Chapter Text
When Bruno was fourteen years old, he learned what it felt like to be wanted.
Not as one of the miraculous Madrigals; not as someone exceptionally gifted, able to stick his hands in between fate and time and pull back the curtain they made, to peer inside and spy on their plans and interfere. Just as himself, a skinny, green-eyed boy named Bruno Madrigal, who happened to be creeping behind his familla's casita just after dark, looking for a rat.
He moved as quietly as he was able, desperate not to scare it off. The rat had been such a cute thing, from what he had been able to see of it before it ran away. A small, lovely gray creature, sitting right in the middle of their kitchen floor, as if it lived in the Casa del Madrigal just as correctly and properly as the four humans did. Bruno had been washing the dishes from dinner (Julieta's night to cook, his night to wash, Pepa's night to dry and put away. Tomorrow Pepa would cook, and wasn't that always an adventure) when he'd spotted it. The little rat's intelligent back eyes met his, not only intelligent but empathetic, interested, and Bruno fell in love. Moving slowly, he had knelt, extending a hand like one would to a cat or dog that did not yet trust humankind.
"Hola, espléndida! It's okay pequeño, I won't hurt you," he cooed softly, eyes sparkling with delight as the rat really seemed to be listening to him! "I bet you're hungry! I can't blame you at all, smelling mi hermana's frijoles rojos makes me hungry all over again, and we just finished dinner!"
Bruno babbled on softly, meaningless words pouring out as he remained motionless. It seemed to be working, because the rat was taking a hesitant step toward him! Two steps! Now it was moving a little faster, three and four and five and six steps and he was so excited--
"Bruno! Get away from that filthy thing!"
Mamá was here.
Bruno and the rat jumped as one, and flinched as one when Mamá's sandal sailed through the air with astonishing speed. It missed the rat by only bare inches, and the clever creature needed no second warning, scampering out of sight before Bruno could even say goodbye.
"Finish the dishes quickly now, Brunito," his mamá instructed, retrieving her wayward sandal as he rose dejectedly to his feet. "You need to get to bed early tonight. You'll be reading Señora Reyes' future tomorrow, remember! She's very anxious about this pregnancy, with it being her first. It will bring her great comfort to know that it goes well."
With his back to her, and hands already submerged in the remaining soapy water, which was once hot and was now merely warm, he asked softly, "But w-what if it doesn't g-go well?"
The ensuing silence was cold, cold, cold. The longer it went on, the more tense he became, shoulders drawing in tight and fingers tapping anxiously against the bottom of the sink.
His mother's voice was stern and unwavering when she finally answered him. "It would be a disaster if it does not go well. For the good of the family, Bruno, for the good of the Encanto, see something good for Señora Reyes. Do you understand?"
His teeth were clenched so tightly that it hurt. "Yes, Mamá."
"I hope you do."
--
The dishes were long since done, now, but instead of going to bed early like his mother wanted him to, he was outside in the pitch black night and the light, cold rain (Pepa was almost definitely still awake too, then, and likely reading a romance novel--a sad one, too, if the temperature was anything to go by) hunting for that rat. He felt guilty, because he'd promised the little thing that he meant it no harm, and then his mother threw a shoe at it! Bruno didn't know how to apologize to a rat, but as he shivered in his wet clothes, he figured it couldn't be that much different than apologizing to a person.
Distracted by his thoughts, and trying to find a gray rat in the darkness, he didn't notice that he wasn't alone out there. Not until something burst from around the corner and shoved him into the wall.
He froze. His heart pounded with both terror and shock, his breath stuttering in his lungs as he tried to understand who was holding him captive and what was happening to him. Lightning cracked suddenly (Pepa's romance novel, someone must have died when she didn't want them to or didn't die when she did) and he saw wide brown eyes and a face (familiar, but so out of place here behind his family's home that he struggled to identify it, couldn't make his brain explain why those eyes were here and not peering out from behind his schoolbook), saw it only for a moment, but it was long enough for him recognize the expression (never pointed in his direction before. but he had coveted it in one form or another for years) as want.
"Say yes, please let me--just let me," his captor breathed into the crook of his kneck. "Let me kiss you, taste you, Bruno don't say no..."
The light faded, leaving him with these facts: Matias Ortiz, a boy from his class and with whom he was vaguely friends, had been lurking around his casa at night. Had jumped on him, frightened him, had Bruno's much smaller body effectively pinned against the wall, alone, in the dark. Wanted to kiss him (from the look on his face wanted it very badly) and why and could boys do that and why him?
"What? Why?"
"You're beautiful."
Because he thought Bruno was beautiful. Did Bruno think Matias was beautiful? (A little.) Did it matter? (Didn't seem to, because his mouth was dry and his heart was sputtering out of control and long before he really grasped what was happening he was whispering yes) Because for the very first and possibly only time he was going to have the opportunity to understand what--
A mouth on his mouth. He didn't know what to do, kept his lips together because he didn't know what to do. The other boy's lips were soft, and warm, and dry. He had enough time to think 'this is nice' before the warm, dry lips were replaced by a hot, wet tongue swiping over his closed mouth. And this was gross, and he was sort of offended, and his mouth dropped open of its own accord to object and the tongue was in his mouth and he understood.
