Luckily for Dolores, and the rest of the Madrigals, the following day would be nothing out of their ordinary schedule. Which meant rest for some, annoying repetitive tasks for others – ultimately a different brand of stress than the day before.

Dolores, herself, was still exhausted. She was able to hide it, her favourite tea healing her complexion (thanks Camilo) and quickly busying herself within the town. It was hard to look tired, with the fresh air and the sweet sounds of a familiar town bustling bringing a calm she had not felt in almost 24 hours.

However, hiding away and helping the town wasn't the only thing on her mind. Being out here gave her a lot of time to think, and rationalize all the sounds she's heard and which she should pay attention to. If she knew anything about the last few sounds she heard the night before, it was that they only gave a small indication of what might be hiding behind them.

Normally, Dolores wasn't one to interact with her Tío Bruno. Knowing about him was risky enough, what if someone found out about him through her? Too risky, way too risky. The most she could do for him, regardless, was bring him food when he needed it. He would tell her that he didn't need her help, that he could get all this himself – and she trusted him! But she helped anyway.

Just a few days before, she had snuck away a little extra food for him in fear he might be sick, and it wasn't a big deal. She thought it would work, it always did – but now, with all those strange noises? She was starting to believe it was much worse than her Tío was leading on, especially if he never spoke of it…

Again, she trusted him, but she needed to know for sure. If he wouldn't verbally explain the situation, then she would just have to get it out of him another way. A few scenarios ran through her mind, but there was one that she ultimately chose as her favourite, fool-proof plan.

Which is all why, after the family lunch, Dolores offered to help her Tía in the kitchen. She was no stranger to helping on the odd occasion, and besides, she couldn't ignore the healer's under-her-breath grumbling about her stress. The fact that she would be inside Casita, close enough to her Tío to confront him, was just an addition.

"So, any particular reason you're helping me today?"

The super-hearing girl squeaked, handling a half-full bag of flour when the inevitable question caught her. It was no surprise, really; the Madrigals had an unfortunate habit of only helping each other when they needed something. She could mention her Tía's under-breath complaints as a valid reason – but that would be cruel, even for her.

"I just needed a moment away from the town," she settled on with a shrug, trying desperately to place the bag of flour down without making a mess. It was only now, with a small cloud of the power painting a contrast on her skirt, that she realized she should've worn an apron.

Julieta seemed to notice, chuckling softly enough that it sounded normal to her ears. Dolores grabbed a spare apron, shrugging away her aunt's offer of tying it and along with it, one of her famous discussions of kitchen safety. On a normal day, she wouldn't mind it as background noise, but today, she was on a mission.

However, she didn't push her away when the offer for a spare hair clip was given. Dolores may like her hair down, but in the kitchen, every Madrigal's beautiful hair had to be kept neatly and out of the way.

She muttered a soft "gracias" as she pinned her hair back, pushing her curls into a way that still made it comfortable. For a moment, she wondered if she should retrieve one of those thicker hair ties she had in her room to better control it; but she wouldn't necessarily need it. The pin did its job, and she wanted to spend as much time here with her Tía – and in the area – as possible.

For the most part, the kitchen fell into a comfortable silence as they worked. Only the sounds of kitchenware colliding, water boiling, food sizzling and chopping surrounded the specialized room, bringing comfort in its simplicity. It helped Dolores look as if she was completely focused, collecting flour and vegetables and spices, all while her true focus directed itself to a man who was being awfully, unnaturally quiet...

She had been washing her hands with a damp rag when she heard the first significant sound from behind those walls since she came here. It was the rats. Yes, insignificant as they may seem; a squeak as a scurry was quickly met with a hushed request to leave. Huh, that was particularly weird. That man never asked his rats to leave, unless… What was he hiding?

The hushing didn't stop there. A few more scattering paws climbed their way up the old fabric of the chair, scratching and clawing with the material. The sound made her cringe – but the sound of those creatures squeaking in protest to be met with no usual chipper old voice made her cringe more. If he was trying to 'blend in' or be less noticeable, he was doing a horriblejob.

More time quickly became dedicated to picking apart every sound she could from that hidden room. Every shuffle, every nervous tap of fingers, every calculated breath or pained gasp – Dios, what was with him? It almost sounded as if he had just run away and was hiding, trying not to make a sound in fear someone would find him. Almost like those first few days, years ago, when he began hiding in the first place. Trying to avoid her-

"Everything alright?"

She must've become too distracted, too wrapped up in reaching the bottom of this mystery. When the sound of Tia's voice breached her focus, suddenly Dolores became much more aware of her surroundings. Frozen where she stood, she must've only now realized she moved closer to the butterfly-shaped tiles; her head was tilted to the dining room, and her hands mindlessly wrung the towel.

No, everything was not alright. Anyone could tell she was distracted, deep in thought and concentration. She became aware once again, allowing the sounds of the world to overflow her senses for a moment. Her head retracted from its exaggeratedly tilted pose, and her hands ceased wringing the town any longer. Maybe she could still get away with an excuse.

