CW: Alternate POV's, anxiety, consumption of food and alcohol, fluffl followed by smut, overstimulation, rubbing the tip, feral Pedro, unprotected p-in-v, dirty talk, creampie. I think that covers it.
12.8K words (couldn't find the point to break for the next one, sorry not sorry)
- Sorry this one took this long, life got in the way. Hope the lenght of the chapter makes up for it. We're also reaching the end of this first season too.
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Throwing myself into the work was the only way to keep the emptiness at bay. It felt right to be swallowed by the endless hours shooting anything and everything. When the work was too much, my thoughts were quiet.
Episode 8 was a full-throttle Ellie-versus-David showdown. Intense as hell, and so demanding of every single person who makes this show comes to life. We came back to the studio to fix audio, reshoot some of the fight scenes to make it more believable, and to nail every single aspect of the most important shift of the story. And also, to prepare things for our last episode.
Pedro finished his part early and left for some meetings and to show up at the premiere of his new movie with Nicolas Cage.
I’d stagger to set before dawn, layers on under my coat, camera warm against my chest, and I’d shoot every spare moment: Bella’s quiet breaths through tearful and angry close-ups, the way their freckles caught the morning light, the tiny details no one else thought to capture. The grips and gaffers would nod at me as I passed, half-smiles of exhaustion displayed on their faces, but I barely noticed them—my mind was always halfway out of the frame, replaying the last night I’d fallen asleep in his arms, imagining how it felt for him to be back in New York, pacing through meetings with his agents.
I wasn’t some girl waiting around, twiddling her fingers and whispering I miss you into the void. That wasn’t me. Never was, really.
Yes, I thought about him. In the way I reached for my phone on my way back to the flat, the way I turned around in bed as if his body would still be there. But I wasn’t building my life around stolen weekends and text messages. I had too much going on, too much to do, and I was fucking good at it.
The last few weeks had felt like my career was open and rising—in the best way possible. My inbox was a chaos of new offers, some people called me for an editorial campaign. Another group of producers sent an offer to some independent film sets, and there’s even an exclusive series of on-the-road stills for a production house in east London. I had invitations to exhibits, panels, portfolio reviews… Everyone wanted to talk to the girl who got the most prestigious award on the field.
And I wanted to say yes to all of it.
But each yes meant something else entirely. Each yes was a step away from Pedro’s shadow. A step into a life where I wasn't just his girlfriend who takes cool pictures, but an artist carving out her place in the world. I could feel it happening, the ground shifting under my worn boots.
It scared the hell out of me.
Not the work, or even the pressure. I could handle all of that. What scared me was the tiny voice in the back of my head that asked, What happens when love isn’t enough?
Because we both had places to go, scripts to read, people waiting in other cities for us to perform our jobs. Pedro has awards seasons, interviews, and eventually… This would all be too much. The distance will feel endless.
I was afraid of being another name added to the list of things he couldn’t keep. And I think he was afraid of becoming someone I had to work around.
So I worked, I focused, I shot on digital and on analog. I poured myself into every single fucking frame, every shadow, every raw second I could bottle up in stills. Because I didn’t know how else to keep myself steady when the love I felt was tangled up with so much uncertainty. When even the thought of asking “What are we going to do when the show wraps?” made my throat tighten with so much anxiety.
Maybe we were strong enough to make it work or maybe we weren’t, but I wasn’t going to sit still and let life pass me by while I figured that out.
Kate was waiting for me when I walked in.
I hadn’t even taken off my boots yet. My hands were still half-numb from the cold, fingers fumbling with the zipper of my jacket. Every single day that I was working and she was off, she made this homemade potato soup. So I always came back to the flat smelling like comfort.
"You look like death," she said, not unkindly. Her legs tucked under a thick blanket, while she half-watched and half-scrolled on her phone.
"Thanks," I mumbled, kicking off my boots and shrugging out of my jacket with a groan. My shoulder ached from the gear I’d hauled around all day. “That’s the look I was actually going for.”
She didn’t laugh. Something about the unspoken care we always shared made her look at me long enough. I walked over the kitchen, filled a glass of water and leaned against the counter, finally letting my eyes meet hers.
"Sixteen hours?" she asked softly.
I nodded. "Give or take."
Kate stood up, crossed the room, and leaned against the counter next to me. She didn’t say anything at first, just took the glass from my hand, refilled it, and set it back into my hand.
"You’ve been doing that all week. Getting there before sunrise, leaving after the last person’s wrapped." Her voice was quiet and true. “You’re doing too much, like damn, you even showed up on your day off. That’s not healthy”
"I'm doing my job,” I said, trying to defend myself against something I knew was true. “It’s a tight schedule, you know how it is."
“You’re doing everyone’s job, and then some. And I get it… You're fucking incredible at it, and you're in demand and you're... you. But this?” She gestured at me, at the exhaustion spilling like a broken dam, the dark circles under my eyes, the rawness I was trying to keep tucked under my skin. “This isn’t sustainable, and you know it.”
I didn’t answer right away. I just took another sip of water and stared down into the glass like maybe it held the words I couldn’t find at the moment or just in general.
Kate sighed. “You think I don’t notice what’s happening? You’re working yourself into the ground trying to outrun something.”
“You’re trying to avoid thinking about Pedro, about what happens next, or about how everything’s changing and you’re scared shitless.”
Her words hit like a quiet, unexpected punch. I swallowed hard.
“I’m not running away,” I said, but my voice was too thin.
She softened, reaching out to touch my arm. “I didn’t say you were. I said you’re trying to outrun it... Big difference.”
I blinked and looked away. She was right, and I hated how weak that all sounded.
“I don’t know how to do this, Kate,” I admitted, finally letting the truth out of my mouth. “I don’t know how to be me and still be with him. I don’t know if we’ll make it, and if we don’t… I have no idea how the hell I’m going to survive all of this. It’s already too fucking intense.”
Kate exhaled, her hand still on my arm. “Then take the time to figure it out. But don’t kill yourself in the process.”
She pulled me into a hug before I could argue, before I could build the wall back up. I let her hold me, her chin resting on my shoulder, and for a second I let myself lean into the comfort, the hug of a friend who cared.
“You’re not alone in this,” she whispered.
I didn’t say anything. Just nodded against her shoulder.
Kate didn’t pull away right away. She gave me time, like she always did when I wasn’t ready to speak yet. Her arms stayed around me, grounding me, until she slowly leaned back, her hands resting gently on my arms as she looked me in the eye.
“Have you talked to him about all of this?” She asked.
I hesitated. My mouth opened, then closed. I reached for the glass of water again. Only to give my hands something to do.
“Not really,” I said finally, my voice barely audible.
I didn’t get an instant reaction, but her eyes gave her away. The way she was slowly figuring out some fears I tucked away for too long.
“You talk to him about everything,” she said gently. “You call him when you find a new kind of coffee you like. You text him pictures of weird dogs on the street. You tell him when someone rubs you the wrong way, but not this?”
“It’s different,” I tried to defend myself. “This is... big. This isn’t just about work or missing him. It’s about—” I stopped myself, teeth pressed into my bottom lip. “I don’t know how to say it without sounding like I’m already giving up.”
Kate leaned back against the counter again, arms crossed. “Then say it messy, say it scared... But say it. You can’t be the only one carrying this weight.”
