The house that had once been vacant and silent, is now filled with noises and complaints, screaming. Feet running around and roars of laughter. Chaos. And, perhaps Isaias was wrong, but the noises of a cat? A cat who sounded a lot like a human. He made his descent down the stairs. Hissing took his attention, he stretched his neck to the living room bewildered.

"Suyana, don't hiss at me!"

Oh, so that was the cat.

The little girl ran laps around her father, crawling underneath the coffee table, dodging his relentless attempts to catch her. Stumbling, the man caught himself on the edge of the table, as fast as his uncle was on his feet, he was no match for his youngest daughter, who had a snack on outrunning her parents.

"Bolones!"

Roaring a thrilled scream, she practically shot into the kitchen, jolting her father upright, upstairs feet romped at the call, doors being slammed. Isaias could smell the warmed-up bolones de verde wafting through the room.

He shook his head with a smile, "This house just keeps getting louder,"

A soft smile made its way on Jon's face, "Smaller too, and now with you, it's a full package,"

The way his uncle smiled was serene. It was like he was made to grin brightly at every chance he got, his aunt called him sunflower. Isaias would agree, if his uncle didn't have the untamed energy of a golden retriever with a sugar rush.

Isaias grins, "Que fuerte, malo package then?"

Throat became too dry. A meaningless question, easily dismissible. Not one that came from fragile insecurities, one that held too much weight for Isaias. Because being the bad package was who he was.

He could practically see his mother's discerning gaze, it pinned him down by the roots of his feet. Withering under her judgement, pathetic. The way her lips thinned, twisting, a breath leaving her as she shifted her attention to more important pursuits than wasting her time. Burning all the same if she had said something.

Jon rumbled a bubbly laugh, "No way, not even close,"

Isaias' throat tightened even with the smile stretching his lips. Before he could respond to the sound of something tumbling the stairs squashed down next reply.

"What--"

Startling back as a figure ran between them, Coya gave him a grin before sprinting to the kitchen.

"Jesus," A hand resting on his unsettled heart.

Blinking he watched Julio descend the stairs, face buried in his phone, scurrying after his twin sister.

"C'mere!" The man stretched his arms wide open, Isaias snorted, shaking his head.

One thing everyone knew about Jon. He always has an easy smile on his face, round high cheeks, pulling jokes and being the joy of the crowd. A friendly outgoing guy. Now, one thing Isaias knew about his Uncle Jon, he had magic.

Rough palms could make even the most stubborn seeds take root, watch his eyes take a sharp creative gleam when something was broken, the way he clapped his calloused hands and got to work, making something out of nothing. His low baritone voice singing with his worn guitar, strings strumming through his bones. The warm vibrations drummed into his heart, coaxing him to sleep. Real magic to the boy who had believed in it.

Isaias could still remember how Jon would pick him up and throw him into the air, tiny fingers brushing the ends of the clouds only to fall back into ready, secure arms.

The relationship was complicated. A one-sided complication, that is. Because it has nothing to do with Jon, nothing at all. It was the long years of friendship with his father that always made Isaias feel the need to sit up straighter, the need to be respectfully tense with his words, to bite the inside of his cheek every time he slipped up with self-control. Much to Jon's dismay. Even after years, Isaias still felt the need to be formal towards the older man.

Isaias made his way to stand directly in front of his tío, looking down and grinning as large hands jostled his shoulders.

"Dios, you're taller than me now," Giving him proud pats and ruffling his curls.

“I hope so, it’s been years,”

 It hasn't been exactly years.

He had been at par with his tíos at age fifteen till he just started growing and growing, and apparently to them, he never stopped growing. And in all fairness, his other uncles weren't exactly the tallest people to say he was tall. Not that he'd tell them that. Has crecido! Se comió sus verduras, they'd like to tease him every time. Maybe you didn't. He always called back, eating vegetables had nothing to do with it.

Isaias shrugs, "And I do eat a lot,"

"More than me? Imposible," Jon grins, "But since I cook a whole lot, you can help out with that, there's isn't even space in our fridge anymore,"

"Cooking? I don't know if that's my thing," Isaias leaned away in protest.

Jon bites back a laugh, "I meant eating, travieso,"

Travieso. Something that his tío has called him since he was just a toddler learning to crawl. The minute Isaias began stumbling steps, Jon had declared, foreseen, that Isaias was going to be a troublemaker. He was right of course. Just didn't know how much.

