This is completely different than anything else I've ever written. I normally write either canon compliant or canon divergent fanfics. This is a full-blown AU, an alternate universe version of "Coco."
And it isn't just a normal AU. It is an AU of an AU. Slusheeduck (also known as death_frisbee on AO3) and im_quite_whitty created a series called "The Way You Keep Me Guessing," which is also referred to as the "Coco Teachers AU." It involves everyone in modern times, non-murderous roommate Ernesto with a popular web show, Héctor being a music teacher as well as Enrique's cousin rather than his ancestor, Miguel being eight instead of twelve, Miguel's parents dying in a car accident and him ending up with Héctor, and overall some interesting changes. Far more changes and cool concepts than what I just listed. I highly recommend reading it. You can find it on Tumblr and AO3.
But with their permission, I am borrowing the previously-named elements and going off in a different direction. Thus, this story could be considered an AU of the Teachers AU. This is not canon with Slush and Wit's story. Not even close. I have a completely different plan. But it shares enough elements that it is important to ensure that the proper people get credit.
After all, no one in this fandom wants to act like Ernesto.
So I don't own the original "Coco" aspects. That's Disney and Pixar. And I don't own the aspects I borrowed from the Teachers AU. That's Slush and Wit. But anything else is fair game.
Harmonic Progression
Héctor's alarm went off, causing him to groan tiredly as he reached over and turned it off. Part of him wanted to bury his head into his pillow and get some more sleep. The last few weeks had been exhausting and stressful. But he couldn't. As chaotic and spontaneous as the rest of his life might be, his mornings had a routine and he needed to stick to his routine. Especially when he was stressed.
Crawling out from under his blanket and shedding his pajamas as he went, Héctor plucked his clothes from the small closet. He yanked on the dark pants and socks before tossing the shirt on the bed for the moment.
He slipped out of the bedroom into the main room of the apartment. Héctor kept his movements quiet, not wanting to disturb his roommate. Nor the small figure sleeping uneasily on the couch, having recently migrated from sharing Héctor's bed due to nightmares. And while he paused in the kitchen half of the room to get out a couple of plates from the cabinets and put them on the counter, he didn't start looking for cooking utensils. Frozen microwave breakfasts might not be the healthiest option, but Héctor could actually cook them without burning them to a crisp or setting the apartment on fire. That was a step ahead of most items on the menu.
Most of the bathroom was crowded by Ernesto's precious haircare products, the man's daily regimen both detailed and excessive. But no one had ever claimed to witness a bad hair day from him. Ever. He needed to look good for the fans, after all. Appearing on his web show looking less than perfect would be unthinkable. Hence why the shelves were covered in bottles, tubes, and jars of goop.
But Héctor didn't need much space for his belongings. He brushed his teeth to get the fuzzy taste out of his mouth before returning his toothbrush to the edge of the sink. Opening the medicine cabinet, he reached for the rest of his things. He gave his goatee a quick trim before shaving the rest of his face to a level of reasonable respectability. He'd never been able to grow a full beard and trying left him looking like a werewolf with mange. The goatee was the best option. He swallowed his dose of medication with a mouthful of water before returning the cup and the orange bottle to the top shelf. Then, even knowing that it was useless, he dragged a comb through his hair in an attempt to tame it. The mirror prove that his efforts produced mixed results.
He paused briefly in the kitchen to pop the microwavable meals in to start cooking. Then he returned to his room to grab the waiting shirt. Héctor pulled it on before doublechecking that all the papers were back in his bag, still buttoning up the shirt as he returned to the main room.
"Chamaco," he called gently. "Time to wake up."
Moaning groggily, the young boy said, "Papá?"
"No, Miguel," he said, ignoring the way something in chest ached. "It's just me."
Still drowsy, Miguel sat up from the couch. They really needed to work out something better for the sleeping arrangements. But there were only the two bedrooms and there had been so much happening that Héctor had barely had time to think lately. So for now, it was either sharing a bed with the kid or having one of them claim the couch.
Maybe they could take turns or something.
Even as he rubbed his eyes, Héctor could see the exact moment that he remembered what happened, just like every morning. The car accident. The deaths of Enrique and Luisa. The funeral and the lawyers. And Héctor, Enrique's primo and the named godfather to the boy, abruptly finding himself the guardian of a grieving eight-year-old.
