Archive of Our Own

Another five gruelling hours left to go.

The landscape around them grew more foreign. Lalo wasn't his usual talkative self that night. He was quiet in the passenger seat, staring out the window drowsily with his chin rested on his palm. Shitty quinceañera perhaps? Or maybe not even a birthday party after all? Some other businesses he had to settle that didn't go his way so now he was all bratty and emotional. Good.

And if Ignacio wanted to doze off behind the wheel and potentially kill him and Lalo on the road, he didn't show it.

Lalo had stayed at Chihuahua for two days, attending a quinceañera that couldn't be missed. A relative of a relative. Honestly, Ignacio stopped keeping track after their beloved abuelita. So many fucking Salamancas in this world that it sickened Ignacio. They're like a plague with no cure. Like the stubborn grease you could never get rid of at the bottom of your favourite pan. Like the bloodstain on the carpet. Always there to stay.

Ignacio was doing his usual drop-off routine at the Salamanca storehouse. Same routine since before Lalo first showed up in the restaurant unannounced. It was twelve noon, and the sun was set high in the sky. Cloudless. Scorching. Sticky. Even the air conditioning in his car couldn't cool off the heat enough. It was days like these that Ignacio wanted to stay inside his house where he could be shirtless and lay sprawled in front of five fans at maximum speed.

Ignacio was way ahead of his schedule earlier that day. He figured he'd stop somewhere and grab a bite at some diner off the I-10 maybe, nothing fancy. To shut his appetite up before he went about the rest of his afternoon.

That's when his got the phone call from Lalo.

He stared at the number a beat too long before answering, "Yeah?"

"Ignacio." Lalo's voice tingled in his ears. And the way he said his name with the sultry tone, dragging the words at the end to make sure Ignacio felt it in his bones. "Party's over. Come pick me up."

All the way in Chihuahua?
"Can't you drive here?"

"I left my car at the guesthouse. I don't got a ride."

"What about Antonio who picked you up the other day?" Ignacio asked. "I still got things to do."

"Your routine should be done by now, no? If you still got shit going on clear your schedule," Lalo ordered casually. Of course, he kept track of Ignacio's activity. A damn teacher who was constantly checking over his shoulder. "Let me spend some time with you, yeah?"

There was no point in arguing anymore. Once Lalo had made up his mind, not even the threat of nuclear bomb could make him change it. Composing himself for his foreseeable demise, Ignacio replied, "I'll be on my way."

A sharp breath from the other line. Ignacio could tell Lalo was doing his shark-line grin that Ignacio wished he could wipe it away with a chainsaw. "See you at ... eight, yeah?"

The line disconnected.

Eight fucking hours’ drive. No, eight hours and twenty minutes. Ignacio was all about taking a drive in his car around the outskirts of Albuquerque. To race tracks, record stores, clubs and pubs, anywhere but home. He did it for him. Not for anyone else. Now that Lalo had evaded his personal space—the hobby wasn't as fun as it used to be anymore.

He stared out the window, searching for a place to eat. At last, he settled for a Chinese takeout. This could be the last meal he'd eat for days.

The sky was dark by the time Ignacio arrived at Lalo’s house. Lalo had invited him inside and made him stay for half an hour before they got back on the road. Yolanda had served him a delicious apricot juice, fresh from Turkey she had told. Ignacio appreciated the hospitality. Yet, Ignacio didn't take the break as resting.

Because there he was, having to endure the next five brutal hours before they finally reached Albuquerque once more. He had been driving for 11 hours straight now. His body, his legs, his arms, they were all killing him.

It was an abnormally windy night, chilling the hot New Mexico air with breezes. Most shops were already close since it was already late, drunk men could be seen leaving bars with just as intoxicated women, lights were being switched off one by one on apartments and houses. Slowly, the exuberant atmosphere of the city faded into the distance, and with it the lights that polluted the night sky. Ignacio never knew how clear the stars could in a rural area that not even his own dark streets could conjure such view.

His father always had a talk about living on a countryside. A place where's there's no light, and the starts could shine bright as day. And he was damn right.

Always a wise man, his father.
But so wise his father that he was blinded by the truth of what such rural areas could keep—secrets. Dead bodies. Weapons. Drugs. All kinds of unspeakable illegal shit.

The desert especially was the most unforgiving. It stretched along the road that Ignacio believed for it to be endless. Like the galaxy where it just kept on expanding and expanding until the end of time. So much stories to be written, so much tragedies to be told. A universe of its own. A universe that was beginning to be designed against Ignacio's beliefs, putting him on a pretty-red leash that had him on his knees at first, but then he couldn't outrun it. Ignacio wondered if he'd be buried somewhere with no tombstone, and he'd be forgotten like the infinite dust in the sands.

That's why in order to be remembered, he had to do his fucked-up job. And he needed to do it good.

And it would be nice to be able to live long enough to see Lalo being carried under the earth's ground slowly by the pallbearers. Just another waste in the wasteland.

The radio was playing an upbeat reggaeton. Whenever his people from the streets was around, he'd listen to gangster rap and other bass-boosted music that didn't really offer so much in-depth lyrics. However, whenever he was alone, he craved for something that could soothe his racing mind. Something to forget about his fucked-up lifestyle even if it was temporarily. Jazz. Swing. R&B. Those kinds of music that could guide him somewhere where everything was right. Safe. Sound. A place where it was immune to the troubles of reality. No gun-shootouts, no cops, no loco boss who was always high on crystal, thrashing him around like a rag-doll. The world of make-believe.

A guilty pleasure of his.
A shameful pleasure.

Right now, he wasn't alone.
But he didn't have it in him to pretend much longer. Plus, it was night-time and his shift as the cartel don's chauffeur ended fucking hours ago.

He switched the station to his mixtape that he'd masterfully crafted. The music came on a slow, inviting tune. 'Our Love' by The Edge Of Daybreak came on. One of his favourites.

'If you're true to me, then I'm ready for you
Treat me as I treat you
I really feel we can make it
Say we both seek the same thing
All we need is a mutual understanding'

And whatever Ignacio's playlist had to offer, the two of them listened. Wondering, if the other understood the lyrics that were written.

After about the full tape of jazz and dissociating under the watchful stars, the car started making weird spluttering noises. It didn't give Ignacio time to think long before it came to a complete stop.

"Shit," Ignacio muttered under his breath.

"There goes your beloved car," Lalo deadpanned. That was the first sentence he uttered in the last couple of hours. A new record.

Ignacio mentally cursed himself over and over. He tried to jumpstart the car but to no avail. It won't start. It won't begin. He should've known. The warning signs were already there: sluggish starts, flickering lights. But he kept brushing it off. There was no smoke coming from the car, and the gas gauge sat at half. Still, the engine refused to turn over. Ignacio stepped out and popped the hood. Lalo followed him out, leaning lazily against the passenger door like they were just killing time.