"Ohhh, right, yeah I can do that, except for-"

"Alamares, trust me we know,"

Isaias bit back a grin, "And you know how we know," The man continued, eyes filling with laughter.

"Because I kept feeding squid to Lobo underneath the table,"

"Because you kept feeding squid to Lobo underneath the table," Jon repeated, chortling at the memory.

Lobo the dog had been a rescue, one that his uncle was only allowed to keep for a few months. Which actually turned into a year before the scruffy rather large black dog was given to a caring family. One that his uncle still sees around frequently today.

Isaias hated squid. Alamares. The very word made him shrivel up and back away. And Jon at the time cooked with all his heart's content, the man loved seafood, so there was no surprise he added squid as much as he could to his dishes.

Isaias, being a child, didn't know what to do. The boy hadn't wanted to share his dislike of the sea creature, thinking it would be far too rude towards the man who was his father's closest friend. So he was determined to say nothing at all. And chose to secretly sneak the pieces underneath the table to excited wide waiting jaws.

It wasn’t long till they had been caught. Jon had bursted out laughing holding the side of his stomach, he laughed so much that he tumbled out of his chair. It was perhaps, because Isaias kept protesting his innocence as Lobo gobbled up what was left of the evidence from the floor.

The older man squinted, a wide grin on his face, "You eat squid just fine when it's in ceviche,"

"C'mon, tío, it's ceviche," Like the word explained the entirety of his argument.

Jon nodded in solemn agreement, one he couldn't refute. There was nothing better than ceviche. That was a fact. Even with the thrilling happy glow, a sheer layer of something else held in Jon's eyes. Eyebrows furrowing decisively, mouth agape struggling to form words that clung to his tongue.

The doorbell rang, snapping Jon's jaw shut. Isaias could hear a delighted loud voice, words covered in honey, and Mr Reuten's unhappy snappy retorts. A high-pitched cackle, and that had Isaias' guesses pointing to one person and one person only. Jon's eyebrow lifted and began to make his way to the front door.

Opening the door, and long jeaned legs strode past him, "It was so nice to talk to you again, Mr Reuten!"

"Not in my garden, you fiend!" The older man snapped back, his demands could be heard from all the way in the living room.

"Send my love to Katia!" She smooches loud kisses in the air, slamming the door shut after her.

She groans praises to god, hand placed on her chest. Red mule-heeled sandals clicked with each step she took, and a pair of dark-tinted lenses sat at the tip of her pointed nose, a sleek cat-eyed black frame that extended out from her tall cheeks. Her brown-lined-lipped smile dropped to a frown.

"Increíble,"

Frustratingly the tall woman slid off a thick scrunchie from her hair, dark curls sprung free, sliding down her back. White tank top snug on her lean frame, a thin silver chain sat on her neck. A smooth black handbag dangling low at her hip. Fingers delicately worked around her wide silver hoop earrings that caught on wisps of her hair.

Groomed sharp eyebrows furrowing, "After all these years, Mr Rueten still doesn't like me, puedes creerlo?"

"Well, you did almost kill his chrysanthemums--" Jon mused, she stopped him with a wag of her finger.

"Nope, no, even before that, ese hombre, has had something against me the minute he saw me, even before the- Cisanth? Crisem? Chris flowers or whatever they're called," She dismissively waves her hand.

"You mean chrysanthemums,"

Sliding her sunglasses down, gave him an unamused look, "Don't start, Jon, and besides aren't the flowers fine now? It was an accident, por dios. That man does not let go of a grudge,"

He snorts, "To be fair, neither do you, Cam,"

Rolling her eyes, "Mm-mhm, sí, sí, say that to the person who brought--" And dipped into a noticeably bulky plastic bag at her side, popping out two bottles of wine.

"--the wine y'all!" She brightly sang.

Jon blinked and looked down at the still full bag between, "Dios nos salve, that's five bottles, why?" He sputtered a laugh.

Grinning, she shook them, "What do you mean why?"

"To celebrate Isaias' arrival, you know, put some bachata on, start with two or three glasses of this stuff and dance till we drop!" He painfully groaned.

"C'mon I know you want to," She playfully grinned, giving him a rough nudge.

Jon swatted her away, "I don't even want to know what you do in your spare time," He mutters, still smiling, she waves him off.