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Bruno nervously palmed through his clothes. He didn’t have many, and the few he had weren’t in their best condition. La Familia Madrigal had always been well-off compared to anyone in their Encanto, and sure enough, they were famous for their impeccable style - among other things.
Not Bruno, though.
As with everything else, he was the exception. It hadn’t always been the case. There had been a time before his many, many failures when he’d worn his colourful shirts as proudly as Félix did, even daring to leave a few buttons open at the top. Back, when his hair was still dark, there weren’t quite as many crows feet under his eyes, and when his shoulders hadn’t sloped quite so dramatically under the weight of his inadequacy - he’d been proud of his clothes just as much as any men would be in their youth. Prancing with his colours and fine fabrics like a peacock - once upon a lifetime ago, he’d been one of those young men.
It didn’t last long, though.
Bruno Madrigal soon realised, he was nothing like Félix with his cheery songs, brash laughter and sunny shirts that turned Pepa’s head on the very first day she’d met him. He had never been anything like Agustín, clad from head to toe in finery, effortlessly wearing three-piece suits, hair styled perfectly even when he stumbled, breaking three of his bones and constantly citing poetry to Julieta while she tended to him.
He was Bruno Madrigal.
Bud-luck.
Cursed.
He was the boogeyman of children’s bedtime stories and the cautionary tale told to young women, warning them to arrive home before dark, or else.
As the rumours had grown, his wardrobe had shrunk. He’d never even realised it happened, except-
Now it would be nice to wear something… not quite chewed through.
“Come on, guys, was this really necessary?” Bruno sighed with bone-deep exhaustion as he pushed his fist through an armpit hole of his good white shirt.
A few rats around him just looked at each other, curious and puzzled. Some even shrugged at his strange behaviour before they scattered around to play - or do whatever rats did, while he descended into this weird situation. And truly, this was as strange as it got from Bruno.
Agonizing over three shirts, two pairs of pants, his stripey pyjama and his trusty green ruana - in other words, all of his wardrobe aside from a handful of underwear - was a bizarre experience.
Bruno Madrigal usually wore whatever. He had his bushy hair and his ruana to hide him from prying eyes, and the shadows and creaks in Casita’s walls did the rest when those weren’t enough. Normally, he wouldn’t even spare a second thought about a rat-chewed pair of trousers or sand in his hair, except…
This wasn’t a normal instance, was it?
"Oh, my, Tonito, you were right," Dolores squeaked from the doorway.
Bruno turned to see all his young sobrinos and sobrinas barge into his space like they owned the place. He felt the heat rising over his cheeks, and wasn't even sure what he felt more embarrassed about - the small pile of clothes laid out over his hammock or the torn white shirt he was clutching to his bare chest.
"W- what?" Bruno managed before Camilo closed the door behind him. The gentle click of the door and Casita's kindly creaking beams were loud to him, like resounding applause for a performance he didn't even know he was giving.
"Don't worry, tío , we'll help you," chirped Mirabel, and she adjusted her glasses with a smirk.
"H- Help me?" Bruno stuttered nervously, still clutching the shirt to his bare chest.
"Yes, well," Camilo raised an eyebrow at him and looked him over with such a displeased frown only teenagers could manage conjuring at adults. "You obviously need it."
At that, Luisa gently poked him in the shoulders, but even upon that gentle nudge, Camilo found himself on the ground.
"Is it really that bad?" he asked sheepishly.
Camilo was about to open his mouth again, but a bird of paradise found a sudden interest in his hair enough to distract him.
"Not bad, tío Bruno," whispered Dolores with a kind smile and slowly herded him to a cushion on the floor to sit down. She sat beside him. "You're just… out of practice."
"Well, you're not wrong there," he mumbled and looked away.
"You just need some help," assured Isabela, sitting on his other side. "Look at you, everything's already here, you just need a bit of… touching-up! Maybe calming down wouldn't hurt either."
"I mean… yes," chuckled Bruno without humour. "You’re right. What am I even doing, kids?"
Wiser men probably wouldn't have asked for advice from children, but he wasn't very wise, was he? If he had been, he wouldn't have fallen for a woman seven decades in the future.
"You're in love, tío Bruno," sniffed Luisa into an embroidered handkerchief. "It's so romantic. And you're about to go on a date."
"Isa and I will do your hair," murmured Dolores, casting great big doe eyes at him that had successfully convinced him long ago to give her candy before dinner. "Mirabel can work with this shirt, so you'll be all pretty."
"I'll give you a manicure, so you can calm down," wiped her tears Luisa and conjured her new manicure kit from seemingly thin air. "It helps with relaxing."
