joelssimp

[joelssimp]

STILL | CHAPTER 21

CW: Not much on this one. Food and Alcohol consumption. Latino warmth, Christmas Eve, public invasion and protective Pedro. So, neither spanish or english are my first language. I'm translating most of the spanish stuff, so if there's something off, just let me know and I'll fix it. And it took me longer for this one because I was trying to figure out the Pascal family dynamic, and how to make it feel authentic.

5K words

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21 - Notchebuena

Pedro’s apartment was a mix of different smells that I would never put together, it was cinnamon, roasted garlic, cilantro, cheese, peppermint and everything that brought a Christmas memory of Canadians and Latin Americans. Music poured through the space, reggaetón classics and old-school Christmas songs with Spanish lyrics I was slowly learning to catch pieces of. Laughter spilled from the kitchen, the hallway, the open balcony doors, where Pedro had strung up lights like a kid on sugar, too proud of himself to admit he didn’t know how half of them were working.

I came in with Kate and Mandy at both of my sides, arms full of gifts, which had bad wrapper Christmas paper and too much tape to fix the mistakes. One of them was on a gift bag that had very clearly been purchased at the drugstore fifteen minutes before. Mandy had gotten impatient with wrapping.

The door had barely shut behind us when Javi came flying in from the kitchen, arms outstretched, all warmth and a laugh that made my chest ache in the best way. She hugged me first, tight and loud, then turned to Mandy and Kate like they were already her cousins.

"Finally! La hermana! (the sister) And la roommate! We've heard all about you guys"

“Mostly good things,” I joked, nudging Mandy forward.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Kate said, half under her breath, but she was smiling wide already, and Javiera pulled her in like she’d known her since kindergarten.

Pedro caught my eye across the room, all warm from wine and too much love from his siblings. He shines a little brighter whenever there’s another Balmaceda Pascal close, and that night all four of them will be together so they can travel down to Chile to go see their father the next day.

I loved him a little more in moments like this — when he allowed himself to just relax by being together with those who truly matter.

And then…

“Oye, Nico!” Javiera called, voice rising above the music. “Ven a conocerla, huevón!” (Come meet her, dude!)

A younger man emerged from the hallway, dressed in black jeans, sneakers, and a dark red button-up rolled up to the elbows. He had Pedro’s eyes, but not the shape of his face. He reminded me a lot of his nephew Bruno. There was a bounce to his step that gave away how young he really was.

“This is Nicolás,” Pedro said, coming up behind me and curling a hand around my waist. “My little brother.”

“I’m not that little anymore,” Nico shot back in perfect English, already holding out his hand. “I’ve seen the pictures. You’re even prettier in real life.”

“Nicolás,” Javiera warned, throwing a kitchen towel at him.

I laughed and shook his hand anyway. “Thanks. You’re trouble, huh?”

“I like her,” he said, grinning at Pedro like that was some kind of stamp of approval.

Mandy and Kate both snorted at the same time behind me.

And then, from the dining area, came a warm, rich voice with an accent much thicker than Pedro’s or Javiera’s.

“And I’m the poor man married to that one,” said a tall, bearded man with kind eyes, pointing a thumb at Javiera while balancing a glass of wine and what looked like a baby carrot.

She rolled her eyes dramatically and introduced him as Mateo, her husband. He was Argentinian and instantly charming — witty in that dry, exact way that let him stand beside Javiera and not get steamrolled. He gave Kate and Mandy hugs that didn’t feel forced, and shook my hand with both of his like I’d just walked into something sacred.

“Pedro has good taste,” he said softly, sincerely, when no one else was listening. “He talked a lot about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the girl who turned my oldest son into a photo-intusiastic.”

I smiled big at that. Already knew Pedro Jr. picked up the interest into analog photography since we first met back in June. He sent me some of his recent works and asked me for tips on how to make it better. And I loved being the one responsible to wake that new talent.

All around me, it was bustling, Pedro’s apartment felt so small with so many people in it. Didn’t look like the place I stayed for around a week with him in that little bubble of happiness. The kids were shouting in Spanglish, Javiera was dancing with Mateo, a Santa hat in her head, hanging for its life. And Nico was trying to make a playlist no one would agree on.

This whole new world with them felt loud, but in a good-family-love way. They welcomed Kate and Mandy with so much ease, it felt like they knew each other their whole lives.

“Alright, gringas,” Nico called, heading toward the wine. “Let’s teach you how we do Nochebuena. First rule: Dinner’s at midnight, and midnight only. Second rule: you have to dance… No fucking exeptions.”

Kate raised a brow. “You gonna show us how?”

He grinned like that was a challenge.

Pedro slid up behind me again, arms brushing mine, and pressed a soft kiss to my temple.

“I told you,” he murmured into my hair. “You’re family now.”

“They’re loud.” I whispered to him pretending it was a secret.

“You haven’t seen all of it, trust me. Once I get you down to Chile, it will be the loudest thing you’ll ever witness.” His fingers found mine, and his arm was around me like second nature.

My heart picked up a little with the mention of “going to Chile”. He already told me once he would like to introduce his whole giant family to me. His cousins would make fun of him for dating a “gringa”, and he would show off as a proud man.

I could see Javi and Nico darting in our direction, proud of their brother, as if saying — He’s finally where he’s supposed to be.

The love and support of his family was something hard for my mind to comprehend. The Balmacedas were so warm in that Latin-American way where they didn’t ask you if you wanted another drink, they just bring it to you. Or the way one of the kids snuck a piece of candy to me, because apparently “waiting until midnight was bullshit.”

And when I thought it couldn’t get crazier, the door burst open just as Mandy was mid-gloat about beating Mateo at a dice game she still didn’t fully understand, and Kate was spinning around the living room in socks with Bruno, who had crowned her “la más divertida” (the most fun) approximately twenty minutes after meeting her.

“¡Llegué, carajo!” (I'm here, damn it!) Lux’s voice rang down the hallway like a firework, lighting up the room even further with the energy only she could bring to a place already full.

Pedro lit up instantly. I don’t think I’d ever seen him move so fast. He didn’t walk toward the door, no, that was too normal for the Pascals. He just launched himself, weaving through the chaos like a man on a mission. And there she was: coat halfway off, her hair wild from the December wind, dragging a small suitcase behind her. She looked like a party herself.

“Your hair’s longer,” she said as Pedro grabbed her and lifted her clear off the floor.

“And your mouth’s still loud,” he shot back, laughing.

“Still rude,” she beamed. “Now where is mi niña linda? (my beautiful girl) Where’s my partner in crime?”

Before I could say a word, Lux spotted me.

“There you are!” she cried, arms already open. I barely had time to put my glass down before she was hugging me. Her arms so tight around my body, I couldn't breathe properly. So all I did was squeeze her back with the same intensity.

“You smell like cinnamon and wine,” she said, nose scrunching. “And hunger… Javi is making you wait till midnight?”

I laughed into her shoulder. “You smell like airports and chaos. I missed you. And yeah, we’re all waiting.”

“You know we don’t usually do that, right?” Lux went ahead already hugging her older sister “Stop playing pranks on the poor Canadians”

“They should experience a full immersion on Nochebuena” Javi answered, acting as innocent as ever “Nico’s idea. Fight him”

She didn’t bother. Apparently, fighting wasn’t a good thing to do on Christmas Eve. So she just went ahead, making herself at home. Squeezed my arm again with a beautiful smile tugging her lips.

“I missed you,” she said, sounding like a sister. “I’ve been saving so many Spanish phrases for this moment.”

“Oh God.”

“She already said ‘Estoy feliz que estés aquí’ earlier,” (I'm happy you're here) Pedro chimed in proudly from behind her.

Lux stepped back, eyes wide. “Shut up. She’s using subjunctive now? That’s my girl.”

I shrugged, mock-modest. “I’ve had a good teacher.”

“You’ve had an excellent teacher. I take all the credit. Now—” she spun around, eyes scanning the room. “Who are these gorgeous creatures?”

Mandy stepped forward first. “You must be the Lux. I’ve heard stories.”

“Only good ones, I hope,” Lux said, holding out a hand.

“Depends who’s telling them,” Kate cut in, already grinning. “She’s the little sister.”

Lux gasped. “The sister? The one who knows all the secrets?”

“All the good and the bad ones,” Mandy said with a smirk.

Lux laughed. “I love you already. We’re going to get along too well.”

The introductions spiraled from there. Lux moved through the room like she belonged to everyone. Mateo handed her a glass of something strong without asking, Nico gave her a high five and mumbled something about still owing her money from last Christmas. Even Pedro Jr., who had been brooding quietly in a corner like a cool teen with the weight of the world on his shoulders, cracked a smile when Lux complimented his shoes.

And Bruno? Bruno tackled her with a running hug, which she returned effortlessly, barely lifting him into the air with a dramatic spin.

“¡Mi chico favorito!” (My favorite boy!) she said. “Have you been behaving?”

“No,” he said proudly.

“Good. We can work with that.”

The whole apartment seemed to inhale and then exhale differently after Lux arrived. She brought a different rhythm with her. Everyone was a little louder, and happier. The laughs poured out of the main room mixing with the song that Nico set on.

We danced. God, we danced like there was no tomorrow.

Lux dragged me into a salsa I couldn’t keep up with but we didn’t care. Pedro tried to steal me back and my body ended up in a tug-of-war between his sister and his hands, all of us laughing too hard to let go. Javiera taught Mandy how to make her hips lie, already complaining about how “we moved like we’re saying sorry over and over again”. Kate got into a shouting match with Mateo over the best argentinian snacks. Nico ended up DJing with Pedro Jr., who finally, finally started showing people his Spotify playlists like they were classified documents.

The table was littered with wine bottles, beer cans, three half-empty whiskey glasses, and a plate of empanadas that Lux kept stealing from and blaming on Bruno.

At some point, I found myself pressed into the curve of Pedro’s side, watching it all, my head tucked beneath his chin, his hand resting over mine.

“Is this too much?” he asked softly.

I looked up at him, this man who somehow made every version of home I’d ever imagined feel small in comparison.This man with a heart and a family so big, it was overflowing from his rented apartment. And he made me part of it all.

“Not too much,” I whispered. “This is… This is good.”

He smiled. “They can be a handful sometimes. Let me know if you want a break, I can take you to the balcony.” The words came out and I knew he was just itching to have some minutes alone in the middle of this craziness.

The music changed right then. Nico put on something slower for the room to breathe a little, and Lux walked by, mouthing dibs and pointing to Pedro.

“No,” I mouthed back, laughing.

“Too late,” she mouthed, then yelled, “Switch!” and stole him anyway.

He didn’t fight it. Just rolled his eyes and let her lead him in an over-the-top tango that made Mandy yell “BRAVO!” and Kate try to record the whole thing while shaking with laughter.

Then Javiera’s voice rang out over the room “¡Papa está llamando!” (Dad is calling!)

Silence, fast and electric, rippled through the space. Pedro immediately grabbed his phone from the counter, the room gathered around, and suddenly, like a spell, everything stilled. It was the pause needed for the whole room.

His dad’s face came into view: José, kind-eyed and warm, calling from Santiago with a backdrop of bright blue sky behind him. 

Pedro have some noticeable features from his mother, of course. But it was almost like I could see young José in him. He looks so much like his dad. 

It was possible to hear the love in the way everyone greeted him — “¡Papá!” “¡José!” “¡Abuelito!” — voices layered and loud with so much tenderness and affection. The room felt fuller with the digital presence of the person who started this family.

Lux blew kisses. Javiera raised her glass. Bruno waved so wildly the phone nearly dropped from Pedro’s hand. José’s eyes crinkled as he tried to take it all in, and I swear, it's the same crinkles my boyfriend has around his eyes.

“Mira a esta familia hermosa,” he said. “Y todos juntos. Qué bendición.” (Look at this beautiful family,and all of them together. What a blessing.)

Pedro’s voice was soft. “We miss you, papá.”

“I miss you more. But I’m happy seeing you like this. Together.” His strong accent came through, making me smile.

And then... Pedro shifted the phone. Just enough to change the view from the whole family to… us.

“This is her,” he said simply.

Suddenly, my smile was evident and shaky.

José blinked, tilted his head like he was seeing something familiar and new all at once. “Ahh,” he said. “La fotógrafa.” (The photographer)

I smiled, shy but steady. “Mucho gusto.” (Nice to meet you)

“El gusto es mío, mi niña. Gracias por cuidar a mi hijo.”

I didn’t catch all the words, but honestly? Didn’t have to. He spoke with so much tenderness wrapped around each letter, that I got the meaning instantly. Pedro didn’t say anything, his hand found mine again, fingers threading gently, telling his father everything he needed to know about us, and about what this all meant to him.

My body leaned instantly into his, and José’s smile went on even wider than it was.

Later, after the call ended with promises, so much love and plans for Santiago, the chaos resumed. Mandy and Nico were deep in a Star Wars debate that had somehow roped in Pedro Jr. (“Grogu would never—”), Bruno fell asleep curled in a chair with a slice of pan de pascua still in his hand, and Lux laid her head on Kate’s shoulder, muttering something about “found family being the best kind.”

And I just stood there, in the middle of it all, soaking it in.

The laughter inside had softened to low murmurs and the occasional clink of glasses. Javiera’s family had left about half an hour ago, hugging everyone goodbye with the kind of affection that left my chest aching in the best possible way. The apartment was still full. Mandy and Kate were inside helping Lux clean up the kitchen, half-singing some old reggaetón song while they argued about what counted as “real” salsa — The food, not the dance.

I stepped out onto the balcony with a blanket around my shoulders, the cool air kissing the back of my neck so gentle. The street below was quiet, soft layers of light snow making every sound feel distant and muffled. A few windows in the buildings across the street were lit, just the quiet proof that other people were having their own versions of this night, their own private chaos and joy. Or just the soft Canadian kind that meant early bedtime and even earlier waking up time to open up presents.

The sliding door opened behind me with a soft thud sound.

Pedro stepped out barefoot, wearing one of my sweaters again — the black one he always stole when I left it at his place. His hair was messier than usual, cheeks flushed from the whiskey and dancing, and something about the way he looked at me made the quiet between us hum.

I tilted my head to his direction. “You’re barefoot in the cold.”

He shrugged. “I’m Chilean. We’re built different.”

I laughed softly, pulling my blanket open just enough to let him slide in beside me. He didn’t ask. His arms were around my waist in less than a second. His nose found the curve of my neck and the warmth of his breath spilled along my skin in a familiar way.

We stayed like that for a long while. Warm despite the cold around. Hearts too full from a single night with his family, Mandy and Kate making Calgary a home like no other.

Then he said, voice low against my skin, “Come to Santiago with us.”

I blinked.

He didn’t look at me, just kept breathing against my neck and left a small kiss that made me shiver under his touch. “We’ll be back right after New Year’s. You, me, Lux, the boys and the rest... You’d love it.”

I shifted to face him slightly. “Pedro...”

“I know.” His voice came with a smile. “I know what you’re going to say. That Mandy’s still here, and Kate. That you’re still paying for Matt’s rehab. That money’s tight. I get it.”

I bit my lip. “It’s not just that. It’s… I don’t know. It feels like a lot. Like stepping into something I might not be ready for, yet.”

He finally met my eyes. “But you are. You’re already in it. They fucking love you. It feels right.”

I didn’t answer.

“I’ll pay for everything,” he added softly, his finger tracing my chin and he lifted his head just enough to kiss the soft skin of my ear. “Flights, food, we’re staying at my dad’s. Just say yes.”

I let out a slow breath, heart rattling with the weight of the offer. “You know I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?” His voice was careful, but firm. “You’d do it for me. You’re already doing so much for your brother, for everyone around you. Let me do something for you.”

I looked away, toward the stretch of night over Calgary. I wanted to say yes. Almost did it. The thought of seeing his childhood streets, meeting his father, seeing the version of him that lived there. The version that didn’t care about scripts, and call sheets, and agents who told him to keep it under the rug, to not spread the mess of our relationship around.

There’s something pure in revealing the person you were growing up. And the way he’s making a room for me in this part of his life is a little bit scary. I wanted to feel like I had earned it. Like it wasn’t just another kindness I had to keep track of.

“I don’t want to feel like I owe you,” I said finally, voice small.

He turned me gently to face him. “You don’t. That’s the difference. I don’t want anything in return. I just want to share things with you.”

He’s already leaning in, landing a small kiss on the corner of my mouth.

“And if you want to bring Mandy,” he added with a slow, hopeful smile, “I’ll get an extra room. She can come too.”

I laughed, tired and touched at the same time. “You’d let my teenage sister third-wheel our romantic escape to Santiago?”

“I’d let her DJ the entire trip if it meant I get to watch you fall in love with my country,” he said.

I shook my head. “And Kate?”

He grinned. “We’ll turn it into a full-blown gringo invasion.”

I snorted and leaned into his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m dead serious.” His fingers skimmed over the blanket, tracing the curve of my arm. “Come with me.”

I didn’t know how to decline the offer. Didn’t want him to feel like I don’t want this part of him, but I wasn’t ready. So instead of saying yes or no, I just tucked my face under his chin and let my silence be something he could hold, something that wasn’t rejection. I was saying that there’s fear, but also so much love.

“I want to,” I whispered eventually. “But I need to stay here this time.”

He nodded slowly just once. It was still a desire, but he’s the most gentle person I’ve ever met, and consent to him is something he takes very seriously. He didn’t try to convince me again. Didn’t push or prod.

He just kissed my forehead. “Next time, then.”

“Next time,” I repeated, letting the words settle into the night air like a promise.

His arms hold me a little tighter. It’s almost instinctive at this point. Almost four months since our first kiss, and my lips will never not search his. One of my hands finds the back of his head and his lips are moving so soft on mine, I almost melt inside the grip of his arms.

I insisted on coming with them. It felt simple, I was saying goodbye to a family that made last night so damn warm. Saying goodbye for another week to the person that makes my days brighter, and the one responsible for eighty per cent of my smiles.

The airport was too bright. That kind of fluorescent morning light that didn’t care about how heavy your chest felt walking toward the international departure gates. There were suitcases rolling over smooth tile, the echo of children’s voices, too many jackets flung over carry-ons, and the warmth of family pressed into every corner of the scene ahead of me.

Javiera was trying to herd her boys toward the check-in line while also balancing two iced coffees. Lux was half asleep in a hoodie too big for her body, dragging her backpack behind her like it had personally betrayed her morning. Nico had earbuds in, but smiled every once in a while, when he saw his brother trying to contain his own hands from reaching for mine.

We walked like a weird tribe of weird individuals.

“You sure you don’t wanna come?” Javi asked, half teasing, but with a soft voice of a big sister.

“I’m sure,” I said, smiling. “Someone has to hold things down here.”

She gave me a look like we both know that’s a lie, but kissed my cheek anyway.

Bruno was a little mad I wasn’t coming with them. He told me the night before I was one of his favorite adults already.I nudge his shoulder and offered a chewing gum like a peace offering.

He rolled his eyes and took it “You coming next year, no arguments.”

“I’m coming next year, and I’m beating your ass at a Fifa match. Watch out”

“Oh, you’re so on.” He grinned.

Pedro, the older of the two boys, just leaned in and hugged me tight. He didn’t say much. He never did. But he didn’t have to. He’d been slowly opening up to me and his love for photography was something we truly could bond. And that quiet bond meant more than I could say.

Nico pulled me into a side hug. “I didn’t expect to like you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Thanks?”

He smirked. “Pedro talks about you like you invented oxygen. Thought you were gonna be some influencer or something.”

I rolled my eyes. “And yet… here I am. Disappointing you with my regularness.”

He grinned. “Nah. You’re alright.”

Lux was last. She hugged me like she was already counting the days ‘till we could be together again, and we didn’t even say goodbye. Just promised to keep the Spanish lessons going, and maybe schedule another call where we watched terrible telenovelas together and drank boxed wine even miles away from each other.

I knew it was coming. As soon as Lux let me go from her arms, he was already by my side.

Pedro had those puppy eyes. The look of someone who had a lot to say and not a lot of time to do so.

We drifted a few steps away from the group without really meaning to. Not too far, but enough so no one would interrupt anything. He reached for my hand, not really sure if I was going to oppose to it, but I gave it without thinking.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” he asked softly, eyes flicking across my face like he was looking for a crack.

“I’ll miss you,” I said honestly. “But, yeah, I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll miss you too.” He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Try not to drive Kate crazy while I’m gone.”

“No promises.”

He smiled. That slow, private one he only ever gave to me.

And then he kissed me.

Fast enough so no one would dare to double back. His lips tasted like the coffee he had this morning. It was the kind of kiss people give when they’re already missing you. When the goodbye is already happening in their mouth. His fingers curved around my jaw. Mine curled in the fabric of his coat.

And for a second, everything else went quiet.

Until it didn’t.

I didn’t hear the camera. There was no flash, no obvious phone pointed at us. No fan running over for an autograph or to blurt out are you two dating? And specially, no paparazzi around. Calgary is supposed to be a safe area from all of that.

But when we pulled back. Still close, still lost in it, I saw the shift in his expression. His brown eyes scanned the terminal behind me with a coldness that wasn’t there before. His posture changed, subtle, but it was there. Like something had clicked in his senses.

“What?” I asked, already feeling the thud in my chest.

He didn’t answer right away. Just lowered his voice and said, “Something is off.”

Pedro didn’t let go of my hand, but I felt the subtle shift in the way he held it — a firmer grip, a tiny pull that told me his brain had flipped into something else entirely. Protective. Strategic. The version of him I’d only seen when something came too close and too fast.

He was already pulling his phone out of his coat pocket, thumb unlocking it in a single second. He was not even looking at it, because his eyes didn’t leave the crowd of travellers coming and going around us.

“Pedro,” I whispered.

He shook his head once, gently, then turned slightly so his body was angled between me and whatever had just happened. His voice stayed low.

“I have to call Franklin. Or Sue. Someone needs to know… If there’s a picture, we might still have time to track it before it hits the news.”

His hand moved fast now, tapping out a message as we walked back toward the group pretending that nothing had happened. I watched the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers flew across the screen. He wasn’t in panic mode. That was him taking matters with his own hands and doing something that was in his reach.

I hated that he had to be like this around me. That everything we do in public has to come with the possibility of damage control. 

He slipped the phone to his ear before I could say anything else. Walked a few steps away, voice calm but firm.

“I think someone got a picture of us. At the airport, just now… No, not a fan. Looked intentional. Try to find it before it hits public. Copyright buy it, if possible.”

I stood there, suddenly too exposed to whatever that was.

“No, Sue, I do not care how much they ask…”

Javi was the one to notice it before anyone else. She came up beside me and bumped my shoulder softly with hers.

“You alright?”

I nodded. “Just… wasn’t expecting that.”

She didn’t ask what that was. With Pedro right there speaking to his agent like a scandal had surfaced, there was no question to be asked.

“He’ll take care of it,” she said. “That’s what he does.”

I looked at her, surprised. “He’s done this before?”

She shrugged, but there was warmth in her smile. “Not like this. But he’s always protected the things that matter the most to him.”

I swallowed hard. Pedro was still on the call, eyes darting toward me between quick bursts of angry English and some curse words in Spanish. I could hear the tension in his voice though. 

It’s not like we didn’t know the risks. We’re grown ups. We love each other in between four walls all the time, and sometimes the love is too strong to keep quiet like that.

It was just one quick goodbye kiss.

My arms came up to cover my chest like I needed something to hold me up while he was still on the phone. And Lux came over next, looping her arm through mine.

“We still have like one hour before boarding. You wanna get another coffee or something?”

I nodded, grateful for the deflection. But even as we wandered off toward the café at the edge of the terminal, my eyes kept drifting back to him.

He was off the call now, pacing slowly, typing again.

Protecting something.

Protecting us.

And I realized then: This wasn’t just about avoiding headlines. It was about the time we hadn’t had yet to be with each other and to discover how deep this all goes. How deep we could both go until there’s no coming back from it. Until it becomes too obvious and strong enough that nothing and no one could reach us.

He wasn’t ready to share what we have with the world yet.

And neither was I.

This is the first chapter with a taglist, if you'd like me to add your username to it, let me know ;) Taglist: @kellyxo1

[joelssimp]

this moment right here it's gonna be season 2 of Trouble... Just a sneak-peek:

“Hey,” I whispered, looking up at him. “Talk to me.”

He glanced down at me then, and for a flicker of a second he wasn’t the man everyone feared. He wasn’t the soldier or the protector or the time bomb ticking louder every day. He was just my big brother. The one who held me through it all, and the one that fought anyone and everyone for me. And I wanted to be there for him, but I just didn’t know how.

“I had to run,” he said hoarsely. “We were running… and I—”

His voice cracked and then stopped. Like the words couldn’t physically come out from his mouth.

I didn’t push him. This was a situation too delicate, too fragile. I didn’t know what the hell he went through that night, but he was in front of me… Alive. Ant this fact was enough for me.

“You came back,” I whispered. “That’s what matters.”

[joelssimp]

TROUBLE | CHAPTER 03

CW: Food and drink consumption. Drug use, alcoholic father.

5.4K words

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03 - By The Pool

KING’S COUNTY FARMS SIDE

It was hotter than the devil’s breath out there, the kind of heat that turns your steering wheel into a branding iron and your patience paper-thin. Georgia always had this cruel summer on fucking point. Shane was drumming his fingers on the wheel like he could pound the weather into submission. My bare feet were kicked up on the dash, cheap gas station sunglasses slipping down my nose, and a sweating Coke bottle balanced in my lap.

“Can you at least pretend to wear shoes?” Shane muttered, eyes on the road.

I grinned. “Why? Gonna impress the cows?”

“Lori’s gonna be there,” he shot back.

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll make sure to crank the fake sweet smile to a maximum.”

He didn’t argue. He never really did when I had that sharp edge in my voice. The one that always sliced through the air whenever Lori Grimes’ name came up.

When we pulled up at the Grimes farm, it hit me all at once: the sharp green scent of cut grass, cicadas screaming in the trees, and that low hum of normalcy that felt like it belonged to someone else’s life.

Thomas Grimes was on the porch, wrestling a loose railing. Sweat darkened the front of his shirt and hands working like he had all the time in the world to do whatever. Louise waved from the kitchen window with that sweet mama style she always had. Everything looked so damn picture-perfect it made my skin crawl with the feeling that we don’t belong here, but they took us anyway.

And then there was him. The new sheriff of our small town. Looking good as a sin.

He stepped out from around the barn, wearing jeans that sat low on his hips and a faded gray sheriff’s T-shirt clinging to his shoulders. Police department hat on top of his head and grease hands from whatever he was doing there.

The way he squinted his blue eyes into the sun made my heart flip like a coin I didn’t want to catch. 

“Don’t stare too long,” Shane murmured beside me, catching my glance before I could pretend otherwise.

“I wasn’t,” I lied.

He snorted. Damn tease every time my little admiration for his friend showed up. I hated how well he knew me, and how I couldn’t hide anything from his smart eyes.

Rick met us halfway across the yard, smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. It was soft, his real smile, the one that makes me forget he carried a badge and a loaded gun most of his time.

“Hey there, Trouble,” he said.

That nickname sounded different coming from him. He sounded like he didn’t mind the chaos that followed me around like a stray dog, he was just glad to see us.

“Hey, Sheriff,” I shot back, snapping him a lazy salute.

Then Lori appeared on the porch, wiping her hands on a dish towel like she’d just stepped out of a damn magazine spread. Her smile was sweet as saccharine and twice as fake as any other smile she gave me.

“Samantha,” she said in that careful voice. “Glad you could make it.”

I forced a smile. “It was either this or another shift at the bar. And y’all have a pool.”

Carl exploded out the door behind her. The kid ran so fast he almost tripped, and his small body slammed into my legs.

“Sam!” he yelled, arms wrapping around my waist.

I caught him in my arms and spun him around. His cheeks were sticky with jam, and he was grinning so hard his eyes squinted shut, just like his dad’s.

“Have you grown another inch since I saw you last?” I asked, letting him go. He was too heavy for me to hold on for too long.

“Dad says I’m gonna be a giant,” he proclaimed proudly.

I glanced at Rick. “You sure you want that? Giant Carl might start bossin’ you around.”

Rick gave me a different smile. Something with a shift, maybe even a little bit warmer with the sight of his son so happy to see me. For a second, the air between us felt like a secret, something we both were glad to share, and the flicker in Lori’s eyes said she noticed, even if she pretended otherwise.

Carl caught my hand, and I gladly let him pull me inside the house, away from the hard glances and the complicated feelings.

Inside, the table sagged under the weight of Louise Grimes’s cooking: fried chicken, buttered corn on the cob, sweet tea sweating in Mason jars, and a peach cobbler cooling by the window like a bribe from Southern Living itself.

“Y’all sit, sit,” Louise urged, shepherding us to the table. She gave me a quick side hug on the way past. “Sam, baby, you’re lookin’ too thin. You still workin’ at that awful bar?”

“Still there,” I said, sliding into my chair. “Tips are good, though. Drunk men pay better if you laugh at their jokes.”

Thomas let out a rusty laugh from across the table, reaching for the tea. “Atta girl. Use them fools while they’ve still got wallets on ‘em.”

Shane dropped into the seat beside me, already shoveling mashed potatoes like a man on death row. “Don’t encourage her. She’ll quit and start hustlin’ folks at the gas station next.”

I elbowed him. “That’s your retirement plan, not mine.”

Rick settled across from me, Carl squished against his side, Lori stiff beside him. He looked like he belonged there—like Sunday lunch was exactly where he was supposed to be. But the way his shoulders curled in, the slight distance in his eyes… it told a different story.

He hadn’t touched Lori. Hadn’t even brushed her hand.

At one point, he caught my eye and gave me a quick smile. It was faint, flickering, like he was sharing a secret. A secret he kept sharing, over and over, every time we found ourselves alone enough for words.

“So, Sam, honey,” Louise said, passing a basket of biscuits, “how’s your daddy doin’?”

The question slammed into me like a door. I nearly choked on my mash potatoes. Shane shot me a look, waiting to see if I’d lie or if I would be too honest with those people who took us in their family. I gave them a shrug and returned to my plate.

“He’s… same,” I said carefully. “Sober for about an hour each day.”

Thomas shook his head. “Damn shame. That man used to fix my fence with just a hammer and spit.”

“He still tries,” I said, forcing a smile. “Only now he wants twenty bucks for booze first.”

That got a few laughs. Even Lori cracked a tight grin at it.

Lunch found its own rhythm there: forks clinking, tea refilling, Shane stealing cornbread when he thought I wasn’t looking. And Carl… that kid kept pelting me with shark questions for some reason. Must be his new obsession for the last bit of summer.

“You ever seen one up close?” he demanded.

I leaned in, stage-whispering. “One time. At the aquarium in Atlanta. I tried to touch it.”

“Sam…” Rick warned, voice soft but amused.

Carl’s eyes went huge. “Did you?!”

“No,” I confessed. “But I thought about it real hard.”

Carl howled with laughter, leaning against the table like he might fall over. Rick just watched us, eyes softening in a way that twisted something deep in my chest. On his side, Lori stayed quiet, picking at her food, eyes low. I could tell the tension between them were high enough to earn some glances from Louise, and sometimes even Thomas looked concerned. Lori and Rick barely spoke, and when they did speak, it was just to ask him to pass the butter. That was it.

The silence between them was like a ticking bomb, waiting to go off and blow everything. But not in here.

After lunch, Louise clapped her hands. “Alright, enough sittin’. Pool’s full, sun’s up, and I’ve got sangria waitin’.”

“Hell yeah,” Shane crowed. “Been sweatin’ like a sinner in church all mornin’.”

“You always do,” I muttered.

He flicked a crumb at me. “Don’t start.”

Louise tried to shoo me away from clearing plates, but I waved her off.

“You’re a good girl, Samantha,” she said softly as I rinsed a dish. “Always were. Don’t let this place tell you otherwise.”

My throat tightened. “I’m trying not to.”

She gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You’re always welcome here. And you look mighty pretty today, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”

My heart stung and warmed all at once.

From the kitchen window, I saw Rick helping Carl with his floaties, shirt off, sunlight catching on his shoulders, like he had no idea how good he looks like that. Lori sat in a lounge chair, sunglasses on, flipping through a magazine, looking like she was somewhere else entirely. And Shane was already halfway to the pool, yelling, “Last one in’s gotta wash the truck!”

It wasn’t the life I wanted… I mean, not exactly. But for a second, it made me forget all the things I was running from.

Shane cannonballed into the pool like a twelve-year-old trying to prove something, sending up a splash big enough to nearly knock Carl off his floatie.

“SHANE!” Carl shrieked, sputtering and laughing all at once. “You got water in my NOSE!”

Shane popped up grinning, hair already a big mess. “That’s how you know it’s workin’, kid!”

I sat at the pool’s edge, legs dangling in the water, the sun beating down like it wanted to roast me alive. I’d tied my hair up with one of Shane’s old bandanas and stolen one of his sleeveless shirts as a cover-up. No way in hell was I wearing a bikini around Lori Grimes.

Rick was already in the water, more restrained than Shane, tossing a foam ring back and forth with Carl. For once, he looked… light. The lines around his eyes softened a little and his laughter sounded unguarded. Almost like the Rick Grimes I knew, from before life got complicated.

I leaned back on my hands, just soaking it in: the bright blue sky, the scent of chlorine, the way Shane was yelling, “HEY GRIMES! YOU WANNA RACE OR WHAT?!”

Rick glanced over. “Do I look twelve?”

“You don’t have to look twelve to lose like one,” Shane shot back.

“God,” I muttered. “You’re both embarrassing.”

Shane swam closer and splashed me with a big, deliberate wave.

“HEY!” I screeched, blinking water out of my eyes.

He grinned. “What? You looked hot.”

“I was hot. Now I’m drenched, you giant man-child.”

Rick tried, and failed, to hide his smirk. “You kinda asked for it.”

I glared. “You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”

“Only on weekdays,” he murmured, voice low and teasing.

Carl swam over, wrapping his arms around my knees. “Come in, Sam! Pleeeease?”

I hesitated.

“It’s hot,” he whined. “And you’re always fun.”

Damn kid. He knew exactly how to work me.

With a resigned sigh, I slid into the water with a gentle splash. Carl squealed, instantly clinging to me as I spun him in a circle.

Shane floated by on his back, arms spread like a starfish. “Would ya look at that. Little sis is a natural mama.”

“Shut up, Shane.”

“I’m just sayin’. Kid sticks to you like glue. You’re basically his favorite person.”

Carl giggled. “She IS my favorite.”

Rick watched from a few feet away, his eyes locked on me in a way that made my chest tighten. It wasn’t the kind of look a almost-brother-in-law should give. Hell, it wasn’t even the look a friend should give. It flickered over his face for barely a second, but I felt it like a spark hitting dry grass.

I ducked my head, splashing Carl instead. “Alright, kid. Let’s race to the deep end. Loser owes the winner a popsicle.”

Carl gasped. “Oh, you’re so on!”

He took off paddling like a determined little duckling.

Shane leaned on the pool edge, calling, “Hey Trouble, don’t go crushin’ his dreams. Let him win.”

“No promises,” I yelled back.

Rick swam up beside me, just close enough that the heat of him pulsed through the cool water.

“You’re good with him,” he said quietly.

I shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. “Someone’s gotta be patient around here. He’s a good kid.”

His lips tugged into that tiny half-smile. “You always were patient. Even when you didn’t want to be.”

I glanced at him, pulse jumping just from looking into his blue eyes. “You remember that?”

He nodded, eyes lingering a second too long. “Yeah. I remember.”

Shane’s voice cut through from the shallow end, yelling, “Y’ALL GONNA CRY OR KISS? CUZ I’M RIGHT HERE.”

