In your relationship thus far, you were used to watching TV together normally being more like parallel play: you would ask Hex what he'd want to watch, but he'd always defer to you, then spend the run time of whatever you chose appraising shots on his camera from his latest project, or doing some light- and color-editing of said shots on his laptop, or even playing a game on one of his handheld consoles (though he always kept the speakers respectfully on mute). That wasn't to say he was disengaged; he actually paid attention better than even some of your friends, trading jokes and commentary with you through the highs and lows of the plot. If you told him you were sharing something formative with him -- like the first time you showed him your favorite movie, or your comfort show -- then he'd happily set aside whatever he was using to keep his hands busy and pull you into his lap so he could watch attentively over your shoulder (while secretly enjoying your reactions, feeling from how you moved or flinched or leaned towards the screen just how engaged you got even when something was familiar). But while he occasionally watched an episode of the telenovelas he and his mom used to watch together if it came on, he wasn't huge on sitting still for more than a double-feature at most (and even then, unless you specified otherwise, there was nothing to guarantee the two of you wouldn't end up... distracted, before the credits rolled).

This, then, was entirely uncharted territory. After the opener, he was keen to make a definite date for the next group match. When you showed up for that one with some snacks to share and your favorite throw blanket in tow (the House, and Hex himself, always left you a bit chilly), he opened the door to reveal - despite the summer heat outside - a hoodie you'd never seen before: the same green of Mexico's jerseys, with the team's logo embroidered on the left sleeve. You could tell that it must have come from the back of his closet when he pulled you in close for a kiss hello, and he smelled overwhelmingly (but not unpleasantly) of the remnants of his mother's incense sticks that he kept on a shelf. You could also tell that it was definitely an older one; the fabric was worn in some places, and the hood's draw strings were oddly frayed. But it only took until ten minutes into the second half for you to realize why: whenever things got tense on the pitch, his hands immediately went to those, either tying and untying them subconsciously into knots, or (adorably) pulling the hood tight over his eyes when he couldn't bear to watch a risky shot. It was a wonder they were even still attached at all.

It was the first time you'd ever seen him watching something this closely, and it was its own kind of revelation. For the second and third matches, the two of you sat close like you always did, only for him to slowly gravitate into his own space as the clock counted up. He was still affectionate, to be sure: squeezing your knee when he was excited or kissing the top of your head whenever Memo Ochoa kept the ball out of the net. But you'd never seen him so involved -- on the couch one moment, falling to his knees on the carpet for a near miss, or nearly launching off the cushion when the team approached the opposition's goal. His jubilation whenever the ball slipped past their goalkeeper's fingers was contagious, and there was more than one explosion of chips all over the room or other snacks from a bowl when he jumped to his feet. While you'd always known your boyfriend to be intense, you were used to that being something he kept under wraps until exactly the right moment -- the perfect illustration of "still waters run deep." Seeing his heart on his sleeve like this was a rare treat indeed, and though you also hadn't been quite invested at the start, by the time they got to the round of thirty two, you felt like your heart was in their hands.

Once or twice during each game, Maxi and Rora would stop in and casually see what was up. They were both passingly aware of the Cup, but you could see it didn't mean as much to them as it did to Hex.

Maxi would usually appear in the door from the kitchen; if he was still dressed in his black scrubs from the embalming room downstairs, he'd give the two of you a friendly wave, but kept his distance to make sure you weren't overwhelmed by the scent of the chemicals he'd been using. If he was in a suit from having just made arrangements with a family, however, he often came in and sat on Hex's other side for a few minutes, frequently bringing an offering of some sort: a plate of fresh sandwiches, some lemonade he'd made that morning, or even the remnants of the cookies he'd made for clients. Only when you and Hex had each taken something did he seem to fully relax, throwing his tie back over his shoulder and having a quick bite himself.

