Encanto: After

Tense & Trivial Sights & Sounds

Shatter!

Time: 09:06 AM

Sat around the table, the family winced at the splintering sounds coming from upstairs. More specifically, Camilo's room. It seemed he wasn't coming down today. Expected, really — but still saddening for the children especially, who were always the most eager for his shine in the morning.

Jaime glanced up expectantly, but nothing quietened. "It seems that way. I don't think he'll be down in another week at this point, familia."

Julieta sadly hummed, "Give him time, Jaime. He'll be gleaming again soon."

Pepa threw sharpened eyes at her sister, "Time is relative."

Agustín sighed, looking down, "Time is slow today. Hope's going to be coming down much slower than usual."

Time, right? Time, no matter how slow, wouldn't soothe Dolores' ears. Whilst the cold glass cracked at the impact of the cracking floor, and the cries of agony and resent raged in the room above — the dreaded silence of everything loomed over her more closely.

And the worst part about it — the thing that even more so made her dread — was the lack of her eldest son: Álvaro.

He was always so silent. Even when he was first born — when Dolores had first set her sights on his own innocent, sparkling eyes — he never cried. It was an oddity. To be honest, the whole family was quite worried about his quietude. Still, he grew; his odd stillness (thankfully?) lasting through his toddler years (Dolores being very lucky not to have to deal with the terror of tantrums from her first-born) and up until this moment.

Well, that had changed now; Camilo happened.

Whatever anger had manifested inside of her brother for him to just burst out like that at her dearest son, Dolores didn't know. All she knew was that she didn't feel like vilifying Camilo.

Mariano glanced over to Antonio, who didn't seem very enthusiastic about his food — which was certainly new for him — who was just playing around with his meal with his spoon. Something was off; he seemed to be the only one to see that.

"Toñi?", Mariano pressed, trying to spark a conversation.

His head suddenly jerked up at his voice, but then fell down at the sight of him, "Oh, just you..."

...Just him? Last time Mariano had checked, he was definitely more than 'just him' to Antonio, but that response was merely evidence of the breaking state of the family at this point. Still, Mariano gave him his best smile.

"We didn't get to see you after you ran out yesterday. Are you alright?"

Antonio didn't even look at him, "...I'm fine."

Mariano nodded, "Right. I'm just making sure."

Surely, Antonio wasn't truly as he said. Mariano saw through his words, as clear as day. Whether he'd decided for this transparency to be unfortunate or fortunate, Mariano at least knew how his cuñado was feeling. That sadly couldn't be said for his son though.

Álvaro's silence had bombed his parents' minds.

The family wasn't as steeled against silence as Álvaro was. It was so much so that 'silence' had become a friend of his. Silence embraced him, always — and Mariano didn't have the power to even rip its vice grip off Álvaro. No, he could only watch it consume. And Dolores? Well, she would have to wait and listen for the drop of sound in an eternal silence. And in that silence, Alvaro's issue, the very silence they were surrounded by, had bombed his parents' minds.