Misc.

better call saul 5

the sun was setting over the albuquerque mountains, gustavo fring was watching it like it was the most interesting tv show he'd ever seen.

it had been a nice day. not too cold, and the breeze had been warm all afternoon. 

max was getting groceries, and he would be back any minute, and they would make dinner together.

gus thought about the first time they'd shared a meal. how he'd forgotten to tell max that there was shellfish in the stew he'd prepared and all of a sudden they were speeding to the emergency room before max could stop breathing. gus thought about how he'd spent the night with max in the bathroom, guiltily staying by his side while his partner threw up dinner, and sat back pale and sweaty with tears in his eyes, apologizing for making such a mess.

gus thought about reassuring him over and over and over, carefully guiding him back to the bed and tucking him in, laying next to him, and holding him, stroking his hair and quietly humming half a lullaby he remembered from the depths of his childhood. 

gus thought about the portrait max had painted of their cat, gentle brush strokes of the finest oil paint, impeccable colours on every inch, save for the bottom left corner. the cat, in its inability to sit still, had caught sight of a bird darting around outside and without thinking had lept over max's painting setup, crashing headfirst into a window it had forgotten was there. the paint had gone everywhere, marring the canvas in the process. the poor cat's paws were stained purple and blue for weeks, and the finished painting ended up with a slightly green undertone, with a permanent dent in the canvas in the bottom left corner. 

gus thought about the hikes they'd gone on. he thought about the chaos that had ensued the time they'd gone camping in the woods. how on the trek there they momentarily became afraid they'd forgotten all of their water at home, only to find that gus had tucked it away at the bottom of their packs. then, it had rained like hell on their tents. it was so loud they hardly got any rest at all, and on the trek back to their car, gus had clumsily tripped over a root, spraining his ankle. max was a crutch for him the entire way back, bandaging and splinting it the best he could until they could get to a doctor. 

gus thought about the way max kissed him, held him. how max helped gus with his cufflinks every day. how he would hide in the crook of gus' neck when they hugged or slept together, how he would tease gus about the grey appearing in his hair as they aged, conveniently forgetting about his own. how they would slow dance in the living room to an old spanish record max had gotten from his grandfather, and while they danced, max would guide gus ever so gently with a hand on his hip, and directions for their steps hanging off of his lips and coming out in a quiet whisper that only gus could hear.

gus thought about how beautiful the idea was.

how beautiful it might have all been if it had ever been real in the first place. 

the sun was setting over the albuquerque mountains, gustavo fring was watching it like it was the most interesting tv show he'd ever seen.

he watched it like he was really waiting for the only man he'd ever truly loved to come walking through the door.

as if there wasn't the sound of a gunshot still ringing in his ears five years later.

as if the image of max laying dead by the pool wasn't something he'd ever seen after all.