#manolo sanchez fanfiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 10 months

Text

Give Me Your Heart, Make It Real, Or Else Forget About It

Pairing(s): Manolo Sanchez x Reader, Manolo Sanchez x Maria Posada, Joaquin Mondragon x Reader

Warnings: soft nsfw, implications, break ups, Manolo might be OOC since it’s been a while that i’ve written for the book of life, bsf to lovers, gonna try writing for gn reader for first time, probably not as fluffy as anon may have wanted, a lil angsty cuz that’s my bread and butter, world expansion, alcohol consumption, both reader and Manolo are of age, dancing, young horny adults

Words: 8029 (jfc this has got to be my longest fic ever. fingers crossed it doesn’t suck lol)

Summary: Only one thing comes to mind when faced with mending your friend’s broken heart: drinking.

* inspired by Santana’s “Smooth”

*Man now I really want pan dulce

“Jesus, Manolo.” You breathe out when you open your front door. His eyes were red and puffy, shoulders slouched forward utterly defeated. Even his hair, meticulously styled was a mess that drooped over his face. It was starting to get dark, street lamps were barely starting to be lit.

When he brings his big brown eyes to look up at you, you know whatever happened was bad. Worse than anything you had seen him go through before. Your heart plummets. The worst thing was seeing your best friend in shambles.

His lips move, about to say something but thinks better about it when a glossy sheen grows over his eyes like he’s about to cry. Immediately you usher him inside your hacienda and settle him down on your sofa. He looked like a giant sitting on it, especially as you wrap him in one of your thick, quilted blankets your grandmother had made you. You scurry to your little cocina to grab a warm drink for him and perhaps some pan dulce if he wanted it although you doubt he has much of an appetite. Upon your return, Manolo is blankly staring at your wall. Normally lively eyes were dull, nearly lifeless. That scared you more than anything. You put aside what you brought him on a small end table and get on your knees in front of him, imploring to tell you what was wrong. His hands were large in your’s when you grab onto them and pull them close to your chest. Never before had Manolo been as broken as he was there on your sofa. Not even with the whole thing involving literal immortals like La Muerte and Xibalba. When Xibalba fooled everyone into thinking Maria was dead. Absolutely cruel of them to use your friends’ lives in a messed up bet just because they were oh so bored of immortality. Thankfully since then, life in San Angel returned to relative normality. Or as normal as San Angel could be.

He wasn’t ready to talk. Not just yet. The only thing you knew he needed right now was to bury his face in your shoulder as you held him in your arms. His shoulders tremble and you feel wet plops against your shoulder. Allowing him to take however long necessary until he gathered his thoughts. The only thing you could think of that could put him in such a state was something bad happening to Maria. They definitely couldn’t have broken up. They were still in love with each other after all those years of waiting and pining. Surely their love would last forever. Unlike you and Joaquin who’d been doomed from the beginning. That had only lasted a year before things disintegrated between you and Joaquin. One of those situations where it turned out you loved him more than he loved you. Not everyone could have a fairytale relationship like Manolo and Maria. Funny how back then you were in Manolo’s position and he’d been the one consoling you.

What you had thought was a baseless fear was actually reality for him.

They had broken up.

Even as he told you the lead up, you still didn’t want to believe it. Sometimes love wasn’t enough to keep two people together. Maria has always had an adventurous spirit. It led her to many escapades and mishaps that your parents didn’t necessarily like. She got you and the boys into plenty of trouble. Her fun loving nature was what broke her bond with Manolo. She wanted to travel, see more of the great big world out there. Manolo though, he was all too happy staying in San Angel. While his family no longer walked on this plane of existence, he loathed the idea of leaving his home. Not after all he went through to get back and save it. Plus you and Joaquin were still here. He couldn’t up and leave his best friends. Maria exasperated herself with begging him to go with her, for she was leaving either way. She loved her work at the orphanage she missed traveling Europe. There was still so much of it she hadn’t seen. Both tried to come to a compromise but could not come up with one that would would satisfy them. Manolo was equally set with not leaving. He’d give Maria everything and anything but not this. His home was everything to him. All his memories of his family reside here. the last pieces of his father and grandmother.

While not as close to Maria as you were with Manny, you knew she would be equally devastated with this drastic turn of events. She’d loved Manolo, even as little kids you remember Maria as having a soft spot for the guitarrista. She didn’t have any other friends besides Manolo, Joaquin and you. You wonder, albeit bitterly, if she had sought comfort for Joaquin. After all, she had been the catalyst for your break up with him. He was still in love with her but accepted that she had chosen Manolo. You would always be second best to him. Unlike Maria, you had no great beauty and no talent to boast of. Not even your parents were of incredible birth like the great General Posada. They had humble jobs that kept you and your siblings fed and a roof over your head. You never held any of these things against her though. She was modest and kind and was someone who would help you up if you ever fell down.

Finishing up his retelling, he slumps further into the sofa; weariness causing deep set lines under his eyes. He didn’t want to be alone in his own casa. He would be all alone there. You told him he could stay at your small house, for as long as he needed. Providing him with blankets and pillows, you leave him in your living room to get much required rest. Even when you woke up the following morning, Manolo was still sleeping like the dead with the blankets wrapped around him as tightly as a tortilla in a burrito. You let him sleep and go about your day, having sent word to your parents that you wouldn’t be able to work at the family panaderia. Manolo slept like the dead. Even when you broke one of your clay bowls as you toyed around with recipes to propose to your father with. He didn’t even twitch. Several times you checked to verify he was still breathing. Still alive. This was Manolo’s first ever breakup. You were much the same after your own. He rouses at your gentle prompting, reminding him to eat or drink water before going back to the numbness of sleep.

Two days pass like this, with Manolo talking a little bit more each day but still looking blanched. When you return to work and tell your parents what has been going on, your mother says in inappropriate to have Manolo staying with you for as long as he has. You want to support your friend though and ignore her wary glances that she shoots you.

After bidding him goodbye one morning, you make your way to work. Your little brothers are already under foot, running around the store and getting it ready to open for the day. In the cocina you hear your mother shouting at your brothers instructions and reminders as if they hadn’t been working here since the day they started walking. Mama made sure her children didn’t have idle hands. She’d even send the boys out to the town center to sell churros, not understanding why they would come back with white frosted churros and no sales. In time you hope she learns that little kids are not responsible sales people.

