Chapter 8

There was once a young boy— not that old. He was a mischievous little boy with a big heart, he brings smiles to everywhere he goes, he loves his family with his whole existence, and most of all, he was gifted.

Blessed was he with a family so magical, so enchanting. Yet his heart couldn't help but feel confused, unsure— uncertain of who or what he was supposed to be.

"Hey..." He said with a gentle knock on his friend's front door.

However, as unsure he was of himself, he was certain to go make it up to his friend. She was very important, very special. She made him feel, well, himself. To suddenly lose her for a stupid reason, the young boy might never forgive himself.

A long creak resonated throughout the empty space of the house. It seems as though no one is here, yet the door is left open for anyone else to enter. It'd be rude for him to waltz right in, yet his curiosity weighed heavier than his rationality as he took a step inside his friend's humble abode.

"You know it's wrong to barge into someone's house without permission, especially when no one is around. Camilo." A soft whisper tickled Camilo's left ear the moment he stepped inside his friend's house, he whipped his head to see the owner of the voice, only to see (Y/N), merely inches away from his face.

Startled, he walked backwards only to comically tripping on air, his butt landing on the floor of her home. With a soft click of the front door, it was locked shut, She didn't exactly planned this thoroughly, well, she said she'll make up a much thorough plan—but she procrastinated. Oh well, she can improvise.

"You locked the door? I didn't know I was such a keeper."

...

"Okay, fine. I'm sorry I went inside your house, in my defense, it was unlocked. What am I supposed to do? Not check if somethings wrong? What if there's a robber, huh? What is there's a murderer?"

He gets more and more anxious with each step the girl makes as she moves closer to him. Her face remained stoic and unchanging, which did not help his nerves in any way.

"I'm sorry I just suddenly left you that day even though I asked if you wanna hang out and I even ignored you for a few days and I know that you're mad and stuff but—" he paused to take a breath, () his sunkissed face now red from both embarrassment and forgetting that pausing between sentences exists.

"Please, forgive me?"

He pleads with a soft voice, still sitting on the cold floor watching her crouch down to his level. She stared at him for a bit, observing every inch of his face as he nervously fidgets under her calculating gaze.

"Who are you?"

"Wha- huh? Who am I? , I'm your friend!" He replied frantically, surprised at the question his friend suddenly threw at him.

Her eyes squinted slightly, not satisfied with Camilo's answer. For some odd reason, her chest stung slightly at the mere mention of the word, '', yet she simply brushed such feeling off as she has much more important matters to deal with.

With a sigh she stood up and walked toward her room, leaving a confused Camilo sitting on the floor watching her walk away from him. He could only assume that he's supposed to follow her? Standing up, he dusted off some invisible dust from his poncho and followed her to her room.

Upon entrance, he was once again met with a painting (Y/N).

"Camilo, when you look at this painting, what does it make you feel?" She asked, not even turning to look at him. Her eyes glued to the still life painting of an intricate vase.

"Nothing."

"How so?"

"It just looks so lifeless, like looking at a fancy rock or something."

She gripped her paintbrush tightly, not tearing her gaze from her painting as she spoke once more:

"How about me then, when you look at me, what do I make you feel?"

His breath hitched at her question, his heart rapidly beating just from the thought of her.

"Many things."

"Such as?"

"Good things."

She thinks, her eyes closing slowly quite satisfied with his rather vague answer. "I see, how intriguing." She spoke, her paintbrush now raised to continue painting on the canvas.

"I used to think that this lifeless vase and I are not so different—unable to show any emotions worth feeling."

She smiled once! The rest of her body and face may not show it, but her eyes shine everytime she see or talk about something she finds interesting, they squint a little when she didn't like something, and so much more.

"But enough about me, Camilo."

She gestured to make him sit on the wooden stool next to her, Camilo watched her removing the previous painting nestled on the easel and replacing it with a new blank canvas.

"Look at me." She softly spoke, her fingers touching the bottom of his chin as to make him look at her. She had always wanted to paint Camilo up close like this, yet she never found the chance to.

"I'm still quite upset at you, ."

"I already said I'm sorry, ! Also don't call me that, it makes me feel old."

With a small hum, her fingers found it's way to his cheeks, gently tracing each freckles. The green of his eyes shun similarly to that of an emerald sheen, .

Begrudgingly, she diverted her attention back to the blank canvas and started her piece. Camilo watched in awe at her skill, to think that only by looking at him for a few moments, she was able to draw him so wonderfully.

"Y'know," She started, her eyes still fixated on the canvas she was working on.

"They say artists are nothing but sad people, unaccepted by society of who they are. Masking themselves in personas to fit in." She turned to him, placing her beloved paintbrush on the table with her face adorning a beautiful miniscule smile that he wouldn't dare miss.

"Now I ask of you again, who are you Camilo Madrigal?"

"I'm..."

"Me. I'm Camilo, and no one else."