Rick laughed, low and genuine. “Ignore him. He’s an idiot.”

“I try, every damn day of my life” I said with a laugh cutting through.

Just as we’re starting a game of water polo, Lori peeled herself away from her lounge chair, muttering something about the heat frizzing her hair. She didn’t even touch the pool. Just moved from one patch of shade to the next like she was afraid the sun might melt her into a puddle.

“Too hot,” she said to Louise, waving off a glass of sangria. “And the chlorine will ruin my color.”

God forbid.

Eventually it was just me, Rick, Shane, and Carl outside.

Carl was riding Shane’s back, hollering like he was in a rodeo, demanding to be launched ‘like a missile.’ Shane was trying to comply without drowning, and honestly… I wasn’t sure I would’ve stopped him if he did.

I parked myself in the shallow end, elbows hooked on the concrete edge, nursing the last of my soda. Rick sat nearby on the pool steps, arms resting on his knees, watching the chaos in the deep end with that tired-dad look I’d seen too many times.

“You’re quiet,” I said, flicking a glance his way. “Thinkin’ about how to fake your own death or just your usual existential crisis?”

He smiled faintly without looking at me. “Just… tired, I guess.”

I pushed off the wall, drifting closer. “You and Lori still stuck in the Cold War?”

He sighed, finally meeting my eyes. No panic or denial there. He had a quiet resignation. “Somethin’ like that.”

“You’re weird around her today,” I said, being as honest as I could, and not really trying to be mean. “You two were sittin’ right next to each other and it felt like there was a brick wall in between. She was starin’ into that damn corn bread like it might rescue her.”

He blew out a short breath through his nose. Half a laugh, half a sigh.

“It’s been like that for a while,” he said finally. “No matter what we try. Every conversation turns into an argument. About work, money, the way I leave my boots by the door… hell, we even fought about cereal last week.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “What kinda cereal?”

“Frosted Flakes.”

“Shit. That’s dark.”

A real laugh broke out of him then — a warm, rough sound. His shoulders relaxed for the first time all day. I liked that laugh. Too much.

I gave him a sideways grin. “For the record, I’d have taken your side. Frosted Flakes are a national treasure.”

“Thanks. Good to know I’ve got you in my corner.”

For a second, we just stayed there in silence. Shane was hollering in the deep end, tossing Carl high enough to make me nervous, but neither of us looked away.

Then I nudged Rick’s side underwater with my elbow. “Listen… if y’all ever need time alone to talk… actually talk, without tiny humans hanging off your legs. Well, I can take Carl for the day. Or overnight. We’ll hit the arcade, eat too much candy, get into trouble. Whatever eight-year-olds do these days.”

Rick turned his whole body to look at me. And it felt like I was actually giving the solution to most of his problems right there.

“You’d do that?” he asked, voice soft.

“Course I would,” I said. “Kid’s got better taste than either of you.”

He let out a slow breath and offered a small, lopsided smile. “You’re a good friend, Sam.”

I shrugged, a little slower this time. “Yeah. Well. I’m full of surprises.”

He held my gaze, his eyes a little too gentle while doing it. And it made me blush a little.

“Just… don’t let Shane teach him anything,” he said.

“Oh, come on. One afternoon with me and Carl’ll be pickin’ locks and throwin’ middle fingers in no time.”

Rick groaned. “Lord, help me.”

“Too late. I’ve already claimed him as my evil apprentice.”

He tilted his head back, letting the sun catch the tips of his hair. “You’re somethin’ else, Trouble.”

“Yeah, but you already knew that,” I said, unable to stop the half-smile pulling at my lips.

The afternoon was so pleasant that for one brief, stupid second, I started to believe maybe I’d get through one whole damn day without the universe grabbing me by the hair and yanking me back.

Rick headed inside to make more iced tea. Carl was wrapped in a towel, planted himself on my lap, chattering about how he was gonna learn to do a backflip before the end of the summer. Shane laid sprawled on a lounge chair, snoring like a bear in hibernation, wet hair sticking in every direction.

It was peaceful. The kind of peace that felt fragile as glass.

Then Shane’s phone started ringing. He jolted awake mid-snore, scowling as he fished it out of his towel. “What now…”

He answered with a gravelly “yeah” that told me he already expected bad news.

The moment I saw his shoulders stiffen, my stomach dropped like a stone.

“No,” he said into the phone, voice sharp. “No, she’s not working today. She’s here with me. What happened?”

I set Carl off my lap and stood up, heart hammering before I even knew why.

Shane ran a hand through his wet hair and muttered, “Shit.”

“What?” I demanded.

He ended the call and glanced at me, guilt all over his face. “Dad’s at the station.”

I groaned. “Again?”

“Got into it with some nineteen-year-old at Pete’s. Tried to fight him with a pool cue, broke a glass table and got his ass handed to him.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they’d fall out. “Of course he did. Was he drunk?”

Shane gave me a look. “Is water wet?”

“Jesus Christ.”

Shane was already grabbing his towel, shaking it out. “We gotta go. They said someone’s gotta come post bail.”

I didn’t even bother arguing. I knew how this was gonna go, but I needed to hear him saying either way.

“I can’t cover it,” Shane looked at me, voice low. “Not after last month.”

“Because you blew your paycheck trying to impress that girl who’s dumb enough to think you’re a catch,” I snapped.

He winced. “I was just trying to take the edge off.”

“You were an idiot, Shane.”

“I know.”

I let out a long breath, already feeling my pulse climbing. “I’ll pay for it.”

“You sure?” he asked.

I shot him a look. “Do I have a fucking choice?”

Shane opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but closed it again. “Thanks, Trouble.”

“Don’t call me that right now.”

I wrapped my towel around my waist, squeezing water from my hair, and stalked toward the house. Carl trailed behind me, clutching his floaties like they might solve the world’s problems.

Rick was on the porch, one hand around a glass of tea, the other resting on the wooden post. He took one look at our faces and straightened up.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, voice calm but wary.

Shane let out an annoyed groan. “Dad’s back at the station. Got into a bar fight.”

Rick raised his brows. “Jesus. Again?”

“Yep,” I muttered. “This time with a teenager. Who apparently won.”

Rick looked at me, worry flickering in his eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I lied. “Just tired of cleaning up his messes.”

Rick stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Want me to call over there? I know who’s on tonight.”

I shook my head, half a grin tugging at my mouth despite everything. “Nah. I’ll handle it. I should get a punch card: Ten visits and the eleventh’s free.”

That made him huff out a laugh, though his eyes stayed worried. “You shouldn’t have to keep doing this.”

“Yeah, well.” I shrugged. “He’s still our dad. And Shane’s broke because he thinks love means maxing out his credit card on dumb bitches.”

“Hey!” Shane yelled from the jeep.

I turned to leave, but Rick reached out and caught my wrist, his fingers warm and a little rough.

“Thanks,” he murmured. “For earlier. Offering to help.”

I looked up at him, heart thudding. For a split second, there it was again. That flicker of something in his eyes he would never say out loud. Just a false hope of something else.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I said. “Wait until I teach Carl all the bad things I know.”

Rick smirked. “He already wants a leather jacket, just to be cool like you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I pulled my hand away gently and climbed into Shane’s jeep. As Rick faded in the side mirror, that tiny piece of peace I’d felt all day vanished like it had never been there.

The second we walked into the Sheriff’s Department, the smell hit me like a slap: sweat, burnt coffee, and the faint metallic tang of dried blood. I’d been here too many times to pretend I didn’t know the drill.

The deputy behind the front desk didn’t even blink when he saw me.

“Hey, Sam,” he said, typing lazily on his keyboard. “Shane.”

“Hey, Eddie,” I deadpanned. “We’re here to pick up the county’s shittiest piñata.”

Eddie cracked a grin. “Your dad’s in the tank. Left side. Broke a glass table and tried to swing on a kid with a pool cue.”

“Is the kid okay?” Shane asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Fine. Couple stitches on his forearm and a story to tell his friends.”

I dug my wallet out of my bag, wincing before I even opened it. “How much this time?”

“Two-twenty,” Eddie said.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, peeling off the cash like it was my last layer of skin. “This bail money come with a loyalty card or a free donut?”

Eddie chuckled, sliding me a receipt. “I’ll look into it.”

We waited in silence until they finally brought him out.

My father looked smaller than he actually is. Shoulders slumped, shirt half-untucked, one knuckle wrapped in a bloody bandage and a red bruise bloomed across his jaw like someone had laid him out good. The reek of whiskey, beer and sweat hit me the moment he stepped through the door.

“Sammy!” he slurred, eyes lighting up like he thought this was a goddamn family reunion. “My girl. Knew you’d come.”

My stomach turned so hard it nearly crawled up my throat.

“Of course I did,” I said flatly. “Again.”

He staggered toward me, arms wide like he was gonna hug me. I took a step back.

“Don’t.”

Shane sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Simon blinked between us, squinting like he couldn’t figure out why we were mad. Like maybe he thought we were arguing about traffic and not his drunk dumbass poor choices.

“C’mon now,” he said, weaving slightly. “That punk had it comin’. Mouthin’ off, like a goddamn… He called me—”

“I don’t fucking care,” I snapped, cutting him off. “I don’t give a flying fuck about it. You embarrassed me at my job. You could’ve cost me my paycheck if they decide to come after me for damages.”

He blinked again, trying to process that through the fog of alcohol.

“You’re lucky the only thing you broke was a table,” I said. “Because if you’d actually hurt that kid, you’d be lookin’ at more than a night behind bars. And I sure as hell don’t have the money to fix that.”

He deflated a little, shoulders sinking. “I was just blowin’ off steam…”

“That’s what rehab’s for,” I bit out. “You know… the places you keep running out of whenever we try to give you a chance to be better.”

“Sam,” Shane murmured, like he wanted to soothe me, probably thinking that I needed to calm down.

Fuck that.

I whirled on him. “And you” I pointed my finger to his chest “stop looking at me like I volunteered for this shit. You’re the big brother. You were supposed to get out, get stable. Instead, you let some dumb girl drain your bank account, and now I’m the one left bailing out the drunk who gave us both nightmares.”

Shane didn’t argue. Just stared at a crack in the linoleum, jaw tight.

Simon’s eyes went glossy, all wounded dog and whiskey sweat.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled. I wanted to ask how the hell he could keep wasting every drop of love we’d ever given him.

Instead, all I did was nod. Once and sharp.

“Get in the truck,” I said, sounding a lot like a mom talking to a toddler. “And don’t say a word.”

He shuffled off without arguing, and yeah, that right there told me that he knew he fucked up.

When Simon and Shane were gone, I leaned against the counter, palms flat. Eddie gave me a look, a ‘I’ve-seen-this-too-many-times’ look. 

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

“Peachy,” I said. “If I start crying, slap me.”

He half-smiled. “Want me to put a note on his record? Next time he’s picked up, don’t call you unless it’s too serious?”

I let out a short laugh that felt like a lie in my chest. “Nah. Next time call. Maybe I’ll leave him here for a week just to save some cash.”

Shane was waiting by the door, silent as I walked past him. We stepped out into the sticky Georgia night. Simon was already slumped in the back seat of the truck, looking a lot like a ghost.

We stood there under the buzzing orange glow of the parking lot lights, not saying anything for a few seconds.

“You okay?” Shane asked softly.

I snorted. “No. But when’s the last time I ever was?”

A crooked smile flickered across his lips. “You’re still the toughest person I know.”

“Yeah? Well, I’d trade it for bein’ a soft, boring bitch with a savings account.”

Shane didn’t laugh, he just gave my shoulder a light squeeze “You hungry?”

“Starving. But I’m broke, so unless you’re buying, I’ll just cry into a gas station cookie.”

He fished a crumpled ten-dollar bill out of his pocket. “One hotdog each?”

“With extra relish,” I said, a small grin breaking through the darkness I felt.

By the time we drove again, our dad was already unconscious, snoring like a broken chainsaw, and I felt hollow. Like the fight had leaked out of me somewhere between the bail counter and the truck door.

Shane pulled into the gas station across from Pete’s, bought us each a hotdog and a fountain Coke to share, and then drove the long way home. Windows down, Georgia night rolling over us like warm water.

Neither of us talked. There wasn’t much left to say.

Back at the trailer park, I climbed out of the truck, ignoring the way the metal felt sticky-hot under my fingers. Shane didn’t follow me inside. He knew where I was headed, and for once he was the one dealing with Simon’s mess, bringing his drunk ass to his own bed for the night.

Instead of going through the front door, I veered left, barefoot in the patchy grass, to the side of the trailer. My fingers found the notched seam between the aluminum siding and the railing of the rusty metal ladder.

I started climbing. The roof of our trailer wasn’t exactly as safe as we liked. A few of the panels rattled loose, and the heat still radiated off it in waves even though the sun was long gone. But it was a place I could be alone, and that was enough for now.

I sat cross-legged, hotdog resting on my knee, and the cup of coke by my side.

The lights of King’s County sprawled out in front of me… Soft yellow pools under every streetlamp, broken by stretches of dark where the power grid always flickered out. Beyond that, stars blinked in the sky like they were deciding whether to stay or just dip for the night.

I thought about Rick. The way he’d looked at me by the pool. The way his eyes softened when I made him laugh. Then I thought about Lori, her judging eyes that always felt too sharp for me. And my father… And Shane’s empty wallet.

I was so deep into my own problems, that I only heard Shane’s voice drifted up from below the second time he called for me.

“You want company?”

I didn’t answer right away. I loved my brother to death, but sometimes his presence felt like being stuffed back into a life I was trying to crawl out of.

Finally, I called down, “Yeah. Bring me one of those beers dad left in the fridge last week.”

A minute later, the ladder rattled under his weight. He sat beside me, holding one beer like a peace offering.

We sat there, shoulder to shoulder, chewing on our hotdogs in silence.

“You think he’ll ever change?” Shane asked eventually, voice low.

I stared out at the glow of the highway beyond town. “Not really.”

Shane swallowed. “Yeah. Me neither.”

The cicadas screamed in the trees. A dog barked somewhere far off. Just some ordinary sounds of a place to messy to live in.

I closed my eyes, feeling the breeze slide over my sweaty skin.

“You know what sucks the most?” I said, voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” Shane murmured.

“I keep waiting for somebody to come save me. And I know nobody’s comin’. Not even him.”

Shane didn’t have an answer for that. He just leaned his shoulder against mine, solid and warm.

After a few seconds, I reached into the pocket of Shane’s hoodie I’d stolen from the laundry pile and pulled out the little baggie I’d stashed there weeks ago. I held it up between two fingers, letting the streetlights catch on the plastic.

Shane squinted. “Is that…?”

I shrugged. “Helps me sleep.”

“You know that shit’s illegal, right?” he said, but his voice was more resigned than scolding.

“So’s half the stuff you do on dates,” I shot back.

He huffed out a laugh. “Fine. Pass it here.”

I blinked at him. “You serious?”

He snatched the bag from my hand, pulled out a thin joint I’d already rolled, and handed it back. “Just don’t tell Rick.”

A minute later, we were passing the joint back and forth under the hazy glow of the stars. The night softened around the edges, the heat less oppressive, the weight in my chest easing enough to breathe fully again.

“Hey,” he said after a long silence, voice low and sleepy. “You ever think about just…leaving? Not looking back?”

“All the fucking time.”

“You gonna do it?”

I let the silence stretch for three long breaths.

“One day,” I said. “When I got enough money, and enough guts.”

Shane nodded. “Where’d go?”

“I don’t know” I pulled in some of the smoke, and felt my body relax even further “Kansas? Texas? Even heard people say Nebraska’s fine”

“Nebraska?” His eyebrows shoot up and I laughed.

“Enough guns to keep me protected, quiet life…”

“You weren’t meant for a quiet life, Trouble”

I gave him a wry half-smile. “Maybe.”

“Bitch,” he muttered, elbowing me lightly.

“Asshole,” I shot back.

We both laughed at that. A sound I knew for sure it wouldn't last, but it was good to have. To still know we could lean on each other as brother and sister.

Below us, the lights of King’s County blinked like old and not-too-functional Christmas bulbs, flickering in and out.

And for a few quiet minutes, it almost felt like the world wasn’t drowning us both.

I'm starting a tag list (first time ever), if you want to be tagged, just let me know? taglist: @staley83

[joelssimp]

STILL | CHAPTER 20

CW: Sister chaos energy. Domestic, and fluff. Not much on this one, I wanted to explore more of her relationship with Mandy, and how Mandy is slowly changing.

7.2K words

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20 - Mandy

December was its own rhythm. Came in quietly, wrapped in so much snow and the kind of cold that made every breath feel heavier inside my chest. With production on hold, the days stretched out in unfamiliar ways. No early call times, no more standing in frozen sets, and no more frantic mornings prepping gear before light faded. Just… soft mornings working from home, coffee or tea hot in our hands, and some relaxing for the mind.

I stood at the window, fingers curled around a mug of coffee I made in that lazy morning, watching the snow fall thick and slow on the streets of Calgary. It drifted down like it had all the time in the world — soft, constant and endless, like it didn’t care that everything in me still felt like the world was moving too fast.

Matt was doing better in a new clinic up in Ottawa. He sent updates almost every other day now—mostly photos or short texts saying that the routine helps a lot. His eyes were clearer and  steadier. There was more weight on his face, more color too. It wasn’t perfect, but it was him, or as much of him that I remember, enough that the ache in my chest loosened its grip just a little.

I scrolled through his last message while the steam rose past my face. He looked like someone who had been pulled from deep water and finally found land he could step into. Like he could breathe again, and that felt like a small victory in a sense.

On the other hand, around London, I haven't heard much from my dad. Just one small message after the facility confirmed payment had gone through. “Thank you.” That was it. No follow-up, no guilt this time. Just silence, but not in a cruel way. Just dad in his pride, too big to swallow. 

And then there was everything else too—The award was coming. I kept forgetting that it was real, that people were still talking about the photos I took. Interviews were scheduled for January in Los Angeles. I have to fly down there, talk to people about my work, spread the good news about how it feels to work for fifteen to sixteen hours straight, to answer agents, and production. How it feels to be a small part of a giant machine. And to claw my way up the latter alone, trying and error every time.

Pedro will be around the town too. January for him meant Mandalorian season 3 production, and endless nights for me without him by my side.

Since we got back from Canmore we were still… us. Just a little more quiet, and careful. Still tucked behind knowing looks and quiet nights and the way his voice sounded when no one else was around. There wasn’t a name for it yet, at least not one I could say out loud without risking what we have.

But it was as real as it could get behind closed doors. Just us knowing each other, learning a little more each day. Making each other feel good—sometimes too good.

I caught my reflection in the window and didn’t recognize it right away. I looked… tired, and even a little older from the harsh months I’ve endured. But I didn’t feel fragile anymore. Those months had taken so much, but they also gave me more than I could count.

From where I stood I could see the cars coming around the block, and just as my watch turned to another hour of the day I saw the cab turning with an unhurried pace.

She was finally here.

I set the mug down too fast, almost knocking it over. My heart jumped in that stupid, familiar way it always did when something good is about to happen. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to see someone who knew me the way she did — before all of this. Before Pedro, before the Pandemic and all the complications, before everything cracked open inside me.

She stepped out of the cab bundled in a ridiculous purple scarf, dragging a suitcase across the icy sidewalk, her hair half-tucked into her coat, like she left in a hurry to get here as fast as possible. 

Kate peeked out from her bedroom door, hair a mess, one eye still closed. “She’s here?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, suddenly blinking too fast. “She’s here.”

For the first time in weeks, the flat didn’t feel like a pressure cooker of leftover tension. It didn’t feel like a reminder of everything I hadn’t said to Kate yet.

It felt… softer. Something close to the word “home.”

The knock on the door was barely necessary — I was already halfway across the flat before it came. I opened the door just as the sixteen-year-old raised her hand again, too impatient to wait a couple of seconds. The handle of her suitcase was swinging out behind her like an extra limb.

“Oh my God, it is so cold,” Mandy blurted, barreling inside before I could even get a hello out. “Like, my eyelashes froze walking from the car. That’s a thing? Nobody told me that was a thing.”

I caught her in a tight hug before she could say anything else. Tighter than she expected me to. For a moment, her body stilled inside my arms, but then, she wrapped her arms around me like she knew just what I needed. The way her warmth filled in all the spaces that were still cold inside me, made me exhale softly.

She pulled back with a grin. “Okay, now I’m happy.”

I laughed. “You weren’t before?”

“I was freezing. And your cab driver was listening to this conspiracy podcast so loud, I think I know everything about the moon landing being fake now.” She rolled her eyes as she kicked off her boots. “Also… what’s with the airport being built like a maze? I swear I walked in circles for fifteen minutes before I found the exit.”

She had her scarf half-unwound already, cheeks pink and flushed from the cold, hair full of static. She looked exactly like herself — too much energy, not enough patience, and somehow already planning five things at once before her body had caught up to her brain.

Kate peeked out from her room again, holding a mug. “You’re loud.”

Mandy pointed a finger at her. “And you’re grumpy.”

Kate cracked a smile at that. Mandy had that effect on anybody.

“I brought gifts,” Mandy added in a singsong voice, dropping her tote bag onto the couch. “And snacks. But mostly just me. Aren’t you so lucky?”

“Unbelievably,” I said, still smiling like an idiot.

She launched into a story before I could even ask anything — something about a woman in the seat next to her painting her nails mid-flight (“Hot pink. In an airplane. Who does that?”), and how she almost missed her connection in Edmonton because the gate changed three times. She moved around in our flat like she belonged there, tossing her coat onto the back of the chair, opening a window a crack because “It smells like airplane in here.” Even though the smell came from her clothes.

I didn’t interrupt. Not like there’s anything like stopping Mandy.

I just watched her.

How her face lit up when she talked about things that made her excited, and she was excited to be here — really, genuinely excited, like I haven’t seen her be this happy since March 2020. And it was not because of some bucket list, or because she wanted to escape home for the holidays. She was happy to be my little sister again, to spend time together.

“I have so many plans,” she said, pulling out her phone and scrolling. “Okay, listen, there’s this café that does cinnamon lattes with brûléed marshmallows—yes, you heard that right. And also I found this lake thing people go skating on? And we’re doing that. I don’t care if I fall on my face, you’re coming with me.”

“Skating?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Or watching other people fall, whatever. And—oh! We have to go to Banff sometime, because I’ve never forgiven you for showing me those gorgeous pictures. I want to se mountains with snow. Like full snow globe moment, alright?”

“Okay,” I said softly.

Mandy looked up from her phone. “Okay, what?”

“Okay… I’ll go. To all of it.”

She paused. And then her expression shifted. It was just the kind of shift that only sisters could read. Something behind her eyes softened. That little girl who would cry to me because someone from pre-k stole her toy. That little girl who would always find comfort in me, and I was always there for her. It all just came out in that solo look she gave me.

“Glad you’re here, Mandy.” I spoke so softly, she almost didn’t catch it.

Her smile made everything worth it.

It only took a few hours until she was already doing what she did best: noticing everything. Not just the big things — not the pictures on my bedroom wall, no, those were too easy to spot. Pedro, Bella and Kate in almost all of them.

Mandy noticed the little things. The kind of details I usually thought would go untouched by anyone. But she wasn’t anyone… She was detective Mandy on the case.

“You changed your shampoo,” she said casually as she leaned into the bathroom mirror, using my eyelash curler without asking. “Smells woodsy, and expensive.”

I didn’t answer. She already knew.

She turned and looked at me through the mirror. “Is it his?”

I shrugged, towel-drying my hair. “He uses it, yeah. It’s a nice smell.”

Mandy made a face like she’d caught me red-handed. “You’re using his shampoo.”

“And?”

She didn’t say anything. And honestly? She didn’t need to, that look on her face said it all. And only a sister could get away with it.

By mid-afternoon, I realized she was collecting clues like it was a murder mystery. A pair of socks that were obviously too big for me. A hoodie I didn’t even bother pretending wasn’t his. My laptop wallpaper — a photo of us at his apartment, my head resting on his shoulder, and him kissing the top of my head.

Mandy spotted that one from across the living room, of course.

“Oh my God,” she said, throwing a pillow at me, “you’re so gone for him.”

I ducked and blushed like I was sixteen all over again. “It’s just a nice photo.”

“It’s a photo of a rom-com movie, you guys are the main characters by the way” she said, crossing her arms, “and you’re glowing like hell.”

I tried to play it cool. Failed, obviously.

Later, while she was nosing around the kitchen for snacks, she paused at the magnet on the fridge. It was tiny and plain, shaped like a film clapperboard. The kind of thing you’d miss if you weren’t paying attention. But she paid attention to everything.

“This is new,” she said, tapping it with her finger.

I nodded. “He got it for me. Last week I think.”

“And now it’s here,” she said, eyes narrowing slightly like she was piecing together a puzzle. “Hmm.”

I turned away before she could keep staring at me like that.

But then came the moment I’d been waiting for — the one I was looking forward to the most. I pulled the small box out of the drawer by my bed. It was wrapped carefully in a black paper. He left right before going to the airport to board to L.A a few days ago. Told me not to open it, that it wasn’t for me.

“She’s gonna love it,” he said, that night, smiling to himself. “It’s not big or anything. Just… something I thought of when I saw it.”

I held the box in both hands now and turned to find Mandy curled up on the couch, scrolling on her phone.

“I have something for you,” I said.

She glanced up, eyes curious. “What?”

“It’s from Pedro.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Pedro who… oh, right, the Pedro fucking Pascal”

I rolled my eyes. “Just open it.”

She took the box and sat up, untying the string slowly. “You’re not gonna tell me what it is?”

“Nope.”

She peeled back the paper, opened the box, and went silent.

Inside was a necklace — simple, delicate, a thin silver chain with a small star pendant. Etched on the back was just one word. Luz.

“He said it reminded him of you,” I said quietly. “Because when I talk about you, I always say you’re the light in the room. That you make people feel better just by being around.”

Mandy stared at it, her fingers brushing the charm gently.

“He remembered that?” she asked, voice a little smaller now.

“Yeah.”

She swallowed. “Did you tell him I wanted something to remind me of this trip?”

“No. He just thought of it.”

She looked up at me, eyes glassy, “He doesn’t even know me.”

“He knows me,” I said. “And I think… that’s enough for now.”

Mandy nodded, holding the necklace to her chest like she didn’t want to let it go.

“Okay,” she said, voice steadier now. “I officially approve.”

“Approve of what?”

“Of the fact that you’re stupidly, recklessly, deeply into a man who notices this much about people.”

I laughed, feeling that warmth ripple through me again.

“Also,” Mandy added with a grin, “I’m keeping the shampoo.”

It was one of those rare winter days in Calgary where the sky was so blue it felt like a lie. Mandy had practically shoved me out of bed that morning with a “We didn’t cross half the country to stay inside, or at least I didn’t.” 

Kate was already moving through the kitchen, ready for the day, and making the most delicious pot of coffee for a winter morning.

We moved fast. Mandy was hurrying us all around, because she wanted to enjoy as much as possible before she got too tired — with the small detail that she was almost never tired when it comes to tourist things.

“Okay, but where are we going?” I asked, stuffing gloves into my coat pocket as we locked the door behind us.

“Somewhere cute,” Mandy said.

“Somewhere with hot chocolate,” Kate added, bumping her shoulder against mine. “And somewhere that has at least one moose decoration, because your sister is on a full Canadian fantasy tour.”

We ended up at this little market just outside the city. It had stalls filled with overpriced ornaments, handmade mittens, maple-flavored everything, and a live folk band playing holiday covers of pop songs. Mandy was already halfway through a cinnamon sugar beaver tail before I could even blink.

“I like her,” Kate said, nodding at Mandy with a smile.

“I know,” I said, grinning.

Mandy overheard us. “You know, I like you too, Kate. I didn’t know what to expect, but it’s like… you’re the cool best that grounds this mess of a sister I have.”

Kate beamed. “Well, it’s hard being the best-kept secret of the crew.”

“I know, It must be a burden,” Mandy said, licking her fingers clean. “She’s the worst at lying.”

My brows rose. “Are we talking about me like I’m not here?”

“Kind of,” they said in unison.

It only got worse after that. Every time I said anything, and I mean, anything — they found a way to make it about Pedro, or my love life.

“I’m cold,” I said, following Mandy down the end of the market.

“Bet you wouldn’t be if your boyfriend was here.” Kate said in a mocking tone.

A few minutes later my stomach growled. It was almost lunch time, and I hadn’t eaten much.

“I’m starving.” The comment left my lips before I could think about it.

“Pedro would’ve packed snacks. He looks like a snack-packer.” Mandy teased, her laugh a little too high.

I rolled my eyes.

We stopped at a little tent filled with maple leaf shaped hats. I got one to try it on, and regretted right away.

“Is this hat too much?” I asked

“No, but Pedro would lie and say you looked cute anyway.” Said Kate with a smug smile.

“Okay,” I groaned, dragging my scarf up to hide half my face. “You two are menaces.”

Kate wrapped an arm around me, grinning like the devil on a shoulder. “You love it.”

And truthfully… I did. There was something ridiculously comforting about watching the two of them become fast friends — Kate, with her dry sarcasm and way-too-observant eyes, and Mandy, with her bright energy and no-filter honesty. They fit around me like two puzzle pieces, slipping into the spaces I didn’t realize had been feeling a little empty lately.

When we sat down on a bench with hot drinks, Mandy leaned in and said, “So… how serious are you two?”

Kate looked at me like she also wanted to know.

I blinked at them. “Wow. Zero chill.”

Mandy sipped her hot chocolate. “Answer the question.”

I hesitated, heart doing that annoying flutter it always did when I thought about him for more than five seconds. It’s kind of inevitable now. He was the best part of my days, and I couldn’t even remember my life without him in it. Weird how people can turn your little world inside out in just a matter of time.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s… a lot. He is a lot, loud, and so good to me. And maybe it scares me a little how right it feels to be with him.”

Kate nudged my boot with hers. “He’s gone for you.”

“I know,” I said softly.

Mandy smiled like she already knew everything I wasn’t saying out loud. “He’ll be back for Christmas, right?”

“Yeah. He had meetings and fittings in L.A. But he’ll be back before the 24th. We’re invited to his latino Christmas, or whatever it is we’re doing together.”

“Good,” Kate said. “Because I want to see you both being disgustingly in love under twinkle lights.”

“I want to see it snow while you kiss him,” Mandy added, voice dreamy.

“Okay, I’m cutting you both off,” I laughed, standing up with my drink. “No more sugar for either of you.”

They followed me, still grinning, still teasing, and I let them. Let myself be wrapped in the ease of it — in the kind of day you only dream about once or twice. Filled with love, and easy teasing, and a warmth in the middle of a cold winter

He wasn’t here, but he was everywhere. In the way they teased using his name on more times than I can count. In the way I smiled without noticing anytime Mandy or Kate said something that instantly reminded me of him. And also in the way they already saw the parts of him that had quietly stitched themselves into me.

The days with Mandy melted into each other like marshmallows in hot chocolate.

Every morning started the same way: I’d wake up to the sound of her already rummaging through the kitchen, humming something cheerful and off-key, trying to make breakfast with whatever was left in the fridge. She didn’t cook as much as she assembled, like someone running a one-woman buffet of toast, cereal, fruit, and way too many condiments for that early in the morning.

“I made you your favorite breakfast,” she said one morning, presenting me with a single pancake and three pieces of bacon stacked in the shape of Yoda ears. “Just how you used to make it for me.”

I blinked at the plate. “So it’s… Baby Yoda themed?”

“Excuse me, it’s Grogu.”

Right. The best star-wars fan this planet has seen. God forbid I make a mistake about it next to her, and now, next to him too. He warned me about the Baby-Yoda and Grogu thing before he left. And also commented on how Mandy would react to him.

“Just… prepare yourself,” he’d said, laughing, “in case she thinks I’m actually Din Djarin.”

I’d laughed too, but now? Now I was starting to believe she might just lose her shit.

“She’s adorable,” Kate had whispered to me the night Mandy arrived, after they’d exchanged maybe two sentences and my sister had already complimented her earrings, her sweater, and the flat itself. “Also? I think she’s low-key taking over my spot as your platonic soulmate.”

“You’ll share custody,” I’d told her.

And truly, our week was filled with just us three. Jokes, teasing, and this warm environment Mandy brought upon us. She was always singing, laughing or even telling a chaotic long story of how her friend at school got busted for skipping class to go stalk a guy she liked. Kate loved the energy, and would engage in every single story like it was the most interesting thing she ever heard.

I showed her all the pictures I took on set, and even the ones the agents said no to. She was cussing them by the third picture.

“Who in their right mind would say no to this piece of art?” She showed the screen to Kate, asking for supportive words.

“That’s what I’ve been saying” Kate pointed out, agreeing with her completely.

And I just laughed. She didn’t know about all the drama, all the sharp emails I got from Franklin or Sue late at night, thanking me for the photos, but some of them couldn’t pass as “good for PP’s image”.

Pedro always made sure to let me know he had nothing to do with that, but couldn’t stop them. I honestly didn’t care much. We knew it was going to be complicated, and we’re here for it. Staying together even when it gets messy.

By Mandy’s second week here, I was texting him more frequently. The weight of missing his presence was too strong to hold on to. He sent me pictures of costume fittings “So… this is like, top secret, but how good do I look on this new costume?”. Another afternoon and he sent a selfie with Jon Favreau, kissing the guy’s cheek with a description “since I don’t have you here… This will do.” And I laughed so hard, Mandy had to come and see what was happening.

By the fourth day of texting every five minutes, he sent me the video.

I was still lazy scrolling on bed before getting up to start the day. My eyes were still adjusting to the light of my screen. There was no caption, no follow-up text, just his face filling up the screen before he turned the camera to show what he had next to him.

From the second 12 forward I couldn’t stop smiling. 

Grogu was sitting on a crate. Pedro waved first and then, the little green animatronic tilted its head and made a small sound.

Pedro’s voice came from behind the camera, warm and amused. “Hey Mandy,” he said, “someone told me you’re a fan. So I got you a personal greeting from the kid himself.”

He moved the puppet’s arms a little, then made the softest cooing sound again. Just the cutest thing I’ve seen.

“I’m coming back soon,” he added. “Save me some of that breakfast art you made for your sister.”

I had to bite my lip from smiling too hard.

“Mandy!” I yelled from my room. “You’re gonna want to see this!”

She came running, probably from the kitchen, still in my hoodie, hair a mess, blinking against the light when I handed her my phone. Kate peeked out from the door, toothbrush in her mouth.

Thirty seconds later, Mandy was gasping. “No. No. You’re kidding.”

Kate leaned over her shoulder. “Wait. Is that the real—?”

“Actual Grogu,” I said.

My sister played the video at least three more times, then held the phone to her chest like it was sacred. “Tell him I love him. Like, in a ‘thanks for this blessed gift’ kind of way, not in a creepy way. But also tell him I cried. Like, from joy.”

I nodded. “I think he’ll get it.”

That whole second week moved in soft, snowy motions. Mandy calmed down after trying to ice-skate and failed miserably, resulting in a full-on bruise on her left thigh. “Not doing that again.” She said, trying to get up from the ice.

We watched Christmas movies — Kate insisted on a Love Actually rewatch, while Mandy demanded The Holiday and then Die Hard, “because it counts, and I won’t hear otherwise.” We took cheesy pictures in the snow, walked through holiday markets, and drank cheap mulled wine from paper cups — Even the sixteen-year-old had a couple of sips, because I am that kind of sister.

And even though Pedro wasn’t there, he was. In the little updates he sent. The memes that popped up on our instagram chat. His photos from set, and mine from everyday stuff. Notes telling me how much he missed me. 

One afternoon, I went down the reception of our building to grab our mail and there was a box with Mandy’s name on it, from Los Angeles and signed by Din. Of course it was.