“There you are.” Your mama exclaims as she whirls out of the cocina and to the front counter. She’s already tossing you an apron. Prattling off the list of orders and tasks for the day, you nod absentmindedly while reaching around your back to tie together the straps of your stained apron you’d had for years. When the boys get too rowdy for her liking, she snaps at them, brandishing a wooden spoon and light threats.

She sighs and pushes you into the kitchen. “Go on. Your pap needs help with Senora Bigote’s order of three dozen conchas for her conquian night with the other ladies in her group.”

Papa is kneading dough with his strong hands that you’ve personally seen split a whole apple perfectly in half. He’s a big man and looks comical in the panaderia’s kitchen. In one corner of the room sat a wood fire oven, ready to be worked and seemingly standing in vigilance over the cocina. Automatically, you grab large baking trays and place them next to your father. You give him a quick peck on his cheek before grabbing half of the smooth, elastic dough to start shaping them.

He makes a grunting noise as he gently stops you. “I can handle the conchas. Start on the wedding cake for the Torres’.”

Obediently, you wipe off your hands and set out to gather everything you needed. You pass by clay pots and bowls used by generations of family bakers.

Solemnly your mind travels back to Manolo whose probably still fast asleep on your couch. There would be no wedding for them after all. Manolo always said he wanted you to make their reception cake when the time came. you’d already planned the flavors, layers, fruit and decorations. An occasion that had been anticipated for a while. Alas, no one would get to see the splendor of the cake you would have created for your best friend.

Your mama takes care of the front of house often leaving just you and your dad in charge of the actual baking.

Focused on your task, you lose track of time. When your mom goes into the kitchen to take over for you, it’s already lunch. Gently, you rotate your neck to work out the kinks and give your back a good stretch. You push open the half door that connects the front of the store to the kitchens. Both of your brothers had been sent out once again to sell churros in the heart of San Angel. You check the clock that fixed above the front door, wondering how Manolo was doing.

Front door bell jingling, your eyes move back down to the moustached face of Joaquin as he enters. You’re more than confused seeing him there. He’d avoided the panaderia after the break up. Even he shifts awkwardly in front of your widened gaze. His lush moustache wiggles as he tries to find the proper words.

Saving him the effort of speaking first, you ask him with saccharine politeness “What can I get for you today sir?” Two years the both of you had been separated, but you still felt tender once you were back in his presence.

Joaquin exhales and rubs at the back of his neck. “Hey. Long time no see?” In reply you simply deadpan your face into a neutral stare. If he was going to beat around the bush you might as well get your mama to chase him out. He was wasting your time. Thankfully he was aware and gulps before continuing. “I gather you know about Manolo and Maria?”

Ah, of course. You stiffly nod “Yeah. Manolo showed up at my door the other day. He’s been sleeping on my sofa.”

He lets out a clipped laugh making something ugly in you unfurl. There’s a cruel little smirk subtly tugging up his lips but he hides it with his hand. “Of course he did.”

You didn’t bother to hide the sharpness of your frown, your elbows on the wooden counter and narrowing your eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Instantly regret slaps across his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. Really. I came here because we have to do something. This an’t be how their relationship ends. Not after everything they’ve been through.”

You’d tried plenty of times to get Manolo to go back and talk with her. “It’s none of our business.”

Squinting his eyes at you, Joaquin places his hands on his hips. “You can’t be serious. Manolo literally died for Maria! They-They can’t end over something as stupid as this!”

“Apparently it’s not that stupid if it’s caused such a rift.” You counter smoothly.

A moment passes where neither of you say anything, just stare at one another. His nose scrunches up in frustration. Nostrils flare and chest heaving as he tries to prevent himself from saying something he’d truly regret. But you wore him thin. You’d always been able to get under his skin so easily. As kids you liked teasing him because he made it so easy. Nowadays it took a little more to ruffle him.

“Maybe you’re secretly happy about this.”

This merry go round. You were familiar with this ride. “Not this again.”

When you roll your eyes, Joaquin prickles. “You and Manolo have always been close. Maybe too close to be just platonic.”

This had been a constant point of contention when you were still together. That had never been a problem before when you were kids. Those were simpler times when emotions such as jealousy wasn’t as toxic as in adulthood.

Remembering your parents in the back, you lower your voice. “Look, if you want to talk this over with Manolo, be my guest. I’m not poking my nose in his business unless he asks me to. I don’t want to talk about this here.”

His eyes follow your’s to the still swinging door. He understood and immediately straightens. If your mom caught Joaquin in her store, she’d froth at the mouth before lunging at him. Mama had never liked him and was more than happy when you told her you’d broken up. From his face you could tell Joaquin wanted to argue with you more. The medals that decorated his chest clink together as he lets go of a heavy breath. Reluctantly he turns his back to you and leaves the store.

Joaquin’s appearance leaves you agitated for the rest of the day until your mom could no longer suffer through your sulky attitude. Your brothers having returned some time after lunch, its you whose being pushed out of the door with her wooden spoon. You’re of no use to her in that state and you were better off at home. She was right. You’d wanted to go home anyway to see how your best friend was faring.

Your shoes click against the cobblestone streets that lead to your hacienda. An orange tint painted the sky and buildings. You many not be able to mend his heart right away but you know music and dancing always managed to revive his spirits. Anything that might act as a soothing balm for him. Worth a shot.

Front door unlocked, you turn the knob without any resistance. Manolo was still on your sofa but now he was sitting up. Recognition brings life to his eyes. He offers you a half-hearted smile just like with the other days you’d come home to him. “Welcome home.”

You go to his side. “Did Joaquin come over?”

He nods. You want to congratulate him on actually brushing his hair today. “Yeah. Tried to talk me into going back to Maria. But. . .” Manolo shakes his head. “There’s no more talking left to be done with her. You know how Maria is.”

Yes, once she made a decision, she didn’t go back on it. General Posada tried for years to rein in that part of her to no avail. She was too much like her mother who had also left San Angel to pursue travel.

“And you’re really sure you don’t want to go with her? You won’t be gone forever.”

Sadly chuckling, his shoulders sag forward. “I did enough traveling in the Land of the Remembered and the Land of the Forgotten.”

Pursing your lips you affectionately pet his hair and feel him relax a little under your touch. “Why don’t you go clean up and come with me to listen to some good live music.”