"I forgot to change the battery," Ignacio said after inspecting the engine.

"He forgot to change the fucking battery," Lalo echoed mockingly. He glanced around at the empty stretch of deserted road. "You don't got any spare or something? Quick little fixin' and we can be back on the road again?"

Ignacio rolled his eyes, grateful the hood shielded his face. "People don't carry around car batteries with them, man." He checked the engine again. Belts, wires, terminals. Everything else looked fine. No leaks. No smoke. Just dead.

Lalo let out a sharp whistle that snapped Ignacio's attention back to him. "We're in luck." He pointed across the road, where a faint flicker of light cut through the night. It took Ignacio's vision to adjust before he could properly see the view. It was a small building, dim and squat in the dark.

"A motel."

Both men grunted pathetically after pushing the car for a good ten minutes until they reached the parking lot. There were no other cars in sight. Only Ignacio's. The motel had a very similar look from the motel in the movie 'Identity'. He had watched it with Domingo during the release about a year ago, yet it still fucked with his mind until now. It felt like they were in a scene of that film, and the killer would come and kill them any second now. Except, Ignacio was the killer all along.

"My phone's dead," Ignacio said, checking it one last time. "Can't make any calls."

Lalo let out a sigh as he tucked his phone away back into his jeans pocket. "Mine too."

Can this day get any fucking worse?

"Let's get inside," Lalo suggested. "See if there's anyone that can help."

Ignacio trailed behind Lalo, sluggish and worn-out, like a lost puppy following a bigger dog who claimed to be his father just to maul the puppy off at the end.

They entered the modest lobby. Based on the building's exterior, Ignacio had expected the reception area to be just as ugly, old, and rundown. But to his surprise, the inside was nothing like that. It was like a completely different building. The wooden interiors were polished, fresh. This motel must've been built fairly recent. Earlier that night, Ignacio had taken a different route—an odd desire to explore new paths after hours and hours of driving the same, monotonous road. So, it was an understatement that he'd never come across the motel before.

There was a woman, probably late-20s, standing behind the check-in counter in a crisp cyan uniform. Alone, in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of night. How was she still alive? And smiling? A weird sense of protectiveness over her overcame him.

"Good evening, sirs," she greeted brightly. She had an adorable teeth gap. "How may I assist you?"

"Hey, there, sugar." Lalo flashed his million dollars smile as he leaned against the reception counter. "Think we can make a quick phone call? Got a nasty breakdown back there and our phones are dead."

"Of course, sir." The woman was seemed unbothered by Lalo's charm. Just reached for a corded phone, plucked it off its base, and handed it over like she did this five times a night. "Here you go."

Lalo passed it to Ignacio, who hesitated. He remembered that they were no one familiar nearby. Just them in the middle of the desert. He cleared his throat. An embarrassment laced in his tone. "You got, uh, a number for a mechanic, miss?"

She nodded, lips pressed in a polite smile. Opened a drawer, rifled through some receipts, and pulled out a small orange business card. Ignacio took it, muttered thanks, and turned to make the call.

Few minutes later after exchanging information, he returned to the counter and handed the phone and contact information back. He turned to Lalo. "The mechanic says the earliest he can come by is seven tomorrow."

Or today, for that matter. The clock showed it was half-past one in the morning.

Lalo groaned. A bit louder than he had any rights to. Was that really necessary? "We might have to spend the night," he concluded.

Ignacio pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seems like it."

Lalo turned to the woman. His smile unwavering. “Be a doll and give two rooms for us will ya?”

The woman looked genuinely apologetic. “I’m really sorry, sir. All the other rooms are under renovation—pipe leakage. We only have one queen-bed room available for the night. I can offer you a discount, though.”

Lalo threw a quick glance over his shoulder. Ignacio met it with a tired shrug. They didn't have that much of an option, did they? And Ignacio was tired out of his goddamn mind to argue. He could barely feel his legs. At that point, he’d sleep on the floor—or out in the damn parking lot.

Lalo returned to her. “That's a no problem, sweetheart. We'll take it. No discount.”

As the girl began skimming through some paperwork, Ignacio found himself watching her more carefully. Her blonde hair was tied-up to a neat ponytail. Her nails were chipped and cracked as if she had been chewing them up until the moment Ignacio and Lalo walked through the entrance. She was bare-faced, cheeks sunken. She was definitely younger than Ignacio initially thought. A student? Early-20s? He wondered stupidly, involuntarily, how many bizarre occurrences she had witnessed in her life. If she had ever witnessed a murder happening before her own tired-eyes. The place was dead quiet, no other guests in sight, and the way she didn’t flinch around them. Something about the whole thing made Ignacio concerned.

“Here's the key!” She beamed. “Room 12, straight down this hall to your left.”

Ignacio felt like he had to say something about this whole ordeal. He already stepped forward before he could stop himself. "Are you working here all by yourself? Place like this, middle of nowhere, not exactly safe for someone like you.”

She blinked, startled for a moment, then gave a bashful sort of smile. “Oh. Don’t worry, sir. I work with my dad. He’s just in the main office. Down the corridor.”

Ignacio exhaled without realizing he’d been holding his breath. Relief warmed his chest, even if it was irrational. An instinct to look at Lalo overtook him, and when he did, Lalo was already staring at him. With gratitude shown on his face. He was seeing right through Ignacio. As if to say, 'How nice of you to look out for people.' Maybe Ignacio was just imagining it. His sleep deprivation must've contributed to the nonsense.

Because for once, Ignacio didn’t hate it.

"Thank you, lovely." Lalo accepted the key with a grin. Both him and Ignacio turned their heels around but Lalo stopped himself. He went to the counter again, brows creased and asked, "Can you give us some towels and toiletries too?"

The first thing that Ignacio took notice of the room was that; it didn't smell like shit or marinated sex. Even though it seemed like any other cheap motel had to offer. One humble queen-size bed, one closet on the opposite wall, two bedside tables, and a bathroom. It was warm, cosy, and surprisingly clean. A fucking blessing. Maybe the day wasn't that bad after all. Until, he noticed the second thing—

The bed. Right.
He stared helplessly at it. The revelation about how close they were going to be didn't dawn on him in the lobby. Now that the sight was in front of him—the thought of sharing a bed with Lalo tickled Ignacio's skin in the worst way possible.

"I'll sleep on the floor," Ignacio blurted. Wait, no. I'll sleep in the car.

"Now, now, Ignacio." Lalo chuckled deeply. His voice vibrated through Ignacio's chest. "I had to pay for the queen-sized so might as well make worth of the money spent, alright?"

