Camilo Madrigal×Male Reader

•Dinner with the Madrigal's

Guide:
(Y/N)=Your Name
(F/C)=Favorite Color
(H/L)=Hair Length
(H/C)=Hair Color

You look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, flattening down your silky (f/c) colored unbuttoned dress shirt. You roll up the sleeves just a little above your elbows, clearing your throat as you slick back your (h/l) (h/c) hair. You stare for a second, slightly adjusting the necklace Camilo had given you the day before. To say you were nervous was the least detailed way to describe it. Tonight, you would be meeting his Abuela, who has relatively high expectations. So, for Camilo's sake, you wanted to try and look your best. You tug up your dress pants a bit, tucking the bottom of your undershirt into the waist.

"Nieto, are you almost ready?" Abuelo calls out to you from his room. The walls in your house are pretty thin, so it's not too difficult to hear his shouts. You promptly check your teeth and splash on a bit more cologne, rushing out of the bathroom. "Sí, casi, Abuelo!"

Abuelo emerges from his room, wearing a dark green striped dress shirt, and, of course, his slippers. He can't wear fancy shoes anymore, as his ankles started bothering him a couple of years ago. You hook your arm under his, assisting him to the living room and into his chair. He groans in relaxation as he takes a seat, reclining back into it. "I still don't know how in the hell I'm getting there." Abuelo pinches the bridge of his nose in mild frustration. You weren't exactly sure either. All Camilo told you was he would take care of it, and that "it" would arrive around late noon when you were supposed to be on your way. You shrug your shoulders, sitting on the coffee table. "I'm just as confused as you are, Papá."

As Abuelo was about to speak, you both hear a rather heavy knock against your front door. You get up to answer it, seeing a very tall and muscular woman holding a wooden wheelchair under her right arm as you open it. It was Luisa, Camilo's older cousin. "O-Oh, Luisa." She smiles widely, setting down the wheelchair. "Hey, (Y/N)! Are you guys ready to go?" She asks, resting her hands on her hips. You give her a small nod, completely opening the door. Gently grabbing your grandfather's forearm, you help him arise from the chair. He walks out onto the front porch, Luisa quickly holding onto his other arm and helping him down the three short steps. He plops down into the wheelchair, coughing a bit. He looks up at Luisa, patting her hand. "Gracias, cielo."

She welcomes him, starting small talk about how his day has been. You go back into the house real fast, stuffing your cloth bag with a small pouch of your Abuelos herbal tea leaves, an extra pair of his clothes, and his necessary toiletries. Snatching up his blanket on the way out, you secure up the house. You spread the blanket over your Abuelos legs, go behind the wheelchair, then take hold of the handles, and begin following Luisa to the casita. The sun was just about to set, a couple of the townspeople took the responsibility to light up the candles inside the lampposts. "Are the wheels rolling smoothly?" Luisa asks, glancing down at you. You glance back at her. "Yeah. Did Andres make this?" You question and point a finger down to the wheelchair, referring to one of the many woodworkers. Luisa shakes her head. "Nope! That was all Camilo."

You tilt your head at her in confusion. "You mean Camilo built this? Really? Camilo?" You emphasize, almost not believing what she said. Persistent, Luisa nods again. "I'm not even joking. He built that whole thing. He spent all night on it." She tells in all seriousness.
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Meanwhile, at the casita, the Madrigal's were running around frantically, setting out the tableware and trying to hurry with the food before you got there too early. Isabella sets a vase in the middle of the large dinner table, elegantly growing a bouquet of pink roses and planting them in. Mirabel is aggressively sweeping, Pepa is helping decorate the dining room, and Camilo is pacing back and forth, biting his fingernails with anxiety. Looking at the table setup, he rushes over, adjusting the vase a tad to the left. He straightens the tablecloth, blowing off a piece of lint. Isabella rolls her eyes, organizing out the forks and knives. "Don't you think you're overthinking it?" She remarks with a cocky attitude. Camilo, barely paying attention, fixes one of the chairs. "Don't you think you need to shut up?"