Whispers [Bruno Madrigal x Reader]

Prologue

Ugh.

You had never been, in all your 23 years, much of a morning person. For whatever reason, however, the sun chose your window to stretch it's long bright beams through that day, covering everything in a bit of a white haze. Blinking the sleep from your tired eyes allowed them to adjust to the morning that spilled into your bedroom. There was soft chatter coming from outside, a sure fire sign that you had slept in. It was Sunday, which was typically your delegated chores day, so there was certainly no rush to leap from the intoxicating comfort of your sheets. Still, there was work to be done and nobody was dying to do it for you.

Four months had passed since the rebuilding of la casa de Madrigal , four months since the usual noise from the family on the hill was alive with panic and chaos. You hadn't seen such unrest since that one ceremony. You were just barely a teenager when that had happened, when that poor girl touched the doorknob only to have it disappear beneath her palm. Whispers of a a dying magic had swirled throughout the encanto, you remember it well. Doubt can weigh heavily on a single person, it's effects on entire community are not always reparable. Things were so alive now, and when you had visited Julieta with a fractured collarbone a few weeks ago she was practically gushing with appreciation for her daughter. That same little girl who's eyes had filled with tears such a long time ago had truly saved her family and her town.

It was difficult not to smile as you considered the Madrigal family. How peculiar they were.

You had to past their home on your ambling path to the brook. Given your late start to the day-- it was pushing 10 o clock by the time you stumbled outside-- you had seemingly missed the bustle of their own morning activities. Everyone knew what they were up to, generally. Not only due to their positions in the community but simply because, well, they were loud. As you stepped further into the shade of the trees above you, you wondered what it would be like to be so well-known. You weren't a hermit by any means, but the pressure that comes along with being such a revered pillar supporting such an intimate little town was intimidating. Didn't any of them ever get overwhelmed? They had to, you decided, laundry basket bouncing on your hip as you shuffled towards the humming water. There was no way any person could handle all of that pressure on their own.

Wash was easy; it didn't exactly take a large mental toll to scrub your clothes. The cool water felt good around your ankles as you rolled up your stockings, bunching them loosely at your knees as you set to work on the many skirts, chemises, and blouses you had managed to go through that week. It was a wonder you had anything to wear at all, you thought to yourself as you laid out a now soaked, but clean, pair of stockings in the grass. Then a dress. Then a pair of bloomers. On and on until you only had a few more things left to rinse.

You'd managed to become so wrapped up in it all that you hadn't noticed the figure loitering about a hundred feet away. In fact, you could have missed him entirely if you hadn't been positively enthralled with the size of the bird that had taken off overhead in his direction.

He was difficult to make out at first. Lanky, though not terribly tall in stature either. He was sitting with his knees outward and the bottoms of his feet pressed together-- odd for a man his age. Dark curls brushed at his shoulders, framing a deep olive face. There was a level of focus he was keeping on the water in front of him that was admittedly a little curious. Really, it reminded you of the way you used to watch the fire dance in the hearth of your family home. Something about these forces are so easy to get lost in. Even as an adult you sometimes caught yourself caught up in the way the wind pulled the trees into an unwilling waltz. How mother nature commanded her creations. Was this stranger as much of a daydreamer as you?

There wasn't much time to consider it, though, because you had been caught staring. (Y/N), a young adult, caught staring at an older man with your undergarments in your hands. If that wasn't comical enough, albeit terribly embarrassing, the way he scrambled to his feet and hurried up the hill like a scared animal certainly was. Even though you were doing a totally casual thing, something you'd done every week since you were a teenager, the way the mystery man had leapt from his concentrated position by the water and hurried away made you feel as though you had invaded some deeply private and secretive ritual.

What was it that had scared him so badly? A man that age so painfully shy? All of these were things you pondered as you marched back home to carry out the rest of your daily agenda, clothes folded neatly in the basket at your hip. It weighed heavy on your mind, though, and before you consciously knew it, you were already planning to catch him there again.