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Chapter Text

El Michoacano, the restaurant he was told to go to see a guy he didn't know. He looks around the parking lot, and then at the restaurant's window, seeing a person, but failing to identify who or what they were. He walks to the door, opening it and hearing a bell, it probably always makes noise when someone enters or leaves, he walks slowly to the table where the other guy was. 

"Sit." That's all Jesse heard coming from the guy sitting in front of him. He was the guy who was the boss of Krazy 8. Emilio had introduced him to Krazy 8, and now he was with the boss's boss. The guy wasn't very tall, but he wasn't very short either, a inch or so taller than Jesse, damn, but that didn't make him any less scary. Jesse could feel his hands shaking with nervousness, the back of his neck sweating as he dangles his leg on the floor. He didn't want to look nervous in front of this guy, but he couldn't help it. "Hey." He snaps his fingers in front of Jesse's face, calling him to reality. Jesse's eyes widen. He sighs, trying to calm himself.

"I-I.. Sorry. Uh.." He stutters, unable to maintain eye contact, he sits in front of him. Fuck, fuck, fuck! This guy could kill him in the blink of an eye, would he not even make it to 21 years alive?

"Domingo told me you're his cook?" The guy speaks, looking directly at Jesse, trying to meet his eyes but the younger one didn't look at him.

"Krazy 8- Oh, yeah, yeah.. Me and Emilio." He speaks, but then there is an uncomfortable silence, and Jesse finds himself obliged to speak more, that was one of his problems, he talked a lot, and sometimes he talked about what he shouldn't. "I wanted to, you know, get on a higher level or something.."

"Show me." The other older man speaks, for his appearance, his voice was quite soft, compared to other people he knew. Jesse nodded quickly, searching through the pockets of his ridiculously large clothes, then finding a small bag of meth with it. It was his special recipe, which contained Chili powder. Jesse places the bag in the center of the table, so his confidence has increased. "One of the best shit you'll ever have!"

He looks at the product, then at Jesse, simply saying "I don't use." But before Jesse can answer, the guy picks up the small bag, and shakes it. It was hard to read his expression, the guys expression where like a stone. He shoves it into his pants pocket, then turns his attention to Jesse. "I don't need to try it, Domingo told me that the product was decent."

It took Pinkman a while to process, but soon, he laughed through his nostrils. "Decent? Only decent?" He scoffs. Soon, the other man gave him a dangerous look, and Jesse immediately lowered his head, cursing himself. Another moment of uncomfortable silence, and Jesse decided to try to force the bar, trying to make small talk. "So, uhh.. I think you've already know my name?.. But if not, my name is Jesse, yo." He spoke, feeling strange, as if he were prey in a predator's territory. "I don't know yours.." He soon felt very stupid for saying that.

The guy on the other hand, continued with the same expression, but Jesse could see that behind his long eyelashes and brown eyes, he could see a minimal glow. Jesse was never one to notice details, but the guy in front of him was truly majestic. No, he wasn't homosexual, that was weird, he's just enjoying the beauty of another guy. He soon jumps in place when the other suddenly speaks. "Nacho."

Nacho? That was really his name? Jesse felt like laughing, but he knew that if he laughed, he would be shot in the middle of the forehead, so he clears his throat. "Nacho? Like Nacho cheese?" As soon as he spoke, he regretted it. He swallowed, hoping he hadn't ruined it all again, but to his surprise, Nacho didn't seem upset, but he didn't seem to have liked the joke either. "It's short for Ignacio." That makes sense.

"Oh.." He gets a little awkward, and then that uncomfortable silence, again. Jesse lowers his head slightly. "Yo, can I go now?" He mutters in a low tone, then raises his head again. He looks at Ignacio's face, noticing the snake-out earring in his ear, cool.

"Next week, same time." That's all Nacho said, and Jesse nodded, saying goodbye to the other man and leaving the restaurant.

——

Jesse had just arrived home, his Aunt Ginny's house, actually. He lived there, because he preferred to take care of his aunt, and his parents kind of kicked him out of the house. The boy had arrived late, and he didn't know if his aunt was sleeping or not. He takes off his beanie, throwing it on the couch, then sitting down on it, he rests his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands, sighing. He was reviewing today's encounter, damn, he didn't know what it was, but it wasn't that bad, after leaving that restaurant he went to smoke weed with some friends, and only now is he home. Sometimes he feels sorry for his aunt, for putting up with a junkie like him. Jesse swallows dryly, he really wants to just close his eyes and see if everything will disappear once and for all. Pinkman gets up, walking to the stairs and going to his aunt's bedroom door, knocking softly on the door 3 times. After a few moments, no answer. Jesse opens the door carefully, the room was very dark and his aunt was lying on the bed, so he figured Ginny was asleep. He walks to the side of the bed, looking at his aunt sleeping, he soon smiles. He remembers that when he was in high school, his aunt was the only one who never judged Jesse, always supporting him with anything. Jesse considered her his real mother, to be honest. Jesse leans down and kisses his aunt on the forehead, a goodnight goodbye. Jesse soon leaves his room, closing the door and then entering his room, which was right next to Ginny's room. He goes in, turning on the light. He wanted to just throw himself on the bed and sleep, but he knew his aunt didn't like it when he lay in his street clothes on her bed. He could respect that. He starts to undress, opening his closet and taking out a long sleeved shirt, and a pair of boxers, he didn't usually sleep in long sleeved shirts, but it was kind of cool in his room now. Once he's completely naked, he puts on his clean clothes, and lays the dirty ones on a chair, his sneakers on the side of the bed. He throws himself on the bed, covering himself with the covers and snuggling in. He wasn't sure what time it was, 2 in the morning? Whatever, he didn't realize how tired he was until his eyes drooped, and he fell asleep. It was definitely quite a day, and to think there's more to come next week..

Chapter Text

A week passed, the day of meeting Krazy 8 and Nacho. Yesterday he didn't cook with Emilio, because the other one didn't show up, so he figured he was with his cousin. But aside, Jesse had woken up kind of late. He put on anything he saw in front of him, then put on his shoes and ran out of his house, getting into his stupid "bouncy" car. Domingo — Krazy 8 — had called him, to go to his house. Jesse wasn't explained why, but he predicted that it had something to do with the Nacho guy.

Pinkman arrived at Domingo's house, and there was no heavy music or anything like that, strange. He looks around, soon looking at Krazy 8, who was near the stairs, looking at Jesse. "yo.. Krazy... 'Sup man? Why did ya call me?" Jesse exclaims, forcing a smile. 

Domingo, on the other hand, he wasn't very excited, he speaks lowly. "Emilio. My cousin was caught by the cops."

"What?.. Like, for real?" Emilio got caught? What if he was next? Jesse can't help but bite his lip lightly just thinking about it. 

"And I think it was you who snitched on him."

"Wha- No!" He retorts quickly. "Ya know it wasn't me! I-I was with- Nacho! And then I went straight home, seriously, Krazy, u can't think it was me! Emilio was my partner! I would never-" Jesse was interrupted, Domingo punched him in the face. Jesse falls to the ground, bleeding. He grabs his nose, moaning in pain. He looks up wide-eyed, seeing a raging Krazy 8, jumping on top of him and throwing him multiple punches in the face, not to mention the kicks to your ribs and stomach. Jesse didn't faint, but he almost was. His eyes where snowy and half closed. He was bleeding a lot, probably he bit his cheek while taking the punches, so his mouth was also bleeding. Not counting the new cuts he had in places like his eyebrows, nose and cheekbones. Neither the bruised ribs. He is taken out of his thoughts when he hears a distant voice, it's still Domingo, but it seemed that he was farther away.

"Today, you're going to meet with Nacho, no excuses. I dont give a shit if you're in a fucking wheelchair. You will go, or you'll be dead."

That was all Jesse could remember. Not knowing how he had ended up at his house, perhaps Combo or Skinny Pete took him and his car. Anyways, he was already in his car, with his dose of meth, he was driving to that restaurant, the same as last time.

Jesse arrives, parking in an empty place. He gets out of the car, locking it and putting the dose in his pocket, trembling. He walks to the restaurant, opening the door and entering slowly, he had his head down. He saw Ignacio, murmuring a small "hey", then sitting in front of him.

Ignacio, on the other hand, had been waiting for Jesse for about 10 minutes, he was late. He knew what had happened, Domingo told him. Nacho waited patiently anyway, he just didn't know that Domingo had beaten him so much that the boy could barely walk.

Ignacio looks him up and down, seeing that the other was very quiet, more than usual, and was even shaking. Nacho just held out his hand, waiting for Jesse to hand him the product. The boy went through his pockets and took out a bag, bigger than the last one, about 1kg. It was less than what was agreed, which was 1.5kg. Varga stares at him, and Jesse meets Ignacio's eyes, but soon deviating. Therefore, Jesse feels it is his duty to explain. "uh.. My partner.. E-Emilio.. He-" Before Jesse could finish speaking, Nacho interrupted, speaking over him. "Domingo told me."

The silence was audible. Jesse sank into his chair, sighing, and then looking at Nacho. "Look man- I- I really didn't..-"He tries to explain himself, but feels that his voice is about to break, so he shuts up. A few seconds later, Nacho stands up, saying, "Follow me." And then he walked out to the back of the restaurant. Jesse trembled, standing up slowly. He would get beaten up again? He follows the other one, soon entering a small room, there where some cabinets, and a table, where had some weapons. Jesse gulped looking at the guns, he could feel the tears in his eyes, was he going to die today? He is taken out of his thoughts when Ignacio speaks in a low tone. "Sit." Soon, Jesse sits on the chair besides the table. Nacho leaves the room, going to do god knows what.

Pinkman looks around the room, seeing the guns, it was really one of the only things in sight. He would actually face death? Nacho returns, with some things in his hand that Jesse couldn't identify. Ignacio raises his hand and Jesse quickly closes his eyes, waiting for the punches to come. But surprisingly, he was greeted with a gentle but firm hand on his chin. Jesse continues with his eyes closed, until he feels something moist in the cut that was on his cheekbone, then he whimpers in pain, opening his eyes. He sees Ignacio, crouched down, with a wet cotton ball, probably with alcohol, on his face. Was he taking care of his wounds.

Ignacio sighs with the other's reaction, but not saying anything. He's cleaning the cuts and wounds from his face slowly, the blond was almost crying in pain. Nacho would normally never do that for anyone, but Jesse was his cook, so that's probably why. Jesse on the other hand, was grabbing the underside of the chair tightly, his knuckles turning white. He sighs in pain, muttering profanities and other words like "stop" and "enough".