“I don’t want to make him feel like he has to fix the whole thing.”
“There’s no fixing it, but carrying it alone will only do more harm than good.”
The words struck something tender and deep. I stared at her, feeling that tight part of my chest loosen just slightly.
“Do you think I’m being unfair?” I asked.
Kate gave me a soft smile. “I think you’re being human.”
I let out a tired breath, closing my eyes hard, as if held long enough, the fears would go away. “I love him so much it makes everything harder.”
“I know.” Her voice dropped into that gentle, almost maternal register she rarely used. “But loving him doesn’t mean disappearing into that love. You’re still you, and he loves you. Not the overworked, over-performing version who never says she’s scared.”
I nodded slowly, staring at the floor.
“I’ll talk to him,” I said with my voice low.
“Good.” She nudged my arm. “Maybe not tonight, you’re basically a ghost. But soon, before you start burning yourself out trying to hold the whole future in your hands.”
I managed a faint laugh. “You’re getting good at this whole ‘wiser sister’ thing.”
Kate smirked. “Shut up. I’m like, five years younger than you.”
She rolled her eyes and walked back toward the living room, calling over her shoulder, “Now go shower. You smell like wet snow and despair.”
I stood there for a while longer, too tired to move right away. The weight of the fear was still here, but not as crushing. And when I finally made my way to the bathroom, I kept replaying that one line in my head:
carrying it alone will only do more harm than good.
The days were a blur of snow-dusted mornings, endless hours on set, and late nights where I sat curled up with my laptop, still in thermals, fingers cold enough from staying outside and stiff from editing too many shoots. My camera bag barely left my side anymore. Neither did the dark circles under my eyes.
The second half of 2022 was turning into the busiest season of my career. And the most surreal so far.
I rolled down my inbox once more… a strange mix of genuine interest and thinly veiled opportunism. Some offers were clearly fueled by whispers of my relationship with Pedro. PR people and producers pretending to not know anything about us, but always circling back to the same weird questions.
"Would you be interested in working around our cast?"
"We think you’d be a great fit for something more… high-profile."
I could read between the lines. They all said: We want you because we’re pretty sure you’re the girl Pedro Pascal is dating.
Some part of me thought that this whole thing with our relationship wasn’t fair. I’d worked too damn hard, too long, for my name to be an accessory, to just be something people saw because of someone else’s fame.
But not all offers were bad. Two, in particular, caught my attention.
One was a gritty indie independent movie filming in Berlin—small, intimate crew.The director, a very strong name for the near future awards, had mentioned my name in some rooms with the right people. They want me because of my eye, my style and my pacing. They’d even referenced one of the shots I took in the early years of my career. Something those vultures that wanted me for fame would never look at.
The second was something quieter. A documentary project in rural Finland, following a month in the life of an isolated village—weather, light, grief, resilience. It was supported by an arts foundation, and a challenge to be conquered. No celebrity names, no red carpets, just pure, brutal storytelling. Something where the stills would matter as much as the actual footage.
I kept circling between the two folders on my laptop, clicking between moodboards and shooting schedules and payment breakdowns. Both projects would take me far, away from Calgary, from comfort, and away from my family and Pedro.
And I hated that part of me that hesitated.
I didn’t want to be the girl who gave up career milestones for love. I also didn’t want to be the girl who let her career push love away before it even had a chance to breathe.
The screen of my cellphone buzzed. A video call request. His name lit up, the picture of both of us together on his sofa, looking like two teenagers in love.
But I didn’t answer this time.
Not because I didn’t want to hear his voice. He was on my mind twenty-four-seven now, no way to escape. But I needed to be sure that wherever I went next, whatever I chose, it would be mine. Not because of him, and especially, not in spite of him.
Manhattan’s noises were in the distance, it could be a police car or an ambulance roaring so far down I couldn’t tell the difference. Franklin’s New York’s office always felt like a glass box designed to make you forget the sky. Cold walls, polished surfaces, perfect lighting. Clean enough to look expensive, sterile enough to make you sit up straighter.
I’d been chewing the same to-go coffee lid for ten minutes. My cup was long empty, and I wasn’t even sure I liked the coffee he got us to begin with.
Across the room, Sue was already perched by the desk, fingers ready on her tablet like she was preparing for battle. Franklin paced in that way he does when his mind’s ten tabs ahead of the conversation.
“All right,” he said, tapping at his iPad. “Locked in: Freaky Tales, starts this year. Two weeks prep in Oakland, then three to four weeks shoot. Tight, fun, you’ll love it.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Looking forward to that one.”
“Then we locked some dates to promote the last of us. We’ll let you rest by the end of the year, though.”
Sue turned the screen to me with a smile on her face “We’re almost closing your first SNL too.” The Ipad showed some pages of the contract she was going over.
Those three letters alone made my stomach turn upside down inside of me. And they kept going.
“For Gladiator 2 we’ll have to fly to Morocco. Late summer. Hope you’ve been hitting the gym, amigo, that armor doesn’t forgive middle age.”
I forced a laugh, but I didn’t have it in me to fake it good enough. Sue didn’t even look up now. She cleared her throat to keep going with this crazy schedule.
“We still have Materialists, Last of Us season 2, The Uninvited, Eddington…”
I ran my hands together. The speed of it all was scary as fuck, and they were only halfway through the list.
Franklin grinned. “You’re hot right now. You’ve earned this. The projects are solid. You’re in a position where you can pick the scripts you want, the people you trust.”
“I know,” I said, slower this time. “And I’m grateful.”
“But?” Sue looked up, finally. She always caught the crack before anyone else.
I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair. “But I’m not twenty-five anymore, and I’ve got someone in my life now, someone who matters. This isn’t a casual thing, she’s not just a quick romance on set. I’m trying to build something that lasts.”
Franklin slowed his pacing. “Build how? Like... house and kids kind of build?”
I gave him a look. “Maybe. I don’t know yet. But I’m not going to throw it away just because the schedule’s too busy.”
Silence fell over us for a heartbeat. They both looked at each other in a silent conversation, even though I was right there with the empty coffee cup still clutched to my hands.
Sue tilted her head. “Pedro... You’ve been here before. You know what this business does to relationships. Especially when both people are in it.”
“She’s not in it the same way.”
“She’s still in it,” she said as if it was some obvious shit. “And she’s getting buzz. The award put her on the radar. You two together? It’s a headline waiting to happen.”
“She doesn’t want that,” I shot quickly back. “She doesn’t care about being seen.”
Franklin folded his arms. “That’s not how it works, though. You don’t get to choose how and where the spotlight hits. You start making personal decisions that pull attention... it bleeds into press, set dynamics, endorsement deals. We’ve seen it, man.”
I leaned forward. “What exactly do you think I’m doing wrong?”
Franklin tensed a little, but Sue was the calm during the storm, she didn’t flinch.
“We’re not saying she’s wrong for you. We’re saying she might not be right for what this life demands right now. There’s a big difference.”
“She’s not some hanger-on,” I said, jaw tightening strong enough to hurt. “She’s one of the most talented people I’ve met. She works harder than anyone I’ve seen on a set. That award? She earned it. Every single bit of it.”
Sue nodded. “Sure. She’s good, maybe great. But you know how this town works. The second they smell a story? The second someone sees the two of you together in another blurry photo outside a hotel? It’s no longer about talent. It’s about narratives. Control them or get swallowed by them.”