"It's fine—"

"It's none negotiable." Lalo looked at him with his usual menacing gaze. A complete opposition as to what he gave Ignacio earlier. This one, Ignacio despised most. "Don't make me repeat myself."

Just as I was about to take a liking for you, Salamanca.

It was Ignacio’s mistake for even putting an ounce of hope for a Salamanca, anyway. When Lalo first showed up unannounced both terrified and thrilled him. Terrified for the new possibility of having a shittier boss than Hector or Tuco. Thrilled for the possibility that he might be less. He found himself hoping for the latter. Hope brought such joys in the darkest moments—but its hands gripped around Ignacio’s neck. Too much of hope could eventually kill you. And at that moment, Ignacio felt suffocated but alive. He was still breathing.

And as long as he could still breathe, he’d hoped.

His shoulders slouched. This conflict had worn him out at the end.

"I'm going to take a shower first," Ignacio said, shaking his head. He couldn't care less if he was being disrespectful to the Don or whatever. He felt sticky and sweaty and only a good shower could make him feel better.

Plus, he needed to take a fucking breather. And, if he took an extra-long shower to postpone the inevitable, who could blame him? He needed to mentally prepare himself for the night that he was about to spend with Lalo Salamanca.

Lalo was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes stuck to the Victorian-styled closet to look at nothing in particular. The whole car-ride had made his mind unwind restlessly. It was coming back—this questioning that Lalo wanted to be left unanswered for so long. This awful truth that he was hiding from everyone. From himself, even. Something about spending so much time with Ignacio made him reminisce a person he didn't know he'd missed. Maybe Ignacio had reminded him of his old self? Or somebody else? Lalo was afraid that if he stayed in the same room as Ignacio any longer, he'd break.

Speaking of, Ignacio finally exited the bathroom. The floral-scented soap the woman gave them spread pleasantly across the room in an instant. Ignacio was already fully-dressed—black tank top and a boxer. Secretly, Lalo had wished for Ignacio to come out with only a towel wrapped around his waist but it seemed that luck wasn't on his side.

When he locked eyes with Ignacio, what he saw in those ridiculous mélanges of brown and dark hazel wasn't uneasiness or discomfort, rather a form of solace. The sudden rush of heat he felt at the sight was strange and somewhat pleasant. At least for Lalo's part. There were still beads of water falling down from Ignacio's temple, down to his nose. Face relaxed, Ignacio breathed delicately through his parted red-lips. Lalo's gaze travelled down to the clothes that clung nicely to his fit body. The traces of his muscular abdomen could be seen on the tank top. If only Lalo could touch it with his fingers to make sure it was real and not just a figment of his imagination. Wanted to feel it. Savour it. He wanted to see Ignacio shudder underneath him as he whispered the things that he wanted to do Ignacio.

Lalo wished he had more time to digest the masterpiece that was Ignacio Varga when Ignacio cleared his throat. He blinked away his trance. How long had been staring?

"You can, uh ..." Ignacio pointed towards the bathroom with his thumb, and had his head hung low. But Lalo could still see the way his flawless skin glistened under the dim yellow lights the room had offered. His cheeks had a slight red tint to them—either from the cold shower or something else entirely. Let me see you, Ignacio. Look at me.

Lalo just stood up nonchalantly and grinned. "About time!"

Lalo made his way to the bathroom. He turned on the shower head, tried not to be disappointed when the place didn't offer a heater. He shouldn't expect much from a cheap motel, anyway. Grunting, he went to work scrubbing off all of the sweat and grime and desert air that had built up on his body. He washed over his old wounds and cuts slowly, wincing whenever he accidentally touched them too hard. The weight of the day still clung to him, and this was the only moment of privacy that he got to shake it off before he had to face the world again.

The cold water slowly felt nice against his skin. His mind began to wander into the furthest past where his mother was still alive, and when The Salamanca was beginning to form their reign. He hadn't thought about his parents for so long that he forgotten he ever had one. The quinceañera had resurfaced something that he kept at the very back of his brain. It was one of his mother's family who held the party. Her older sister's daughter's daughter. Honestly, he didn’t care much. He didn’t want to turn up at all if he could but out of courtesy, he had to. Plus, he played an important role in the family hence everyone had expected him way before he even got the invitation. Inside the old family house, photographs of his mother and her family sparked very old, haunting memories. There was a specific one that hit Lalo more than the rest—her laughing in the kitchen, looking so young and full of life. Her eyes, always so kind, a contrast to his father’s. In her arms was Lalo when he was a baby. Sinless, pure baby. A promise from heaven.

He remembered her prayers at night. How she whispered them into the dark, thinking he couldn’t hear. Thinking his father couldn’t either. Prayers for his soul like he was demon-possessed child from The Exorcist.

‘Esta no es la vida que te prometí, mi cariño.’

Lalo’s laughter echoed in the bathroom. What a fool, really. Why marry a Salamanca if she didn’t want Lalo to become what he had become?

Why?

Why do I miss you? You make me weak.

A while later when wrinkles starting to form on his fingertips, Lalo finally built enough courage to enter the room again. The lights were off and Ignacio had long gone to bed. Or maybe just feigning rest. Maybe to avoid any more small-talks. His back turned towards the window where the road was soundless right outside and his front facing the bathroom. And Lalo took note of the absence of a gun on the nightstand. Ignacio must've placed it somewhere behind his boxer or under the pillow, ready to strike whenever was necessary. So, Lalo left his gun in the car and kept it hidden in the glovebox of the passenger seat.

He didn't need it right now.
He put enough faith in his right-hand man.

Unfortunately for Lalo, he didn't wear an undershirt like Ignacio. He had no choice but re-wore his white, floral-patterned dress shirt and his jeans. Both of them had taken their shoes off and placed them by the door before they went further inside the room. Lalo then made a beeline for the side of the bed and slipped under the paper-thin covers as carefully as he could. He didn't want to disturb Ignacio.

That mattress was rock-solid, and Lalo had a difficult time trying to find a good position. Eventually he laid on his back, staring ahead into the darkness. His body was suddenly becoming more aware of the proximity between them. Much more intimate than being the same car. Same restaurant. Same business. Given the closeness now, it was different. Sensual. Suggestive. They were alone, in a room, on a queen-sized bed at night. How surreal a moment could turn?

Then, he turned to his side to face the sleeping man. He stared at every feature of his—from the snake piercing on his ear to his beautifully-scarred collarbone. Lalo's mind wandered about the possible backstory of the scar. Whatever was implanted in there would become a part of Ignacio forever. And why was Lalo envious of the thought? That an object could become one with Ignacio but not him? He observed the way Ignacio's chest rose up and down with a calm rhythm and he wondered how Ignacio was so laid-back with the idea of sharing the same bed with Lalo. He stared, and stared, and stared. Beneath that skin was a hot stream of blood, covering a fully beating heart that was full of life. Lalo had torn chests wide open before. Lalo had taken living hearts and watched the soul leave the bodies. That dark truth was eating him like parasite.