Dolores became increasingly happy that she hadn't spaced out in front of anyone else; this was Tía Julieta, she would understand. "I got distracted by Tío," she offered, quickly realizing her mistake and how to fix it. "He's in the forest again." Better. She squeaked softly to signify that is all she would say, only moving to return that long overused rag.

Any other day she would've loved to make a half-minded grip at Tío Bruno's stupidity. Today couldn't afford to be one of those days.

A loving sigh found its way to her aunt. "Ay, again?" The younger girl knew she wasn't mad, not even upset. Tía's husband finding himself in the middle of a swarm of bees was common enough that even if he wasn't there, she would believe anyone if they said he was.

Tía mumbled some words about her husband always getting into trouble – words she honestly found sweet and endearing. Of course, though, she couldn't find herself distracted for long. She was there to help, and they weren't anywhere near finished preparing the town's healing supply for this afternoon. "Tía, which spi-"

"That box over there, if you don't mind, mija?" Julieta didn't seem to hear her speak at first, just gesturing to a box on the other side of the kitchen. With her healing Tía in the midst of kneading a complex dough, she gave a simple "sí," before retrieving said box.

The two fell over a silent rhythm once again, Dolores slowly finding herself with less work as all the food gradually concluded its preparation. During this time she tried not to become distracted with any more studies of awfully subtle sounds but always kept one ear open.

About an hour after she started, it became clear that Dolores' work in the kitchen was done. She made sure to clean every last fleck of flour off her hands and clothes before hanging her apron, hopefully leaving it for someone to use again soon.

Julieta wouldn't let her leave, just yet. A hand wandered onto the niece's shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. "Thank you for all your help, Lola," she said softly, silently offering the girl a few buñuelos as a gift with a smile. "For the road." It was quite obvious Julieta hadn't needed help… but any help, or company, was appreciated.

Dolores offered her Tía a smile. "Any time."

She only walked a short distance away from the kitchen, maybe in her aunt's line of sight if she were not distracted. Yes, her duties in town are something she would have to get back to before Abuela noticed her absence, but before then, she had to put her carefully gathered observations to good use.

He let out a breath he held for, well, whoever knows how long?

There was no doubt she could still hear him. Dios, it would be stupid to think she couldn't – but if the ending of that conversation meant anything, then she would be back in town. He could relax, if only a little.

He felt a little guilty for keeping himself quiet, out of Dolores' radar if he could, but surely this remaining sickness… issue… thing was something he could deal with on his own. He would, and all he needed was the reassurance that he was truly alone for this. Even if that meant heavily hindering his own daily speech and way of life.

Bruno had difficulty leaving his chair, so he simply wouldn't. Not for now, at least. If he didn't have to, why would he? It's not like he hadn't spent most of his days in this chair anyway; entertaining his horde of rats, painting set designs, writing episodes for the novela...

It's not like he did much else, so he could do just that.

Everything made noise, no doubt, but writing was still a rather quiet and a very much 'him' activity. Unless he got excited and started rambling plot lines out loud, this could be something he'd be able to do quietly and distract himself from the inevitable. Yes, this was a great idea… if only his notebooks weren't on the other side of the room.

Great. Just great. Of course, he would have to get up. The man fumbled in his chair a bit, pouting; he debated asking the rats to retrieve it, but the book was surely too heavy to carry on their own. So he had to get up and grab it himself, like a responsible person.

Standing was difficult, but he managed to do it. Walking took time, but he managed to get to the other side of the room in one piece. Hey, maybe this whole thing wasn't as bad as he thought. Bruno thought to himself in a bout of optimism, overridden with precautions, about what other essentials he should take back to his chair; you know, just in case this was the only time he could manage to travel.

His fingers barely brushed the surface of his notebook when he heard a soft knock. His breath hitched, praying it wasn't what he thought it was. Maybe it was the wind- no, that's stupid, but it really could've been anything in a house like Casita. The man stood deathly still (other than the salt he threw over his shoulder), head turned and focused only on the source of the sound.

He wanted to ignore it, hope it was nothing and move on. He clearly had more important things to do than worry about a sound- but no, he had to worry about the person whose gift was to worry about sounds.

Two more knocks and his rats gathering around the crack in the family tree confirmed his suspicions. Bruno exhaled, knowing he would have to face this sooner or later. The man walked a few steps closer to the wall that separated him from the dining room, forgetting the notebook for now. Even if he didn't want to engage, he couldn't ignore her or pretend not to be there like the hack job of hiding he pulled off earlier.

"Tío, look… whatever it is, just don't try to hide it from me."

A breath stopped halfway, eyes widening. Dolores knew… that he was hiding. If she knew more, she wasn't leading on, but it didn't matter. He tried to run from telling her, from worrying her – and honestly, he didn't know if he was ready to admit what happened, not now, not like this.

"Dolores… it's fine, I'm fine." Bruno sighed, cringing internally. Dios Mio, Bruno, what was that? Of course, she wasn't going to believe him now; the amount of times he's tried to brush things off with an 'I'm fine' is enough to render him a compulsive liar.

He could practically hear her own sigh, see her disbelieving expression. She knew it was nonsense as well.

"Just… don't hurt yourself, okay?"