"Be quiet, Jesse. If you move, it will hurt more." With that, Jesse mutters an apology, and Ignacio responds with a hum. Pinkman manages to calm down a little, so the room is quieter, except for the noises of Nacho moving here and there, he had found a first aid kit in one of the cabinets, and as the blond's wounds were already disinfected and treated, he was putting bandages on them. Thank god, Jesse doesn't need to go to the hospital to get stitches, apparently what caused the most damage, such as worrying bruises, was the kicks that Domingo had also distributed to Jesse's torso. "So, do you want to explain explain yourself?" The taller one murmurs, giving Jesse a chance to explain himself.

"Man- I don't know.. Krazy had called me, and I went there, and he started accusing me of snitching Emilio! Yo, I didn't see him for a day or two!" He sighs in frustration,  lifting his head up so that Ignacio can put on the rest of the bandages. "He didn't believe me. I don't even know if ya will.. But I swear by everything that it wasn't me! I don't-" Nacho interrupts the other, again. 

"I believe it wasn't you, you don't have the guts." Jesse was relieved, even if he didn't like to be told that he didn't have the guts. Jesse sighed, nodding in agreement.

"Thanks.." Ignacio doesn't answer, and he gets up, even so, puts his hand on Jesse's chin, lifting gently, and looking at his face, seeing if there was any more bruise. No. That's good. He scans his face for a second longer. With that, Jesse is a little embarrassed, for being watched so intensely and so carefully, he blushes, but Nacho soon removes his hand from the other's chin. "It looks like it's going to get better, is there any other injury?" He asks, dryly.

The blond nods, but speaks. "Oh yes.. But it's on my back, you know, ribs and stuff." Jesse is a bit awkward, but Nacho still gestures for Jesse to take off his shirt. The other sighs, taking off his coat with difficulty, then taking off his long-sleeved shirt and his short-sleeved shirt in one go. Jesse cringes as the cold breeze hits his naked body, biting his lip, not only from cold but also from embarrassment. He was too skinny, his ribs were slightly visible. But Varga seems unfazed, and examines the blond's body, then hums in response. He rummages through the first aid box, finding an ointment suitable for bruises. He takes off the lid, placing it on the table and then crouching in front of the other. He squirts some of the ointment onto his fingers after joining his two hands and rubbing. Slowly, Ignacio begins to apply the cold ointment on the other's bruises. And immediately, Jesse sighs, the ointment was cold. He bites his lip, the touch hurting so much, more so than the bruises on his face. Pinkman can't help but raise his hands and place them on the shoulders of the man who was crouching in front of him. He digs his fingers into the flesh of Ignacio's shoulders, who strangely didn't look bothered. If I were to tell the truth, he even seemed slightly relieved.

"Sorry." Ignacio speaks simply, apologizing for the other's pain. Jesse would even be surprised, if he wasn't grunting and crying in pain. After a few minutes, Ignacio finishes putting on the ointment, getting up and wiping his hands in a cloth. The same one grabs Jesse's clothes and throws it at him. The blond picks up the clothes, with difficulty, putting them on. He gets up slowly, still sighing in pain. He looks at Nacho, and feels a bit bad for him, he didn't had to take care of him.

"Hey.. Uh.. Listen dude, thanks for doing this.." He mumbles lowly, embarrassed. Ignacio only nods, closing the ointment, and putting it in the first aid kit, then closing the kit and putting it in the closet. After that, Nacho leaves the room, and Jesse follows him to the restaurant again. "Look.. Sorry for taking your time, I should leave." Jesse speaks, trying to sound casual. Nacho on the other hand, look at him, his eyes would be wide if he wasn't a total rock.

"Today its only you, because of the product." He quickly explains, and Jesse makes an oh sound. Strangely, Ignacio felt obliged not to let Jesse leave, he didn't even know why, but he didn't know how to tell him to stay here. 

"I could.. kind.. Uh.. Since you don't have anyone else to pick up, do you want to have a beer with me?" He speaks through his teeth, clenching his jaw in embarrassment. But his face lights up when Nacho agrees. He hides a smile, and then they both leave the restaurant, the bar was next door, so they could walk. 

At the bar, they were sitting in front of the counter, the two side by side. Nacho couldn't help but feel a little strange, he had never done this with any of his allies, except for Domingo. He leans over at the counter, listening to Jesse order two beers for them. After they bring out the already opened drinks, Nacho takes a sip, and Jesse starts chattering randomly about how there's a hot lady on the other side of the counter. Ignacio wanted to throw in his face that they are not friends, and they will not be, but something stopped him from saying it, and he sighed, hearing Jesse chatter. He wasn't paying any attention, just humming in response and nodding, however, he leaves his thoughts when Jesse nudges his arm, and Ignacio turns to him. He realizes that Jesse is already on his second beer, and he's blushing slightly, clearly drunk. If the guy was light for drinks, why did he ask to come to a bar?

"Yo, Nacho.. Are u 'kay?.. U seem to be shutting down to the world, man.." Pinkman speaks in his usual idiotic tone, even with all those bruises, he could joke and laugh. Nacho felt envious, but didn't say anything. He raises a hand, and pinching the tip of his nose.

"I'm fine, just tired of this place. And you already look drunk." He spoke in a dry tone. The blond on the other hand, laughs. Denying that he is drunk, he drinks the rest of the second beer, placing the bottle on the counter, asking for another beer. Nacho hadn't even finished his first one, he wasn't in the mood to drink, not beer. He looked at the watch on his wrist, seeing that it had already been 1 hour? It went by very fast, counting on the time he was with Jesse at the restaurant, he has been with this guy for at least two hours straight. It was already getting dark too. 

When Jesse's beer arrives, he drinks it all in a minute. He was out of his senses, but he wouldn't admit it. Pinkman looks at Ignacio, who was now staring at the TV hanging on the wall, it was playing a random football match, not that Jesse liked it. He examined Nacho's side profile, and Jesse could admit, he was very handsome. He had a unshaven but defined beard, a nose with a slightly drooping tip, shaved head, and one detail he likes is his snake-shaped earring, he thinks it's quite cool. And not to mention Ignacio's eyes. Oh those eyes... Jesse could spend hours and hours staring at his dark brown eyes behind those long eyelashes. His eyes were almost black, compared to his frighteningly blue eyes. Jesse wakes up from his dreams when he sees Ignacio looking strangely at him, and soon he lowers his head and looks away, muttering a low apology. Igancio doesn't answer, sighing and looking at the TV again. Jesse couldn't sit still, so even with his head down, and his tone also low, he muttered, "Your earring. Uh.. It's really beautiful." 

Ignacio is surprised, but quickly hides it, he wouldn't show emotions, not now. He turns his head, to see Jesse with his head down, playing with his own hands on his lap. Nacho’s mouth twitches, then murmuring a low: "Thanks." All Jesse did was nod in agreement. He was about to ask for another drink, but Nacho interrupted him. "No, you're not going to ask for anything else. You go home." Ignacio speaks, soon standing up and pulling a protesting Jesse with him. 

Jesse had left Aunt Ginny in chemotherapy, before going to Domingo's, and then had told her that she had to take a taxi to get back, because he wouldn't be able to pick her up because he was going to "work". His aunt didn't see him all beaten, so he wanted it to remain that way. While Ignacio was dragging him to the parking lot of the restaurant, as soon as they got close enough to Jesse's car, the blond grabbed the other's wrist, with supplication in his eyes. "Please, I can't go home! My aunt is gonna to be very worried and-... ah.." He stops talking, his voice breaking. That's when Nacho realized that drunk Jesse was twice as sensitive as normal, which made him sigh.

Normally, he would tell Jesse to fuck off, but he felt sympathy for him. The way he spoke of his aunt reminded him of his own father. Ah, his dad. He loved him so much, he couldn't bear to see his son in danger. Nacho imagined it would be the same with Jesse. Then he grumbles, but soon speaking. "Alright, fine. There is a hotel few miles from here. But I guess you can't drive.." He mutters in frustration the last part, knowing that Jesse in the state he is, he would not hear him.

Ignacio drags Jesse again, this time to his car, a red Javelin. Even though Jesse likes cars, he didn't notice what car it was, He just sat in the passenger seat, snuggling in the seat and leaning his head against the window, closing his eyes and of course, he fell asleep for the rest of the trip. 

Chapter Text

Where he was? That's what Jesse asked himself when he woke up. His head was sore, but even his cuts and bruises didn't hurt so much. That's when he started to remember, Nacho. Ignacio had taken care of his injuries yesterday, and then had a beer, to be true, Jesse didn't like beer, but he was in so much pain that he wanted to sink into something other than drugs or cigarettes. He remembers, oh if he doesn't remember, Nacho carrying him to his room, he almost passed out from drinking, but he didn't know where he was. What time was it now? He looks around, snorting on the bed and frowns, yawning. The place was clean, not like the whore bedrooms he had ever woken up. He gets up, and goes straight to the window, seeing if he knows where he is He gets up, and goes straight to the window, seeing if he knows where he is, but no. He sighs deeply, walking to the bed and sitting on it, he looks around the room again, and then realizes that he was only wearing his boxers and his shirt, Nacho had undressed him? The thought makes him quite ashamed. Just being drunk around Nacho makes him embarrassed, he was told many times either that he was a funny drunk, or sentimental one. And he bets that Igancio didn't like any. Jesse looks at the bedside table, looking at his cell phone. He takes it, Seeing the time. It was almost noon. Shit! He didn't warn his aunt, he was about to click to send a message to his aunt, but he saw a message from a unknown number on the home screen, so he read it.

"I paid for the room, and I also sent a message to your aunt saying that you were at your friend's house. Call me."

It was Ignacio. First he checked the message he had sent to his aunt, and he saw that Nacho managed to perfectly imitate how he speaks. Jesse smiles slightly, laughing and then shaking his head, soon he records Nacho's number, he calls him. He answers on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Its Jesse."

"I know."

"Oh. Uh.. How did you even get my number- you know what, nevermind.. Where the hell I am, man?"

"You're a few miles from me, I'll pick you up, then get you home."

Jesse sighs, why was Nacho doing this for him? It was strange, he thought Nacho would be the kind of guy who would spit in Jesse's face, but he didn't. Jesse noticed something different about him right when he heard him speak for the first time, that soft voice...  "Why.. Why you're doing this for me?"

