Trigger warning: Suicidal thoughts and self-harm. If these are triggers for you, please email me at [email protected] for an edited version! 💗

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Basking in the warming rays of a dawning sun, eyes closed against its bright glare, Bruno felt himself blissfully at peace. So much so, that it was all he could do to keep from embracing the enemy that was sleep, and dozing off. Hernando seemed to feel similarly, lying the opposite direction, their heads resting close together. The only sounds they could hear were the wind in the trees, and the morning song of birds. 

It wouldn't be much longer before town would wake, and when that happened, even here in this secluded space of green and growing things, the commotion would be inescapable. But for now they relished the quiet, and the solitude. For now, finally everything seemed good.

"¡Buenos días!" Bruno murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

"You already said that." Hernando yawned through his smile.

"Oh," Bruno laughed, "Still though, it's a good morning." 

Turning to look at the beautiful young man laying beside him. He cherished the gentle curvature of his smile, the thick black lashes that veiled his luminous coffee hued eyes, and his splendid tussle of hair. How he loved him so utterly Bruno could not say, for voicing such a beautiful feeling would truly condemn him to Hell. Still, the love hung in his heart like a bell, ringing out loud, clear, and undeniable. 

"What are you doing?" Hernando asked after a few minutes of Bruno's staring. 

"Nothing." Bruno lied, turning away.

"Really? I thought I felt you staring at me." The blind youth grinned.

"I wasn't staring." Bruno snapped defensively.

"Then what were you doing?" Hernando crooned.

"Thinking."

"What about?"

"That bug on your face." Bruno lied, thinking quick on his feet. The other boy was soon alive with terror and disgust trying in vain to get the imaginary insect off his face.

"Got it!" Bruno declared giving Hernando's cheek a flick.

By the time Hernando had stopped shouting and shuddering, the sound of the Encanto coming to life had reached their little oasis. This meant, in Bruno's mind that they had at least one more hour before their absence would truly be felt. It was an hour that he meant to cherish.

Hernando on the other hand became increasingly agitated as the time passed by. Soon he began to fidget, and readjust himself uncomfortably on the ground. It wouldn't have been such a problem for Bruno, if not for his perpetual sighing and the occasional bump of an elbow, as the young man flipped this way and then that way on the hard packed earth. Irritated, that after weeks apart because of Bruno's perceived villainy, the fact that he couldn't just enjoy a quiet moment with the boy who set his heart and mind aflame all of Bruno's inner turmoil set to boil over.

At last he sat up, brows knit together tightly.

"What?" he snapped. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," Hernando muttered, rolling guiltily to his side.

"It's something," Bruno countered, nudging him with his foot. "Tell me," he prodded.

"It's just my Mamá," Hernando murmured, upset clear in his tone.

"I know!" Bruno railed, burning with the injustice of their situation. "I don't understand what I have done so wrong, or what I need to do to prove to people that I don't make the bad things happen! You'd think they'd be grateful for a warning, but no! And for her to finally give in, now? What is she expecting suddenly I'll have some marvelous revelation to share?"

Hernando rolled back his expression one of pure exasperation, "Not that, stupid!" he said, reaching out to shove his friend, catching him on the knee. "Do you really think she just decided that we could be friends again? No. She doesn't know where I am. Why do you think we aren't at the fountain, where people can see us? Its not that."

Bruno felt incredibly stupid for missing the mark of Hernando's upset, and even more so when the circumstances of their meeting had been spelled out for him. Giving more thought to the matter, he found himself immensely relieved that the other boy could not see the color rising in his cheeks. Bruno felt butterflies in his stomach at the thought that this was a secret rendezvous. It was, in his mind, extremely romantic.

No, the young man shook his head, they were only friends, Hernando had even said so. He didn't feel the same, and even if he did, it wouldn't, couldn't work, it was not only impossible it was very, very wrong.

"What is it then?" Bruno inquired, failing to resist the urge to reach out and run his fingers through Hernando's unkempt hair. "Do you even own a brush?"