From the down turn of his mouth, you know he wants to reject the offer. You’d let him. Of course you wouldn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to. You wanted this to be his choice, his decision. An after thought seems to change his mind though as he slowly nods his head. “Okay. That sounds like it could be fun.” For your benefit, he puts energy into his smile before you leave him to get ready and head for your room so you could change and freshen up as well. You’re sure there is flour dusting the top of your head making you look like an old lady.

In the local cantina, they’d recently been hiring more live entertainment which included the Rodriguez brothers and even young Ignacio who Manolo had been teaching guitar to. Plus others in the neighborhood as well as musicians from nearby towns. The night life was really picking up in your once quiet San Angel. Plays were performed in the old bullfighting arena now, equally titillating the masses. Torches would illuminate the outside walls and if you lived close enough to the arena, you could hear the boisterous laughter of the crowd. It was nice to walk through the town at night, listening to joyful people. All four of you had gone out to enjoy such activities. And when you ended things with Joaquin, you and Manolo made it a point to have best friends night. They were always the best. Drinks were had (never too much because you always worked early in the mornings at the panaderia) and by the end of it your feet were about ready to fall off thanks to all the dancing. He always got you out of your reserved shell. You really shined brightly around him. Unsurprising that Joaquin may have been jealous by your closeness to the former matador. You’d always told him that was nonsense. Manolo had always been your friend. Just friend. Joaquin continually persisted that there was something more to your feelings for Manolo.

Funny because Maria never saw an issue with how much time the two of you spent together. Sometimes she would even join in on your revelry. You weren’t jealous toward Maria being with him. Joaquin just likes to say stupid things. He still had to work on himself, undo whatever whispers were left over from Xibalba.

The both of you having dolled yourselves up (you had to admit that Manolo cut quite the figure in a matador outfit), you head out and down the street arm in arm. A lightness in his step that you were happy to see. His smile was still a watered down version of what it normally is. The goal of tonight was to get him out of his own head. Even if it’s just for a few hours.

That night’s air tastes sweet on your tongue as you and Manolo are already laughing when coming upon the cantina. Music from inside so loud that its making the ground softly vibrate against the soles of your shoes.

Manolo leans into you to ask “Do you know whose playing tonight?”

You list one out of town band and two local performers. From the entrance to the bar, everything becomes hazy, almost dream like as you and Manolo throw back drinks and grow more deliriously jubilant. Thankfully the music was good, aiding to the overall atmosphere. As music plays on, glasses were raised, you watch a glimmer of life return to Manolo’s eyes. Liquor infused a vibrant glow to your surroundings and the intricate patterns of the tiles beneath your feet. You spend time reminiscing of days past. Manolo couldn’t resist bringing up your terrible partners before Joaquin took that position. You tease back in return by making fun of how hopelessly moon eyed he’d been around Maria when you were kids. Thankfully it made him laugh instead of diminishing his smile. You hadn’t meant to bring Maria up but you’re happy that he didn’t react negatively to it. That was the only hitch and was quickly forgotten.

Manolo’s shoulders bump against your’s as he laughs or when he bobs to the flow of melody. He’s having an authentic good time. Relief blooms in your chest. Good. That was really good.

The band playing strum their guitars with fervor and an impulsive spirit rose within you. You stand and extend your hand to Manolo, playful mischief lighting your smile.

He lets out a soft chuckle and regards your hand. Encouraged by the music and your inviting gesture, he takes your hand, his lips curling into a reluctant but genuine smile. The two of you stumble, making your way to the center floor where others have already coupled off in small groups. Laughing about your clumsy feet, you cling to Manolo to make sure you don’t take a tumble. Manolo’s chest rumbles in his own giggling as his hands securely tighten on you.

Your dancing is simple swaying at first as both of you try and find your groove. Two puzzle pieces finding their fit. He’s twirling you around, making you dizzy but you enjoy the lightheaded buzzing that it delivers to your head. Manolo insists you spin him as well and you do your best but he’s taller than you and he has to bend down a little bit in order for you to complete the move. You feel like children again.

In the midst of rhythmic, drunken chaos, something extraordinary began to take shape between you that took you some time to recognize. The goofiness that was making the air silly and fun turns into something else. Manolo’s laughter, a sound as familiar to you as your own heart beat, melds seamlessly with the guitar chords in the background. His footing and turns grow surer with each passing minute as he acclimates to your pace. Distance between you shrinking as your bodies synchronized to the melody. Fingers brush against fingers and glances began to hold more weight than previously. A heaviness in his dark eyes when they land on your face. It makes your heart spasm in your chest.

You want to pin it on the alcohol flowing in your system. Maybe even the lighting in the bar that sharpened Manolo’s already exquisite face. The hitching beneath your breast as you become aware of just how close he is to you and the parting of his lips as his breathing becomes strained. And by his blown out pupils, you could only surmise that he was going through the same odd feelings you were. His Adam’s apple bobs nervously, his yearning becoming profoundly clear as he leans his face closer to your’s; drawn to you like a magnet.

Realizing the hungry fire that ate away in your belly was attraction and want. For Manolo. Your best friend who had just broken up with the love of his life just a few days ago.

His nose brushes against your’s. He says something, low enough that you would have been able to hear despite the loud music. Your brain is malfunctioning though. Unable to process his words.

This wasn’t right. Whatever it was.

You had too much respect for yourself to be his rebound.

Abruptly you tear yourself away from him, horror turning that once bright fire into ash in your mouth. Music becomes white noise in your ears, you watch Manolo’s mouth move but couldn’t hear the words that he was actually saying. Slowly you back away from him. He follows you back to the table the both of you had previously sat at. Gripping the edge to stop your head from reeling further, you don’t hear Manolo come up from behind you.

“Please-”

You shake your head furiously and pivot on your feet. Too many emotions were hijacking your body. Unable to even look him in the face unless that feeling of attraction was to bloom in you once more. The buzz you’d been enjoying betrays you.

It’s just the alcohol. You’re not really in love with him. Not after all this time. It just had to be your inebriated state. Any other reason for it, you refuse to acknowledge. If you stayed on the dance floor any longer, you would have kissed him. Or he would have kissed you. Someone would’ve initiated it. And if it were Manolo, you’d let him kiss you.

