I Dream of Disney (Volume II)

I Remember Bruno (no, no) [Bruno Madrigal x Reader] Part II

Part II: Don't Call Me Jealous - I'm ... Er. . . Attentive. 

I remember watching Bruno as the family pressures began to strain him. I remember watching him secretly from out of the corner of my eye, seeing his face change when he thought I wasn't looking. Feeling my heart break. 

"What is your problem, viejito?"

Bruno rolled his eyes at the nickname but I could see that there was more troubling him than he would say. It had become a quirk of mine to call him old man from time to time as he was near seventeen years old, and I was still fifteen. Then I would tease him about that one silver hair that he just could not get rid of, which he spent all of his time worrying and teasing but he just couldn't pull it out. At this time his male genetics had finally gotten the better of me and he towered over my diminutive stature, which lead to the nickname of. . .

"Conejito," Bruno remarked, "You're going to walk into someone if you're not paying attention."

Little Bunny.

I tried to argue but he put his hands over my shoulders and steered me through the crowd, which I did appreciate as his taller height and family name made the crowds part and we glided through the marketplace. I tapped him on the hand to let him know where I wanted to go.

"I know there's something wrong," I called through the din, "I can see it in your eyes."

Bruno pretended not to hear.

Though he wouldn't say until we were out of the earshot of every doting local, who looked upon the Madrigals as heroes with their supernatural powers, I could only guess too well that the problem had probably been planted by his mother's hands. It seemed like only a few weeks ago when Bruno had started to tell people's prophecies in the town square, where lines upon lines of troubled locals appeared for their prophecies and either left elated or much more troubled than before. Just as the lines appeared in the square, the lines of worry started to appear around his eyes.

As we weaved past carts, some emptied and some overflowing with wares, I became strangely aware of how warm Bruno's fingertips were as they cushioned my shoulders. Had his hands always been so big? So strong-feeling? It must have been some illusion, I figured, because why else would he choose to spend the time with me and not to go play sports with the other boys his age?

That scrawny, cow-licked boy I met was still in that too-careful grip. The same tremble in his voice. Even if he was starting to look and act different. He was still my best friend: Bruno, Tamer of Bulls.

"Do you see anything that you want?" Bruno breathed into my ear, ruffling my hair as he steered me.

"No," I replied quickly. "But I do want to know what's - "

"Look!" Bruno exclaimed. "Sea glass – your favourite!"

Point to Bruno. The second that I saw the sea glass, I completely forgot what we were talking about.

There were glares thrown to me but I threw caution to the wind. My hands buried into the vase of the rare and beautiful shards of sea glass, some of which were perfectly rounded and others which were still rather grainy and rough. They scraped into the curve of my palm and fell with a delightful tinkle through my fingertips. I repeated this motion several times: opening and closing my fingertips, letting them fall through and then collecting them again. I sighed blissfully.

"Marin," The shopkeeper scolded. "If you touch it, you buy it."

"And if I lick it," I suggested, "it's free?"