“You’re not claiming her either,” Franklin said, softer. “And maybe... maybe that’s the safest move for now.”
My chest felt heavy. I had to stand up slowly… just because I didn’t want to be in that chair anymore. Actually, I didn’t want to be in this office.
“You know what?” I said, voice low and controlled. “You don’t know her. You haven’t seen how she navigates this world. She’s thoughtful, quiet, and brave in ways people don’t notice. She doesn’t give a damn about being photographed next to me. But she shows up for me in ways I didn’t think I deserved anymore.”
Sue watched me, her expression unreadable. “Just don’t confuse timing with fate.”
I looked at her. The feeling of being outnumbered was stronger now. They both were calculating their words, and their looks towards me, both cold and judgemental.
“This isn’t a mistake,” I said determinedly. “She’s not a mistake.” Then, even quieter, almost to myself, “I’d give all of this up before I made her feel like one.”
My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I didn’t check it. I knew it was her. Probably a picture of Calgary’s skyline from her flat, or something she saw on set. Maybe a ‘miss you’ that I’d read five times before answering.
I stared out the window instead. Watched Manhattan breathe, the way only this city could — fast, loud, and indifferent to any of this drama.
I’d lived long enough in its rhythm to know how easy it was to lose yourself in the motion. But for once... I didn’t want to get swept in.
For once, I wanted to hold onto the one thing that made all of this worth it.
The silence was bigger than it felt. Giving me that faint sign that I should buckle up and get ready for something coming my way. I shifted my weight and turned my body to look at them. Franklin almost sitting at the edge of his desk, and Sue comfortable by the couch.
“So,” he said, so normal, it looked like he was getting our lunch order. “Which one are we dropping?”
I blinked twice before a single word came out of my mouth.
He tilted his head, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The five movies? The scheduling puzzle? You just said this relationship matters, so tell us which project we’re pulling to make room for it.”
My jaw tensed even more after each word. “It’s not that simple—”
“It is,” Sue cut in, calm and brutal. “You want time? We make time. But it comes at a cost. So which one we’re dropping?”
I looked at both of them. The weight of the question didn’t feel hypothetical. They were too good for that. It felt like an ultimatum dressed in casual negotiation. Something that twisted my stomach even more.
“I’m not ready to answer that,” I said, feeling like a cornered animal.
Franklin threw his hands in the air, starting to pace again. “Then we’re flying blind, Pedro. We have dates that need locking, studios that need commitment. Flights… You want to be an artist? Great. Be an artist. But don’t get mad when the machine asks for decisions. That’s the job.”
“I’m not getting mad,” I bit back so fast. “I’m thinking. There’s a difference.”
“Thinking’s expensive,” Sue muttered, scribbling something on her screen.
“Well, you guys are asking me a big question, I’m allowed to think about it. It’s my fucking career at the end of the day.”
I sat down, leaned my back in the chair, suddenly feeling all of my almost forty-seven years hit me in the spine. “I’m not going to throw away a role just because I’m seeing someone. But I also don’t want to fill my year with films that feel safe or hollow. If I’m going to be gone for months at a time, away from someone I care about... the work better be worth it. It better mean something.”
Franklin’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not above the hustle, Pedro. You’re hot right now. But this industry forgets fast. You say no to the wrong film, the wrong director, the wrong offer? You could be sitting here in a year begging for a cameo.”
I rubbed at my temple. “I’m not saying no. I’m saying: Let me think.”
Sue looked at Franklin, then back at me. Her eyes sharp with something she was about to drop into my direction. When her mouth opened, the words came in slow, so I could understand every single one of them.
“There might be a Marvel offer coming in soon.”
She nodded. “We don’t have details yet. But we know casting’s started for two Phase 5 and 6 projects. One of them’s eyeing you.”
“Not yet. But they’re asking around. Quietly.”
Franklin jumped in, voice suddenly bright, like we’d all just walked into a sunnier room. “That kind of deal sets you up, Pedro. It locks you in for the next five years. Franchises, spin-offs, money like you’ve never seen. Global visibility.”
I ran a hand down my face. “Yeah, and no privacy. No off switch.”
Sue met my gaze. “You’d be taking your girl into a much much bigger storm. Are you guys ready for that?”
That was the real question under all of this. Not the schedule. Not the travel. Not even the Marvel machine coming on the edge of the horizon.
Could I love her and do this?
Could I live in the kind of spotlight I’d always sidestepped—while trying to protect someone who never asked to stand in it?
Not a single word came to my rescue.
All I could think about was her face the last time I saw her, curled into my chest like she could sleep off the weight of the world when she was by my side. The way she took care of everyone but herself. The way she made me laugh when I was empty. And the way she made me feel things that had nothing to do with work, power or fame.
She deserved someone who wouldn’t make her feel second to a contract.
But she also deserved someone who knew who they were. Who didn’t walk away from their craft every time things got complicated.
“I need a couple of days,” I said finally. “That’s it. Two days.”
Franklin sighed but nodded. Too tired of this conversation to argue. Sue didn’t say anything else. Just tapped her screen and moved on to emails.
And I sat there… wondering how many days you could ask for before the world moved on without you.
READER'S POV
The calendar on my phone stared back at me waiting for me to do something about it.
It marked the beginning of April.
Pedro’s birthday. His forty-seven.
I knew he didn’t like making a big deal out of it. He was the kind of man who’d much rather bury himself in scripts and meetings than sit in front of a cake with people singing at him.
Last year we didn’t know each other. Last year he celebrated during the shooting of one of the “mid-covid’ productions. With his cast-mates somewhere in the UK. This year he’s over in New York.
As his unofficial girlfriend I should be there, right?
“Are you sure about this?” Kate had asked the night before, watching me try to fit two vans shoes into one padded backpack.
I zipped it shut, gave her a look. “He’s doing everything he can to protect what we have. The least I can do is show up.”
She didn’t argue. Just gave me a nod that said, go get your man, then promised she’d hold things down on set until I came back, which was about three full days off.
Lux was in on it too. She’d FaceTimed me from her tiny but gorgeous Brooklyn apartment, practically buzzing with excitement.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t text you during your travel hours,” she grinned. “Then drag him to the rooftop bar. You time it just right, and boom—there you are.”
I’d laughed, nerves tangling with the anticipation. “You’re too good at this.”
“I watch a lot of rom-coms,” she winked. “And anyway, he deserves this. You both do.”
I've been working nonstop. Accepting meetings, narrowing down projects, just… Trying to keep my brain busy enough to not feel the echo of him in every silence. But nothing really filled the space he left.
Now I was on a direct flight to JFK, my bag tucked under the seat, and my heart punching against my chest like it knew something big was coming. I spent too much money on a last minute flight to time my arrival just right like Lux said.
But the fucking flight was delayed. Of course it was. April skies over Calgary had cracked open with a storm that morning, as if the universe just needed one more obstacle before I got to him.
I manage to switch off to another company and by the time we hit cruising altitude, all I could think about was his face.
What it would look like when he saw me again. What it would feel like to hold him, to kiss the curve of his jaw and whisper, “Happy birthday” into his skin. What it meant to choose this, even when we both knew how hard it is.