"Who's got the ball?" he always asked Hex, then listened quietly as Hex gave a rapid-fire recap of the entire game thus far, literally talking a mile a minute. Every so often during this rundown, he'd lean back over Hex's shoulder to make eye contact with you, raising an eyebrow to silently ask if something was good or bad. Sports had never been his forté to begin with; he only knew enough American football to make the smallest of talk about the Saints or the Tigers with the families he served, to help put them at ease during what was already a difficult time. Based on your own reactions - an eager nod, or a grimace - Maxi would either give Hex a grin and an elbow nudge to the ribs, or sigh accordingly and lean for a sec so their shoulders bumped in solidarity. "They're gonna get it, bro," he said either way. "This is their year, it's gotta be." For what little while he would stick around after before getting back to work, he'd be less obviously interested in the game than he would be in observing his cousin react to the events onscreen. Every so often, you would sneak a glance his direction to see him leaning against the arm of the couch with his chin propped on his hand, watching Hex with a gentle, wistful sort of smile that made your chest ache for reasons you couldn't identify.

You wondered if this was what they had looked like when they were just kids, back when the family's legacy and necromancy hadn't taken over their lives yet.

Maybe that's what Maxi was seeing too, when he looked at his cousin.

Rora, however, took quite a different approach, opening the door from the hallway to the staircase with a nudge from her hip with her phone usually in one hand and a drink in the other. "Oh my god, is this thing still on?" she'd drawl, rolling her eyes theatrically. She'd flop over on the other side of the couch and sprawl out so her feet were in Hex's lap, causing him to grumble and shove them away.

Then she'd look at you. "Hi there, sweetness." You knew the two of you had reached a comfortable point in your relationship because now she did things like playfully wink at you or bat her long eyelashes, always pretending to flirt to annoy her cousin. When the two of you had initially been introduced, she'd been cordial but aloof, with a queen's posture, keeping her distance and generally not speaking unless good manners absolutely demanded it. Now she had no compunction about being an annoying youngest sibling in front of you. "He got you shut in here on this glorious day to see grown men kick a ball around? For shame."

"You say that like you actually go outside when plants aren't involved," Hector would mutter, turning up the volume but still moving towards the middle of the couch so she had space to sit.

She'd do so, and then do something like put her whole foot against Hex's thigh again and push so his leg rocked back and forth. "You've got a guest far more lovely than you deserve, and all you want to do is watch TV?" She'd 'tsk' her tongue against her teeth. "What a waste, honestly."

"Cállate, fresa," he'd sigh. "Don't you have some skeletons to go have a tea party with? Or some innocent Disney critters to kill and and skin?" Without waiting for an answer, he'd seize the ankle of the foot bothering him and maneuver her leg using her body weight so she nearly fell off the couch.

"Rude!" Rora would catch herself and move to shove against his shoulder, which in turn caused him to loop an arm around her neck to hold her (not too tightly) in a headlock. The two would bicker at each other for a few minutes as she tried to escape, Hector mussing Rora's voluminous black hair in a noogie and Rora trying to get her teeth in his sleeve in revenge, until something happened onscreen to cause him to drop her entirely in his distraction.

At which point, Rora would settle back onto her side of the couch and quietly loiter while scrolling through an app with lots of photos of strange plants and fungi, or other taxidermists' latest work, or whatever other things caught her peculiar fixation. That said, she was much like her brother in the sense that you'd catch her watching Hex out of the corner of her eye: while part of her face remained hidden behind the dark veil of her hair, the corner of her mouth would tug upwards whenever he cheered, her green eyes no less sharp but crinkled at the corners in a way that spoke of immense fondness. She'd make a show of sighing and rolling her eyes again before shifting in her seat, but her smile remained even when Hex was locked in entirely on the game.

Neither of the twins ever stayed for the full match, both confident Hex would update them later. Which meant, starting around the second game or so, he was free to lean over with ten minutes left in the match and give you a kiss that always managed to steal your breath.

The first time this happened, he pulled back right as you were beginning to forget what the two of you were watching, too distracted by the taste of his lips on yours. You knew you looked confused, feeling it in the crease of your brows as he grinned at you in that way that reminded you of a cat's eyes glinting in the dark. "For luck," was all he said by explanation. "Between you and this--" he nodded down at the team hoodie you hadn't seen before that day. "How could they lose, huh?"