"Do you?" Hernando laughed, leaping up only to knock Bruno back down. Both hands roughed through Bruno's tangle of dark curly hair, sending little rodents fleeing as they roughhoused, rolling back and forth over one another fingers tickling, limbs entangling.

Eventually the teenagers stopped, with Bruno straddling his friend, Hernando's wrists pinned as he laughed and wormed on the ground. Bruno's body burned, heart hammering, everything inside of him wanted Hernando, screamed to kiss him. It was all he desired in the world, yet, he couldn't.

"Beat you." he panted, climbing off Hernando's stomach as quickly as he could, to keep from doing something they would both regret. Trembling, eyes squeezed shut against the well on unwanted feelings and desire he slowly stretched out on the grass again.

"This time." Hernando assured, scooting to be closer to Bruno, until they were touching.

Lying near together now, Hernando curled into Bruno's side. A bittersweet contentment found itself at home in the Madrigal youth's chest. He knew he wouldn't survive without Hernando in his life, and nothing was worth risking their friendship, or souls over.

"My Mamá doesn't think I can do anything." Hernando murmured then. "I asked her if I could get an apprenticeship, and she said that I didn't need to worry about such things, that she would always take care of me, but I can take care of myself!" he bellowed at last, frustration, and dismay causing a tremor to quake through him. "I'm not a child anymore, and I don't need her to protect me! I can make my own way in the world. I want to make my own way in the world!"

Bruno listened mournfully as his friend lamented his plights. It wasn't fair, no more fair than what he was going through with his visions, he felt. They had become increasingly violent and came in clusters now. His nights raged with such carnage and despair that the thought of taking his own life to escape everything he witnessed played frequently through his mind. He knew how, and when to do it. When no one would be home to stop him. Only, he couldn't do it. Not to Mamá, not Julieta, or Pepa, and not to Hernando. 

For them he held onto a life he wasn't sure was worth living anymore. 

As he listened the Madrigal boy longed for a way to make the world right and fair for Hernando. He wanted to show everyone that he was worth more than anyone bargained for, capable, talented, and above all fearless. Amidst his brooding an idea came to mind, and Bruno smirked deviously.

"Why don't you ask around, and get an apprenticeship without telling her?" he questioned. "I mean if you can sneak away to see me, surely you can find the time to work while she's away, and then what can she say after you've proven that you can do it?"

"Oh my God ..." the young man breathed, sitting. "Bruno, you're a genius!" Hernando leapt to his feet, and began pacing around the little clearing. "That's what I'll do! I just won't tell her! Bruno, I could kiss you!"

His heart aflutter, Bruno watched with longing as his friend rushed away back towards town, cane swinging in one hand, waving and calling out his gratitude as he went. Happy and hopeful for Hernando, Bruno watched him go, a hollow ache growing inside as he then found himself, as he often did, alone.

Except for the occasional bout of recklessness with his sister Pepa, he spent his next several days alone within the crowds that ambled about town square. In that time Bruno felt the return of the deep, abiding melancholy he was plagued by both day and night. He could never sleep, and now, most days he couldn't even eat.

The things he saw stole away his ability to even think, as what rest he did get was haunted by visions and prophecies some anxiously clouded and uncertain, others clear in their dire reality. All Bruno ever saw was death, doom, and destruction.

His time with Hernando had become the only foundation he had left to stand on anymore, the rest of the time it was merely sand beneath his feet, and you couldn't build a house or a life on a field of sand. Now though he felt adrift.

Days passed, and his sorrows grew deeper. Muted by the pain, he watched his family and community move on without him.

No one would even notice if I disappeared, he thought one evening during dinner, as he listened to his sisters and mother chat with a casual ease. The revelation was both somehow a comfort, and a new source of dread.

Then, one night as Bruno found himself pacing about his dry arid room, throat parched, a green wisp of sand kicked up about his feet. He felt, and knew, that he had to go to the front door of Casita. The reason as to why still alluding him, he was reluctant to go.

Chewing his bottom lip, the young man fretted, letting out a strangled cry. It was going to be something bad, he thought. The feeling grew stronger, and stronger, buzzing like a gnat around his head until Bruno had no choice but to give in.

