FABril

As far as tradition went, he already knew he’d never quite fit the bill. In his defense — and if he was allowed to mention the bad things all the older people always talked around — the Encanto had as many untraditional quinces as there were untraditional, broken-up families, and he was hardly the worst. 

Bruno joined his sisters in on the family dance with his mother in place of their father, and he copied her stiff smile and tried to cool down when he realized how embarrassed she was when he messed up. She never said this out loud, just caressed his cheek and made pointed commentary afterward about how well Pepa and Julieta danced with the other boys and told him to maybe be a bit more careful when his sisters gave him away to their friend Tránsito.

Mercedes Guzmán was seen stifling a smile behind her hand out of politeness, and after the party he had to suffer through an onslaught of mockery from guys who of course knew exactly how to roll their bodies in a pleasing way to get girls to dance with them.

He was fine with it. Apart from the private waltzes in his own room and the spur-of-the-moment swings he roped his sisters and mother into, Bruno didn’t care much where he put his feet and where he lead girls. 

Bruno didn’t really like girls anyway. 

Ever since he kissed his best friend Agustín as a joke that had kind of been it for him, girlfriends concerned. Agustín had waved it off with a nervous chuckle, but for Bruno it had put a few feelings into place.

(This happened of course after Tránsito had been asked to their quince and before they danced, which made the conversation he had with Mami after the party about what his preferences actually were a little awkward. Ever since, Mamá wasted an entire hobby (of which she already had so few) on sniffing out if any other families harbored a son like hers. But of course, no such luck.)

So. Bruno couldn’t dance. Bruno didn’t date. He couldn’t even flirt, really. Everything he knew about romance he’d learned from books.

He had no idea how Félix did it. Like he wasn’t even trying and assumed that just because he popped the first few buttons of his guayabera everyone listened to him. (Which they did, but that was beside the point. He had a lot to say.) 

Man or woman, when music played, he roped everyone in his path into a dance. 

Except for Bruno, of course. 

“You know what, bro?” Félix said when he saw him sitting sullen to the side at a neighbor’s party. He did a spin, then pointed his fingers at him as if that would make Bruno get up from his chair. “I’ll give you dance lessons.”

“Oh, that’s really not ne-heh-hecessary,” Bruno waved him off.

“Private lessons.”

“Private?”

“Just you and me. No eyes on you.”

“Oh.” That sounded- “Yes,” he said meekly. “Okay.”

--

Juan wore his rosary on display to entice the abuelitas into thinking he was a good christian boy, and also because this allowed him to pop his collar and show off the curls on his chest that were just beginning to peek out over his blouse. Juan wore his best clothing, but didn’t try too hard. Juan had his curls slicked back to show off his one gold earring and his brows perpetually quirked in a nonchalant way. All this charisma achieved by placing a pair of sleek shades in front of his eyes.

If you were to read about him in a book you might think he was an offensive stereotype. But unfortunately for the sisters of Bruno Madrigal — and for the suffering of his mother — Juan was very real.

“Bye, girls,” he said to his family, smolder in place. “I gotta go pick up some ladies. To make love with.”

Before they could tell him ‘stop for a minute’, ‘sure’ or ‘what on earth are you saying?’, Juan-Bruno was already strutting out of the house and on his way to Félix and his private dance lessons. Or sex, whatever story you believe in.

It felt a little bit like he was going on a date either way.

The truth was that he really couldn’t face Félix on his own without a healthy dose of silliness and forced confidence. There might be hand-holding. There might be waist-grabbing. Knowing Félix, there would be touching in general. Bruno would pass away in his arms. He would die. 

Sure, Félix had some sort of bird-like courting ritual going on with Pepa that was taking forever to come to fruition, but that was exactly why he was so dangerous. Bruno knew what he was capable of, and for the sake of his sister he really couldn’t fall any harder for the guy than he already had.

He walked into the Martinez house without hesitating, other than to hold his breath as he passed through the doorway. 

Félix’s abuelita Sofia greeted him in the hall, “My, mijo. You can take me dancing next.” The gramophone next to her played romantic vallenatos while she worked on her knitting. 

When he asked her where Félix was, she pointed him towards their small courtyard. 

Bruno kissed the original macho — Jesus from his rosary — in gratitude, making doña Sofia waft her fan against her neck. “Devil,” she cursed. “Get out of here or drag me to hell.” 

He was on his way.

The sundown dimmed the yellow house into cool blues, only the soft flames of candles and lanterns lighting up the space. Bruno’s dance shoes, gifted from the mourning depths of his mother’s closet when he turned twenty-one, clicked against the tiles, but stopped when he saw the two figures in the middle of the court. 

A piano had been rolled out and sat facing the center of the floor. Félix was leaning against it, and threw his hand up when he saw Bruno enter. 

Behind the keys sat Agustín, also waving.

“Hey there!” Félix said. “Wow, look at you all handsome. I feel like the luckiest girl in the village.”

All of Juan’s gusto immediately fell away, leaving only Bruno, who started fiddling with his fingers. “Hi, guys. Uh, Tino?”

Félix noted his confusion and opened his hand at Agustín as if to introduce him. “Dancing without music is boring, so I thought I’d invite him here.”