I didn’t open, it wasn’t mine. I just brought it up, gave  it to her and admired how happy she was. There was a pair of Mandalorian socks and a signed crew jacket he said she’d love.

“She’s going to marry him before you do,” Kate whispered.

“I heard that!” Mandy shouted from the other room.

December 22nd came. And with it, the restlessness.

Pedro’s flight was either late that night or early the next morning — depending on how things went in LA, and I tried not to check my phone every ten minutes.

I failed miserably.

We were watching Home Alone under the living room blanket fort Kate had helped Mandy build when the little punk caught me checking my phone for a message from him again.

“He’s coming tonight?”

“Should be,” I said, eyes still on the screen.

“You want to pretend you haven’t been checking your phone like a maniac?”

I shot her a look. “You want to pretend you didn’t cry when he made Grogu wave at you?”

Kate cackled beside her, and Mandy just flipped me off.

“You nervous?” she asked more quietly.

“Yes,” I said. “But not in a bad way. I just… I miss him. I’m used to him being here, around us, just whispering dumb jokes to make me laugh in the middle of a set-up. Grabbing my camera bag when he thinks it looks too heavy. Just the small and quiet moments. I didn’t think it was going to feel like this.”

Mandy curled her legs up, warm beside me. “You’re in it.”

“I know.”

My phone buzzed.

I grabbed it so fast I nearly dropped it.

Just landed. Be home soon. Miss you. Pedro P. - 20:05

I stared at the screen.

Mandy looked like she was watching a movie’s emotional climax. She was excited to meet him finally, and nervous in the best way. Kate was having fun with all of it, and I just wanted to hug and kiss him like I’ve been wanting to since he first left.

How was this flight so goddamn long? I remember arriving from Los Angeles a few months back, and it was the easiest thing to go through. Now it feels like I might explode before the wheels even touch the snowy ground of Calgary again.

I was running on no sleep, and just watching the sun shift, vanishing against the clouds. Checked my phone at least twenty times in a span of only three hours. There was no way in hell the airplane in the little screen was moving at all.

It wasn’t even the set I missed. Or the city, or even the friends I made here… It was her. Every single thing about that photographer and the way her eyes lit up whenever she saw me. The way she says my name when is just us together. And the way she keeps stealing pieces of my life to hers — My favorite hoodie, or the t-shirt I used to wear around set, or even my shampoo that had disappeared mysteriously.

In the days apart, I even missed the silence between us. The kind of silence where words weren’t needed. Silence so comfortable I could stay in it forever if she let me.

Lately she didn’t need to speak much at all. I knew it all. Whenever she curled herself around my body — It was a sign for me to hold her tight against me. Or whenever she held the kiss just a little longer — My sign to go for a second or a third kiss.

God, I miss her. And the wait was almost over.

Customs was fine. A little longer. The line for non-residents stretching just enough to make me uncomfortable with the stares people give me. The city was too cold the moment I stepped outside. My scarf was buried somewhere in the bottom of my carry-on and I wasn’t about to stop for it. I climbed into the first cab I could find and gave her address before the driver even asked.

Was it a little reckless? Maybe, but I couldn’t bare to go straight to my place without seeing her first. And I knew she was waiting for me.

I watched the city blur past the window as we drove, half-listening to the snow whisper against the glass. The cab was too warm and the heater whistled like it was struggling just to do the basic. 

I unlocked my phone just as another three messages come through from her.

We're watching a movie in the living room. She’s obsessed with the blanket fort Kate helped her build. Cariño  - 20:38

You don’t have to come tonight, if you’re tired. Cariño  - 20:38

But if you do… knock softly. Cariño  - 20:39

God, I love her.

I texted back with one hand.

I’m five minutes away. Pedro - 20:39

Five minutes felt like a lifetime now.

I’d seen the photos and videos she sent while I was gone — her and her sister wrapped up in blankets, mugs of tea or cocoa, snow painting the windows behind them. Mandy looked like her, the same smile and spark, just brighter and younger. Full of opinions, full of noise, and full of so much love.

It made me happy, and relieved to see her with family again, especially when she’d been so withdrawn in the fall. She needed this. She needed someone who made her laugh until she forgot what was weighing her down. And Kate was in the mix now too, the arguments from the last two months a little forgotten. They were still perfect for each other.

And I’d never admit it out loud, but seeing her glow like that? Seeing that light again, even through a damn phone screen?

It made the two weeks I was away, without her, so damn worth it.

The driver turned the corner onto her street. I leaned forward, recognizing the building before we even stopped. My hands were already on the handle before we pulled in fully. It was so fast, and easy… I grabbed my bag, tipped the driver, and stepped out into the sharp, biting cold. The building looked the same as I remembered — tall, and a mix of vintage with modern architecture. 

I stood outside for a moment. Just looking up. This was important, because I was about to meet another piece of her, in flesh. I’ve talked to Mandy before, but to have her here, it made me nervous without noticing.

I climbed the stairs slowly, even though every part of me wanted to run. Laughter echoed somewhere — muffled behind a wall or a door — but it barely registered. I was hyperfocused. Like walking into a dream I’d been having for the past week.

Once I was in front of her door, my heart started to race against my chest. I raised my hand and knocked gently — just like she’d asked me to. Not even a second later, I heard quick footsteps on the other side. Then the soft click of the lock.

My eyes were filled with her image, and damn… My mind didn’t do her justice. That smile was something out of this world, I swear it took me a moment to fully take a breath. Her hair was slightly messy from a lazy night in. A hoodie too big for her, the sleeves swallowed by her hands a little, and that was one of my favorites that she took the last time she was at my place. Her eyes found mine, sparkling a little. Warm and so inviting. I could tell she hadn’t fully believed I’d show up tonight.

She didn’t say anything and I didn’t wait. The second I could breathe again, I stepped in and found her waist pulling her into my body and crashing my mouth to hers.

Messy kisses full of unspoken words were my favorites. Her fingers caught the lapels of my coat, tugging me in like gravity, like maybe letting go wasn’t an option anymore. She made a sound low in her throat, involuntary and needy, and I swallowed it with my mouth.

Nothing else existed, not the room, not even the stretch of time we’d spent pretending this would get easier.

My hands travelled down from her waist, and then—

“Oh, wow, okay,” Kate’s voice cut through, with a tone halfway between a smirk and a warning. “You two wanna maybe dial it down? Keep it PG friendly? We have a guest.”

I blinked. Pulled back just enough to see behind her.

Kate was sitting on the couch with a half-empty bowl of popcorn. She was grinning like she knew exactly what we’d been up to lately — and Mandy was next to her. Cross-legged, wide-eyed, half-laughing and half trying to hide the way her face was red from seeing her sister with me.

“Oh,” I breathed, suddenly aware I hadn’t even stepped inside properly.

She looked over her shoulder and laughed, hiding her face in my coat for a second like she could reverse time and start over. I kissed the top of her head instead and followed her in.

“Mandy,” she said, turning back toward her sister. “This is Pedro.”

Mandy stood up quickly, all awkward limbs and an instant confidence that wasn’t there before. She stuck her hand out but ended up pulling me into a hug instead. Like she wasn’t even thinking about it.

“You guys are perfect for each other, and she’s so gone for you, like, so fucking gone.”

My girl covered her warm face, laughing. “Oh my God, Mandy—”

“I’m just saying,” Mandy started, sitting back down with a grin, “I saw him in every part of this apartment. You guys are basically staring a rom-com.”

I laughed, rubbing the back of my neck, roughly aware that I was blushing with her words. “Nice to meet you too.”

“You brought me stuff,” she added, like she was trying to change the subject and be thankful all at once. “That little necklace? And that signed jacket from the show? I cried. Legit.”

I felt my girl reached for my hand without even looking. Her thumb rubbed over my knuckles like a reflex. She was happy to see her sister so excited.

“I thought you’d like that,” I said, sitting down with her by my side. “Jon was excited when I told him who it was for.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “That’s some fancy stuff, could easily sell it for good money on ebay.”

“Never in a million years” Mandy said slowly and I felt my girl laughing

“She’s my little Star Wars nerd,” She said proudly.

“Not little, I’m a massive one,” Mandy added, grabbing a pillow to hug against her chest. “I’m still not over that Grogu video. I showed it to like four people already. Pedro, you have no idea—”

“I have some idea,” I said with a smile. “Your sister showed me your hoodie collection.”

She groaned. “I told you that in confidence!”

Kate snorted.

The room felt like home. The kind that came with laughter you didn’t have to force, and warmth you didn’t have to earn. The lights were low, the fort still stood in the corner with twinkle lights wrapped around it, and the TV had paused on some animated movie I hadn’t seen in years.

I’d only been gone a week. But walking into this, and to be a part of it like I was a missing piece of the puzzle, it felt so damn right. I was focused on the feeling of missing her, that only now I let myself be a part of it like I belonged.

I felt her body lean into me again. My arm found her waist without even thinking about it. She was warm and her smell was everywhere.

“Welcome back,” she whispered, only loud enough for me.

I turned my head, pressed a kiss just under her jaw, and whispered back, “It’s good to be back.”

After a while they all voted on Five Guys, which really meant me complaining about being hungry, and offering the fastest and the most delicious solution. Kate and Mandy jumped right on immediately. Mandy lit up when she heard I was paying for the milkshakes.

“Don’t tip too much,” I heard her saying to Kate as they walked down the hallway, leaving me and Mandy by ourselves. “Last time you tipped more than the food cost—”

“Support your workers!” Kate yelled back before the door clicked shut behind them.

Silence.

It settled weirdly after how loud and chaotic everything had been just seconds before.

Mandy was still curled up on the couch, legs pulled to her chest, flipping through something on her phone, but I could feel her watching me. She was curious, I could tell there was a lot going through her mind. And it’s weird how far she’d come since we first talked.

Back then she hardly said a word to me without shaking like she was speaking to a god. We’ve only spoken the basic. Even when I asked her to deliver my gift to her sister back on her thirtieth birthday.

I sat back against the cushions. Relaxed, mostly. Until Mandy spoke so softly I could barely make up what she was saying.

“You really like her, huh?”

I looked over.

She didn’t look smug. Just… like she already knew the answer and wanted to hear me say it anyway.

“I do,” I said with a shy smile.

She nodded. “She’s different lately.”

“Good different?”

“The best kind.” She gave a small shrug. “She’s always been kind of—” Mandy paused just enough to organize what she was about to say “Tense. Like she’s always holding her breath a little. You know? Even before all the shit with our dad or my brother. It’s just how she is. But now—”

She stopped again, furrowed her brow.

“She’s softer,” she said. “Like she forgets to be mad at the world sometimes. Or she just… forgets to be on guard all the time. It’s weird.”

“Weird good?”

She looked at me for a second longer, and the grin came with a nod.

“Yeah. Weird good.”

I smiled. “She’s been that way with me since the first day. I don’t know why. I didn’t do anything to earn it.”

“Exactly,” Mandy said, waving a hand. “You didn’t try. I think that’s what did it.”

I let that settle.

She knew her sister so well. It’s almost scary how much. The description Mandy just gave on how her sister worked around, the walls she had when we first met... Not the kind of walls people put up on purpose. This was different, the kind that grow with need, like survival. And yet, somehow, with me, she’d let them fall. Just little pieces, like she was testing if I’d notice whenever there was a shift. And I did, of course I did.

“I like you,” Mandy added, the type of confession of a person who wasn’t sure she was going to say it until the words were already out. “I mean, you’re older and famous and whatever, so I should probably be skeptical, right?”

I raised a brow. “Were you? skeptical?”

“Not really,” she smirked. “But I thought about it for like… five seconds.”

I laughed at that. The girl was funny without even trying.

Then she leaned forward a little, more serious now.

“But then I saw how she talks about you. Even when she’s not talking about you.”

I tilted my head trying to read in between the lines. “What does that mean?”

“She’s happy. That’s what it means.”

Simple as that, she’s happy. Even with all the drama with her father, even with her twin almost giving up, and leaving her no choice but to pick up the pieces and try again until it worked. Even with the job that was so consuming, and tiring… Even with all the bad things around—she was happy.

“She deserves happy,” I said.

“Yeah,” Mandy said. “And you make her feel safe. Which I think she didn’t even realize she needed.”

We didn’t say anything after that for a while. Just let it sit between us. The truth of two people that loved one girl so much, they’d do anything to make her happy every single day. The sisterly bond was so strong with them, it made my chest ache in a good way.

The elevator dinged out in the hallway a few minutes later, and I heard that laugh — unmistakable and bright — followed by Kate’s dramatic monologue about milkshake flavors.

Mandy stood up and walked to the door before I could. But before she could open it, I felt a shift in her, protective as hell and ready to tell me off if I say something wrong.

“Don’t mess it up,” she said, smirking.

I put a hand to my chest. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.” She grinned. “Because I really like that hoodie she stole from you, and I want her to keep it.”

The lock turned, and the door opened with a tud. She stepped inside first, her cheeks pink from the cold, balancing two bags with one hand. “Okay, fries are on the verge of getting soggy, and Kate is still mad I said no to the Cajun ones—”

She stopped, eyes landing on me. That same look she always had on her when she didn’t believe I chose her. Even when I told her that the lucky one in this relationship was me, to be chosen by her when she could have any other guy her age.

I got up, smiled back, already reaching for the bags, and she let me.

Somewhere behind us, Mandy tossed me a wink and headed toward the fridge for ketchup.

We were in this, it was messy but it is ours. And to share this special connection we have with her loved ones, that’s the real deal for me. 

I was so goddamn lucky, it was hard to believe.

[joelssimp]

TROUBLE | CHAPTER 02

CW: Rough relationship with a parent, lil make out session. 4.3K words

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02 - Three/Six

RICHMOND COUNTY, August/2009

“Three out of six?” Shane studied the targets in the distance.

“Better than one out of six, or zero,” I replied proudly.

And the same feeling I carried inside was reflected in his dark brown eyes. He looked at me like I was the best person in the whole damn world. Like I was on my way to conquering an entire continent.

It was his big brother thing.

“Think you’re ready to train with a rifle?” he asked after checking the empty shells that, minutes ago, had been inside my Glock.

“You’re the boss, instructor.”

He paused for a moment but just reloaded the clip with more ammo and handed the gun back to me.

“Next session, we’ll try something different. For today, let’s try hitting four out of six. Sounds good?”

“Like I said: You’re the boss, bro.” I shrugged and put my ear protection back on.

His smile in that moment was totally genuine. Teaching people how to defend themselves was one of his passions, and when I agreed a few months ago to learn how to shoot, he got so excited that he took me to the nearest shooting range that very same day.

This was our fourth lesson, and I really was getting better. I didn’t feel the recoil as much anymore, the smell of gunpowder had become tolerable, and the targets didn’t seem so tiny now.

I raised the Glock to eye level as soon as the new targets came into view. My heart always beat harder during these moments, pumping blood through my body until I could practically hear each pulse vibrating in my ears.

My index finger left its resting position and slid onto the trigger, sending the vibration of the shot through my entire body. I hit the first target right on the black three-point mark.

“One out of six,” Shane had to practically yell, and even then, he sounded far away.

I sucked in another breath through my nose, adjusted my arm position by a hair, and fired again. This time the bullet went wide.

“Focus, Trouble, come on…”

I could feel his presence hovering behind me.

I squeezed my eyes shut for two seconds, opened them again, and adjusted my aim. Another recoil from the Glock, and the paper target sprouted a hole in the center of the blue five-point mark.

“Two out of six,” he exclaimed enthusiastically.

I couldn’t help smiling, the pulsing blood making my senses tingle. I tried to center my aim more precisely. Pulled the trigger again and hit the white edge of the one-point mark.

“I shouldn’t even count that one.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled.

“Last two shots—think you can get five out of six?”

All that talking was enough to break my concentration, and he did it on purpose. His argument was always the same: in a dangerous situation, I wouldn’t have all the time in the world to focus, nor endless chances to hit someone.

In a situation where I’d have to shoot, it’d be all or nothing.

I squeezed the trigger again and wildly missed the target.

“Are you kidding me? Dad shoots better than that after three beers…”

The loud crack of the last bullet cut off his sentence mid-word. Just hearing mention of that useless bastard made my blood boil. Being compared to him was one of the worst things someone could do, and Shane knew it.

“Goddamn it.” I slammed the empty Glock onto the counter.

“You’ve got to control your emotions better when you’re shooting.”

“Go fuck yourself.” I rolled my eyes and headed for the exit, tearing off my ear protectors on the way.

“Trouble, wait,” Shane called after me, grabbing my elbow. “You did good.”

“Let’s go. I have to work tonight.” I tried to pull my arm away from him, but he only gripped me tighter.

“It’s only two-thirty,” he protested.

“We’ve got an hour drive back to King’s—”

“I went too far in there,” he said, in his best attempt at an apology.

I couldn’t get the irritated scowl off my face.

He always had to ruin a good moment. He did it constantly, without even realizing he was crossing a line. It was practically a talent.

I didn’t answer his half-assed apology. The drive back was uncomfortable, but he, more than anyone, knew I wasn’t so easy to break.

I pressed my baseball cap tighter onto my head because the wind on the highway in a convertible Jeep felt like being inside a hurricane.

“What are you doing?” I asked when I realized he was making a U-turn right before the bridge that would take us from one county to the next.

“A little detour,” Shane said, a playful half-smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t worry—you’ll get to your night shift with time to spare.”

Work was just another excuse to get home fast and end the tension from our fights. It was barely three in the afternoon on a summer Saturday, and I didn’t have to be at the bar for my shift until seven. By my count, from where we were, home was only twenty-five to thirty minutes away.

We turned down some roads lined with trees on both sides until we reached the entrance sign for the park, which was surprisingly busy with campers.

“You don’t remember,” he muttered to himself, driving past trailers gathered around Clarks Hill Lake. “Of course you don’t remember…”

“Remember what?”

“The summers we spent here at Wildwood Park.”

“That was almost twenty years ago.”

“Yeah. You were only four or five. It was me, you, Dad, and Helen.”

A.k.a. our mother—I wanted to add. But the bitterness Shane carried in his heart was so strong it stopped him from thinking of her as the woman who’d been his mother all through his childhood and teenage years. Helen was now just another name on the list of people who’d let us down.

The park along the river was bustling. Couples sat on the grass, families played together, groups of friends gathered in circles, and some people sat alone, reading, meditating, or simply watching the scenery.

We got out and walked a bit, almost bumping into each other. Shane kept glancing away, licking his lips nervously, breathing heavily—all clear signs he wanted to say something but was waiting for me to bring it up first.

“Why’d you bring me here?” I asked, sticking both my hands into the pockets of my shorts and keeping my eyes ahead.

“You know, Sam,” he began, immediately fumbling his words, “there was a time when… Helen was still around. Not happy, but around.” He paused, kicking a small stone off the path.

The day was beautiful, the sky a clear blue without a single cloud. Just being away from the trailer that smelled like booze, or the dark atmosphere of Pete's, made my head feel lighter.

“Dad was still in control of things, and we were a functional family. I screwed up by not appreciating it when I could. I had the childhood you deserved. I had two parents. We didn’t have much money, but I had love.”

“Yeah? And then I was born, ruined everything, end of story?” I could taste the bitterness in my words as I ran my hand over my face.

“Let me finish, you little punk.” He rolled his eyes and gave my shoulder a playful shove. “We were a family. And she fucked it all up by leaving. Dad never had a chance after it all happened. He gave up the moment everything fell apart. And again—you didn’t deserve that.”

Shane pulled me over to sit on a bench facing the lake. I’d practically forgotten I was mad at him, because I was so focused on where this conversation was going.

“What I’m trying to say is… he wasn’t always like this. And I know it’s hard for you to remember how he was before everything went to hell.”

“We didn’t have the same dad, Shane.” I shifted to face him, my legs crossed on top of the bench, trying to read all the emotions flickering across his marked face.

“I know…”

“He ended up broken, and he broke me in the process.”

“I know, Trouble.” His eyes were on the ground. “But the man I knew is still in there somewhere, probably crying out for help…”

“Not this again.” I blurted out, restless, having to look away. “I’ve given him more chances than I can count. More than he deserved. And he’s wasted every single one.”

“What if we tried rehab again?”

“I’m not spending another goddamn dime on someone who. does. not. want. to. get. better.” I spoke every word slowly so he’d understand.

My chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, my breathing short from the confrontation. He started getting frustrated, clenching his fingers unconsciously as he stared at the ground.

It was impossible to help someone who just wanted to drown in their own misery.

“He’s never going to get better if his own flesh and blood won’t give it one more try.”

“Shane, no.”

“Just one more time, Trouble… For me.”

“I swore to myself that the time we found him drinking away all the money we’d sunk into that damn rehab center in Atlanta—that was the last time I’d try.” I stood up, wanting more than anything for him to drop the subject once and for all. “To pull someone out of rock bottom, they need at least a little bit of will to get better. It doesn’t have to be much.”

“I kno—”

“And he doesn’t have a shred of willpower left in that bloated body filled with booze.”

His brown eyes looked wounded at his failed attempt to make me help one more time. But in that moment, he saw I wasn’t going to budge.

I wasn’t going to waver again, wasn’t going to go back on my word.

I wouldn’t allow someone to hurt me again.

I’d been disappointed enough to build a defense mechanism against everything my father could do.

KING’S COUNTY

“Sam, tables eight and five just asked for the check,” Markus said as he passed me, holding a tray with three drinks.

“On it…”

“Oh, and someone puked in the women’s bathroom. Mariah says you owe her from last time.” His amused grin almost earned him a punch in the face.

My mood was going from bad to worse that day. First there was Shane and his puppy-dog eyes, talking like I was the villain of the story, like giving that drunk one more chance was still an option—as if he didn’t just use me for money to feed his addiction. And now this goddamn bar/restaurant was hosting three events at once: two birthdays and a bachelor party.

My head felt like it was going to explode at any moment, and nothing except a good night’s sleep was going to fix it.

I closed out the two tables Markus mentioned, got paid with two generous tips, and dropped the extra cash into the jar behind the bar to split at the end of the night.

Cleaning the bathroom felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. The strong mix of alcohol, cleaning products, and vomit made me clench my teeth, hold my breath, and almost puke myself.

I’d done worse things at this job, but the headache and the fact that I hadn’t eaten all night made it almost unbearable.

I threw the mop cloth in the trash when I finished and sprayed some deodorizer to kill the smell.

As I stepped out of the bathroom, I nearly crashed into someone—a guy, a little taller than me. His tan skin glowed under the dim hallway light. His hair was cropped short, probably buzzed that week, but I could still see the recession at his temples.

His rough hands caught me to keep me from falling.

“Sorry 'bout that,” he smiled, his eyes roaming me from head to toe.

“No big deal,” I smiled back.

“This might sound pathetic,” he said, still holding onto me—which I definitely noticed—“but I walked this way hoping to bump into the gorgeous waitress I haven’t been able to stop staring at all night.”

His husky voice sent chills across my skin, my neck heating instantly, and I couldn’t help the smile that crept onto my face.

“Well, this waitress has to get back to work before she gets fired.”

I glanced down at his fingers still touching me, and he immediately got the hint and let go. He took a small step back, looking sheepish, but his eyes stayed locked on mine.

“You’re at the bachelor party table, right?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

I’d worked at Pete’s long enough to recognize practically everyone in our tiny town. Most of the guys at his table had been eyeing me like I was a steak dinner, and they were definitely not locals.

“It’s my cousin Mateo’s bachelor party. I came down from Atlanta just for this,” he said, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets like he had no idea what to do with them. “Poor guy’s getting roped in tomorrow. Tied down for life.”

“Is that a congratulations or a condolences?”

“Depends on how you look at it.” His smile shifted into something more flirtatious.

“I’ll be sure to send over a round on the house, then. As my condolences.” I winked and turned to leave the hallway that led to the bathrooms.

“Hey,” he called before I got too far, “you didn’t tell me your name.”

“You didn’t ask,” I said, amused by the urgency in his voice.

“Mine’s Martinez,” he offered, even though I hadn’t turned around. “C… Caesar Martinez,” he stammered, like he was scared I’d vanish before he finished.

I glanced over my shoulder at his figure, now standing a little stiff. The smile was gone, lips pressed into a tight line. Between his brows, a worried wrinkle had formed.

I gave a lopsided smile before answering.

“Nice to meet you, Martinez.” And with that, I walked back into the main room. Behind me, I heard a faint, disbelieving laugh.

“Not even your last name?”

“Maybe later.”

Guys who got things too easily never appreciated them.

So I decided to leave him with some hope—even though I already knew that by the end of the night, he’d probably just be another way to forget all the bullshit I’d dealt with today.

Back on the floor, I was taking orders, wiping down tables, and even dancing a little to the background music.

Toward the end of my shift, I slipped a napkin with my number to Martinez along with the check for his table. His bright smile lit up as soon as he saw what I’d given him, but he didn’t have time to say much—his cousins and friends were all over him trying to split the bill.

“You need a ride tonight, Sam?” Markus asked as he passed by carrying two empty glasses.

“Not tonight—Shane’s picking me up.”

“Does Mariah know he’s coming?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly aware of her huge crush on my older brother.

“And miss the chance to watch her turn red all over again?”

“Nice. Remind me to tease her about it tomorrow.”

“You got it.” I winked and turned back to the table full of guys still arguing over who owed what.

Two of them were dividing up the tequila shots; the beers were going to the rest. But in the end, Martinez handed me his card.

“Put it all on this.”

“Everything?”

“Yep. All of it,” he confirmed confidently.

His friends cheered, and I couldn’t help but laugh. I raised my brows like I was impressed, boosting his confidence even more.

The tip he left was way more than I expected, so I made a mental note to share it with the kitchen crew too.

“You mind if I wait outside to say goodbye?” Martinez asked as I handed him his receipt, his voice low and near my ear, yet another attempt to seduce.

“My brother’s a cop. He’s picking me up tonight,” I warned, a sly smile at the corner of my mouth.

“I’m not committing any crimes,” he said with a shrug.

Shane didn’t pick me up from work every day, but on most Saturdays, he makes an effort. Says the town got more dangerous on weekends, and he wanted to make sure I get home safe. He usually showed up on time, but tonight, he was running a little late.

The parking lot was nearly empty, aside from Markus’s car and a silver Honda Accord—Martinez was leaning against it. His eyes practically sparkled when I stepped outside with my work bag slung over my left shoulder.

They didn’t call me Trouble for nothing. I hated dancing around the obvious. I’ve always been direct with what I want or need to say—gauging other people’s reactions isn’t in my nature.

If what I said hurt you? You probably needed to hear it.

I walked up slowly, ready to leave, but also fully prepared to put the poor guy out of his misery. His smile spread wide as I got close.

“Thought I scared you off.”

“Ha,” I scoffed. “You’ll have to try harder than that to scare me.”

“Good to know.”

We both knew why he was still here—hell, anyone could see the desire in his eyes (and yeah, the alcohol helped). He was attractive. Not the most attractive man I’d ever seen, and he didn’t stir up anything wild inside me. Those reactions were reserved for someone else—someone unreachable.

I stepped in closer, hooked my finger into the belt loop of his jeans, and gently pulled him toward me. He gasped in surprise, and I laughed quietly. His eyes dropped to my lips, full of the need he’d been holding back all night.

I let him take the lead—and almost groaned when the kiss was gentle.

I didn’t want gentle.

I wanted a man with a firm grip, decisive. I wanted to feel power, to be taken, to be outmatched by someone stronger and more confident.

I wanted him.

I pressed my palms to Martinez’s chest and deepened the kiss. My mind stayed active the whole time. His fingers slid gently up my arms, then to the back of my neck. I bit his bottom lip lightly, used the little moan he let out to push the kiss deeper.

Whiskey, tequila, beer—all of it danced from his mouth to mine. Familiar, somehow.

I slipped my arms around his ribs and instinctively pressed my body closer.

And just as my tongue slid into his mouth, I heard the rumble of a Jeep pulling up a few yards away.

I broke the kiss, rolling my eyes, already bracing for the cocky tone I knew was coming.

“Trouble, let’s go!” Shane shouted, his voice echoing across the lot. “I don’t have all night to watch you make out with some idiot!” he added, amusement dancing through his arrogance.

“Coming.” I pulled away from Martinez slowly.

He looked at me like he was losing his favorite toy. His pupils were dilated, lips a little swollen, chest rising and falling quickly from the adrenaline.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” I said softly, stepping back.

“Trouble?” he asked, referencing the nickname Shane had shouted.

“More trouble than you can handle.” I wiped my thumb across my lips and turned toward the passenger side of the Jeep.

“I still don’t know your name…”

“You’re not gonna get it,” Shane snapped before I could say anything, his amusement now shifting into annoyance and protectiveness.

Martinez opened and closed his mouth twice, searching for something to say, but the Jeep’s engine cut him off, and the next thing I knew, Shane was pulling away from the lot.

My overprotective idiot—always showing up at the worst possible time.

I slumped into the soft seat, exhausted and finally letting my mind relax. Some Willie Nelson song hummed low under the wind and engine noise, carrying us back toward the trailer park.

“Good shift?” Shane asked, trying to make small talk.

“Shitty shift, but the tips were good,” I replied dryly.

“That kiss… was that a thank-you for the tip?”

“Is that really what you think of me? That I’d hook up with someone just because they dropped a nice chunk of change?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Then what did you mean, Shane?”

“You even know him?” He dodged the question, his grip on the wheel tightening so much his knuckles turned white.

“Met him tonight.”

“And you’re already shoving your tongue down the throat of some stran—”

“Oh, and like you’re one to talk,” I snapped, patience gone. “How many dates did it take before you got your precious Rose in bed, making her moan like a slut all night long?”

“Sam.” My name came out in warning. As in — Watch your mouth, I’m still your big brother — kind of warning.

“Hypocritical asshole.” I crossed my arms, fuming.

“I just care about you.”

“Well, don’t. I can take care of myself. And I’ve earned the right to enjoy a few minutes of distraction that isn’t work or bills.” I muttered.

The tension between us was almost physical. He was breathing heavily, shaking his head like he was having a silent argument with himself. I turned my head into the wind, letting the sound drown everything else out.

Only when he parked in front of the trailer did he speak again, calmer this time.

“I stopped by Low’s today. Sanchez says hi.”

Low’s was the only decent mechanic shop in town, and Sanchez had been my friend in high school. I already knew where this was going.

“I talked to him last week.”

“He misses you.”

“Well, maybe while you were there, you could’ve explained that I’ve got a life and a job that takes up most of my damn time.”

“I know… Jesus, Sam, I’m just saying your friend misses you.”

I clenched my jaw… My shitty day was seriously messing with my people skills. But I was just tired. I just wanted a hot shower and a bed.

“Sorry. I’m just tired,” I muttered, slinging my bag over my shoulder and getting out of the Jeep, waiting for him to follow me inside.

“I wanted to ask a favor,” Shane said, closing his door behind him and walking into the trailer.

“Shoot…”

We both stepped into the hot trailer, the contrast between the cool night air and the stale, booze-laced air inside slamming into me. It was silent except for our footsteps—Simon was already asleep by now, locked in his room.

“I’m gonna need to change the Jeep’s tires, and I’m short on cash,” Shane blurted. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I get my check next month.”

“How much?” I set my bag on the kitchen table and turned to him, trying to read his face.

“Four hundred and thirty bucks.” My eyes widened in surprise, and before I could argue, he clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture. “I swear I’ll pay you back as soon as I get paid.”

“What the hell did you do with the check you got last week?”

“I had some unexpected expenses.”

“Unexpected expenses?”

“I…” He rubbed his eyes with both hands. “R-Rose wanted to go to this restaurant in the next county over… I took her last week, and the bill was a hell of a lot higher than I expected.”

“Goddammit, Shane!” I threw my hands in the air, unable to believe what I was hearing.

“I’ll pay you back, Sam. I’ve never stiffed you.”

“I know you’ll pay me back, but I was counting on that money for my trip at the end of the month.”

“I can’t leave the Jeep’s tires the way they are.”

“You should’ve been thinking with the head on your shoulders, not the one in your pants.”

He didn’t respond. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, nervous. His jaw was clenched, and in his brown eyes, I saw that same silent plea that always cracked me in the end.

I let out a deep sigh and looked away.

“I’ll transfer it to you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sam. You’re the best.”

“Sex must be really fucking worth it,” I grumbled, storming toward my room.

“She’s going back to Florida at the end of the month, so you won’t have to keep teasing her anymore,” Shane said, now sounding more relieved.

He tossed his car keys next to my purse and headed toward the fridge for some water.

“Yay,” I said with fake enthusiasm, making him laugh.

I grabbed my pajamas, a towel, and headed for the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to relax my sore muscles and try to get some sleep.

“Hey, Trouble,” Shane called before disappearing into his room. “Louise invited us over for lunch tomorrow. It’s your day off, right?”

“It is. I was starting to think she’d forgotten about us.”

“She didn’t… She’s just been worried about all that drama Lori caused a few weeks back.”

“She hates the way Lori treats Rick,” I threw in, stating the obvious between both of us.

Louise Grimes had always been super protective whenever it came to her oldest son. I remembered her grumbling every time Lori walked into her house hand-in-hand with Rick, and it always made me chuckle under my breath.

“Anyway, we’ll leave around ten-thirty. It’ll be lunch—and the pool got cleaned today.”

That, finally, brought a genuine smile to my lips.

That was exactly what I needed to unwind—a Sunday with people who truly cared about me, good food, and a pool to cool off in this unbearable summer heat.

[joelssimp]

STILL | CHAPTER 19

CW: alternating pov, jealousy, secret relationship, phone-sex, masturbation, +18 MDNI.

6.9K words

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19 - So Obvious

The mountains were a different kind of cold, way colder than Calgary at this time of the year. They were dusted with snow that stuck, not like the teasing flurries we’ve been getting lately. Canmore felt quieter and it looked older — like something tucked between the folds of time and hundreds of pines all around. It was a colder kind of beauty, and maybe that suited us for this next phase of the shooting schedule.

We all arrived late in the morning. The crew was already buzzing, unpacking lights and cables, heaters humming in every corner. I kept my head down, camera over one shoulder, my bag over the other. Pedro offered to carry it for me again, but I just smiled and brushed his hand without saying anything.

We were being careful for real this time. Or at least we were trying.

Just a handful of people knew about us, mostly his family and the closest of friends. The plan was to keep it this way for a good while.

We were still trying to figure out our relationship ourselves, no need to have more eyes on us.

We didn’t have to name anything out loud yet. It was there in the glances, the brushing fingers, the quiet looks when we thought no one else was paying attention. We were trying to keep the work clean, keep the feelings where they belonged, just in between us when we were alone. And yet… something leaked out anyway.

One person was back with us after five months, and that person was too damn smart for his own good.

He had the same easy stride, and that wide grin we all missed. The way his jacket was too thin for the weather but he wore it like it didn’t matter. Gabriel hadn’t changed much — just looked more rested, his hair was longer and he grew a killer mustache for the role. 

Last time we saw him was the wrap day for Nico as Sarah, back when we were shooting episode 1. And that felt like a lifetime ago. We’d promised him not to have much fun without him, and he picked up on what happened in the last few months too quick.

“Look who’s back” he shouted, arms already open.

I jogged the last few steps and hugged him, letting myself fold into the familiarity.

“Still falling into rivers?” he asked into my ear.

“Still laughing at me for it?” I shot back.

He pulled away, hands warm on my arms. “You’re different,” Gabriel said with his brow raised.

“Aren’t we all?” I replied too quickly, trying to deflect. My stomach did a little flip inside my body. “It’s been a long five months.”

He nodded slowly. “For all of us.”