After saying that, there is a noticeable silence on the call, but before Jesse can say anything, Nacho speaks.

"You're going to make up for the lost product, aren't you?" The suddenly change of subject suspends Jesse. 

"Yeah!..I'll do the double.."

"Alright. 1PM I'm there."

Jesse was going to say goodbye, but Nacho hung up immediately. Well, he couldn't wait long. The boy gets up, going to the bathroom to relieve himself, then taking a shower. 

After about half an hour, Jesse comes out of the bathroom, going to the living room with a towel around his waist. He sits up on the bed, seeing that his only option was to wear yesterday's clothes. He grumbles under his breath, but soon begins to get dressed.

He hurried away, and as he didn't have many things there, he just took his belongings and left. Jesse was waiting in the parking lot, about 10 minutes later, Ignacio arrived, in his red Javelin. Jesse only noticed now that it was a Javelin, and he smiled as he got into the passenger seat. "Man, this car is amazing!" He looks around, leaning back on the bench and looking at Nacho, who said nothing but a silent nod.

And then there was silence. This time it wasn't an uncomfortable silence, it was even comfortable, at least for Jesse. He looked at himself at the window, a silly, awkward smile plastered across his face. He didn't know why, but he felt the need to be friends with Ignacio. 

Nacho, on the other hand, was focused on the road in front of him, driving carefully. The drive was still considerably long to Jesse's house, but he could feel himself getting hungry. He bets that Jesse is also hungry, so he decides to ask him.

"You're hungry?"

Jesse looks at him, nodding quickly "Hell yeah, man! I'm starving, I'm also thirsty, it seems that I drank too much yesterday.. And I also have a headache, but not because of the injuries.."

Ignacio let out what can be considered a laugh, Jesse wasn't sure. He gave Pinkman a brief look. "How is it? The bruises." He quickly explains.

The boy raises a hand to touch his face, and grunting slightly. "Uuh.. It's getting better.. It's not hurting much right now. You took good care of it, to be honest." He half smiles.

Nacho has to keep his own smile, he likes to be complimented, or his job, even if it was a minimal thing, but he couldn't let his emotions control him, so again, he just nods. Jesse doesn't seem to care much, he's even kind of happy when Ignacio agrees.

After a while, they stop at a small restaurant for lunch. Ignacio couldn't believe he was doing this for that guy. He parks the car in the parking lot, leaving the car in neutral, and then sighing and looking at his hands, which were on the wheel. Jesse, on the other hand, was looking out the window, looking at the restaurant, and then looking back at Ignacio. 

"Hey, are we going in?" He asks. 

Ignacio looks at himIgnacio looks at him, agreeing with a low "yes". They both get out of the car, and Ignacio locks it. They walk to the restaurant, then inside Nacho tells Jesse to go sit at a table, while he orders the two of them. Jesse had said that he didn't want to eat lunch, preferring to eat pancakes with fruit, whipped cream and other toppings. Ignacio can understand him, because the boy had just woken up, so it made sense that he didn't want to eat lunch. As for Varga, he just chose to eat an Italian pasta that was on the menu. After ordering, he goes to sit next to Jesse. They sit across from each other, and Jesse looks at Nacho with his big blue eyes. Nacho was perhaps looking a little stressed because Jesse asked about it.

"You're okay, Nacho? You're acting weird.. don't know.." He asks kind of awkwardly. The brunette just nods, and then mutters a low yes. Pinkman doesn't question anything else to him, just anxiously waiting for his food. 

"Dude, I heard this place has some amazing pancakes!" He laughs, clearly excited, it was contagious, Ignacio couldn't help but smile slightly. Damn, that boy was driving him crazy. He was outgoing, lively, and even with his face all bruised, he was practically the sun. Always brilliant, center of attention, the opposite of Ignacio. He was quiet, serious, awkward, similar to the moon. They were two different poles. South and north, sun and moon, day and night. Nacho curses himself for thinking about it, but it was true. The blond seemed to notice Nacho's internal struggle, but didn't say anything. However, their plates arrived, and the waitress placed both plates in front of them, with forks and glasses, immediately asking:

"Do you two gentlemen want something to drink? " Her tone was sympathetic and soft, she was very pretty, and Jesse was embarrassed at the time, a very beautiful girl, he thought. He almost fell in love. 

"ah- I-I want.. uh.. A Coke." He says nervously, looking at Nacho, seeking approval, but the other doesn't notice, or just pretends he doesn't, and asks for a bottle of water for himself, and soon the lady is dismissed, going to get her drinks. About 2 minutes later, she comes back with their drinks. Jesse thanks him, and Varga just nods in thanks. 

Jesse leans over to Nacho, seeing the girl disappear, so he speaks. "Did you see that?! She was hot as hell! Im sure she fell for me." 

Nacho raises an eyebrow, grabbing his water bottle without too much haste. He takes a sip before answering, without even looking at Jesse properly. "She was literally just doing her job."

Jesse rolls his eyes, letting out a disbelieving laugh. "Dude, no! Did you see the way she looked at me? I felt the connection! Like, pure chemistry!"

Nacho finally looks at him, impassive. "The connection you felt was your own despair."

Jesse opens his mouth to counter, but hesitates, looking offended and confused at the same time. "Pff, nothing... You don't understand that stuff, man." He crosses his arms, pretending not to care, but still looking at the direction the girl disappeared, hopeful that she would come back. Ignacio shakes his head slightly, focusing back on his meal. Jesse, on the other hand, still seems to be in his own world, grinning to himself as he takes a sip of his Coke. The silence between them settles again, this time heavier, but not exactly uncomfortable. Nacho is used to silence. Jesse, not so much.

"So," Pinkman starts again, tapping his fork against his plate absentmindedly. "What’s the deal with you, man? You don’t talk much. You always this serious?" He brings the subject back. 

Ignacio glances at him briefly before looking back at his food. "I talk when necessary."

The blond scoffs. "That’s boring as hell, dude." He takes another bite of his pancakes, chewing thoughtfully. "You know, for a guy who literally took care of me last night, you sure act like you don’t give a shit."

Varga doesn’t react immediately. He simply continues eating, unfazed. Jesse watches him, waiting for some sort of response, but when none comes, he sighs dramatically.

"Fine. Be mysterious or whatever. I’ll figure you out eventually," Pinkman mutters, pointing his fork at him before returning to his food.

The brunette still doesn’t respond, but there's a ghost of a smirk on his lips. Jesse doesn’t notice.

After a while, they finish their meals, and Ignacio pays without a second thought. Jesse raises an eyebrow at that but doesn’t comment. As they step out of the restaurant, the sun is high in the sky, the heat settling in. Jesse stretches his arms above his head with a groan.

"Man, I feel like shit," he says, rubbing his temples. "Not as much as before, but still. Think I need, like… a million aspirin. Or weed."

Nacho unlocks the car and gets in. "You’ll live."

Jesse huffs, getting into the passenger seat. "Yeah, thanks, doc."

The drive is quiet at first, the sound of the engine and the occasional passing car the only noise between them. Jesse rests his head against the window, watching the scenery blur past.

Then, out of nowhere, he speaks. "You know, you’re not as much of an asshole as I thought you’d be."

Nacho doesn’t look at him. "That so?"

"Yeah," Jesse shrugs. "Still a dick, though."

Nacho huffs out something that could almost be a laugh. Jesse grins.

Ignacio kept his eyes on the road, but his mind wasn’t entirely there. Pinkman’s words lingered in the air between them.

"You’re not as much of an asshole as I thought you’d be."

It wasn’t the first time someone had misjudged him, but it was the first time in a while that he actually cared. Not that he cared about what the blond thought—he barely knew the boy—but there was something about the way he said it. Like he was trying to figure him out. Like Nacho was a puzzle to him.

That didn’t sit right.

The blond wasn’t supposed to care. He wasn’t supposed to try to understand him. Ignacio had spent years building a reputation, making sure people only saw what he allowed them to see. It was safer that way. But Jesse? He didn’t seem to give a damn about the walls Ignacio had built. He talked like they were already friends. Like the brunette was just some regular guy—not someone who had patched him up, paid for his room, and covered for him after a job gone sideways.

Varga stole a quick glance at the blond, who was now staring out the window, a lazy smirk still on his lips from his own joke. He looked… at ease. Too comfortable, even. It was strange. Most people in this business were either too afraid of Nacho to act this casual around him or too desperate to prove something. But Pinkman? He was just himself. Loud, reckless, with no filter. And yet, Varga had helped him.

Why?

He could’ve left him in that bar. Could’ve walked away and let him deal with his own mess. That would’ve been easier. But instead, he had stayed. Cleaned him up. Paid for his room. Even covered for him with his aunt. None of that had been necessary. None of it made sense.

Ignacio exhaled sharply, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe Jesse was just another job to get done. He’d make up for the lost product, and they’d go their separate ways. That was all this was.

Then why did it feel different?

He went out of his thoughts, when Jesse called him.

"Nacho! Park at El Michoacano, My car is there, I remembered it now." He points it out, then looking at Nacho. He simply nods, then drving to the restaurant of the pick ups. It was a great trip, taking away the confusion that Ignacio's mind was. He wondered if Jesse felt the same way. 

After a while, they arrive at the restaurant, and then Jesse says goodbye to Ignacio, but the brunette couldn't open his mouth to respond. He sighs, watching the blond head towards his car, his stupid red car, as well as his own red javelin. Jesse had already left there, and Nacho did not get away because he was distracted, but then he also sets out on the road, going in separate ways.

Chapter Text

Jesse hadn’t realized how exhausting the past twenty-four hours had been until he finally sat down on his couch. His body ached, not just from the bruises, but from everything. The fights, the drinking, everything.

He ran a hand through his messy blond hair, exhaling sharply as he leaned back. His aunt wasn’t home yet—good. He didn’t feel like explaining where he’d been or why his face looked like it had lost a fight with the pavement. She’d ask, she always did, but he’d brush it off like usual.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table. For a second, he thought it might be Nacho, but when he grabbed it, the screen only showed a notification from Skinny.

“Yo, you good? Heard you got messed up. You need something?”

Jesse sighed, rubbing his eyes before typing back.

“Nah, man. I’m fine. Later.”

He tossed the phone aside, groaning as he stretched his legs out. His stomach was still full from the pancakes, but his body craved something else—something stronger. Weed, maybe. Or a couple of beers. Anything to keep his mind from drifting back to the events of last night.

Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? He couldn’t stop thinking about it. About Nacho.

