Camilo x Reader -Broken Reflection

Chapter 4 (Its Complicated)

Y/N POV (second person pov)

"He made fun of my glasses!" You huffed and collapsed onto Mirabel's bed. She was laying on her stomach and embroidering one of her dresses while she listened to you rant.

"That's kind of just what he does," She replied. You laid next to her and picked up your own needle. Abuela sent the both of you to Mira's room to mend some of Antonio's clothes, but it was only you who was doing it. You placed your needle in between your teeth before smoothing the fabric of the little boy's trousers.

Helping Mira with her chores reminded you of being at home, but you didn't mind. It was the normalcy that you'd started to miss. It made you feel like you had a purpose for being at the Madrigal's house. The last thing you wanted to do was be a free-loader. Mending Antonio's clothes was comforting- it reminded you of how you used to mend your little brother's things. He'd always nag and pull at you, begging for you to finish faster so that you could play with him. You smiled to yourself but it quickly faded when Mirabel continued to talk about her cousin.

"He makes fun of my glasses all the time. And Isa. She uses her vines to make my frames and imitates me with them." Mirabel rolled her eyes and pulled her thread through the cloth. She was making a little flower near the hem of her skirt.

"But then Camilo called me Orchid-head!" You continued, but with the needle in my mouth, it sounded more like, "en ven he card me Orchif-heaf!"

Mirabel laughed at that and you couldn't help but do the same. Her laugh was contagious. Finally, you said, "tell me about him. Camilo, I mean." Because, no matter how revolting he was even though you'd only had a brief conversation with him, you still vividly remembered his sweet scent and the slender figure of his caramel hands. You didn't even want to think about how his voice was smoother than fresh honey.

Mirabel turned onto her back and lifted her knees to her chest as she thought for a few moments.

"He's a loud theatre kid," She said finally. You laughed again and she continued. "He's super noisy and has a huge personality, and he's-"

"Revolting?" You tried. Mirabel shook her head.

"Sometimes, but that's just how a family is. Camilo's a sweet guy and you'll come to see it," She said and glanced at you. "And he's a mama's boy," She added and giggled a little.

You could tell by the way Mirabel spoke of him that she loved him a lot- after all, they grew up together and were the same age. You couldn't imagine how disappointed she was when she saw him get his gift and she didn't. If Mira was still upset about it, she was good at hiding it. She told you about how when she didn't get her gift, Camilo refused to shift in front of her and that he's still a little hesitant to do so.

If he really was such a compassionate and kind boy, he certainly wasn't the same towards you. You looked down at your hands and frowned. Why did you care so much about whether or not he liked you? You'd never really been one to dwell too much on things like that.

"He hates me!" You wailed finally, falling back on Mira's mattress. There was no other explanation you could think of as to why he was so cold towards you. You bit your lip in frustration and yelped when you felt your needle prick your finger.

Camilo's POV

The truth was that she had the prettiest eyes that he'd ever seen. The night she arrived, Camilo barely looked at her but he'd seen enough of her to know that he had to avoid looking at her for as long as possible. He felt like an idiot when he didn't even introduce himself, but Camilo couldn't risk looking up at her and catching her eyes. But eventually, he did, and when their gazes held, he knew that he'd never want to look away.

She still had remnants of flowers in her hair at breakfast. Camilo resisted the urge to pluck them out when they stood together in the kitchen. She complimented his ruana, and nobody does that except for his mother and it doesn't count when your mom does it. Her glasses were three sizes too big and Mirabel's dress was a little small. She was embarrassingly short and her skin was too blotchy from the sun. She was too apologetic and feisty at the same time, but something about her made Camilo want to get to know her a little more.

"I'm sorry," Camilo said and shifted to look like her. He turned and faced where he stood seconds ago and looked into one of his mirrors.

"You suck, Camilo! You called me short." He shifted back into his original form and looked back into the mirror.

"I didn't mean to," He replied. Again, he shifted to look like her.

"You called me weak and made fun of my glasses," He said in a high-pitched voice to sound like her.

Camilo sighed and shifted back into his original form. No matter how he apologized, he knew that she'd still be mad at him. He knew he could have asked Dolores to listen to her conversations with Mirabel, but she'd only make fun of him for caring. He could have asked Bruno to see what the future held, but he was still a little hurt that Camilo said he fed on people's screams.

Camilo thought about how she frowned when he called her Orchid-head. He thought the nickname was witty but she'd only been offended. Why were girls so complicated?

Camilo looked into his mirror. It was cracked in three different places. He'd never been violent, but one day he'd gone as far as to punch one of his mirrors when he didn't know what else to do. The impact hurt more than he could have imagined and he learned his lesson when his aunt Julieta made him wait for his body to heal himself.

"You're at a vulnerable age," She'd told him. "Do not bottle up these emotions and take them out on the things we own."

But what Julieta did not understand was that he had no one to turn to. Antonio was too young and his parents needed him to be strong for the family. Dolores and his cousins wouldn't understand and he knew that Mirabel wouldn't know how to help. The feeling of being alone hurt more than how his knuckles ached. The scars that the mirror shards left on his knuckles were a subtle reminder to him that he had to appear to be okay, even if he really wasn't. Maybe if he looked like he was fine, he'd feel it- even if he didn't look like himself for most days.