He tries to put a hand on your shoulder but his touch scalds you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t. . . I-I”

Taking a deep breath, finally you manage to meet his desperate gaze. Fear flashes vividly in them. Neither of you could even describe what had transpired as an accident. Vulnerability has your stomach curling into itself self-consciously.

Joaquin was right all along. You and Manolo weren’t just friends. Definitely not anymore. What were you then if not friends? This would justify all of Joaquin’s accusations. going out was supposed to be for Manolo’s benefit, get his mind off of romance and relationships. Not to confuse him with these feelings that have sprout up so suddenly that it gives you whiplash.

“W... We should leave.” Your lead tongue finally moves to articulate words. Disappointment leaks from him but there nothing you could do about that. Wordlessly, the two of you leave the cantina. You don’t bother to look back and check if Manolo is following you. His soft, sad footsteps trek after you. Unlike early, the walk home is quiet. As much distance as possible is forced between you and Manolo. It just then reenters your mind that Manolo was sleeping on your couch. That had to end. Tonight though, you’d let him stay. He was in no state to be alone in his empty house. Now that would be adding cruelty.

Inside of your home, you mumble a hasty goodnight and retreat to the safety of your room. Quietly you listen to his shuffling outside. A creak comes from the floorboards before you hear the sound of the couch as Manolo sits down.

What’s he thinking right now? Is he realizing he almost made a huge mistake in kissing you? He’s gotta be. Maybe this will make him go back to Maria to talk things out. Good. For the best. They were meant to be together. Everyone said so. Yet when you think about them going back to each other, a lump forms in the back of your throat that chokes you up.

You wanted very much for the void to swallow you whole. Leave nothing left of you in the mortal world. You desired to go to the Land of the Forgotten and to have Xibalba tear you into pieces.

When cruel morning light peeks in through your curtains, you pull your covers over your head. If you didn’t get up soon, you’re certain your mom will come and break down your door. Whether out of motherly concern or as your boss, you weren’t sure. But once you didn’t show up for work without a notice, she would hunt you down to the end of the earth. Drinks last night hadn’t been too bad to where you had a severe hangover, simply a dull ache that resonated at your temples. A cup of coffee will help with that. If you could gather the courage to get out of bed and face Manolo. No way you could put it off any longer. Prolonging the inevitable.

Running a hand over your face to dislodge signs of sleep, you roll off of your mattress and set about getting ready for the day. Dread is heavy in you after getting dressed, your hand hovering over your bedroom door knob.

To your surprise, your living room is empty. The pillow and blanket Manolo had been using were neatly folded and placed atop of the sofa cushions. A folded piece of paper with your name scrawled on the front begs for your attention. Manolo became a fixture on your couch that seeing him not there makes you more uneasy than relieved.

You can’t bring yourself to read it. Instead you tuck it into your pocket and head into your cocina to get coffee before going into work.

The sinking feeling you’d experienced last night lingers in you. Your rambunctious little brothers, always running around, even notice how quiet you are and in turn aren’t as loud as usual. They even cast worrying glances at you when they think you’re not looking. Head down, you just worry yourself with keeping busy and numb.

What happened last night. . . You replay every moment. Turning them over and wondering what exactly went wrong for you to so suddenly be in love with your best friend. Because now that you weren’t drunk, those feelings stayed. You overanalyze everything until you mentally exhaust yourself.

At some point while you’re in the kitchen with your dad, the note Manolo left for you soundlessly slips out of your pocket. Papa maneuvers around you for something when he notices the slip of paper on the ground. He bends down to pick it up and stares at your name in print. He recognized that print. Seen it throughout the years change but he’d known the familiar swirls in the letters. Manolo’s writing. Papa opens it without any regard for your privacy.

His bushy eyebrows shoot up in shock at its contents and his eyes dart from the piece of paper to your shoulders as you fix together dough for the orejas.

He makes you jump when he calls out your name. You turn and he’s holding the note with your name facing you. Gawking, your hands immediately pat down your clothes before realizing too late. “What is this?”

You knew he wouldn’t give it back to you, not until you explained it to him. Difficult when you didn’t even read it yourself.

“What is he talking about?” Your normally stoic father was now shaking the paper in his hand. “What happened last night?”

The fever-like blush that stains your face embarrasses you. Yeah this was not a subject you wanted to broach with your dad. “Papa-”

“What is all the noise?” Mama hangs over the half-door to peer into the cocina. Papa bypasses you although you desperately make grabby hands at the note in his hand. He hands it to your mother and now she’s reading Manolo’s handwriting. She gasps, scandalized and her eyes round as she clutches the front of her apron like she was having a heart attack.

Your brain feels like flan as your mouth makes lame attempts to explain yourself to your parents. You felt like a kid again after getting in trouble. As if you didn’t feel bad enough already. The best thing for you to do was to wait until they exhausted themselves. If you tried to talk now, they would only raise their voices.

And eventually they do run out of wind. You even wait an extra minute before explaining to them how Maria and Manolo broke up, he’d been staying with you since and that the two of you went out for some fun last night. Nothing out of the ordinary, your parents knew Manolo since he was a kid and always liked him. He was sweet, considerate with helping out around the panaderia if he was visiting even though he definitely didn’t have to. Another thing was how respectful Manolo was to your parents. They thought he was a good boy. Nothing like Joaquin.

The note still troubles them and they bring up. “And this? What is he talking about?” Finally you snatch it from his hands to read it.

They leave you be for a few moments as your eyes hungrily eat up Manolo’s written words:

I’m sorry. I never meant to make things awkward. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking on your couch while you’re out at work. What else was there for me to do? I thought a lot about what Maria and I went through with Xibalba and La Muerte. Even before then. Everything seems to start and end at you though. When I worried about my future and what would happen, I knew you’d be there beside me as you’ve always been. And that gave me such relief. I thought I’d never feel joy again but then you suggested we go out to listen to music. You and the music woke me up to life again. I’m sorry I screwed everything up and probably hurt you. Separating from Maria was world ending, but life without you would thrust me into a completely endless void. I don’t know what any of last night meant. I understand if you’re upset with me and don’t want to see me. I hope some day soon you can forgive me and we can talk.

Manolo was always eloquent with his words. You weren’t angry with him. Not even when it happened. There were a lot of emotions swirling inside of you last night, not anger toward him though. An actual adult would have spoken to Manolo that same night to figure things out. You’d been so flustered and confused, even embarrassed and you just couldn’t face him in that moment. This couldn’t go on any longer.