Jesse had expected the guy to be an asshole, a cold, calculating dealer who didn’t give a damn about anyone but himself. And maybe that was true. Maybe Nacho was just handling him for business, making sure he paid back what he owed. But there was something else there. Something Jesse couldn’t quite figure out.

He stared up at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head.

The way Nacho had patched him up. The way he covered for him. The way he sat across from him in that restaurant, barely saying a word, but still… there.

Jesse laughed to himself, shaking his head.“ Shit’s weird, man,” he muttered.

After a moment, he grabbed his phone again, hesitating before pulling up Nacho’s number. He had no idea what he was even going to say. Thanks? That felt lame. You’re not as much of an asshole as I thought? Yeah, that’d go over well. Instead, he just stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the call button. He let out a long breath, then locked the phone and tossed it back onto the table.

Maybe later. 

For now, he just needed to get some rest.

Nacho hadn’t planned on sticking his neck out for Jesse. Hell, he barely knew the kid. But something about the way he’d stumbled into that mess last night, reckless and half out of his mind, had gotten under Nacho’s skin. He sat in his truck, fingers drumming against the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the dim glow of the streetlights outside. He should’ve gone home by now. Should’ve shut his phone off and let the night fade into the past. But he hadn’t.

Instead, he kept thinking about that stupid, beat-up guy. Jesse was a liability. Too impulsive, too loud, too damn stubborn for his own good. He got himself into trouble, and worse—he had no idea how to get out of it.

Nacho had seen plenty of guys like him before—cocky, young, thought they were untouchable. Most of them either learned fast or didn’t make it past twenty-five. But Jesse… he wasn’t just some wannabe punk trying to play tough. There was something else there. Something that made Nacho hesitate.

Maybe it was the way Jesse looked tough and vulnerable at the same time, always seeking some kind of approval—like he wasn’t sure if Nacho was about to cut him loose or pull him in closer. Maybe it was the way he hadn’t tried to act ungrateful when Nacho helped him up, when he made sure he got food in his stomach before sending him off. Or maybe Nacho was just being stupid.

With a sigh, he reached for his phone, scrolling through his contacts. He stopped at Jesse’s name. The smart thing to do would be to leave it alone. Jesse was nothing to him—just another reckless guy who worked for him. Nacho didn’t need to check in. Didn’t need to make sure he was still in one piece.

But for some reason, he still typed out a message. "You alive?”

He stared at the screen for a second before hitting send. Then, without waiting for a reply, he tossed his phone onto the passenger seat, started the car, and pulled away from the curb.

Jesse woke up about an hour later, it was his aunt, she was shaking him, calling his name in a low tone. "Jesse! Son, wake up.. What happened to you?" 

He opened his eyes, looking at his aunt and jumping in surprise, he rubs his eyes and then looks at her again. "I-I'm fine.. It was just a fight. How did you get here?.. 

"Oh my dear, it doesn't matter.." She sits next to him, clearly worried about him. Ginny puts a gentle hand on his knee, and Jesse can't help but feel the tears in his eyes. No, he can't cry. His aunt treated him with such affection, unlike his own parents. He leans against her, sighing sadly. And she acquainted him, no matter how weak she is, she always has strength for her nephew, she can even call him son.

After a few moments of conversation, Ginny goes to bed, it wasn't that early, it was about 10PM, but it was the time that his aunt went to bed. Jesse got up, grabbed his coat, cell phone, and pack of cigarettes and went to the back of the house, his garden. Where he could sit and rest for a while, he sits on the steps of the back door. He takes his pack, and takes a cigarette from it, along with the lighter, which was inside the almost finished pack. He puts the cigarette on his lips, waiting a few moments before bringing the lighter to the end of the cigarette and lighting it. He took a puff. Closing your eyes and enjoying. He pulls out his phone, and then he sees a message from Ignacio on the main screen, sent about 45 minutes ago. 

"You alive?"

Jesse stared at the message for a long moment, the cigarette burning between his fingers. Smoke curled lazily into the night air as he considered whether to respond at all. He exhaled slowly, tapping ash onto the concrete step before finally typing back:

"Yeah. Why?" A few seconds passed. Then the screen lit up again.

"Just making sure. You looked like shit earlier."

Jesse scoffed, shaking his head. "Appreciate the concern, man."

"Not concern. Just need you in one piece."

Right. Strictly business. Jesse rolled his eyes, flicking the cigarette away. He stretched his legs out, wincing slightly at the soreness in his ribs. He shouldn’t have even been out here. Should’ve just crashed, let his body recover. But his mind wouldn’t shut up. He hesitated before typing again.

"I’ll have your product ready in two days."

Nacho’s reply came fast. "Good. Early. I’ll pick it up."

Jesse nodded to himself. That was it, then. Transaction complete. Back to business. But instead of putting his phone away, he found himself typing one more message.

"Hey… thanks again, you know, early today. You didn’t have to do that."

For a moment, nothing. Then: "I know."

Jesse huffed a quiet laugh. Of course that was all he’d say. No big deal, no acknowledgment, just… that. He leaned his head back against the door, staring up at the sky.

Nacho would sit in the dark of his house, sitting on the couch, watching a random football game that was playing. He was exhausted. He didn't have a shift in his father's sewing shop today. Ignacio had called him, saying that he was feeling bad and that he was staying at home resting. And his father didn't argue, he's a good man, Nacho thought. He really was, he couldn't bear to see him worried because of his work with drugs, Ignacio told him that he didn't need to worry, that he had already left, but no, he's still there. He was about to get up to go to his room, But he took another look at his phone, in the last conversation they had. 

"Hey… thanks for before. You didn’t have to do that."

Nacho had already answered. Short. To the point. No bullshit. Still, something about it stuck with him.

He sighed, raising his head again to look at the TV. Jesse was a pain in the ass, no doubt about it. Too reckless, too emotional, too eager to prove something. He talked too much, got himself into situations he couldn’t handle. Guys like that didn’t last long in this business. And yet, Nacho had stepped in. He didn’t have to. Could’ve let Jesse get what was coming to him. But for some reason, watching Domingo rough him up hadn’t sat right.

It wasn’t about being soft. It was about control. Letting Jesse get stomped out like that would’ve made him look weak. If the boy was working for him, that meant something. And Jesse was good at what he did—when he wasn’t busy screwing himself over. Nacho exhaled sharply, getting up from the couch, turning off the TV and walking to his room. He was wasting time standing here, thinking about shit that didn’t matter.

The day after tomorrow, Jesse would have his product ready. Nacho would pick it up. Business as usual. That was all this was.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

Two days later, Jesse walked into El Michoacano, wearing his normal stupidly large clothes. He gripped the backpack tightly in one hand, as if it carried something heavier than it actually did. 

He spotted Nacho in the corner, sitting at the same table as always, a glass of water in front of him. Nacho lifted his gaze, his face unreadable. He didn’t motion for Jesse to sit, but he also didn’t dismiss him.

“It’s here,” Jesse said, dropping the backpack onto the table.

Nacho grabbed the backpack, unzipping it just enough to take a quick look inside. He picked up one of the packages, testing its weight in his palm before giving a small nod. “Looks right.”

“It is right,” Jesse replied, crossing his arms. He hated this game, hated how it always felt like he had something to prove.

Nacho zipped the backpack closed and slid it to the side. “Relax. If it was shit, I’d tell you.”

Jesse exhaled, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Nacho took a sip of his water, unbothered, like this transaction was nothing. Maybe to him, it wasn’t, Jesse thought. 

Jesse ran a hand down his face, still feeling the remnants of the beating from four days ago. “So… that’s it?”

Nacho raised an eyebrow. “What else do you want?”

“I don’t know.” Jesse shrugged, grabbing a napkin from the table and fiddling with it. “Maybe a ‘good job,’ a pat on the back?”

Nacho let out a short laugh through his nose. “You want me to bring you a lollipop too?”

“Fuck off, man,” Jesse muttered, but there was the hint of a grin there.

Nacho shook his head, still watching him. “You good?”

Jesse blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The answer threw Jesse off. He opened his mouth, ready to fire back with some sarcastic remark, but then shut it again. Because the truth was, he didn’t know if he was good. That weird feeling was still hanging over him, the same one he’d had since Nacho helped him. But thats not the only thing. He looked away, messing with the napkin until it tore. “I’m getting by, man. Same as always.”

Nacho studied him for a second, then shrugged. “Alright. “Try not to get into more trouble for a while.”

Jesse forced a smirk. “No promises.”

Nacho shook his head, and Jesse got up and left. Payment would only be given on the day of deliveries, but he cooked earlier to make up for the lost product, so he doesn't bother. 

Jesse got in his car, and drove away, not to his house, not to go to some prostitute, he just drove. He just stopped when he arrived at a playground, catching his eye. He parks the car and leaves, walking to the playground. The sunset was beautiful. He enters the playground, and goes straight to the swings. He sits on one, swinging, but not too hard. He rummages through his pockets, and finds a joint. How lucky, he thought. He takes his lighter and brings the joint to his lips, landing on them and then he lights up, covering the wind with his hand. It keeps the lighter after it lights up, and takes a long drag, closing his eyes and immediately relaxing.

That's when he remembered, Emilio and Krazy 8. Damn! He despaired and rummaged through his pockets again and took out his cell phone, desperately calling Ignacio, he had no time to text.

One ring, two rings, three rings... 

He was about to give up, but at the last ring, Ignacio answered the phone. 

"What? I am busy. Can't talk."

"Man, what about Krazy and Emilio?! They're going to kill me for knowing that I cooked without 'em knowing!" He spoke, his tone genuinely desperate. He almost dropped his joint, but he held it between his fingers. 

"I've already dealt with it."

"Wh-What?"

"I told Domingo that you don't work for him anymore, and you don't cook with Emilio anymore. You work for me, alone, not for them. Consider an increase." Before Jesse could answer, or show his surprise, Nacho hung up, as he spoke, he was busy.

He sighs, turning off his phone and putting it back in his pocket. He takes the joint back to his lips, thinking. Was he now working for Ignacio? Jesse sat there for a long time, the joint burning between his fingers as he stared out at the empty playground. The swing creaked softly beneath him, the wind tugging at his oversized hoodie.

So that was it, then. Nacho had pulled him out from under Krazy-8 and Emilio without even telling him. No heads-up, no warning. Just a done deal. Jesse wasn't sure how he felt about that. Part of him was relieved—those two would’ve kill him and left him with nothing. But another part? Another part of him didn't like being handled like that. Like he was some piece in a game Nacho was playing.