And goddamn if it hadn't seemed to work, for a little while. By the end of the group matches, you were almost more likely than he was to fly to the middle of the couch as soon as the clock ticked up to eighty, willing whatever pebbles of magic you had in the nooks and crannies of your soul to keep the score in Mexico's favor. With each win, Hector was only more ecstatic, peppering your face with kisses as the crowd roared their approval onscreen. Each time, you couldn't help but laugh between his jubilation and the way his beard scratched at your skin, happy to accompany him into the kitchen to help make a dinner worthy of the victory (and to listen to him tell the twins 'I told you so' at every opportunity during the meal itself).

When it came time for the round of sixteen, you even slept over at the House the night before, and helped with snack prep that morning so neither of you would have to pause the game to wander back into the kitchen. For ninety minutes (plus whatever was added on), the two of you would be nowhere else but that couch, there to witness a new chapter in the team history.

Perhaps sensing this game was a bigger deal than the others, Maxi and Rora really didn't come in to tease or watch this afternoon, giving the living room space. Indeed, Hex himself was still excited, but there were tells: his knee bounced like crazy next to yours, and he kept running his hands through his hair, putting it up into a ponytail only to take it down again a minute later. At one point towards the end of the first half, you were worried he was going to tear one of the drawstrings off his hoodie completely with how much he was tying and untying it.

As the second half wore on, the two of you jumped to your feet at every near miss on England's goal, and yelled in alarm whenever they got too close to Mexico's. At the eighty minute mark, the two of you were already locked in at the middle of the couch, squeezing each other's hand as tight as you could without crushing the other person's knuckles.

You turned to look at him, and for a moment, his wide-eyed gaze at the screen made him look... impossibly young.

You and Hex had met as adults, him with a little more than a decade on you. You'd never gotten the chance to know him as the scruffy teen in framed photos hanging in the halls, or the college kid with bottle-black hair and smudged black lipstick in the polaroids on his dresser. He'd always been the handsome, quiet man you'd first glimpsed watching you from afar; smirking in a way that was more amused than arrogant, his eyes glittering with a private joke as he adjusted his camera settings for his next shot.

Seeing him like this, fragile hope so plain on his face, made your chest ache with just how... vulnerable, he looked.

"Hey." You put your hands on his cheeks, making him blink and look at you at last. You did your best to smile. "It's not over yet, right? We can't lose faith."

It took him a second, but he nodded, a ghost of a smile flickering into existence. "Yeah." He squeezed your hand before he leaned in, completing the ritual the two of you had started.

The kiss wasn't as long as usual, neither of you wanting to look away from the screen lest you miss something vital. But you wished twice as hard that the team pulled off some last minute miracle, if only because you knew just how happy it would make him.

...And yet, it just wasn't to be, this time.

Though the forwards made attempt after attempt on the goal in the last few minutes, all valiant efforts, it wasn't enough. The clock counted out the last of the time, and the stadium rang with the roar of the English fans as they realized they were moving on.

When the camera cut to the expression on Memo Ochoa's face, Hex finally crumpled, hiding his face in his hands with groan of defeat --

That abruptly changed pitch into something less... human. Something that echoed despite the small space of the room, distorting oddly even though it came from human vocal cords. The temperature dropped so fast that you gasped, your skin breaking out in goosebumps and a shiver creeping down your spine.

The picture on the screen wavered and was overcome by static as the commentators' voices cut in and out, like the strange sound was an invisible storm was raging against the connection. On the end tables, the lamps flickered rapidly, before the lights of the whole House began to do the same, threatening to plunge you both into darkness.

"Hex? Babe?" You touched his upper arm gently.

Out of the corner of your eye, you swore shadows moved at the edge of the room, darkness gathering around the pair of you. Whispers seemed to come from another room, in voices you didn't recognize that sounded scared, or grief-stricken.

