My red cousin

I have a cousin with a red mane and a red beard; he's also a bit hot-headed. That's why, since we were kids, we nicknamed him "Rojo" (Red). He's the only one in the whole family with these physical traits, and also the only one who doesn't realize that his dad isn't his real father.

Maybe he knows, but I imagine he's so accustomed to us that he doesn't care too much. In family gatherings, there's little time for conversation; our mothers talk incessantly, and their voices are so imposing that it's best to change rooms until we hear the shout, "Dinner's ready!" or "We're leaving now!"

Rojo is a bit clumsy when it comes to games; in soccer, he always goes first for the leg and then for the ball. He takes advantage of others' arguments to get involved, and more than once, he has fought without even understanding what was happening. Once, he punched me in the stomach, and it hurt a lot. Since I'm good with words, I almost blurted out that his real father is someone else, probably another brute like Rojo. My mom covered my mouth, so in the end, I couldn't say anything, but my cousin noticed and started crying.

Now that we are older, we don't fight or argue. We see each other once every two or three years to have a beer and catch up. I've always wanted to ask him if he's curious to know who his real father is, but I don't dare. The last time we got drunk, he said, "Hey, look closely in the light, your mustache is also kind of red!" and hugged me.

Needless to say, since that hug, I can't sleep well.