But this was the first one he's ever wanted to hold dear.

What about Ignacio that made it so different?

Lalo doubt he'd fall asleep that night. Or tomorrow. Or ever. Sleep made him feel. And he was undeserving of that. He could afford all kinds of luxury but being emotional was the only thing that was out of his reach. Years and years of spilling blood, ignoring the pleas, silencing the screams, why care? In the dark, he just stared at the ceiling, hearing the rusty metal croaking. For Lalo, sleeping was a chore. The quiet only made things louder. It took hours of mental preparation to wind himself down, and even then, he never woke up feeling refreshed. So, why hate something you couldn't control? Might as well enjoy it. Insomnia helped him to think. Coming up with better plans, better executions.

He proceeded to watch to the wall where the wallpapers were dark brown, to the window where the moonlight from outside illuminated Ignacio's sleeping face. He looked so peaceful. Almost dreamily. Do you dream, Ignacio? What do you dream? Is it something beautiful?

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

Soon enough, Lalo felt himself drifting away into the beginnings of a restless slumber.

***

The desert was a warm and expansive golden beige, as wide open as it was ever possible to imagine.

Lalo and his mother had been walking for who knew how long. Trudging through the thick sand with their luggage and bags that dragged them down by the minute. The sky was stormy, lightning flared occasionally, distant and silent. The kind of lightning that promised rain but never delivered. Despite the dark blue clouds surrounding them, the area was bright for Lalo to see past the horizon. The raw rock mountains shadowed by the dark clouds, making them seemed further than they should’ve been. Even with the absence of the sun, the weather was still dreading.

"How far it is, mama?" Lalo cried out. His feet ached, his body trembled. The straps of his bag cut into his shoulders. His dry tongue clung to the roof of his mouth. "I'm thirsty."

No answer from his mother. She continued to walk forward. Her thick wavy hair flowed frantically by the harsh wind. Lalo frowned. She hadn’t said a word since the beginning of their journey.

Then, she stopped.

Lalo halted with a loud puff, nearly dropping his stuff. “Mama?”

Something was wrong.

A sickening silence.

And the ground erupted violently, and it cracked on either side of his mother. The cracks halted a few inches away from Lalo’s feet. Underneath the surface was a hellish-red scene. His breath caught in his throat. He tried to run to her, but the sand gripped his legs like hands, slowing him down, holding him back. Another booming crack: something unworldly massive, rising from the broken earth.

A snake—the biggest there was. Its scales shimmered like obsidian, each one reflecting distorted versions of his mother’s face. It emerged slowly, coiling itself around her with a terrible grace. Around her arm. Her waist. Her chest. Her torso. Lastly, around her neck. So tightly that she turned purple. Lalo wasn't sure what he was doing, his mouth was moving but he couldn't hear a sound.

Crack!
Her mother's neck snapped back. Lalo stumbled backwards and his body met the ground.
The snake had turned her head like a puppet. Her eyes rolled back into the depth of her skull, her mouth unhinged. Bubble foaming around it.

Lalo was trembling so heavily that it pained him. His eyes burned as tears started to form. They ran down his cheeks like a vicious waterfall, and Lalo couldn’t stop it.

Hiss! Hiss!
From the void of her mouth, slithered the serpent. It hissed. It spoke.

The snake spoke in an all-familiar voice. His father's.

"Eduardo," he said. His voice distorted and echoed around him. The volume threatened to burst his eardrums. "What good will it bring you, if you follow this traitor?"

“No, papa!” Lalo was wailing. “She never asked for any of this! You’re the one who’s gone too far. Please, don’t do this!”

“Family first, always. You, more than anyone, should know that.”

“No, papa …” Lalo shook his head vigorously. His fists balled at his sides, trembling. He darted his blurry gaze to where his mother stood. “Don’t do this. Mama, help me!

Her eyes suddenly opened. So, so white. So empty.

And her lips moved again, in a voice that was no longer hers.

“Not even God can help you now, Eduardo.”

The snake’s mouth wide opened—wider than any creature should be able to open. Its fangs glinted like polished daggers and Lalo’s scared face reflected on them. One quick movement, it struck—

***

"Hey, hey, Lalo! Wake up!"

Lalo's eyes shot open as he awoke with a slight gasp. He gazed around the room, trying to remember where he was when his vision landed on Ignacio beside him.

"Huh?" he croaked.

"You're good, man?" Ignacio asked, voice rough with sleep. Visible annoyance displayed on his face. "You were gasping and sweating and shit."

Lalo didn't realise he was still panting in ... fear. His fists were clenching the sheets as if to ground him back to reality after the absurdly painful dream that he had. He tried to sit up but his torso ached, either from the stiff mattress or the phantom-pain from the dream. No, a nightmare. A dream should be something pleasant. Beautiful. He ran his hands over his face to make sure it was still intact. No scales. No blood. No snake forcing its way from his mother’s mouth. His body did feel hot. And his heart was beating so loud in his ears that he wished it would just stop beating altogether.

"You're having a nightmare?" Ignacio asked in disbelief. "At your big age?

"Give me a fucking break, will you?" Lalo snapped. His hand moved to grip the headboard behind his head, trying to find a comfortable position. "We had a long day."

Ignacio scoffed bitterly. "You're not the one behind the wheel for 11 straight fucking hours. Now my car battery is busted because I've been too busy chauffeuring your ass to Mexico until I forgot to ..."

Ignacio stopped his blabbering when saw the distress on Lalo's expression: eyes closed tightly, furrowed brows, downturned lips. The delicate glow from the moon enhanced his sickly-looking face. Shadows deepening the crescents under his eyes until they echoed the hollows of bone underneath. Some strands of his hair fell nicely to his forehead. Ignacio had seen men die, had seen men beg, but he’d never seen Lalo like this. Not even close.

And something deep inside Ignacio, softened. It softened him enough that he wasn't looking pissed at Lalo anymore. He hated himself for it. A feeling that Ignacio never knew he could possess. Fucking sympathy for the devil that was Lalo Salamanca. For any Salamanca, really.

Truth to be told, Ignacio had always thought Lalo was somewhat different than the rest of the Salamancas. Worse, better, he wasn't sure. Unlike Hector who was unforgiving son of a bitch who always needed things to go his way. Unlike Tuco who had massive anger issues, a ticking time bomb who would detonate even when you didn't look at its way. Unlike the twins—Leonel and Marco who always followed orders blindly, and killed whoever and however.