Tossing salt over his shoulder as left his sunlit dimension, Bruno emerged into a dark, quiet house, the steady patter on rain beating upon the roof. Tiptoeing down the hall he peeked, just to be sure that Pepa was sleeping securely in her bed. No, this rain wasn't hers, it was natural. Bruno heaved a sigh of relief for his sister. Walking down the stairs he approached the door, Casita rousing beneath his feet. Bruno reached for the doorknob with his left hand, fingers crossed with the right, and opened the door.

There, in the dark, drenched to the bone, stood Hernando.

"Bruno?" he asked meekly.

"Si! Hernando, look at you! What are you doing?" Bruno rushed out, anger flaring through him as he grabbed Hernando by both wrists and dragged him inside.

"Bruno, you saved my life!" Hernando exclaimed tossing his crook aside and allowing himself to go limp, falling into Bruno's arms, trusting implicitly that he would catch him.

"What? How?" Bruno grumbled, struggling under the weight of his much taller friend.

"You saved me, I love you!" Hernando went on gushing. Though the words gave him a thrill, Bruno doubted the intent behind them, and found himself angrily questioning whether or not the other young man was drunk.

Propping Hernando against the wall, Bruno found something to begin toweling him off with. Fretting like a worried mother he mopped the rain from his hair and face, before wiping at the mud that caked his chest and legs, indicating that his journey through the sudden November rains had not been an easy one.

"You're bleeding," Bruno observed, tending to a badly skinned knee.

"Didn't you hear me? You saved my life!" Hernando said again, reaching for Bruno he pulled him up into an embrace.

Hugging him back, Bruno just had to ask, murmuring "Are you drunk?" into the wet folds of Hernando's shirt.

"No!" the blind young man chortled. "I'm just happy! I wanted you to be the first to know, but I had to wait for Mamá to fall asleep,"

"The first to know what, why I haven't seen you for days? Why you showed up at my house in the middle of the night like a mad man?" Bruno questioned with mounting irritation, their reunion fast becoming an inquisition. "Why you've lost what little bit of sanity you had left?"

Seriousness washed over Hernando's expression. Peeling himself away from the wall he cupped Bruno's face, the tips of his fingers fluttering lighting along his cheeks. Bruno's eyes fell closed at the sensation, heart swelling.

"I want to 'see' your reaction," Hernando explained. "I'm sorry I've been gone, but I took your advice. I've been going to everyone in town looking for an apprenticeship. I've been relentless, I haven't stopped, I've hounded everyone."

Bruno smiled.

"But no one wanted the blind boy."

"Hernando -"

"Shush! No one wanted me; it was a simple fact. No one thought I was capable, no one believed that I could do the work, any work, or do it as well as someone sighted. I didn't give up though," he said, swallowing a lump of emotion.

"Then Señor Ortiz approached me in the square, took me to his loom and had me feel his threads. He wanted to see if I could differentiate them by touch and texture if not by sight. He said I'd done well, but that I still had much to learn. He said that he had stopped doubting my abilities after that day, on the wall?" Hernando said his tone falling to a whisper as tears threatened to overwhelm him.

"I remember," Bruno breathed, anticipation and excitement flooding through him.

"Bruno, I'm a weaver's apprentice! I'm going to be a weaver! I'm going to make my own way!" All at once he was crying, and now it was Bruno's turn to pull him into an embrace. "I've never been so happy!" Hernando whispered, trembling with feeling.

"Me either!" Bruno wept for joy.

All of the uncertainty, all of the hopelessness, seemed to ebb out of Hernando with each tear as they held one another. Bruno shook all over, overcome with pride, joy, and the promise that his friend's future was at last secured, and immeasurably bright. Outside of one another's arms the world passed them by, as for them time stood still. Bruno couldn't seem to hold Hernando tight enough, his nose pressed flat against his shoulder, they clung to one another as though they would die should they let go.

