Coco: One shots, Preferences, and Scenarios ((Requests Closed!!)

S: How you first met

Miguel

It was a scorcher of a day, even for Santa Cecelia. The sun in the sky was radiating down onto your head and you feared your very scalp would catch fire. 

"Y/N! Ven aca! Come help me with these groceries!" You heard your mother's distant voice shouting.

"Ay.....coming, Mama!" You belted, dreading the thought of having to be outside any longer than you already have been. You halfheartedly trot up to your mother who plops two large bags into your arms. You grunt as the weight of them nearly pulls you to the ground. Your mother rolls her eyes.

"You're being so dramatic, pequena...," You scoff at her remark and make your way slowly into your home. It was a small home, but cozy nonetheless. You slam the bag onto the wooden table with a loud thud and allow your head to follow suit, slapping it onto the table with an equally satisfying thud. You had to find a way to cool off! You racked your mind for a solution. Then it hit you, the lake just a short walk away! Perfect!

"Mama!" You call out, hoping that your voice could reach your mother, wherever she may be. "May I go down to the lake? I wanna go for a swim!"

"Por supuesto, mi amor. Ten cuidado!" She hollers in response. Music to your ears!

"Gracias, Mama!" You bound out of the house before she's even done her sentence. With each step you take towards the lake, you can feel a slight breeze hit your face occasionally, increasing in frequency with every step. Now the clearing of the lake is within your sights. The buildings around you stop abruptly and the path you're traveling empties into a clearing with the lake square in the center. Beautiful, you think to yourself. 

It's then that you notice you are not there alone. There was a boy there, about your age. He was playing a guitar, which seemed to be home made. It was patched together using what appeared to be material scraps, splintered pieces of wood, and fishing line. Despite the ratty shape of the guitar, the boy seemed undisturbed. His eyes were closed as he let his fingers travel across the fret boards lightly. His jet-black hair flowed in the small breeze and gently flapped at his face. 

You immediately became entranced by his music. How he managed to make that....thing make such lovely sounds was beyond you. You approached slowly, as if he were a wild animal, and the mere sight of you may make him flee. He finished his song. It was time to make your presence known.

"That was lovely, muchacho!" You shout towards him. At first, it looked like he had seen a ghost. His head whipped around violently, searching for the source of the voice. 

Then he laid his eyes on you. 

He yelped a bit, startled to see anyone was around. He seemed to look around you, behind you. As if he was looking to see if you were alone.

"G-G-Gracias." He stated flatly. His brown eyes appeared wracked with worry but also filled with genuine gratitude for the compliment. "...Who are you?" He asked.

"I'm Y/N L/N." You reply, taking a couple small steps forward.

"I'm Miguel Rivera." He put his guitar across his back and started to twiddle his thumbs together. It was only now that you noticed how red his face was. And you don't think it was from the sun.

"Why are you playing here all alone?" You inquire, genuinely curious why he was keeping such talent a secret. Miguel sighs heavily.

"It's mi familia." He admits with a thick layer of sadness to his voice. "They have banned music from our lives. They would FREAK if they heard me playing..."

"That's....a real shame...," you mumble, defeated. "You really are talented." You wanted to think of some way to cheer him up as talking about his family hating the thing he clearly loved took all the wind out of his sails. "H-hey, cheer up!" You pat his back lightly. "I don't mind being your audience!"