[DISCONTINUED] (Read desc)

Pinprick

•~•=(Hector's POV)=•~•

Walking down the steps towards Shantytown, I can't help but think about what had happened back at the warehouse. 'What was (Y/N) thinking? She's not like that at all. Was her death so violent that it haunts her to the point of breaking her character?' All these questions pop up, but none of them have answers. I'd ask her myself, but the number one rude thing to ask the deceased is their demise. Even if you're also dead.

I glance over my shoulder to see chamaco staring at his hands, which are fading away. Wanting to get his mind off it, I clear my throat. "So, Miguel, why the heck would you want to become a musician?" I ask. He looks up and puts his hands in his pockets. "My great-great-grandpa was a musician," he answers, and I shudder. "Who spent his life performing like a monkey for complete strangers. Blech, no, no thank you, guácala, no..."

"Whaddya know..." he mumbles. I look back up to say something, but my breath hitches as my eyes land on my best friend. (Y/N)'s messy (h/c) hair sticks up in certain places, and she looks like she hasn't gotten any sleep within the past week. Her gorgeous (e/c) eyes are sunken, with dark rings forming around her sockets. The gray, baggy clothes she has on are ripped in multiple places, thankfully not revealing anything comprising. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she wobbles with each giant step she takes down the staircase.

Yet she's still the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on.

"So how far is this guitar anyway?" the living says, pulling me back to reality. "We're almost there!" I call back, then jump off the last step, crashing into the concrete below. I reassemble instantly, and have the boy hop down. "Keep up, chamaco, c'mon," I tease him, pushing him in front of me as I wait for (Y/N). When she gets to the edge, she looks down at me with an uncertain expression, and I feel a slight twang in my soul. "Hey, I'll catch you! When have I not?" I call up to her, and she rolls her eyes. I watch her sit down on the last step, and I hold my arms up, ready for her. (Y/N) takes a deep breath then pushes herself off, and I catch her.

"See? Nothing to worry about!" I grin, and she gives me a half-hearted smile. I let go of her and she walks towards Shantytown going under the bridge. Jogging up to her, I'm about to ask her what's wrong when two tattered men sitting down and drinking call out.

"¡Ay caramba! (Y/N), you're looking good chica!"

"How's about you come on over here, and we'll show you a good time?"

My blood starts to boil as they cat call her - that is, if I had any. "Oye, ¡vete! Ella no quiere tus enfermedades. Vete a otro lugar, perros repugnantes," I shout at them, but all they do is laugh. "¡Oh, mira al pequeño Héctor tratando de ser un gran hombre! Al menos tenemos las agallas para invitarla a salir," one of them yells back, and I growl. "¡Ni siquiera tienes agallas, idiota! Ninguno de nosotros lo hace."

Yet my rage is cut short as (Y/N) pulls me away and deeper into town. "C'mon, Héctor. No point in arguing with those smellies," she says, and I huff. Right when we walk out from under the bridge, a few friendly faces around a burning trash can recognize us and wave. "Cousin Hector and (Y/N)!" they shout, and I chuckle. "Ay, these guys!"

"(Y/N) and Hector!" another, older male yells. "Hey Tío! Qué onda!" I high five, and (Y/N) chuckles. "How ya doin', my guy?" she says as he goes to the other group, and Miguel just looks at us. "These people are all your guy's' family?" he asks. I respond, "Eh, in a way... We're all the ones with no photos or ofrendas, no family to go home to. Nearly forgotten, you know? So, we all call each other cousin, or tío, or whatever." As I finish explaining, I see Tía Chelo and a few other elderly women playing a game of cards. Scooping up a half finished bottle of rum, I walk over to them with (Y/N) beside me.

"Hector!" Tía calls out, and I smile. "Hey, hey!" I hand them and bottle and give (Y/N) a sideways glance. She's smiling a little more, but not nearly as much as she should be. The group of older Tías laugh and thank me, and I lean on the table. "Hey, hey, save some for us! Is Chicharrón still in the bungalow?" I ask, and Tía Chelo nods. "Yes, but he's sober again, and I don't think he's wanting any visitors," she says, and (Y/N) quietly snorts. "Who doesn't like a visit from me?" she mutters cheekily, and we all laugh in response. Well, except for Miguel. Getting over there, I hold the faded blanket and let Miguel and (Y/N) walk in first.