Bruno could only give her a half-pained chuckle in response. "I can manage."

That was probably the most honest thing he could've said to her at that moment. Even a nonsensical, quickly answered reassurance was the most believable thing he's uttered all day. He'd just been so out of it, calculating what he could say to keep Dolores off his tracks. It surprised even himself that he managed to sound almost normal, almost as if he wasn't struggling with words.

Maybe it was the way his niece's care reminded him so much of the gentle words of his sweet, eldest sister. Maybe that's why his words were so 'Bruno-like' just now.

And maybe, he was thinking too much of it, but he didn't care; his mind always ran this many meters an hour. Even if Dolores had already left – she likely had, having a busy Madrigal responsibility in the town and all that – he couldn't help the warm hidden suspicion that deep inside, his family still cared about him.

The temptation to double-check if she had left was strong, but he had to be stronger. He shouldn't bother her again so soon.

He debated quite often if he should let people in, let people help him because they obviously wanted to. And what was the obvious answer to that? No! Why should he let anyone worry about him? Small, quiet, insignificant Bruno? He was a grown man, he was more than capable of taking care of himself. And that's why he was living in the godforsaken walls, deteriorating by the day...

Which… is something he should get back to doing. Just living in the walls like the human king of rats he's been rumoured as.

He hummed. After finally snatching that notebook – and a couple of other important things – Bruno set himself to sit in this chair and not move for the next few hours unless it was absolutely necessary. He doubted it would happen, having everything he could need by his side and an amazing plot twist stuck in his mind, but one could never be too careful.

Even as his rat companions tugged at his sleeves, nagging him almost to get up, do something, he couldn't. He knew what they wanted and only for a moment did he consider complying for that one last thing, but he couldn't. If only for today, to heal and rest, he would sit in this chair and just write. Write and write until his episodes were done with notes to spare, find some time later to work on more sets as well. Hell, he could practice lines with the actors with time to spare.

Whatever the rats needed, they could either get themselves or wait a few hours for him to retrieve it.

/

It was safe to say that he could only get so much writing done.

To be fair, he tried. Bruno tried switching between working on the novela, painting, and reenacting his future favourite television shows – the novela, of course, being his top priority. But damn, did nothing seem to work out for him.

Several plot points, twists and turns in the story can only be written so many times before it becomes frustrating to focus on the bigger picture. There was just something about the way this next season started that he couldn't get past, until he eventually gave up for a while, dramatically tossing his scribbled notes onto the table next to him.

His hands rubbed over his temples, letting out a soft groan when he felt some tension release already. This plot… he would just have to come back to it later. Good on him for pacing the episodes far away enough that he had time to work on them, otherwise he'd have to wing everything in the story to come. He doubted Dolores would appreciate it if all the twists in his plotlines inevitably led to multiple dead ends.

Right, Dolores… even if the confrontation had passed hours ago by now, it wouldn't leave his mind. Whenever he wasn't blissfully distracted by writing, thoughts of the meaning behind her words plagued him. That's why he stuck on writing for so long, honestly – the second his focus slipped, his doubt crept back in.

With the aches in his head at ease, Bruno allowed himself to pick up on the new, more prominent sounds of people talking vividly and the sounds of kitchenware setting up around the big, wooden table. He started hearing the setup not long before, but now, there were enough people to get things started. Ah yes, it was dinner time – and he had no food. No big deal, really, he prematurely ran out of food many times; but he never skipped out on 'eating' with the family.

Which meant he would have to walk, just one more time. For the familia, he reasoned to himself, trying to gather whatever strength the day had left for him. The slanted position he was sitting in was not doing any favours for any of his old bones, so standing surprisingly helped him a lot. If only to stretch; quickly retracting with the very apparent pain springing back to him.

He still managed to hobble his way to his makeshift table with a depressing lack of dinner, but he didn't sit just yet; not when he heard his second-oldest sobrina speak.

It wasn't to him, but it was enough of a reminder.

Even if his earlier words to her about being able to manage had been a slip-up, a lie even; he felt himself wondering what else his sobrina had to say to him. If she had anything to say now or was she waiting for him to slip up at any second? He couldn't see her from where he stood, barely hear her words – would she try to talk to him again after dinner?

Worrying about something like this wouldn't get anything done, wouldn't heal him. He felt his anxiety spike when his rats began chattering around the table, wanting to hush them, keep them quiet – but what would that do? They couldn't hear the rats, he knew this.

So why was it such a struggle to let them make noise? To move, to talk, to live? Why was it such a struggle for himself, when he knew they neglected to notice him anyways?

Bruno couldn't bring himself to move much, so he didn't move much. With his mind spiralling for the nteenth time, he simply stood there, standing a straight parallel to that crack in the wall. He couldn't look through it, couldn't risk meeting her face, not now… A hand simply wandered to the back of the family tree, inches away from the crack; the other hand on the table for support.

He stared at it, at the blindingly warm light only a family room could offer; gaze wandering to his little excuse of a table, back at the crack, himself, and the crack again. His face softened as his doubts about everything surfaced in his mind.

Why was he doing this?