You fold the note back up before addressing your parents. “I’m gonna step out for a little bit.” The seriousness in your tone as them quietly nodding, staring after you as you take your apron off and leave the panaderia.

You’d try his house first to see if he was there. A few places in mind to where Manolo could be. Mentally organizing them from the most possible to least. At this time of day, the streets were deserted except for a couple of vendors and stray chickens. Your work shoes, while perfect for standing hours at a time, were not exactly the best type to run in.

The Sanchez home was quiet. Weird trying to adjust to Manolo’s great-grandmother not sitting out front while she’s knitting, her glasses nearly as big as her head.

A few birds above twitter and swoop over the roof of the house.

No one answers your persistent knocking. You even peek in through his windows to find not a soul in sight. Just the lonely chairs that once occupied his father and great-grandma.

That’s when you pick out the gentle strumming of chords not too far away. You close your eyes and concentrate on the forlorn chords. They sang of the ache in Manolo’s heart. They came from the direction of the decommissioned bull fighting arena. Only a few blocks away, you start the short walk there. As you drew closer and closer, the singing of his guitar becomes stronger in force.

Outside the arena walls, there are already a few individuals who had stopped to listen or try and peek their head inside. Instead of matador posters on the walls, there were now posters of performances that would be happening.

The inside of your mouth is uncomfortably dry and the ramming of your heart nearly nauseates you into stopping. You had to. You loved Manolo too much to ruthlessly ignore him. That would be like ignoring the other part of you. He was ingrained in your every day life. It was weird not to talk to him.

You find Manolo alone, sitting silently in the middle of the ring. The old bull fighting arena where generations of his family had come to face off against the hoofed beast that furiously charged at them. All of that infamy ended with Manolo. He was never meant to be a killer. A lover, not a fighter.

He’s mindlessly strumming the metal strings, face tilted up to the clear blue sky and letting the sun gift him with besos upon his cheeks. It sounded like the melody of whatever song was being played last night when you and Manolo danced together in the cantina. Only it lacked the vibrant energy. Dampened by his own mood. His only audience were a few birds that sat on the bench seats where spectators normally were.

Sitting atop of the fence of the ring, you observe him silently. You don’t want to startle him. Plus you always loved when Manolo played guitar. He’d tried teaching you once upon a time but you lacked the patience for it. Wearing his traditional black and red traje de luces short jacket, you catch the sunlight glinting off of gold tassels. Your Manolo.

Just thinking that to yourself had you ruffled and blushing. He wasn’t your’s. You never saw him like that. Not before last night. Was that true though? There had to be other moments where your heart was struck by something you’d never felt before. You did get rosy eyed whenever you hung out in the arena while he was forced to train by Carlos. You’d do stupid little things to make him crack a smile as his father cracked down on him. You never liked seeing him despondent. Especially when the source was from Carlos Sanchez whom Manolo only wanted to be proud of him.

As Manolo continues to play his guitar, he starts moving slowly until he’s completely turned around to face you. When he lifts his eyes to where you sat, you see him startled and nearly drop his guitar. You smile shyly. Now or never. So much was riding on this interaction with him. Your friendship dangling on the line. But as he registers you there and begins walking over to you, the courage you’d been able to nurture has shriveled up and died. This was scary. This was new.

He’s tentative about approaching you, every movement he executed was calculated like he was coming up to a stray, scared animal. You couldn’t blame him. You’d completely ignored him the rest of last night.

You run your tongue across your cracked lips. “Hey. . .”

His breath is shaky. “H-Hey.”

Patting the spot next to you on the fence, he carefully sets down his guitar and sits next to you; making sure he puts space between both of you.

“I just read your note.” Slowly you kick your legs back and forth, something to release the pent up anxiety that needed an outlet. “I. . . You didn’t upset or hurt me last night. It was all just so confusing. You just broke up with the literal love of your life. I know I’m your best friend but the last thing I want to be is your rebound.”

Manolo blanches and attempts to stutter out his own exclamation but he required a moment to come up with his reply. “I never thought of you as a rebound. I’m not going to lie, everything is still confusing to me. Nothing has made sense since breaking up with Maria, but you’re a comfortable constant I can always cling to. Whatever last night meant to you, well. . .” The way he just refuses to look at you tells you more than he ever could verbally.

“You. . . meant to kiss me?”

The tips of his ears actually BURN pink from his blush and a smile breaks across your face. “Not exaclty- well, i mean. . .” He huffs, frustrated with himself. “I figured, if it happens, it wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing.”

Holy shit.

Your brain hums and that not so bad nauseous feeling rises back in you again. Realizing that it wasn’t nausea. It was something entirely different.

“Meaning?”

Fiddling with his strong, callused fingers, Manolo chews on his bottom lip. Then his chocolate dark eyes land on you. That look, it screamed love and desire all bundled into one great feeling.

He goes on to tell you “You know, there was a time while Maria was gone that I hoped you would look my way and see me as someone who was more than a friend to you.”

How could that be true? He’d always loved Maria and that love had neither diminished nor left his constant thoughts. He let everyone know that. Manolo and Joaquin would get into contests about who would win Maria over. Lighthearted fights of course. There was no hitting, more like bragging. You found these debates amusing and added your own commentary.

“You liked me?”

Manolo chuckles and nods. “Of course I did.” Making sound like it was only obvious that he did. “I started to think that maybe Maria and I weren’t meant to be together. That maybe I would be leagues happier with you. Why do you think I followed you around like some puppy?”

You never saw it like that. You thought you were the one to always be tagging along with Manolo and Joaquin. Little Joaquin even complained loudly to Manolo that you were annoying.

Hands that were gripping the wood of the fence post you sat on grew sweaty as the damn hummingbird in your chest was going wild.

“I never thought of you as a rebound or second choice.” He whispers and fluidly places his large hand atop of your’s. “I just thought. . . it was meant to be when we were dancing. All signs pointing to you. I’m sorry-”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.” You airly laugh. “I told you I wasn’t mad. But, I guess it makes more sense now.”

Cautiously, Manolo asks “Did I misread any signals?”

“Absolutely not.” Now it’s you chewing at your bottom lip. “I felt bad though. How sudden it was. Even worse is that this proves Joaquin was right. And he’s never right!”

Manolo almost falls over from his laughter. “What was he right about?”