The plane touched down late, the city lights glittering below as something unreal. I checked my phone, only to find one new text from Lux from twenty minutes ago.
“He’s here. Clueless. I’ll keep him talking. You good?”
21:05 - Lux
“Just landed. Be there soon.”
21:26 - Still.
Outside, the wind was still biting, but I didn’t care. I pulled my coat tight, shouldered my bag, and walked out into the blur of yellow cabs and horns and the kind of energy that only New York could hold.
He didn’t know I was coming into his night.
That felt like a superpower. Loving someone to a point that you make crazy decisions like a last minute flight.
When I arrived at the rooftop
bar it was warmer than expected, string lights casting a golden haze over the tables and the Manhattan skyline. One thing I noticed as well: It was quiet. Not normal quiet, but the kind where you can still hold a conversation. This is the kind of place you’d bring someone important when you didn’t want eyes or noise. Lux had chosen well.
I spotted her first. Propped against the railing with a drink in hand, pretending to be casual, eyes darting toward the far corner every few seconds.
Then I saw him, my birthday boy.
His broad back turned to me. The hair had grown out a little, some of his curls at the back brushing his collar. He was laughing at something Lux had said, head tilted just enough that I could see the lines in the corner of his eyes.
I missed him more than I care to admit.
I walked slow. Every step felt like a held breath, I didn’t want to startle him, no, I wanted to savor this, the quiet seconds before his world shifted.
Lux spotted me, smiled behind her glass, and said, loud enough for him to hear: “Don’t look now, but I think your birthday wish just came true.”
He turned while she was still speaking.
At first, he blinked like he didn’t trust what he was seeing. Then his mouth parted slightly into an “o” shape, the stunned silence stretching just enough to make my heart hammered inside my chest so hard I lost my breath.
“Hi,” I said, smiling as if my whole body exhaled just to say it.
His eyes had that sparkle, igniting a little more as he forced his brain to catch up to reality.
“You’re here?” he asked, voice already cracking with disbelief.
I nodded. “Feliz cumpleaños, Cariño.”
Then he was across the space in between us, pulling me into him like he’d been underwater this whole time and I was the air he needed. His arms wrapped tight around my back, my cheek pressed against the place where his heart beat the hardest.
He kissed the side of my head, my temple, my jaw… honestly? Just any spot his lips could reach at this point, soft and frantic, like he didn’t know where to land on first.
“You flew all the way from Calgary?”
“I had help,” I said, grinning as Lux slipped out quietly, giving us space.
“You didn’t tell me… Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look at me.
“Because I wanted to see that face.”
He laughed, his hand resting against my cheek, thumb brushing lightly under my eye. “Fuck, I missed you. You don’t even know.”
“I think I have some idea.”
He leaned in and kissed me. Not caring about anything else other than to show me how much the weeks apart were eating him up. His lips crashed soft against mine, and there was a faint taste of a fruity drink in his mouth.
When he pulled back, his voice dropped to that quieter, deeper register. The one he only used when it was just us.
“I was dreading this birthday, you know. Didn’t want to celebrate. Just another year of trying to keep up with everything.”
I touched the side of his face, traced my fingers down to his chest. “You don’t have to keep up with anything right now. You’re allowed to slow down.”
He nodded slowly, forehead resting against mine for a moment before he whispered, “Best birthday surprise I’ve had in years.”
We sat in a shadowed corner of the rooftop, where the noise of the city faded into something soft and distant, like waves you knew were there, but couldn’t quite hear. His leg was pressed against mine under the table, not even intentionally at first, but neither of us moved. That kind of contact that’s said it had been too long. Lux was somewhere in the middle of the place with—seems to be—a friend.
Pedro flagged the waiter with two fingers and ordered our drinks like he always did. Whiskey for both of us. Mine with a single rock, his neat. It always light something inside me to hear him say “She’ll have what I’m having, just colder.”
“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said again, voice low as he turned his body fully toward me, elbow hooked over the back of his chair.
“You’re going to keep saying that until midnight, aren’t you?”
He grinned. “Maybe. I still think this might be one of those dreams where I wake up and Franklin’s yelling at me about deadlines.”
I laughed into my glass. “I thought I’d get here earlier, but the flight was delayed and Lux had to sneak me past the front desk so it didn’t blow the surprise.”
“She told me she had ‘plans’ tonight and to not call unless I was bleeding.” He shook his head. “I should’ve known.”
The whiskey hit warm in my chest… Or maybe that was just him, watching me like he had every intention of memorizing this version of me — hair down, flushed cheeks from the wind, smiling like I was finally whole again.
“So,” I said, stretching the word out, “How’s the circus?”
He rolled his eyes and took a long sip. “Tiring. Meetings, fittings, press scheduling, more meetings. Everyone wants something. I’m either supposed to be charming or mysterious, and I can’t keep track of which.”
I smirked. “You’re usually both.”
“I try.” He looked at me with a softened smile. “And what about you? How’s Calgary... or wherever you’re at now?”
“Yeah, still Calgary. Only moving to Grand Prairie next month, remember?,” He nodded and smiled. I just kept going. ”We had to reshoot the mall sequence with Bella and Storm.”
Pedro took another sip and hummed. “They told me. Said it was one of the hardest days they ever had on set.”
I nodded, wrapping my hands around the glass. “I got another one of my favorite shots. You had to see the mall set when it all lights up. It’s pure magic, I barely touched the photo after. It came out like it was already finished.”
He stared at me for a second. “I hope you know how ridiculously good you are.”
I shrugged, pretending not to glow from it. “I’m starting to believe it.”
The conversation flowed the way it always did when we weren’t on opposite coasts. Effortless. He told me about the premiere coming up, the questions he was dreading, the people he was pretending to be excited to see. I told him about the project offers flooding in since the award — the meetings I’d taken, the ones I’d skipped, the two jobs I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.
“Where are they shooting?” he asked.
“One’s in Berlin, and the other in the countryside of Finland right after.”
His eyebrows rose. “You’re gonna disappear off the face of the Earth then.”
“Exactly.” I met his tired eyes. “And so are you.”
He didn’t answer for a moment. Just took another sip of his drink and looked past me, at the skyline. The wind tugged a curl of his hair loose, and I watched his fingers twitch like he was thinking about a dozen things at once.
Pedro knew what I meant, his second half of the year would be less crowded, but he still had a movie in Spain, a other projects line up
“I don’t want this to turn into something we just remember fondly,” I said, voice quieter.
He turned his eyes back to me. “It won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No,” he agreed fiercely. “But I can promise I’ll fight like hell to make sure it doesn’t.”
I looked at him for a long time. The lines near his eyes, and the way his throat moved when he swallowed. How his hand reached for mine under the table and didn’t let go for a second.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “Whatever it looks like. You and me? This is the good part.”
I wanted to believe that, and I found in his eyes the strength to finally calm down my thoughts and truly trust that we had the bigger chance to make this thing something unbreakable.
We stayed at the bar a little longer. Lux returned eventually, sliding into the seat beside us as if she’d never left, ordering champagne and raising a toast “to two idiots trying to date in show business.”
Pedro laughed and made a dramatic bow of agreement. I tipped my glass against his and said, “To fools in love,” with a smile that maybe meant more than I intended.
And when the check came, he insisted on paying it. “It’s my birthday,” he said, even though he always did that.
