A Madman With a Guitar || Héctor Rivera X Reader

The Depressed Burro

You stood up slowly, legs shaking, head aching. You grabbed onto a table to stabilize yourself.

"Are you all right, chamaco?" Héctor asked in a more concerned tone, a hand on your back.

"I uh, yeah, sí.."

That was a blatant lie, and Héctor knew it. You knew it was a lie too, and you also knew Héctor knew. You knew you were hungover and sneaked too many shots later that night. You knew Héctor had found you, drunk, sitting on the edge of the dock.

"Do you want to go outside, Y/N?"

"N-no no, not yet, well, just to the edge."

He nodded. "Alone?" You shook your head "Don't lie, we both know I can't walk on my own."

A laugh. A hand around your ribs, holding you up. Ringing ears. A smile. Everything was so fuzzy, your headache only getting worse. Words in and out your ears.

"Héctor, what have you got there?"

Chicharròn.

"Y/N is a bit hungover. I'm taking her to the edges for a bit, for some more quiet. I'll be back soon."

"Don't get in any trouble, pájaros del amor!"

Your skull flushed pink, the faded swirls of color brightening, and you knew Héctor was giving you a look.

"Shut up, Chicharròn.." You grumbled, stumbling and falling back onto Héctor.

He caught you quickly, pulling you against his chest for balance, a little sigh escaping as he moved you beside him again, now holding on tighter. The walk was ten minutes longer than it should have been, but Héctor was patient, and kept you moving. Once you had sat down, more falling than anything else, you leaned against Héctor.

"The word is burro."

"Huh? What word?"

"For donkey. Burro."

"Thanks. About Chicharròn-"

He nudged your ribs, a small smile creeping onto his expression. He knew what  Chicharròn had said, he understood, but you didn't because you were never able to learn Spanish, but you did have some guesses.

"Love birds, eh, chamaco? That sound like us?"

"Ah, I uh, suspected as much. I um. Hm. Does it?"

He laughed. He smiled and pulled you a little closer. You looked at him, noticed he was looking at you, and quickly looked out onto the water, earning another chuckle.

"I know you like me. I'm not oblivious."

"Am I that obvious?" You could barely breathe.

"Muy, muy, chamaco. I've never known anyone so hopeless, but maybe myself."

You laughed at that remark. He wasn't hopeless. He was funny and sweet and kind,  proud and a bit brave, anxious and smart and knowing, never hopeless. He thought you were hopeless, though. Maybe a hopeless romantic.

"You? Hopeless? You make yourself sound like a depressed turtle."

He was the one laughing now, head shaking.

"I'm not a depressed turtle! I'm a depressed burro."

"Only I get to call you a burro, and since when have you been depressed?"

"Try an entire century. Or, not an entire one, but close."

"Close? Are you still depressed?"

"Maybe a bit. Much less, though, chamaco. Things changed two years ago."

You were listening intently, absentmindedly trying to move closer to him to listen, or maybe because you wanted to feel that he was really there. Two years ago, though? That seemed odd. That was when you arrived. When you died. After the meal.

"How did you die, Héctor?" You interrupted. You didn't entirely mean to, you just did.

"Food poisoning. Everyone thinks I choked on chorizo."

"Chorizo?"

"Sausage."

"Ah, jeez. That.. that sucks. I mean, wait, that wasn't meant to sound like a gay joke. Son of a mule! I just meant, I understand. I uh, choked on a drink. I have asthma. Inhale, can't breathe, throw it up, and convieniently have an asthma attack. I choked."

Héctor looked over with a small smile. He
nodded, then looked down, and back up.

"Were you moving closer to me?" He purred smugly.

"Was I?" You asked, genuinly confused.

He nodded and moved you into his lap, resting his head on yours.

"You're too tall." You grumbled

"Maybe you're just too short."

"I am not short. I'm taller than Chicharrón."

"He's pretty short."

"I won't tell him you said that."