⟨ status: complete ⟩
"They say artists are nothing but sad people, unaccepted by society of who they are. Masking themselves in 'personas' to fit in." She turned to him, placing her beloved paintbrush on the table with her face adorning a beautiful...
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"kid?"
This is definitely not the way Bruno expected his afternoon to go. The grandchild of the man he once feared long ago is once again on the doorstep of his room. It seems as though Casita had taken a liking to the young teen as she willingly brought in the girl even knowing that no one but Bruno was around the home.
"If you're looking for Mirabel or Camilo, all of them besides me are out and about in town."
"Si, I'm aware Señor. However, I came here to see you, I, I just would like to chat with you for a while if you have the time."
"I- wha- surely you have other friends besides Camilo and Mirabel to hang out with instead of me?"
The girl merely stared at him emotionlessly, adjusting the strap of her bag as she stood there wordlessly in front of Bruno. A long pregnant silence surrounded the two before the young teen decided to shamefully admit:
"... I don't."
One of my kin, I see. Bruno thought to himself, his hand combing salt and peppered locks as he silently chuckled at the introverted teen in front of him. Widening the door to his room, ushering and welcoming her to come inside. He made her sat on a small stool as he sat on the floor, he wasn't prepared for any visitors at all.
"So... What do you want to talk about?"
He rested his chin on the palm of his hand as he patiently waited for the girl to talk. She was rubbing her ring finger to calm her nerves as she tries to articulate her thoughts, she read it on a book once that telling your problems to someone you barely know would be easier and would feel better as they would give you an unbiased opinion on your thoughts. But to someone such as her, who barely talks to anyone but her close friends and family, doesn't know how to say things that doesn't come off as rude or apathetic.
She handed him one of her father's empanadas, still warm and fresh and wrapped delicately in a paper bag. A silent bribe to let her vent to him— not that Bruno would know, but he'd gladly take the free food anyways.
"I don't know what I'm feeling."
"Very straight to the point, nice." He replied, taking a munch on the empanada he was given. Kudos to the chef, he would like to say if not for the nervously fidgeting child in front of him. A stark contrast to her previously calm and mildly intimidating demeanor the first time he met her, she must've have a hard time with dealing with emotions, huh?
"And it's all Camilo's fault." She continued, eyes glaring down to her lap with her hand tightly gripping her dress leaving evident creases after.
She didn't hold back, dang.
"He once said that what I'm feeling is love, with the weird feeling in my stomach and with my heart beating ever so quickly."
