Like Emeralds [Bruno Madrigal x Reader]

Ch. 3

. . .

It went deathly silent after your question. Nervously looking up to Bruno, he had tensed up. His eyes were wide, staring you down- searching for anything that could tell him that you were joking, or that he had simply misheard you. But as you continued to stare at each other, Bruno came to the conclusion that you were in fact serious. He looked away from you, his brows furrowing together with an expression almost unreadable. You too had looked away, down at your lap in slight regret. Maybe you should have asked at a later time, but... you felt as if there may not be another time. While your mother was still somewhat able to do things like she used to. You gripped your skirt, waiting anxiously for a response. But Bruno seemed to be taking his sweet time, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

Your face was shielded by your hair, making it hard to see your expression clearly; but he did have a couple guesses on why you suddenly wanted a vision. He just was scared of the outcome, for the same and different reasons. Pursing his lips into a thin line, he sucked in a breath through his nose and released it in a sigh through his mouth. "Are you sure you want this? I can't guarantee a good endin-" "Yes." You interrupted, pausing to take a breath. Though you were now getting second thoughts again, fearful that it won't be a happy ending; you had to know. Bruno studied you for a long moment, his expression softening into one of worry- uncertainty. Yet sympathy. He knew how long it had been bothering you, even if you never say it directly. He's grown to know when something is bothering you, simply by watching. Giving yet another shaky breath, Bruno nodded.

"Alright."

Bruno had led you out of his room and into his vision cave. He gently instructed you to sit in the pool of sand in the middle, which you obeyed with no issues. Though... sitting in sand was not always the most comfortable, especially in a skirt. You sat with your legs crossed, watching Bruno as he began to set up the leaf piles and grabbing a match. He barely looked at you in this process, mentally preparing for what may come after this. If the bad news was what he would have to show, you would surely hate him. He was Bruno, after all. All he gave was bad news. Now sitting across from you, he tried to relax and clear his mind so he could focus on the right future.

Grabbing a handful of sand from a nearby pot, he tossed it over his left shoulder and lit the match. You watched, feeling the anxiety rise as he carefully lit each pile- his hand getting just a bit more unsteady each time told by the flame. The smell of campfire began to fill the rather dusty smelling room, and Bruno shook out the match- setting it aside. He looked to you hesitantly, as if silently asking if you really wanted this. You gave him a little nod of encouragement, but he could see that you were nervous too.

"We don't have to do this, (Y/n).. if you aren't ready... what if I show you something awful-?" Bruno's gaze trailed to the sand piles, his brows furrowing with worry. If this went bad, he'd be risking losing the one person that didn't hate him- outside of his family that is. The thought made his skin erupt in goosebumps, and his stomach churn nervously. His rambling made you bite the inside of your cheek softly, reaching a hand to his knee- it was the most you could reach out without falling or moving.

"Hey," You started, his eyes looking back to you at the touch. "If it does turn out bad, then that is what happens." Though you really hoped, for your sake that it will be a good vision. Bruno kept silent, observing your body language like before; trying to see if you really meant your words or not. His eyes looked down to your hand on his knee, where his skin felt like it was on fire under your touch. He made a small gulp, taking your hand into his much larger hand with his ears flushing red under his messy curls. His grip was soft, gentle; but at the same time, he squeezed it like it may be the last time he was going to be holding your hand. And to him, it may as well be with his history of bad visions.