Pedro showed up a moment later, and the smile that Gabriel gave him was full of something older than just a work friendship. It felt more like a brotherhood. They clapped each other on the back like men who’d bled together. And they did, even though it was fake blood.

“Caballero,” Gabriel said.

“Look who’s finally back,” Pedro replied, that lazy boy-ish grin I loved already slipping out.

Gabriel squinted at him. “So. Should I congratulate you or pretend I haven’t already put two and two together?”

Pedro didn’t answer. Just shoved him lightly and changed the subject. 

I was thankful when he let it slide, not picking up too much on our situation. We weren’t confirming anything, at least not here with all the crew members going back and forth around us.

Bella joined us a few minutes later, bundled in a parka twice their size, red cheeks and nose like they were already part of the scenery. Gabriel’s eyes lit up excitedly. They missed each other when we first started, he wrapped a day or two before Bella started.

“And there is our Ellie,” he said warmly.

Bella smiled and offered one hand. “So… You’re Tommy.”

He grinned. “Sometimes. But only on the good days.”

That cracked them up. I loved watching that — Gabriel, already pulling Bella in like he’d known them for years. He was all warmth and positivity. And that was just what we need around this cold small town.

We spent the next hour in and out of production meetings and tech checks. I floated between second unit notes and camera tests, my eyes always sharp to catch any different angles of different moments. Pedro was off rehearsing blocking with Bella and Gabriel. When I peeked through the monitor, I caught Gabriel throwing Pedro a wink when no one was looking.

I rolled my eyes and looked away. But I couldn’t deny my shy smile.

Pedro caught my gaze once, from across the lot. His eyes held me for just a second longer than he was supposed to. I pressed my camera to my face to hide the way my mouth curled up at the corners into a smile that only he was able to get from me.

It was a random Wednesday in that little town, and we were between scheduled shoots. There was a lot of extras around the set of Jackson, new hires, new interns, and new people meant “we need to be more cautious”. But we grew tired of not having enough time around each other, so Pedro and I had managed to sneak away for lunch together. And it was nothing extravagant — just a little further from the place we usually eat with the crew, just enough that we didn’t need to worry too much.

The kitchen of that set was too damn small, the kind of cozy that made you stay closer to the other person than you needed to be.

We weren't even doing anything scandalous, we were just... laughing, together. His hand was on my lower back, and mine resting lazily on his left thigh. I was curled up in his hoodie, that black “Carrie” one that he took everywhere, and it was so natural now, the way we existed together in these little stolen pieces. 

We forgot we weren't supposed to be touching each other… The door swung open. I didn’t fucking hear it. Not until it was too late.

“Oh—shit! I’m sorry!” a voice rang out from that direction, kind of too panicky.

I jumped, nearly knocking over my thermos with piping hot coffee.

Pedro turned in his seat, slow and calm, but his hand subtly moved to mine under the table. “It’s okay,” he said, calm as ever. “You didn’t interrupt anything.”

The intern — I think her name was Lydia or something like that — stood frozen like she had just walked in on a crime scene. Which, to be fair, in terms of PR for his career, maybe that’s what all it was.

“I was just bringing the updated call sheets… They told me to come by… I didn’t mean to—”

I stood up, trying to act like it was all very professional, like my cheeks weren’t flaming. “Really, it’s fine.”

“No! I mean— I didn’t see anything,” she said, clearly seeing everything. Her eyes bounced between Pedro and me, connecting invisible dots faster than I could swipe them away.

Pedro just gave her that charming, easy smile. The one that could’ve stop the internet entirely for a full day if he wanted to. “Let me take those from you,” he said, walking over and gently taking the papers from her trembling hands.

But she still lingered. Interested in what was happening with us. She was curious like anyone would be in her place.

And then, from the hallway behind her, another voice: “Lydia, why are you—?”

Kate.

Of all the people. The one that knew everything, and still was a little distant for me to fear something I couldn’t see.

Lydia stammered again, but Kate, sharp as always, clocked the whole thing in about half a second. Her gaze snapped to me, then to Pedro, then back to Lydia. No sub-context, no second guesses, she just went with it…

“Oh, great. You found the kitchen,” Kate said, stepping forward, cool and collected like nothing was out of place. “I was looking for you, actually.”

Lydia blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah. You were supposed to be with camera crew B today. They’re down at the Christmas Tree with Gabriel. Let’s go.”

Lydia looked like she wanted to cry or evaporate, or maybe both, but she nodded quickly and stepped aside. “Okay… yeah, sorry.”

As she passed Kate, I watched my friend lean in and whisper something — low enough that I couldn’t catch it, but effective enough that Lydia didn’t dare look back once.

Kate stayed far enough so we wouldn’t be too uncomfortable.

She looked at me, then at Pedro, and then back to me again. “You two need to lock your damn doors.”

I exhaled through my nose. “Thanks,”

“Yeah, like I said… I got you,” she shot back, but for once her voice was missing that bite from the last couple of days. “You both owe me, big one.”

She turned and left before I could say anything else.

I looked over at Pedro. He stood with the call sheets still in his hands, brows lifted, mouth slightly parted like he was still catching up to everything that happened.

“Well,” he said finally. “We’ve officially been caught.”

I sighed, rubbing my hands over my face. “We’re making this harder than it has to be.”

“Do you think she’ll say anything?”

“Who, Kate?”

“No, I mean, that girl… Lydia?” He pointed to the way they went back.

“I don’t know.” I met his eyes.

He walked over, brushed a loose hair off my forehead. “Guess we need to lay low for a little while.”

I didn’t say anything back. Could feel the little bubble we’ve been wrapped cracking just a little in front of me. It was just a small crack, a glimpse of how life could be in case we took things publicly.

Because the thing about being caught… is that the secret doesn’t stay like that for too long.

It started with just a look.

One of the set decorators — I think her name was Mandy too, short for Amanda, but everyone called her Dee for some reason I didn’t know. She raised just one eyebrow as I walked past her around the catering area. And it was nothing too dramatic, but you could tell she knew something was up, but there was no courage to bring anything right there.

I was able to ignore that, but then there was the sound guy — Derek — who asked me, too casually, “You working close with Pedro again this week?” Like it was just small talk fit for an evening of work. And the fucker already knew the answer… Yeah, he was just confirming.

By the third incident, it wasn’t subtle anymore. Bella found me near the make-up trailer one morning, fiddling with my lens cap. “Heads up,” they said, voice low as they passed by. “There’s noise going around.”

I glanced up at them. “About?”

They gave me a look that said don’t make me say the obvious.

“Oh,” I said. “fuck.”

“I’m brushing it off,” Bella said. “Kate too. She’s being—surprisingly loyal, given… everything.”

I nodded slowly, with no courage to look in their direction. The cracks were getting bigger and bigger each working day.

“It’s just gossip,” I muttered.

“Yeah. But gossip in a crew like this one is like glitter. It doesn’t go away easy. There’s always a reminder.”

I didn’t even have time to answer before someone from wardrobe stepped outside, cutting the conversation short.

That same day, Pedro and I decided to keep our distance from each other. It was a scene in Jackson outdoors, light snow falling, the actors and extras going around a huge Christmas tree. He didn’t sit with me at lunch, like we used to do. I didn’t take that many pictures of him, just left it to Kate’s lenses. Our eyes met once — just once — across the field of fake tents and fake houses of Jackson.

It hit me right there — how different Canmore was from Calgary.

In Calgary, we had pockets of freedom, the city was too big for people to get their nose in our business. But here? The town was too damn small, and the production footprint was even smaller. Everyone stayed in the same hotel or cabins, and ate in the same two diners. I could already feel the walls closing in on us.

Later that week, Kate found me after wrap, as I shoved gear into my case too roughly.

“You’re being obvious,” she said.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” she cut in. “And he is too. And look, I’m not gonna be the one to call the press or anything. But someone else might.”

I stared at her.

She sighed. “I’m trying to help. I know you don’t trust me after everything, and maybe you shouldn’t. But I’ve seen what a rumor like this can do to a set. You two need to cool it down.”

I swallowed hard, nodding my head “I hate this.”

Kate gave a dry laugh. “Welcome to the film industry.”

“Yeah” I said blankly, with this weird feeling growing inside my chest “Thanks for helping tho. You didn’t need to.”

“Don’t mention it” She brushed it off “We’re friends. You would have done the same thing for me.”

“I would,” That got a smile from me. “I Totally would.”

I told Pedro that night — over text: Let’s just take some space. Until things cool down. Please.

He answered ten minutes later: Whatever you need. I'm here. Even if I’m not next to you.

It hurt more than I expected — To pull back after so much closeness. To pretend and smile when I was handed notes by someone whispering behind my back. To walk past him like he wasn’t mine in the quiet moments anymore.

But the rumors were out. And even though Bella and Kate kept swatting them away like flies, the buzz was already in the air.

And all we could do… was wait for it to pass.

The next day, we tried again. I keep my head down. Told myself I was being professional, by staying out of Pedro’s orbit unless it’s absolutely necessary. But Canmore was too tight, too small, and every corner I turn, he was somehow right there — in frame, out of frame, leaning against a prop trailer or listening intently to Gabriel between takes.

And then there was this girl.

She’s new, or at least new enough that I haven’t learned her name yet. Maybe nineteen or twenty. A PA or something adjacent. She had long blonde hair, bright lipstick, and a laugh that rings louder than it needs to.

She’s shameless about it too — standing just a little too close to him while he’s running lines. Touching his arm when he makes a joke. She was flashing her teeth, twirling her lanyard and saying all the things any girl would want to say to him.

And he’s—God, he’s nice. Too fucking nice.

Of course he is. He smiles, big and wide. He also listens, or at least pretends to, and he responds whenever she asks anything to him. Pedro even laughs at something she says. He’s not being flirty — thank God — but he’s not pushing her away either.

And I want to scream. I want to tell her to back-off from my man. Tell her and anyone who would listen that he’s mine… Mine to touch, mine to care—He’s just mine.

I’m half a second away from walking over there and pulling her by her shiny little lanyard when someone catches my elbow. “Nope,” Kate says, cool as ever. “Turn around. Right the fucking now.”

I glare at her. “You saw that, right?”

“Oh, I saw. And I also saw your face. You were about to launch a grenade at that girl’s feet.”

“She’s so obvious, Kate.”

“Yes, she is. And you’re about to make it worse.”

I press my lips together. My hands are fists by the side of my body.

Kate guides me behind one of the wardrobe trailers and leans back like we’re just two crewmates shooting the shit.

“You think he’s into it?” I ask, hating the way my voice sounds — small, too tight in the throat.

Kate glances toward where Pedro and her are still talking. “No. But he’s… you know. He’s Pedro. He’s charming when he’s breathing.”

“Shouldn’t he know better?”

“Probably. But you can’t start fights on a film set, Sweetheart. That’s like… rule number one of hiding a relationship — you don’t act like you’re in one.”

I sag against the trailer wall, stomach twisting.

Kate watches me for a beat. Then, in a rare flicker of kindness, she adds, “He only has eyes for you, you know?! I’ve seen it, it’s so obvious… That man would eat dirt if you asked him nicely.”

A dry laugh escapes me, too fast to catch.

She bumps my shoulder lightly. “You good?”

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

We stand there for another few minutes. Watching nothing, trying to calm my nerves down and letting the wind bite at our jackets.

Eventually, Kate says, “Let’s go back before someone sees us together and starts another rumor about us.”

I smirk. “Wouldn’t that be so much fun.”

“Oh, please. You’re not my type.”

“Neither are you.”

We grin — briefly. And for a moment, the tension lifts from our friendship.

Until I round the trailer again and see Pedro with her one last time, still smiling like nothing’s burning. Like my insides aren’t burning with this jealousy that wants to eat me alive.

I knew something was off the second I saw her disappear behind the trailer with Kate.

She wasn't great at hiding what she feels — not with me, anyway — and whatever mask she tried to put on for the rest of the day didn’t do much more than smudge the edges of what she was fighting internally.

Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine when we were close enough. She only gave me short answers and walked off the second the scenes were done.

I figured I’d done something wrong. Maybe I said the wrong thing, or looked at her the wrong way… Or maybe that’s what taking time apart meant for her.

Took me until after dinner to piece it together — that girl from production, the one who looked like she belonged on a campus lawn and not a working set. She’d been hovering all damn day, hanging on every word I said, laughing too hard at nothing. At first, I thought it was just nerves from being in a big production. But by the time she asked if I had any “insider tips” about the next episode — with her palm pressed flat against my bicep — I got it.

And that sharp photographer’s eyes had seen it too. Of course she saw it, and she didn’t like it.

Now it’s past ten, I’m lying on the couch in the apartment they gave me here in Canmore, and I dial her number like I’ve been meaning to since the wrap earlier that day.

She picks up after four rings.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hi.”

She’s probably curled up in her bed by now. And I can hear it in her voice. She was not cold, not exactly, but somehow it was too sharp. Kind of guarded — Her tone’s too careful for how we usually talk when we’re alone.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

Liar. But I don’t call her on it yet.

“I missed you today,” I say instead. “You ghosted me.”

“Kind of the whole purpose of staying apart, I think.”

I pause for a second, then decide to just go there straight up.

“Was it the girl?”

Silence.

I smile, even if she can’t see it. “It was, wasn’t it?”

She groans — quiet, low. “She was so fucking obvious.”

“Yeah, I figured it out eventually.”

“You didn’t stop her.”

“I didn’t encourage her either,” I counter, shifting the phone to my other ear. “I was trying to be polite.”

“Well, polite Pedro looked like “flirty” Pedro from where I stood.”

“I wasn’t flirting, mi amor.”

She’s quiet again, and I wait. Then:

“Maybe I just don’t like being invisible.”

That lands harder than I expect. Because she’s not wrong. I also hated the way my life could affect the way people were going to treat her. How if one word got out, there would be thousands of girls after her to hurt her feelings in any way they could. How we had to stay low, and I couldn’t tell people how she picked me when she could’ve picked any guy her age.

“You’re not invisible to me,” I say softly, “Not for one second.”

“I know.”

“I thought we were doing the right thing. Keeping it low. At least it should be easier.”

“I know that too.”

I close my eyes. “You want me to stop? I will.”

“No. Just… tell me next time. When someone’s that obvious. Warn me so I don’t want to light someone’s clipboard on fire.”

That makes me laugh a little. “Duly noted.”

She lets out a breath — the kind that tells me she’s finally, finally relaxing.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” I murmur.

“I’m not jealous.”

“You are. A little.”

“…Fine. Maybe a little.”

“I liked it.”

“Yeah, you would.”

“I like when you care about me.” My voice softens even more. “I like you.”

Another quiet second. Then: “I like you too,” she whispers. “Even when you’re a dumbass.”

I grin. “Especially when I’m a dumbass?”

“Don’t push your luck, Pascal.”

We talk like that for another fifteen minutes — quiet little teasing, joking whenever I want to make her laugh, and the kind of intimacy that feels right with her.

She’s curled under the covers, I can tell by the sound of her voice. Soft and low. I can hear her laugh more muffled than usual, like she’s got the edge of the comforter pulled up to her chin.

“So… Tell me what you’re wearing,” I say, just to mess with her.

“Oh my God,” she groans, a laugh tucked behind it. “Are you seriously—”

“I mean it,” I say. “You were jealous of a twenty-year-old today. I think I deserve a little something.”

“Yeah? And what exactly do you think I’m wearing to bed in this town?”

“I’m picturing that T-shirt. The gray one, the one that’s technically mine.”

She exhales. “Technically.”

“With nothing under it.”

“Technically.”

I close my eyes, letting that sink in for a second. The idea of her in my shirt, legs tangled in her sheets, phone pressed to her ear — it makes my chest go tight, my throat warm and the blood rush right to my groin.

“You should’ve let me come over.”

She hums, teasing. “So you could defend your honor from the clipboard girl?”

“No,” I murmur. “So I could take my shirt back.”

There is a pause.

“You’d have to earn it.”

“Oh?” I smile at that. “You giving out dares now?”

“Only for you.” Her voice dips lower, like she’s not entirely joking anymore. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Say something… and it sticks with me. Stays in my head after we hang up.”

“Good,” I say, voice low. “I hope I live there.”

“You do,” she says, almost like she doesn’t mean to admit it. Then quieter: “You really do.”

My hand tightens around the phone. “If I was there right now…”

“Pedro...” She warns, like saying — don't go there.

“You know what I’d do?”

She lets out the smallest, sharpest inhale. “Tell me.”

“I’d start slow,” I murmur. “Fingertips under the hem of that T-shirt. Kisses to your shoulder. Your neck… All of it.”

There’s some silence. And I imagine her biting her lip, with her eyes closed, just letting the words sink in.

“Pedro,” she whispers, and I feel it — in my gut, my chest, lower. That need pulling me like a tide.

“Yeah, baby.”

“I miss you.”

“I’m right here.”

“I know. But I still miss you.”

I rub my hand over my jaw. “Tomorrow. I’ll find some time. I don’t care if it’s ten minutes. I’ll come get you, kiss you like I wanted the whole fucking day.”

She doesn’t answer for a moment. Just breathes, heavy and slow.

“Cariño,” I say, a little rougher now, shifting my body on that damn couch “say goodnight before I really lose my mind.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then:

“Maybe I want you to.”

My breath stops halfway through my throat.

“What?”

Her voice is soft, but certain. “Maybe I want you to lose your mind for me.”

I sit back, stare at the ceiling like it’ll help me to calm down. “You’re not playing fair.”

“You started it,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “You’re the one who called me baby. You’re the one who brought up my shirt.”

“I was trying to be good.”

“You don’t have to be.”

Fuck.

“Baby,” I say again, voice barely a rasp now. “What are you doing?”

“Imagining your hands on me.” Her voice drops lower. “The way you look when you’re about to touch me. Like you already know how it’ll wreck me.”

I groan, low and sharp. “You’re killing me.”

“I want to.”

I close my eyes tight. She’s messing with me, and she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Tell me,” she whispers. “What would you really do if you were here?”

“You really want to know?”

“Tell me—”

“I’d start with your thighs,” I say, already gone now. “Spread them slow. Drag my fingers in a touch so light, you would have goosebumps from it. But I was not gonna give it to you. Not yet.”

She lets out a breath that nearly breaks me.

“Then what?”

“I’d kiss you. Right between your legs.” My voice shakes a little. “Hold you open. Taste how much you missed me.”

She exhales, rough, and I know her body’s reacting — I can hear it in the way she shifts, in the way her breath snags on my name. She’s already gone too.

“Cariño…” I call her, my teeth biting down my lower lip.

“Mhm?”

“I want to be there.”

“You are.”

“No, baby. I want to touch you.”

She hums like it’s a confession. “I’m already touching myself.”

Yeah, fuck it.

That’s all it takes. I lie back, hand slipping beneath the waistband of my sweatpants like I’ve already given in, and I have, I’m already all in with her, falling a thousand times over just for her.

“I need to hear it,” she breathes.

“What?”

“That I do this to you. That you’re touching yourself too.”

I groan, palm dragging over the front of my boxers. I’m already leaking, already pulsing for her. “I’d kiss down your chest, your stomach… tongue teasing that spot just above your—fuck—your waistband. And I wouldn’t stop until you were begging me.”

“Pedro…”

The way she says my name, so wrecked and reverent. It makes me dizzy.

“You really touching yourself right now, baby?” I ask.

There’s just a moment, and then: “Yes.”

My hand slides under the waistband without hesitation.

“How?” I whisper tugging down my clothes just enough so it can spring free.

“Two fingers,” she says, voice breathless now. “Circling slow. Like I’m pretending it’s your tongue.”

Fuuuck.

My hips lift off the couch. I’m barely stroking myself and it’s already too much, too sensitive. I miss her already and it’s only been a couple of days since I had her.

“I’d eat you until your legs were shaking,” I rasp, stroking more firmly now “Hold you open for me. Whisper your name right against your cunt, again and again, until you came all over my mouth. And even then I wouldn’t stop”

She moans so quietly it’s almost a breath — but I can hear her, my ear is trained to expect that kind of noise now.

“You want that?” I ask, hips shifting, imagining her laying on that bed alone, touching herself to the sound of my voice. “You want my tongue buried in you until you cry?”

“Yes—god, yes.”

My hand moves faster now. “I’d flip you over, face down. Pull your hips up, and slide in slow. Not all the way. Just the tip.”

She lets out this gorgeous, broken little sound. “Pedro, please—”

“You’d feel so tight around me, baby. So fucking warm. I’d hold you there, right on the edge, just breathing through it, because if I moved—if I really fucked you— I’d lose it.”

Her breath is ragged now, little stuttered gasps between words she can’t quite say. “I’m—close.”

“Cariño,” I breathe, “tell me what you’re doing.”

“Pressing against—fuck—against my clit,” she says, voice trembling now, heat dripping from every syllable. “Fast circles now. Thinking about your mouth. The way you talk to me when I let you have all of me.”

“Don’t stop,” I whisper, stroking harder. “I’m right behind you.”

“Pedro—”

“Tell me what you need.”

“You,” she gasps. “Just you. Inside me. Deep.”

“Use your fingers, let them sink in” I close my eyes.

“Oh-my-god—” She gasps as soon as she obeys me.

“Baby, I’d take my time. I’d keep you on that edge until you’re begging.”

“I am begging.”

I shift on the couch, legs spread wider, free hand holding the phone even tighter. “I’d pin your wrists,” I let my shaky voice carry through. “Kiss your neck until you can’t think straight. Slide in slow — just once — and hold there until you lose your mind again.”

“Pedro—”

“I’d say your name, again and again, like it’s holy. Like it’s the only thing I know how to say”

She lets out a long, desperate moan — no shame in it. She’s unraveling fast, and I will not last longer.

“I’m close,” she whispers. "So fucking close.”

“Don’t stop. Let me hear you. Let me feel it with you.”

My hand picks up the pace. Precum spreading all over it, making it easy for me to go as fast as I can. The image of her body crumbling being the fuel to it. I imagine her there — thighs shaking, lips parted, phone pressed to her ear while her back arches in bed. I stroke faster, jaw clenched tight. I want to be there. I want to be the one moving inside her, kissing her after the shakes slow down and holding her down through the last wave.

“Pedro—” It’s her voice, cracked open now. “I’m—fuck—”

“I’ve got you, baby,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”

She cries out — not loud, just a sound of someone who can’t keep it inside, like she’s letting go of something she’s held in all day. And I feel it break me open, too.

“Baby—fuck—I’m coming—I’m coming, ahhhh…”

It hits hard, like it always does when it’s her. Sharp, hot and ragged. I fuck my hand up to ride it out with her name in my mouth, every muscle strung tight, the heat of white and thick cum hitting the skin of my hand. I groan until I don’t have anything in me anymore, and then finally—finally—collapse into the aftermath.

She breathes, slow and uneven, like she’s floating. And my breaths are heavy and deep.

I bring a sock to clean myself up, throwing it somewhere near the laundry room. 

Rub my face, still catching my breath. “You okay?”

“More than okay,” she says, voice warm and sleepy now. “You?”

“Destroyed. That was so fucking intense. Wrecked me.”

She laughs — and it’s soft and real this time. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’d let you ruin me every night if you wanted to.”

“Worth it.”

“Every fucking time.”

She hums, sleepy now, the full effect of a perfect orgasm hitting hard now. “Next time… in person.”

“Next time, you won’t be able to walk straight for two days.”

There’s a satisfied little moan. “Good.” She yawns. “I should sleep.”

“I should too. But I might just lie here thinking about you instead.”

“Me too.”

“Buenas noches, baby.” (good night)

“Buenas noches, Pedro.”

I don’t hang up and neither does she, and eventually, we both fall asleep — still connected, breathing in sync.

I woke up with the phone still pressed to the pillow beside me. Battery at 13%, screen black, and the call still going.

For a second, I thought I’d dreamed it — the way his voice sounded when he came undone in my ear, the low, almost reverent way he said my name like it meant more than anything. But then there’s a quiet little snore through the speaker that caught up with me.

We’re still connected.

I rolled onto my side and unlocked the phone, screen glowing way too bright. The call timer said 7 hours, 18 minutes.

“Pedro,” I whispered, not really expecting any answer.

There was a pause. Then a low, groggy hum. “Yeah?”

I smile big, biting my bottom lip, warmth blooming under my skin like a second sunrise. “We fell asleep on the phone, mi amor.”

“Good.” His voice was wrecked with sleep — deeper than usual, like gravel and honey. “Means I wasn’t dreaming.”

Yeah, neither was I.

He yawned, and I closed my eyes, letting the sound carry through me. Then a moment passed, and I remembered: Every word, every whisper and every moan from the night before.

I squeezed my thighs together on instinct, my body waking up all over again. Well, shit.

“I should get up,” I said, already stretching, eyes flicking to the light seeping through the blinds. “Long day ahead.”

“Turn the camera on,” he mumbled. “I wanna see you.”

I hesitated, then hit the red camera button.

He did the same a second later, his image filling my screen, salt and pepper hair sticking up in every direction, the old t-shirt is very stretched at his collar, and there’s pillow dent on one cheek. He blinked at the screen like he was still adjusting to the light. I watched him grin slow and lazy when he saw me.

“You look cute,” he said.

“Liar,” I mumbled, pushing my hair back. “I look like I got hit by a truck.”

“The cutest truck victim I’ve ever seen.”

I rolled my eyes, grinning despite myself, and dragged the phone along with me as I got up. My gear was still scattered near the door from the day before — batteries charging, memory cards stacked neatly in a tiny box, tripod leaning against the wall.

He stayed on screen as I moved around, brushing my teeth with one hand, propping him against a lens case while I tied my hair up.

“You’re quiet,” he said eventually, pulling on a hoodie on top of his shirt. “Thinking about last night?”

I stopped mid-motion, glancing at the screen. He raised an eyebrow, amused and already smug.

“Yes,” I said, not even pretending to hide it. “I keep getting flashes. Like... your voice. The way you said—”

“Careful,” he said, smirking. “I’m still very much a problem down there.”

I laughed, grabbing a battery pack and stuffing it into my bag. “We’re soooo not allowed to look at each other today.”

“No eye contact. No smirking. No tongue against teeth thing you do when you’re pretending not to smile.”

“You love that.”

“I do,” he said. “I really, really do.”

I felt my face warm again, and turned slightly away from the screen, trying to stay focused on the little tasks — packing gear, checking cables, just the normal things.

But I could still feel him watching. Even through a pixelated small screen.

“You’re really doing it,” he said after a moment. “All this gear, and the work. You just don’t stop.”

“I could say the same about you,” I said, zipping a lens pouch closed. “And you didn’t even drink coffee yet.”

He held up a mug just then, like I’d summoned it into his hand. “Didn’t want to miss your pretty face.”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “You’re disgusting.”

“You love it.”

He wasn’t wrong.

I shoved the last cable into the bag and looked back down at the screen. He was watching me again — this time less teasing, and just a little softer.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “I am now.”

There was so much more I wanted to say — about last night, about how much it mattered that he saw me like that, wanted me like that, even from a distance. About how maybe, this version of us, even when we were apart, still felt closer than anything I’d had before him.

But instead I said, “Battery’s almost dead. I should go.”

“Meet you at the set?”

“Yeah,” I said, feeling the smile settle easy on my face. “Try not to look too hot.”

He winked. “No promises, baby.”

I hung up reluctantly, the silence in the room returning a little too quickly.

We were really doing this. The whole relationship together, as partners. Even if we couldn’t show anyone. It was ours with every single little detail.

I left my room feeling lighter. Humming a soft song, and ready for my work day.

After a while, I spotted her just as I was climbing out of the van — coffee in hand, eyes half-lidded from another too-early morning. Kate stood by the trailers, hoodie pulled up, hair in a messy braid, hands tucked into her pockets like she didn’t want to admit she was freezing.

Our eyes met, and there’s a small pause. Then she gives me a nod followed by a: “Hey.”

I smiled back. “Hey.”

We fell into it too easily, both of us walking toward the production tent. The light snow crunching with every step we took. Neither of us said anything for a few seconds — but it didn’t feel tense like before. It felt... like something thawing, like sun warming frost off a windowpane.

“You look better,” Kate said, finally. “Well. Less dead inside, at least.”

“Thanks, I think?”

She grinned, bumping her shoulder into mine. “You been sleeping good?”

I made a face. “Yes. Sort of…No… Maybe.”

Kate shot me a look. “That’s not a real answer.”

I laughed and wrapped my hands tighter around my coffee. “Fine. I slept last night, just... not very restfully.”

She smirked. “Oh?”

I glanced over at her. That look in her eyes — teasing, alive, curious in the way she used to be when we’d sit on the floor of our apartment at 1am, spilling secrets with wine and half-finished edits on our laptops.

So I leaned in a little. “I might have... had a very late phone call last night.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “With him?”

I nodded.

She bit her lip, fighting a smile. “Did it... escalate?”

I let the silence answer.

She nearly choked on her own coffee. “Jesus.”

“I know,” I whispered, grinning like a fool. “It was—God, Kate, it was so much. He’s just—he knows exactly what to say. And he listens. Like he’s hanging onto every word, every breath.”

Kate whistled. “Damn. You’re gone.”

“I’m so fucking gone.”

I didn’t realize I was glowing until she said it. “You look... really happy.”

I stopped walking for a second, surprised at the way that landed. Kate looked at me, not like a skeptic look this time, not guarded or hesitant. It was just like my friend… Just finally Kate.

“I am,” I said. “And it’s weird because there’s so much going on, and it shouldn’t make sense, and I still feel like the world is shaking under me—but with him... I feel secure, protected even”

We kept walking, the weight between us lighter now. I glanced toward the lot where the actors’ trailers were. Pedro’s was already nearby. He was standing outside it, talking to Gabriel and one of the makeup girls, dressed in a dark crewneck, coffee in hand, curls still a little damp.

Then his eyes flicked up—right at us, like a string had pulled his attention.

Kate didn’t notice at first, but I did. The look in his eyes wasn’t casual. It was sharp, heated and intimate. I knew what he was thinking right at that moment.

I felt my breath catch.

Kate followed my gaze, then snorted. “God, you two are so obvious.”

“We are not,” I hissed, eyes wide.

“Sweetheart,” she said, gesturing between us with both hands. “He just looked at you like he’s playing back last night in his head like a podcast. On. Fucking. Repeat.”

I covered my mouth, stifling a laugh. “He does that tongue thing when he’s thinking about it.”

“He definitely just did the tongue thing.”

We reached the edge of the tent, and I turned a little, hiding behind a stack of gear cases, trying to get my heart rate under control. My skin felt hot all over. Kate leaned against the table next to me, watching me with that old familiar grin.

“So,” she said, sipping her coffee. “Phone sex, hun?”

“Kate!”

“What?” she shrugged, teasing. “If you can’t talk about it with me, who the hell can you talk to?”

I let out a slow breath and leaned into her arm, finally letting myself laugh.

It didn’t fix everything. But having her there, after everything felt right. A missing part of the too-messy puzzle.

And somewhere across the lot, Pedro was still watching — still smiling in that quiet, dangerous way — like this town held on to our little secret.

[joelssimp]

TROUBLE | CHAPTER 01

CW: Dad with alcohol problems, maternal abandonment, harassement at work. 3.5K words

masterlist | next chapter

01 - Night Shift

KING’S COUNTY, August/2009

Trouble…

A nickname that stuck like fucking glue. It summed up my days ever since I could remember. My mother always said I’d only ever brought trouble into her life. I was always getting into fights at school, always finding a way to stir up drama, arguing with anyone and everyone, expelled from two schools before I even turned eight years old. And maybe that’s why the coward ran away while I was still in elementary school, leaving me with nothing but my alcoholic father and my older brother.

As the years passed, the addiction of the elder Walsh became practically unbearable. Fights in the house were constant, and the lack of money to pay for his precious booze started coming out of my pocket as soon as I landed my first job at a restaurant. “You have to help with the household expenses.” “At your age, I was handing over every penny to your grandfather.” Those were some of his shameless arguments whenever I pushed back.

High school was just another trouble, and I have no idea how I even made it into the University of Georgia, but I didn’t even last the two-year adjustment period before figuring out college life just wasn’t for me.

Trouble after trouble, after trouble.

When you grow up without any real parental guidance, like I did, it’s normal to feel lost. To have no idea where you’re headed, with no vision for the future, stuck in a minimum-wage job, dealing with annoying customers during the day, and even more annoying drunks when I worked the night shift at the famous bar and restaurant—Pete's.

It was probably the busiest spot in quiet little King’s County—the county right next to South Carolina and nearly two hours from bustling Atlanta. That bar was the backdrop for countless milestones in my life—and probably for everyone else who was born and raised here. Birthdays, wedding parties, first dates, first kisses, and even the first heartbreaks.

Today was one of those summer Fridays where it felt like the entire town had decided to show up at the bar and the plaza out front. Different groups chatting, laughing, and drinking under the dim lights that made the place feel cozy, with country music humming in the background, adding to the bar’s signature vibe. And it was on nights like these that I managed to switch off my thoughts and just let my body go through the motions. Wiping tables, taking orders, helping make drinks, serving impatient customers… It was all so automatic that I could probably do it with my eyes closed.

I loved not having time to think about money problems—or about a future that, up until now, was completely uncertain.

“Hey, doll,” called Dave, the town’s resident old drunk—the kind every small town needs. “How about one more for me?”

“I’ll only serve you another drink if you hand over your keys, Dave,” I said while wiping the counter in front of me. “House rules. You know that.”

“One more ain’t gonna hurt me. Come on.” He tossed a twenty-dollar bill down on the bar.

I swept my rag over the bill with my left hand and shook my head firmly.

His white mustache curled into a scowl of indignation, but he stayed quiet until I spoke up again.

“I already told you—no.”

“Call Markus over here. He always serves me as many shots as I want.”

“Markus is on his break. He’ll be back soon to tell you the exact same thing I’m telling you right now.”

“And who the hell do you think you are, trying to control me like this?” Dave raised his voice, catching the attention of a group of college kids sitting nearby. I just rolled my eyes.

“Just hand over your goddamn keys, Dave,” I snapped, getting irritated.

“Hey, Sam.” Mariah came to my rescue, returning from taking orders around the bar for the last twenty minutes. “Everything good here?”

She raised one eyebrow, giving Dave her signature intimidating glare—the one she reserved for the rowdier customers. Her short red hair and tattoos helped her handle trouble most of the time. She was only twenty-one but carried herself like someone in their thirties.

“All good. Whatcha got for me?” I leaned toward her to take her order sheet.

“Two tequilas, four martinis, and three beers,” she said, handing me a scrap from her notepad—but her eyes never left Dave.

“Give me five minutes and you can take it up.”

“And pour me a shot of tequila,” Dave chimed in, still desperately trying to break the rules.

“Give me your keys and I’ll pour you one, Dave.”

“I know my damn limits,” he shot back, genuinely pissed off this time.

“If you knew your limits, you wouldn’t be begging like some desperate loser,” Mariah fired back—and that was the last straw.

“Listen here, you—”

“DAVE.”

A familiar voice boomed over the crowd, louder than the music, making everyone nearby jump.

I smiled. I knew from that moment on, Dave wouldn’t be bothering me anymore. If he still had any scraps of sanity left in that hollow skull of his, he’d back off without a second thought.

I turned back to prepping the drinks I needed, but I kept one eye on what was going down at the bar.

“How about we take a little walk, huh?” Shane stood with both hands resting on the holster of his uniform—his way of showing who was in charge.

“Hey, Shane. How’s it going?” the old man tried with his friendliest voice, but he was too drunk for it to sound genuine. “Sheriff Grimes…” he added, trying to greet my brother’s partner, who always looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Dave, you’d better leave before you do something you’ll regret,” Rick said, giving Dave’s shoulder a firm squeeze. He was intimidating in his own way—but nobody was scarier than my brother when he was pissed.