Outside, the wind cut sharp through the city as we stepped into the night. His hand found my lower back, guiding me to the uber like I hadn’t spent weeks getting used to not having that hand there.
The car dropped us off on a quiet block in Brooklyn, where the wind carried the smell of curry and something vaguely floral — probably from a nearby window box someone still believed in, despite the city air.
Pedro unlocked the building with a worn key and led me up two flights of stairs. The old hallway creaked with every step. “Sorry,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s got charm, I promise.”
But the second he opened the door, I didn’t need convincing.
His apartment was everything the one in Calgary wasn’t.
The place I knew ever since I met him had been sterile and it screamed temporary. Clean in the way a hotel is, with not much to say about who he really is.
The walls were warm tones and cluttered in the best way — books stacked in mismatched piles on the floor, Polaroids taped to the fridge, a guitar on a stand in the corner, half-buried under an old hoodie. There were movie posters almost everywhere, some old, some signed. Framed art pieces and a bulletin board filled with tickets, scribbled notes, and a Time magazine cover tucked in the corner like he was trying to forget it was there.
The whole place smelled like cedar, pepper, and coffee. Just like him.
I stopped inside the doorway, struck by the sheer intimacy of it.
He watched me take it all in while staying behind me, his hands slipping into his coat pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“You weren’t kidding,” I said. “This is you.”
He gave a small smile. “Yeah. It’s a mess...”
“It’s perfect,” I said with a dreamy voice, meaning every word.
He moved past me, shrugging off his jacket, dropping his keys into a ceramic dish shaped like a hand. “Want anything? Tea? Whiskey? Food I probably shouldn’t still have in my fridge?”
“I want to see more of this place,” I said, toeing off my boots and hanging my jacket.
He chuckled, and nodded toward the hallway. “Come on, then.”
There was a second bedroom he called his ‘reading cave’, though it looked more like a chaotic library full of thick scripts, and huge books. A tiny office with two screens, half a dozen notebooks, and a framed photo of him and his dad. The bathroom was surprisingly tidy for a man living by himself. Then we reached the bedroom.
It wasn’t big. But it felt like him in every single small detail.
A navy-blue comforter, linen sheets slightly rumpled. A stack of books on the nightstand — some fiction, some not — and an incense tray next to a worn leather-bound journal. I walked over to it, noticing the corner of a photo sticking out from between the pages, and from where I stood, I could only recognize half of my work-jacket. It was a picture of us just before he left to come to New York.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, watching me with a softness I knew too well.
“You really live here,” I said so low, I thought he didn’t hear.
“I think I’m in love with this place.”
He tilted his head. “Is that a dealbreaker for Canada?”
I gave him an amused look. “Don’t push your luck.”
He smiled wider. “You hungry?”
I stopped for a second, looked right at him, and my voice came out syrupy “Yeah, just not for food.”
That shifted the air between us. I felt it immediately — the warmth that pooled in my stomach when he looked at me like that, like we hadn’t just spent weeks pretending not to need each other constantly.
I walked over to him, slipping my hands onto his shoulders, then into his hair. He leaned into the touch like he’d been waiting for it.
“I missed you, Pascal,” I whispered. “but not just you… I missed this… Seeing you in your space, seeing more of your world.”
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against my stomach. His arms wrapped around my waist, holding me there like I was the only steady thing in his life for a second.
“I hate that it’s rare,” he said with his eyes closed as I caressed his hair. “I hate that we have to fly across time zones just to remember what this feels like.”
I slid my fingers through his curls again. “We’ll figure it out.”
He looked up at me. “Promise?”
“No,” I said, smiling. “But we'll fight for it, that's enough.”
He pulled me down into his lap as if it was the easiest thing in the world — and it was, because my body was wired to his, pulling like opposite poles of magnets. His hands slid to the small of my back under my shirt, holding me there and touching my skin at the same time, and I could feel the warmth of him even through my clothes. The way his touch could calm the static in my chest with just the press of his palms… I will never get used to it.
We kissed slowly, tasting each other after weeks apart. And we should look like two people who were rushing to tear each other’s clothes off, but we were acting sure of what we knew: At this point we knew every inch of each other, and we wanted to savor it.
His lips moved against mine, memorizing the curve of my mouth all over again. One of his hands tangled in my hair, his fingers brushing behind my ear as he deepened the kiss just slightly, pulling me closer with a quiet sigh that vibrated between our bodies.
I didn’t even notice how I was breathing until I felt it start to sync with his.
The room faded. The city outside — the occasional honk, a voice down the street, the low noise of Brooklyn being Brooklyn — it all melted into some background noise. What stayed sharp was the scratch of his stubble under my chin, the little inhale he made when I kissed the corner of his mouth, the way his fingers tightened at my waist when I moved in closer, chest to chest at this point.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he murmured, his mouth barely brushing my skin as he said it. “My days were so boring.”
I leaned my forehead against his. “Same. It’s… stupid, how much Calgary feels empty without you.”
He laughed quietly, but it wasn’t mocking. He knew the feeling, he went through the same ache, but Pedro was still full of disbelief, like maybe he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that this was real. That I was here, in his apartment, in his arms, on the night of his birthday.
“I’ve had dreams about this,” he whispered. “About you walking through my door like this. And not just for a night. For the kind of quiet moments people don’t get in rental apartments.”
“Then maybe we stop dreaming…” I said, voice soft, hand coming up to trace his jaw.
He tilted his head and kissed the inside of my wrist, his eyelashes fluttering closed and right there I believed that him feeling the rhythm of my pulse beneath his lips was something holy.
We stayed like that for a while — lips brushing, breath mixing, the weight of us settled into the shape of each other. My knees rested on either side of his hips, and he adjusted me gently, so I was even closer. I could feel every part of him then.
I felt the steady beat of his heart against my chest, the heat of his hands slipping under my shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin with intention but no rush. And I felt him getting harder with each kiss.
His mouth moved to my jaw, then the edge of my neck, making me shiver all over. His nose brushed against the sensitive spot beneath my ear, earning a soft moan from me, and he caught it with a hum, lips returning to mine like he couldn’t stay away for long.
“I wish I could stop time,” he said against my mouth. “Just… keep you right here. In this apartment, on my lap. Forever.”
I smiled into his kiss. “That sounds incredibly inconvenient.”
He huffed a laugh, brushing his nose against mine. “I’d make it work.”
I kissed him again, deeper each time. Let myself sink into it. There was so much I wanted to say, but nothing that felt better than this. Than his fingers stroking the small of my back, the gentle roll of his hips that told me he wasn’t immune to the way I was pressing into him.
His mouth parted just enough for me to feel the catch in his breath, and his hand moved slowly, lifting my shirt inch by inch. My fingers threaded through his hair as I leaned back with just my bra covering my chest. Our mouths brushed twice before he crashed his lips back into mine. I pressed my hips into his again, and this time he groaned into my mouth — a low, involuntary sound that lit me up from the inside out.
He stood with me still in his lap, hands sliding down to the backs of my thighs as he lifted me easily, making me wrap around him. I let out a soft gasp and tightened my grip on his shoulders, feeling the way his body was solid beneath mine.
My body was laid back carefully on his soft bed and then he hovered above me, looking at me the way he always does right before we forget everything else in each other.