He took another drag, letting the smoke sit in his lungs before exhaling slowly. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe this was better. At least Nacho wasn’t screwing him over. If anything, he’d done Jesse a favor. And Jesse knew better than to look too closely at why.

He flicked the joint away and leaned back, swinging on the swing like a child, eyes drifting up to the sky. The sun had almost fully set, the last bits of orange fading into the deep blues of the night.

Yeah. He’d roll with it. For now.

"Hijo, ¿estás prestando atención? (Son, are you paying attention?)" Ignacio was distracted, thinking about the short conversation he had just had with Jesse. He was at work, and now he was sewing a red wool piece for the cushions of a client's car seat. He looks at his dad, who was standing next to him. He nodded briefly. 

"Sí, papá. Perdón. (Yes, dad. Sorry.)" He smiles forcefully at his father, and then goes back to stitching. His dad says that the customer wants the car ready by next week. Ignacio knows it wouldn't take that long, so he scoops everything up right away, so he doesn't have to do it later. His father stares for a few seconds longer, checking on his son's work, and then makes an approving sound and then leaves, giving a light tap on his shoulder.

He stayed the rest of the night finishing the work, but when it was getting too late, his father asked him to finish and get ready, because he wanted to close the store. And that's what Ignacio did. He packed everything, and took off his uniform and put on his usual clothes. He went to the chair and took his coat and belongings, soon leaving the store, and saying goodbye to his father.

He gets into his Javelin, turns it on, and drives home. Jesse Pinkman, Jesse Pinkman, Jesse Pinkman. It was all Nacho thought.

Nacho gritted his teeth, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove. Jesse Pinkman was becoming a problem—not the kind of problem that needed fixing, but the kind that made him think too much. He should’ve just let Domingo handle him. Let the guy learn his lesson. But instead, Nacho had stepped in, pulled him out, and now Jesse was working for him. Alone.

He sighed, running a hand down his face as he pulled into his driveway. It was quiet, as usual. He lived alone, no one waiting for him inside. Just an empty house, a stocked fridge, and a bed that felt too big some nights. He killed the engine, getting out of the car and locking it, he walks to his house, opening the gate and walking to the main door, unlocking it and entering. He closes the door behind him and walks to the couch, turning on the television and leaving it on the first channel that appears. He pulls out his phone, and sighs. 

Strangely, He was in the mode to play poker, cards, whatever. But who would he play with? He only played with his father before, now he has no one to play with. 

Pinkman. He thought, but would he be willing to play with Ignacio? He must not even know how to play, he sighs, picking up his cell phone and texting him. Nacho wasn't a big fan of calls. 

"Do you play poker? Cards?" To Ignacio's surprise, Jesse responded quickly, almost on time, as if he was expecting this message.

"Nah, man.. Neither."

That's what Nacho thought, maybe he can teach Jesse. 

"Do you want me to teach you?"

Jesse sat in his car, staring at the screen of his phone after reading Nacho’s message. Do you want me to teach you? The question caught him off guard. It wasn’t the kind of thing he’d expect from Ignacio. The guy wasn’t exactly known for being patient or a teacher, but maybe that was the point. Maybe Nacho just wanted to kill time or do something different for once.

Jesse paused for a long moment, thinking about his response. He wasn’t sure why, but there was a strange comfort in the simplicity of the offer. Poker? Cards? Something so normal, something that had nothing to do with drugs, crime, or the usual mess that surrounded him.

He let out a quiet breath, tapping out a response.

“Sure, why not. Teach me.”

Almost immediately, Nacho replied. “Address?" 

Jesse chuckled quietly to himself. Yeah, simple and straightforward, he thought, but it felt oddly good to have something else to focus on, even if it was something as trivial as cards. A part of him was glad that Nacho wanted to teach him. It was a strange kind of connection, something deeper than just business, but still... controlled.

"9809 Margo Street."

After sending the message, Jesse leaned back in his seat, staring out at the empty playground. The world felt quieter than it had in days. He had no idea what tonight would bring, but for now, it was just him and the promise of something new.

He started the car, and went straight home. Luckily, it wasn't as far away as he thought. He gets there, and opens the door, his aunt had warned him that she had gone to the neighbor's house, because the neighbor was going to help her knit a blanket, so he's home alone. Jesse sighed as he entered the house, and went straight to the bathroom, to take a shower. He felt obliged to be tidy. 

He undressed, and put the used clothes in the laundry basket, then turning on the water, waiting for it to warm up. So he comes in, and takes a quick shower, he knew Ignacio was quick, about 40 minutes he'd be there.

Jesse got out of the shower, and put a towel around his waist. He looks at himself in the mirror, his beard badly done, not that it's much, because it's not. He quickly dries his face and takes shaving cream and a razor, then quickly brushes off the remaining hairs from his face. He washes his face, and looks in the mirror, he genuinely looks 10 years younger with a shaved beard. He smiles to himself, then runs out of the bathroom, entering his room and opening his closet, he curses under his breath seeing his ridiculous clothing options. 

He puts his hands to his head, but rummaging through the closets and finding a simple black long-sleeved shirt, without print, he puts it on. Soon he rummages around, finding a red t-shirt with random black stripes and a black skull, the least oversized shirt he's found, he wears it over the black shirt. He had a pair of black pants, with a red design on the back, he decided to wear. He first takes the towel from his waist, and takes a pair of boxers and socks from the drawer, then putting on and then also putting on his pants. He crouches down, seeing what shoes options he has, He picks up red and black ones, with big, white shoelaces. 

Jesse sighs, looking at himself in the mirror of his wardrobe, he looked decent, but something was missing. He really wanted to put on a beanie, but decided not to. He opens a box he had in the back of the closet, taking a silver necklace he had and also putting two rings, simple. He rummages deeper into the box, and find a familiar bracelet. One he wore matching Badger —Jesse was kind of forced to do so — when they were in a band together. TwaüghtHammër. He smiles, remembering the moments, so he decides to put the bracelet on his arm, the opposite of the tattoo. He looks at himself in the mirror. 

"Much better." He poses for the mirror, smirk, and then he closes the closet door and goes to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and styling his hair, he likes it when his hair is spiky. Liking the result, he leaves it like this, he never had time to leave his hair the way he wanted, but now he thought it was perfect. Only one thing was missing, smell. He rummages through the cupboard under the sink, and finds a box of half-used cologne, he only put it when he was going to have a hook up with someone. Jesse doesn't think much about it, so he applies some to his neck. 

He leaves the bathroom, and then goes downstairs to the living room, his cell phone and belongings were there, even a wristwatch that he didn't wear, but he puts it on. Jesse checks if it works, and in fact, it works. He checks his phone, then sees a message from Nacho, from 2 minutes ago, saying:

"I'm out here."

Jesse stuffs his phone in his pocket, as well as his wallet, keys, lighter, and pack of cigarettes. He quickly leaves, locking the door and finding Nacho's car, walking quickly to it, getting into the passenger seat. He takes a brief look at Ignacio, and as he expected, he was tidy as always, it kind of made Jesse awkward even insecure

"Sup." He speaks, leaning back on his sit, and looking at Nacho again, a lazy smirk on his lips.

Nacho barely masked his reaction when Jesse slid into the passenger seat. He hadn’t expected much—Jesse was never the type to put effort into his appearance, at least not in a way that seemed intentional. But tonight? Tonight was different.

His eyes moved over him, taking in the small but noticeable changes. The way his hair was styled, sharp and deliberate, not just left in its usual messy state. No beanie for once, which gave Nacho a full view of his face—his jawline, freshly shaved, making him look younger but no less striking. And the clothes… The layered shirts, the way the red and black balanced against his frame, the subtle flash of silver at his neck and hands. Even the bracelet caught Nacho’s attention. It wasn’t just some random accessory—Jesse had chosen it for a reason. 

He forced himself to keep his expression neutral, his fingers flexing slightly against the steering wheel as Jesse settled in. It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed Jesse before, but this? This made it harder to look away.

"You look different," Nacho said, keeping his voice steady.

Jesse scoffed, smirking slightly. "Yeah? What, I usually look like shit or somethin'?"

Nacho let out a slow breath through his nose, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Didn’t say that." He shifted into drive, but his eyes flicked toward Jesse one more time before focusing back on the road. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air—not strong, just enough to notice. Jesse had put in effort. Not just thrown something on. Not just showed up the way he always did. It was deliberate. And Nacho liked it. More than he should. "Just… you put in effort," he added, keeping his tone casual, like it wasn’t affecting him. Like Jesse didn’t look good.

Jesse huffed, shaking his head. "Man, whatever. Ain’t like I’m tryin’ to impress you."

Nacho smirked, eyes still on the road. "Didn’t say that either."

Silence stretched between them for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The streetlights passed in slow intervals, casting warm glows across Jesse’s face. Nacho forced himself to keep his attention on driving, but it wasn’t easy.

"You ever play anything? Even blackjack?" he asked, needing a distraction.

Jesse shook his head. "Nah, man. Cards ain't really my thing. I mean, I watched people play sometimes, but never, like… played for real." He paused, then glanced at Nacho. "You, though? You sound like you play a lot."

Nacho lifted a shoulder. "Used to. Sometimes I play with some co-workers, rarely.

Jesse nodded, as if he understood there was more to that, but he didn’t push. "Guess I should be scared, huh? Bet you’re good."

Nacho smirked, his grip on the wheel tightening just slightly. "We’ll see."

Jesse let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back in his seat. "Yeah, alright. Just don’t expect me to go easy on you when I start winnin’."

Nacho huffed, shaking his head. "Sure, Pinkman. We’ll see about that."

He didn’t know how the night would go, but one thing was certain—Jesse had already surprised him once. And Nacho wasn’t sure if that was a good thing… or a dangerous one.

Chapter Text

Nacho laid his cards on the table, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards as he collected the stack of poker chips in front of him. "Four in a row," he said, his voice calm but undeniably smug. 

On the other side of him, Jesse groaned, throwing his cards face up on the table with a dramatic sigh. "Man, this is rigged. There's no way you're going to win all the damn rounds.

Nacho shrugged, stacking his winnings neatly. "It is not manipulated. You're just easy to read." 

Jesse sneered, leaning back in his chair. "Easy to read? Man, I have the best poker face in the game."

Nacho arched an eyebrow. "Really? Because every time you have a bad hand, you do it—" He mimicked Jesse's exaggerated sigh and the way he ran his hand through his hair. "And when you're bluffing, you bite your nails or make some weird tic of yours."

