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[5055034455]

[...FUUUUUCK.]

Why don't you just go back to your room and get them now?

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i am! but she's like a bloodhound when it comes to food

[5055034455]

Well move those running legs faster, sweetheart~

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and what do i tell people if they ask why i'm sprinting through the halls?

[5055034455]

Easy: "fuck off and mind your own business"

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i was gonna say that might be suspicious but then i remembered who i am

[5055034455]

What, a beautiful little firebrand? A bombshell? A-mazing?

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a firebrand, really?

[5055034455]

Sure, why not?

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i'm not sure if that's a compliment or not

[no she knows it is she's just playing]

[5055034455]

Take it as you will...

I hope you like what I brought you.

[Why is he suddenly a little nervous?

Ew.]

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i'm pretty sure you can't go wrong with pastries

[5055034455]

We'll see.

1/2

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[She was jogging already, but that makes her put the tablet away and pick up the pace, so she doesn't respond again until she's actually at her door.

And picking up the box.

And seeing the book.

Which is-- That sure is a book of poems. In French. And she really shouldn't be standing in the hallway staring at it, but she's not really capable of managing anything else.

She's pretty sure this is the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for her. It's not like Tim or Dean were inclined to even small romantic gesture, and Ellie was more likely to affectionately tease her than buy her a poetry book.

A French poetry book, and somehow that just makes it feel so much more... something.

She hasn't even looked inside, but she knows she needs to say something to Saul, because if their roles were reversed right now, she'd be so nervous about his reaction. And she doesn't want him to worry, because she does like it. Loves it, really. She just has no idea how to process the whole thing.

In the end, she goes with the simplest course of action.]

thank you

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[Which is quickly followed by:]

i love you

[In case he thought her thank you might have been because she didn't like it and didn't want to hurt his feelings.]

[5055034455]

[So it's not that Saul was holding his breath, but Saul was maybe holding his breath.

This is part of why he hates texting: he knows this is her style, but he's not sure if he should be reading this as a good thing or a bad thing, like maybe that was a bit much...

But he'll find out later, he guesses.]

You're welcome. I love you too.

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let me know when i can come see you?

[5055034455]

Give me like 20 mins to clean up. I'll be done by then.

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i'll bring coffee

♥

[5055034455]

You're so good to me. ♥

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[Twenty minutes is, thankfully, long enough to have a little bit of a freak out at Babs about the whole situation, so by the time she's acquired coffee and standing in front of Saul's door, she's only blushing a little.

Which is still more than normal, but every time she's sure the blush has faded, she thinks about the book again and the pink is back in her cheeks.

This is ridiculous, but she's hardly going to avoid him over it, so she just has to suck it up and knock on the door.

She has no idea what she's going to say when he opens it, but hopefully she'll figure something out.]

[5055034455]

[Twenty minutes isn't long enough for Saul to have stopped feeling weird about it, but it is enough time for him to shower and organize himself. The distraction is nice, at least.

The thing is, though, he hasn't done any blushing.

...until he opens the door, and then he finds it difficult to even meet her eyes at all.

God.]

Hey.

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[Even if he tried to meet her eyes, it wouldn't work, because apparently the spot over his shoulder is fascinating.]

Hey.

[No.

No.

She refuses to act like this, it's ridiculous. She takes a deep breath, wrinkles her nose and looks at him properly.]

I-- no, you know what? We are not acting like a pair of teenagers with a crush.

[There. That's her decree.

She hands him his coffee, then slips past him into the room, trying to convince herself that she's done with blushing and that weird flutter in her chest.]

[5055034455]

[It is totally ridiculous.

And yet all he manages to do is allow his gaze to drift to the coffee in his hand and oh, yup, his cheeks sure are even redder than they were a second ago.

This isn't him. Saul Goodman does not get all giggly-blushy.

Then again, Saul Goodman doesn't fall in love quite the way he has or feel compelled to buy books of poetry in other languages just to show it, so...

Then again again, she is the only one who calls him by his real last name.



Instead of responding immediately, he takes a long swig of coffee.]

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Stop it.

[She takes a sip from her own mug, leaning against the far wall and watching him with feigned annoyance.

If they just refuse to acknowledge how ridiculous they are, they'll stop being so ridiculous.]