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Héctor
UN: OLLIN

STATUS: Graduate Student / Teacher's Assistant

ACCOLADES: I write music, know how to play a few instruments, mostly la guitarra.

BIO: !Hola¡ Soy Héctor. Yo hablo español y un poco inglés. I've come to Daybreak to learn a little about all this magic stuff and help out around the Campus. If you need an odd job taken care of, I'm your guy! (Unless you are la policía. Or someone I have borrowed from. If that is the case, do not contact me, por favor.)

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His breath wavers there and he blinks a little faster. His poor girl. His sweet girl.

And the he starts.

"Oh! OH! You have to cover your ears!" He reaches up, poorly doing the job for her. "I have to sing her song! Did you hear that?"

"What?" She looks a little startled when he tries to cover her ears, decidedly confused as she moves to push his hands away. Given how uncoordinated he is, it's not very difficult.

"Yes, I heard that. Whose song are you talking about?"

"Coco!" He says urgently. "I have to sing Coco's song!" Like she even knows what he's talking about there. His balance is weird now and he doesn't know where to put his hands once they're pushed down. He pouts up at her.

"Coco's secret song. It's just for us. I sing it every night I can for her. Nobody else." Someone has clearly forgotten about Ernesto. "I used to play on that gazebo." He points out in a vague direction that probably isn't the right one. "And in the Outlands. And out in Europe."

Coco's secret...song? That gets an even more confused look from her. "I've never heard anything about that."

Probably because... It's a secret. But it still surprises her that Coco would keep a secret from her... and for him. Either way, she has no idea where he's gesturing right now, but she makes sure to keep a firm hold on him.

"Well, anyway, can it wait? Or do you have to sing it right now?" She's not really sure she can cover her ears and also keep him standing at the same time.

He laughs, sheepish. "Ah, well, it's been a long time. She probably doesn't even remember."

Just sheepish and not at all like the thought breaks his heart. It's fine. It's a nice night and Imelda is here, by his side.

"Supposed to sing at the same time," He says. "But I can wait a bit." He's made her wait before. He's technically never stopped making her wait.

She probably doesn't even remember... Imelda isn't entirely sure about that. It's hard to forget a song that's made for you. She knows that she hasn't forgotten any of them.

"We'll be home before too long. You can sing it then. It's..." She tries very carefully to check her watch without jostling him too much. "...Still early in the evening in Santa Cecilia. You'll have time before the evening is over."

Imelda isn't four years old.

"Mmm, okay," He hums, swaying into her. Dios, he's tired. "Tired", that is. He feels oh so heavy. He wishes he could just let himself be bones. But no, he doesn't want to be buried and he doesn't want Imelda to be unhappy and he does want to sing. Just a little longer.

But now there's no more questions, just a quiet. He regrets that. He looks over at her, watching her face, mapping it.

"Mm, 'melda...?" He's slurring a little. "... Are you single?"

That seems to satisfy him, so she'll let the issue of his secret song rest. She's not sure how she feels about that regardless. Him and Coco sharing a secret like that...

As the silence falls between them, she seems to withdraw into her own thoughts. It's not until he says her name that she seems to shake off whatever had preoccupied her. And even then...

"What?" She doesn't understand the question at first. "No? Of course not." She hasn't been single for a very long time, after all. Even after everything that had happened, she saw no reason to divorce him. She had no intention of remarrying, and he had all but vanished. Filing any sort of legal paperwork would have just been a hassle.

He's taken her by surprise, but it doesn't take her too long to answer the question. It's only after she's answered that he remembers, in this drunken state, why he didn't ask such things before.

"Oh."

He makes a face, the kind that happens when he's trying not to look upset. Then he bobs his head.

"Okay. Okay, that's fine. It's just, you're still my favorite-- but that's okay. That's okay. How long have you- no, no, I won't ask. I'll be good."

It takes her a few seconds longer to realize what he was really asking with a reaction like that. She inhales, halfway to telling him that no--he's got the wrong idea. But the words catch in her throat. Does she really want to admit that they're still married? That any question like that, she immediately turns down?

It's the look on his face that wins out. He looks crushed, and she's not so heartless as to not point out his misunderstanding.

"Héctor... I'm still married. That hasn't changed."

He starts and blinks at her. "You- you are?! Really?!"

A pause follows, before he adds and points to himself. "To me...?" And then he quieter, "...Even though I'm dead?"

She gives him a look when he asks To me? as if to ask in return Who else? But that moment is short-lived because he raises a very good point.

There's a pause as she considers that, a frown slipping across her lips. But finally with no small amount of reluctance, she responds.

"Even... despite that, yes. We're still married. There's no reason that we wouldn't be."

He continues to stare, wonder upon his face and a slight smile attempting to form.

"Oh. I thought maybe, you know, since the rules say no... but we're married," He breathes. He looks all to pleased, even looking away. "I'm the luckiest man in the whole world."