Jesse looked at him for a second, then frowned. "I don't."

Nacho just looked at him. Jesse exhaled through his nose, grabbing his beer and taking a sip. "It's okay, whatever, man. Maybe I'm just warming up."

Nacho laughed, shuffling the deck again. He expected Jesse to get frustrated, maybe even give up after losing so many rounds, but instead, he seemed determined. That kind of stubbornness was... Strangely fun.

"Do you want to continue?" asked Nacho.

Jesse leaned forward, eyes half-closed. "Of course. Best of ten. I bet I win at least one."

Nacho smiled. "That's okay. Let's see if you can prove me wrong." 

He dealt the cards again, but this time, Jesse was more focused. Less reckless. And for some reason, Nacho found himself watching him more closely—how he studied his hand, how his expression changed slightly when he was thinking.

He wasn't sure if Jesse really wanted to win, or if he just liked having something to focus on. Anyway, Nacho didn't care.

They had time.

Jesse looked at his letters, wishing they were better. Four defeats in a row? That was. But more than losing, it was the way Nacho barely reacted, just collecting his chips coldly as if he was made for it. As if he knew Jesse didn't stand a chance. And yes, okay, maybe Jesse didn't know what the hell he was doing, but damn it if he was going to let Nacho keep showing off to him like that.

He exhaled, looking up. Nacho watched him. Not in an obvious way—his expression was still calm, neutral—but his eyes? They were sharp, as if they saw everything. Jesse felt that gaze rest on him, firm and unreadable, and that made his pulse race a little.

"You're taking too long," Nacho said, his voice low and even.

Jesse smiled, banging the end of the cards on the table. "yes, man. Trying to throw you off. Maybe I'm doing some poker math pretty deep in my head."

Nacho let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "Of course, Pinkman. That's exactly what's happening."

Jesse pretended to be offended. "Wow. No faith in me. That hurts, man."

Nacho just watched him, his lips twitching as if fighting a wry smile. And Jesse — Jesse was all too aware of that. The way Nacho leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking at him.

The room was hot. Too hot. Or maybe it was just Jesse's brain short-circuited. He still didn't realize he was at Ignacio's house, of course he technically knew he was there, but it was too strange to think about it. It was messing with Jesse's head.

Focus, man. 

He cleared his throat, squeezing his cards tighter. "Okay, let's do it." He pushed a few chips forward. "I'm in, bitch."

Nacho raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

Jesse smiled. "Of course."

Nacho's eyes flickered, something unreadable flashed past them before he placed his bet. "Right. Show me what you've got."

Jesse turned his cards over with a flourish. "Boom. Direct."

For a second, Nacho didn't react. He just looked at the letters, then at Jesse, and then—finally—he smiled, shaking his head. "Well, damn it."

Jesse blinked. "Wait. Did I win?"

Nacho sighed, turning over his own cards. Two pairs. Jesse really beat him.

Jesse let out a loud and triumphant laugh, throwing his hands in the air. "Yes! In your face, bitch!"

Nacho shook his head, but he was smiling. Really smiling. And Jesse—he felt something shift in his chest at the sight. It wasn't like Nacho never smiled, but that? That was different. He was not cautious. It was not calculated. It was just... real. Jesse felt his stomach turn.

He swallowed, trying to shake off any strange sensation that was approaching him. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on the table, smiling. "Come on, man. Tell him I won fairly and honestly."

Nacho rolled his eyes. "You won. For now."

Jesse smiled. "Of course."

The air between them seemed heavy, as if they were both hyper-aware of the space—or lack of space—between them.

Jesse was still at the height of victory, grinning like an idiot as he leaned back in his chair. "Dude, you should stop while I'm in front. Retire undefeated."

Nacho snorted, shuffling the deck again. "One win doesn't make you undefeated, Pinkman."

Jesse smiled. "yes, well, that makes me better than I was ten minutes ago." He grabbed his beer, taking a slow sip as he watched Nacho's hands move—deft, controlled, as if the guy had spent years making sure he never slipped. Jesse knew that kind of precision. It wasn't just about poker. Nacho was like that with everything.

Jesse's gaze shifted upward, catching the sharp angle of his jaw, the way the dim light cast shadows on his face. He looked fine. Not that Jesse was thinking about it. At least, not in a way that meant anything.

He swallowed, placing his beer on the table. "All right, let's go again."

Nacho glanced up, meeting his eyes. It was quick—just a flicker of something Jesse couldn’t quite name before he nodded and dealt the cards. "Your call."

Jesse picked up his hand, forcing himself to focus. This was just poker. Just a way to kill time. So why the hell did it feel like something else?

They played in near silence, the occasional rustle of cards or click of chips the only sound between them. Jesse should’ve been thinking about his next move, but instead, he kept catching himself watching Nacho. The way his fingers drummed lightly against the table when he was waiting. The way his brow furrowed just slightly when he was thinking. The way he barely smiled, like he was holding back—like he didn’t let himself just be.

Jesse shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. "You always this quiet when you play?"

Nacho didn’t look up from his cards. "Depends."

"On what?"

Nacho finally met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "On who I’m playing with."

Jesse blinked, feeling something strange twist in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if it was the way Nacho said it, or the way he was looking at him now—steady, like he saw more than Jesse was saying.

Jesse huffed, shaking his head. "Man, you gotta work on your table talk. Intimidation only gets you so far."

Nacho smirked, eyes flicking back down to his cards. "Seems to be working just fine."

Jesse scoffed, but he couldn’t ignore the way his pulse kicked up just a little. It was stupid. He wasn’t some kid catching feelings over a damn poker game.

But then, Nacho shifted forward, resting his arms on the table, and suddenly Jesse felt like maybe, just maybe, he was a little out of his depth.

Because this? This wasn’t just a game anymore. And he wasn’t sure he wanted it to be.

Nacho watched Jesse fumble with his cards, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was trying to act casual, like he wasn’t thinking too hard about the game, but Nacho could see right through him. Jesse had tells—obvious ones—but for some reason, Nacho wasn’t calling them out anymore. Maybe because he liked watching him figure it out.

Jesse sighed dramatically, tossing a few chips into the pile. "Man, I swear, if you win again, I’m gonna start thinking you’re cheating."

Nacho smirked, rolling a chip between his fingers. "If I was cheating, you wouldn’t even notice."

Jesse scoffed, but Nacho caught the quick flicker of something in his expression—amusement, maybe, or something else. Something quieter. The game had slowed down. Or maybe it just felt that way. The air between them had shifted—not tense, not awkward, but charged. Like they were both waiting for something neither of them wanted to name.

Nacho kept his focus on the cards, but he was too aware of Jesse. The way he leaned forward just slightly, arms resting on the table. The way his foot tapped against the floor like he had too much energy and nowhere to put it. The way his fingers—slim, a little rough—drummed lightly against the felt.

Nacho’s gaze flicked up, just for a second, and Jesse was already looking at him. Neither of them spoke.

Jesse swallowed, licking his lips before glancing back at his cards, like he was forcing himself to focus. Nacho felt something tighten in his chest. 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed Jesse before. The guy had a kind of energy that was hard to ignore—reckless, messy, but also sharp in a way people didn’t always give him credit for. Nacho liked that about him. He liked that Jesse didn’t always play it safe, that he pushed back, that he didn’t just accept things the way they were.

But this? This was different.

This was Jesse looking at him like he was trying to figure something out. This was Jesse putting effort into how he looked tonight—more than usual. This was Jesse fidgeting, watching him too closely, like maybe he was feeling the same damn thing Nacho was trying to ignore.

Nacho exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus. "You gonna play, or just stare at your cards all night?"

Jesse blinked, snapping out of whatever thought he was caught in. "Oh—yeah, yeah. I got this." He pushed more chips forward, his confidence back, but Nacho didn’t miss the slight hesitation.

About an hour passed, and Jesse had only won two, and Ignacio won the rest, around 7. Jesse was already on his fourth beer, damn, he didn't know how he was still standing, counting on the marijuana he had smoked before coming, Ignacio, he was on his second, he didn't look very drunk, but he was blushing. They were now sitting on the couch, watching a random movie that was playing, anything Jesse said, came dragged, clearly drunk, and Nacho could see it clearly, even if he was only slightly more sober than Pinkman. 

Jesse was nestled against the sofa, sitting cross-legged and staring at the screen in front of him, Ignacio was sitting normally, but his legs slightly spread out. Jesse turns his head to look at Ignacio, and the other noticed, but continued looking at the television until Jesse talks to him. 

"Maaan, 'm wasted!" He stretches, and Ignacio looks at him, agreeing.

"I can see that."

"Bastard!" He frowns, crossing his arms against his chest, but kept looking at Ignacio.

Nacho just scoffed, not quite a laugh, but Jesse considers it a victory. And it stays like this afterwards, silence, but Jesse couldn't take his eyes off Ignacio, he wasn't thinking straight. Nacho seemed well aware of this. 

Ignacio can't know exactly what was going on inside Jesse's head, but he knew it was going to go wrong. 

Jesse leaned in, his body feeling heavy from the alcohol and the weed, but there was something else, something pulling him towards Nacho. His head buzzed, thoughts hazy, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the guy sitting next to him. When he leaned closer, Nacho didn’t pull back, but he didn’t exactly lean in either. He was still, just watching Jesse, waiting for him to do something.

Jesse, feeling bold from the drinks, grinned lazily, his eyes flicking between Nacho’s lips and his eyes. Before Nacho could react, Jesse closed the space, pressing his lips against his. It wasn’t a perfect kiss. Hell, it wasn’t even graceful. But Jesse wasn’t thinking about that. His chest tightened, and for a second, everything felt like it was moving too fast, but not fast enough. He pulled back just a bit, breath shallow, and watched Nacho’s face for any sign of what the hell had just happened.

Nacho blinked at him, not surprised, but definitely not what Jesse expected. His face was unreadable for a moment, but then he let out a small, almost amused huff, and Jesse’s chest felt tight in a way he couldn’t explain.

Jesse smirked, trying to play it off. "What, you’re not gonna kiss me back?"

Nacho’s lips twitched, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gave a small shrug, his hand brushing the side of his face as he leaned back against the couch. "What’s the point?" he said, voice low. "You’re drunk."

Jesse felt a flush rise to his face, the buzz of the alcohol making him almost want to laugh. "So what? You’re not, huh?" He let out a short laugh, but his eyes never left Nacho’s. There was something there, something in the way they were sitting so close, but not close enough, like they were waiting for something to change.