“That we were more than just friends. He never did like how much time we spent together.” How many times had you fought with your ex about it? Too many. Now you would have the egg on your face when Joaquin finds out. You didn’t want him gloating how you were wrong. And you didn’t want to hurt Maria either. You knew you wouldn’t like it very much if your ex partner got over you quickly and was in a new relationship. “Did Joaquin know about your crush when we were kids?”

Lips pressed in a thin line, Manolo nods. “Yeah. That could probably be why he thought us hanging out so much was weird.” He groans too when he realizes that he’ll be getting an earful from Joaquin once news of of this got to him. Plenty of times they had the same argument that you and Joaquin did. How both of you spent too much time together. You guys didn’t act like just friends. You were always closer. Always seated next to each other. Always laughing so loud that it annoyed your other companion.

“You’re right that this is sudden.” He acknowledges your previous comment. “I think I need more time before we officially become a couple.”

You quirk an eyebrow up. “Oh? Who said I wanted to be with you?”

That made him pale and you knew your joke was a little too mean. You laugh and reassure him you were just kidding, his easy going smile once more on his face.

In the meantime, you carefully angle your body so you’re closer to him and reach your hands out to cup his face. So handsome. That dumb smile on his face made you want to eat him up. He leans into your touch and before he knows it, you have your lips on his.

And that’s how the both of you went tumbling off the fence.

Manolo’s body softens your fall at least. Both of you are laughing though. “Oh dios mio Manolo are you okay?”

His chest moves up and down as he gasps out his own laughter. “Never better.” He gives you a thumbs up.

You hover above him before taking his lips once more in a drawn-out kiss that left him breathless and starry eyed and you with fire in your blood. Hands found their way on your hips and by a force of magic, you end up straddling his waist.

Choking on your own breath, skin underneath your clothes tingle when he runs his hands from your hips to the swell of your thighs. A simple action that left you overly sensitive and wanting for more.

Pressing yourself flat against him, your lips devour his neck with the gentlest of nips that leaves Manolo a panting, squirming mess under you. He’s trying to say something but moans when your own hands do their own exploration.

Restraint is needed for you to peel away from him and to stand up on wobbly legs. Manolo looks up at you with disoriented eyes. “Where are you going?”

“Well, we very well can’t be making out in public. Not when we’re not officially a couple.” You smirk at him and wait for Manolo to get to his feet and run after you.

His house being the closest, you race him to the front door but he caught you in his arms and you let out a surprised squeal as this matador gone guitarrista hauls you into his arms. When the door clicks closed, you’re on him once again. Tongues wrestle, and clothes are discarded haphazardly. Your brain barely registers your back being pressed up against his wall or how he’s supporting the bulk of your weight with his arms.

A blur of kisses, caresses, and moans ensue along with a glowing sheen of sweat that makes your skin tacky but you hardly mind. Not when you’re entangled with Manolo.

In his thrusts, Manolo was making you a promise that this was true. He’d give you his all. When the time came the both of you would tell the world of your love. By then you’ll be ready to face Joaquin’s scrutiny.

At some point your bodies had made it to his bedroom but not necessarily to his bed.

On his floor, you stare up hazily at his ceiling as your head rests atop of his arm. He’s sated and content to stay down there if it meant you could remain in his arms. Free hand swirling patterns along your bare skin. Manolo’s humming softly while you nuzzle the crook of his neck that has little love bites scattered.

“Are you sure about this, Manolo?” This feels like a dream. But none of your’s had ever felt as real as this one. The heady delirium of sex lightened and reality was creeping back on you. Specifics would have to be ironed out to avoid hurting anyone’s feelings. Admitting that he wanted you, there was no willpower in you to stop yourself from tasting him. Common sense had fled from you in the split seconds before you kissed him.

His prominent curly cue bobs as he shifts his head. “I am a little worried. But you’re with me, so things can’t be too bad.” Face optimistic, it smothers the negative thoughts that had been slithering around you.

“Oh you should most definitely be worried. ‘Cuz when I get back to work, my parents will definitely know something happened. And they will know it’s you since they read your note.”

Comically, his eyes bug. “They read my note?! Why did you let them read it!” Face red, he’s mortified that your parents were aware of everything that happened.

You laugh and clutch your stomach. “I didn’t let them! It slipped out of my pocket. Besides, I hadn’t read it yet so I didn’t know what it said. Otherwise I would have made sure not to take it with me!”

Manolo truly looks concerned for his life. “Your mama is gonna kill me. I saw what she did to Joaquin!”

Ah yes, she’d broken her wooden spoon on top of his head. She would have done a lot more were it not for your dad and Manolo restraining her.

“Just make sure to duck and you’ll be fine.”

#the book of life #the book of life fanfic #the book of life fanfiction #the book of life fandom #manolo sanchez #manolo sanchez fanfic #manolo sanchez fanfiction #manolo x reader #manolo sanchez x reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #book of life #book of life fandom #book of life fanfiction #book of life fanfic #book of life reader insert #book of life x reader

134 notes · View notes

thelastdiamondpiratealchemist · 9 months

Text

Manolo woke up, his head feeling like it would crack in half at any moment. He tried to swallow, but he cringed as the back of his throat burned, and it felt like dozens of needles being jabbed into his mouth. He groaned and reached for the glass of water on his nightstand, but his hands trembled too much to grasp it. His vision blurred, making it difficult to focus on anything in the dimly lit room.

He felt terrible; he sat up and hugged his upper body with his hands as it suddenly felt like he was freezing.

“Am I running a fever?” He mumbled to himself.

He slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed, trying to muster the strength to stand up. With each movement, his body protested, sending waves of pain through his limbs. He stumbled towards the bathroom, leaning on the walls for support.

Turning on the light, Manolo winced at the sudden brightness. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and was taken aback by his pale complexion. Beads of sweat lined his forehead, and his eyes looked bloodshot and weary.

He reached for the thermometer, his trembling hands struggling to steady it. Placing it under his tongue, he waited anxiously for the results. The seconds dragged on as he tried to focus on something other than his pounding headache. Finally, the thermometer was ready, and he took it out to read the display. 101.5°F.

Realization flooded over him – he definitely had a fever. Concern washed through his mind as he tried to recall any recent illness or exposure to someone sick.

Manolo heard a knock at the door; it was his father, Carlos .

