He was playing his guitar to the camp, as the men and women sung along-and singing in Spanish, keeping an eye on you as you slept tucked under his arm.

He was an overprotective father to say at least but wanted the best for you—like any other father would.

But the world was scary, a scary chapter, he didn’t want your innocence to be corrupted, as he sighed taking a glance at you.

Smiling softly as he even hummed a bit, putting his sombrero on top of your greasy silk hair.