Daybreak IC Inbox

[unpocoloco]

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.)

© TESSISAMESS

Comments

[no_dejare_de_quererte]

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.

[unpocoloco]

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."

[no_dejare_de_quererte]

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

[unpocoloco]

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."

[no_dejare_de_quererte]

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."

[unpocoloco]

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."

[no_dejare_de_quererte]

"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.

[unpocoloco]

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.