That night, like many others, Nacho was lying in bed in his room watching a movie. Or well, actually the ones who were watching said movie were Amber, Nikki and Jo, who were lying on either side of Nacho. The three girls had noticed for days that Nacho was more tense and pensive than usual, but none of them dared to ask.

Nacho's mind was on another plane. Even if he had wanted to sleep, he wouldn't have been able to. How could he when he was surrounded by psychopaths, as he called them? The Salamancas and especially that Gustavo Fring had made his life a living hell. And as if he didn't have enough, that afternoon he had argued with his father on the same subject, about getting his life back on track and turning himself in to the authorities.

'Not even dead,' thought Nacho. 'I'd rather die than spend the rest of my days in a cell.'

Tired, Nacho sighed, rubbing his forehead. He took his phone from his pocket and searched through his contacts for a specific one. Just the thought of you was enough to relax his frown.

That was another mistake he regretted: being a coward. Of course, ironies of life, for Nacho's hand did not tremble to kill if necessary, but he seemed to tremble like a little boy when he contemplated the possibility of confessing his feelings. You had that power over him, the power to make him feel like a teenager about to give his first kiss, and you didn't even know it. Finally, you answered the call.

'Hey.' Nacho said with a small half-smile. 'Still awake?' he asked casually.