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The sound of broken ceramic alerts Camila to the kitchen.
She doesn't need to finish her query of "Que paso aquí?" as she enters before she spots Hunter, knelt down on the floor trying to sweep the broken bits of the plate he dropped into his hands. As soon as he hears her he jumps, gasps, and instantly leaps to attention almost as if by instinct. Back straight, shoulders firm.
“C-Camil― Mrs. Noceda!” His scarred face flushes. “Mm-my apologies!”
He’s doing it again―that awkward little half-bow he gives her whenever she thanks him for picking up the mail or clearing the table. Catches him sitting stone-still in his room with restless hands and tells him to go do something fun.
“I’ll replace the plate as soon as possible!” His eyes are glued firmly to the floor like he’s scared to look up at her. “I-I’ll take care of the mess, I’ll―”
But she’s crossed the floor before he can finish and now she shushes him gently, hands up in a gesture of mercy in place of the hug she desperately wants to give him. His shoulders tense with her approach.
“No no, it’s okay, tranquilo, tranquilo ―no, don’t worry about the plate, I can get it later―”
It hurts her heart the way he doesn’t even try to flinch away from her, the way his jaw is clenched tight to keep it from trembling. He’s kept one arm tucked solidly behind his back this entire exchange, clearly trying to hide the fact that he hurt himself trying to clean this up and not doing a very good job of it. Why would he feel the need to hide that from her?
She has the good sense not to ask.
Instead she only holds out her hand, says, in the soft but firm tone she’s perfected over fifteen years of chiding over scraped knees and missing mittens, “Let me see.”
He hesitates. Still staring at the floor to keep from having to look at her. But he caves, maybe scared of the consequences if he doesn’t.
The cut isn’t bad at all, not really. Not even deep. But it bothers her how it wants to blend in with the myriad of little scars criss-crossing his fingers, all the way up to his wrist. She only doesn’t frown at the sight because she doesn’t want him to think she’s upset with him.
She tuts down at the wound, gentle. “It’s nothing a little gauze can’t fix. Here―let’s get you cleaned up….”
She guides him to the sink, then to the table, not letting go of his hand as she reaches into the cupboards for the first aid kit, sits him down and explains to him every step of the process, what an anti-bacterial is and how it’s going to sting for just a second, don’t let it scare you, it just wants to help you feel better.
She holds his freshly bandaged hand in both of hers, gazing down at the stark white gauze with a dozen thoughts she’ll never bring herself to voice spinning through her head. Those scars―did anyone else ever fuss over them like this?
He hasn’t said a word since she walked in on him, and now he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, lips pressed together as he searches for the right thing to say. He still hasn’t looked up at her.
Finally he settles on, “I’m sorry.” Because Camila knows by now that Hunter is as stubborn as they come, and once he’s set his mind on something there is no force in either realm strong enough to get him to change it.
It doesn’t stop Camila from trying. “Don’t be upset over that, m’ijo, it was just an accident. We have plenty more plates in the house if that’s what you’re worried about.” She smiles to let him know she means it as a joke, but it’s short-lived. She can see him biting his lip.
“You….aren’t upset?” It’s an earnest question. It kills her that it has to be an earnest question.
If Hunter were like Luz she could’ve wrapped him up tight in her arms by now, mama bear style. O, mi niño, come here. But Hunter isn’t Luz. Luz doesn’t have a face all covered with scars. But she does tap Hunter’s chin gently, raises his gaze, because she needs his eyes on her for what she’s going to say next.
“I am not angry at you, Hunter,” she says. Soft, because she doesn’t want him to think she’s being dishonest, but just firmly enough to let him know that she means it. “I’m not going to be angry at you for something this small.” She adds, remembering the clench of his jaw, low under her breath, “I’m not going to hurt you for it, either.”
Hunter likes to pretend he’s so tough, hardened after years of training and unmovable in the face of danger. And yet despite all of that there’s a tell-tale shine in his chestnut eyes and all he can bring himself to mutter in response is a single small, “....Oh.” Suddenly he’s very interested in a loose thread on his jeans.
Neither of them says anything for a while.
Nightfall sees Hunter out on the back porch, gazing up at the darkening sky above. It still fascinates him how the stars in the Human Realm can look so much like the ones in the Demon Realm. Could they be the same stars? Luz says there’s a whole universe out there.
He’s musing this quietly to himself when Camila appears beside him, having slipped soundlessly out the back door. She takes a seat on the chilled step with a playful “Hoo!,” holds out a mug to him with a smile. He notices she’s holding an identical mug for herself.
“Chocolate de mani?” Moonlight catches on her glasses, sends her eyes sparkling. Hunter smiles back, small, shy. Takes the mug.
“Thank you.”
They sit in silence for a while, the two of them, watching the stars twinkle. The warmth of the drink tethering them to this moment, this quiet moment where two different beings from two completely different worlds have somehow collided and found a way to share a moment like this together.
It had been Camila who cleaned up the broken plate after all. She’d sent Hunter out to watch a movie with Vee in the living room.
Hunter takes a deep breath. “I wanted to thank you. For earlier.”
Camila doesn’t answer. She merely takes another drink from her mug, eyes to the sky. A wordless gesture for him to continue.
He takes another deep breath, suddenly nervous, finding the words he wants to say sticking in his throat. Fumbling he goes on, “I want―I appreciate your wanting to….h-help me.” It’s not coming out exactly right. Dang. He frowns. Puts it away when he realizes she’s watching.
Trying again: “I….I’ve never―I mean, I hadn’t―”
But saying it now feels small, somehow. Puny. She has to have figured it out herself by now, it’s not a hard thing to notice.
“I….before, with the Coven….”
Her hand on his shoulder stops him before he can go further and he wants to thank her for that, too. For the relief now dispelling the lump in his stomach. Heat pricks at the corners of his eyes.
He lets himself lean into her. Lets her take him up in her free arm and pull him in close.
“Thank you for not being mad,” he whispers.
She squeezes his shoulder. He can’t see her smiling but she hopes he knows she is, smiling for him despite the tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Of course, mi niño”