When Hex still didn't respond and the strange, ethereal wail continued, snippets of his voice still entangled within, you scooted so your hip was smushed against his and leaned your cheek against his shoulder. "I know, honey. I know."

Poor little Gil Mora was just visible through the static, clearly in tears as he hugged Don Memo, who patted him on the back with obvious fondness for his young teammate. Your throat tightened around a lump that hadn't been there a second ago, hating this for both of them. It was Mora's first time to play, and Memo's last. It could've been so different.

Through the curtain of hair hanging over his face and being nearly bent double against his own knees, you could've sworn you heard Hector sniffle.

Outside the room, thundering footsteps approached from opposite sides of the House, then tore down the hall together towards the door. You sat upright again as it banged open to reveal the other two Morvants: Maxi with his plastic splashguard still covering his face and wielding a scalpel, Rora in gore-spattered overalls and holding a bone saw aloft like she meant to amputate first and ask questions later. Both their eyes were already gleaming with the respective colors of their magic, and in the unsteady lamplight, your chest went cold at the sight.

When Hex's eyes were purple, now that you were used to it, it looked mysterious, even somehow celestial. Like there were tiny universes hidden inside your beloved's skull.

Seeing the twins like this, however, reminded you how eerie it really must have looked.

In the back of your mind, you wondered about the sheer number of people who might have had those same sets of glowing eyes be the last thing they ever saw, alone on some dark night.

The two necromancers somehow squeezed through the door frame at the same time, then turned in a circle back to back to scan each corner of the room for some sort of threat. When they'd done a full three sixty and nothing presented itself, they each lowered their instrument, their expressions of confusion uncanny in how similar they were.

Maxi looked at you sitting next to Hex as Rora looked to the television, then vice versa, and you could've sworn you saw the lightbulb go off in both their heads simultaneously.

He looked back to the two of you on the couch, tilting his head to confirm what he already had guessed: the team had lost. Mexico's World Cup run was over.

You shook your head grimly, your lips pressed together so your lower one didn't wobble.

It was just a football game, you knew. But still.

He winced, then mouthed 'Sorry' with obvious earnestness. He stepped hesitantly towards Hex, lifting a hand as though to pat him on the shoulder, before Rora grabbed her brother's elbow and shook her head when he looked at her. The two gave you the same grimace in unison before they turned, stepping quietly back out the door.

Before Rora closed it behind her, she made a point to catch your eye, then pointed to Hex's hair.

You nodded, familiar with this trick already from the times Hex's insomnia or his depression had been kicking his ass. You reached up, running your fingers through the long locks he was so vain about --

And the strange spectral sound wavered, the television reception clearing again for an instant.

Rora gave you a grave nod and shut the door, leaving the two of you alone once more.

You leaned your cheek back against Hex's shoulder, letting your nails scrape a little along his scalp as you worked your fingers through his hair. "Hey," you said softly. "I'm still here, pretty boy. We can suffer together, huh?"

The banshee wail began to quaver and fade as you continued petting him, the temperature of the room gradually rising again and the lights stabilizing until he fell silent. After a couple of minutes, the television static vanished as though nothing had happened, the commentators still dissecting the match. Without sitting up, you grabbed the remote and turned them down to a dull mumble.

"They did so well," you murmured. "Really. The whole squad played a great game. They all have a lot to be proud of." You were trying to be positive, but it was hard. Especially when you'd both had so much hope just ninety minutes ago. "And there's always next time, right?" you said, a bit less confidently.

Hex sniffled again, and you heard his voice muffled against his palms.

You frowned, unable to make it out. "...You're gonna have to come out here and tell me that, handsome."

"...Not Ochoa, remember?" Hex sat up at last, pushing his hair out of his face and hastily running his sleeve across his eyes, which only reminded you of the lump in your throat. "It's his last game. Ever." He cleared his own throat loudly, hiding another sniffle, then flopped backwards so he was slumped down in the couch. "He did all that work for years, and for what?"

