In sickness and in health

26

He couldn't sleep. His eyes had memorized the lines in the ceiling, your face hidden in all of them. The warmth of your smile held onto his mind like a vice. He'd been lost in the thought of you all day, even when you were right by his side, making faces from his remarks as his attempts to make you compliment him again fell short. He wanted so badly to hear you talk about him with that extra warmth in your voice you normally reserved for your family and closest friends, the ones who should be family, and only weren't in blood. When you'd held his face, staring into his eyes like his irises held all the secrets of the world and you wanted to memorize them all, he'd wanted so bad to close the small gap between the two of you, to kiss the words out of you, to move your lips with his own until you let out all the thoughts and feelings you kept bottled up in that beautiful head of yours. He could watch you mutter your worries for hours, the silent songs you'd mouth when you got distracted pulling his attention without even trying. It would be creepy, he thought, if you knew how often he caught himself staring at you, but for now, he would let himself indulge in these small pockets of fantasies.

He shifted in his bed, the covers bunching up at his side, his curious mind wondering if you were up as well, thinking of him like he was thinking of you. His hands reached towards the empty space at his side, your smile flashing behind his eyes as he tried to force himself to sleep. This was ridiculous. You were just his friend- his friend with kind eyes, and a sweet smile, and warm hands that he wanted to hold him forever while he kissed you senseless and then some. Was this what a crush was supposed to feel like, and he'd just never dealt with a real crush before? Were you the person who was going to change the way he looked at love for the rest of his life? With a heavy gulp, he realized that you already had.

When he woke the next morning, deep rings under his eyes, his family had decided they'd had enough of him wandering around aimlessly, waiting for the perfect opportunity to see you. Not everyone had met you, though everyone had heard him speak about you before, and that had been enough to judge your character. The poor boy was running himself into the ground just thinking about you, and his mother would not stand for that.

"Mi hijo, eat something! I can see you pushing your food around your plate," Pepa scolded her son, he blinked at his mother dazedly for a moment before pulling himself back into reality.

"Sorry, mamá," he said, wolfing down his food before he could even breathe, ignoring the exchanged glances between his family members.

"Camilo, is something...wrong?" Mirabel asked her cousin, who tilted his head at his cousin in confusion.

"No? Why would there be?" Camilo replied with slightly downturned lips.

"It's just- well, no offense, primo, but you look like death," Mirabel said, and Dolores nodded, Antonio looking over at his older brother curiously. Camilo's frown deepened as he looked back down at his plate.

"I'm telling you, I'm fine," Camilo mumbled, standing up and taking his plate to the sink. Pepa eyed her husband, who sighed and stood to go speak with his son.

"Camilo," Félix called out to his son, who paused on his way out the front door.

"Yes, Pa?" he replied, turning to face his father with a slightly guilty expression.

"Your mother told me that you've been going to speak with your friend in the town, (Y/n)," Félix continued, and Camilo nodded.

"Sí, she's a very good friend of mine," Camilo agreed, and his father sighed.

"Be careful, hijo. If you spend too long lost in your head, she will slip away before you even know she's gone," Félix warned, and Camilo sputtered for a moment, before looking down at his shoes, walking out the front door without another word.