They stayed like that for several minutes before Bruno stepped back. "I'm so proud of you," he laughed, dreamlike disbelief coloring his reaction. "A weaver, wow! You're going to be incredible!"

"Thank you!" Hernando laughed back, wiping at his tears with a hint of embarrassment hueing his cheeks. "I've got a lot of work ahead of me," he admitted. "And I'm going to be busy a lot, but I will always go to the fountain, midday, I promise."

"You'd better!" Bruno remarked, making a fist and gently punching his friend with it.

"I will, I promise," Hernando vowed.

The two stood quietly for a while, the air between them filled with all the words they dare not speak. Bruno was deeply panged by the idea of their lives changing, of drifting apart, of losing him. The very idea felt a little bit like he was losing a part of himself. Taking a deep breath he forced all of these negative thoughts and emotions aside, refusing to allow them to pollute Hernando's big moment. Truthfully he was very happy for him.

"Well," Hernando said after a bit. "I think I should probably head back home."

"But it's still raining," Bruno interjected.

"I made it here in one piece didn't I?"

"Barely! ...Why don't you just stay here tonight?" the Madrigal boy offered, feeling awkward excitement run through him.

Hernando seemed to give it some thought before agreeing. "Alright, that's a much better idea. I'll just sleep in -" he began moving towards one of the living spaces adjacent to the kitchen when Bruno grabbed his hand to stop him.

"My room," he said in a rush, heart hammering away, the words leaving his mouth the moment the insane, impossible, wonderful idea came to him. "Come stay in my room."

Nothing happened for a beat, then Hernando paused and turned, the peculiar lift to his brows conveying to Bruno who knew his expressions well, both confusion and deep interest. "You've never let me in your room before." he muttered, a quirk coming to his lips.

"I've, uh, never really let anyone in my room before." Bruno confessed, staring self-consciously at the way Hernando's hand fit so well in his own.

"Why now?" the other boy asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he turned.

"You're wet and going to catch a cold, my room is warm and dry, and always sunny." Bruno scrambled, trying to cover for himself. How could he say that he just wanted to be close to him, that he was secretly afraid that nothing would ever be the same between them again, that he was worried that their friendship which meant so much to him would eventually wither and die?

"Are you sure it's alright?" Hernando asked. "I'll be fine down here."

"Yes," Bruno nodded. "I'm sure, please, I want you to."

Still holding hands, dizzy by the very prospect of inviting Hernando in, Bruno led the way first up the main flight of stairs, then up his private stair, pausing only briefly before opening the door. Blinking back the light, which seemed harsh and bright compared to darkness he had just stepped out of, Bruno eagerly led Hernando through the door and into the dry desert that was his private dimension.

It wasn't as beautiful as his sisters' rooms, or as seemingly majestic. Golden sand reflected golden sun and had, originally, stretched for miles in all directions, the only visible landmark his vision cave, giving the space a lonely desolate feeling. As he got older however, and grew to resent his gift the cave became just as distant from him as he was from his "blessing," putting up walls that mirrored the ones Bruno used to separate himself from his family, for, he felt, their own protection.

Mountains now rose up from the sand in jutting spires to encompass one small area of desert, which remained sunlit and warm. His cave resided in the peak of the tallest ridge. It was accessible only through a spiral of stairs that, as his emotion and suffering grew, seemed to follow suit as of now it seemed a substantial climb.

Self-conscious, and suddenly embarrassed, Bruno realized what a bad idea this was, and how arduous the climb would be, just to have somewhere to sleep. Then, without warning and at his very desire, something happened. Beginning as a mirage, a large, and spacious tent appeared a short distance away. Bruno knew somehow that inside the tent was a lavish array of pillows, and thin billowy fabric to wind oneself in, in place of heavy, unnecessary blankets.

Still, this space was far from worthy of Hernando's presence. Tinged with regret, he turned to apologize to Hernando and offer to take him back outside, when he saw the other boy kneeling, fingers plunged deep into the hot sand.

A broad smile on his face, Hernando took a deep breath of the warm air, plunging his hands deeper and deeper into the sand until it went all the way up to his elbows. "This is fantastic!" he sighed, bliss written upon his face. "I've never felt anything so good!"