“Y’all gonna arrest me just for wanting one more drink?”

“No. We’ll arrest you for harassing the ladies while they’re working,” Shane replied, stepping closer. Dave instantly backed up the same distance.

“I’m not bothering anyone, am I, doll?” Dave slurred in my direction, his sleazy tone was the last thing he managed to get out before my brother grabbed him by the shoulder and steered him toward the door.

I couldn’t hear what they talked about once they stepped outside, but I knew Shane wasn’t going to be gentle after that slimy “doll” comment.

Mariah helped me finish the last martini and thanked me before heading around the bar with her tray full of drinks. I wiped my hands on the rag hanging from my waistband and went over to the two officers just as Shane came back in alone.

“Doll.” Shane muttered it under his breath like a grumpy old man, rubbing his hand over the top of his head, still visibly irritated. “Lucky for him he left with all his teeth.”

“Good evening, officers,” I said brightly. “Thanks, but I had it under control.”

“We don’t doubt that,” Rick said, flashing a crooked smile as he slid into a barstool. “But it’s way more fun to show these troublemakers who runs the place.”

“My heroes,” I said with mock enthusiasm. “So, what can I get you two for dinner tonight?”

“The usual for me,” the sheriff said, relaxing into his seat, still grinning.

“Just a salad for me,” Shane declared. His eyes were always darting around, watching the room, being overprotective whenever he showed up at my job.

“There’s nothing at home for dinner, and I don’t want to hear any complaints about ‘going to bed hungry,’” I warned, narrowing my eyes at him.

“I’m going out with Rose after my shift.”

“Rose is the…?” I trailed off, waiting for him to finish, and heard Rick try—and fail—to suppress a laugh.

“The blonde from Florida,” Shane said, rolling his eyes and practically collapsing into the seat next to his partner.

“Oh, the dumb one who thinks everything that happens is some conspiracy theory?” I turned my eyes to my notepad, scribbling down “house salad and burger combo” to send to the kitchen.

One fact about my idiot brother: he’d basically slept his way through half the town. Any “fresh meat” who showed up was like a personal challenge to him, and with his charm, he always managed to end up in bed with whoever fell for his smooth talk. And every time I teased him about it, he’d get all awkward and couldn’t come up with a good comeback.

I dropped their dinner order off at the kitchen window, then went back to chat with them while the customers were leaving us alone for once.

“She’s not dumb,” Shane finally managed, still defending Rose. “She’s just a little… eccentric.”

“Rick, did you know humans are controlled by mental energy from beings on other planets?” I said in my best high-pitched, dreamy voice, imitating Rose perfectly. The sheriff tried not to laugh but totally failed, again.

“You only talked to her for what, ten minutes?”

“That was enough for me to know I never want to talk to her again.” The minute I said it, Shane’s face darkened even more, and I knew he’d be sulking for at least the rest of the night.

Before the silence could get too heavy, a customer at the end of the bar called me over. I threw myself back into moving fast, serving everyone who walked through the door looking for a break from their stressful week.

I passed by the two cops a few times and overheard bits of their conversation. Same as always—work, routine, my brother’s love life, and Rick’s marriage slowly falling apart.

The two of them were inseparable since they met, like brothers from different mothers. Rick knew that over the years, Shane and I had had to grow up fast, with no real support from parents, and his family took us in like two lost Grimes kids. Sunday lunches, birthday parties—his mom, Louise, even cooked for us whenever she could.

We’d seen Rick fall in love, get married, and have a son with a woman who nowadays fought with him more than I fought with my brother. It was something I just didn’t get—this kind of love where, even if the person treats you like shit, you keep staying, even though the fights eat up most of your time… you still keep trying.

Maybe that’s the part of me that was abandoned by the kind of love that’s supposed to be eternal, the kind that’s supposed to protect you and take care of you. The part that suffered my mother’s abandonment, and then watched a father drift further and further away, more focused on his addiction than the family he had.

By the end of the night, wiping down the last table, I felt like I was about to collapse from exhaustion. Mariah was counting the tips to split between the three of us who’d worked the front of house and the kitchen staff who’d cooked everything that got served. And the only thing on my mind was an ice-cold shower to wash away the sweat clinging to my skin, and the soft bed waiting for me. My body, which had carried the load instead of my mind all night, was begging for mercy—and that made me happy, because it meant a solid night’s sleep.

“One twenty each. Not bad,” I said, glancing at the cash in my hand.

“Summer nights—and your flirting with that group of college guys—that’s what saved most of these tips,” Markus joked, his almond-shaped eyes and charming smile lighting up his face.

“I heard one of them say he was gonna try to get you in bed tonight,” Mariah chimed in, hanging up her apron near the bar.

“The only thing I want to do in bed tonight is sleep until my body gives out.”

“Ugh, same,” Markus agreed. “But I’m on the lunch shift tomorrow, which means…” He checked his watch. “…I’ve gotta be back here in, oh, about seven hours.”

His words dragged a little with exhaustion. He was easily the hardest worker out of all of us, always willing to cover someone else’s shift. I walked over and gave him three gentle pats on the back, pointing toward the exit.

“Go home and rest. We’ll finish closing up for you.”

“No, you don’t have to—”

“Markus, go—before I change my fucking mind.”

He was tired enough not to argue a second time. He just grabbed his stuff and thanked me before heading across the street to his car.

The city buses had already stopped running for the night. Mariah lived close to work, so most nights she just had a four-minute walk home. Nearly every time I stayed late, I either caught a ride with Markus or Shane picked me up in his Jeep.

But tonight, it wasn’t Shane’s Jeep waiting for me. I’d pissed him off enough for him to leave me to walk the twenty-five minutes it took to get home on my own. Instead, standing there to be my escort… was the sheriff of the whole damn county.

“Hey, Grimes. You lost or something?”

“Not exactly. Shane said he’d leave you here to teach you a lesson about trashing his love life. But I can’t let you walk all the way home alone.”

“And…?”

“And I’ve got nothing else to do, so I came to drive you back.”

“Rick, it’s…” I glanced at my cracked phone screen—one he always said he was going to replace someday. “…two twenty in the morning.”

“All the more reason I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

“When you’re ready to tell me the truth, I’ll get in the car.”

“I already told you—”

“No, you’ve only lied so far. You forget sometimes that I know you.”

“Sam—”

“Bye, Rick.”

“It’s Lori.”

“It’s always Lori…” I sighed. “What happened this time?”

“She went to sleep at her parents’ place with Carl.”

“The same fight?” This time I gave in and walked around to the passenger side, sliding into the seat.

“She says I’ve been avoiding her ever since I started my new position. Says if our family isn’t that important to me, that she’s not gonna keep trying on her own.” The engine came to life again and Rick began to drive.

“That’s a load of bullshit. Your new position takes time to settle into. She should understand that.”

“She knows it takes time… but it feels like… I dunno. Like she’s looking for something—an excuse, some reason, some way out…”

“Maybe she just needs a night or two to get her head on straight.”

He mumbled an agreement, thoughtful. His eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead. You could still see steam rising off the asphalt, which had baked under the sun all day and was now cooling under the moonlight. Typical Georgia summer.

“So, what’s new with you?” he said, trying to keep the silence from swallowing up the car.

When Rick felt nervous about things he couldn’t control, he’d fill every silence. And right then, that silence was an open door for his worst thoughts to take over the conversation in his head.

“Nothing too exciting. I finally have enough money for that trip to New Orleans I’ve been wanting to take. And in a few months, I’ll have the money I told you about so I can finally move out on my own.”

“Shane’s gonna hate your plan to move out.”

“I know. But it’s for my own good. And I also know he’ll come around eventually.”

“Protecting you has been his entire life mission ever since I’ve known you two.”

I thought about what to say but nothing coherent came out.

Shane was the reason I’d turned out at least semi-responsible. He tried his best to keep me out of trouble—but he always said he couldn’t keep me away from trouble entirely because… well… I was it.

“Well, he didn’t do such a great job tonight, leaving me stranded.”

“He knew I’d come pick you up.”

“You two are impossible,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

The rest of the drive was filled with the low hum of the radio. Johnny Cash, always Johnny Cash—my favorite, and Rick knew that, which is why he always kept a CD of his in the car. Outside, the sounds of the little forests lining the roads drifted in through the cracked windows.

The small trailer park I’d always called “home” was quiet, the hour late enough that no lights were on except for the weak glow of the street lamps barely illuminating the markings that were supposed to be roads.

Nothing fancy—but it was a roof over the heads of families fighting day by day for a better life.

Rick pulled up gently in front of lot 212, where our big trailer had been parked since I was born. He glanced toward the dark windows—except for a faint glow from the TV flickering behind the third window.

I let out a deep sigh, scooped up my bag from the floor, and reached for the door handle.

“Thanks a lot, Sheriff Grimes…”

“Sam.” He scolded me gently. He hated it when I called him that all formal.

“I owe you one, Rick.” I shot him my best tired smile, and in return I got a half-smile, worn around the edges.

He looked so drained, clearly weighed down by his responsibilities as sheriff, father, husband, and best friend. It worried me, seeing him like that, as if he didn’t have much left to give. But I didn’t have a lot to offer besides a sympathetic ear—and questionable advice.

“One way or another, she’ll come around and support you,” I said quietly, talking about his wife. “Just… I don’t know… give her a little time to breathe?”

“Time.” He exhaled through his nose, his shoulders twitching as if he’d just heard the worst joke ever.

“Time heals all wounds and all that crap,” I tried to add a touch of humor.

My hand still rested lightly on the door handle. Outside, crickets were performing their nightly symphony, and I could only see part of his face because of the darkness inside the car.

“Go to sleep, Sam. You’re talking nonsense.”

“And when have I ever not talked nonsense?” I shrugged, and he let out a quiet, genuine laugh.

Mission accomplished.

“Goodnight, Grimes,” I said as I pushed open the door.

He didn’t answer immediately.

I tossed my bag over my shoulder, gently closed the door, and stood there watching him.

“Goodnight, Walsh,” Rick finally said quietly, looking at me with those tired blue eyes.

I took two hesitant steps back. We locked eyes for a moment longer before I turned my back on his car and climbed the steps to finally go inside.

I only heard his engine pull away once the doorknob clicked shut behind me.

Inside, the air felt heavier, definitely hotter because the windows were closed tight.

It was impossible to ignore the smell of alcohol—it seemed like every day, the stench grew stronger. Even though I worked in a bar several nights a week, I still wasn’t used to that particular smell.

Passing through the kitchen, I headed into the living room. And that’s where the smell was coming from. Bottles and more bottles littered the floor. The TV glowed alone in the dark, blaring some late-night newscast about a police chase in Florida that meant nothing to the quiet lives of people around here.

Loud snoring from someone with sleep apnea drowned out even the sound of cars in that televised chase. Simon Walsh slept sitting up, mouth hanging open, a beer bottle in his right hand and the TV remote in his left.

I knew that if I took both the beer and the remote away, he wouldn’t even react—he was dead to the world in that state. It would have been the responsible thing to do. But I was so exhausted I didn’t even bother. Instead of switching off the TV, I headed straight to my room.

I locked the door behind me, pushed the mountain of clothes off my single bed onto the chair near my desk. I’d deal with that mess when I was less tired.

My movements were rushed. I peeled off my work clothes, adding them to the already huge pile on the chair. I slipped into pajama shorts and a white tanktop for sleeping.

It was one of those nights when I’d have to sleep with the window open and the fan blasting—and even then, I’d probably sweat through the sheets.

Summer in this godforsaken place was getting more unbearable every year. I still remembered my high school days, when the nights were at least reasonably cooler and sunny days were tolerable. Back then, I’d spend practically the whole day riding my bike around town with two friends, looking for something—anything—to do.

I flopped onto the bed, feeling my muscles finally start to relax, another day of my twenty-three years slipping into the past.

Shane wouldn’t be home before sunrise, and my locked room was the safe zone from any dangers that sometimes lurked in this house.

[joelssimp]

SOUNDTRACK | TROUBLE

[joelssimp]

MASTERLIST

THE LAST OF US SEATTLE

Pairing: Joel x female reader. Set in 2026 (2 years after the end of season/game 1);

Summary: Coffee, Rain and War. After so many years of civil war, FEDRA fell, and the new group, Washington Liberation Front are the wolves of Seattle that took everything from Julia. Her home, her city, her family… Everything is gone.

What remains are the scars, and a promise. A fucking promise. "Imma keep going, until I can't, I will live... I promise"

Tags: explicit* MDNI , I'm trying to let it slow burn, canon typical violence this whole world is violent as shit, mentions of death*, torture (fisical and mental) and some eventual smut.

REAL PERSON - PEDRO PASCAL

STILL

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader.

Summary: In stillness, truth shows its face. Where others see scenes, she sees soul. Where others capture light, she captures presence.

No one on set knows her real name — not the directors, not the PAs, not even the actors. She signs her work simply as Still. Clean. Final. Like the last moment before cut.

A year in the set of such a big production like the Last of Us can change everything.

Tags: age gap (reader is 29, Pedro is 46), fluff, mentions of alcohol, mental health issues, pandemic times, no use of y/n, eventual smut MDNI. slow burn. Based on the production of the first season of the show, but it's a fanfic after all, so some stuff won't be 100% accurate. Translation of an on-going fanfic (English is not my first language, let me know if there's something to fix)

THE WALKING DEAD TROUBLE

Pairing: Rick Grimes x Original Character x Daryl Dixon eventually.

Summary: Trouble… Sam Walsh don't know her life without that word. It was always one trouble, after another, after another. And her only certainty and security was that her brother would always do everything for her.

Even if "everything" meant more trouble.

Tags: Parental neglect, eventual smut MDNI. slow burn. Dad with alcohol problems, maternal abandonment, the first part takes place before the outbreak, small town, drug use, violence due to alcohol use, cheating (if this is not something you like, just dont read it?), small age gap (Sam is 23, Rick is 29), Brother's Best-Friend. I'll tag each chapter if there's more stuff. This will be a two part of multiple chapters. Starts around a year before the outbreak, and the second part will hopefully cover seasons 1 and 2 of the show. This is a Translation of an on-going fanfic (English is not my first language, let me know if there's something to fix)

[joelssimp]

GRAPHICS | TROUBLE

[joelssimp]

MASTERLIST | TROUBLE

TROUBLE Pairing: Rick Grimes x Original Character x Daryl Dixon eventually.

Summary: Trouble… Sam Walsh don't know her life without that word. It was always one trouble, after another, after another. And her only certainty and security was that her brother would always do everything for her.

Even if "everything" meant more trouble.

Tags: Parental neglect, eventual smut MDNI. slow burn. Dad with alcohol problems, maternal abandonment, the first part takes place before the outbreak, small town, drug use, violence due to alcohol use, cheating (if this is not something you like, just dont read it?), small age gap (Sam is 23, Rick is 29), Brother's Best-Friend. I'll tag each chapter if there's more stuff. This will be a two part of multiple chapters. Starts around a year before the outbreak, and the second part will hopefully cover seasons 1 and 2 of the show. This is a Translation of an on-going fanfic (English is not my first language, let me know if there's something to fix)

START HERE: GRAPHICS SOUNDTRACK 01 - NIGHT SHIFT 02 - THREE/SIX 03 - BY THE POOL ONGOING

[joelssimp]

HE CAN'T KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THIS

[joelssimp]

STILL | CHAPTER 18

CW: alternating pov, food and drink consumption, smut (MDIN) use of spanish the way is supposed to be used, fingering, little overstimulation blinkandyoullmissit, unprotected p-in-v, creampie birthcontroldoyourmagic. Soft Pedro, and fluff.

6.1K words

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18 - Sweet Spanish

I didn’t want to leave his apartment.

Not because it was some five-star place—it wasn’t. It was just warm, familiar, smelled like his shampoo and the cinnamon/apple tea he kept buying for me even though I never asked. And it felt safe. Or maybe he felt safe. But the minute Franklin showed up on set with his perfectly timed power play, I knew I had to give Pedro space to deal with whatever storm was brewing on his end.

And now, here I was. Key in the door, gear bag slung across my aching shoulder, box with my new lens tucked like a fragile secret under my arm.

Right back at the flat I share with Kate.

I took a breath before opening the door.

The light in the kitchen was on, soft and yellow. It smelled like microwave popcorn and lavender oil, the kind she uses when she wants the good sleep. Kate was at the counter, hunched over her laptop, hoodie pulled over her head. When I stepped in, she glanced up but didn’t say anything.

I shut the door quietly and crossed to the hallway. My bedroom was only a few steps away, but even the floorboards sounded louder than usual, announcing how awkward our interactions have been lately.

“You haven’t been around much,” Kate said, not looking up.

I stopped, turning halfway to face her. “Yeah. I crashed at Pedro’s for the week, it’s closest to the studio.”

There was a pause… Just long enough to sharpen the silence between us.

“Right. I’m going to…”

I let the word hang for a second before heading into my room. The door clicked shut behind me, and I exhaled through my nose like I’d been holding my breath the entire way back home.

The lens box felt heavier now.

Not physically, but in meaning, and in the way he saw me. The feeling was new, being taken care of was never easy when it comes to me. And maybe it wasn’t even my fault to begin with. It was the way I had to grow up, the way I knew Matt was the older one by minutes, but I was the one taking care of him. 

I placed the box on my desk like it might burn me. Because I knew what Kate saw on set: Pedro giving me something beautiful, expensive and personal. And she didn’t know what it had cost me to accept it. She didn’t know what I had given up—my savings, my plans, the future version of me that dreamed in gallery walls and portfolios—a version that longed for a brother who still hadn’t opened his eyes as himself to the world again.

I sat on the bed, kicked off my shoes.

Through the wall, I could hear Kate’s keyboard. Clicking even faster now.

We hadn’t talked since the morning where she threw a jab with her own words and I hadn’t quite caught it, just threw one right back without thinking. A sharp exchange that felt wrong.

I missed the ease we had in the beginning of all of this. The way she made me laugh when I was homesick, or the nights answering emails and editing pictures over a bottle of wine… That instant bond that felt like it was made of steel and shared ambition of two photographers with dreams big enough to fill up the empty spaces.

But now, it felt like we were orbiting the same place on different planets.

Later, when I went to get a glass of water, she was still there. Same position and that same energy.

“You gonna show it to me?” she asked, not looking up.

I blinked. “Show what?”

“The lens. Pedro’s gift. 15-35mm right? That shit is expansive as hell…”

I leaned against the fridge, the cool of the handle grounding me.

“It’s not… It wasn’t planned. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“I’m sure,” she said, and the sarcasm was so faint I almost missed it. “He must really like you.”

My stomach twisted. “Kate—”

“I mean,” she continued, finally glancing up, “I guess that’s what happens when you sleep in the boss’s bed. You get upgraded gear.”

It landed like a slap.

I stared at her, stunned into silence for a second. Then I straightened. “You don’t know anything about what’s going on.”

“I know enough,” she shot back, eyes hard. “And it’s not just about you anymore, is it? You’ve got Franklin sniffing around set, Bella acting weird, Pedro distracted—”

I cut her off. “My brother relapsed in a fucking hospital.”

That shut her up.

“My savings? The ones I had for the lens? They’re gone. I gave them up so Matt could move into a place where he might actually get better. So yeah, Pedro bought me a lens. But only because I gave up everything I had to help someone who wouldn’t survive without me.”

The silence that followed spoke louder than anything she could ever say. The kind that pressed against your ribs and made it hard to breathe through the fact that she just pointed out that she thought I was sleeping with him to get something in return.

Kate looked away. Embarrassed, and even a little guilty.

“I didn’t know,” she muttered.

“No. You didn’t. Because you didn’t fucking ask.”

I left the glass of water on the counter and went back to my room. Couldn’t look at her anymore, my heart thudding loudly inside my chest, hands sweating like crazy. I hate this, all of it.

Outside my window, the sky was starting to shift—dark blue giving way to the palest edge of morning. The end of night shoots meant daylight again and maybe a new rhythm.

I didn’t change out of my clothes.

Didn’t brush my teeth. Didn’t even bother to pull the curtains shut.

I just let the weight of everything — the lens, Kate’s eyes on me, Matt’s silence on the other end of the country, Franklin showing up — drag me beneath the duvet like I was disappearing into the ocean floor. Cold sheets, one pillow, blackout brain. Sleep took me the way a wave takes driftwood: no fight left in the wood, just surrender.

I don’t know how long I was out. I drifted in and out a few times, heat sticking to my back, breath caught in my throat. The first time I woke up to the sound of some light rain, sun was still out in a golden glow, maybe late afternoon? I drifted. Then again, woke up to a dream I couldn’t quite keep hold of, something heavy but not important enough for my brain to hold on to, it was dark outside, my vision was blurry. I drifted again. And for the last time waking up, it was because of my stomach growling like it had been empty for days.

I didn’t fucking care.

It was the first two full days off work after the night shoots ended, and my body felt like it had given up. Like it didn’t want to be here unless it was behind a camera or in Pedro’s arms. Nothing in between made sense.

I must’ve slept nearly twenty-three hours when the ringtone echoed off my nightstand. It felt like a bolt of electricity in the dark room. I groaned, dragged my hand across the mattress, and blinked blearily at the screen.

Pedro P.

My stomach flipped. Two more rings, and I accepted the call.

"Hi," I croaked. My voice sounded like gravel.

“Hey, baby,” he said softly, his voice still thick with sleep too. “You okay?”

The knot in my chest loosened just from hearing him again.

“I’m… I’m just tired,” I whispered.

“Yeah, Mandy said she texted and didn’t hear back. Your dad called too, I’m just checking in. You ghosted the whole world, cariño.”

I smiled a little looking up to my ceiling. “Didn’t mean to.”

“You’re allowed to,” he said. “I just… I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone in the dark with it all.”

I could feel his warmth through the phone. Like he was right there, in the room with me, his thumb brushing my cheek instead of the screen. That made my chest tight, and I had to close my eyes.

“I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

“I’m not anyone,” he said, quietly.

I opened my eyes with that. “I know.”

There was silence for a few seconds. He was measuring his words carefully. Caring in a way he knew how to.

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Water?”

I shook my head, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “No.” It came out low.

“Okay. Can you do something for me?”

I hummed in response.

“Go brush your teeth. Wash your face. Drink a full glass of water. And then, if you want, you can go right back to bed. I just need to know you’re not disappearing completely.”

The lump in my throat was too real now.

“I already fucking miss you,” I said, quieter than I meant to.

“I miss you too. So much.” A pause. “I’ll come by tonight, if that’s okay. Or I can pick you up, take you back to my place.”

“No,” I said quickly. “Let me come to you.”

Another pause.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Late afternoon?”

“Yeah. I’ll be better by then.”

“You don’t have to be better,” he murmured. “You just have to show up. I’ll take care of the rest.”

That quiet promise made it all worth it for me. We stayed on the line just a few more seconds before he said goodbye.

My body was heavy, I sat up in bed, dizzy from the sudden movement, like my brain forgot how to function with gravity again. I had to take a moment to just adjust.

But I got up.

I brushed my teeth, washed my face, drank a glass of cold water from the tap.

Kate and her judgement stare were still asleep in her room. I made some breakfast and went back to my room to work on some of yesterday’s pictures.

Franklin waited just long enough to make it feel like a trap.

He didn’t come in hot. Didn’t shout or wave his arms or do the usual agent dramatics. No, he just stood there for a second, hands in the pockets of his tailored pants, looking between me and her like he was watching a car crash in slow motion.

And I saw it. That flicker, the disapproval was like a goddamn reflex.

So I kept my arm around her a little longer.

Let her smile, let her hug me again for the lens, let her go off a minute later with that look in her eyes that made me forget the talk I need to have to set on my own boundaries. And when she disappeared behind the trailers, I turned to him.

“Let’s take a walk,” I said.

We didn’t go far. Just enough to get out of earshot, out of line of crew sight.

He didn’t waste time.

“You know this isn’t a good idea.”

I folded my arms, stared out toward the empty parking lot. “I’m not interested in what’s a ‘good idea’ to you, Frank.”

“You really want to do this right now?”

“Seems like you do.”

He scoffed. “Look, I’m not here to police your personal life, Pedro, but this — this is messy. She works on the same set and she’s way too young—”

“Don’t.” I turned to face him fully. “Don’t give me the script. I’ve heard it. I’m older, she’s on crew, it’s unprofessional, it could look bad… Blah blah fucking blah.”

“You’re not seeing the bigger picture—”

“No, Franklin. You’re the one here not seeing the bigger picture.” My voice came out low, but firm. “Because the only people whose approval I give a damn about when it comes to who I love? My family. My people. And guess what? They’ve met her. They’ve seen us together. And they’re all in.”

He looked like he’d swallowed something sour and I kept going.

“Lux said she hasn’t seen me like this in years. Bruno and Pedro adore her, Bruno is even taking photography classes because of her, and my mom—” My chest tightened, that ache slipping in. “Javi said our mom would’ve loved her.”

Silence.

“You’re thinking about press, headlines, and all the fucking narrative.” I took a step closer to him, not a threat, just a warning. “I’m thinking about the girl who gave up her savings to save her brother’s life when he needed her the most. The same girl who falls asleep with her camera next to the bed because she doesn’t know how to exist without seeing beauty in everyone. That’s who I’m talking about.”

Franklin exhaled slowly. “And what about when it goes south?”

“Then I’ll deal with it like an adult,” I said. “But right now? I’m not giving this up. You got me?”

He studied me for a moment. His eyes were sharp, mouth in a straight line, and then, finally:

“You really are in it.”

I nodded.

“Don’t let this get messy, keep it clean, keep it out of the frame. In the quiet, and if she truly likes you, then she’ll understand.”

I didn’t promise anything. Just turned, already pulling out my phone. Already missing her.

Because I knew she’d be gone to her place this morning, back to face Kate’s cold stares, and back to a place that it’s not my arms.

And I didn’t want the space. So the next morning I called to check on her, after too many worried messages from Mandy. She was deep in a wrong darkness that was slowly trying to catch up to her, so I offered to go to her or to pick her up.

There was a plan: An easy night at my place. Food and good company.

I lit up a candle. Not because I’m fancy — I just knew she liked the smell of apples and a little cinnamon, so I found one on sale that morning when I ran to get fresh bread.

And garlic. She said garlic makes a place feel alive, so I chopped way more than necessary. My fingers reeked and I didn’t care. The pasta was boiling, sauce ready, and Bella was on their way down with a bottle of something red that someone from the crew recommended. I didn’t catch the name — just nodded and told her, “Bring it. We’re drinking like artists tonight.”

I kept checking the clock. She was supposed to come by around six. I told her earlier, “Don’t overthink it. Just come. Let yourself be taken care of for a night.”

And I think she really needed that. I think she needed not to plan. Just walk into a space and be wanted there.

I hear the knocking five minutes early.

She always knocked. Never let herself in, even after all this time.

I opened the door and she was already smiling at me — hoodie sleeves pulled over on one of her hands, hair kinda messy from the wind outside, and a just little color back in her cheeks.

“Hey,” I said, grinning just from looking at her.

“Hi.” Her voice was quiet, eyes scanning behind me. “Smells like… something’s burning?”

“Shit—no. No, that’s just the bread. Hold on.”

She laughed, kicked her shoes off and followed me into the kitchen, where I dramatically fanned smoke out of the oven, and took the garlic bread out, just a little burnt.

“Real chef behavior,” she teased, hopping up on the counter like she lived there.

I couldn’t help it. I stepped between her knees and kissed her, slow. Mouths parting just enough so I could slip my tongue inside hers for a little moment, tasting her sweet mouth on mine one more time, like we got all the time in the world.

“Hi,” I said again against her lips.

She whispered it back.

When Bella showed up ten minutes later, they found us dancing like idiots to whatever old reggaetón playlist I had playing.

“Oh my god,” Bella groaned, walking into the apartment with a wine bottle in their hand. “Am I third-wheeling this domestic fantasy again?”

“You were invited,” I called over the music. “Which makes you our responsibility now. It’s like you’re our child.”

“You love me,” They replied, deadpan, already heading toward the kitchen like they lived there too.

Both of them got along like really good friends. It wasn’t slow, seemed like something about them just clicked.

Dinner was good. I mean, the pasta was probably overcooked, but she made all the right noises. Bella rolled her eyes but went in for seconds. The three of us crowded around my tiny table with legs that still squeaked, lit by that one flickering candle I forgot to trim.

“Do you remember the sound of the guy who dropped the boom mic on day two?” Bella asked, mouth full of garlic bread.

“Oh my god,” she groaned. “Like a dying goat and a drunk chicken had a baby.”

I laughed so hard I almost snorted wine.

And that’s when she said it.

She leaned her cheek into her hand, looked across the table at Bella — squinting at her with pretend judgment — and said, “Mira esta… little puta.”

Bella choked on her wine.

I blinked.

She just grinned. Proud, the pronunciation was just too right, I could tell she’s been practicing.

“You did not just call them that,” I said, pretending to be scandalized by it, but the truth was: I was amazed.

“Lux has been teaching me a little,” she shrugged “and that was the first thing I remembered.”

Bella looked between us, delighted. “What does that fucking mean?”

“Okay, well—” I started, shaking my head. “Great. Now my girlfriend is fluent in spanish insults.”

She leaned forward, eyes dancing. “Not just insults. I’m getting better at all of it. Soon I’ll be able to tell you off and seduce you in Spanish.”

Bella held up their wine glass like she was toasting a national holiday. “To whatever the fuck that was.”

I tapped my glass against both of theirs. “To the most dangerous trio of little putas in Alberta.”

That brought a real laugh. And she laughed so hard, she nearly fell off her chair.

The rest of the night passed us by in a simple warmth I hadn’t felt in a while — The low hum of leftover music, the warmth of food, good and funny company, and safety. No talk of agents, or money, or jealous best friends, or even brothers in hospitals. Just full bellies and flushed cheeks and maybe too many half-finished wine glasses scattered on the counter.

I locked the door after Bella left, turned the music down low, and came back to find her in my kitchen, rinsing the wine glasses from our dinner. Her sleeves were rolled up, shoulders a little more relaxed than from when she came in, and there was something about the way she moved — like she could finally exhale.

I leaned on the doorframe, watching her with that soft buzz in my chest that only she could bring out in me.

“You always clean up after seducing your man with your Spanish?” I teased, and she didn’t turn around, but I could feel her smile.

“I’ve been taking lessons from Lux now and then. Her Spanish is way better than anyone I’ve seen”

“And she taught you that little puta is like a love language?”

She laughed, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “I used it correctly, didn’t I?”

I walked up behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and pressed my mouth to the shell of her ear. “Very correctly,” I murmured. “And dangerously cute.”

“Dangerously?” she breathed.

I nodded, kissing down the line of her neck, slow and warm. “Eres tan hermosa que me olvido cómo hablar inglés.”

She froze, and I could feel her smile. “That sounded... intimate.”

I turned her around, her back against the counter now, her hands still wet from the sink. “It means,” I said softly, brushing some of her hair back around her left ear, “you’re so beautiful, I forget how to speak English.”

Her eyes searched mine, with that little spark again.

“Oh,” she whispered.

I dipped down and kissed her — soft, just for a second — then leaned back and whispered against her lips, “Ven a la cama conmigo.”

Her brows arched, impressed. “I understood that one.”

“Yeah?” I asked, brushing my knuckles along her jaw.

“You just asked me to go to bed with you, right?”

I grinned. “Correct again.”

She pulled away, slow, biting her lip, got off my grip and walked backward toward the bedroom. “Well then,” she said, lifting a brow, “you better show me what else you know how to say.”

I followed her like I was bewitched.

She pulled her hoodie off, and left it on the chair. My shirt followed. We were slowly stripping down our own clothes until we were in my bedroom and then the lights were low, the sheets cool, her skin warm under my hands. Her laughter melted into soft gasps as I kissed down her stomach, letting Spanish fall out of me like I’d never forgotten how to speak it.

“Quiero saborearte,” I whispered, and she shivered. “Cada parte de ti. Cada centímetro.”

“Say it again,” she breathed, nails dragging gently over my shoulders.

I obeyed, slower this time. She didn’t understand, but caught the meaning in my eyes even if the words came too fast. And when I came back up to kiss her — all tongue, teeth and full of want — she whispered back as soon as we stopped to take a breath:

“Soy tuya, Pedro.”

I paused.

She blinked up at me, cheeks flushed, lips puffy and parted.

“Where’d you learn that one?”

She smiled. “I have my secrets.”

“Mi amor,” I groaned again, eyes closed and my forehead resting against her shoulder. “I’m so fucked.”

She laughed under her breath, her hands still tangled in my hair. “I know what mi amor means.”

I smiled, lifted my head but my eyes were still closed for another second, just trying to restrain myself — her heartbeat was against my chest, her scent all around me, the heat radiating from her skin against mine. She was real, right here, under my body.

I was slowly pulling her out of the darkness, and proud to be able to do so.

My head went back a little more, eyes open this time, just enough to look at her. “Say it again,” I murmured. “I like how it sounds coming from that mouth of yours.”

“Mi amor,” she whispered, testing the shape of it on her tongue.

I kissed her hard for that alone. Then I said quietly, “It’s not just a phrase for me.”

She blinked at me, something soft stirring in her eyes.

Her hand slid along my jaw, fingertips slow. “Then what else are you saying when you say it like that?”

I exhaled, letting my thumb trace her cheekbone.

“That you’re mine,” I said in a whisper. “That I care more than I know how to explain. That I’d break every rule I’ve ever followed just to keep you close.”

She didn’t look away. “What was the other thing? Right before mi amor.”

I chuckled. “I said I’m so fucked.”

She grinned. “That part I understood.”

But then her voice dipped, quieter now. “What else do you say when you lose yourself like that? I want to know. Teach me.”

I swallowed hard — she had no idea what she was doing to me.

“You sure?” I asked, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.

She nodded. “Tell me what it means when you say things like... like before. Like quiero saborearte.”

My breath caught.

She smiled, a little crooked, and a little mischievous. “I remember how you said it.”

I looked down at her — flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes full of fire and affection — and nodded.

“It means,” I said slowly, brushing my lips along her collarbone, “I want to taste you.”

“Oh,” she breathed deep.

“Cada parte de ti.” I kissed the curve of her shoulder so slowly. “Every part of you.”

She swallowed, fingers tightening on my back.

“Cada centímetro.” My mouth grazed her skin again, a little lower. “Every inch.”

“Pedro…”

Her voice cracked, and I felt her pull me in. Her hips shifted beneath mine, slow and needy. We were already so close, already so wrapped in each other, but the way she looked at me in that moment — eyes wide, heart open — I had to keep going.

“Tú me vuelves loco,” I whispered against her belly.

She looked down at me. “Say that again.”

“Tú me vuelves loco.” My voice was hoarse now. “You drive me crazy.”

I left open mouth kisses in every inch of her skin, watching how her breath hitched with every single touch, and going even more down with all of it. Even left little bites here and there.

“Quiero hacerte el amor,” I said, going back all the way up to her lips for another kiss.

Her hands froze on my back.

“What does that mean?” she whispered.

I took my time answering — kissed the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her pulse point.

“It means… I want to make love to you.”

She pulled back just a little — enough to look at me. Enough to see that I meant it, meant every part of it.

“Not just fuck?” she asked, teasing but also testing me.

“Not this time,” I shook my head. “Not just that. Not anymore.”

Her eyes softened, then turned molten. “Then do it,” she said. “Show me.”

Something about the way she said it — no fear, just quiet challenge wrapped in trust and lust — hit me low and hard.

I didn’t answer her with words. Not yet. I only nodded, and kissed her.

Slowly.

Deeply.

Like it was the last kiss I’d ever get, or maybe the first one that truly mattered in our relationship.