They were monsters. All of them. Lalo included. But goodness, Ignacio wanted to believe that under the facade, there could still be some humanity in him. Even just a sliver. A fucking dot, maybe. It must be there. It needed to be there.

The noose tightened around his neck.

Fuck it.

His shaky hand gently touched Lalo's tensed arm. He caressed it, once, twice. If you ask him two weeks ago if he'd ever voluntarily touch Lalo like this, he'd spit at your face and kick you hard on the stomach.

"Hey, it's okay," Ignacio whispered, finally. His tone was soothing, warm. His expression was anything but. He was distraught and tired. "It's not ... real. That nightmare. You're fine, man."

When Ignacio made contact, Lalo never realised how much he craved for it. How touch-starved he was. When was the last time anyone has touched him like that? Most likely his mother when he got back from school. That one-time Lalo was beaten up by a group of bullies and his uniform was all ripped and dirty. His mother comforted him then, telling him everything was going to be fine.

It was when Lalo tried to speak when he realised he was in pain, and panic began swallowing him up. The physical and emotional pain from running a drug empire could never compare with the pain of losing someone you once cared for. The memories. The nightmares.

"Yeah." Lalo took a deep breath, exhaled. "Yeah. I'm good."

Ignacio must've sense it then, for he said in a careful, gentle voice, "You want to ... you want to talk about it?

"It's just my mother," Lalo said in a low voice. A good part of him wanted to tell Ignacio everything but speaking was agony. Everything about Lalo's life was agony. Ever since he was born in this world—agony was designed for him. If Lalo was to spill the truth, would Ignacio believe it? Would Ignacio's perceivability of him changed entirely?

So, Lalo decided to test the water and said, "You're going to think I'm fucking lying—"

"Try me.” Ignacio's face became sombre. He wasn't sleepy anymore. Lalo had always been unpredictable when it came to his emotions. One second, he was joyous and full of life, the next he was serious and bloodlust. However, in that particular moment, Ignacio could only recognise the one single emotion on Lalo that he was overly familiar with—grief.

Lalo's eyes flicked up to meet his. He scrutinised the man, searching for any signs of mockery or sarcasm to which he couldn't find at all. What he saw was an image of kindness. The same one that he saw when Ignacio asked the receptionist if she was working all alone. Like a light at the end of the tunnel. Like the morning sun when the soldiers heard about the war being called off. Lalo felt like a kid again. Naive, weak, curious. A I-know-what-it-feels-like sort of gaze that defined familiarity with one another. Do you really, Ignacio? Lalo refused to look away, not wanting Ignacio to acknowledge that his gesture did matter. Finally, Ignacio was the one to break their staring first, and Lalo could breathe again. Silence settled over them, thick as a cloud full of rainwater.

Lalo could see it, how Ignacio was like a river that was pulling him in. And with that, Lalo held his breath and jumped in.

"I was ten," he began. "Maybe younger. Old enough to know better. I’ve always known what we’re doing is something unredeemable. But my father was a man of many talents. One of them being able to make the horrible things sound good. He told me if we did it for the family, it’s never truly bad. And I believed him. So, I do all the dirty works. I’ve been trained to hold a gun, keep my mouth shut, check drugs quality, all that shit. It felt nice. There’s nothing better than getting compliments and rewards from your father when you’re a kid, you know? I wanted so badly to be someone he could be proud of. Hell, I’d have burned down a church if it meant he’d look at me with something other than indifference.”

Ignacio pursed his lips, unresponsive. He pictured Lalo as a young kid. The moustache was still there and Ignacio quickly erased the imagination, starting again. There—the proper young Lalo. Not-so-innocent yet clueless. Short hair, taller than most children, chipped tooth as a cost of getting slapped by his father too hard if he didn’t follow orders correctly. Punishments as a way to build character. And what better way to build character than to start young?

“It became my purpose. And every time I did something right, he’d pat my back, ruffle my hair, call me mi mijo. His son. You don’t know what that does to a kid. When the man who built you with silence finally gives you a word … it’s everything. My mother had followed along for some time. But maybe after she had me, she got this epiphany. She wanted out.”

Lalo laughed. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. Still, Ignacio’s stomach churned with a cold dread. He knew how the story was going to end.

“The thing is,” Lalo continued as if it was nothing, “she could’ve gone anywhere else. The police or her side of the family. Then maybe faked her death or something. Changed her identity and lived whatever the hell she wanted, right? But you know what she did? She outed us at a rival’s gang. Ricciardo’s. Big in the 70s. I don’t know if you’ve heard of ‘em.” Ignacio had heard of them. Long ago from his father. Their name used to hang heavy in Mexico, certain parts in United States too. They used to rule the world, kind of. It still shocked Ignacio how an infamous empire like theirs could disappear off the radar just like that. “Fuck those sons of bitches. Anyway, she wanted me to come along with her. She got her plans down. All she needed was for me to be on the same boat before she could proceed.

“It didn’t take long before my father found out about it, of course. He brought me and my mother out in the desert with him. Blah, blah, blah, they fought like there’s no tomorrow. I mean … yeah, there was no tomorrow for her. He turned to me and said, ‘You know what’ll happen if someone chose to betray a scared loyalty?’ I told him, ‘That you’ll punish them?’ My father was damn pleased with that answer. Said, ‘Yes, yes. I raised you well. It doesn’t matter who, Eduardo. All that matter is that—everyone is punishable.’ He made me watch.”

Ignacio closed his eyes. Tightly. He wanted to cover his ears too if he could. Nausea started to emerge from his insides.

“He took his favourite gun out from his pocket. A single action army Colt. Carried that bad boy everywhere he went like an accessory. He pointed it straight at her head. And all that time, she stood looking at me. No tears in her eyes. She smiled to me. You should see her face.” Lalo flexed his fists. “She was fucking beautiful. It got me thinking … why is she not crying? She’s literally about to die? Oh, maybe she had always wanted to die. And she wanted to do something good first before she went. Like saving me from this hell my family had created to redeem herself. But she failed so she’d just take whatever.”

A dramatic pause.

Ignacio’s heart was beating so violently against his ribcage that it would just burst open.

The room seemed to be closing in on Lalo. The same way his chest was closing in on his lungs. His eyes stung, but not because he wanted to cry, but because he’d been unblinking since he began his story. Scared that if he closed his eyes even for a split of second, the image of the bullet hole and his mother’s lifeless body would overshadow his vision. It’d make him weak.

“He shot her right here.” Lalo pointed at the side of his forehead, still unblinking. He could hear Ignacio sigh besides him. “Some of her blood got to my face. When she laid dead on the ground with her all-pupil eyes, the blood from her head slowly reached my feet. I didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. At that moment, I thought she deserved it. Fucked-up, I know. I did cry at her funeral, though. But now, do I think she deserved it?” Lalo shrugged. “I don’t even know myself.”