Bruno found himself smiling as Hernando found some way to praise his room. "Is it all like this?" Hernando asked cautiously, kicking his shoes off and walking about, hands outstretched.

"Yeah," Bruno nodded, seeing the space through new, rose-colored eyes. "It's almost all desert, except for the mountains, but they're not much of mountains, more like steep cliffs," he explained. "Would you like to go to my tent? I have heaps of pillows, and if we ever get too hot it fills with a gentle breeze."

Hernando snorted at the idea, pulling off his wet shirt as he did. Bruno couldn't tear his gaze away as the blind boy spread the sopping-wet clothes out on the hot sand to dry. His form was long and lithe, lean muscle encompassing an almost overly-tall frame. He had little horizontal stretch marks along his back and shoulders from growing as quickly as he had, Bruno realized, it only added to his endearing quality.

"Why would you sleep anywhere but here?" Hernando asked, lowering himself to the ground. Stretching out across the warm but not-too-hot sands, he let out an appreciative sigh, his form relaxing almost immediately. "This is nice!"

With a half-smile, Bruno joined him, taking off his shirt as well and using it as a shield for his eyes against the sun. He did have to admit, the sand felt very nice, radiating warmth and life throughout him. They chatted casually, conversation light, like any they might have had on their bench or one of their secret spots around town, until Hernando shifted position, resting his head on Bruno's chest.

"Is this alright?" he asked.

Shocked and exhilarated, Bruno couldn't respond immediately, only internally condemning the rampant beating of his own heart. Of course it was alright, this was all he'd ever wanted!

"Yeah, sure," he agreed, too afraid to move at first. It took all of the steel in his nerves to wrap an arm about the other young man's shoulders. Though, his heart sang, his mind screamed that this was wrong.

"I don't know how I'm ever going to repay Señor Ortiz for taking me on," Hernando murmured thoughtfully.

"Just be the best apprentice you can be, and take everything he teaches you to heart, I guess," Bruno offered, peering at his friend from beneath the protective cloth he had layered over his eyes. The other boy looked comfortable, but wore a worried expression.

"That goes without saying," Hernando agreed. "I know he's taking on a lot more work with me than any other boy in town, so I aim to be the best apprentice he has ever had."

In the following lull in conversation, Bruno found himself wondering if he should seek out similar employment.

Being a Madrigal clearly had both its advantages and disadvantages, though the latter was more heavily weighted. No one seemed to think of the children as productive members of society beyond their gifts, even their mother Alma was viewed with similar standing, sought out for guidance and leadership above all else. Bruno wondered then what his trade would have been, if he had been born into another family and was free to pursue his own ambitions, whatever those might be.

The two talked idly then about Hernando's new prospects, and what chores Mister Ortiz had already given him, namely spinning, and acquainting himself with the various tools and materials of the trade. It was endearing to hear the excitement in Hernando's voice, so much so that Bruno dare not interrupt him, or provide commentary, fearful of snuffing out his jubilant energy.

"It's like I can sense that everything is falling into place, feel my whole life stretching out before me!" Hernando was saying. "I'll never be rich, not by any means, and I'll have to hire someone to sort the thread by color for me, and possibly help with patterning, but I know I can do it. And when I've learned enough, and have repaid my debt to Señor Ortiz I'll buy my own loom, and a little house somewhere in town. I'd like it to be near the fountain if I can afford it." Hernando yawned then, his weariness beginning to outweigh his excitement.

For a brief second, Bruno thought that perhaps he'd actually fallen asleep, until in a whisper Hernando spoke again. "Bruno, if everything goes right, and I can make something of myself, if I can get that house by the fountain, do you think we could be happy?"

"We," the word rang in Bruno's ears like so many church bells. "We," why would Hernando say "we?" His mind racing faster than his heart, Bruno's stomach did somersaults.

