A Madman With a Guitar || Héctor Rivera X Reader

Have I Seen You?

Dia de los Muertos. The Day of the Dead. The day of annoyigly loud skeletons crowding around gates like they were at a freaking airport! "Do you have anything that needs checking?" No, they don't, José, now use your god-given eyes like you're supposed to!

You were stewing. You weren't supposed to be - you were aware of this, but you did it anyway because your therapist in life ALSO told you to feel all your emotions and you were pretty sure stewing made you feel emotions. You looked up from your basket of goodies, some candy, some homemade looking stuff. You didn't need to buy that much food, but it was nice and the elders of your group enjoyed the meats.

"Hey, wait - have I seen you?" You blurted at a passing skeleton

"Me?"

She was the only one in that lane, in LINE for that lane.

"Who else is in line? Yes, you. Have I seen you? Maybe met you?"

There was a brief flicker of rememberence in the skeleton's eyes, a second of history, and then more of the act. "Of course. I'm Frida Kahlo, everyone knows me!"

A pause on your end "Who?"

"Señorita, señorita, you don't know?" The skeleton purred smugly.

"I'm American. I'm from the south. I grew up not knowing the difference between a gun and fireworks on July fourth so no, I don't know who Frida Kahlo is." You sighed. This was ridiculous - why bother?

"Go wait outside the office with the fines and things, I'll meet you." The skeleton waved and went into the lane "Tis I, Frida Kahlo!"

You were walking away, you were tired and you just wanted to go back to Shantytown, back to Tia Chello and to Cheech and to Héctor. Héctor. Hétcooooor. The name was nice, the person it belonged to, even nicer. A sweet boy, a would-be musician, one who used to play but was too depressed or something. You didn't play. You sang, you sketched, what you sketched, Héctor could never know, and that was all. You weren't special. No talents. Not even a really cool Spirit-thing that you couldn't pronounce, despite Héctor's best efforts, which all ended in him choking on laughter.

"Chamaco, it's Alébrije! Say it."

"Alebeejhee? Alehbreeheh????? What do you want from me, Héctor, I'm trying!"

And then he would laugh and laugh, and you'd be sitting there looking at his cute, goofy face that so did not match his sarcasm and snide comments but so DID match his fatherly personality and the way he had held you so close during that first and second and third panic attack and- you were back in Shantytown. Bags down, food passed out.

"Where's Héctor?"

Cheech laughed at you. "Do you ask about anyone else?"

"I ask you if you'll shut up about it, Cheech." You replied, smirking.

"He went off to try to cross the bridge again, Y/N." He said cooly. Down went a shot. 

"Who was he dressed as?"

"You know Frida Kahlo?"