She parted her legs beneath me — no hesitation, just this soft, aching surrender that made my chest feel like it might break in half.

This wasn’t about need anymore, or heat, or any of the things we’d already indulged in over the last few days. This was different.

I wanted to worship her.

Her skin, her voice, the way her fingers curled against my shoulder as I kissed the edge of her breast like I’d never tasted anything better. 

“Tan hermosa” I said, dropping my mouth against one of her nipples. Her back arched into me.

My tongue circled it slowly at first, and I felt it coming alive inside my mouth. She moaned my name and my hand found the other one. The tip of her nipple in between my thumb and my index finger, I rolled it more than once. Her hands found their way up my neck into my hair.

I sucked, nibbled a little, and licked. Her hips rolling against my tight making me growl against her skin.

“Just like that” She said breathless.

I was painfully hard, and she could feel it with every roll of her body. Her right hand left the base of my neck, and came all the way down to feel me a little more. I gasped when she cupped and made the perfect pressure.

“Is this because of me?” She asked, trying to sound innocent, and I just nodded.

Told her she was beautiful — not in some throwaway compliment, but like I meant it. Because I did. God, I did. I’d never wanted someone like this. It was an overpowering feeling.

Every sigh that slipped from her lips felt like it belonged to me.

Every soft curse, every plea, the way she said my name like it was the only thing she could remember in all of this — all of it only made me want to give her more.

I moved down slow, steady — like the world had narrowed down to just this room, this bed, this moment.

My mission was to make her come at least once before I could think of myself. So I hooked my fingers on her underwear, slipped it down and went to work on giving her the best orgasm she could have.

She was dripping. I slipped two fingers against her folds and they came out soaked.

We locked eyes and I slowly sank two fingers right inside her tight and warm hole. She was already clenching when I started to fuck her with those two fingers, applying just the right pressure to her clit with my thumb.

“Voy a destrozarte” I said low, nuzzling just below her ear “Gonna wreck you, Cariño” She gasped — a sharp, guttural sound — as my fingers worked her open, slow but relentless. One hand fisted the sheets, white-knuckled, the other tangled in my hair like she needed to anchor herself to something real.

“Sí,” she moaned, breath catching on the edge of it.

God, that sound — that one word — went straight through me. I curled my fingers just right, found that spongy place inside of her and her whole body arched, hips bucking, thighs trembling around my wrist.

“Say that again,” I growled, low and hungry, watching her fall apart.

And she did — barely coherent now, that sí spilling from her lips in broken rhythm, each one softer, wetter, more desperate than the last. My name came next, raw and unguarded, dragged from somewhere deep inside her, and each one in a higher pitch than the last.

It was more like a plea as I continued fucking her with my fingers, hitting the same spot over and dragging that orgasm as long as I could.

I only stopped when she was writhing, crying out, her legs shaking around my forearm and her hand trying to reach for mine as she shattered, undone and so damn perfect.

She collapsed beneath me, breath hitching, body still twitching with the aftershocks. I didn’t move — just leaned in, pressing the side of my face against hers, my lips brushing the curve of her cheekbone as she trembled.

“Tan jodidamente perfecta,” I whispered, my voice hoarse in her ear. “So fucking perfect.”

She whimpered, so fucking soft and helpless. I felt her smile through it, a little too gone to come back.

I kissed her temple, went down to her jaw, let my nose skim along her cheek as I whispered again, slower this time.

“Siento todo de ti. I feel everything.”

She turned her head toward me, found my mouth with hers — barely a kiss, more like breathing the same air together. Her fingers slipped into my hair, tugging gently, grounding herself.

“Pedro,” she breathed. Just that. Just my name.

I eased my hand from between her thighs, kissed the damp skin of her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone, savoring the quiet shudders still moving through her.

“Estoy aquí,” I murmured. “Contigo. Dentro de ti. Pronto.” (I’m here. With you. Inside you. Soon.)

Then I lifted my head, let her see everything on my face as I moved over her, slow and certain.

Because there was no going back. Not after all of this.

And when I finally sank into her, she gasped my name like she was feeling it for the first time, like it didn’t belong to me anymore. I stilled, buried to the hilt, both hands gripping her hips as she fluttered around me, all heat and heartbeat and barely-contained sound.

I stayed there, deep, still, letting her body take me in, inch by inch, like we had all the time in the world. Because if I move too fast, there’s no way in hell I’m lasting.

Her eyes didn’t leave mine. They burned into me, wide, open and glassy. Daring me to move while I was buried so goddamn deep I could barely breathe.

She didn’t move — not right away. She just clenched around me, slow and deliberate, and I had to close my eyes for a second to stay grounded.

“Fuck...” I groaned, jaw clenched tight. “Just, wait—fuck baby” 

She smiled, just a flicker of her lips turning upwards. A quiet fuck-you kind of smile, and then her hips rolled up, meeting mine like a challenge.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered slowing my heart just enough so I could fuck her properly. “I’ve got you, mi amor.”

And then we moved.

There was nothing gentle about the way she pulled me in. Nails dragging down my back, thighs locking hard around my waist like she needed me deeper, closer, until our bodies stopped being separate things.

We found a rhythm — unhurried but relentless. That push and drag, skin to skin, every thrust pressing a sound out of her I wanted to memorize.

I swore under my breath, all in Spanish now. Things I’d never said out loud to anyone before. Things I didn’t even know I felt until her body gave them permission.

“Hermosa… preciosa… mi vida… mírame, no pares…” (Beautiful... precious... my life... look at me, don't stop)

Halfway through, her mouth crushed into mine, not to kiss... She was claiming me. Teeth, tongue and breath — all of it shared. All of it messy, hot and all ours.

I was lost in my own feeling and her body clenched around me so tight, sudden and sharp — a tremor I felt all the way through my spine. She gasped my name again, but this time it was broken — like it came straight from the part of her brain that didn’t have words anymore.

And I followed, helpless against it. Buried deep, mouth open on her shoulder, a groan ripped from somewhere low, rough and so honest. My body was shivering, and pumping her so full, I felt her third and short orgasm be triggered with my cum.

It was more like a silent surrender on her part, and she was done. So done, she couldn’t move properly.

So we didn’t move too much.

Her fingers threaded into my hair. My arms were locked around her like instinct. We stayed like that — no shift, no reach for the covers, no need to say anything. Just the sound of us catching our breath and slowing our heart rate down to an acceptable rhythm.

My body fell by her side, my — now soft— dick slipped free, and we just stayed.

I didn’t ask if she was okay, not like I had to, she was floating on my bed. Her hand moved lazily across my ribs, drawing shapes she wasn’t thinking about. Her face stayed tucked under my jaw, lips parted against my throat. I could feel the heat of every exhale.

I ran a hand up her spine, slow and gentle. Felt the last of her shivers melt into stillness.

I’d had sex before. More times than I could count. Intimacy, even. But this wasn’t about any of that. This was... intense, and it felt like staying and not pulling away. 

I breathed her in — her skin, her hair, that stubborn soap she carries everywhere in her camera bag. The smell of her was already a memory. Already my memory to keep.

She shifted, barely. Just enough to rest more of herself on top of me and to put her legs in between mine. A sigh slipped out of her, like her body had finally relaxed enough to stay unguarded.

Then I felt her smile against my skin, just the soft curve of it against my neck, and I knew she was still awake. Or at least trying not to fall asleep.

“You realize what you did to me back there?” I murmured, voice still low and lazy, and mind still half-drunk on her.

She didn’t answer, well, not out loud. Just nuzzled in closer, smug as hell.

“That Spanish?” I said, brushing my lips against her hair. “The sí, the way you said my name, like you’d been practicing how to ruin me?”

Her laugh was a warm breath on my chest. Quiet and dangerous.

“I’m serious,” I said, feigning offense. “You knew what you were doing.”

“Lux is a very patient teacher.”

“Yeah, well—” I leaned in, kissing just under her ear, the same place I’d started earlier. “Whatever she taught you? It worked.” I bit down, gently. “You wrecked me.”

She shivered, pleased, smug, so soft I wanted to start all over again just to watch her unravel.

“I should call her,” I said, mock-serious. “Tell her she’s banned from teaching you anything else.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“No?” I brushed my lips against hers, slow. “She keeps giving you vocabulary like that, I won’t survive another week.”

She smiled against my mouth. “Then you better keep up, mi amor.”

I groaned, pulling her tighter. “God help me,” I muttered. “I’m so fucked.”

[joelssimp]

STILL | CHAPTER 17

CW: Mention of mental illness, twin connection, mention of a parent death, suicide talk, and a cute fluff moment interrupted.

4.7K words

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17 - Holding Tight

It was close to five in the morning, and the night air had that dead quiet that only hits right before the sun thinks about rising — heavy, still, like the world was holding its breath. We were wrapping the second night shoot. My body was screaming for rest, but my mind was wired. Too much coffee, too much adrenaline from the scenes I was in, and her smile still tucked somewhere in my chest from earlier when she’d caught me mid-laugh behind the scenes.

I was leaning against the props truck, nursing a bitter, burnt coffee, when my phone buzzed in my back pocket.

Mandy.

My stomach dropped a little. She never called at this hour. Or better, she never called me at all.

I ducked behind one of the transport vans, found a pocket of quiet between the generators, and picked up.

“Hey, Mandy,” I said, voice rough from hours of yelling through fake gunfire and wind machines. “You alright?”

There was a breath on the other end. Hesitation.

“I’m okay,” she said slowly. “But… hm… Dad’s here. He wants to talk to you.”

I went still.

That was new… And I didn’t like that sentence.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Okay. Put him on.”

Some rustling. A low voice muttering in the background. Then:

“Pedro.”

“Yeah. I’m here.” My jaw was already tight.

Long pause. Then a sigh — the kind that sounds like it’s been building in the chest for weeks.

“I wouldn’t call you like this unless I had to.”

I pressed my thumb to my temple. “What is it?”

“It’s Matt,” he said, his tone flat. Like saying his full name might make it worse.

My throat tightened. “What happened?”

“Relapse,” he said. “Bad one. It was not like before but He’s spiraling again. He tried to escape the hospital, and we found him about two blocks down. We’re looking into transferring him to another place, something more specialized.”

I shut my eyes. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s not good. And I didn’t want to tell her over the phone, not without warning. I want to tell her myself, but I need you to—” he hesitated “��prepare her.”

My stomach twisted. Of course he wanted me to be the shock absorber, the buffer.

“You’re asking me to sit her down,” I said. “So you don’t have to be the one to blindside her.”

“She trusts you,” he said sharply, like it should be obvious. “More than she trusts anyone right now.”

“She trusted you too,” I shot back before I could stop myself. “Before you lied to her about Matt trying to end his life the first time.”

Silence.

“That was different,” he finally said.

“No. It wasn’t,” I said, my voice low. “You kept it from her because you wanted to protect her. That’s what you told yourself. But all it did was break her trust.”

“I’m her father,” he snapped. “I did what I thought was best. You’re not—” he stopped himself before it got worse. “You don’t get to judge how I protect my daughter.”

“I’m not judging,” I said. “I’m living with the aftermath. You didn’t see her when she got back from that trip. You didn’t see what it did to her.”

Silence again.

I could hear his breathing on the other side of the line, it was heavy and a little measured.

“I still don’t like you two together,” he said eventually. “How close she lets you in. You a Hollywood star with endless possibilities”

I barked a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m only getting away from her if she’s the one asking me that”

“Look, I’m not trying to start a fight.”

“You’re doing a shitty job at avoiding one.”

Another pause, and this one was longer. We were two men trying our best for her, but it was easier to blur lines and cross each other badly.

“I just want her to be okay,” he said, finally. “I want you to help me keep her okay.”

Despite everything, my shoulders sagged a little. The anger didn’t fully go, but I understood the fear under it. Because I felt it too.

“She’s doing better,” I said, voice softer. “Really. She’s grounded, more present. She’s laughing again, it’s so damn good to hear her laugh. But if she hears this out of nowhere, it’ll knock her sideways. You’re right about that.”

“So will you talk to her?” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. “Yeah, I will. I’ll let her know something’s coming.”

He cleared his throat. “And Pedro?”

“What.”

“I meant what I said,” he added, quieter this time. “I’m glad she has someone who... doesn’t give up on her. I just wish I could trust it fully.”

“Well,” I said, blinking into the rising pale light of the morning, “maybe someday you will.”

We both stayed on the line for a second too long. Then the call dropped.

I stayed there, staring at nothing, hands in my pockets, chest buzzing with all the things left unsaid. With how hard it is for men like us to speak plain when it’s about people we love.

And I thought about her — camera slung over her shoulder, eyes half-closed from exhaustion, but still smiling when she found the perfect angle.

My girl.

I was going to have to crack that light open again. Just a little. To make room for the dark.

Because that’s what it meant to love someone like her.

To hold the softness and the storm at the same time.

I heard her voice before I saw her.

Not the usual soft, sleepy cadence I’d grown to crave every night she slept beside me. No, this was sharp. Kind of wounded. Low enough that most people wouldn’t catch the crack behind it—but I wasn’t most people.

I rounded the corner of the soundstage, still shrugging off the thermal jacket someone on crew had handed me, and stopped cold.

She was standing stiff near the grip carts, arms crossed, facing Kate. And though I couldn’t hear Kate’s words, I could read the tone from here—defensive, bitter. Whatever they were saying, it wasn’t friendly. It wasn’t even civil.

I stepped closer, careful, like I was approaching a skittish animal—or a bomb about to go off.

“…it’s not about the award, Kate,” she was saying, her voice trembling in that way it did when she was holding too much inside. “It’s about the way you’ve looked at me ever since. Like I stole something from your hands.”

Kate didn’t flinch. “You didn’t steal anything. But don’t pretend you don’t like being everyone’s favorite all of a sudden.”

That was it.

“Hey,” I said, stepping in before either of them could say something they couldn’t walk back from. “Let’s stop.”

They both turned, startled. Her eyes met mine, and I saw the whole fight laid bare in them—hurt, anger and exhaustion.

“We’re good,” Kate muttered, backing off half a step.

“Yeah, well, maybe be good a little farther away.” My tone was soft, but there was no room in it for argument. “Come with me,” I told her, already reaching for her hand.

She hesitated for half a second—long enough to remind me how stubborn she was—but then she let me pull her along, out of the loading bay, down past the trailers, and toward the row of trucks where we usually took our breaks. Somewhere quieter, where I could breathe without swallowing that tension between them.

We stopped in the shadow of the catering tent. The sun hadn’t risen just yet, and the air was cold enough to sting. She didn’t shiver. Her mind and body too busy trying not to fall apart.

“Sit,” I said, gently pushing her to the bench beside the heater. I knelt in front of her, eyes level. “Let it out.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her jaw was tight, her breath short, and her arms still crossed over her chest like she was holding herself together with sheer will.

“I didn’t want it to blow up,” she said finally. “Not here. Not now.”

“I know,” I said. “That’s why I got you out.”

She looked away, her shoulders sinking. “I think she hates me now.”

“She doesn’t,” I said. Then added, because I was no good at lying: “She’s probably confused, and maybe a little jealous. But that’s her problem to work through, not yours.”

Her eyes flicked back to mine. “I just wanted to be proud of something without it becoming a thing.”

“And you should be,” I said. “You didn’t ask for the spotlight. It came because you’re good. You deserve it.”

She pressed her lips together, hard. “She became my best friend.”

“You’re allowed to outgrow people,” I said quietly. “Even the ones you thought would never turn on you.”

We stayed there in the silence, breath fogging in the cold, the first hints of dawn brushing the sky. I watched her body slowly relax, tension unwinding by degrees.

“We’re going back to my place,” I said after a while.

She looked like she wanted to protest, but I didn’t let her. “No arguments. You need space. Rest. A little warmth that isn’t about lighting setups and passive-aggressive looks from your best friend.”

And then, softer: “You have me. Let me be that warmth for you.”

Her fingers slid into mine, holding tight.

“I’m tired,” she whispered.

“I know,” I said, lifting her hand to my lips. “Let’s go home.”

We didn’t talk much on the drive back.

Not because anything was wrong between us, not really. Just the weight of the night still pressing behind our eyes, the way exhaustion settles into your bones when the sun’s already up and you know sleep won’t fix everything. I kept glancing over at her from time to time—her head leaning against the passenger window, lips slightly parted, eyes wide open but unfocused.

She wasn’t just tired.

I knew her face too well by now to mistake it for anything less than worry.

“Still with me?” I asked softly, one hand resting on the wheel, the other ghosting toward hers.

She nodded without looking at me. “Yeah.”

But it was that kind of “yeah” that held too many other words under the surface, but I didn’t push.

She barely said anything the whole way to the apartment. No small talk, no teasing. She didn’t even ask for the aux cord like she usually did. Just climbed the stairs in silence beside me, unzipped her hoodie, and peeled off her boots like her body was running on autopilot.

I let her walk ahead into the bedroom, pulling the blackout curtains shut like a quiet ritual.

The second her head hit the pillow, I knew sleep wouldn’t come easy for her, but I slid in behind her anyway. Pulled her close. Wrapped one arm around her stomach and buried my face into her shoulder, where she always smelled faintly of coffee and warm skin and whatever lotion she kept in her camera bag.

“Feels like something’s wrong,” she murmured eventually, not turning to look at me.

I didn’t say anything.

“Matt,” she added and I held my breath. “I haven’t heard from him in a few days. It’s... it’s a twin thing. I can feel it in my chest. Kind of like a super power.”

Her voice cracked.

I kissed the back of her neck. “Try to rest, okay?”

She nodded, but she didn’t say anything else. I stayed wrapped around her until her breath evened out into something like sleep.

I didn’t sleep at all.

And when she woke up in the late afternoon, her body warm and soft against mine, I already knew I couldn’t wait any longer. I’d promised her family I’d be the one to say it. I’d said I’d do it gently. Carefully.

I’d said I’d protect her.

So I brewed the coffee. Let her move around slowly. Watched the way her eyes followed me, already knowing something was off. Then I sat her down on the couch, and I prepared to break her heart.

I sat beside her, not too close. Let her finish her coffee. Let her legs tuck under her on the couch like she always did when she was trying to make herself smaller, like the quiet could hold her up better than I could.

My chest ached just looking at her.

“I talked to your dad,” I said, my voice low, careful. “This morning. After we wrapped.”

Her mug paused midair, and she turned her head slightly, not meeting my eyes. “Mandy didn’t call me.”

“She didn’t want to yet.” I paused. “They were hoping to wait until you were... rested. Until you weren’t carrying everything else on top of this.”

Her throat moved as she swallowed. She still wouldn’t look at me, but I saw her shoulders tense.

“Matt had a relapse,” I said, soft as I could. “He’s... not doing great.”

Silence. Not even the hum of the fridge in the background felt loud enough to fill it.

I kept going, slow. “Your dad said he’d talk to you directly. He didn’t want you hearing all of it from me. But he asked me to be here for you. He thought you might—he thought you’d feel it.”

She set the mug down gently on the coffee table. Her hands stayed wrapped around it even after.

“I already did,” she whispered, so quiet I almost missed it.

I reached out, not to pull her in—just enough to let my hand rest over hers. “You don’t have to be okay right now.”

She finally looked up. Her eyes were wet but clear. “I’m not. And I don’t know if I will be for a while.”

“I know.”

“I feel like everything is unraveling. Like it’s all falling apart too fast for me to keep up.”

I leaned forward, resting my forehead to hers. “Then let it fall apart for a second. I’m right here.”

Her breath caught—just for a beat—and then she closed her eyes and nodded, slowly.

She didn’t cry, not yet. But she leaned into me like she needed to feel something solid. Like I could hold the pieces together long enough for her to breathe again. And like I was the only real thing in that room.

I felt a heat inside my chest. If I could be this for her, even if just for this one hour, on this one couch, this one corner of the world— where we could make a place so she didn’t have to be this strong person all the time. Where she didn’t have to pretend it wasn’t breaking her to have a family member spiraling. 

I didn’t move when Pedro reached for my phone, didn’t protest when he unlocked it for me and handed it over. I just leaned into him, curled up into the curve of his chest like it was the only thing holding me upright.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, chin brushing the top of my head.

I nodded once. “Yeah. I need to hear it from him.”

My thumb hovered over the screen for a second before I hit Call. The air was too still, like the world paused to make room for whatever this was going to be.

It rang twice before Dad picked up.

He was sitting in what looked like his home office. The light was too bright behind him, and the picture froze for a second before the audio caught up.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

His voice cracked a little, maybe thinking I was this fragile thing he had to protect. My voice was still lodged in my chest, but I forced it out anyway.

“Hi, Dad.”

He looked at me, and then noticed Pedro behind me. Didn’t say anything. Just nodded, like he’d already known Pedro’d be there too. Hell, he called him first, before the news had to reach me it got to Pedro. And I’m glad it did. Made everything clearer for me to act.

“You know,” he said. “Pedro told you?”

I nodded again. “Yeah. Not everything, but enough.”

Dad sighed. Rubbed his hands over his face. “He’s... your brother’s not in a good place right now.”

“I felt it,” I whispered. “Before anyone said anything. I knew something was wrong. You know how it is.”

He didn’t argue. Just nodded again, slower.

There was silence between us for a beat, then I said it, steady and firm:

“I’m moving him. To a better place. Somewhere he’ll actually have the care he needs.”

Dad frowned. “We already discussed this—”

“I’m not discussing it again,” I cut in. My voice didn’t raise, but it sharpened in a way that made clear I meant business. “I’m going to look into the new facility, do my research, and I’m the one paying for it, all of it.”

His mouth tightened. “You don’t have to do that. I can—”

“You didn’t,” I said, eyes locked on his. “You didn’t tell me the first time he tried to hurt himself. You didn’t tell me how bad it had gotten. And you’re still trying to control everything like I’m ten years old.”

“Because I wanted to protect you, both of you” he snapped.

“No,” I said, quieter this time. “You wanted to protect yourself from seeing me fall apart. But I’ve been picking up Matt’s pieces my whole life. You don’t get to decide when I stop.”

Pedro’s arm wrapped a little tighter around me. My dad saw it, but he didn’t comment. Actually, he couldn’t because he was being that stubborn ass again, and I was done with it.

“I know this makes you uncomfortable,” I added, voice softer. “I know it’s hard to accept help. But this isn’t about you. It’s about Matt. And he needs more than what he’s been getting.”

Dad sighed again, the fight slowly draining from his shoulders. “Is this what you really want?”

“It’s what he needs.”

“And you’ll... pay for it?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t like it. That much was clear. But he nodded, eyes darker now, heavier.

“I’ll talk to them,” he said. “Set things in motion.”

“Thank you.”

He looked at me again, longer this time, before his gaze shifted—just slightly—to Pedro. He gave the smallest nod. And then the screen went black.

I didn’t move for a while.

Pedro kissed the top of my head. “You did amazing.”

“That was hard,” I whispered. “But it’ll be ok, right?.”

He nodded, arms still holding me tight, so warm and familiar.

I expected silence after that, maybe just his breath against my temple, the solid rhythm of his heart under my cheek. But he shifted, a hesitation in the way his fingers moved along my spine—like something heavy was sitting on his chest too.

“There’s something I never told you,” he said, voice low, almost a rasp.

I lifted my head just enough to look up at him. His eyes were darker than usual, not tired—just full of something old. Something he buried deep down, that still hurts to know, and still hurts to carry.

“My mom,” he started, “she died early… Too early. She, hm… She took her own life.”

The words hung there like thick smoke.

“I didn’t know,” I breathed, sitting up a little straighter.

“Most people don’t. I... didn’t talk about it much. Not because I was ashamed, but because I didn’t know how. What to say or how to explain the feeling of someone slipping through your fingers when you thought you had time.”

I reached for his hand and laced our fingers together.

“I always thought I’d get a chance to help her. That one day I’d be there at the right moment, say the right thing, and she’d choose to stay. But that moment never came. Or maybe it did, and I missed it.”

He paused, eyes locked on our joined hands.

“So when I see you—fighting for your brother like this, refusing to let anyone downplay how bad it is—I just...” He shook his head, jaw tight. “I wish I could go back and do what you’re doing now. Be what you’re being for someone you love so much that you’d burn the whole earth down just to make it better.”

My throat ached. My whole chest did.

“I’m really proud of you,” he said softly. “You didn’t look away. Even when it hurts the most.”

I blinked fast, trying to keep the tears from spilling again.

“I didn’t know that about your mom,” I said.

“I don’t tell people.” He gave me a soft smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I want you to know. Because I get it. Not all of it, not exactly—but enough to say that what you’re doing matters. Even if it’s messy, even if it doesn’t fix everything, it still matters in more ways than you know.”

I leaned in and pressed my forehead to his.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you right now,” I said.

He pulled me closer, kissing the side of my face. “Good thing you won’t have to find out.”

We stayed like that, tangled up on the couch, the sunlight pouring in through the curtains like it didn’t know we’d been up all night. Like it didn’t care. The world still moved around us, but in that moment, nothing else existed.

Just his voice, still in my ear.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

The days blurred.

Night shoots swallowed us whole—fog-drenched streets, clickers in makeup, flashlights swinging through the dark. I kept my camera steady, fingers sure even when the rest of me felt hollowed out. I knew how to do this: how to show up, frame the shot, capture the moment. No one could tell that everything under my skin was unraveling thread by thread.

Every morning, just after sunrise, Pedro and I would crawl into his bed without saying much. He’d pull me close, an arm wrapped firm around my waist like he could anchor me back into myself. Sometimes I fell asleep quickly, other times I’d lie there with my eyes open, heart pounding for no visible reason, a quiet panic only a twin would understand. Something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones.

And Pedro never asked me to explain, or to try and relax. No, he just held me tighter when I needed it most. Kissed my neck when he felt my mind wondering. Breathed with me when I couldn't.

Afternoons were when the world tilted into sharp focus. I’d peel myself from the warmth of his bed and start making calls. One after the other—specialists, care coordinators, facilities. I scrolled through endless PDFs on my laptop, looking for places with decent reputations and shorter waitlists. I read reviews, sent emails, asked hard questions. Sometimes Pedro made coffee and left it on the counter without a word. Other times, I’d look up from my phone and find him watching me quietly, not judging, just… witnessing.

When I opened my savings account and transferred the money, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even pause. That lens I’d been dreaming about for the past year—the one I’d bookmarked three times over, the one I was going to buy after the show wrapped—it didn’t matter anymore. Not compared to this.

He saw it. The transaction confirmation still open on my laptop, glowing quietly in the corner of the room. He didn’t say a word, just pressed his lips together and glanced at me like he wanted to carry part of it. But I didn’t let him. Not yet.

That morning, after work, he wrapped both arms around me tighter than usual. His face buried in my neck like he could breathe me back to life. I didn’t ask why. I just let myself melt into him.

By the fifth day of night-shoot, I was moving with the kind of exhaustion that lives in your bones—but there was clarity too. I had the name of the facility. I had the paperwork. I had a plan. And even though everything still felt fragile, like one wrong move could send it all tumbling, I was holding it together.

Barely. But still holding.

And Pedro… he never pulled away. Never tried to fix it, never told me to rest more or do less. He just kept making space, in his home, and in his arms… In the quiet hours between shooting monsters and trying to save someone I loved.

I didn’t say it out loud. But in those moments, I think I loved him a little more for it.

At the last night, the air buzzed with a strange combination of relief and fatigue, the kind that only comes after days of artificial darkness, cold pavement, and too many coffee refills. Everyone was running on fumes—cast, crew, even the clickers looked like they were dragging their prosthetic limbs a little slower.

I’d just stepped off after getting a good photo of the child-clicker scene—smoke machines, orange lights, two stuntmen wrestling down another clicker—and I was ready to collapse into the nearest chair and not move for a decade. My camera bag was heavier than usual on my shoulder, and the strap had started digging into my collarbone.

I rounded the corner toward our small crew tent, just looking for a cup of something hot, when I saw him.

Pedro.

Leaning against the folding table like he’d been waiting, hoodie pulled over his head, script pages in one hand and something—small, black, rectangular—in the other.

He looked up when he saw me. That same tired smile he always saved for me, the one that lived somewhere in the edges of his eyes. But this time, there was something different underneath it.

“I thought you had a scene,” I said, brushing a hand over my neck, suddenly self-conscious about the smudge of soot on my face.

“Wrapped early,” he said, straightening. “I was waiting for you to go back to my place.”

Then he held out the box.

For a second, my brain didn’t compute. It was matte black, with clean silver lettering across the top. The exact box I’d stared at online more times than I cared to admit. The lens. The lensr—28-70mm F2 RF—The one I was supposed to buy when I saved enough money, before Matt’s relapse, before my savings became his lifeline.

“Pedro—”

“It’s yours,” he said softly, stepping forward. “I know you weren’t gonna buy it for yourself anymore. But I also know you’ve wanted it since forever. Always caught you looking at that canon online shop”

I looked down at the box, then back at him, heart thudding against my ribs. “How did you even know the model?”

“You talk in your sleep, remember?” he said, grinning. “I just had to type 'RF 28-70' and Google took care of the rest.”

That broke something in me. I laughed and choked up at the same time, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth. “I can’t accept this.”

“You already have,” he said, stepping closer. “I mean, I didn’t bring the receipt.”

Behind us, I heard a soft scoff.

Kate.

She was standing just a few feet away, coffee in one hand, a half-hearted smile on her lips—but her eyes flicked between the lens box and Pedro with something more complicated. She didn’t say anything, just raised her eyebrows at me like well, that’s new before turning and walking away.

I didn’t know what to do with the pang that left behind.

“Thank you,” I said finally, turning back to him. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. You’ve been carrying too much lately. And you still show up here and make everyone look like they belong in a fucking magazine.”

He touched my chin, gentle, grounding. I leaned into it without thinking.

And then—

“Pascal!”

A voice cut through the stillness.

We both turned.

There, stepping out of the shadows of a black SUV parked just off the set, was Franklin. Pedro’s agent. Dressed like he always is—sharp suit, scarf, sunglasses even though it was the middle of the night. His presence alone shifted the air.

Pedro’s shoulders stiffened immediately.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” he said, flat.

“That was the point,” Franklin replied coolly. His eyes flicked toward me. “Nice to finally meet the reason I’ve been getting rescheduled calls for three months.”

Pedro’s hand dropped from my chin.

And just like that, whatever moment we were in—whatever quiet bubble of kindness and camera lenses and whispered affection—we were pulled right back into reality.

My grip tightened on the box.

Something was about to shift. I could feel it.

[joelssimp]

STILL | CHAPTER 16

CW: Soreness - three times with Pedro will do that to you -, Bella teasing, fluff, smut MDNI, Unprotected p-in-v, Fingering, creampie, backache for doing on the floor. Shower fluff.

6K words

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16 - Just for You

I was limping.

Not a lot, just enough that every time I crouched to take a low-angle shot or adjusted a tripod too fast, my thighs and hips screamed in protest.

Three rounds with Pedro Pascal would do that to a girl.

The ache was deep, sweet, lingering — a good pain. It curled under my skin like an echo. Every movement reminded me of his hands, his mouth, his voice in the dark, the way he’d made me forget my own fucking name. Same name I gave to him like a confession, a secret we both now share.

And now here I was, on set, camera gear strapped to my shoulder, hair tied back, black hoodie zipped up to my chin as if that could contain how completely undone I was inside, and also just in case there was remains of what we did.

We were prepping for the week’s first overnight shoot and it was chaos everywhere. Lighting rigs going up, fog machines warming, background clickers being ushered into prosthetics. I’d been up since 4 p.m., and it was barely 8 now. The night was just getting started.

Kate gave me a sideways glance as I checked one of my shots on the monitor. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I said a little too fast. “Just... sore.”

She blinked. “Sore?”

I didn’t answer. The look she gave me said she knew exactly why. I turned toward the firelight setup for a scene with Joel and Ellie, letting my camera be my shield.

That was when Bella popped up beside me, coffee in hand, smirking like the devil.

“So,” They said, in a conspiratorial whisper. “You do know the apartment right above Pedro’s is mine, right?”

I froze.

Bella grinned wider.

“I was trying to nap before call time today and... girl. Girl.”

My cheeks flamed instantly. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” They sang. “Walls aren’t that thin, but I heard enough to know someone downstairs was getting thoroughly worshiped.” They took a sip of their coffee, head cocked. “At least the second round. Very enthusiastic.”

“Bella—”

“Look, I’m not mad. Just wanted to say congratulations.”

I covered my face with one hand. “I’m going to melt into the floor and die.”

“I mean, I would too,” They added, half-laughing, “but also — respect. That man sounds like he knows what he’s doing.”

“Oh my God.”

Bella just patted my shoulder, clearly having the time of their life with my mortification. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. And hey, you were still professional enough to show up to set with that post-orgasmic glow. Not everyone could pull that off.”

I lowered my hand slowly, blinking through the mess of my own embarrassment. They were right about one thing — I had shown up. I was here, aching and happy and totally in love with someone I wasn’t allowed to touch in public.

I glanced toward where Pedro was standing in full Joel gear, talking to Kesnia and Craig, looking focused, magnetic, completely in his element.

He didn’t even glance at me.

But my body still burned under the weight of his hands from a few hours ago.

“I need another coffee,” I muttered, backing away.

Bella just grinned. “Better hydrate, too. You’re gonna need it.”

I found Kate at the back of the set, coiling cables too carefully. Her shoulders were tense, her jaw set in that way that said don’t ask, just keep moving.

I didn’t.

At least not at first.

I crouched next to the crate where I kept my gear and pulled out my backup camera — still heavier in my hands than the one I broke. I’d been sore all day, but it wasn’t just from the long shoot or the gear weight. And apparently... Bella had ears and a big fucking mouth.

“So,” Kate said eventually, her voice casual. Too casual. “Hydration’s important.”

I looked up sharply.

She kept her eyes on the cable, barely a flicker of a smile.

“Bella mentioned it earlier,” she added, like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a direct missile to my very private moment with Pedro.

I sighed, low and under my breath. “They... might’ve heard something.”

Kate quirked a brow, finally looking at me. “How?”

“From Pedro’s,” I corrected. “They’re staying in the apartment above his.”

Kate blinked. “Oh.”

I nodded, half a wince. “Second round wasn’t as soundproofed as we thought.”

That got a small laugh out of her, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She glanced across the set toward where Bella was leaning against a light stand, chatting with one of the newer grips.

I followed her gaze.

There was nothing unusual about Bella in that moment — casual, comfortable, laughing at something — but when I looked back, Kate’s mouth was tight. Just a enough to notice that there was something I didn't know.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said too quickly, brushing off the question with a wave of her hand. “Long night.”

She offered me a look that almost felt like us before the award thing, but it wasn’t quite there. Something still sat between us, invisible but solid.

I reached for a cable she hadn’t touched yet just to have something to do with my hands. “I miss you.”

Kate flinched just barely. “I’m right here.”

“Not really.”

She paused, then a small sigh scaped from her lips. “It’s not you. Just been in my head too much. That time of year.”

Right. The time of year where we as — unit-still-photographers — usually sent in our submissions. Only this year, I didn’t send shit, someone did it for me. She sent hers and didn’t get anything back.

“I didn’t know you sent anything in,” I said carefully.

She shrugged. “Didn’t talk about it much. It wasn’t a big thing.”

But the way she said it... it was a big thing.

I nodded slowly, unsure how much space to give her, how much to press.

After a while, she looked at Bella again, then quickly away. “Anyway. I should check on some emails, see if Pedro’s agents stopped being such a bunch of assholes.”

She turned before I could say anything else.

And as I sat there in the half-dark, watching her walk away, a realization settled low in my chest.

She wasn’t just off because of the award.

Something about Bella made her shift too.

And I wasn’t sure Kate had even let herself name this “something” yet.