Hernando must have misspoke, or just meant could they still be happy as friends, Bruno argued internally. He was likely having the same fears about drifting apart that Bruno was having. That had to be it, he couldn't possibly have meant it any other way, it was just Bruno forcing his own longing and desires onto Hernando's words, nothing else.

"Are you asleep?" Hernando whispered when he received no response. "Bruno?"

Eyes squeezed shut the Madrigal boy willed himself to breathe normally as he feigned slumber. What if he said something wrong? What if he messed up their friendship? He was clearly reading too far into the situation, and misinterpreting things. It was best if he didn't say anything at all.

"Goodnight then, Bruno."

Awake, mind wracked with new and excited questions Bruno felt the other boy gradually drop off. Still, doubt, and panic crept into him, but, there was also hope, and love, so much so that all the rest seemed almost meaningless, almost.

"We," Bruno thought wistfully, swallowing down his anxieties. Hernando had said "we."

These thoughts lingered until thoughts became disoriented, abstract, and vague, then, eventually Bruno fell asleep…

Bodies, mountains, upon mountains of bodies. The enemy was one that could not be fought or defended against. Entire familial lines snuffed out in a matter of days. Life as people knew it ground to a halt. Fear permeated every moment of every day. Everyone was sick, dying, and if they weren't they were caring for someone who was. Flu, unlike any seen before, descended upon the globe, bringing with it the deeply sweet miasma of bloated, rotting corpses laying fettered with no one left to bury them..

Hazed in green light, men; ranchers, citizens, and police armed with Winchester and Mauser rifles, arose in the early morning hours with blood on their minds. The people, mostly women and children who had refused to work after mounting tensions and the murder of their spiritual leader, were caught completely unawares, armed only with spears. The slaughter lasted only forty minutes, and left four hundred dead or dying. In the wake of the massacre, no mercy was given. Combing through the village that now served as a mass grave, the murders snuffed out any remaining signs of life, armed now with machetes...

The light grew blinding, then dimmed. Dark, it was dark, dark and cramped. Naked bodies pressed tight together. Shame and indignity familiar to the thin figures, heads shaved, shivering, they waited. They knew to expect no kindness. Confusion slowly turned to panic, trapped, they were trapped. Then came the hiss, and the smell. Eyes watering, blinded, deafened by the screams of those around them clawed by many frantic hands reaching desperately for freedom, panicked they looked for a way out. Many cried to a God who seems to have forgotten them, forsaken for their faith. Then in the choking gas their throats burned, they were drowning as their lungs filled with fluid...

It was morning, the start of a new day. No one could have imagined what was about to happen as people went about their lives. There had been sirens earlier, sure, but then, the all-clear. Their nation was at war, one it's people felt would benefit them and establish their place among the global superpowers, allied with one of the most cunning and ambitious movements in modern history. The average citizen knew only the pride and honor of their nation, and love for the sacrifice and glory of their soldiers. Then it happened, impossibly bright and loud. At the heart of the explosion there was no time to realize what had happened, as all that was left of the victims were their shadows forever scorched where they stood...

Waking with a scream everything became muddled, clashing and colliding into an agonizing cacophony of suffering, the hacking blades, the inescapable disease, the choking gas, the unholy blinding light. Scrambling away, Bruno tried to beat out flames that didn't exist, feeling them eat away at his flesh, all while knowledge that there was a number in his arm wracked his brain, they'd taken his name, his identity, his status as a human being, feverishly his nails dug into his forearm trying to carve the damned tattoo out.

Death, and anguish! All there was, was death and anguish and pain and suffering and it was all without end ... It never ended ... There was always some new version or one dreadfully repeated of Hell being wrought somewhere in the world.

He screamed.

All he could do was scream.

And cry.

Rocking back and forth, trying desperately to shake loose the imaginary, the emotion, the feeling of so much senseless bloodshed, he had been dying a thousand different times through a thousand different eyes. Worse still, beyond the horror of being destroyed, of feeling your life snuffed out for little more than the crime of existence, was the sensation that crept into the back of his mind, the hairs on the nape of his neck rising. Bruno felt also the sense of validation, the victory, the hatred, and the sadistic pleasure from the perpetrators of each and every violent act he bore witness to. He saw the future though all sides.

