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He is nothing like Max.
Which is probably a good thing, he thinks. Gus is to be able to love him without comparison to the other, without disappointment, or any memories. He could pretend to have never known anyone of the name Max at all and love him just like he loved when he was young, inexperienced. Eager and everything that now he is not. His mind runs through all of the possibilities, every card that he could play right to get to a place in life that he can barely convince himself is actually real. None of them end up interesting him and he tries not to show it, but he can't help but wonder if he is robbing himself of the one thing that he is ashamed to admit that he desperately wants, maybe needs. It'd be embarrassing, if he could allow himself to feel something like that. And it'd be embarrassing, if he could admit to himself why he is back here at all. Talking to him, at all. A part of him still tries to push the idea that he doesn't need anything but revenge. He wishes, he wishes that was true. Sometimes he wishes so hard that it almost becomes true.
“I wish we could talk more privately. Somewhere…outside of work. I-I mean, don't get me wrong, I don’t mind talking to you here, but…”
And maybe it's a bad thing, he thinks. Indulging in his repulsed fantasies would mean accepting the loss of Max, accepting someone who doesn't resemble him at all. Abandoning everything that Gus learnt to love about him, everything that his life is built upon. And that is something that he would never forgive himself for. All in all, he cannot afford having any more regret in his life, one which already has close to nothing that could actually be called living.
He knows, he knows that something slips in his expression and he knows that the man sees it. That something that anyone else would recognize as weakness, David recognizes as a sign of interest. It's like at that moment he forgets that his life is more important than the average persons, because he can't stop thinking about being killed right then and there just to escape the situation. He promises him that no one will see them go in or out and Gus believes him.
The scene reminds him of something he would've done in his younger years.
The bathroom is relatively small, but it doesn't smell unpleasantly or look dirty. Still, Gus is risking way more than he usually allows himself to by letting himself be pushed against a stall door and touched like this. Davids hands feel foreign, his lips feel foreign. Gus is barely able to connect everything that he is feeling to his own body. Maybe he forgot, or maybe he convinced himself he'd never experienced something like this in the first place, but it doesn't feel real, like something in between a nightmare and a wet dream. And he returns his kisses, he returns his touches, he allows him to fumble around with his clothes and moan against his skin. And he doesn't know why. He cannot figure out a reason for letting himself be here with him. He'd answer with passion if he didn't dread the word so much.
He thinks he knows where this is going. He hopes he knows where it isn't. He's put too much into David to be wrong about him and if he is, he's already decided every step he'd take to distance himself from the other. He can't decide. He can't decide if this is more natural for him than abstaining from it. He can't decide if his attempts to separate himself from the man he once was have been successful or if they're the reason he can feel David breathing against his naked skin right now. And maybe he closes his eyes and rather than imagining something, he pretends darkness is all he's ever known.
“Gustavo”
As if time had frozen over, for a second they become stuck together. Gus' body reacted quicker than his mind. It was all he realized, the figure standing in the darkness of his eyelids. He gripped onto one of Davids wrists and the man ceased to move, stopping his exploration abruptly. And when he looked up, he must've seen something in Gus' eyes, because there's this slight motion in his body. He backs away.
The silence falls heavy and it's hard to move against it, but his hand manages to find the knob of the stall door. Breaking eye contact with the man feels painful, yet freeing, like maybe a bee stinging someone, becoming stuck in their skin and ripping half of its body out to free itself. It hurts and all he can feel is regret.
He washes his hands at the sink directly in front of the stall. He turns it off, flails some of the water off of his hands and buttons up his shirt, refusing to glance at David through the mirror for even a second.
He looks back down again, not being able to collect himself to turn to the man. Must he feel guilt, or anger? Does he hate him or himself? Does he know that this is the last time they will ever see each other?
“It's not you, David. I deeply apologize. I hope someday you can forgive me.”
And maybe the problem isn't that David is nothing like Max, but rather that he is too much like him. And it's not that Gus can't replace Max, but rather that he can't forget him. Maybe there is no man that Gus could let himself love because there is no man that doesn't resemble him. And there is no way for someone to say Gus’ name without it sounding like him. Their hands will always feel like his and their hearts will always beat like his. And if it's all the same then why wouldn't they die like him. And if he allowed himself to make the same mistake again, then why would he let himself live this time. How could he trust his own humanity ever again.