“Yes, Papa?” Manolo called, trying to clear his voice. He pounded his hand against his chest, and his father opened the door, a frown printed across his face.

“Are you ill, Manolo?” He asked. Manolo quickly shoved the thermometer back into the drawer.

“No, Papa…Sanchezs don’t get *achoo!*…Sick… “ Manolo quietly cursed to himself as another sneeze escaped his lips. His father raised an eyebrow at the sudden interruption and furrowed his brows in concern.

“Manolo, you don’t look well. Are you sure you’re not sick?” Carlos asked, stepping closer to his son and touching his forehead. Manolo flinched at the contact, his skin burning under his father’s touch.

Carlos grabs his son’s lower jaw, and Manolo’s Hazel eyes widen nervously.

“Open your mouth,” Carlos orders; Manolo bites his lower lip as he shakes his head.

"I don’t want to,” Manolo whispered, his voice barely audible due to the pain in his throat. His father’s grip tightened slightly, and his expression became more serious.

“Manolo, I need to see if you have any other symptoms. It’s important for your health,” Carlos insisted firmly. Reluctantly, Manolo opened his mouth, allowing his father to examine the back of his throat.

Carlos’s eyes narrowed as he observed the inflamed, red tissue. He let go of Manolo’s jaw and sighed heavily, a mix of concern and frustration apparent on his face.

“You have a sore throat, Manolo. It could be strep throat or something worse. “I’m calling for a doctor; lie back down. I’ll let you miss your training today.”

Manolo nodded weakly, his body feeling heavier than ever. He slowly returned to his bed, collapsing onto the mattress and pulling the covers to his chin. The room spun around him as he closed his eyes, his body succumbing to the exhaustion and pain.

A short while later, he heard his father’s voice on the phone, speaking urgently to someone on the other end. He could faintly make out words like “fever,” “sore throat,” and “doctor.” Manolo’s heart sank, realizing his condition was more severe than initially thought.

As he lay in bed, waiting for the Doctor to arrive, Manolo’s mind raced with worry. What if it was something more than just strep throat? What if he had caught a contagious and dangerous illness? He couldn’t help but think about his family, wondering if they were at risk too.

Soon enough, the sound of the door opening alerted Manolo to the arrival of the Doctor. Dr. Hernandez, a tall and comforting figure, entered the room with a concerned expression.

“Good morning, Manolo. Your father tells me you’re not feeling well,” Dr. Hernandez said gently as he approached the bed. Manolo nodded, his throat too sore to respond.

Dr. Hernandez began examining Manolo, checking his temperature, listening to his rapid heartbeat, and asking him various questions about his symptoms. After a thorough examination, the Doctor confirmed the initial suspicion.

“You have strep throat, Manolo,” Dr. Hernandez said, calm but serious. “It’s a bacterial infection that can cause severe sore throat, fever, and difficulty swallowing. We’ll start you on antibiotics right away to combat the infection.”

The Doctor reaches into his medical bag, pulling out a small wooden box.

Manolo began to sweat bullets, not from the fever, but from fear, as the Doctor opened the box, revealing a small needle and a small vile of medicine.

“This injection will lower your fever,” Dr. Hernandez explained, seeing Manolo’s anxiety. “It’s just a small prick, and it will help you feel better.”

Manolo’s eyes widened at the sight of the needle, his fear intensifying. He had always been afraid of injections ever since he was a child. The mere thought of it made his heart race and his palms sweat.

“Sanchez isn’t afraid of needles!” Manolo thought, knowing his father would be disappointed in him if he discovered his fear.

Taking a deep breath, Manolo tried to calm himself. He knew that getting the injection was necessary to help him feel better. He closed his eyes, reminding himself that he was solid and capable of facing his fears.

“Manolo, I understand you may be afraid of needles, but this is for your own good. It’s just a quick pinch, and it will help bring down your fever and alleviate your symptoms.” Dr. Hernandez approached him gently, his voice soothing.

Manolo nodded, mustering up his courage.

“I know, Doctor. I trust you.” He stretched out his arm, exposing his pale skin to the Doctor’s careful eyes.

The Doctor prepared the injection and placed a hand on Manolo’s shoulder, offering reassurance. “Take a deep breath and try to relax. It will be over before you know it.”

Manolo closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. He felt a slight pinch and a cool sensation as the medicine entered his bloodstream. Surprisingly, the pain was not as unbearable as he had anticipated. He opened his eyes and saw Dr. Hernandez gently removing the needle.

“There, all done,” the Doctor said with a smile. “You did great, Manolo. Just rest now, and the medication will start working soon…Manolo?”

Manolo briefly lost consciousness, his body succumbing to the exhaustion and pain. When he woke again, the room was hazy, and his head felt heavy. He blinked a few times, his vision slowly clearing.

“Manolo, are you alright?” he asked, his voice filled with worry. Dr. Hernandez was still by his side, a concerned expression on his face.

“I… I’m okay,” he managed to croak out. Manolo nodded weakly, his throat feeling even more raw than before.

“You gave us quite a scare there, Manolo. Your fever spiked momentarily, but it seems to be stabilizing now. The medication is starting to work.” The Doctor sighed in relief.

Manolo nodded again, feeling a glimmer of hope within him. He knew he had a long road to recovery, but knowing that the medicine was taking effect brought him some comfort.

Dr. Hernandez stayed with Manolo for a bit longer, monitoring his vital signs and answering any questions. He explained the importance of rest and taking the antibiotics as prescribed. He assured Manolo that he would start feeling better soon with proper care.

Manolo closed his eyes as the Doctor left and let exhaustion take over again. He knew that recovery would not come easy, but with the support of his family and medical help, he was determined to fight through it.

The next day, Manolo’s Grandma explained to the neighbors that her grandson wasn’t feeling well and had caught strep throat.

Serena, a childhood friend, stopped by the house; she handed Carlos a basket filled to the brim with canisters of tea, coffee, bananas, hard candies, and a thermos with her older sister’s special chicken noodle soup.

“For Manolo, rumor says he’s sick,” Serena handed Manolo’s father the heavy basket, “This should help him feel better.”

Carlos smiled gratefully at Serena and accepted the basket.

“Thank you, Serena. This is very kind of you and your family,” he said sincerely. “Manolo will appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

“I hope he gets well soon. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help. My family is here for you.” Serena nodded, her eyes filled with concern.