Beating his head with closed fists, Bruno tried to banish these thoughts above all, as he felt his soul rotting away within. He was evil.

Die.

He just wanted to die.

Why would God punish him like this? What did he do wrong? Why was he chosen to carry the burdens of all the world? More than all this, why would God allow such things to happen? Why allow such evil people to exist?

He hated God, Bruno felt, for the clear indifference he showed towards the suffering of his creations. He hated God!

A cold thrill of fear shocked up the young man's back at the sensation of arms snaking about him. Like a wild beast he fought, ready to defend his life at any cost. Hitting, kicking, biting, Bruno thrashed about in an attempt to escape his attacker, but they held fast. A slew of curses thrown from his lips he doubled his efforts. Tossing himself from one side to the next, through all the wailing, and tears, and fighting he began to grow tired and winded, slowly his fits died down. That was when he heard the voice.

"It's alright, I'm here. I'm here. I've got you," someone, someone safe was murmuring.

Bruno opened his eyes, the green tint of prophecy still coloring his vision he looked about to find that he was still in his room.

His room.

He was still in his room.

Safe.

He was safe.

Bruno blinked, and the warm hues of the present gradually returned. He pushed, gently, this time against the figure who was not, as he had believed, restraining him, but merely hugged him. Bruno knew the young man's teary and battered face, Hernando.

The young prophet stared in disbelief for a long while, unable to comprehend why, or how, the other boy had gotten here. Memories of the rainy night, and the jubilant news of his apprenticeship were slow to resurface, forcing their way up through the scarring recollection of the future. In the end it didn't matter why, or how he was there, just that he was. Bruno allowed himself to sag into Hernando's safe, protective arms. Grasping him like a drowning man would driftwood.

"It was just a dream, shhh, it was just a bad dream," Hernando whispered, smoothing the hair out of Bruno's face.

Something inside Bruno fractured then, jagged edged, it tore at his already brutalized spirit, "No," he whimpered, entirely overwhelmed. "It wasn't!"

Hernando clung to Bruno then as he mourned for peoples he could not save, rocking him, nurturing him, and above all else, he listened to him. At long last Bruno found himself trapped, unable to deny or diminish his suffering any longer he confessed everything he'd seen, everything that was to come. Hernando, his lip badly bloodied, scratches adorning his chest and neck took all of it in, without interruption. Quaking in terror, the brave young man shouldered what Bruno could no longer carry alone, and together they wept inconsolable tears for loss too unspeakable for words.

By daybreak, the two were hollowed by pain. Sitting barely conscious of their surroundings, mindlessly petting the rats that had settled into their laps, neither spoke for a long while.

"Bruno, I'm so sorry ... I had no idea," Hernando said. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Bruno wrung his hands together, shamefully. He regretted saying anything at all, for seeing the way the tall beautiful boy had shrunk away in fear, for damning him with the same dark, secret knowledge that weighted his heart so grievously. He wished he could take it all back, but he couldn't, so, there was no point in lying.

Swallowing hard, Bruno rasped out, "Because it's my gift, it's my responsibility, no one else's."

Hernando seemed to take this in stride, nodded for a moment before a deep frown came over his visage. "Not anymore it isn't," he declared, scooting across the sands until their legs were touching. "I want you to share everything with me." he said.

"But -" Bruno argued, his words cut off as Hernando's fingers traced the deep scratch marks Bruno had dug into his own forearm. "Julieta can fix it." he dismissed, pulling away.

"Not all of it," Hernando stated in a calm tone. "You shouldn't have to be alone in this Bruno. Let me help you, please."

The offer threatened to send the Madrigal boy into a fresh fit of crying, his swollen eyes gritty and burning at the prospect, struggling to produce the tears needed. He was so tired of crying, so tired of being afraid, so tired of being tired, and so very tired of being alone.

"Okay." he whispered.

"Promise me, no more carrying this alone!"

"I promise."

Letting his head fall onto his friend's shoulder, Bruno cried.