It was a lot for Miguel to deal with, more than he deserved. Héctor could barely wrap his mind around it himself at times. It… it was a lot…
Enrique, what were you thinking? You had siblings. Or even Tía Elena. She knows how to take care of even the most challenging child. She handled me, after all. Miguel would be better off with someone who has a clue. He's a great kid and deserves better. Enrique, why…
"Good morning, Tío Héctor," mumbled Miguel, pulling him from his thoughts.
His voice and posture still seemed too withdrawn, too weighed down by the events of a month and a half ago. But he'd been improving a little. When Héctor could get him distracted, he would act more like a normal eight-year-old. It was mostly the quieter and calmer moments where he would get stuck in his own thought and memories. Those were the times when reality would hit Miguel the hardest.
Which meant that he would be at his lowest emotional point usually first thing in the morning or at night when he tried to go to sleep. Héctor's strategy so far was to get him up and moving quickly enough to pull him out of that slump.
Honestly, Héctor had no idea what he was doing and was improvising. But as long as no one knew that he was making it up as he went along and he acted confidently enough, maybe he could make it work.
"Go get dressed," he said gently. As the microwave beeped shrilly, Héctor said, "Breakfast is ready. Hurry up. We've got a big day. School is starting today."
"No one will care if I miss the first day," said Miguel even as he stumbled to his feet.
"They'd care. Not to mention that Tía Elena would swoop in and smack me with a chancla if I didn't get you to school on time," he said. "And it isn't just you. I don't get to miss the first day either."
"Because you're a teacher. You get paid to go."
As the boy vanished to change clothes, Héctor tossed the quick breakfasts on the plates. Half-hearted complaints about school were probably a good sign. It was normal kid stuff. He certainly preferred it to the dull look in Miguel's eyes at the funeral. That empty and lost expression was something that Héctor never wanted to see again.
"I could always stay here," said Miguel, his colorful pajamas exchanged for the school uniform. "I could help Ernesto de la Cruz with his videos."
Héctor tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at him, causing the boy to shrug. Miguel finding out that Héctor lived in the same apartment as the famous internet star, the man's show one that he loved watching, had been a shock to the kid. But one that he appreciated greatly once it sank in. And while Ernesto grumbled about Héctor suddenly showing up with a kid and how having one living with them would disrupt everything, the excited questions and mild hero worship won him over.
Though Héctor dreaded telling him that having Miguel around would probably cut back on his involvement in their performances at various clubs and such during the summers. The man's dream of using their music to achieve the celebrity life might have to wait until Miguel was older and things settled down a bit. He hated the idea of disappointing his best friend, but Miguel and his needs had to come first.
"It was just an idea," grumbled Miguel, climbing onto the stool by the counter and reaching for his breakfast.
"Unfortunately, we're both going to school."
Miguel sighed heavily, managing to blow air up and ruffle the hair in his face. Tía Elena would be trying to comb it into submission by now. Or forcing more food on his plate as the boy reluctantly chewed. And Héctor couldn't even imagine what Luisa would be doing to get her son ready for school. Or what Enrique would do.
"I know things have been rough lately," he said, sinking into the stool next to him. "And I know that is a huge understatement."
Héctor ran a hand through his hair, ruining his earlier attempts to tame it. Serious conversations like this weren't his specialty. Honestly, outside of a few careers like grief counseling or whatever, not many people would have much experience with it. He had no idea what to say. Héctor couldn't even take the time to work out how he felt about losing someone that he grew up with because Miguel needed to come first and… Ay, this was impossible. But they needed to have this conversation. Or at least touch on the topic. He had to try.
"Lo siento. I wish I could make this easier for you." He shook his head slightly. "It might be hard right now, but we'll figure this out. Routines are supposed to help. Doing normal stuff. And that starts with both of us heading to school."
The rest of the morning preparations went relatively smoothly. Dirty plates went into the sink, Miguel brushed his teeth and dragged a comb through his hair, and the boy's backpack was collected. One last glance around the apartment and they were out the door.