“We’ll let you know if we need anything. Your support means a lot to us.” Carlos patted her shoulder appreciatively.

Serena left, and Carlos carried the basket into Manolo’s room. He gently placed it on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed. Manolo stirred, slowly opening his eyes.

“Dad? What’s all this?” Manolo’s voice was weak but curious.

“Serena brought it for you,” Carlos explained, gesturing to the basket. “Tea, coffee, soup, and some snacks. It’s meant to help you feel better. She’ll make a fine wife someday.”

“Papa!” Manolo blushed, knowing his father was being ‘soft’ towards him because he still wasn’t feeling good.

“I’m just teasing, Manolo. But Serena is a good friend, and her family cares about you. They want to help you get better.” Carlos chuckled.

“Tell Serena I said thank you, Dad. And thank her family, too. It means a lot.” Manolo smiled weakly and reached for the thermos of soup. He took a small sip, the warm broth soothing his sore throat.

“Ah~ that’s good,” Manolo sighed, closing his eyes momentarily.

Carlos watched with relief as Manolo visibly relaxed and enjoyed the soup. Seeing his son take a step towards recovery made him smile.

“I will, son. I’ll make sure to give them our thanks,” Carlos replied, his voice full of warmth. “Take your time with the soup and rest. The Doctor said the medication should start working soon, so focus on improving. Remember, you got more training to do as a future bullfighter.”

Manolo sighed, slowly nodding in agreement as his father left his room. After Carlos closed Manolo’s bedroom door, allowing him privacy, Manolo glanced at his guitar in the corner of his pale green wall.

“Always play from the heart, love Maria,” was written on the guitar’s side.

Manolo reached over and picked up his guitar, cradling it in his arms. Music had always been a source of comfort and inspiration for him, and he knew that it could bring him solace even in this challenging time. He strummed a few chords gently, feeling the vibrations resonate through his body.

Closing his eyes, Manolo allowed the music to take over. He played from the heart, pouring all his emotions into each note. The gentle melody filled the room, weaving through the hazy air. Despite his weakened state, Manolo felt a flicker of energy within him, as if the music was rejuvenating his spirit.

From outside, Serena was walking by. She could hear her old friend playing his beloved guitar; she clicked her tongue slightly before she picked up a small pebble and threw it at the glass panel.

“Man.o.lo!!” She sounded out his name.

Manolo jumped, his fingers slipping on the guitar strings. He quickly turned his head towards the window, a surprised look on his face. He saw Serena standing outside, a mischievous smile on her face.

“Serena? What are you doing?” he called out, a mix of annoyance and amusement in his voice.

“I heard you playing your guitar, and I couldn’t resist interrupting,” Serena giggled. “But seriously, Manolo, you sound amazing even when sick!”

Manolo couldn’t help but laugh, his spirits lifted by Serena’s playful nature. He set his guitar down and went to the window, opening it to talk with her.

“I’m glad you think so! But my playing is probably not as good as usual today,” he admitted, his voice still raspy from his sore throat.

Serena’s playful tone soon changed to a severe style, her voice stern and heavy.

“Get your butt back to bed, Manolo!” She called, narrowing her green eyes. ”You’re still recovering, and you need to rest. No more playing guitar for now, got it?”

Manolo chuckled, touched by Serena’s concern. He appreciated her playful interruption and understood the importance of caring for himself.

“You’re right, Serena. I’ll head back to bed and rest,” he replied, a grateful smile on his face. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

“I’m just getting some practice,” Serena joked, placing her hands on her hips.

“What for?”

“When I get married and become a mother, of course! No future husband or child mine will get sicker on my watch!” Serena grinned.

Manolo couldn’t help but laugh at Serena’s playful response. Her dedication and care for him warmed his heart.

“Well, I’m glad I have you looking out for me, future mother Serena,” he teased, his voice lighthearted.

Serena playfully rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Just get some rest, okay? Don’t worry about anything else right now. Let your body heal,” she said, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Manolo nodded, appreciating her words of wisdom.

“You’re right. Rest is the priority. I’ll save my guitar playing for when I’m better,” he agreed.

Serena nodded, satisfied with his response.

“Good. And remember, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to let us know. Your support means a lot to us, too,” she said softly.

“Thank you, Serena. Your friendship and kindness mean the world to me,” he replied.

“Okay, I love you, Manolo!” Serena accidentally admitted, her face turning bright red.

“Wh-What was that?!” Manolo misunderstood what Serena said; he watched Serena cover her mouth.

“Nothing! Feel better soon, see ya later, Manny!” Serena corrected herself before running off down the street to the market.

Manolo stood at the window, a smile spreading across his face. He watched as Serena hurried away, her cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. Despite the misunderstanding, Manolo couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth in his chest; he closed the window and returned to bed, thoughts of Serena filled his mind.

Manolo quickly got back into bed before Carlos caught him out of bed. He could hear him walking up the stairs, and by the time his father was at the door jiggling the door handle, Manolo pretended to be asleep.

Carlos entered the room, unaware that Manolo was feigning sleep. He sighed heavily, his fatherly concern evident as he spoke softly.

“Manolo, I hope you’re resting. I heard the guitar earlier, and I can’t stress enough how important it is for you to take care of yourself,” Carlos said, slightly annoyed.

Manolo resisted the urge to laugh, knowing he had fooled his father. He pretended to be asleep, hoping Carlos would believe he was too sick to respond.

Manolo resisted the urge to sit up and reassure his father that he understood. Instead, he stayed still, hoping that Carlos would leave him alone and let him rest. He could hear his father’s footsteps growing faint as he walked out of the room, likely convinced that Manolo was fast asleep.

The sound of Carlos’s footsteps faded away; Manolo finally allowed himself to relax. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, grateful for Serena’s playful interruption and genuine concern. At that moment, as he lay in bed, thoughts of Serena and her affectionate slip of the tongue filled his mind, bringing him comfort and a sense of joy amidst his illness.

Serena’s words echoed in his head as he began to fall asleep.

“I love you, Manolo!”

The future musician’s pale face blushed brightly…He had to misunderstand her, right?

Eventually, Manolo fell asleep, his breathing steady and his body finally at rest. As his dreams carried him away, the memory of Serena’s playful interruption and her words of love remained, filling his heart with hope and anticipation for the future. He couldn’t wait to see what lay ahead for their friendship and perhaps something more.

The End.

4 notes · View notes