The lens shop was one of those blink-and-you-miss-it places. Wedged between a locksmith and a vape store, in downtown Calgary. The faded awning simply read "CAMERA REPAIR & SUPPLY", like it didn’t care whether you came in or not.

I almost walked past it. I’d plugged the address into my phone, still doubting it could be that place — the one whispered around on set like a rumor. The guy who actually knew how to fix glass, not just replace it.

The bell above the door jangled as I pushed it open, stepping into the smell of metal, old wood, and the static charge of things with stories.

And then I saw him.

Bent over a workbench, silver-haired, in the same threadbare cardigan he used to wear in the editing suite at La Salle.

I froze. “Professor Theodore?”

He turned, blinking at me through his glasses, before recognition settled across his face like sunlight.

“Mon dieu... it’s you.”

I laughed, my nerves catching up. “Yeah. I wasn’t sure it was really your shop.”

“Well, it wasn’t. Not until last year. Retired too early, got bored too fast. Calgary’s home again.” He gestured vaguely to the walls. “Decided to come back to what I loved. Just... smaller scale.”

He came around the counter and hugged me. Smelled like coffee and dust and something warm I hadn’t felt in a while.

We caught up in pieces.

I told him about the job, the long nights, the madness of this show that was eating our lives but also somehow making them.

He told me about retiring just before the pandemic hit, how Montréal changed, how his sister convinced him to come home.

And then, carefully, I pulled the lens from my tote.

Wrapped in a sweater sleeve, almost like I was ashamed.

“Oh,” he said, as he held it. “This is the Canon 24-70mm, right? You used to carry this one everywhere.”

“I still do… Or did.”

He turned it gently in his hands, looking at the damage with a frown as familiar as his voice.

He tried not to say it right away — I could see it. But it was in the way his jaw set and his eyes softened behind the glasses.

“The inner barrel’s cracked. Focus ring’s jammed. The rear element’s scratched.”

“So...?”

He looked up at me. “Not worth it, my dear. Would cost you more than a new one.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. I wasn’t going to cry over a lens. I wasn’t.

Well, not again at least.

“I took that thing everywhere,” I said softly.

“I know. It saw your whole story, didn’t it?”

“Most of it, yeah.”

He handed the broken lens back to me with both hands, like he respects the story behind it, in a way that is reverent and careful, kind of like as if it were still whole. As if it still mattered.

I took it without speaking, the weight of it strange now that I knew it was dead. Like carrying around a heart that had stopped beating.

Then, wordlessly, he turned to a drawer behind the counter. Dug through boxes until he found what he was looking for: a small yellow canister with curling edges on the label.

He held it out to me like an offering.

“Here. Kodak Gold. Expired in 2019. Should give you something strange, if it still gives you anything at all. Take a picture with it and have a surprise.”

I squinted at it. “What do I even do with this?”

“Exactly what I said.” He smiled, “Take a picture.”

“For what?”

“For you. Just you. Not for the studio or for marketing, and for sure not for production.”

I hesitated. He leaned in just slightly, eyes kind but sharp.

“My dear… You’ve forgotten how to see things just for yourself.”

Something in me tightened.

“I’m on a big job right now. Almost zero time…”

“I know. I can tell. You carry it like it owns you.”

He stepped around the counter again, slower this time, and leaned on the glass case that separated us.

“You were never the best technician in class,” he said softly, “but you had an eye. That eye only showed up when you cared. Not when you were trying to impress for good grades, and not when you were working off a shot list.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

He tapped the film canister against the counter. “This is expired. Which means it might ruin your photo. Or it might surprise you. But it will slow you down. That’s what you need right now: Not perfection. Not deadlines. Not another shoot under artificial lights. Just a moment. Take it.”

He nodded toward the lens in my hand.

“You already said goodbye to that one. Time to shoot with something new.”

I let the film roll rest in my palm. It was light, almost insignificant, really. But it hummed with possibility.

“You used to shoot in the alley behind the college,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Rain or snow, day or night. You once spent two hours trying to catch the same puddle in the right light.”

I laughed, quietly. “I was stubborn. Still am, I think.”

“You saw something no one else saw. That’s what I loved about you.” He paused. “That’s what I miss in your eyes now. You’ve got too much weight between your ribs.” He made a gesture with his hands of letting it go, “Let it out, and let that excitement of shooting something that matters in. But for the love of God, take the damn picture.”

His smile takes me back to my first year in college, and it's a good feeling.

“You don’t need the best gear. You just need to remember how to feel before you click.”

I nodded, throat tight. “Thank you, Professor.”

“It’s just Theodore now. I left the lecturing behind.”

“You’re still teaching, tho.”

He smiled at that, soft and a little proud. “Good. Then maybe I’ve still got it.”

I left with the broken lens wrapped in cloth in my bag, and the film roll clutched in my hand like a secret.

No answers. No fixes.

It was something to slow me down. And I needed it.

I let myself in with the spare key he'd given me. That small, unexpected moment—him pressing the warm silver into my palm a few days ago, murmuring “just in case you need it”—still echoed somewhere inside my chest.

His apartment was quiet, no signs of him yet. The blinds half drawn, the late afternoon light cutting lines across the floor. It smelled like him. Coffee and wood and something warm beneath it, like old cologne and flannel shirts that held on to skin.

I kicked off my shoes and dropped my bag by the door, then walked to the kitchen, instinctively opening a cabinet to grab a glass. Everything here was familiar now. Safe in a way that made me want to breathe deeper.

Switched my shirt for one of his, the same one I wore yesterday.

The film canister was still in my hand. I’d carried it back like it might break.

I sat at the kitchen table and held it up to the light. Kodak Gold, expired, and full of whatever it might or might not become. It hummed in my palm like a heartbeat.

I didn’t hear him come in.

But when I looked up, he was there. Back from whatever he was out doing, his baseball cap low, sleeves shoved to his elbows. He blinked at me once, and then again, just trying to read something in me.

“You okay?” he asked, already stepping closer, his voice low and careful.

“Yeah,” I said, softer than I meant to. “Just… that kind of long day, you know?”

He pulled a chair back, sat beside me, eyes flicking to the canister in my hands.

“What’s that?”

“Expired film,” I said, letting a tired smile tug at my mouth. “From an old professor I met today.”

“You’re gonna shoot with it?”

I nodded. “Eventually.”

Pedro leaned back in the chair, spreading his legs a little, watching me like I was a new language he wanted to learn. Careful around every reaction, reading my every move, just trying to know.

“Did I ever tell you I used to have a disposable camera in my backpack growing up?”

I blinked at him. “No.”

“Yeah. Cheap one. My mom used to get me one at the airport before trips. I’d take the worst pictures. Blurry as hell, the kind that had the fingers in the frame and all of that. But they made her cry when I brought them back.”

“Because they were yours,” I said, simply knowing. That was the same thing my dad used to do, without the crying, but there was the proud tone.

He tilted his head. Something flickered in his eyes.

“Yeah. Think she just liked that I saw things.”

I didn’t mean to do it, but I was standing before I could think. Just moved to the counter, opened the drawer where he kept random things... Rubber bands, receipts, pens. And pulled out the little point-and-shoot I’d left there last week, the one I told him “Just in case my cellphone don’t work and there’s something to remember.”

“Don’t move,” I said, already loading the thing and lifting it to my eye.

He had this golden haze of late afternoon light slanting across the kitchen right to his hidden hair. His glasses were slipping down his nose, and he had that ridiculous, gorgeous smile—wide, boyish, stupidly radiant. The kind of smile that came from the inside out. Like he was about to laugh, but hadn't yet decided what for.

“What?” he said, blinking.

“Exactly like that,” I whispered. “Don’t move.”

The camera clicked, soft and mechanical.

He stood slowly, his sweatshirt was creased, sleeves haphazardly pushed up. He scratched the back of his neck, then took off the hat and ran a hand through his messy hair.

“Babe…” he said, teasing, almost shy. “I look like someone’s dad on vacation.”

“You look like you’re all mine,” I said, stepping forward, lowering the camera. “Mine to remember like this.”

That stopped him. His eyes flicked up, locking with mine. The glasses sat slightly crooked, one lens catching the light just enough to half-hide the softness behind them.

I clicked again.

This time, he smiled less for the camera and more for me.

“You’re dangerous with that thing,” he murmured. “You’re gonna ruin my image.”

I looked at the tiny screen on the back—just enough to make out the composition. The light was all wrong. The focus was probably too soft. But it was him, right there, smiling at me.

Beautiful. Real. Undone.

I grinned. “Impossible.”

He laughed, quick and breathy, before pulling me in by the waist. Pressed a kiss to the side of my face and lingered there, lips curved against my skin.

“You gonna keep shooting?” he asked against my cheek. “Or are we eating something before tonight murders us?”

“I could eat you,” I muttered.

He pulled back, raising an eyebrow, grin growing.

“Well,” he said. “That’s one way to carb load.”

I kissed him to shut him up.

And somewhere on the kitchen counter, the little camera waited—warm from my hands, full of light, and memory, and him.

He was laughing again. Small in a way that told me he was enjoying this a little too much. Just a little tilt of his head and that crooked smile that made his whole face light up. He’d just said something ridiculous about stealing my thunder on set, and I couldn’t help it — I brought the camera back up and snapped another shot.

Click.

“Hey,” he grinned, adjusting his glasses, eyes narrowing playfully. “You gotta warn me when you do that.”

“I like you better off guard,” I said.

“Clearly.”

Couldn’t admit out loud, but capturing him and that light the glowed inside his eyes started to become my favorite hobby.

He tightened his grip around my body, hands slipping under the hem of the shirt I was wearing — his shirt, the one I’d thrown on again the moment I got back from the shop. He reached for the camera with a sort of careful reverence, set it down gently on the table again, and stayed close.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

I nodded. “Tired, a little sore.” I looked up at him, catching his gaze. “But I’m good. Really, really good.”

The hand on my skin sent shivers all around my body, and then he leaned to kiss me… it was warm and unhurried. Letting me feel like we weren’t on a tight filming schedule or running on barely five hours of sleep. Like the world had finally cracked open to give us this little pocket of time.

“We have two hours,” he whispered against my mouth.

I raised an eyebrow. “What are you suggesting?”

He smirked, so goddamn suggestive, my heart jumpped on the same spot it was. Pedro lifted me like it was nothing, setting me gently on the edge of the counter. “That we waste it. Entirely.”

I laughed, curling my fingers into his hair. “You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re still wearing my shirt.” His hands slid up my thighs. “That’s entirely on you.”

There was a need between us, steady and familiar now. it was insistent. Every time we touched felt like a conversation we hadn’t finished. This time was no different at all.

He kissed me hard. All tongue and teeth bitting my lower lip until he made me moan. Just so he could kiss me again swallowing it.

Like even with me right here — wrapped in his shirt, perched on his counter, legs circled around his waist — it still wasn’t enough. Like part of him was already grieving the moment we’d have to let go again.

His hands gripped my thighs, firm but tender, and I felt the shift in him. Just the slow swell of heat and hunger that always came with the way he looked at me. Like I was more than just the girl behind the lens. I was his, whether we’d said it out loud or not.

He moved against me, slow and deliberate, hips rolling just enough that I could feel how hard he already was, and I couldn’t help it. My head tipped back, a sound escaping me as his mouth found a soft spot just below my jaw. He was getting too good at that now.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmured against my neck, breath warm, hands still holding me like he wasn’t letting me go easily. “Since, you know… You’re sore and all.”

“I really, really don’t want to stop,” I whispered back, my voice already unsteady, my fingers sliding under the fabric at the back of his shirt, desperate for more of his warm skin.

That was all he needed.

His mouth was back on mine, harder now, kissing me like he wanted to leave proof of it, and maybe I did too. My shirt — his shirt — was pushed higher with every movement, his touch reverent and aching, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to worship or devour me. Maybe both.

When he pulled away for half a second, it was just to press his forehead to mine and breathe me in.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he whispered.

I smiled, breathless. “We’ve been apart for five hours.”

“Yeah. Too long.”

He tugged me forward gently and I slid off the counter, feet barely touching the ground before he eased us both down to the floor, right there on the cool tiles of his kitchen. The shift surprised a laugh out of me — the spontaneity of it, the ridiculousness. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the way his hands were roaming now, skimming my bare thighs, pushing the shirt higher and higher.

“This okay?” he asked, pausing just long enough to look me in the eyes. His voice was lower than usual, rough with restraint. His hands had stopped moving, resting against the bare skin of my thighs where the shirt had ridden up, his thumbs gently brushing circles — but not going further. Not yet.

I nodded. “Yeah,” I breathed. And then, because it was true, because I needed him to know how much I wanted him. So I added, “God, yeah.”

His gaze held mine a second longer, and I watched the tension in his jaw break into a crooked smile.

“You really shouldn’t say things like that,” he murmured, leaning in so close our noses brushed. “Makes me think you’re ready for trouble.”

I arched an eyebrow, feeling bold now. “What if I am?”

He gave a low, dangerous chuckle. “Then I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else who thinks they can touch you like this.”

“You already have,” I whispered.

That did something to him. His breath caught. His lips were on mine in a heartbeat — slower this time, moving with so much knowledge already. He kissed me like a man discovering something new he liked, like he needed to know every shape and sound I made when I melted under him. And I did. I was fucking melting on that floor.

Still gripping my hips, he guided me just enough so that when his fingers slid under the edge of my underwear, there was no mistaking how ready I was. I gasped into his mouth, hips twitching, breath stuttering.

“Fuck,” he groaned, eyes flicking down, then up again. “You’re already this wet for me?”

I bit my bottom lip and grinned. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Oh, cariño…” He groaned like I’d hit him in the chest, dragging his fingers slowly through the slick between my thighs, teasing just the edges. “That’s the kind of confession that’ll get you in so much trouble.”

“Then stop talking,” I said, breathless, “and do something about it.”

He laughed again so low and filthy. Making me curse under my breath for how it made me evn more wet. And then he did something about it.

His fingers moved with that same infuriating confidence he always carried around on set, only this time it was all mine. He pressed just enough on top of my clit, rubbing slow, steady circles until I was gripping his shoulders and clinging to the collar of his t-shirt, forehead pressed to his, breath hot between us.

“I love how responsive you are,” he said against my cheek, kissing the corner of my mouth as I whimpered. “Like you were made for me.”

“You talk too much,” I panted, right before a shudder rolled through me.

Two fingers slid right inside me and I gasped, holding even more tight to him.

“And you love it,” he smirked, watching my face as I started to fall apart, his fingers curling just on the perfect spot. “Say it. Say my name when you come.”

His confidence was something out of this world. I rolled my hips chasing more of it, more of that heat, more of him.

It was terrifying how fast it all built inside of me. How my moans escaped when he kept his pace and his thumb still circled my clit, steady in a rhythm he set. He was breathing rapidly against my cheek, and I couldn’t focus on anything but his touch.

“I—I’m… Pedro, I’m gonna…” I didn’t have it in me to say anything more.

I hit me so hard

So loud.

And it only spurred him on.

He didn’t let up — not until I was gasping into the air, nails digging into his shoulders, body trembling against him.

He held me through it, murmuring soft things in Spanish... Promisses, praises, and some filthy things I was still learning. His hands stayed on me, slow and grounding now, bringing me back to him.

When I finally blinked up at him, his fingers stopped, and I was dazed and aching and already wanting more, he gave me the softest smile. His voice dropped, almost reverent.

“I could spend my whole life making you feel like that.”

“You just might,” I whispered, teasing, even if I wasn’t joking. Not really.

He laughed once, short and rough, and leaned in close. “Then get ready for round two, mi amor.”

He said it as in a promise. Making me realize that he’d been thinking about this since the last time he pulled out of me, sweat-soaked and trembling.

Just like I had too.

Before I could even catch my breath, Pedro lifted me up just enough to slide the shirt over my head, tossing it somewhere behind him, before settling me back against the cool tile. He hovered above me, eyes drinking me in like I was the only thing that mattered. 

“You look so fucking good laid out for me,” he whispered, voice cracking halfway through. “Like I dreamed it, and now I get to live in it.”

I grinned, pulling at his sweatshirt until he helped me yank it off. “I'm all yours.”

He dropped his mouth on mine again, hungry, open, tongue brushing against mine. Our bodies slotted together so easily. It felt like we’d always been meant to move like this — his skin hot against mine, his weight grounding me.

His pants and underwear was the last thing to come off. His cock fell heavy in between us, already leaking with precum. Tip red and angry, like it was just waiting this whole time to claim me.

He pressed into me slowly at first, the stretch delicious and deep. I gasped, my back arching up off the floor.

“Fuck, you feel good,” I moaned, wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He groaned, burying his face in my neck. “God, yes. You’re so warm. So perfect. So mine.”

“Yours,” I breathed, rolling my hips up to meet his, already moving with him, matching his rhythm. “Only yours.”

His movements were slow and steady at the beginning, hips rolling, meeting mine and pressing my body further at the floor. Each time felt deeper.

“You’re so big” I said low, moaning against his ear. “So deliciously big.”

That broke something in him. He started thrusting harder, deeper it was all need, made from the days we dreamt about this, from the times we "almost" did it. He made the dirtiest sounds, groaning right against my skinn, breathing my name like a prayer.

“You take me so fucking well,” he growled. “Every time. You open up like you want me to wreck you.”

“I do,” I gasped. “I love when you fuck me like this.”

He let out a strangled sound, one hand gripping under my knee, pushing it up as he sank deeper, hitting that spot that made me see stars. I cried out, loud and helpless.

“There?” he asked, voice ragged. “You want more there?”

“Yes—yes, please—”

“Tell me how much you like it, baby. Let me hear you say it.”

“I love it, Pedro. You feel so good, you fuck me so good—” I could barely finish the sentence before the pleasure was curling tight in my belly again. “I’m gonna—oh god—Pedro—”

“That’s it. Come for me. Let go, baby, I got you—”

I shattered with a scream, body trembling, clinging to him as he trusted even harder.

I felt it in my bones, the shaking overtook my senses. The sounds coming out of my mouth didn’t sound like me at all. It was an out of body experience. He kept hitting that same spot while I clenched around him.

He bit my shoulder hard and with two more trusts he followed right behind, hips stuttering, his voice going hoarse and wild close to my ear.

“Shit—fuck—joder—Tan buena, tan buena—” I felt him spilling inside for a while. Little spasms going around his body.

I was so full, I could feel it leaking inside my thighs.

The world narrowed to his body, his breath, the feel of his arms locked around me like he was afraid I’d slip away.

We stayed there, a sweaty, panting heap on the floor. His chest was pressed to mine, our legs tangled together, my fingers curled in his damp hair.

Then he shifted slightly and let out a groan of a very different kind.

“Oh no,” I murmured, giggling, even as my back started to protest. “Is that your lower back talking?”

“Absolutely,” he wheezed. “I’m gonna regret this in twenty minutes.”

“Worth it?”

He rolled onto his side, soft cock sliding out. Pulled me with him, and kissed the tip of my nose. “Every second.”

I laughed, then winced as I tried to sit up. “We’re too old to be having sex on tile floors.”

“Says the woman who just begged for more,” he teased, rubbing at his hip.

“Says the woman who’s gonna need a heating pad tonight,” I shot back.

He grinned. “We’ll ice each other down between takes.”

“Deal.”

We stayed there another minute, still pressed together, still glowing, aching in all the right places. The floor was hard, our bodies were sore, but we wouldn’t have changed a damn thing.

After a while we made it to the shower.

Pedro insisted on carrying me there, bridal-style, even though I kept protesting that I could walk just fine. His back still ached from the floor, but he said carrying me made him forget about it. That was a lie — he winced halfway through the hallway — but I didn’t say anything. I just leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose.

The water was warm, steam already filling the bathroom as we stepped in together. I stood under the spray, eyes closed, letting it wash over my face, down my shoulders, across every inch of skin that still hummed from the minutes before.

Pedro’s arms came around me from behind. No urgency now. That moment was made for just soft touches, hands moving slowly over my hips, his mouth brushing the back of my neck.

"You smell like me," he murmured, voice low and lazy.

I smiled, leaning back into him. “You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“No. It's perfect,” he said, lips trailing along my shoulder. “But I still want to wash you… slowly.”

And he did.

His hands lathered soap into my skin, careful, attentive, like I was the most delicate thing he’d ever touched. His fingers moved in slow circles, massaging my thighs, the curve of my back, the inside of my wrists. He washed my hair, too with his fingertips working gently into my scalp, making me groan with pleasure, eyes fluttering shut.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” I murmured. “No one’s ever going to top this.”

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss behind my ear. “That’s the plan.”

I turned to face him, wrapping my arms around his waist, the warm water cascading between us. His skin was slick and hot against mine, and his fingers still traced lazy patterns along my spine.

“You’re quiet,” I said, tilting my head.

Pedro’s lips curved. “Just thinking.”

I gave him a look. “About?”

He sighed dramatically. “That Bella lives upstairs and probably heard me giving you a full symphony.”

I laughed, burying my face against his chest. “Yeah. They said something last night.”

He groaned into my hair. “I’m never showing my face again.”

“They seemed impressed, honestly. So, relax. You’re not banned from your own building.”

He chuckled, hands sliding down my sides again. “Still, I was trying to be good. I knew the floors were thin.”

“No, you weren’t,” I teased. “You were trying to ruin me.”

His hands paused at my hips, grip tightening ever so slightly. “Did I?”

I looked up, smiled. “Thoroughly.”

The water ran over both of us, steam rising as we stood tangled there, pressed together and too warm to move apart. He leaned down and kissed me. In that sweet way only he could manage to do so.

I traced a finger down his chest, letting it rest just below his sternum.

“Also,” I said softly, “I think Kate might have a thing for Bella.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“She gets… weird. Especially when Bella’s around. Or when Bella talks to me, or looks at me. It’s like she’s watching something she can’t control.”

Pedro tilted his head, considering it. “She’s always looked like she had trouble with what she can’t name.”

“Exactly.” I nodded, watching his reaction. “But it’s more than the usual awkwardness. There’s this tension there. I don’t think she even knows what to do with it.”

He made a quiet sound, rubbing the back of his neck. “You want me to say something?”

I shrugged, brushing a palm over his chest again. “Only if it comes up. You’re close with Bella, right?”

“Yeah. She’d tell me if something was going on… I think.” Then, after a pause, he added, “But you’re probably right. I’ve seen the way Kate looks at them when she thinks no one’s watching.”

I rested my forehead against him, closing my eyes as the spray of the water softened between us.

“I miss how easy things were with Kate,” I admitted.

He wrapped his arms around me again, just holding me there, letting the silence stretch.

“You think it’s because of the award?” he asked.

“It started there. But now it’s like… she’s uncomfortable around me. Like I’m reminding her of something she doesn’t want to feel.”

Pedro nodded slowly. “That’ll pass. Or she’ll figure it out.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll figure that out too,” he said. “Together.”

I looked up at him, heart cracking open again, just a little more. “You always make it sound that simple.”

He smiled. “That’s ‘cause when it comes to you? It is.”

I kissed him again. Long, slow, like I wanted to press that answer into him so he’d never forget it.

The shower started to run cooler, but neither of us moved just yet.

We were soaked, clean, and wrapped in something much bigger than steam or heat, it was something quieter and steadier than lust.

Something looking awful a lot like love.

[joelssimp]

STILL | CHAPTER 15

CW: alternating pov, friend jealousy, smut MDNI, Unprotected p-in-v, Oral (f!receiving), pull out, aftercare (he is that guy), morning lazyness, breakfast, kitchen sex, creampie.

8K words -sorrynotsorry

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15 - Award

I stared at the email like it might vanish if I blinked too hard.

“Outstanding Unit Still Photographer - Television” Nominee: Still., for ‘All That Remains’ - Season 2.

It didn’t feel real. Not in the dreamy way. More like I was reading someone else’s name and the universe had made a clerical error in my favor.

I stared at my name again. The title of the show I worked for before the pandemic broke… And on top of all of it, it was that award — International Cinematographers Guild (ICG) Publicists Award.

And I had no idea how I’d ended up there.

Pedro crossed my mind for a second, the way he’d always encouraged my eye. Even before the banter turned into something slower, deeper. But I hadn’t told him about something like this. I hadn’t told anyone actually.

Except Kate.

I found her near the set’s back trailer, dragging her case of equipment with one of the grips. She was already wearing her favorite blue beanie and arguing with the wind.

I didn’t say a word. Just held out my phone.

She glanced at it, squinting against the morning glare. Then did a double take. “Wait — no fucking way.”

I nodded. My heart was trying to claw its way up my throat now.

She took the phone fully this time, reading. “You got nominated? Holy shit, this is—” She looked up at me. “This is huge.”

I nodded again, still barely breathing.

“Dude,” she said, shoving the phone back into my hands with a huge grin. “This is like the Oscar of still photography. People work twenty years to land that nomination.”

“I know,” I said. My voice didn’t sound like me.

Kate rubbed her hands together. “God, I mean… okay, you’ve been killing it. That shot of Bill and Frank, the strawberry scene with the flare light? Come on. That deserved a billboard.”

She meant it, or at least she tried to, I could see that.

But something shifted. There was some hesitation, a shadow of something sour so deep it barely made it’s way out to the surface.

“I submitted that “Boston” sequence,” she said, more softly now. “You know, the night scene with the lightning reflections? Thought it had a chance. But… guess not.”

Oh.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything. But she beat me to it with a weak smile. “I mean, it’s fine. It was a long shot.”

“I didn’t even know I’d been submitted,” I said, which I instantly regretted, because it sounded like I was trying to minimize it. “I’m serious, Kate. I don’t know who did it. Eben maybe. Or Pedro—”

Her smile twitched, and she raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah. Mr. Secret Boyfriend strikes again.”

That made me laugh, sort of. “He's not that stealthy.”

“Yeah, well, he’s better at sneaking kisses between takes than I thought he’d be,” she teased.

I blushed so hard I could feel it under my scarf. “Kate—”

“Relax, I told you I’m on your team. I can keep a secret.”

I let out a slow breath. “Thanks.”

She kicked at the gravel with her boot. “Hey… I’m really proud of you. Seriously.”

“I know.”

“I’m just tired, that’s all,” she said. “We’re about to hit that six overnight shoots in a row. There will be a prosthetics truck full of clickers just waiting to scream in our faces. You deserve the nomination.”

“I wish I didn’t feel like everyone’s going to assume it’s because of… him.”

Kate looked at me then. Her eyes fierce with seriousness and compassion. “Okay. First of all, that’s bullshit. You could’ve been shooting mannequins and still gotten noticed. You’ve got an eye people remember. And second? If they think Pedro Pascal is the reason your compositions work now, they clearly don’t know where the hell the camera’s pointed.”

I blinked. And then smiled, a real smile this time.

She nudged me with her elbow. “Just promise me you’ll still complain about the night shoots with me.”

I laughed. “Deal.”

Then the AD called first positions, and we both groaned in unison.

I was mid-haircut in the trailer when my phone buzzed on the counter. Coco swatted my hand when I reached for it. “Keep your head still, superstar. Unless you wanna look like an aging boy band reject.”

“Gimme a sec,” I muttered, reaching anyway.

It was a text from a number I’d saved but barely used.

Just a heads up — she’s been nominated for some big photography award? She’s not good at… being the center of attention. Might freak out. Don’t let her run away from it. Mandy - 13:51

I stared at the screen, then blinked once. Nominated?

What award? Pedro P. - 13:51

I don’t remember the name. Big still photography thing. The one with all the fuss. She won’t tell you. She didn’t even tell me. Kate slipped up and mentioned it. Just… be kind. She panics when people make a big deal out of her stuff. Mandy - 13:54

“Everything okay?” Coco asked, pausing with the scissors.

I nodded, still staring. Then I quickly opened a browser and typed her name and “unit stills award.”

It popped up.

Her name, right next to the words “Outstanding Unit Still Photographer.”

I sat back in the chair, phone loose in my hand.

“Pedro?” Coco asked.

“She got nominated,” I said, still not believing it. “Like… the nomination. The big one in her field.”

Coco raised her brows. “For the show?”

“Not yet, it’s from a past project, from before covid.” I sighed. “I didn’t even know she submitted anything.”

“She probably didn’t.”

That made me pause.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Coco said, tilting my head slightly, “someone else might have done it. People do that all the time. ADs, department heads, publicists...”

I frowned. “Not me tho. I could’ve”

“Well, it wasn’t me either. But whoever did it, has good taste.”

I barely heard the words now, thinking of her.

How she probably found out hours ago and said nothing. How she’s probably hiding in the shadows of the set somewhere, behind a lens, trying to make herself smaller because the world suddenly decided to see her.

And how proud I was — achingly proud.

But Mandy knew her better than anyone, and if she was right… There should be no fuss about it. She’d run if I made one.

So I did the only thing I could think to do. I picked up my phone again.

Can I steal you for ten minutes before your call time today? Just you and me. I promise. No big deal. Pedro P. - 14:02

And then I waited.

She didn’t say anything to my text, not like she didn’t see, those blue markers said that she did, but I got no answer.

Only when I spotted her behind the lighting rig near set B, her arms crossed, camera dangling at her hip like a sword she forgot how to use… There I knew she’d really gotten it.

The shadows caught in her hair, gold bleeding through from a crack in the door. She looked like she’d been hiding there for a while, out of frame, just watching everyone else work.

“Hey,” I said gently.

She startled, then gave me a look like she’d been waiting for me and also dreading it. God, I knew that look. I’d worn it before. Right back when the spotlight felt more like a scalpel than something comfortable.

“You’re not supposed to be over here yet,” she said.

“Sue me,” I replied, trying to keep it light. “You free?”

She hesitated, then nodded once.

I guided her toward the quiet hallway by the old lockers — the one that no one used except lighting techs and two production assistants sneaking smoke breaks. It was just the two of us, the hum of distant generators, and the smell of latex and mossy set pieces wafting through the air.

I didn’t ask right away. I just leaned against the wall and looked at her.

“I heard,” I said.

She didn’t flinch, but she did close her eyes for half a second.

“You’re not mad?”

My heart cracked a little. “Mad? Why the hell would I be mad?”

“I didn’t want you to find out from somebody else,” she muttered.

“Mandy texted me because she was worried. Said you’d freak out.”

She gave a soft, humorless laugh. “That obvious, huh?”

“To people who love you? Yeah.”

She didn’t answer. Just toed the edge of the floor tape, then sighed.

“It’s not just the nomination,” she admitted. “It’s Kate.”

I straightened a little. “What about her?”

“She’s… I don’t know.” She rubbed the heel of her palm against her forehead. “She’s been weird. I told her about the nomination yesterday and she got really quiet. Said congratulations but didn’t care to look at me after. And then she said something about how she submitted something too, but didn’t get anything back. Like—”

“Like it should’ve been her.”

She nodded slowly. “It’s like I ruined something.”

I stepped forward, closing the space between us until I could tip my hand gently under her chin.

“You didn’t ruin anything. You got recognized for something you’re fucking incredible at. I see it every single day.”

“I didn’t even submit anything, Pedro.”

“Doesn’t matter. They saw you.”

She blinked fast, trying not to cry. My hand slid to the back of her neck, grounding her.

“It’s not fair,” she said, voice shaking. “I didn’t ask for this. And I hate that she’s making me feel guilty for it.”

“I know,” I murmured. “And I hate that too.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away.

“Look at me,” I said softly.

She did.

“You can feel proud of yourself and sad about Kate at the same time. Those things don’t cancel each other out. But don’t you dare let her steal this from you. You earned this like no one, you didn’t cheat, or cut corners, or take her spot. There is room for you, baby.”

She bit her lip, nodded once.

“Say it,” I whispered. “Say there’s room for me.”

“There’s room for me.”

“Damn right there is.”

Her arms wound around me, fast, tight. I held her as close as I could, pressing my nose to her hair, and promised myself I’d make the world quieter for her any time she needed me to.

It felt incredible to be her safe place where the anxiety had no other choice other than leave.

His apartment was quiet in a way that made my shoulders drop the second I stepped inside. No humming lights, no walkies crackling in the background, no makeup powder hanging in the air. Just wood floors, soft light bleeding through gauzy curtains, and the faint scent of cinnamon and something deeper… Like him.

I dropped my bag at the door and exhaled for what felt like the first time all day.

Pedro locked the door behind me, then stepped around to help take my coat off without a word. His hands were warm on my arms, his touch unhurried. When I turned, his eyes searched mine. I shook my head once, like not here, not yet, and he understood.

“I’ve got leftover curry,” he offered quietly. “Or we can order something. Or not eat at all and just sit in a dark room doing absolutely nothing.”

I gave him a small, grateful smile. “Honestly? Dark room sounds nice.”

We padded into the living room and I kicked off my shoes. His couch was already half-covered with blankets, a half-finished book face down on the coffee table. He dropped onto the cushions beside me and nudged my thigh with his knee.

I leaned into him slowly. Letting my body fit against his like I’d wanted to do since this morning. He didn’t ask questions. Just pressed a kiss to the crown of my head and let his hand rest at the small of my back.

We stayed like that for a long time — just breathing. I didn’t want to talk about Kate, or the nomination, or the way I felt like the floor might open up under me at any moment.

Eventually, I whispered, “Thanks for letting me stay tonight.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. “You can come here anytime. You know that.”

I turned my head so my nose brushed the curve of his neck. He smelled like soap and worn cotton and that particular scent that made my chest ache. Pedro was safe and so fucking warm.

“You really think there’s room for me?” I asked softly, barely above a whisper.

He pulled back, looked at me with a furrowed brow. “I know there is.”

His hand cupped my face, thumb brushing under my eye.

“I love how you see the world,” he said, voice low, reverent. “Through that lens of yours. Even when people are shitty, even when things are loud, you still find the light.”

That was it. The dam cracked.

I surged forward, kissing him like it was the only way to keep from falling apart again.

Some of my actions said thanks for saying all the right things, and he leaned into me.

His mouth met mine without hesitation, his hands anchoring me to him, one sliding into my hair while the other curled around my hip. We’d kissed a lot by now — slow, messy, eager kisses in the shadows of set trailers, in my flat with Kate asleep down the hall, against the wall backstage after wrap. 

But this was different.

This one was quiet but urgent, fueled by the way I wanted to lose everything that happened this week in the curve of his lips. His kiss deepened, and I climbed onto his lap, straddling him, fingers digging into the cotton of his shirt like it could hold me up.

His hands ran down my back, firm and slow. He pulled back slightly, breathing hard, “You sure?” he asked.

His voice was low, a little breathless, but steady. I could feel the tension in his thighs under mine, the restraint in his grip on my hips. He wasn’t pushing, no, we was asking consent. Giving me the space to choose. And that was the sexiest thing I’ve seen in my whole life.

I nodded, my heart in my throat. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

And then out of nowhere I said it.

My full name.

For him.

For the first time.

The room went still.

Pedro leaned back just enough to look at me, brows twitching in surprise. His eyes scanned my face like he needed to confirm I’d really said it out loud, he looked like he understood that this was more than a name—it was trust. Something I hadn’t given to anyone in a long time.

“You—” he blinked. “That’s your name?”

I nodded once, slow.

“Did you really just tell me?—” He laughed under his breath, a soft huff of disbelief, and reached up to cradle the side of my face like I might vanish if he didn’t. “You trust me that much?”

“It’s real, you’re real—, we are real” I said, voice small but sure, “It’s all I need.”

His jaw tensed for half a second before he exhaled and rested his forehead against mine again, fingers brushing my hair back behind my ear.

“Well,” he murmured, “Now I’d be damned if I don’t get you. All of you.”

I laughed a little and he kissed me again, slower this time. It felt like everything changed at that moment.

When his hands slipped back down my body, when his mouth trailed along my throat and my breath caught in a way that had nothing to do with nerves, it was like we’d stepped over a threshold together.