He's not, but he doesn't remember otherwise right now.

She sighs at that, a touch exacerbated. The luckiest man in the world? If you were, then you would have made it home alive, she thinks, but only to herself. It's too sobering of a thought. He looks happy, but she just feels tired.

"You're the silliest man in the world," she mutters instead, shifting to pull his arm over her shoulder a little more firmly. "What would you have done if I said that we weren't? Or if I found someone else?"

He laughs but doesn't deny that. He's alright with being the silliest man in the world. His laugh becomes a contended noise as she pulls him in. And then a bit of a hissing breath as she asks that, but he keeps smiling.

"I would have... understood. That's what people do isn't it? Especially if you'd been told what happened to me, couldn't expect you to hang on to a ghost forever. You've got to live and move on and be happy. I'd hope they'd make you happy. Or that you were happy on your own. You deserve to be." He's losing his thought a bit, words slurring. He frowns in attempt to focus. And to push back any real sadness.

"I'd miss you. So much. All the time. But I could... be whatever you let me be to you. And co-parents. Coco would see you most of the time and in the night times I could visit. Whatever happened, I still got to be part of your lives. That's a lot to me."

Edited 2019-06-04 05:30 (UTC)

It wasn't a question that she had meant to ask. They were obviously still married, and she'd never had a though of finding anyone else. She honestly expects him to simply say that he doesn't know--but once again, as always, he surprises her with his heartfelt honesty.

She's always known him to be someone that thought of others long before he thought of himself--or at least, that was the person that she thought he was. She's not so sure that she was wrong anymore. But in that moment, with him wishing so much for her and asking for so little, it touches her heart.

"That would have been nice," she says quietly, not necessarily for his ears. And she doesn't elaborate on which part she means.

He'd thought about it a lot. More than he wanted to. But he had to. It was a possibility. In his mind, outside the scenarios in which something attacked Ernesto, he could only assume his former friend to have gone and told his family. He'd died. And life moved on. That was something he had to accept, no matter how desperately he fought to cling and get back to it.

He could never picture the other person exactly. Trying to do so just made him wish to be in those shoes.

He just barely hears those softly spoken words. He hangs off her side, walking ahead to the best of his ability. "Maybe next time," He slurs. "Next this time... next this time you should be happy. Things can be nice. You know, Imelda? Things can be nice."

"Next this time?" She asks, echoing his words, even knowing that he's drunk and probably only barely know what he's saying himself.

He nods, like it makes perfect sense. "When I die someday forever," He says matter of factly. "When I'm gone. You don't have to be unhappy. And maybe... maybe you could be happy now. Things can be nice when you want to have them be. When you want to do what you want to. You don't have to be unhappy anymore."

His words catches her off guard, hitting her like a blow to the chest and bringing her to break their pace. She nearly stops dead in the middle of the road. She almost forgets to breathe.

"That's not how it works." Her voice sounds strained to her ears. "I don't--" --want to be happy if he's dead, is what she almost says. But she swallows those words down. Doesn't want to? Doesn't know how to? It doesn't matter how she phrases it. She's tried for ten years to be happy without him, and none of it sticks. The closest she's ever come is being with her daughter. She brings a joy that's difficult to look away from, but the hole that he left is still there. Just momentarily forgotten.

"Nevermind," she finally says, forcing herself to keep moving forward, though she does so tensely. "I don't want to talk about things like that. I'm happy enough as is."

There's a faint "whoa" from him as she falters and his balance goes with it, but she does manage to hold strong. He looks confusedly at her, waiting for her to finish her thoughts. She doesn't. It feels like a door's been closed on him and he's sure it's his fault.

He feels the tension in her. The silence weighs heavy again. Until he breaks it to say, "Happy enough doesn't sound... happy."

It just doesn't seem fair. Why shouldn't she get more? He sighs. "Lo siento, Imelda."

"It's enough, Héctor." She doesn't want to argue with him over her level of happiness. It's not as if she wants to feel this way. It's not as if she hasn't tried to move on.

His apology isn't met with acceptance, but rather a sigh and a dismissal. "You're drunk. Don't worry about it." If she's lucky, he won't even remember this conversation by the time he wakes again. And she certainly won't be reminding him of it.

"We're almost back--and you have a song or something to do, don't you?" Something that doesn't involve her, which she can use as an excuse to turn his attention away until they get back to his dorm.

He should've just stuck to that game of questions. He should have said nothing at all. He looks away from her, sorry, guilty, dejected. He is drunk but he doesn't think he'll believe what he's saying any less otherwise. He mercifully manages not to speak and make things worse.

Not until he's addressed. "I... si. I do."

That's probably his cue to leave then, isn't it? He goes to lift his arm up off her shoulders to take a wobbly step forward on his own.

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