“Oh. Okay.” Bruno shifted his sunglasses over his head as he made his way over. “I just thought- you know, private lessons, heh.”

“It’s just me,” Agustín said with a smile, familiar with Bruno’s anxieties. 

That was true. Maybe this way he wouldn’t falter over Félix so much. 

“Abuelita always hogs the gramophone, but now I don’t have to keep walking over to change the song all the time,” Félix added freely, allowing no room for awkwardness.

“You look great, by the way,” Agustín complimented Bruno. 

“Yeah, look at you.” Félix gave him a once-over. “When do we ever see you like this, huh?”

Bruno flustered at the attention. “What, this?” He grasped for his glasses and slid them down his face, resuming confidence. “Eh, Juan’s gotta look good, of course. For the ladies.”

He regretted adding that last part now that Agustín was there, who knew he didn’t like girls, but romanticism was an integral part of Juan’s character that he couldn’t abandon.

Félix exchanged a look with Agustín. “Juan likes attention, huh? I bet that guy’s a better dancer than me and doesn’t need my help.”

“I- Well…He's not much better than Bruno, who is me.” Bruno slid the glasses off entirely, and placed them for safekeeping in his breast pocket.

On Félix’s go, Agustín played a salsa for them, filling the whole house with a boisterous melody. 

Félix wanted to freestyle with Bruno first and see exactly what made his rhythm go off. They could focus on the technical dances like vallenato and cumbia after that, but it was important he loosen up a little first. It was obvious how nervous Bruno got the moment his glasses came off.

“You’re enthusiastic. That’s good. But you’re thinking too much, bro,” Félix said as they bopped against Agustín’s tempo. “You know the moves but you’re out of sync with the rhythm. Don’t try to think ahead.”

“That’s kinda hard for me,” Bruno said.

“Ey, you’re not performing any miracles here, Bruno. You’re here in the moment. Forget your gift.”

Bruno scowled, stumbling over his feet. That wasn’t even how it worked, and the idea that everything he did had something to do with his gift irked him. Least of all hearing this from Félix, who rarely came for prophecies and didn’t understand the first thing about it. 

“It’s not- it’s not about my gift. It’s just me. I- I do forget about it when I dance. I like dancing. I’m just bad at it.” 

Bruno lost more control of his rhythm. Agustín’s fingers slowed over the keys. He stopped the music when Bruno stomped his foot in frustration. 

Félix scratched the back of his head. “Ay, I shouldn’t have put it like that…”

“Are we okay?” Agustín asked them. 

Before, Bruno hadn’t really cared all that much about how well he danced. Yeah, he was kind of embarrassing, but that was fine because he spent less time acting like an idiot in public anyway. He wanted to go out less and less. It would be okay if he only danced in Casita with his family.

The worse his visions got, the less his presence was appreciated. But with Félix and Tino, he realized he wanted to do well. 

Félix looked at Bruno for an answer. 

“Yeah,” Bruno said. Félix was only trying to help. “I’m sorry. It’s fine.” He waved it off.

Félix took it in stride. “Let’s do something more focused, alright?”

He suggested Bruno do the salsa first. He made Agustín play the piano again while guiding Bruno through the steps, which he already kind of knew, but having Félix’s steady voice support his passes made it easier to keep track.

Félix danced opposite him, clicking his fingers to the rhythm as he appraised Bruno’s dance skills.

“Don’t go crazy, just steps. One, two, three, four, five, six, spin. Ha! That’s good, much better. Ah- that’s one turn too many. Let’s go together and see if you can keep up.”

Félix’s secure movements pulled him out of his focus. He took Bruno’s hands. His larger body imposed on Bruno, commanding him on what to do. 

Bruno had never danced like this before, never in the role of follower like his sisters when they danced with him. He followed Félix as best as he could through the salsa, vallenato, and cumbia, and with each "there you go" a little bit of Juan’s confidence came back to him.

“Ha-ha! See, all you need is someone to guide you. Left, right, left, baby, let’s go. You’re not bad at all. Not with me.”

Bruno bit his lip, grinning wide at the praise. Félix led him around the floor until his feet got sore.

“Same time next week?” Bruno offered, resting his feet while they ate snacks.

“We’re counting on it.”

He skipped to the beat still drumming in his ears all the way back home. Music followed him even after he wiggled out of his clothing and fell into his hammock. 

Félix had stood so close to him. Touching him. Tightness in his chest made him rub his knees together, too early to sleep, hand stroking over his side where Félix had grabbed it slide around him. 

He threw his arm over his eyes, bare chest heaving. The beads of the rosary around his neck still cold against his skin. 

“Heh, not so bad yourself,” he said against the ceiling. “Thanks, Brunito. Ah, say, you do look great. Don’t I feel lucky? Prettiest girl in the village…”

The palm of his hand slid down his body. Fingers disappeared under the waistband of his underwear, quickly finding his cock and jerking it to hardness. He bit his lip, rolling his body around as if he was still dancing. As if Félix was still watching him. 

“Oh, maybe you’re a little bad at dancing…You’re a little bad…” His mouth gaped as pleasure rocked into his tight fist. He rutted against himself in an erratic way, hand guiding his cock, because he was bad, so bad, and needed a little help doing the right thing-