“You miss her?’ Ignacio asked with a voice barely above whisper. Lalo could easily dismiss it but he chose to hear.

“I do,” he said almost naturally. Nobody else in the family knew what truly happened. His father had told everyone it was Ricciardo’s doing and they all should avenge her death. They did. Ricciardo was no more. “I miss her so much some time that it confuses me.” Lalo finally blinked. His eyelids soothed. “All I know is that I loved her.”

It was the first time Lalo had said the words out loud. He didn’t know what he wanted to prove to Ignacio. To himself. Perhaps, the questioning was finally answered.

Between the seconds when Lalo uttered those words from his very mouth, Ignacio's heart had dropped. Lalo's face morphed into his dad before it changed to Lalo once more. A familiar scene where he was sitting on the edge of his bed, haunted by nightmares every year on the anniversary of his wife’s death. He remembered his father’s quiet sobs that turned into gasps, the nights Ignacio had to hold him because the grief was too much to carry alone. Similar like this.

"You two kind of have this look," he murmured. He raised his palms as if to envision her and Ignacio side to side. The look. Right. Maybe that’s why he was drawn to Ignacio so much. Suddenly, he could fully reminisce her dark brown hair that matched her eyes, her tan skin, her expertise in the kitchen which Lalo had adapted from. He would get on her nerves sometimes until it left her angry. But, Mama's anger would be gone as soon as it surfaced. She was kind, and full of love. At night, she'd sit on one of their old couches and stared towards the great window overlooking complete darkness, waiting for something they both knew would never come. Lalo used to wonder what she was thinking even when he already knew the answer. She was filled with so much melancholy, that woman. Sometimes Lalo believed that she was a magical princess in her past-life. She belonged anywhere else but the life she had ended up with. Too kind for her own good. "Same way of looking at people. Like they're still human, even after everything. Like they still got a way out. It's stupid. You should know that once you're in, you're in, right?"

It was a rhetorical question, Ignacio figured. So, he stayed quiet. To be compared to a parental figure—a Salamanca made him both queasy and somewhat honoured.

They let the gentle, understanding silence settled over them like a warm duvet.

"Can you hold me?" Lalo blurted before he even got the chance to stop. With a tone that was so tragically pathetic. My God, this was not Lalo Salamanca. Who the fuck is this guy? The silence from Ignacio was suffocating now. At the very least, Lalo had expected him to laugh. Push him away. Belittle him for being such a baby. A grown man that couldn't take a simple nightmare? What a pussy. Run out the room and leave him in the cold. Literally anything.

Ignacio blinked. Tranquillity and vulnerability never suited well for someone like Lalo. It looked unnatural on him. Awake, he was all guarded, from the haunting dark brown eyes all the way to the sole of his feet inside those ridiculous blue loafers. It was only when he was laying like this, crying for his mama that Ignacio could tell how much the of the bravado was just a facade.

And what came out from Ignacio was something neither of them expected. It shocked them both. He said with a tone that almost matched Lalo’s, a simple, "Okay." Internally however, he wasn't.

Cartel had Ignacio do some unspeakable, fucked-up shit, but this was the craziest order he had ever received from his current boss: sharing intimacy. Maybe the next second, he had to sing a lullaby until his boss fell asleep.

The room was completely frozen, like no sound could penetrate the deafening silence bestowed upon them. Both men felt like they were holding their breaths. Slowly, unguardedly, Lalo crept closer under the sheets as he maintained eye contact with Ignacio to make sure he didn't back away. And for the briefest moment, Ignacio had this expression like his mother's the day she thought about running away. Lalo wanted to punch himself in the face for even making that comparison. It was too late to turn back now that Ignacio's body heat could be felt on every surface of Lalo's cold skin. He found a home in the crook of Ignacio's neck and laid his head near it. When Ignacio swallowed—Lalo could feel that. His throat bobbled on Lalo's temple. It felt weird. Foreign. Terrifyingly tender. Almost as if ... it wasn't enough. Lalo reached his arms out and pulled Ignacio closer by his waist, and made sure there was no space left between them. His hand sneakily searched for the gun that Ignacio might've kept at the back of his boxer to which he couldn't find. Lingering at the waistband for good measure, his fingertips slightly brushed the skin underneath Ignacio's tank top. And Lalo didn't miss the way Ignacio's breath hitched.

Forever had passed before Ignacio reciprocated the embrace. He wrapped his arms around Lalo's head in a tense movement as if he was a fragile being. Any disparaging thoughts in his mind dispersed when Ignacio recalled Lalo as a little boy. Ignacio must've been in his loving mother's womb still. Oblivious to the world outside. Meanwhile, Lalo already had to witness the gruesome death of his mother. At the very least, Ignacio's mother died in peace, predicted. Ignacio had been prepared for it. And Ignacio was well in his 20s when it happened. But the look of his father's face when her soul left her eyes. It broke Ignacio to the core.

Should Ignacio thank Lalo for sharing this story to him? To expose the truth of how he’d become? Was his heart suggesting that Lalo deserved … better?

He cradled Lalo in his arms. Under the blanket, their legs were coiled around one another. Bare skin and clothed. The rough material of Lalo's jeans scraped against Ignacio's thighs. But he could live with it. Could live like this with Lalo. Sure. Away from his problems, away from the deserts, away from the world, unseen in the cheap motel with Lalo. Human body to human body. Heart to heart. He hated how good this felt. He hated the way Lalo's hair brushed his chin. He hated how Lalo wrapped his arms around his waist so tightly that he couldn't move. He hated how Lalo's hot breath caressed his neck. He hated everything.

"To learn that my first betrayal came from a family made it hard for me to trust. Family is supposed to be everything."

Lalo had pulled away from the embrace. Just enough for him to be able to look up at Ignacio. His hollow brown eyes met the matching brown of Ignacio's, and Lalo finally saw how long, delicate his lashes were. The softest of red adorned the cheeks of his lieutenant once again, and a small smile cracked on Lalo's lips. For a second, Lalo thought Ignacio wanted a kiss with the way his mouth had a natural pucker to it. Lalo would gladly do it. He'd kissed Ignacio until the light from his eyes disappeared.

Ignacio's breath caught in his throat. Lalo was close. Too close. Mere inches away. If Ignacio was as to lean down, his lips would touch Lalo's forehead. They stared at each other in the darkness, in a room that was full of danger that almost engulfed them completely into a point of no return.

"You're not going to betray me. Are you, Ignacio?" Lalo asked. He wasn't sure why he did. It was supposed to come out as light-hearted joke, a meaningless question that he didn't expect Ignacio to give him an answer to.

And even when Ignacio wasn't a family, wasn't a Salamanca, wasn't a demon, he still replied a serious, "No."

