Camilo Madrigal×Male Reader

•Hanging out with Camilo

I'm sorry, but I love Cocos "Juanita"
Guide:
(Y/N)=Your Name

You groan as a streak of sunlight peeking out from your shutters shines over your eyelids, covering your face with your arm. Silently you sit up in your bed, looking around your rather small room as you try and rub the sleep out of your eyes. It's nothing much. Just your bed, a wooden dresser, a nightstand. It's early morning. You can tell by the sounds of the birds and crickets. Itching the side of your nose, you get out of the comforts of your bed to go check on your grandfather. Getting up, you stretch your arms and spine. You open your door ajar, the cold touch of the knob slightly waking you up. Groggily you walk right next door to your Abuelo's room, knocking a few times before opening it a crack and looking in. He's still in bed, fast asleep. He tends to stay up later than usual, reading or writing. That's always been his passion since you can remember. He used to make you his storybooks as a child.

You smile, closing the wooden door. You decide to head to the kitchen and cook some arepas since you didn't feel like making a huge breakfast. You took out the sack of cornmeal from the cupboard, salt, and filled a bowl with warm water. A little bit later you had made the dough and were currently grilling them up. You lean against the counter and start thinking about what you had to do today. You knew you had to out this afternoon to meet- "Gah, what was his name..." You say to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and pinching the bridge of your nose. You snap your fingers a couple of times before running your hand over your face. "Carlos? No, it wasn't Carlos... Mateo? No-"

"Or was it Lorenzo..." You mutter, very focused on remembering his name. So focused that you forgot you were cooking. "O, o...it has an o." The arepas were starting to burn, and the neighbors could smell it. You slam your hand down on the counter, finally remembering what his name was. "Camilo!" And just as your hand touched the tile, one of the arepas went up in a small flame, turning the dough black and charred. You glance over, gasping and turning off the stove. Blowing out the fire, you swiftly pick up the hot arepas with two fingers, hissing at the pain. You toss them in the bowl of water, exhaling in disappointment. "Aw, man." You thought. Defeated, you settled on just eating fruit for breakfast.

After chopping up some mango, banana, and coconut, you put the fruit into two bowls. Taking one of them, you head back to abuelos room. Entering, you spot him sitting on the edge of his bed. Speaking quietly, you close the door behind you. "Buenos días, Abuelo." He yawns, itching his spotty beard. "Buenos días, (Y/N)." You step over to his bedside table, placing down the bowl and a fork. He sniffs the air, hawking up a cough. "Is someone burning something this early?" He asks, waving the smell away from his nose. You shrug, draping a blanket over his shoulders. "No idea."

Grabbing his fork he picks up a piece of mango from the bowl, slowly chewing it. "It was you, wasn't it?" He questions you, giving you a slightly intimidating glare. You stand there, shaking your head in disagreement. A long silence washes over the room as your grandfather continues to peer you down, chewing much slower. You let out a heavy sigh, leaning your head back. "Yes." You say in an annoyed tone. "I knew it. You can never cook arepas." He chuckles, continuing to eat. "I'm kidding. Do you have anything to do today, nieto?"

"Yeah. This afternoon I'm meeting up with a friend." You tell him, sitting next to him on the bed.

"That sounds interesting. How long have you known them?"

"Five minutes."

Your abuelo starts slightly choking on a piece of coconut. "Oye- Papá, chew it well!" You warn him as you start to pat his back. He regains his composure, sitting up and looking at you. "Five minutes? How do you know they don't have bad intentions with you?" He says, lightly smacking the back of your head. Flinching, you rub the spot he tapped before furrowing your brows. "It's a Madrigal, calm down." Your grandfather seems to settle down a little, but he still looks at you with suspicion. "Which one is it? Is it a girl?"