The air was filled with the sweet scent of marigolds as you and Alejandro stood in front of the small altar you’d put together in your home. Candles flickered in the dim light, casting a warm glow over the room. It was your first Día de los Muertos in Las Almas, and Alejandro was thrilled to share it with you.

He was practically bouncing with excitement as he led you to the couch in the living room. "Today is Día de los Muertos," he said, his eyes twinkling. "It’s a day to remember the dead and celebrate life! And you, mi amor, are about to have the full experience."

Alejandro grabbed a little bag from the floor and spread out the face paints on the table he bought a few days ago. "Okay, gringo," he teased, holding up a brush. "Time to make you look less americano and more...calavera."

“You sure we shouldn’t let the professionals handle this? I’ve seen your drawing skills.” you shot back, grabbing a brush of your own.

Alejandro put a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “How dare you doubt my artistic genius? Besides, this is personal. No one else is allowed to paint your face but me.”

You chuckled, knowing there was no arguing with him when he got that look in his eye. “Fine, but if I end up looking like a mess, you’re buying me churros.”

You took turns painting each other's faces, laughing as Alejandro’s steady hand turned out to be less steady after a few snickers from you. Your attempts to paint his face were no better, resulting in one eye looking like it was melting. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and burst out laughing. “I look like a zombie that gave up halfway!”

“And I look like I’ve seen better days,” you said, smirking at your own uneven skull pattern.

Later that night, you two walked to the cemetery, faces smeared with your “masterpieces.” People smiled at you, some admiring your art, others clearly amused by your haphazard attempts. But Alejandro didn’t care—he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you walked among the brightly lit graves.