#bellslain

❁ ❁  Despite the many times Héctor had assured her that he was a good amigo, something about him had always turned her perspective of him somewhat amiss. Be it the too perfect of a man he appeared to be, all gentleman-like & nicely groomed like a show dog, but there was just something that caught her off guard. & yet, she was going to be polite to him, especially when this was their wedding night. There was no need for her to make a huge fuss about assumptions that she lacked evidence in, & for once, maybe Héctor was right. 

Yet as she raised her hand to toast at his boisterous announcement to celebrate their love, all act was dropped when he pulled her aside to ask what she had never truly considered doing. Her smile faded away, now what appeared to be more of a sterner, skeptical look.

toca mi musa

Héctor typically sleeps in later than his partner. The man has several alarms when he does have to wake, hitting snooze on all of them about five times before actually opening his eyes. But on rare occasions, he wakes up before Ernesto. It happened to be one of those times, cuddled up against the short, more stout man. The room is still as he examines the profile, the whole serenity of the moment. There was no forced charm, no over exaggerated drama across his expression - only calm bliss.  Héctor smiles at this moment, snuggling closer, keeping as near as possible, wrapped in the others arms.

Describe yourself on anon and I'll say if I'd date you. 

“Be...be less of a JERKFACE. Yeah. I   w e n t   there.”

No. Ernesto would not forget.

Not as he dabbed at his lover’s lip with a damp cloth– not while he excused himself to make an ice pack for his partner. Ernesto would not forget. For this was his fault– for coming out. Yes– a vast majority had embraced it. He’d done talk shows, guest spots on popular sitcoms, radio interviews and podcasts–

His fame had blossomed all the more because the world knew that Ernesto de la Cruz was gay. He’d become yet another celebrity to lend his face to a movement– one he’d longed to be a part of since realizing what he was as a boy. Pride had kept him from coming out. It had taken some sleazy reporter, threatening to out him herself for him to take ownership of what he was.

Of what he and Hector were.

Hector had paid the price here. Yes– they were celebrated publicly, but there were still groups who despised them now. Fans of Ernesto’s who felt betrayed by this. The world wasn’t an entirely safe place, as he was now reminded. He’d been so blinded by his own success that he’d forgotten the lessons he’d learned as a boy on the streets.

The world is an ugly place full of ugly people.

His beloved songbird had been beaten by some bigot. Ernesto would not forget.

He’d get revenge.

Héctor knew the world they lived in. It was a reasoning for keeping themselves closeted so long. Ernesto’s career, both their careers, seemed to weigh on it. They didn’t even have the luxury of coming out on their own terms. It left a bitter taste in Héctor’s mouth, not far from the copper tang of his own blood. Worse still, Ernesto wasn’t about to forget this. Even if Héctor begged him to.

Their possessiveness over each other was only validated in the fact that they had no one else to lean on. Closer still than best friends, closer than even brothers. They were only in this world and in this situation because of one another. At times, Héctor hated how passionate he’d be on his own. Ernesto only heightened it, encouraged it. Added kindle to a flame otherwise left on pilot. 

He waited for the other to obtain an ice pack, face hot from the hit and his own shame of the moment. It shouldn’t be so disconnecting, the pain. As if he was on display now - left there to be whispered about to those surrounding. He didn’t care about being in the spotlight. In fact, a great deal of the time, he hated it. That was Ernesto’s dream. Not his. 

Raising from his placement, he left. Ernesto would know where to find him - he just couldn’t be there any more. No more. It hurt more than the bruise on his chin, to be stared at, whispered about. Shunned.

WARM SUGGESTIONS

Life was fragile. So fragile.Héctor was too young to understand what it was she died from, butold enough to know that she was never going to come back.Never going to greet him at the door with that stern look, arms crossed, as he wavedgoodbye to his hermano.She was never going to make them both dinner as they jokingly talked about theirdreams and ambitions.And he would never hear her sing; ever again.

He was picking at blades of grass, twisting them between his slender fingers.Teeth bit hard into his bottom lip, chewing and peeling as he tried to combat the emotionsraging within. Brown eyes, once sparkling and full of mischief, were dark and red-rimmed; tears had spilled long ago, trails still staining tan cheeks. He lifted his hand, wiping hissleeve along his cheeks, leaving red marks from the material.“I don’t know what to do.No lo sé.No lo sé.”

His voice was soft and broken; a child at a loss. He didn’t know who else to turn to.With his mamá gone, his house would be silent. His papá, gone too. Another swipeof his sleeves, yet this time, the fabric lingered. He covered his eyes with them, keepingthem pressed to soak up any stray tears he may have shed. He was thankful for Ernestocoming; thankful for his amigo showing up to offer him support.Héctor finally lowered his sleeves, hearing the familiar voice pull him from his sorrows.He stared at Ernesto with a sense of loss, his head pounding from the constant sadness that loomed over him.