"You'll be the most dashing, handsomest man Doctor Emma Brown has ever seen. She wouldn't even know what hit her," giggled Mirabel, already slipping his shirt from his fingers and threading a needle.
"And if anyone tells me how she looks, you can practice your line on me," grinned Camilo with a wink.
"My- my line?" Bruno furrowed his brows in confusion.
"You know, for seduction," Camilo wiggled his eyebrows, and with a flourish, he changed into a beautiful, dark-skinned lady wearing a deep red gown. His voice was suddenly like honeyed silk, and his eyes half-lidded dark gems. "If you're smooth enough, you might even score a smooch," he mock-kissed in nothing with his full, painted-red lips before turning back to himself.
"Ew, 'Milo, that's gross," laughed Antonio, then squealed with delight when his brother started to chase him around with mock-kisses.
"I don't have a line," Bruno's eyes widened with horror. He didn't even care about the commotion - or the premise of a kiss. He knew better than to hope for one. But a certain romantic fluency would be required, wouldn't it? "Is that a thing? Do young people do that? She's a bit younger, and also in the future, so maybe she's a lot younger… ay, Dios , how do I get a line?"
The boys stopped with their play-fight, and the girls all paused with their gentle ministration. He was faintly aware that a good chunk of his hair was held up in a tight hold, and a wooden comb was frozen in its movement.
“Don’t pay attention to Camilo’s nonsense, tío ,” Isabela tried for a cheery tone but judging the way a thorny vine smacked his sobrino across the head, he suspected she wore a terrifying expression. “He doesn't know what he says.”
“It’s not like he was on a date before,” Mirabel furrowed her brows at her primo , and pointedly stabbed his shirt with her needle.
“Oi!”
“I wasn’t either,” Bruno mumbled and nervously threw salt over his shoulder when silence fell over them.
“Don’t worry about that, tío ,” grinned Camilo. “Experience is overrated anyways. She’ll think you’re chimba. ”
“Just be yourself,” Luisa resumed her gentle movements along his fingers.
“Say what you want to say to her, and don’t hold back,” Dolores whispered. “Tell her if you find her pretty or nice or brilliant. Believe me, tío , no matter how many times she heard it before, she’ll appreciate the praise.”
“Don’t try to be perfect,” Isabela smiled at him, and she summoned a single white flower into his hair. “Just have fun.”
“Dance with her,” Antonio held a capibara against his chest and spun around. “ Papá always dances with Mamá, and she’s always kissing him afterwards. I bet Doctora Brown would kiss you too if you just danced with her.”
“Thanks, kids,” Bruno muttered.
His face felt like a ripe tomato, but his heart was warming with every kind word of his young sobrinos and sobrinas . There were surprisingly good ideas among all the nonsense only children could think about.
Like bringing a beautiful bouquet Isabela gave him.
Tieing his hair back with a pretty embroidered ribbon he got from Mirabel.
“She might be confused. Or even scared,” Antonio said while he laid along on Prance’s spotted back. The surprisingly profound wisdom coming from a young child was a bit unnerving, but Bruno had to agree with the little boy. “I would be scared if I didn’t know I could speak to the animals but I still heard them. Maybe she needs some help?”
“I’ll offer,” Bruno promised, nodding solemnly. “Final verdict. Am I done?”
He felt so much better. The crisp white shirt was almost new, and he could barely see Mirabel’s fine stitches. The embroidered ribbon held back his unruly hair, and though he couldn’t hide behind his locks, he didn’t really feel the need anymore. Isabela’s bouquet was beautiful in his hands, and all that advice rang in his ears like an overeager concert.
“Well, I’m envious,” Dolores chuckled. “Here you are, all ready for your date, and I have to bring Mariano over for dinner before he can ask me out.”
“Ahm…” Bruno blushed. “To be honest, kid, I’m almost three decades your senior, so… let me have this?”
“Nah,” Mirabel grinned at him. “Go and have fun on your date, tío . We’ll tell the others for you.”
“Wait, no! Mira!” He tried to call after her, but Mirabel was already out of his door.
“Don’t sweat it, tío ,” laughed Camilo with a smug little smirk. “Everyone’s happy about you. But this is tradition.”
“Be home on time!”
“Have fun!”
One by one, all the kids left his room. A certain nervous anticipation settled around him. Though he knew, the breakfast the next day would be an awkward one, he couldn’t fight his smile.
He was ready for his date.
His date.
Bruno Madrigal was about to go on a date with none other than Emma Brown.
When the alarm clock went off on his desk, and Casita rattled around him with that same giddy energy he felt bubbling inside his chest, Bruno - for once in his life - felt like the luckiest man alive.