Héctor would be the first person to admit that their apartment building wasn't the greatest. It was an older structure from the days when there were slightly different safety regulations, being forcibly dragged into the modern era in uneven measures. There was no elevator, meaning that he had to climb several stories of narrow and steep stairs daily in a rather hot stairwell. There were chips in some of the yellow tiles on the kitchen counter and the grout was stained by the years. The water pressure occasionally surrendered entirely and left them with a weak dribble. And any laundry needed to be carried down from the fifth floor all the down the infinite stairs to the laundry room in the basement.
But the wi-fi turned out to be shockingly reliable, it being one of the modern features forced into the old building along with the numerous television stations available. And while the water pressure had its bad days, the water heater was larger than expected. The bathtub was a decent size even if Héctor stuck to showers. And Chicharrón kept everything working, hobbling up and down the countless stairs with his toolkit even as he complained gruffly. But most importantly, the rent was reasonable and it was within walking distance of both the primaria that Miguel would be attending and the secundaria where Héctor served as the music teacher.
In the end, the perks outweighed the issues. But for most people, there were better options. They would look for nicer places to live. It wasn't the worst apartment building in the city and the neighborhood wasn't dangerous, but people rarely moved in.
So when Héctor and Miguel encountered someone coming up the narrow stairwell with a stack of boxes, it was a surprise. Not to mention a rather large obstacle trapping them near the third floor. People could get by each other on the stairs normally, though you might end up pressed against the metal handrails while squeezing past if there was a large enough group. But with the large boxes, there would be no way around.
"Moving in?" he asked, as if there could be any other explanation. "Señor López's old apartment on the fourth floor?"
Shifting the burden in their arms, the nearly-concealed person behind the boxes said, "Sí."
Héctor blinked in surprise at the voice. Not only was the speaker a woman, something that the boxes hid quite effectively, but her voice was beautiful. Melodic. He couldn't explain why, but something warm in his chest fluttered in response.
"Would…" His voice failed for a second before he coughed and tried again. "Would you like some help with that?"
"We're fine," she said shortly.
We?
Héctor looked below the tall stack of boxes. Now he could glimpse the lower half of a purple dress. And clinging to the fabric with one hand and a doll with the other, was the most adorable little girl that he could ever remember seeing. Her hair in twin braids and no more than four or five years old, she peered shyly from behind the woman.
"I can see you already have a helper," said Héctor, kneeling down briefly to give the little girl a smile. She grinned before burying her face in the woman's dress with a giggle. "But Ernesto and I nearly fell and cracked our skulls open half a dozen times trying to wrestle a couple mattresses and the couch up the stairs. This stairwell is a death trap."
"I hired someone to move the larger pieces. I can handle the rest." The woman took another step, trying to work her way past them. "Now, if you excuse me, my daughter and I have a long day ahead of us."
Straightening up and taking a few steps back, Héctor said, "At least allow me to get the door to your floor. Your hands are full at the moment and Tía Elena would have my head if I didn't."
"She would," said Miguel with a nod.
"Fine," she said, shifting her grip on the boxes. "You can get the door."
Héctor practically ran back up the last few steps and yanked open the heavy door with a loud creak, revealing the hallway of the fourth floor. Each floor of the building, with the exception of the ground floor and the basement, held two apartments. One apartment on either side of the hallway. From what he remembered, Señor López's old apartment would be on the east side of the building.
"Miguel, could you see if the door on the left is unlocked and open it for them?" he asked. "So they can get into their apartment?"
The boy gave a quick nod and scurried to obey. Héctor waited as the woman and her daughter made it the rest of the way up the narrow stairs. Part of him still wanted to reach out and take one of the boxes from her tall stack, but he knew better than to push. That's how people ended up with Tía Elena's chancla smacking the side of their head.
He caught a glimpse of her face as she and the girl moved past him. And even that brief glimpse stole his breath away and left his heart pounding in his ears. Her warm eyes… Her soft lips… Her smooth and yet strong features… Her dark hair twisted into a bun with ribbons…
Ay, look at her. She had to be a dream. Though there is no way I'm capable of dreaming up someone like her.