Despite that, Ignacio's body went rigid. His breathing ragged. But the answer was enough to satisfy the void within Lalo even when he knew Ignacio didn't mean it. A meaningless answer for a meaningless question. So, why did Lalo wish for something different?

"I won't," Ignacio said a little louder as if trying to convince himself. The words were venom on his tongue and they echoed painfully in his ears. 'For now,' he wanted to say but he was no fool.

"You won't."
Lalo let the belief lingered on his lips, on his soul. Ignacio won't betray me. It was nice to believe on something so superficial that it somehow felt real. Lalo returned into the embrace again, unabashed. The side of his head practically planted into Ignacio's chest but he couldn't care less. Ignacio smelled nice, and his body provided the right amount of warmth. Ignacio's ability to tame his wild heart was admirable. How was he so sure that Lalo won't pull the trigger? And Lalo never once thought to pull the trigger on Ignacio. He was safe in his presence, just like how he was safe in his presence.

LubDub. LubDub. LubDub. The sound of his heartbeat calmed Lalo more than ever. Ignacio's breathing patterns were calculated, stiff. Then, the sound of his heartbeat grew stronger. Louder. Lubdublubdublubdub. Was he nervous? Scared? Lalo had always correlated those two emotions as the same but given everything so far, it could mean very different. Scared was bad. But nervous could be good.

Lalo said teasingly, "You might want to slow down your heartbeat a bit. I can't sleep with it beating so loud."

Ignacio laughed. It was weak, strained, but it was a laugh nonetheless. And it was definitely the first time Lalo had ever heard Ignacio made such sound. How nicely it melted in his ears, his mind. As though Lalo could scoop them up and stored it away forever in his memory. He wanted to hear it again. Hell, he wanted to hear it every day if he could. Ignacio eased into the hug a lot more than he did moments ago. His shoulders had relaxed and his hands found their way back to the back of Lalo's head. Gently, he coursed his fingers through Lalo's hair. Unsure why he did what he did, Lalo still accepted the tender touch. It felt like a fucking dream still. Ignacio's body fit just nicely in his arms.

Ignacio was moving on autopilot, feeling very separated from his own body. It was as though the real him was floating somewhere in the room and watched the whole ordeal unfolded as his thoughts were spiralling out of control. The two of them had passed a line—that wasn't drawn in the first place—and Ignacio thought, might as well do more damage that means nothing, right? And so, he ran his fingers through the soft strands of Lalo's hair. His hair smelled like flower. His warm, little breaths tickled Ignacio's skins ... in the best way possible.

Who would've thought that the foul mouth, rough life cartel Don had a heart of fucking gold. Fake gold that was.

How fast the night could change?
This scene. So fascinating to see.
From thinking about how scary it'd be to be buried in the sand once you've died to embracing the reason behind your death itself.

Ignacio let Lalo had him. And if the unforgivable fire kept on burning then so be it. Ignacio wondered if they could be seen through the line of the curtains, wondered if he was suffocating Lalo with his arms, wondered how much, in a few hours, they would hate each other again. Ignacio got lost into the future—returning to their professionalism of the cartel boss and his equally depraved lieutenant. Cold shoulders, heartless missions, no more of that humanity stored within them.

No.
Let's not think about it.
Not yet.

All he wanted to think about was the sound of their perfectly-synced breathing, their interconnection of losing a mother at a young age. Would Ignacio be able to wake up tomorrow and pretend that none of this was real? Why? Did he want this to be real? To be touched like this. To be held like this. It was a small thing. Harmless.

Ignacio might take another shower that morning to wash his sins. He was once again thankful that Lalo was facing his neck, so the man couldn't see the way Ignacio's eyes were filled with more of that sympathy that could be felt in every inch of his being. It pooled in his heart and it overflowed to his lips.

"It's okay," Ignacio whispered. Again, and again. Like a mantra that could soothe a baby to sleep. "I got you."

Just for tonight, Lalo wanted to believe his words. Just for tonight, everything was okay. Just for tonight, both have placed faith on the other that they will wake up in tact for the uncertain tomorrow. Just for tonight, he let Ignacio held him tight, held him right, until he could properly close his eyes. He searched again for that state of serenity.

Instead of running away, he embraced the darkness that succumbed him.

***

Ignacio was awoken by his own normality.

Usually during the weekdays, he'd be awake by seven to go on morning jogs. When the sun was barely up yet and the weather was breezy. And now the habit had gotten to him. He hated it, sometimes. Whenever there was a weekend without any cartel business shit to do, he'd still woke up so damn early. And then he couldn't go back to sleep no matter how hard he tried.

Call it a routine.
Call it trauma.
Same thing.

In front of Ignacio was sleeping Lalo. His brows weren't furrowed. His breathing was rhythmically calm. The man had moved his head to their shared pillow. He had no idea how long Lalo had slept on his chest the night before, and that thought immediately made his face glow red. Ignacio knew this was the type of sleep that last at least a couple more hours. So, Ignacio got out from the bed quietly and went to the bathroom.

How did one could bear such burden for so long? Had Lalo tell no one about his mother before? And why did Ignacio care so fucking much?

Ignacio did shower again. He scrubbed his hands, his body, his face with excessive force trying to forfeit the last bit of touch that Lalo had given him last night. He also had banished the dangerous desire that warmed in the lower part of his body. He brushed his teeth inside that mouth that uttered, 'I got you,' to Lalo. No, he wouldn't get him. He wouldn't be there for him anymore.

Once he was finished getting ready, dead phone in his hand and his gun safely tucked behind his waistband where Lalo had touched, he decided to wait for the mechanic outside. Ignacio stepped toward the door. His hand hovered over the knob, hesitating. He looked over his shoulder.

Lalo, sound asleep on the bed despite the noises that Ignacio had made. People seemed a lot younger when they were asleep. The closest thing humankind could get on a time-travelling machine. They could see before their eyes how a person looked in his teens or early-adulthood when they were sleeping. In this brooding early-morning lighting, Lalo seemed complacent and rumpled. The same sensation of last night when Lalo was stressing after the nightmare had tugged Ignacio again. And before any of that soft remorse for the Don could blossomed any further, he shut his eyes and bolted out the door, slamming it behind him.

'She had the same eyes as you. Same way of looking at people. Like they're still human, even after everything. Like they still got a way out. It's stupid. You should know that once you're in, you're in, right?'

Ignacio wasn't sure what part of this fucking business he was in anymore. What did it mean for him now? For them? After the night of raw honesty, they couldn’t certainly return to what once was, right?

