The Musician Down the Road || Héctor Rivera X Reader ALIVE

A Musician, A Friend, A Lover

A/N: F/B is favorite book! G/P/N is grandparent name. (bare with me i'm using google translate) rapida ahora = quickly now burro = donkey vaca = cow hypòcrita = hypocrite burro testurado = stubborn donkey
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The Rivera Household, 7 A.M.

Héctor had now turned sixteen. You were fifteen, and yet, Héctor was taller than you, and more handsome than you, and more talented than you.

"Héctor! What are you doing?" His mama shouted at him

"I am.. leaving for the plaza?" he replied, flinching back slightly.

"Not with your hair like that! Brush it, now!"

"But mama-"

"Ap! No no! Brush your hair, rápida ahora! Go! And do not come back out until it is completely brushed. It is the Dia de Muertos and you will look nice for your relatives!"

"Fine, mama." He grumbled

Héctor went to his room to brush his hair, except he wasn't going to brush his hair. Instead, Héctor was planning on climbing out his window, jumping some rooftops, and going to your house to hang out.

He didn't look as cool as he would have liked. He tumbled out the window, hitting his nose and giving himself a pretty bad nosebleed. Good luck explaining that one. After catching himself, he made a slippery half fall to the next roof over, climbed down the side of the building, and slipped into the streets.

He jogged through the slowly crowding stone roads for a few blocks before he reached your house. He knew you liked to hang out in the top of the barn, up in the hayloft.

Now just to get in there.

| YOUR P.O.V. |

You were in the hayloft, lying in soft, slightly scratchy, fresh bales of, well.. hay. You had picked up your copy of F/B and began reading again.

Then someone began knocking on one of the doors.

You jumped, almost knocking your book off into one of the cow's stalls.

"A-aye mama, I'm in here, I'm just reading I swear mama!" You yelled, voice strained with panic.

The door creaked open, light shining behind a tall, skinny figure, the lankiest, and cutest person you knew and had ever known and most likely ever would know...

... Héctor.

"Gah! You burro!" You grabbed your book and shoved it back into your lap "Get up here and shut the door, you lanky, lame-legged vaca!"

Héctor laughed and slid the door shut behind him, crawling up a ladder to join you in the hay.

"Hola to you too, señorita!" He smiled

You groaned, but you knew you were blushing as he sat down in the hay next to you.

"What's that?" He questioned, poking his head into the book.

"F/B. I'm reading it. Again." You shrugged him off, dog-earing the page as you slapped the book shut.

"Isn't this fifth time you've read it? Ay, too many! You should be outside! No wonder you're so pale." He teased, elbowing you.

"Ah, whatever. Don't you stay inside writing songs and playing guitar all day? Hipòcrita."

He laughed and slunk down so his head was on your shoulder, his legs spread out in a small V in front of him.

"Have you brushed your hair, Héctor?"

"You sound like mama."

"Have you?"

".. No. It's fine, I can do it later."

"Héctor!" You snapped "It's Dia de Muertos! You want to look nice for your ancestors, don't you? Better reason yet, if you don't brush your hair, your mama will chop it all off!" You thwacked his side with your book.

He winced and pushed into you more "If you're so worried about my precious hair, why don't you brush it, Y/N?" He smirked.

You quickly grasped a small backpack from the side and pulled a semi-clean but dusty hairbrush from it, then pulled Héctor over closer to you. He moved himself into your lap, head against your chest, legs still stuck out, and his arms splayed out beside him. You began gently brushing through his dark chocolate colored hair, which, while short, was amazingly tangled.

Héctor would wince and pull away every couple minutes as you brushed, you pulling him back quickly with a sigh and a slight glare.

"This is why you need to brush your hair, burro testarudo.."

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling at you. His face was coated in red, just as yours was, but you had become to involved in getting the tangles out his hair to be concerned with how flustered you were.

It took another thirty minutes to comb and tease out every tangle, and by that point Héctor had been singing to you with boredom. He jumped up as soon as you declared yourself finished, turning himself to face you with cheeks that looked to be painted red.

"Gracias, gracias Y/N! I can run my fingers through my hair, goodness.."

You sighed. He was adorable when excited. You nodded and placed the hairbrush back in the backpack by your hip.

"It would be easier to brush and keep untangled if it weren't so greasy."

He shook his hand around until his hair had reached an appropriate level of messiness for him.

"Sí, sí, I've heard!" he groaned

"Yeah, well maybe you should listen instead of being a burro about everything."

He shook his head and crawled back into the hay with you. "It'll be fine, it'll be fine. I'll wash it."

"You've been telling me that for two weeks, Héctor." You moved a little closer to him.

"I uh.. I will. I will! Don't worry. Just give me ooone more week!" He wheedled.

"Whatever, Héctor."

His face gained a faint red tint "May I, uh, stay at your house for Dia de Muertos?"

You smiled at him "You mama will kill you, and my papa G/P/N will think you're my boyfriend, but sure."

"Who says I'm not your boyfriend, or that I wouldn't be a good one?"

Now it was your turn to become beet red. He pulled you into a hug, laughing.

"It'll be worth it to spend the holiday with you."