Héctor struggled to start breathing again as she walked by, not even looking at him. If he thought her voice was beautiful, her face was beyond words. He never thought that he was shallow, but one look and Héctor found himself completely ensnared by her. And he didn't want to break free. It was completely insane. He didn't even know her.
But Héctor desperately wanted the chance.
"I'm Héctor," he said. "And this is my primo, Miguel. I'm sure you'll meet my friend, Ernesto, eventually. We live upstairs."
"That's nice," said the woman, her words both distracted and short. "Imelda."
"I'm Coco," the little girl greeted shyly.
Waving, Miguel said, "Hola, Coco." Then, once the new arrivals stepped into the apartment with their boxes, Miguel said, "Tío Héctor? We should probably get going. We're going to be late."
Héctor's eyes widened. First day of the school year. Right. Being late would not be the best start. As much as he wanted to find out more about his beautiful new neighbor and her young daughter, he needed to get Miguel to school and he had his morning classes to teach.
"Espérame, Chamaco," he said, gesturing at the boy. "And good luck with the move, Doña Imelda."
Grabbing Miguel's hand, Héctor took off running. The pair scurried down the stairwell as quickly as he could manage without the risk of tripping. And they didn't slow down as they hit the sidewalk outside.
The pair of muscular men dropped the couch in the middle of the room, the final large piece of furniture. Imelda gave them a brief thanks and paid them for their work, grateful for their efforts and grateful to see them leave. She would have preferred to have her brothers move the furniture up the stairs, but Oscar and Felipe were in school. They were studying engineering, both of them smart enough to earn their way into one of the better colleges. Though Imelda sometimes marveled at how smart they could be while lacking in common sense when it came to safety at times. But regardless, she couldn't pull them away from their studies just to help carry a few things.
Imelda could handle this on her own. She could take care of her daughter and rebuild without help.
Taking a moment to survey the piles of boxes, the cheap furniture she'd bought or borrowed to replace the nicer pieces sold to cover the debts that he left behind, and the empty walls, Imelda tiredly slumped onto the couch cushion. She sighed tiredly as she rubbed her neck, trying to massage out the aches from her muscles. After a moment, Coco scrambled onto her lap.
"What do you think so far, mija?" she said quietly, wrapping an arm around her daughter in a brief hug.
"Lots of stairs," said Coco.
"There are. And we have to go up and down those stairs when we do laundry. You'll have to be careful. No playing on the stairs," she said. "And the kitchen and living room are the same room now. That's a little different too."
"Sí. And it's yellow. Our house has an orange kitchen."
Imelda sighed tiredly, brushing back her daughter's braids. She'd tried to explain this a few times, but Coco didn't seem to understand. Or perhaps she didn't want to understand.
"This is our house now. We don't live in the old one anymore. It's different, but this place isn't bad. A little smaller, but not too small. We'll get your room fixed up. And once we get your bed put together, put your clothes and toys away, and maybe get some curtains later, you might even like it better than your old one."
"But what about Papá? What if he can't find us here?"
Imelda bit back her anger and shoved it down. She wasn't mad at Coco for her innocent question. No, not her wonderful daughter. Her anger was reserved for that man.
And perhaps some anger for herself. After all, she was the one who fell for him in the first place.
José was charming once. He was handsome and seemed to care about her. He claimed to love her and Imelda believed him. But no matter what he said or did when they were younger, no matter how much her family liked him or how happy he seemed with her, that love must have been a lie. Or perhaps it faded, too limited and conditional to withstand the test of time.
Honestly, she wasn't certain when things began to change and she hated how even now she couldn't look back to see the early signs. Her pregnancy with Coco had been a rough one. The delivery, and the immediate aftermath, was even more so. Perhaps she'd been too distracted by everything to see the signs. Or perhaps the birth was the catalyst.
He grew distant gradually over the first few months of Coco's life, spending more and more time out of the house. He seemed to pull away even as Imelda reached out to him. And then one day, José mentioned a possible new job in a neighboring town and that he would be gone for a week to see if it worked out. She wasn't happy about it, but it made sense and a little more money would help with their growing baby.
One week became two weeks. And then a month. And then several months. At first, he called occasionally with an excuse or a reassurance that it wouldn't be too much longer. All lies. He sent money once. But only once.