Outside, he leaned against his Javelin, and locked eyes with the desert surrounding him. You're seeing this shit? He thought, then laughed to himself over the absurdity of it all. Apparently sleeping one night on the same bed with Lalo Salamanca could end you up with insanity. Why was he talking to the fucking desert as if it was an extra-terrestrial being? It was quiet. Low hums of the wind in the wires. Too early in the morning for the hunters to shoot animals. Too early in the morning for the cartels to do any sort of killing. The beige sand complemented the purple and burnt-yellow haze above nicely. A new beginning where everything was uncertain.

He waited for the mechanic to come and save him.

It was the best fucking sleep Lalo had ever gotten. Probably in years. So good that Lalo still felt sleepy and he could just tuck himself to bed and do it again for another couple of hours.

This never happened before.

Lalo left his warm cocoon with a groan. Figured that Ignacio would leave the bed early, he didn’t linger on their shared space as well. He heard audible footsteps right outside the room. He peeked through the transparent curtain of the window and saw that Ignacio was leaning against his Javelin, his weight so firm in the ground with his arms crossed. Lalo had the exclusive first-hand experience of being cradled by those meaty, muscular biceps and he wouldn't complain if his skull was to be crushed by them. That's one of hell way to go.

Over the mountains, the sun coloured the horizon with pink and pale-yellow rays. The light complimented Ignacio's scarlet-red shirt, and it made him looked like he could be one with the sky. He should invest in this place. The view was heavenly and there wasn't a lot of people around. A perfect place for when you're retired and needed somewhere to settle down.

This could be home. With Ignacio maybe.
Yes, yes, he'll look into it.

It seemed that the mechanic was just arriving.

He glanced over at the clock above the bed. The time read 7:13 a.m. and the two of them had a good four and a half hour before they'd arrive at Albuquerque. Lalo did a quick military shower, dressed up, checked the room in case the two of them had left anything before returning the keys to the young receptionist. He tipped her an insanely large amount of money, gave her a wink, and left the lobby.

"Anything else?" Ignacio was asking by the time Lalo stood beside him at the parking lot. The morning air was chilly and it filled Lalo's lungs with its freshness.

The mechanic, a man in his late 40s with receding hairline and a firm-built was tightening something under the hood. Then, he straightened up, almost reaching Lalo’s height. He wiped his hands on a rag. "Battery’s changed. Terminals were rusted through. Nothing serious. She’s good to go now."

Lalo handed the mechanic a 100 dollar note from his wallet and said, "Keep the change, honcho." He felt really generous, and it was only 7:40 in the morning.

The man accepted it gratefully. He shut the hood with a soft thud, grabbed his tool bag and walked away. Ignacio muttered his thanks and got into his car without any other words. Lalo watched as Ignacio put the key in ignition and the car came back to live. The sweet, sweet engine sound revved up into the break of dawn. He moved to face the magnificent sky. If Lalo was to die there, he wouldn’t mind. No, not at all.

Ignacio turned to Lalo from his window. His tired eyes were emotionless as he said, "Let's go home."

The rap music on the radio was unfamiliar, but Ignacio could appreciate a good song when he heard it. His fingers tapping the steering wheel along the fast beat of the rap music. He could still feel the tingles of Lalo's hair—almost feeling every strand, every piece of his hair in-between his fingertips. They were so vivid. So real. So human.

How his face was so damn close to his that Ignacio could touch it. He wanted to. Maybe squeezed it hard enough with his palms that Lalo's dark eyes would pop out of their sockets. Ignacio could turn them into earrings. Or keep them sealed in a jar, so he could stare at them for hours without that stupid voice in his head saying, ‘Do you fancy Lalo? Why are you staring at him like that?’

Ignacio glanced at the sideview mirror. The motel was long out of sight, and he allowed himself to picture the place burning down with Lalo still inside. Being so relaxed around Lalo was a luxury that could only be afford once in a lifetime. And Ignacio had used all of his luck last night. So, he'd make sure there won't be the next time. Surely.

Would he scream for Ignacio while the flame engulfs him? Would he not scream at all? He pushed the reverie out of his mind.

There was a small part of Ignacio that wanted to say something regarding last night. 'You slept okay?' He wanted to ask Lalo. But even Lalo didn't mention anything about it. The talkative Lalo himself stayed quiet so why couldn't Ignacio?

He spoke too early about Lalo being quiet. After approximately 15 solid minutes, Lalo broke the silence. "Should we get breakfast?" He asked, reaching up to scratch at the stubble on his jaw. Ignacio could hear the drag of his fingernails against the grain of it. "We haven't eaten a proper meal for more than 12 hours. We might starve to death."

Now that Lalo mentioned it, Ignacio finally remembered that the last time he ate was yesterday's afternoon. A greasy Chinese takeout that wasn't fulfilling. But he really wanted to head back to Albuquerque as soon as possible—no more stop. Please. The more he spent time with Lalo, the more of his sanity faded. The more of that hope suffocate. Next thing he knew, he might swerve his vehicle to a lamppost, killing them both on the spot.

"We'll grab and go," Ignacio said. Thankfully, Lalo agreed on that.

The four hours and thirty minutes went by quickly after their brief stop at a roadside diner. Ignacio had been driving like he was running away from a bittersweet memory that he didn't want anything to do with him. The familiar roads of Albuquerque were more of condemning than it was a blessing. Now that Lalo was residing in town for the time being to take care of business, Ignacio felt more in danger than he had ever been.

They've arrived at Hector's guesthouse. Lalo exited the car.

Lalo turned around, caught Ignacio's eyes and held his gaze. "See you for collection?" He asked while trying to appear cool; leaned against the roof of the car, feet crossed, eyes stayed watching Ignacio.

After a long moment, Ignacio finally nodded in acquiescence. Lalo tapped the roof twice before standing back. He watched the Javelin took off, leaving a smoke of dust in its wake.

All the moments from last night came flashing through his mind without warning. Being in that motel room, in Ignacio's arms, it was the safest place Lalo had ever been in his entire life. For the first time, he didn't have to constantly cover his back, peeking through the curtains in case a mad man was waiting outside, not needing to hold a gun close to his chest. It was the closest thing Lalo could compare to a safe haven. A paradise.

When's the next time they get to hold each other again? Lalo should've asked Ignacio to stay over for a while. Sleep on the same bed again, telling Ignacio about his nightmares, and Ignacio would hold him tenderly, not worrying if tomorrow ever comes as long as they got to lay beside each other.

Ignacio tried to brush away the thoughts. But when he glanced at the rear-view mirror and saw that Lalo was still watching him go, the memories of last night came rushing again like the night had never ended. Maybe, just maybe, Ignacio never want it to end. Let it be endless like the scene in front of him.

And so, the desert had watched, adding a new secret to its collection. This one was special as it never had seen it before. It wasn't cruel. It wasn't tragic. Something else entirely. It transcended what should be impossible.

That night, a man had held the devil in his arm and put him to sleep.