Nacho leaned forward slightly, his expression hardening just a bit. "I’m not drunk enough to make a mistake," he said, voice steady but with an edge. "You think this is just some joke?"

Jesse paused, swallowing hard, feeling the weight of the words but not quite sure how to react. He hadn’t expected that. In fact, he hadn’t expected any of it.

Jesse stood there, still trying to process the words that had just hit him. The air felt thick, like something heavy had settled between them, suffocating him. His chest was tight, and his thoughts were swirling in a mess he couldn’t untangle.

Nacho had said what he said, and Jesse couldn’t deny the sting of it. It wasn’t just the words; it was the way they felt like a slap. He had wanted something more, something different, but now he wasn’t even sure what that was. Maybe Nacho had been right. Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing, and that made him feel smaller than he had in a long time.

He started to speak, but his throat tightened, the words caught somewhere deep down. He didn’t know how to fix it. Didn’t know how to explain that he hadn’t meant to mess things up. Before he could say anything, Nacho spoke again, his voice quieter now.

"Look," Nacho said, "I didn't mean that... not exactly." He ran a hand through his shaved head. "I’m... I’m not mad at you."

Jesse let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He wasn’t sure if Nacho was just trying to smooth things over or if he actually meant it, but either way, it felt like a lifeline.

He shifted slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah? ‘Cause, uh… kinda felt like you were."

Nacho exhaled, shaking his head. "It’s not that. It’s just…" He trailed off, searching for the words. His fingers tapped absently against his knee, a rare slip of nervous energy. "You don’t really want this."

Jesse frowned, brows knitting together. "The hell does that mean?"

Nacho met his gaze, steady. "It means you’re wasted, Jesse. You’re not thinking straight."

Jesse scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Dude, come on. Just ‘cause I had a few drinks doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want."

Nacho didn’t react right away. He just studied him, like he was looking for something Jesse couldn’t name. Then, with a small shake of his head, he sighed. "You’re not hearing me."

Jesse opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. Something about Nacho’s expression—calm, unreadable, but not dismissive—made him hesitate.

He thought about what Nacho had said. About mistakes. About this being a joke. And maybe, just maybe, he understood what he was really trying to say.

It wasn’t about Jesse being drunk. Not completely. It was about Jesse not thinking things through. About Jesse acting on impulse because that’s just what he did.

And maybe that was fair.

Jesse sighed, rubbing his face. "Okay. Okay, I get it. You don’t wanna do something you’ll regret."

Nacho’s lips twitched, almost a smile. "I don’t think I’d regret it."

Jesse’s stomach flipped. "Oh."

Nacho leaned back, tilting his head slightly. "But I don’t think you know what you’re asking for, either."

Jesse frowned. "What if I do?"

Nacho didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just looked at him, searching. Then, finally, he said, "Then ask me again when you’re sober."

The words settled between them, heavier than Jesse expected.

He wanted to argue. Wanted to say he didn’t need to be sober to know what he wanted. But at the same time… he kinda did want to ask again. When it wasn’t hazy. When he wasn’t second-guessing everything.

Without thinking—because that’s what he did, right? Act first, think later—Jesse moved forward, his body slumping slightly, and before Nacho could react, he pressed his forehead against Nacho’s shoulder. His arms wrapped around him, not tight, not desperate, just… there. Holding.

For a second, Nacho didn’t move. Jesse could feel the tension in him, the way his body stiffened like he wasn’t sure what to do with this. But then, after a beat, Jesse felt him exhale. He didn’t push him away. He didn’t say anything, either.

Jesse mumbled something against Nacho’s shoulder, words slurred and half-formed, but Nacho caught enough to know it was something like, I didn’t mean to mess things up.

Nacho let out a quiet huff, not quite a laugh, not quite anything else. He shifted, and for a second, Jesse thought he was about to pull away. Instead, he just rested a hand on Jesse’s back.

"You didn’t," Nacho said after a moment, whispering close to his ear, in a comforting way. "Not really."

Jesse let out a short, breathy laugh, but it wasn’t happy. "Doesn’t feel like it."

Nacho sighed, shaking his head. "You’re just drunk, Jesse."

Jesse scoffed against his shoulder. "Yeah, no shit." He turned his head slightly, cheek resting against Nacho’s shirt. His voice dropped, quieter now. "Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it, though."

Nacho didn’t answer right away, and Jesse felt the weight of it. Felt how careful Nacho was being, how measured. It made his throat feel tight.

"You don’t have to believe me," Jesse muttered, voice barely above a whisper now. "Just… don’t hate me, okay?"

Nacho’s fingers twitched against his back, barely there. "I don’t hate you."

Jesse let out a breath, long and slow, and if Nacho hadn’t been paying attention, he might’ve missed the way Jesse’s grip tightened, just for a second. Like he needed something to hold onto.

They stayed like that for a moment, neither of them speaking, neither of them moving. Just sitting in the thick, heavy quiet of it all.

He shifted slightly, pressing his face into Nacho’s shoulder, and mumbled, “Lemme sleep here.”

Nacho stiffened. His hand, which had been resting loosely at his side, twitched like he wasn’t sure whether to push Jesse off or let him stay. “On the couch?” he asked. 

Jesse hummed, shifting again, draping more of his weight onto Nacho like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Nah. On you.”

Nacho exhaled sharply through his nose. “Jesse—”

“C’mon, man,” Jesse muttered, voice slurred with exhaustion but still laced with something stubborn. “Do it for me...”

Nacho dragged a hand down his face, his chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with Jesse’s weight pressing against him. He didn’t know what to do with this. He could push Jesse off, tell him to sleep somewhere else, remind him that this was a bad idea. That in the morning, he’d probably wake up and not want this.

But Jesse was already halfway there, his body warm against Nacho’s, his breath slow and steady. And worse? He looked like he needed this. Like, for some reason, this—being close, being held—was something he wasn’t used to asking for.

Nacho swallowed, his throat tight. “You’re not gonna remember this in the morning,” he muttered.

Jesse gave a quiet laugh, barely there. “Bet you I will.”

Nacho hesitated. He was still tense, still unsure, but slowly, carefully, he reached for the blanket draped over the couch and pulled it over both of them. Jesse made a small, content noise and settled in further, his head resting fully against Nacho’s chest now.

This is a mistake, Nacho thought. But he didn’t move. Didn’t wake Jesse up. Didn’t push him off.

Instead, he let out a slow breath and stared at the ceiling, feeling Jesse’s warmth against him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, and the unfamiliar weight of something he wasn’t sure he wanted to name.

The morning light filtered in through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. Jesse’s head throbbed as he slowly began to stir, the fuzziness of his mind fighting against the steady clarity that was slowly creeping in. His muscles ached, the dull heaviness of a hangover settling in with each blink. He groaned quietly, trying to shake off the remnants of the night before. And then he froze.

He wasn’t alone.

His cheek was pressed against something warm and solid, and as he lifted his head slightly, he realized that something was… someone. His heart skipped a beat as his mind caught up with his body, piecing together the memory of the night before in bits and pieces. The alcohol. The weed. The stupid, impulsive kiss. And now—this.

Jesse’s eyes darted down, and sure enough, there was Nacho, still asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly beneath him. Jesse's breath caught in his throat as he registered just how close they were, how much of his weight was resting on Nacho’s chest, and how they were both tangled in the blanket.

For a second, Jesse just stayed there, unsure of what to do. He could feel the warmth of Nacho’s body beneath him, the steady rhythm of his breath. He should get up. He should move before things got even more complicated. But somehow, he couldn’t. His mind raced through the events of the night, the strange intimacy, the tension, and the quiet words that hung in the air between them.

Jesse’s heart thudded a little faster, the guilt creeping in as his hangover settled in, making everything feel ten times worse. His head was foggy, but there was no mistaking the knot in his stomach. He had crossed a line, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he?

He tried to shift, carefully, without waking Nacho, but his movement only seemed to make the situation worse. He accidentally nudged Nacho’s side, and the slight pressure made Nacho stir, his body tensing before he slowly opened his eyes, squinting slightly against the morning light.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Jesse’s heart was racing, his face burning with embarrassment, and he opened his mouth, as if to explain—something—but no words came out.

Nacho’s voice was rough from sleep, but there was no anger in it, just the same measured calm he always had. “You’re awake.”

Jesse nodded, clearing his throat, but he couldn’t find the words.

Nacho’s gaze softened just slightly, though there was a trace of something guarded in his eyes. He shifted, trying to sit up a little, and Jesse hastily moved to lift himself off him, his movements awkward, like he wasn’t sure how to act now.

“I… uh…” Jesse started, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

Nacho’s brow furrowed, his voice quiet but steady. “For what?”

Jesse fumbled with his words, the discomfort settling like a weight in his chest. “For… last night. I didn’t mean to—” He stopped himself, biting his lip, the awkwardness choking him. “I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

There was a pause, and Nacho just looked at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, not with frustration, but with some quiet resignation, like he was giving Jesse the space to process without pushing him.

“You didn’t,” Nacho said, his voice softer than it had been the night before. “You were drunk. Just… don’t overthink it, alright?”

Jesse opened his mouth to respond, but then stopped, unsure of how to navigate the sudden shift in the air. The tension was still there, but it was different now—subdued, quieter.

Jesse swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides. He wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing, only that there was something still hanging between them, something unspoken, something unfinished. And maybe it was stupid, maybe it was reckless, but that had never stopped him before.

Nacho was watching him carefully, waiting, like he could already see the thought forming in Jesse’s head. His face was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something steady, something expectant.

Jesse’s heart pounded. His mouth felt dry, his head was still foggy from the hangover, but this? This was clear.

“Don’t overthink it,” Nacho had said.

So Jesse didn’t.

Before he could second-guess himself, he shifted closer, moving slow enough to give Nacho time to stop him—but Nacho didn’t. His breathing stayed even, his expression still guarded, but he didn’t move away.

Jesse hesitated for half a second, his eyes flicking to Nacho’s lips, then back up. And when Nacho still didn’t stop him, Jesse took the risk.

He leaned in.

Their lips barely brushed before Nacho moved—not pushing him away, not quite, but turning his head just enough that Jesse’s mouth barely grazed the corner of his instead. A near miss. A deliberate one.

Jesse’s stomach twisted. His breath hitched, his face burning as he pulled back slightly, his heart thundering in his chest.