And eventually she realized the truth. She denied it for as long as possible, telling Coco that her papá would be home soon and that he loved them. Imelda believed those lies for far too long. But eventually enough time passed without a word from him that she couldn't pretend any longer.
When enough time passed, Imelda marched into a courtroom and demanded a divorce. Without José there, she could only ask for a contentious divorce. A long and messy process that consumed what little funds she managed to earn through various temporary jobs. But with him gone for two years and a complete abandonment of their home during that time, she had plenty of grounds for a divorce.
He didn't even fight it when the courts managed to track José down. After all those wasted nights alone trying to believe the best of the man she'd once loved, all that money and effort to claw her way through the legalities, and all those innocent questions about a man in a foto that Coco couldn't remember, José agreed to the divorce without complaint or any attempt to see his family a final time. It was almost casual how easily he ended things. As if the divorce of the woman that he once claimed to love with all his heart was a dull chore that slipped his mind.
He didn't care. He didn't care about Imelda nor Coco. They didn't matter to him anymore. Perhaps they never did.
In the end, the marriage was severed. It took a little over a year, but it was done. And José vanished without a trace as soon as the ink dried on the documents. The courts couldn't even track him down a second time when he failed to pay the ordered child support. Nor could the people wanting to collect his debts, causing them to descend on Imelda instead. He disappeared and left it all on her since they were married at the time his debts were established. Her funds quickly dried up.
Imelda didn't have much after that. Just her daughter and her brothers, both of them away at school. Her parents had passed in the previous few years, her mamá from illness and her papá in an accident. But she wouldn't let that man's legacy continue to ruin their lives.
She didn't need José. She didn't need anyone. She could take care of everything on her own.
Moving to a new city was the best option for Imelda and her daughter. She sold what she could, gathering what money she could scrounge together. Then Imelda accepted the offer from her childhood friend, Ceci, to work in her shop. Perhaps it wasn't what some people would decide to do, but it seemed right. A fresh start for both of them.
But Coco didn't understand why they left. Imelda did her best to shield her daughter from the entire legal mess that dragged out for far too long and devoured their money. She didn't understand what that man did, how he abandoned them and all his promises to come home were lies. She believed what Imelda used to tell her, back when the woman still held onto delusional hope. She thought her papá was a good man, someone she wanted to meet since she didn't remember his presence from when she was a baby. And so the questions continued.
"He's not coming here, mija," said Imelda quietly. "Remember when we talked about how me and your papá aren't married anymore? That means that he won't come to see us here. But he didn't come to see us before either, right? We were fine on our own and we'll be fine now."
Coco flopped back dramatically, sprawling across Imelda's lap and the couch. The annoyed pout on her face left Imelda struggling not to smile. She leaned down and planted a small kiss on Coco's head. The girl's grumpiness dissolved into giggles.
"You'll see, mija. This will be a good place for us. And I've got you. We don't need him around. We'll be happy here," said Imelda gently. "It isn't perfect, but we'll make it into our home."
Coco was quiet for a few moments, a thoughtful expression on her face. Eventually, she pushed herself back up into a sitting position.
"Yellow is pretty too. Maybe… maybe even prettier than an orange kitchen."
Smiling, Imelda asked, "Really? Prettier than orange? But certainly not prettier than pink, is it? Maybe they should have painted the whole building pink. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"And people here are nice," she continued, grinning brightly.
"You liked the boy earlier? Miguel?"
Coco nodded eagerly and said, "He was nice. And so was the man. He was really nice and really tall."
"Is that right?"
Imelda didn't actually get to see the man who helped with the door, though he sounded vaguely nice when he spoke. She'd been too busy with the boxes. And perhaps not in the friendliest of moods.
Well, it didn't matter. While she and Coco might glimpse their neighbors in passing, she doubted she would see much of them. Between her new job with Ceci and taking care of her daughter, Imelda wouldn't have much time for socializing with whoever lived the next floor up.
"A prima vista" means literally "at first sight," but it is a musical term that means to play a song for the first time after only sight reading the sheet music. No previous practicing or attempts at the song. I thought it would be an appropriate chapter title since a certain someone is experience a bit of love "at first sight."