The kiss was soft and slow, which he was pretty sure that he liked, and then without warning it was hard and fast, which he wasn't so sure about. One of Matias's hands was curled into Bruno's hair, the other was pinning both of his arms against the wall above his head (when had that happened?) and a hard, firm thigh was pressed between his legs. It was so much, too much, and it awful and wonderful and he couldn't breathe and he wanted it to stop but he didn't. He was crying, which was embarrassing, and he was making other, strange sounds which were much worse. But it was okay, because Matias was saying strange things.
Things like "Finally" and "Wanted you for so long" and "I've been waiting. Told myself if I saw you tonight, it was fate".
Bruno didn't like the word "fate". It made his stomach hurt. He wanted to say something about it, but then there was a thrust and a pull and his body arched forward and his eyes rolled back into his head. He opened his mouth to say something stupid. He didn't know what, maybe "I love you" or "Is this what it's like for everyone?" or "I don't understand" or maybe just an embarrassing fucking moan or something. But with his eyes rolled back he didn't see the green, at first, and what fell out of his mouth was, "Go home and tell your father you love him. He'll be dead by morning."
Which was the worst possible thing that could have happened, and therefore he should have expected it.
Matias froze, for a moment, finally as confused as Bruno was. Then the hand in his hair tightened painfully, and this wasn't fun anymore, and Bruno was very, very scared.
Matias shoved him into the wall, hard, and it hurt and again Bruno couldn't breathe but for an entirely different reason. Then the other boy just...dropped him, yanked his hands away as if Bruno were contagious. And the seer, exhausted and breathless and boneless slid down the wall, to the ground, face first into the mud. His classmate made a sound that Bruno couldn't place, something kind of like horror but more like disgust. A hard boot planted itself in his side and he wheezed in pain.
Matias hissed, "Brujo!"
And then Bruno was alone. Wet, cold. Sticky, covered in mud (the rain was pouring now is Pepa alright?) in pain. Confused, humiliated.
After some time, he managed to stand. He was vaguely aware of stumbling back into the casita, of the front door flinging itself open and swinging hard, as if it was trying to rush him inside. Bruno didn't remember climbing the stairs to the rooftop balcony, which was a place that he often went when things were way too much. Bruno didn't remember how long he stood there, not noticing the rain which was no longer just pouring but punishing. He didn't have any idea how much time had passed before his first understandable thought crested the wave he had been floating on, somewhere timeless and far away from his body.
The thought was: I can't bear this.
Bruno acknowledged the thought, viewed it impassively from every angle. The phrase meant nothing to him, distant as he was now from the physical form that he normally was so painfully trapped in. Still, he'd had the thought. It was actually surprisingly persistent, refusing to be washed away by the waves he was happily drifting upon. A thought so stubborn deserved to be comprehended, he felt. He found the idea of tackling it as whole somewhat daunting, though. Perhaps he could figure it out slowly, piece by piece.
"I", now that was obviously Bruno Madrigal. Who was Bruno Madrigal? A boy, fourteen, one third of a set of triplets. A boy with a mother who didn't like him, maybe even didn't love him. A boy with no father, and no friends, but who could see the future.
"Can't", that was easy too! A contraction. Can not. Not able to, not possible at this time with these tools. Bruno is not able.
"Bear". To put up with, to live with, to survive. Bruno was very familiar with the concept. He could bear a lot. His visions, frightening and uncontrollable. The whispered name of "Bad-luck Bruno". His mama's disappointment, his sisters' anxiety, his living house, his dead father.
"This"? This. Something happened, just now. He tried to remember it, and for a moment everything after eating dinner with his familia slipped through his grasp like (sand) water, like a dream. He pushed, tentatively, wanting and not wanting to understand what exactly had happened to him.
Matias's face. Dry lips. "Brujo."
A whimper escaped him, his body trembling. His fingers tapped furiously on the cold, wet metal of the railing. He shoved the thoughts deep, deep down and acknowledged that yes, "this". Bruno is not able to survive this. It was too much. How could he go to town after this? Show his face at school? Explain to his family what a disgrace he was?
Bruno sagged against the balcony railing, losing himself in the rain and the darkness and the misery. He sobbed, a harsh, gasping cry that he choked on. He screamed into the howling wind, because he didn't deserve this!
Did he?
Bad-luck Bruno.
Brujo.
"See something good for them. For the good of the Encanto."
"For the good of the family."
Bruno is not able to survive this.
Before he had time to think about it, to talk himself out of it, he hoisted himself over the balcony rails. For one heartbreakingly beautiful moment, he hung suspended in the wind and the rain and simply existed as a part of the terrible, wonderful force of nature that was life.
And then he fell.
--
When Bruno was fourteen years old, he thought he learned what it felt like to be wanted. But really, he just learned how agonizing it was to be alone.