accurate time measurement, he guessed.
Still, he had hoped his little project would take up a bit more of his time.
He couldn't help but laugh a little at the irony. A man with the gift to see past the veil of time, and he was frankly terrible at managing all his newfound free time. And the thing about hiding, er, living in the walls of Casa Madrigal was, there was plenty of free time to go around.
Lots and lots and lots of free time.
Which was pretty great, in a sense. No more constant vision requests, for one thing. No more appointments, no more hours trekking up the frankly ridiculous amount of stairs up to his tower, peering in the spiraling green miasma of sand going 'Your fish will die!' or 'yes, your husband *is* having an affair' or 'oops, sorry, looks like baldness does run in the family, but hey, at least that toupee's looking pretty good!'
Now, he had plenty of time to pursue all kinds of hobbies. He actually found himself to be pretty handy. The rats were loving the obstacle course that he set up for them, running all along the walls and leading right into a spacious little home.
Yes, there were plenty of things to keep him busy. Tending the plants, exercising, spackling the growing cracks in the walls, laying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, letting his mind spiral with questions about his finite existence against the infinite abyss of time and space…
He tried not to do that last one too often.
Well, he figured, with the creeping hand of existential dread marching closer, Bruno would do what any self-respecting person would do in his exact situation. Stamp out those thoughts with endless hours of entertainment.
With a quick tap-tap-tap-tap-tap on a nearby wooden crate, Bruno got up from his chair with a slight huff - when had he started to get old - and decided to peruse his pretty substantial book collection for some light reading.
"Lets see…" he muttered, shooing away some of the rats that were using the book pile as a napping spot. He sorted through the pile, picking up and putting back each book as he struggled to find one he hadn't read cover to cover at least 5 times over.
As he weighed his options, a small audience of rats watched on as he brandished two hardcover books in each hand. In his left was a warped novel that he had picked up from the foyer during one of his late night kitchen raids. One of Pepa's, and a tragic one at that, which explained the water damaged pages.
In his right, a collection of short stories and fairy tales, including a story about a brave little rat that longed to travel the world and become a knight. That one was, unsurprisingly, a big hit among his furry companions. Even now, Bruno could feel their whiskers brush across his cheeks as a few of them perked up at the familiar cover, before quickly turning their focus back to the pile of books littering the floor.
"Guess The Adventures of Sir Ráton lost its flair after the 10th read, eh?" he quipped, tossing the book over his shoulder and into the pile below. "Well, we gotta pick something soon or - hey, hey! Come on, not again."
Happily gnawing away at the corner of a large hardback book, a chubby little brown rat let out a surprised squeak as he was scooped up and away from his snack.
"Y'know," Bruno quipped, "That's not what I meant when I said pick something."
A few indignant squeaks were directed at him as the little rat wriggled and squirmed impatiently in his hand. Bruno huffed, quickly placating the feisty little creature by placing him down, far far away from the rest of the books. "You're lucky you're cute, y'know that?"
A single squeak was the only response he got and the brown rat turned to knaw on the table leg next to him. Bruno could only shake his head, dusting off the old book in his hands as a soft smile crossed his lips at the title.
Don Quixote. The nostalgia warmed him from the inside, filling him with fond memories of the hours spent sprawled out under the warm, summer sun. Lost in the adventures of a delusional wanna-be knight and his reluctant but loyal squire.
He flipped through the pages quickly just to be sure that the rest of the book hadn't been used as a midnight snack, but came to a stop halfway through. Between the pages, was a wrinkled, black and white photo of a cathedral. It was bigger, much grander than the chapel that sat in the town square of Encanto, but that wasn't what caught his attention, or made his breath catch in his throat.
The picture itself had been ripped straight from the pages of a book, judging from the jagged edges surrounding the photo itself. And on the bottom right, in the gray border that surrounded the picture, were two tiny drawings.
One was of a little dark grey rat, and next to it.
A snake.
Granted, the drawings were little more than messy doodles. The snake was little more than a mess of squiggly lines in the crude shape of a snake, with the only thing distinguishing it from the letter S written by someone who had been given a vague description of the alphabet, were the two little lines poking out from one end in what was supposed to be a forked tongue and a cartoonishly large black dot over it that he realized was supposed to be its eye.
The book was long forgotten, falling from his hands to the wood floor, and startling the rats as it clattered to the ground. He barely noticed the tiny audience gathering at his feet, eyeing him curiously while he continued to stare at the picture, rubbing a thumb along the tiny snake drawing.
The thing about living in the walls was, it was not that bad. It just left him with a lot of time.
Time to think.
To reminisce.
….and regret.