Work Text:
December 31, 1988
"Almost done?"
Gustavo is finely chopping herbs for his papas mayo when Max wraps his arms around his waist and peers over his shoulder. The kitchen smells fresh and lively, and for a moment Max could believe they are in their dry and sunny apartment in Chile, where they are supposed to be, and not in humid and overcast Mexico. Gustavo relaxes into his arms as they reconvene about their respective days. Gustavo stayed home to cook, spending all day preparing for their evening together, while Max closed at the restaurant and brought home spit-roasted lamb he picked up at the market.
Like so many finer things in life, before Max, Gustavo did not know to appreciate food for what it is: A manifestation of love. Max showed him that it is more than a tool of survival, and now he spends most nights in bed next to Max pondering what to make for dinner the next day, which dish will make his partner the happiest. Their love language is more like an argument, each having to one-up the other with more and more grandiose acts of service. For each luxurious dinner, there is a heartfelt poem waiting on the bedside table the next morning. It's their strange way of co-existing. It works well enough; the love has to go into something, to prevent them both getting buried beneath it.
***
At midnight, they sit on the balcony, safe from prying eyes in the darkness. Through the iron grates, they can look down on Morelia, even see the two striking towers of the cathedral. Gustavo takes Max's hand from across the table and kisses the promise ring he gifted Max on Christmas. On his own hand sits the counterpart, silver, matching Max's golden one. The difference in color gives enough plausible deniability that it belongs to a fabricated heterosexual marriage, while still — if only for the two of them — making their commitment to each other official. They sit in comfortable silence, occasionally interrupted by distant fireworks. Max closes his eyes and silently wishes that one day, sooner than later, they can have a real engagement.
Max doesn't care much for traditions, but he still bought Gustavo a punnet of grapes like he asked. The cathedral's bell start to strike, and for each of the twelve tolls, representing the twelve months of the new year, they feed each other a grape. "If one is sour, it means you're going to have bad luck that month", Gustavo explains, and a second later, at the fifth ringing of the bell, Max chokes and drops his bowl in the process.
"Cielos! Are you okay?", Gustavo fusses as he scrambles to pick up the broken pieces. Max clears his throat and smiles at him with teary eyes.
"Sorry. Ate too fast."
"You scared me. ... I don't want you to eat these off the floor." Gustavo makes a grimace, wipes his hands on his pants and flicks the grapes off the balcony with his foot.
"Don't worry", Max laughs. "I'm not superstitious."
***
Later, in bed, as Max is mouthing at his neck, Gustavo asks: "So, did you wish for anything?"
Max chuckles against his throat.
"Mm. More costumers."
He gets a playful pat on the cheek. "What, like we're not busy enough already?"
Max shuts him up with a kiss. "And you? What do you want for next year?"
Gustavo sighs, dreaming of a world in which he sits in a big house where he is safe and content and unbothered.
"Honestly? Just some peace and quiet."
***