“Is this okay?” he asked, brushing my hair out of my face. “Tell me if you’re too tired. I just…”
I reached up and cupped his cheek. “I’m not too tired, Pedro. I came here for this too.”
The confession made something melt inside him, bringing his wide smile, and the start of the soft kisses on my skin. Our clothes found the floor of his bedroom one by one with no rush whatsoever. This was about proving something to ourselves, and to each other. That even after weeks apart and all the uncertainty and the distance, the way we fit hadn’t changed.
The slow trace of his lips dipped lower every time they found my warm skin. Earlobe, neck, collarbone, the middle of my chest… He left open mouthed kisses and small hickeys. My nipples went hard just by touch alone, and when his mouth sealed on the left one I arched my back to him with a hitched breath.
I rolled my hips twice, searching for friction to relieve the ache I felt. But Pedro’s hips pinned mine, and I felt his smile on my skin.
“I’ll get there, hermosa” He purred as his fingers rolled the other nipple “You’ll need to be patient.”
Little tease knew how to undo me.
He sucked the skin of my left boob again. The hand over the other going a little rough now and I loved it. The sensation growing hotter, pulling small gasps from me.
“Pedro…” I called as soon as I felt him hard and pressing against my inner thigh. “Please.”
“I fucking need you” The words left my mouth in a hurry. A plea from a body that wanted more.
“But I’m having so much fun.”
I was about to lose it against him when his hips made one small thrust, the head of his cock grazing my clit once and sending a bolt of electricity from there straight to my mind.
He felt it too. Pedro dropped his forehead to my chest as he did it again with more intention this time. The hand that was needling my breast going down to guide his hard cock. Pressing harder against my swelling bean. I moaned a little louder this time.
“That’s it, baby” Pedro said, doing the same movement over and over. “That’s fucking it.”
His length getting a coat of arousal as his hips rocked against my folds and he moaned against my skin.
There was no need for him to put it inside me, I was getting off with just this. Just him pressing and rubbing the head against me, groaning with the sensation. My hands found their way to his neck, pulling just a little at his hair.
It could be minutes or hours. He brought me to the edge at least three times and then he denied my orgasm each time with the change of pace. And that only made me call for his name over and over again.
The explosion behind my eyelids made me press the heels of my feet to the back of his thighs.
“Pedro, I’m coming, I’m fucking—” I could finish it, the air left my lungs so fast.
It swiped over me, heavy waves making my body move on its own, riding the feeling for the longest minutes until I was overstimulated. He stopped when I tried to get a distance in between us. My clit was pulsing now.
But we only paused for a few seconds so I could take a breath.
“I need to feel you, Cariño” Pedro’s voice sounded desperate now. “Need to be deep inside you.”
No teasing, no more rubbing against me.
He was acting on pure instinct by now. Sweat gathered on his temple as his hands brought my legs up to my chest and in one single thrust he buried himself inside me, with a delicious and stinging stretch.
“Tightest pussy I’ve ever had,” His hips rolled slowly as he spoke and we both moaned. ”Best birthday present.” He was babbling now.
Pedro lost himself so easily. And what started as a slow roll of his hips, turned to a hard snap, each time deeper, and rougher.
The sounds on his bedroom were from a hard fuck. His arms hugging my legs as he drove inside me, over and over again, hips snapping into me at a fast pace, his balls slapping against my ass cheeks.
I love when he lets himself get lost into this.
“H—harder” I asked, getting a primal growl in return. The sound dizzying, messing with my mind.
The weight of him pressing me against the mattress was something delicious. I was folded in half taking what he gave me, gasping and moaning loud. Not caring that the upstairs neighbor could hear everything.
He smiled, biting my ankle to repress some of his grunts. “That’s it, cariño… let it go, I got you, got you…” He shifted down my legs right then, settling in between them, hugging me tightly. His head dropped to the side of my neck and his hips picked up speed.
The friction was almost too much, and the snap of hips sent jolts of pleasure around my body.
“Gonna cum so deep inside you” He said against my skin, bed creaking lewdly with the weight of our bodies moving fast.
“Do it, I want to feel all of it.”
My hips were trying to keep up with his pace as my mind started to fog up with too much pleasure. I could feel every inch of his big and fat cock against my walls, and I could hear him painting for air against my collarbone, moaning and grunting.
“Shit, I’m—I’m yours Pedro” I said, rolling my hips to meet his “Yours to fuck, I’m so yours” The fire inside me started to burn too hot.
“Mine, my girl, all mine” He said in between thrusts.
One of his hands came in between us, his pace never slowing down, and he started to rub my clit while still pounding into me. And as if involuntary, his head lift to watch me while I came undone.
“You’re gonna cum? Right here while I stuff you full—” He didn't get to finish, because I crashed my lips upwards to his. My hands fisting his hair and my tongue deep inside his mouth.
My ankles dug into his calf as my legs started to shake. “Your cunt is squeezing me so tight, baby” He said against my lips as I was cumming hard, coating him with every gush of juices that left my pussy.
I arched my back just a little, digging your nails into his shoulders as wave after wave washed, making me spasm my whole body. Pedro’s name was the only thing I could manage to say, over and over again. He groaned loudly at the way I was so tight in that moment, his thrusts stuttering as his hands held me open, grinding into my deepest point.
It was obvious now how he was only holding back by a thread this whole time.
“Fuck—fuck baby, I can’t…” He left the words hanging while still pounding into me.
“Cum for me, Pedro” I said ruskly into his ear. My legs were made of jelly now, and I still had the aftershocks going around.
His body pushed so damn deep inside of mine, and then it stilled with the deepest groan. Hot ropes of his cum spilled deep inside, the pulse of his cock thick, insistent and warm. “Take it, take all of it” He mumbled with his hips jerking in small thrust, filling me until it leaked down the sides of my thighs.
Just when he started to weight too much on top of my body, easing from his own orgasm, his body fell sideways, leaving me empty still pulsing and clenching around nothing now. We both had this stupid smile on our faces, a little breathless, and wrecked.
Silence settle around us, as if the wrong word would break the spell of this dizzying happiness we both were into. But eventually, I found the the courage to say something, and just whispered, “I missed you.”
He smiled softly, eyes on me “I missed you more.”
Pedro reached for a towel from the side of the bed, and gently began to clean me up. Little dabs around my skin trying not to not leave anything behind. His concentration with the aftercare was the cutest thing ever.
Towel was tossed aside when he finished. He tucked the blanket back around us, pulling me close to his warm chest. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles over my shoulder as our breathing evened out.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The city outside was distant through the windows — low sounds of people passing by on the sidewalk, a flicker of light against the wall coming through a gap on the closed window. In here, though, it was quiet, the safest place on Earth.
I could feel the rhythm of his heart behind me, steady and strong. “Do you ever get scared of this?” I asked before I could stop myself.
His hand paused, then resumed. “Of what?”
“This.” I hesitated. “Us, you know? Not the feelings part, but… the reality. What it means when everything isn’t wrapped in our flats and the same set, or the same city.”
Pedro was quiet, thinking. After a while he took a deep breath and spoke softly “Yeah, yeah, I do.”
I nodded, grateful he didn’t lie.
“But then I think,” he continued, “what’s scarier… Trying and maybe messing it up… or walking away and wondering forever if we could’ve made it work?”
“I think about that too. A lot, actually.”