"Hey." You shifted so you were curled against his side, leaning your head on his shoulder once more. "He got them as far as he could. No one's going to blame him for this. No one's going to remember him as anything less than a hero." You wound one strand of Hex's hair around your finger, fiddling with it. "Now Mora and the others get to carry on, and they'll do it for him, too."

You wound the fingers of your free hand through one of Hex's, squeezing gently. "This sucks, I know." You nuzzled into the fabric of his hoodie. "But they did so well this time! The last time they got this far was..." You paused, trying to do the math.

"I was five." Hex's voice was barely above a whisper.

You blinked. This... somehow hadn't occurred to you.

Hector shifted, sitting so his cheek was pressed against the top of your head as you leaned on him. He turned his hand over as you held it, adjusting his grip so he could run his thumb back and forth over your knuckles. "I was with my folks for that game. It was my first one, ever." He smiled a little. "My dad just... didn't get it. I mean, it's not like they have real football out here, yeah?" He gestured lazily around the room, indicating Greymoon, maybe Louisiana as a whole. "He was still learning all the rules and stuff. But he still knew how important it was to my mom." His thumb traced slowly over the top of your ring finger. "He got us tickets that must've cost an arm and a leg, as close to the pitch as he could find, and surprised her with them. She was so excited, she screamed." He laughed quietly, and you felt the rumble of it in his chest. "That's one of my favorite memories: just the three of us, together, watching the game. No arguing between them, no Tio Vincent and Tia Mathilde talking shit in the background, no Abuela Paciencia whispering in my mom's ear to leave him and come back home..."

You had to fight the urge to sit up and look at him. The few times he talked about the Casares side of the family at all, he'd definitely never discussed his mother's mother.

"And yeah, the squad lost then, too. My mom was furious, but only because she was heartbroken. I'd never seen her so mad, I thought she was going to cuss out the Ref right there," he chuckled. "...Still. It was the only time we ever felt... y'know, normal." Hex's fingers finally went still on your skin. "Like we could go home to some random apartment in the city and be just like any other family. Like the curse and all its bullshit," he gestured at the House in general. "Wouldn't follow us anymore. I'd just get to be some dumb little kid with his parents."

He sighed, and you could hear the slightest shake to it, which made your chest tighten painfully.

"It's kinda stupid," he said quietly. "But they were doing so well this time, that... I don't know." He shrugged. "I remembered what that felt like, I guess. Or... something." He scoffed, sinking lower into the couch. "O sea -- whatever, it's not--"

Before he could play it off with the familiar cool indifference he had for anything that bothered him, you turned and wrapped your arms around his chest as tight as you could, pressing your cheek to where you knew it held his heart. The force of it threw you both flat to the couch, leaving you sprawled out on top of him.

"It's not stupid," you said, your voice somewhat muffled by his hoodie. Your eyes felt too warm again, your throat too tight. "If something makes you happy, Hex, it's not stupid at all." You fought the urge to sniffle. "I love you, and all the weird shit you can do -- the Veil, seeing things, all of it." You had to swallow hard. "But I want you to feel normal with me. I wanna be that for you when you need it."

The room blurred out of focus with the weight of this feeling crushing your chest.

"...Hey, what--? Hey, baby. Look at me?" Hector's calloused hands, ever chill to the touch, found your cheeks and shifted you so he could see your face. You tried to blink away the liquid in your eyes, but couldn't manage it before he got a clear look at you. "Aw, cielo, no." He shushed you gently, his thumbs wiping away the tear tracks left on your skin. "No llores. Hey, c'mon." He leaned down, kissing the top of your head, then your forehead. "Baby, no -- you don't need to cry. It's okay. I'm okay, you're okay. What's that old Tom Hanks movie you made me rewatch? 'There's no crying in futból,' remember?"

"'There's no crying in baseball,'" you sniffled. "If Memo and Mora can cry, I think I'm allowed to. A little."

This, at least, got Hex to laugh, a sound that triggered a wobbly smile from you.

