Episode: 3.1

--- Raimundo Morales ---

“Okay, I’ve got everything planned out meticulously-” he began pacing back and forth, talking more to himself than anyone else in the room.

“You’re going to get in your own way.”

He stopped pacing to glare at his now second-best friend, a sixteen-year-old boy with dark brown hair and a button up shirt, “Why are you here again?”

“Because I’m one of the few people who know about your feelings for Nadya.” Desmond explained flipping through a magazine with a bored expression.

“He’s not wrong though.”

He turned his glare on the second offender, a man with a light tan, brown hair, and a near mocking grin, “Shut it, papá.”

“You can’t get mad at him for being right.” A brown-haired woman informed him as she slowly knit, (W-what is that a sweater? It’s the middle of June mom.)

“I can and I will.” he argued, before realizing what he’d said.

“So, you admit you’re going to get in your own way?” Raúl Morales asked, earning another glare from his son.

“I will do no such thing.” He ‘hmphed’ with confidence.

“Betting pool says you will.” His mamá María Morales said, stopping her knitting to pull out the tablet holding all the active family bets and showing it to her son.

(1 to 76, I actually confess to her…)

He couldn’t help but frown at that.

(I really wish I didn’t agree with those odds…)

“Speaking of up my bet ten bucks.” Desmond Hall told her, handing her several bills he’d pulled from his wallet.

(At this point betting is just taunting me…)

“You know I’m going to make a fortune when I win that bet,” (eventually.) he told all of them, making sure to keep that last word to himself.

“That’s fine, but until then we’re going to continue to make a fortune off you and our future daughter in law.” María told him, as she tucked the ten into an envelope full of money marked, ‘Raimundo wusses out (#37)’.

“Thanks for the confidence?” he asked more than said, since he had no idea whether his mother was trying to be antagonizing or actually cheering for him.

(With her it could be either one… eh, doesn’t matter…)

He shook his head clear before trying to get back on track.

“Still, everything is planned out meticulously,” He began anew before turning and pointing both a finger and a warning glare at Desmond whose mouth was already half open, “We’re going to have my birthday party at the end of the week, right?” he asked putting his hands together as he pointed at his parents.

“Yep, everything’s set.” Raúl nodded before pulling out a six pack of beer from a bag between his legs, “Including parent approved alcohol…” he offered, as his wife shook the cans slightly.

“No.” He shut his (irresponsible) parents down quickly.

“But its legal if the parent provides…”

“Only to your own kids, providing it to others is still illegal and you’ll be held legally responsible.” He argued, having actually looked up the law the last time they’d had this argument during his sixteenth birthday one year prior.

“Fine…” Raúl sighed, before smirking, “Desmond, given how I view you as my second son I legally give you this beer to do with as you please… as well as the keg I have in the basement.”

“Why thank you, beloved father figure.” Desmond said playing along with his own smirk as Raúl handed him the six pack.

“Doesn’t count!” He yelled, swiping the six pack before either of them realized it.

(Damn it, moved a little too fast there…)

His dad blinked before shaking his head, and complaining to his wife, “We raised this kid too damn well…”

His mom patted his dad’s shoulder in a ‘there, there’ manner, only half-paying attention.

“Now, given how I’ve planned for these shenanigans of yours, all alcohol will be locked in a secured place where no one has access to it.” He resumed, both his planning and his pacing.

(Have to keep moving…)

“You know without anything to get drunk or high off, no one’s actually going to show up for this party, right?” Desmond asked tossing his finished magazine onto the otherwise clean floor of Raimundo’s room, much to his annoyance.

(My floor is not a bin, cabron!)

He raised a single finger into the air. “I only need one person to show up, and that’s already guaranteed.”

“Speaking of, where did you send Nadya off to? She usually helps us plan these things more than you do.” María asked him, curiously.

“I asked her to try and get a few things for the party tomorrow, told her everyone else was too busy to do it.” He shrugged, after all it was technically true given how they were all busy, helping him in a so-far unhelpful manner.

“A relationship built on lies is unhealthy~” Desmond teased.

“So ‘s getting me angry~” he shot back trying not to think on his actual ‘anger management’ issues, as he deflected, “Besides our relationship will be founded on friendship.”

“Sappy.”

“It’s not sappy its… I don’t know, is it sappy?” he asked his parents, a hint of worry leaking into his voice, since mentioning their friendship was a staple of this confession attempt.

“Little bit, but I won your mamá with the right amount of it.” Raúl admitted before smiling at his wife as he placed a hand on her leg.

“You’ll find ‘sappy’ can mean adorably romantic sometimes, mijo.” His mother told him, with her own smile as she continued working on her knitting project.

“And other times, it means awkward and too much…” he groaned, collapsing on his bed in dramatic fashion.

María sighed, before placing her project on the side of the couch and moving to her son’s side, “Mijo, how many times have you tried to confess to Nadya?” she asked him.

(124 attempts, 49 with assistance from family, 12 with assistance from family outside of the present party.)

“I, I don’t know…” (which way to answer,) “the envelope says thirty-seven…”

“That’s how many times you’ve made a big plan and failed, I’m sure you’ve tried a number of times other than those, right?” he nodded as she pulled him to his feet, “I can promise you, Nadya cares for you just as much as you do her, and if you ask her to be more, I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

“And if I ruin, our friendship?” he asked, the admit ably weaker reason he paused whenever he tried to confess his feelings, “What if it ruins the last six years? I, I can’t imagine life without her in it…”

“Then don’t,” she told him bluntly before dragging him in front of a mirror atop his dresser, “imagine the rest of the life you two could have together. Imagine getting married, having kids, grandkids. Imagine everything you could have if you just told her the truth.”

The sad part was he could imagine all of that.

The bad part however…

His fingers began to burn, and his teeth itch.

“But…”

“No, you’re making this more complicated than it has to be.” she told him sternly, while straightening out his raven black hair, “You’re just an ordinary boy, telling an ordinary girl that you love her. Nothing else matters.”

“…”

She spun him to face the mirror.

“Say it.”

“I’m… just an… ordinary boy,” he paused, half expecting something bad to happen, before continuing with ease, “telling an ordinary girl that I love her.”

“And?”

He bit his lip, instinct telling him not to say it.

“Nothing else… matters.”

He let out a sigh of relief, as his mamá hugged him.

She nodded before hugging him, “No it doesn’t.”

“Thanks, mamá.” He told her hugging her back.

After her pep-talk, his mamá hurried the other two out telling them they had to make sure everything was actually together for the party. Though given how they had a week to get ready, she was probably leaving in the false-hopes that he’d build some confidence with a moment to himself.

(She’s a little too optimistic at times…) he thought with a wry grin.

Now alone, he glanced at the magazine Des had left on the floor, before rolling his eye and picking it up.

As he turned to move, his gaze once more fell on the mirror, as dead-grey eyes managed to stare back at him.

Now turning fully, he forced himself to look his pale reflection in the eye, trying to ignore the fact that he looked nothing like either of his parents… or, at least the ones he knows best.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, before letting it out slowly. His grip on the dresser hard enough to leave a mark on the wood, he forced himself to repeat his mother’s words once more.

“I’m just an ordinary boy, telling an ordinary girl that I love her. Nothing else matters.”

As he stared into the white pupils of two midnight black eyes, he couldn’t help but chuckle. The sound bitter and self-depreciating even to himself, before taking the magazine from his tail and tossing it on the dresser.

“Wished that really was the truth, mamá…”