He pressed his lips softly to my temple. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Neither do I, but I want to figure it out — with you.”
I turned toward him with those words, shifting so we were face to face, our foreheads almost touching in the dark.
“I don’t want us to lose what we have,” I said softly, every word carrying the fear of a possible broken heart.
Pedro’s eyes were already on mine, dark and soft in the low light. He didn’t answer right away. His thumb traced over my skin, slow and rhythmic, almost absently, grounding me while his silence stretched just long enough to make the heaviness settle in the room.
My mind was in a panic mode. Anxiety kicked in just by having this conversation with him, making my skin tingle and my heart pound inside my chest.
“I don’t either,” he finally said. “Not even a little bit.”
I exhaled, eyes fluttering shut. “It scares me,” I admitted. “Like, sometimes I lie awake at night thinking about how everything is changing ahead of us...”
He pressed his forehead against mine, his hand moving up to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear. “We knew this wouldn’t be forever,” he murmured. “But we can make it work outside of Calgary.”
“What if it’s not enough?” I asked, and I hated how small I sounded. “What if love isn’t enough to balance all the chaos? All the traveling, and the time apart, and—”
“Then we adjust,” he interrupted gently. “We learn how to be in it with the time apart, together.”
I opened my eyes to look at him again. There was no panic in his expression, no hesitation either, just a kind of quiet confidence that made something shift in my mind.
“You always sound so sure,” I said, half-smiling to him to hide the anxiety away.
“I’m not,” he admitted, brushing his fingers along my cheek. “I’m scared too. But I also know what it’s like to feel alone in a room full of people. I know what it’s like to feel unseen even when everyone’s looking right at you, and with you, I don’t feel that way. Not for a second.”
I blinked, and tears welled up without warning.
“I don’t want to have to dim some of my life,” I said quietly. “And sometimes I wonder if I’ll have to, just to keep things steady.”
He shook his head. “You never have to shrink for me. Never.”
I nodded, but it was the kind of nod you give when you want to believe something but aren’t quite there yet.
Pedro leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth. “You’re on fire right now,” he said, kissing it again. “Your career, your work… the way people talk about your photos, the way you’re changing the way stories are told — it’s brilliant. And it’s yours. You earned it.”
I let out a shaky breath, eyes searching his even in the dark room. “So what happens when our lives go in two completely opposite directions?”
He smiled, but not the kind you see happiness, this one was soft and understanding. “Then we walk in opposite directions. But we keep holding hands.”
That image — of two people moving through the world together while life pulled at them from different angles — it stuck in my head.
He saw me and saw some of my anxiety so he did the only thing that made sense right now: He leaned in for a kiss, slow, deep, with both of us sighing into it.
We stayed like that, our bodies tangled under the covers, his hand resting lightly on my waist, and after a long stretch of silence, he whispered, “You wanna know what I was thinking the second I opened the door tonight?”
“That you’re right where you’re supposed to be: Right here with me.”
I could see right then, the relief he has whenever I’m around, something that it’s not there when we talk through the phone. Pedro was happy and that, for me, was worth everything. Every doubt, every ache, every hour to get to him.
It took me a while to fully wake up the next morning. The first thing I notice was the soreness in between my legs, as if I could still feel his huge hands still holding me open to him. Some of the sunlight crept in through a crack in the curtain and there was the steady rhythm of Pedro’s breathing behind me.
Warmth pressed against my back — a tangle of limbs and soft sheets, the kind of cocoon you never want to leave. His arm was draped around my waist, hand splayed lazily over my stomach, and I could feel his breath brush the back of my neck in even waves.
For a moment, I didn’t move.
This huge, kind and loving man was mine. Hard to believe something like this could happen to someone like me. Someone who grew up with not much love around. And now I get to be loved loudly, with every action, every touch, every word.
I rolled over slowly, careful not to wake him, but he stirred anyway, his arm tightening around me before his eyes opened, bleary and heavy-lidded with sleep.
“Hi,” I whispered, brushing a thumb across the edge of his beard.
“Hi,” he rasped, his morning voice cracked and warm from hours of sleep, he then smiled, slow and genuine, and blinked up at me. “God, I forgot how good this feels. Waking up next to you.”
I leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You forget things fast.”
“I remember the important ones,” he murmured, pulling me closer until my head rested against his chest.
We stayed like that for a while, letting the morning stretch out around us, not in a rush of anything. Outside the city was alive, but kind of distant and muted by thick closed windows . In here, though, time moved slow.
I had to force myself to be fully here, and not to think of work, or the future.
Pedro kissed my forehead and whispered, “You hungry?”
“Starving.” I replied looking up to him.
He threw that boyish smile in my direction. “I make a mean breakfast sandwich. Don’t let the IMDb credits fool you.”
We eventually shuffled out of bed in pajama bottoms and sleepy limbs, making our way to his small kitchen that somehow still managed to feel cozy. He moved around like a man on a mission. Bare feet on tile, humming some tune I didn’t recognize, pulling eggs and cream cheese out of his almost empty fridge.
I sat on the counter, legs swinging slightly, watching him slice an everything bagel with way too much concentration.
“This is serious work,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at me. “Don’t distract the chef."
“You’re literally using a butter knife, Pedro.”
“Art takes time,” he said solemnly.
I laughed at that, full and easy, always easy with him. He looked at me like he was storing it somewhere in his memory, and I knew what he was seeing. It was me, dressed with his clothes, in his kitchen, hair a mess because of last night, and a smile that didn’t leave not once.
We ate his masterpiece of sandwich right there in his kitchen, him leaning at my side while we shared a mug of coffee.
And we talked — about nothing at first. A movie he saw last week that had him crying afterwards, then I brought up questions about his plans for the premiere here in New York and also the one later in Los Angeles. He asked me about my plans for when I went back to Calgary.
Eventually we moved to his couch at such a lazy pace. I melted inside his arms and stayed there on the best Tuesday morning ever.
Then, as the sun climbed higher and the clock ticked closer to his first meeting of the day, we got quiet again.
He looked at me like he was memorizing me, thumb tracing a line down my forearm. “I wish I didn’t have to leave in an hour.”
“I know,” I said, leaning into him. “But I’m glad we had this. Even if it’s just one morning.”
“Me too.” His voice dipped, and he kissed me once more — longer this time, teasing me by biting my lower lip.
He held me close for as long as he could, until his phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, pulling him back into the world.
When he was ready to leave I walked him to the door, hoodie thrown over my body, bare feet on the cold hardwood floor.
“Tonight?” I asked, even though I knew his schedule was a mess.
“I’ll make it work,” he promised, cupping my jaw. “You’re here. That’s enough reason.”
Then he was gone, and the apartment felt a little too big without him, and too silent. I reached for my phone, and called Lux. She was about to become my company for the rest of the day.
It was just past two in the afternoon and I was already halfway through my third espresso. And I wasn’t even allowed to have that many, it all made my hands jittery and my brain too loud, but the warm caffeine was the only thing keeping me upright in this boardroom right now.
My phone buzzed in my pocket for the third time in ten minutes, and my body acted before my brain could stop me. I knew Sue was talking, but I reached for it anyway, unlocking the screen to find her texts coming through.
Lux just took me to a bookstore that looks like a movie set. We might move in.
14:37 - Cariño.