"Aw, see? There's my muse." He cupped your cheeks in his hands, kissing the end of your nose before fully kissing you, albeit briefly. He let his forehead rest against yours, one hand moving to stroke up and down your back. "Hey. No te preocupes, okay?" He tilted his head so he met your eyes with the full warm darkness of his own. "I am absurdly lucky, because I have a partner who's so thoughtful," he punctuated this with a kiss to your cheek. "And kind," he kissed the other. "And so completely extraordinary," he kissed the corner of your mouth. "That it somehow all circles back so I feel like the most normal guy on this side of the Veil. I mean really, look at me," he spread his arms out, gesturing to himself. "Don't I look incredibly normal?" He raised his eyebrows in faux shock, pulling a small laugh from you now. "Just totally ordinary? Nothing peculiar going on here? Or here?" He pointed to his skull, and the genuine laughter this earned made him grin.

"Sure, okay. Nothing to see, nothing of note. Downright average, even," you managed with a smile.

Hex's eyebrows furrowed as he playfully narrowed his eyes. "Hey now. Be gentle with a guy." He touched a hand to his chest as though wounded. "I just saw my childhood dreams get smashed again, I'm fragile." He couldn't totally keep away his grin as he said it, though.

"I know," you said quietly, genuine now as you leaned forward to kiss the end of his nose. "I'm sorry, babe. That does suck."

"Not the first time, won't be the last," he said, shrugging. He moved some of your hair away from your eyes. "But I had the best watch partner, and the loveliest lucky charm." He caught your chin gently in his grasp, tilting your head ever so slightly. "The squad's gonna have to find their own, I'm afraid. "His eyes moved to your lips and back again. "This one's just for me."

This kiss didn't have the urgency of the one you'd shared during the match, but your wish behind it was twice as strong:

That the two of you could just stay like this, comfortable and safe, for as long as you possibly could.

...Which lasted for a good half hour, until Rora thumped the door loud enough to make you both jump to ask what the plan was for dinner (here read: what Hex planned on making).

The two of you then spent the next portion of the evening in the kitchen with the twins, making what the pair of you dubbed 'Extremely Normal Nachos' while Hector filled them in on the highs and lows of the match.

Before long, the kitchen was a soft bubble of light against the night pressing against the windows outside, the four of you still sitting and talking idly around the table over drinks and the remnants of a last minute dessert. Hex held your hand under the table the entire time.

As you glimpsed the late-season fireflies dancing outside the glass, you knew that if you were very lucky indeed, this would stay normal for you both.

[I'm sorry this took so long, Nonny! :'D I hope it was worth the wait. I meant to have it up by yesterday's final, but alas. OTL one thing I'm learning since I moved into my parents' new house is that, being in their mid-60s and early 70s respectively, they need a lot more help with various tasks than they like to let on (esp. with my 90 y/o grandma around). I have more or less become the new troubleshooter/IT person for the entire house, as well as the occasional muscle since my dad hurt his back not too long ago.

and, while they're all supposedly very supportive of me writing, they kind of tend to forget how much quiet and concentration that takes. especially when they feel like they need something done right away :'D so writing even little things like this takes a little more time than they used to back when I was living alone.

this was a lot of fun for me to write, and hopefully that shows!! :3 Hex hasn't had his turn in the spotlight for a hot minute, and watching Mexico perform in the WC this year had me doing a lot of research into games he might have gotten to see when he was younger. (not to mention, I finally got to play around with him having a Howl's Moving Castle-style meltdown, because I always secretly pictured him being capable of those with his medium abilities. we're just assuming reader is used to it at this point lmao.)

a lot of reader's reactions are based on my own when I was watching their last match, too. :'D I might have just got here, but damn if I'm not going to be keeping an eye on that little Mora kid from now on. the fact that they had to put him on little milk cartons because he wasn't(/still isn't???) old enough to drink had me in stitches. :3 also, Carlos Acevedo has the best hair I've ever seen??? like, good god, man, stop being that pretty and distracting.