Nacho sighed, running a hand down his face. His expression was unreadable for a moment, but there was something there—something conflicted.

“Jesse,” he said, low, almost like a warning.

Jesse swallowed, his pulse still racing. “What?” he murmured, trying to keep his voice steady, even as his fingers curled against the blanket. “I’m sober now.”

Nacho’s jaw tightened slightly. “That’s not the point.”

Jesse exhaled sharply, frustration creeping into his voice. “Then what is the point, man? ‘Cause I don’t—” He huffed, shaking his head. “I don’t get it. You didn’t push me off last night. You didn’t tell me to go. You let me stay. So what—what the hell am I supposed to think?”

Nacho was quiet for a long moment, his expression carefully neutral. Then, finally, he spoke. “You are sober now,” he said, voice quieter. “So tell me. Do you still want this?”

Jesse blinked, caught off guard by how direct the question was. “Yeah,” he said without thinking. And then, because it didn’t feel like enough, he added, “I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t.”

Nacho studied him, his gaze sharp, like he was trying to see something in Jesse’s face. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Nacho exhaled and leaned back against the couch.

“Okay,” he said simply.

Jesse frowned. “Okay what?”

Nacho met his gaze. “Then ask me again.”

Jesse’s mouth opened, then closed. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—but it hadn’t been this.

Nacho’s lips twitched, almost amused at Jesse’s confusion. “You asked me last night,” he said. “And I told you to ask again when you were sober.” His eyes flicked downward, just briefly, before returning to Jesse’s. “So ask.”

Jesse’s breath caught in his throat. His face was warm, his hands unsteady, but he wasn’t about to back down now.

He swallowed hard, steadying himself.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Nacho didn’t answer right away. He let the question hang in the air between them, his expression unreadable—but his eyes, dark and steady, didn’t waver.

Then, finally, he exhaled.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “You can.”

Jesse didn’t wait. He moved forward, closing the space between them, and this time, when his lips met Nacho’s, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty.

Jesse barely had time to process it before it hit him all at once—Nacho was kissing him back.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate, but it wasn’t hesitant either. It was deliberate. Solid. Like Nacho had made up his mind the second he let Jesse ask.

Jesse’s fingers curled instinctively into Nacho’s shirt, gripping tight like he was afraid the moment would slip through his fingers if he let go. He deepened the kiss, just a little, testing, waiting for resistance that never came. Instead, he felt Nacho’s hand settle at his side. 

The warmth of it sent a shiver down Jesse’s spine.

His heart was hammering in his chest, but he didn’t pull away. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that—seconds? Minutes? Time felt weird, stretched thin between the heat of the kiss and the slow, steady weight of Nacho’s touch.

Then, finally, Nacho was the one to pull back, just enough for their lips to part, though Jesse could still feel his breath against his skin. Jesse’s eyes fluttered open, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

Nacho was watching him, expression unreadable, but something about his gaze felt heavier now. Not regretful. Not distant. Just… thoughtful.

Jesse licked his lips, his fingers still clutching at Nacho’s shirt. “So… what now?” he asked, voice rougher than he intended.

Nacho exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You tell me.”

Jesse frowned. “Dude, you’re the one making me jump through hoops. You kissed me back. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

Nacho was silent for a long moment. Then, finally, he spoke. “It does.”

Jesse’s stomach twisted. “Then say it.”

Nacho met his gaze, steady, serious. “I don’t wanna be something you wake up regretting, Jesse.”

Jesse flinched slightly, his grip on Nacho’s shirt loosening. His pulse was still racing, but now it wasn’t just from the kiss. “I wouldn’t,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

Nacho raised an eyebrow.

Jesse swallowed, his throat dry. “I won’t,” he amended, softer this time.

Nacho studied him again, like he was trying to read something Jesse wasn’t even sure he was showing. Then, with a quiet sigh, he let his hand slide from Jesse’s side, resting on his knee instead. 

Jesse felt like something inside him tightened, The gentle touch on his knee gave him slightly more confidence. “And what about you?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “Do you want this? Or are you just humoring me?”

Nacho’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers tapped absently against his knee—a rare tell.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” he admitted.

Jesse’s breath hitched. It wasn’t the loudest answer, wasn’t the most passionate declaration or some big dramatic moment. But it was honest. And coming from Nacho, that meant something.

Jesse let that sit between them for a moment, the weight of it settling in his chest. Then, cautiously, he reached for Nacho’s hand, letting their fingers brush, testing the waters. Nacho didn’t pull away. He let it happen, he let Jesse stay close.

That was enough.

Jesse swallowed past the lump in his throat, leaning his head back against the couch, still close enough that their shoulders were touching.

“Okay,” he muttered, staring at the ceiling. He looked at Nacho again, and then kissed him, quick, just a quick kiss and then he stands up. "I'm hungry."

Nacho looked amused at Jesse, then he stood up and guided Jesse into the kitchen, his hands on his shoulders, behind him. "Me too."

Jesse let himself be guided, the warmth of Nacho’s hands steady against his shoulders. It was casual, easy—like the tension from before had settled into something quieter, something less precarious.

The kitchen was dimly lit, the hum of the fridge the only sound as Nacho moved toward the cabinets. Jesse hovered for a second before leaning against the counter, watching him.

“What, you got, like, a whole meal plan in mind?” Jesse asked, smirking.

Nacho shot him a look over his shoulder, unimpressed. “You want food or not?”

Jesse held up his hands. “Hey, I’m not complaining. Just didn’t expect you to go full chef mode.”

Nacho shook his head but didn’t bother arguing. He grabbed a pan, setting it on the stove with practiced ease. Jesse watched as he moved, pulling ingredients from the fridge—eggs, tortillas, some leftover carne asada.

“Damn, you’re really cooking,” Jesse said, genuinely impressed. “Figured we’d just be eating cereal straight out of the box or some shit.”

Nacho gave him a look, setting a pan on the stove. “What, you thought I just lived off that?”

Jesse grinned. “Dude, everyone in this business lives off junk food and shit."

Nacho let out a quiet chuckle. “That why you look half-starved all the time?”

Jesse rolled his eyes. “I don’t look half-starved.”

Nacho sighed, shaking his head. “You’re eating what I make. No complaints.”

Jesse grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He stayed leaning against the counter, watching as Nacho cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them with efficient movements. It was almost weird, seeing him like this—relaxed, doing something so normal. Jesse was used to seeing him tense, always looking over his shoulder, always calculating. He swallowed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, suddenly restless.

“You cook a lot?” he asked, just to fill the space.

Nacho shrugged. “Gotta eat.”

Jesse huffed. “Yeah, well, so do I, but that doesn’t mean I actually cook.”

Nacho smirked. “Yeah, I can tell.”

Jesse scoffed, shoving at his shoulder lightly. “Rude.”

Nacho didn’t flinch, but Jesse swore he saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

For a while, they didn’t talk much. Jesse just stood there, letting the quiet settle around them. Nacho moved through the kitchen like he belonged there, like this was just part of his routine. Jesse found himself drawn to it—to the way Nacho didn’t feel the need to fill every silence, to the way he just existed without over-explaining himself.

When the food was done, Nacho plated it up without ceremony and handed Jesse a plate.

Jesse eyed the food—scrambled eggs, carne asada, warm tortillas. Simple, but it smelled good. “Damn,” he muttered, taking a bite. His eyes widened slightly. “Yo. This is actually fire.”

Nacho just shook his head, taking a bite of his own food. “You sound surprised.”

“I am surprised,” Jesse admitted, mouth still half-full. “Like, no offense, but I didn’t take you for the ‘cooking at home’ type.”

Nacho raised an eyebrow. “And what type did you take me for?”

Jesse paused, chewing thoughtfully. “Honestly? Thought you just lived off black coffee and stress.”

Nacho huffed out something that was almost a laugh. “That’s not sustainable.”

“Yeah, well, hasn’t stopped me yet,” Jesse said with a lopsided grin.

Nacho gave him a long look. “You should take better care of yourself.”

Jesse blinked. Something about the way Nacho said it—not as a throwaway comment, but like he actually meant it—made his chest feel weird. Warm.

They eat in silence, Jesse didn't try to speak, so neither did Nacho. 

After eating, they sat down on the couch, and Nacho put it on a random football channel, he seemed interested, but Jesse didn't like football. He was leaning against the couch, staring at the screen and feigning interest, he looks at Nacho, however he was too focused on the game. Jesse, hesitantly, leaned against Nacho. Resting his head on his shoulder. 

Nacho became rigid, but didn't dare to move, continuing to look at the TV. He was thinking about what to do, he then tried to relax.

He couldn't pretend not to like it for much longer.

Nacho leaned his cheek against the top of Jesse's head, then wrapping one hesitant arm around the other's aching body. He remembered Jesse's bruises and bruises, so he was careful. 

Jesse was surprised, I thought Nacho would try to push him away or just stand still, but no. Jesse smiled to himself, then leaning deeper into him, sighing. "'m still tired.."

Nacho hummed, agreeing. "I bet.."

Jesse's eyes fluttered closed, the warmth of Nacho's embrace settling over him like a blanket, both comforting and unfamiliar. He could feel the steady rise and fall of Nacho’s chest, the rhythm of his breathing as the game continued to play softly in the background. It felt like time had slowed down, the chaos of everything else slipping away for just a moment.

For once, Jesse didn’t feel like he was on the edge of something, waiting for it all to crumble. Here, with Nacho, he felt a strange kind of calm. No words were needed. He could just be.

“You’re not gonna make me watch this whole game, are you?” Jesse mumbled, his voice muffled by the fabric of Nacho’s shirt.

Nacho gave a small laugh, the sound quiet and low. “I’ll turn it off if you want.”

Jesse didn’t respond right away, letting the question hang in the air. Instead, he just breathed in, feeling the steady beat of Nacho’s heart against him. It was almost too easy to let the moment stretch on, to let the silence fill the space between them. The weight of the world seemed to shift, to lighten, just a little.

“Maybe just a few more minutes, but then I choose a channel. ” Jesse said finally, his voice soft and amused.

Nacho chuckled again, his fingers brushing against Jesse’s side in a small, absent gesture. It was a tiny thing, but it felt like a promise, something unspoken but understood. Jesse tilted his head back slightly, glancing up at him, his gaze lingering on Nacho’s profile.

Neither of them spoke. The quiet was comfortable, not awkward or forced. Just the two of them, in the dim light of the room, watching the football game with no rush, no expectation. Jesse could stay like this forever.