I put the phone away, but not really. I kept my hand there holding it, and five minutes later another text arrived.
Send help. I’m knee-deep in vintage photography books and I might never leave.
14:42 - Cariño.
I smiled, wide and stupid with the image of her in between shelves and too many books inside her arms, and then my smile widened even more before I could stop it. God, I missed her when she wasn’t around. And now that she was in the city? I was struggling to keep my feet planted in the right dimension.
“Pedro,” Franklin said, snapping his fingers in front of me. “You with us?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’m here,” I muttered, slipping the phone face down on the table. “Let’s keep going.”
Sue’s eyes were on me. She wasn’t having any of this distracted actor in love thing.
“You sure?” Her voice came out sharp, “Because you’ve reread the same page of that script for ten minutes.”
“It’s a dense scene,” I lied.
“Uh-huh,” she replied, dry as hell. “Look, I’m all for romance, but you’ve got a red carpet in five days, another one eight days after, and a packed shooting schedule after that. So unless she’s offering to run lines with you or organize your call sheets—”
“She’s not a distraction,” I defended myself, but it was a little too fast. “And she’s not that kind of person.”
“Didn’t say she was,” Sue said, raising a brow. “But you are. When you're in love, you're the guy who disappears. You forget this part of your life needs just as much attention.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” I said, rubbing my thumb along the edge of the script. “I just… haven’t had this before... You know? Not like this. The way she grounds me it’s the opposite of what this industry does to me.”
Franklin sighed and leaned forward. “Okay. So let’s figure out what we’re dropping to make room for this new version of you then.”
“I’m serious. You’ve got five films potentially lined up next year, maybe six. So something’s gotta give, we don’t have time to waste.”
“I’m not dropping anything until I read everything,” I snapped, then took a breath. “Don’t push me into making decisions based on fear of what my new relationship might mean.”
“Pedro,” Sue called gently this time, “you’re not twenty-five. You know how this works, if you take on too much, everything starts to crack.”
I leaned back in the chair, dragging my hands down my face. The weight of them being right and me not wanting them to be was getting hard to ignore.
Lux says we’re taking you out to dinner tonight, and it’s her favorite place in the city.
14:49 - Cariño.
Also, she says if you’re late, she’ll tell the waiter it’s your birthday again so they make you wear a silly hat.
14:50 - Cariño.
I fucking love this girl.
My smile was shorter this time. I forced myself to focus on what I had to go through to end the day and to run back to her.
“Fine,” I said to both of them. “Let’s get through the rest of today. I’m not dropping any projects. Not unless one of them feels wrong.”
Franklin nodded. Sue gave me a long, unreadable look.
The afternoon stretched ahead like a chore — a long tunnel I just had to run through to get back to where I wanted to be.
Dinner that night was at a little place in the West Village. Lux was the best at choosing the coolest places here. This one had dim lights, linen napkins, wine glasses that caught the soft amber glow above us. It was small and cozy, the kind of place that made you whisper even if you didn’t have to.
I felt full even before dinner started. Because my girl was there, looking sexy as hell, and my sister somehow announced that they’re both best friends now, since they spent the whole afternoon together.
We were sitting at a small table for three, the conversation flowed as this was the only right place on Earth to me. We were all flushed from the wind and glowing from the city, laughing at something they saw when they crossed Central Park.
My eyes couldn’t leave hers, and I felt hypnotized by the way her fingers curled loosely around the stem of her wine glass, that familiar tiny dimple showing up on her cheek.
It came to me right then, how much I’d missed her, how much I needed her presence to feel like myself again, as if the version of me I liked better only showed up now when I’m around her.
Lux carried the conversation most of the time, a pro at being the centre of the attention. But there were these moments where she'd pull back just enough to let me and my girl fall into our own rhythm. Our own kind of language, made of looks across the table, half-smiles, a brush of her knee under the table.
I caught her hand just before dessert. Held it across the table and ran my thumb along the inside of her wrist.
“I know this isn’t much,” I said, soft enough that only she could hear, “but it’s everything to have you here.”
The small squeeze her hand did to mine told me that she agreed. Told me enough to know that she would do this crazy last minute flight to wherever I was, just to feel me beside her when the time apart feels like too much again.
That night we made love slowly, almost at a too lazy pace for what felt like hours on end. I kissed her too many times as I took her deep, inch by inch, feeling her squeezing me, feeling her nails digging into my back as she orgasmed over and over again until her body was limp. I followed still deep inside her, and she stayed pressed against me.
We both knew the next morning would be the part that would always hurt. It’s never enough time together, not nearly. But we both had grown up jobs to attend to in different places.
When the morning came, gray april sky outside, overcasting everything in this blue tone I hated… I knew the sleep I got that night wasn’t resting enough for what’s to come.
She moved quietly, packing up her things, folding a sweater she’d borrowed/stole just so she could have my smell a little longer.
Breakfast was cereal, because I chose to stay in bed a little longer just to have her warm body against mine for as much time as I could.
It never gets easier. And I swear, those goodbyes will break something in me every single time. But she had to go, the car I called was already outside waiting, her bag closed by the door, and she was checking her passport and all that travel stuff.
Her eyes scanned my face like she wanted to take something with her.
“I’ll text you when I land,” she said, quiet but clear enough for me to know she’d practiced it on the way to the door.
A shaking hand hovering over the doorknob was all it took for me to reach for her once again. My apartment felt too big, too still... The space she’d just filled — with her shoes by the door, her voice in the kitchen, her head on my chest last night — already felt like it was hollowing out.
“I hate this part,” My voice came out broken as I stepped forward. My hands finding her waist, her arms, her face. I wasn’t sure what I was doing — kissing her goodbye again? Holding her together? Holding myself together?
“Every time,” She whispered against my neck as we hugged. “It gets harder.”
Her breath hitched — that little catch that told me she was right at the edge. And fuck, so was I.
We held each other as if it was the last time, my arms around her back, her fingers digging into the back of my hoodie. The familiar smell of her hair filling my lungs one last time.
It wasn’t just that she was leaving. It was that there was no fixing this part. I mean, no matter how much we planned, or texted, or FaceTimed — we still had to do this part right here. Still had to watch each other walk away.
She pulled back just enough to look at me again, and her eyes were glassy but strong.
“Do good,” she said. “With the premiere, and everything.”
“I will.” I tried to smile. “I’ll come back to you as soon as I can.”
She brought a hand to cup my cheek and I leaned in for a last kiss. My lips smashing hers, and moving into it with purpose. This one we’d be replaying in our heads for weeks.
And then she opened the door.
A gust of cold New York air swept in, and then she was walking down the hall. Not much tears, and hiding the drama of two people trying not to fall apart in public as we followed our lives apart one more time.
I didn’t shut the door after she left, just stood there, watching the empty hallway. Listening to the quiet of a monday morning. And it almost hurt physically.
This was the price of loving someone whose life was as full and wide as yours.
And damn it — it was worth every ache. Every goodbye.
Even the ones that split you in half.
Taglist: @kellyxo1 ; @joelmillerpascal ; @sarahhxx03 ; @sara-alonso ; @needz1nk ; @sassyispunk ; @flow33didontsmoke
Again, I'm sorry it took so long for it to come out. But life's a chaos all around. Hope you still enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it.
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See yall soon.
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