He didn’t rush, not this.

But now, after my real name, after something that shifted the air between us, he moved with even more intention—like he wanted to remember every sound I made, every place that made me shiver, every beat of my heart under his lips.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” Pedro whispered against my skin. “You know that?”

I shook my head, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and want.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, all the desire nudged in his dark eyes. It burned so hot, that my subconscious forced me to turn my head away, just to look anywhere else.

“No. Uh-uh,” he murmured, shaking his head slowly as his hands framed my waist. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide from me.”

His thumbs brushed just under the hem of my shirt, not pushing yet, just feeling.

“You let me have your name,” he said, voice almost reverent. “Now let me have you.”

I let out something between a laugh and a gasp, and he took that as permission.

The shirt went first—lifted slowly, reverently, like he was unwrapping a gift. His hands lingered at the curve of my waist, thumbs dipping just below the waistband of my leggings.

“Can I take these off?”

I nodded, already breathless, and leaned back as he guided them down. His gaze followed every inch like he was memorizing it, worshiping with his eyes before he even touched me again.

“You’re perfect,” he said, eyes dark, voice low and rough like gravel. “Look at you...”

When he shifted, pressing my back against the couch, his hands settled between my knees, parting me with care, but also with purpose. One strong thigh came up between mine again, and I couldn’t help the sound that left my throat—raw and needy.

Pedro groaned at the sound. “That’s what I want. Let me hear you.”

And then his mouth was on me again—neck, collarbone, down. My chest, in between my breasts, down. Open mouth kisses around my belly, down… God, he took his time.

His fingers found their way between my thighs, skilled and confident, but still asking, still watching my face. He moved slow, then a little firmer, testing and learning all about how my body reacts to any movement, until I arched under him with a moan that broke me open.

“There it is,” he whispered, lips brushing the edge of my hips. “Let me give you that again.”

Pedro nosed his way from my hips to the inside of my thigh. With firm hands he got to open a space for him to settle for a while. The back of my legs went over his shoulders, and he left a long kiss where my aching was at its worst.

I held on the way I could, hands trying to find a grip on the couch, while his mouth left kisses, teasing all around the area I needed him to take care of.

“Pedro” My voice came out as a gush of air.

His low laugh came as a hot spur of air in between my legs “Needy little thing”

“If you just gonna teas—” I didn’t get to finish that sentence.

His big hands were already moving, sliping my underwear down my legs, and then his thumb pressed with the right amount of pressure on top of my clit. I gasped and he smiled.

“You were saying…?” He said smug as ever.

I was not going to last long with him. He was too experienced, knew exactly how his fingers should work. The wet sounds of him circling my clit were echoing in the silence of his living room. My hips were moving before i even noticed it, chasing his touch, chasing the friction.

“Just like that, hermosa.” He said, thick voice followed by a low growl. “So fucking wet.”

“Fuuuuck Pedro” I felt it building inside of my body, so damn hot.

“Planning on it” He said before launching his hot mouth on top of my cunt.

I whined so loud, that it was hard to believe those sounds came from my mouth.

He sucked on my clit, making my back arch on that damn couch. But it was his finger that got me started with the moans. His finger was thick, carving space inside of me, following the pace of his tongue.

He brought me to the edge so fast. Just one finger sliding in and out, mouth sucking on my clit, his tongue flicking it fast and slow—fast and fucking slow. Edging me every time he saw me too close to release.

The sounds that came from his mouth where filthy. Licking, slurping, and there was a low humming and growls.

My hands flew to his hair the moment he added a second finger. The stretch of it going straight to my brain. Breathing so ragged and fast.

I pulled a little at his hair, not even knowing what was happening to my body “Baby, I ne—fuck, Pedro—I need… Ah, myfuckinggod.”

My words came as a cry. A cry for mercy. Hips shooting foward.

“What do you need, Cariño?” He said in between licks, flat tongue pressing into my clit, savoring every reaction.

The tingle low on my belly made me press his head against me core harder. He understood what I meant even if I didn’t know how to say it.

His fingers went into a relentless pace, mouth sucking hard now, and something inside me snapped.

My eyes rolled to the back of my head. His name followed by a chant of “yes” were the only reasonable thing I could form. My legs were shaking and my muscles were tight on my belly.

I orgasmed so hard, it all faded to a bright white for a moment.

He only slowed down when he saw I couldn’t take anymore. Kissing the inside of my thigh when It all felt like too much.

“Jesus.” I said, still gasping for air.

“You okay up there?” He looked like he was having too much fun with it all.

This was real, so real. He wanted me, and I wanted him just as badly, maybe even more — not just the body pressed against mine, but him. The man who’d waited patiently, who knew how to read my silences, who made space for all the parts of me I didn’t always know how to share. I wanted to give him something back.

My hands slipped under the hem of his shirt, and he sat up enough to let me peel it off him. The soft fabric slid up his chest, over his arms, and off. And then... him. Warm, firm skin full of freckles under my palms, dusted with hair, a scar or two I hadn’t noticed before. My fingertips traced along the edge of his ribs, and I felt him tense, then shiver — not from cold, but from me.

“You always do that,” he murmured, voice low and rough as I explored him. “Touch me like you’re trying to learn every piece.”

“Maybe I am.”

He leaned in, brushing his nose along my jaw, lips ghosting against my cheek. “Keep going. I want you to.”

I kissed his shoulder. The curve of his neck. The pulse point right beneath his ear that made him hiss when I lingered. His breath grew heavier, hand slipping to the back of my head as he let me take my time — until I pressed my lips to the center of his chest and felt his heartbeat under my mouth, fast and strong.

Then I reached for his belt.

He didn’t stop me. He just watched, eyes dark, lips parted, every muscle pulled tight as I undid the buckle and popped the button free. The zipper followed, slow and steady, the way he’d always been with me. He helped me slide his jeans down, and then he was in nothing but black briefs that left almost nothing to the imagination.

I grazed my fingers over the waistband and looked up.

“Okay?”

Pedro gave me a nod so soft it was almost reverent. “You say stop, I stop. You say more, I’ll give you everything I have.”

I pulled them down.

He sucked in a breath when the cool air hit his skin, and I stared for a second, not because I was surprised, but because damn. The man was beautiful. Not just in that way, but the way his whole body looked like it had waited for this moment with me. Strong, solid, but softened in all the right places.

He leaned forward, hands framing my face, and kissed me again. Deeper this time, more urgent. His hands moved down, sweeping under my thighs as he pulled to stand and carry my body like I weighted nothing.

He didn’t tease, he just went straight to his bedroom, laying me down against the mattress like I was something precious. His body came over mine, warm and steady.

Eyes locked on mine.

“I want you bare” The words left my lips in a rush and he nodded, understanding “I got tested before covid, and I haven’t been with anyone since”

“Me too” Pedro said softly. “Still okay with it?”

I nodded, breathless. “Yes. Please.”

Pedro kissed me once, slow and grounding, lips draging against mine as a promisse of our first time. Then he braced himself above me, one hand slipping down to guide himself, the other cradling my cheek. When he finally pushed in, he did it with care — slow and steady, sinking inch by inch as I opened up for him.

The stretch pulled a gasp from my throat, and he froze, hovering just above me.

“Talk to me,” he murmured, voice thick with restraint. “Too much?”

“No,” I whispered, curling my fingers around his biceps. “It’s... perfect. Keep going.”

He let out a shaky breath and rocked his hips forward again, deeper this time, until he bottomed out. If I didn’t have my first orgasm yet, I’m sure he would feel like it was splitting me in half.

But the burn was so damn good, we stayed like that for a long moment, pressed together, our chests rising and falling in time. His forehead dropped to mine, and he smiled.

“Fuck, you feel unreal,” he whispered, his voice so wrecked it sent a new ache spiraling through me. “Been dreaming about this for months... and now—shit.”

He began to move, slow, deliberate thrusts that built tension like a storm creeping in. The kind that hits hot and heavy when it finally breaks. His mouth found mine again, deeper this time, tongue teasing and pulling those soft and breathy moans from me. One of his hands slid between us, thumb circling my clit in a slow and steady pace.

My head fell back.

“Pedro—”

“I’ve got you,” he breathed, kissing down my jaw, my neck. “I want you to feel everything. Let go for me.”

That made me feel close again — so close — but he kept it just out of reach, drawing it out, holding me there with maddening control. His movements stayed slow and deep, grinding into every sensitive place, each thrust deliberate. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Then, without a word, he shifted — pulling out with a soft groan and flipping me gently onto my stomach. My cheek pressed to the pillow, heart pounding as his hands slid down my back.

“Trust me?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes.”

He guided my hips up, easing back inside me from behind. He was on one knee and his feet was by my side, it felt deeper now, the angle intense and consuming. One hand on my waist, the other wrapping around to play with me again, fingers slick and relentless.

It was too much — the fullness, the pace, the way his voice broke in my ear when he whispered things in Spanish I couldn’t even fully understand but they all felt like worship. Like prayer on his plush and swollen lips.

“Tan hermosa… así, así…” (So beautiful… just like that…)

I clenched around him, and he groaned — a deep, involuntary sound that made my whole body tighten in response.

“Goddamn, Baby, I’m not lasting like this” He said in the middle of a grunt. Hips picking up more speed.

“Taking me so fucking good, c’mon now. Give me one more, come for me, Cariño, I want to hear you”

The sounds our bodies made together were something out of this world. It filled the whole room with wet smacks, grunts and moans that were impossible to hold back.

When I came, it was loud, raw, endless — my body wracked with shudders as he whispered my name like a litany, holding me through it, letting me ride it out until I was boneless and trembling in his arms.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled me close, wrapping around me, kissing my spine, my shoulder, my temple. “Turn back around for me, hermosa,” he said softly.

I rolled onto my back, chest still heaving, and he looked down at me like I was something sacred.

And then he took me again — slow and deep, his body pressed fully against mine. His forehead against mine, lips brushing between each kiss, hands never leaving my skin. This time wasn’t for release — it was for closeness. It was about being right there with me.

His voice was the only sound between us besides our breath and his body slamming into mine — praising and worshiping me with every thrust.

“So good for me… you feel like heaven, baby…”

His rhythm faltered just before the end, and he pulled before he came. When he did it was with a low, broken moan against my shoulder, one hand tangled in my hair, the other holding his cock, pumping it until the very last drop that landed inside my tight.

We stayed pressed into each other, breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat and still trembling from everything we’d shared.

Then, silence charged, full of everything we hadn’t the chance to say yet, everything we’d finally shown to each other.

He kissed me one more time before getting up just enough to give me room to breathe, careful, gentle pulling me into his arms and curling around me like he never wanted to let go.

But even in the haze of bliss, I could feel him shift again. He kissed my forehead, then murmured, “Don’t move, mi amor… I’ll be right back.”

I nodded, half-asleep already, boneless against his pillows.

A minute later, I heard the soft splash of water, the rustle of a drawer. Then he returned, warm towel in hand. He knelt beside the bed, eyes searching mine for any hesitation, any trace of discomfort.

There was none.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and rough.

I nodded again with a lazy smile. “floating.”

“Did I hurt you?” His eyes were cautious, and I had to smile at the thought crossing my mind.

“Only when you didn’t finish inside” That got a look of surprise out of him. “I’m not gonna get knocked up, I’m on the pill, a very effective one… Next time, don’t pull.”

“Okay, only because you asked so nicely” His smile was soft — quiet and deeply content. Then he eased the towel between my thighs and cleaned me up with the kind of care that said more than words ever could. He didn’t rush. Every movement was tender, reverent. One hand on my hip, steady and warm, the other working slowly as if touching something fragile and precious.

When he finished, he kissed my inner thigh, then leaned up and brushed my hair back from my face.

“I’ll get you some water.”

“Pedro…”

He paused, and I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his.

“Stay. Just for a second.”

He crawled back in, beside me, wrapping himself around me again. My back to his chest, his arm slung around my waist. And for a long, silent moment, he just held me. His breath was slow and steady against the back of my neck, his thumb drawing soft, lazy circles on my skin.

“You’re safe here,” he whispered eventually. “Always.”

I pressed my fingers to his forearm, grounding myself in the feeling of him — the warmth, the weight, the way his voice anchored me even in the dark.

“I know.”

He kissed the top of my spine. “Let me take care of you.”

“You already are.”

We lay like that for a while. Then he murmured something about water again and untangled himself from me, just long enough to return wearing only a boxer briefs, with a cold glass and one of his softest shirts.

“Arms up,” he said.

I grinned, obeying. He slipped the shirt over my head, kissed my cheek, and then settled back into bed behind me, finally satisfied.

Wrapped in his clothes, his arms, and his quiet care, I felt something shift inside me — something soft and terrifying and beautiful all at once.

It wasn’t just sex, I should know by now that it wasn’t about that.

And as I drifted off in his bed, with his fingers laced in mine under the covers, I knew I was already in far deeper than I’d planned.

But I didn’t want out.

Not anymore. Not ever.

The first thing I felt was her.

Pressed against me, soft and warm, legs tangled with mine, her breath slow and even against my chest. My arms were still around her, like I'd fallen asleep refusing to let go.

Sunlight was just beginning to creep through the curtains, casting a soft gold across the sheets. My body ached, in the best way — that heavy, satisfied kind of ache that came from giving everything I had to her. And if I felt this wrecked, I could only imagine how she felt.

Still, I didn’t move. I just laid there, eyes half-open, watching her sleep. Her face tucked into my shoulder, hair a mess from the night before, my shirt hanging off one shoulder.

God, she was beautiful.

I brushed my fingers gently down her back, and she stirred.

“Mmm,” she hummed against my skin. “What time is it?”

I checked the clock on the nightstand. “Not even eight.”

“Good. Don’t have to move yet.”

I smiled. “No. We’ve got all day.”

She stretched a little, letting out a soft sigh, then curled in even closer. Her thigh slid over mine. I felt the ache between us again. It didn't leave actually, it was something we’d earned.

“Are you sore?” I murmured, kissing the top of her head.

She laughed quietly. “You’re asking me like it’s not a compliment to your performance.”

I chuckled, letting my hand drift down to her hip, soothing. “Just checking.”

We stayed like that a while, wrapped in quiet and warmth. No rush. No lines to run, no call times, no hiding, at least not in here.

Eventually, she shifted to face me, propped up on one elbow. Her hair was wild, and my shirt barely covered her, but her eyes… her eyes were soft. No more walls in between us.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I'm a little over the moon.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

My hand found her waist under the shirt. I held her there. “Feels like something changed.”

“It did,” she said, voice quiet but sure. “Or maybe it was always there, and we just stopped fighting it.”

I nodded. “Do you regret it?”

“No, wouldn’t change a single thing” she said instantly, like the thought hadn't even occurred to her. “Do you?”

“Only that we didn’t do it sooner.”

Her fingers brushed over my chest, tracing lazy shapes. I watched her do it for a moment, mesmerized by how natural it felt, how right.

“This… thing between us,” she said softly. “It scares me sometimes.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Because I’ve never wanted something like this to work so badly.”

I reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Then let’s not fuck it up.”

She grinned. “That easy, huh?”

“No,” I said. “Not easy, just worth it.”

She leaned in and kissed me — slow and lingering — then pulled back just enough to speak against my mouth. “You make it hard not to fall.”

“The feeling is mutual.” I said looking right into her eyes.

We stayed in bed for a while longer, tangled up in each other, kissing slow and talking about nothing and everything. Things we liked, things we wanted and dreams that felt bigger now that we had someone to share them with.

Eventually, her stomach growled, a sound loud and undeniable.

She groaned and buried her face in my neck. “You heard that, didn’t you?”

“Like a thunderclap.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, Cariño.”

I slid out of bed, only in my boxers, and reached for her hand. “C’mon. Let’s make something. I’m thinking coffee, eggs, maybe pancakes if you don’t judge my flipping technique.”

She sat up slowly, stretching like a cat, my shirt riding high up her thighs. “You cook?”

I leaned in, brushing a kiss to her temple. “For you? I’ll fake it better than I did with the pasta the other night.”

She laughed, then let me pull her to her feet. We padded barefoot to the kitchen, still wrapped in the warmth of the night before — skin humming, hearts full, no need to pretend.

The kitchen was still dim, lit only by the early light filtering through the blinds. I leaned against the counter while she stood in front of the open fridge, one of my hands resting on her hip, the other lazily scratching at my chest.

“Eggs?” she asked, glancing back at me.

“Perfect.”

She grabbed a few things and set them down, then turned and kissed me on the cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like we’d done this a thousand mornings before.

And maybe, in some other version of our lives, we had. Because we work so well, there's no chance in hell that we didn't find each other in other lives.

I put on coffee, she cracked eggs into a bowl. We moved around each other like magnets — brushing shoulders, passing touches, quiet smiles. No phones. No interruptions. Not even music. Just us, and the soft sound of an amazing morning.

“Do you always look this good in a stolen shirt?” I teased, watching her whisk.

She didn’t look up. “It’s not stolen if you gave it to me.”

“Fair point.” I stepped behind her, arms sliding around her waist. “But if you wear it again, I might never get it back.”

“I’m okay with that,” she said, leaning into me just enough.

I pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, slow and careful. “You feel real this morning.”

She turned in my arms, facing me, bare legs brushing mine. “So do you.”

I wanted to kiss her again, properly this time. But the pan was hot, our stomachs were empty, and she smelled like me, and it was getting harder and harder not to lose the thread.

We finished breakfast together: eggs, toast, coffee. She sat cross-legged on a stool at the counter, sipping from a mug like it was always meant to be hers. Her hair was a mess, skin marked with the evidence of last night, and I couldn’t look at her without wanting more time. Always more.

“This is nice,” she said, quietly.

“Yeah?”

She looked at me like it surprised her. “Yeah. Like… life could be this simple.”

“It could,” I said, taking a sip from the second mug I’d made — hers, technically. “If we let it.”

She smiled, soft and sleepy. “I haven’t touched my phone.”

“Don’t.”

“You either.”

“Nope.”

We stared at each other for a moment. There was a question in her eyes — maybe a hundred of them — but she didn’t ask. Instead, she reached across the counter and took my hand.

Just held it.

No rush. No pressure. Just that quiet kind of intimacy that didn’t need explaining.

“I don’t want this bubble to pop,” she whispered.

“Then stay in it. With me.”

She squeezed my hand, eyes glassy but warm. “Okay.”

“So…” I started, drawing the word out as I glanced over at her. “Are we dating now?”

She paused mid-chew, eyes lifting to mine. “Now you’re asking? After making me come twice in a single night?”

“I take commitment seriously,” I said, taking a sip of coffee like it was whiskey. “I had to vet you properly.”

She rolled her eyes and popped the last piece of toast in her mouth. “We’ve been secretly seeing each other for months.”

“Right,” I said, nodding. “But only now have I witnessed the full spectrum: you half-asleep, post-orgasm, cooking eggs while humming some indie song I can’t name. That’s the holy trinity.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I’m a man in love.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

She froze for just a second — barely noticeable, but I saw it, felt it. Then she got up, moved slightly until she was standing in front of me, barefoot and perfect, looking down at me with that little half-smile she always gave me when I got sentimental.

“You’re serious,” she said, voice quiet.

“I am,” I replied. “Terrifyingly so.”

She reached, cupping my jaw. “Good. Because I’ve been in love with you for a while now.”

I let out a breath, and pulled her in by the waist. Her body melted against mine — warm, soft, still flushed from earlier. We stayed like that for a beat, just locked into each other, the hum of the fridge the only sound in the room.

Then I pulled back, just enough to grin down at her.

“So… just to be clear… I’m your hot, emotionally available older man now?”

She groaned. “Why are you like this?”

“Hey. The people need labels.”

“I will label you unconscious if you don’t stop talking.”

“Oh, I love it when you threaten me.”

She shook her head, laughing, got up and walked away toward the sink. My shirt swayed with every step she took. I leaned on the counter again, watching her like I was memorizing this moment forever.

Everything about this right here, the morning light, her in my space, the domestic rhythm of coffee mugs and bare feet and teasing... It made something in my chest ache with how right it felt, and the feeling of wanting this for every day the rest of my life.

She turned to rinse a plate, and I walked up behind her, wrapping my arms around her middle and resting my chin on her shoulder.

“I could do this,” I murmured. “Every day. Just… this.”

She leaned into me, her fingers finding my hands where they were laced around her waist.

“Me too.”

We stood there for another few seconds, quiet again. Just the two of us and the echo of something big and new blooming in the middle of this sleepy kitchen.

“Okay,” I said, breaking the silence. “Now we clean up. Then maybe nap. And then—”

She tilted her head. “Then what?”

I smirked. “Then we see how many more times I can fall in love with you before sunset.”

She turned, face flushed and eyes soft, and kissed me — slow, lingering, like a promise. A kiss that tasted like coffee and peace.

But there was something in the way her fingers curled into the back of my neck, in the way her body pressed fully into mine, that told me it wasn’t just sweetness in her anymore. It was hunger, rising like a tide. And I felt it too.

I deepened the kiss without even thinking, hands slipping under the hem of my shirt on her, fingers trailing the curve of her spine. She made a quiet sound, and that went straight to my chest, to my groin, to every part of me that had been aching since we woke up.

Her hands slid down my chest, warm and sure, like she knew exactly how to undo me. She pushed me back until I hit the edge of the counter, then stood between my legs and tilted her head up to kiss me again, her tongue teasing mine, her breath quickening.

“Bedroom,” I murmured against her lips.

“No time,” she whispered back. “Here’s fine.”

God, I loved her. I loved how she said it — low and needy, pulling me down into her like gravity itself wanted us tangled up again. Her hands dipped below the waistband of my boxers, fingers curling just enough to make me gasp. My own hands cupped her thighs, lifting her onto the counter with ease, her legs wrapping around my waist like she was made to be right there, just like that.

The kiss turned messy, all open mouths and stifled gasps, and I couldn’t help it — I pressed against her hard, groaning when I felt the heat of her through the thin cotton of my shirt still hanging from her shoulders.

And then something in her shifted.

She arched into me, fingers yanking at my hair, her mouth tugging at mine with a low, hungry sound that made my knees weak. I gripped her hips tighter — rougher — like I needed her anchored to me, like I’d fall apart if I didn’t have her exactly where I needed.

I stepped in closer, the hard line of my body slamming into hers, her back now flush against the cabinets. The countertop creaked beneath her thighs, but she didn’t care — her legs pulled me in deeper, thighs clenching tight at my waist, her body saying more in every breath.

“Fuck, baby…” I groaned, burying my face in her neck. She smelled like sleep and heat and me. My teeth grazed the skin there, and she gasped, digging her nails into my back hard enough to leave marks. Good.

She didn’t need coaxing. She reached between us, wrapped her hand around me, and stroked once — slow and firm. I growled against her shoulder, hips jerking forward without thought.

“You want it rough, don’t you?” I whispered, biting the shell of her ear, my voice hoarse, filthy. “Been sweet with you all night, but now you want me to ruin you.”

Her eyes burned into mine as she nodded — a shaky, desperate little motion — lips parted, breath hot against my mouth. “Yes. God, yes. I want all of you, now.”

I didn’t hesitate.

I tore my boxers down, yanked her closer on the counter, her body sliding across the cool stone with a soft gasp. I dragged the shirt up her waist, just enough to see her flushed and wet, already trembling for me. I didn’t even tease — didn’t need to.

I lined up and pushed in with a sharp thrust that knocked the breath from both of us.

She cried out, fingers digging into my shoulders, her legs wrapping tighter. I barely gave her a second to breathe before I did it again — harder, deeper. Our hips collided with a slap, loud and wet and echoing through the kitchen, but neither of us gave a damn.

I held her in place and fucked her like I meant it — like all that sweetness and slow build-up had finally snapped into something desperate and wild. Her moans were high and broken, matching the rhythm of my thrusts, her head falling back as I buried myself inside her again and again.

“God, look at you,” I rasped, watching her fall apart, her body arching toward me, trembling on the edge. “So fucking perfect. Taking me so good.”

She met every thrust with her own, gasping my name, telling me yes, telling me don’t stop. And I didn’t. Couldn’t really.

We chased it together, skin slick, breaths ragged, cheeks flushed, bodies crashing together like waves, and like we were made for each other.

I felt her squeeze me so goddamn tight, I think I saw some stars, and when she came, she screamed, the sound swallowed by my mouth on hers, her whole body clenching so tight around me it dragged me straight over the edge right after.

I spilled warm into her with a guttural moan. Came so hard, the world was spinning and narrowing down to nothing but this: Her, wrapped around me, shaking, perfect, and so mine.

We stayed there, panting, still locked together. Her hands slowly relaxed on my shoulders. My forehead rested against hers, breath hot between us.

“Jesus,” I whispered, still trying to come down. “I think saw heaven and came back at the same time.”

She laughed softly, breathless and wrecked. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“Good,” I grinned. “Means I did something right.”

She kissed me once, that lazy and warm touch of lips. “You did everything right.”

I kissed her again, one hand brushing her hair back as the other cradled her thigh. “Let me clean you up, then we’re going back to bed. Round three’s gonna be slow.”

She smiled, eyes soft. “Promise?”

“Cross my goddamn heart.”

[joelssimp]

STILL | CHAPTER 14

CW: Little sister energy all over the place (Lux and Mandy), sleep on the couch, signs of old age the morning after, breakfast together. Not the last we gonna see of Lux around here

4.6K words

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14 - Baby Sis

It was the kind of crisp autumn morning that made everything feel cinematic — the streets tinted with gold, the air carrying that dry, electric chill that hinted at winter's approach. I had just finished picking up the last thing on my short, secret mission: a deep dark blue lace set from a boutique near the riverwalk.

It was soft in my tote bag, wrapped in tissue, like it wasn’t trying to draw attention. But I felt it like a pulse.

I stopped at a coffee shop two blocks away — indie, quiet, and warm — and slid into a window seat with a chai latte and nowhere to be. A rare luxury these days. The plan was simple: sit, sip, breathe, maybe reread a few texts from Pedro like an idiot, and then head home and actually shave my legs for once.

I was just unlocking my phone when a voice broke into my peripheral.

“Hey,” it said, kind of soft, kind of amused. “You’re her.”

I looked up.

Small frame, wavy brown hair, a killer denim jacket, and those unmistakable eyes. I’d only seen her in pictures — and maybe one quick FaceTime that Pedro fumbled when he was half-Joel-dressed and trying to find his charger.

Lux.

Pedro’s sister. Thick accent of someone who's first language wasn't english, and a confidence that sparkle like a light beam.

I blinked, mouth already forming the word “shit” in silence.

She smiled, head tilting slightly. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just — sorry... That was weird, I’m Lux.”

I stood up a little too fast and nearly knocked over my latte. “Oh my God. Hi. You scared me. I mean — not scared. Just — wow, hi.”

She gave a short, warm laugh and stepped closer. “Pedro showed me pictures. And you were, you know, giving off strong ‘I’m-his-girl’ energy.”

I tried not to choke on my own throat. “Is that… a bad thing?”

Lux grinned, sliding into the seat across from me like we’d planned this whole thing. “Nah. I like when he likes someone. It’s rare, and he’s a giant pain in the ass when he’s hiding it.”

I sat down again, heartbeat still climbing. “Are you—? Wait. How are you in town?”

“Two-day layover. I wanted to see him on my way back to New York. I landed like an hour ago. Needed caffeine, and then saw you. Thought, ‘oh, that’s her,’ and here we are.” She took a sip of her coffee and smirked. “So… what’s in the bag?”

My stomach dropped.

I curled the tote slightly toward my side. “Just... stuff.”

Lux raised a brow. “Fancy stuff?”

“Don’t—” I groaned, cheeks burning. “Please don’t make this weirder than it is.”

She was laughing now, clearly enjoying this far too much. “No judgment. If I were dating Pedro Pascal, I’d buy lingerie too. He’s a lot... You gotta fight fire with lace.”

I covered my face with both hands. “This is actually a nightmare.”

“You’re doing great,” she said, still laughing. “God, he’s gonna lose his mind whenever that happens.” She pointed to my bag.

“Please stop.”

She let me suffer for another second before she reached across the table and touched my wrist gently. “Hey, for real. He’s been different since meeting you. He’s better and Calmer, like something settled. I notice things like that.”

I looked at her, unsure of what to say.

Lux leaned back, crossing her arms. “So… How should I pretend to act surprised when we’re introduced tomorrow?”

I exhaled slowly, finally smiling. “You’re the worst.”

“Yep,” she said, beaming. “But I’m also the favorite sibling. So, you’ll have to love me eventually.”

I already kind of did.

We left the café in silence for a minute, crossing the street and heading into a stretch of green that curved gently around the river. It was quiet this time of day — only the occasional jogger, dog-walker, or mom wrangling a stroller. The leaves were halfway to gold, and the breeze kept catching my hair, making me shove it behind my ear over and over.

Lux walked like she wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere, which I appreciated. I didn’t want this to be a sprint, or some awkward "get-to-know-you" checklist. I just wanted to breathe and maybe figure out who this person was — the person Pedro had mentioned in passing with a kind of softness I hadn’t seen him use for anyone else.

“So,” she said after a while, eyes on the path ahead, “how long have you two actually been together?”

“Together-together?” I asked.

She looked at me sideways. “Yeah. Like… kissing, texting, having-arguments-in-your-head kind of together.”

I gave her a little laugh. “Maybe two months? A little more. We were friends before that. Flirting way before something happened. But it’s only been recent that it… became real.”

Lux nodded. “That tracks. He’s been trying not to grin like a dumbass every time he talks about Alberta since, like, August?”

I smiled at that, hugging my tote bag a little tighter against my side. “He talks about me?”

“Please. You’re the reason he’s learned to use Google Calendar so he can plan his calls better.”

I laughed, then bit my lip. “What else has he said?”

She shrugged. “That you’re ‘stupid talented.’ That you’re quiet at first but ruthless when you’re tired… That you smell like cinnamon sometimes, but that might be because of how sometimes you take your coffee… And that you’re learning ASL and he’s jealous Kevon gets your attention on set.”

I blinked. “He said all that?”

Lux nodded, eyes full of mischief. “He said it without saying it. He’s a little gone for you, y’know?”

I tucked my hands into my jacket pocket. “I’m gone for him too. Gone in a I'm-actually-learning-spanish-on-duolingo kind of way.”

She let that hang between us for a beat, then looked at me with something softer — something real. “That’s good. He needs someone who sees the goofy side and the overthinking side. And who doesn’t let either scare them off.”

We sat down on a bench under a half-yellow maple tree. Across the path, a kid was throwing bread to some very uninterested ducks. Lux crossed one ankle over the other, eyes scanning the water.

“I used to think I had to protect him from stuff,” she said quietly. “From people, the fans and their expectations. The way the industry screws with your sense of self. But honestly? I think he’s been more himself these past few weeks than I’ve seen in years.”

That landed deep inside my chest.

“You’re protective,” I said.

She gave me a sidelong glance. “Well… we’ve all got scars. He’s seen mine and I’ve seen his.”

A quiet stretched between us. Not heavy — just thoughtful.

I finally asked, “Do you think… they���ll ever leave him alone? The agents, the public and all that pressure.”

She shrugged. “No… Not really. Not unless he walks away from it completely. But if he’s lucky… and if he’s smart… he’ll build a life that’s stronger than the noise.”

I swallowed that down.

We sat a little longer, and then Lux turned to me again, a sly smile blooming. “So... Were you planning to rock his world tonight or another time, or… did I ruin the mood completely?”

I groaned, laughing into my hands. “Oh my God, you are chaos.”

“Sweetheart,” she said, tossing a lock of hair from her eyes, “I am the mood.”

The morning sun cut through the haze like someone had turned up the saturation on everything. It was a little warm for October, dry and golden, and Pedro was absolutely beaming when he arrived on set with Lux at his side.

He looked so light. So undone by happiness that it made my chest ache a little. He was all warm eyes and laughter, a hand resting proudly between Lux’s shoulders like he couldn’t believe she was real and here.

I stood near the main equipment cart, pretending to check the camera inventory, but mostly just watching them make their way across the lot — Lux in an oversized brown blazer, flared jeans and a quiet kind of confidence that came with knowing exactly who she was. She looked like Pedro in motion. Or maybe Pedro looked like her when he was his softest.

“And this,” Pedro was saying as he brought her toward the crew, “is the beating heart of the whole damn show — Lux, meet Craig, Ksenia, Eben, and the BTS geniuses… Kate and Still…”

He gestured wildly, spinning toward each department like he was giving a tour of the world's best museum.

Lux smiled warmly, greeting everyone with a quick hug or handshake. Her charm was instant, effortless. She didn’t come off like someone visiting a brother — she felt like someone meant to be here. And when her eyes finally landed on me, I froze.

She gave the exact right amount of recognition: a nod. A smile like she’d seen me in passing before but couldn’t quite place it.

“Hey,” she said casually. “You’re the mysterious photographer, right?”

I tried to answer, I really did. But the lie got stuck somewhere behind my ribs.

“Yeah. I… uh. I’m the on-set photographer. And lighting sometimes.”

Lux raised her eyebrows like she was impressed. “Cool.”

She turned back toward Pedro, who was already walking backward mid-sentence, bragging about her acting school and how she was already better than him. She followed him easily.

I exhaled a little too hard.

“Smooth,” Kate said under her breath, next to me. “That’s the kind of cool composure you photograph with?”

I didn’t answer. Mostly because I could feel the weight of Pedro’s gaze cut through the crowd a second later — eyes flicking over to me like a radar ping. Not suspicious, at least not yet. But he was curious.

Because he knew me.

He knew how I fumbled when I’m nervous, and how I chewed the inside of my cheek when I had something to hide. He also knew I couldn’t lie to save my life.

And that look on his face?

It said he’d noticed.

He tilted his head slightly, almost imperceptibly, then turned back toward Lux like nothing had happened. But I felt it: That thread pulling tighter.

Lux was a damn professional. Pedro was glowing.

And I?

I felt like I needed to hide.

The sun dipped behind a cloud just as the set fell into one of its lull-like transitions — the crew shifting quietly between scenes, someone adjusting cables, the distant clang of a light stand settling into place. Pedro was in the makeup chair, Coco leaning over him with practiced hands and her usual sharp banter.

I took the chance to sit on the edge of one of the prop crates near the monitor. I hadn’t expected Lux to find me — but there she was, sliding down beside me like she’d planned it. She pulled a half-eaten granola bar from her pocket and offered the other half without a word.

I took it with a small smile. “Thanks.”

She nudged me gently with her shoulder. “You were terrible at pretending we didn’t know each other.”

I groaned, tipping my head back against the crate. “I know. God, I know.”

“I mean, I don’t blame you,” Lux said, chewing slowly. “You’ve got a very readable face. It’s a good thing you’re behind the camera.”

I snorted. “Rude.”

She grinned. “True, though.”

We sat in companionable silence for a moment, watching Pedro laugh in Coco’s chair. Lux’s eyes softened when she looked at him.

“He looks good,” she said, more to herself than to me.

“He’s really happy you’re here,” I replied, voice lower.

“I know,” Lux said. “He always lights up when it’s people he loves. Doesn’t even try to hide it.”

She glanced sideways at me, a little knowing smirk playing on her lips. “Same way he looks at you, by the way.”

My breath caught slightly. “Yeah, well… I’m still getting used to that.”

Lux leaned back on her hands, looking up at the pale sky. “He’s a lot. You probably know that by now.”

“I do.”

“But he’s also all heart. Like… zero filter when he cares about someone. Which means when people try to tell him who he can or can’t love?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t really work. He’ll pretend to play the game for a bit, but he’s too stubborn.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said quietly. “That it’s gonna get harder.”

Lux nodded slowly, lips pressed into a line. “Probably will. But that’s not always a bad thing. Sometimes love’s just… messy.” She shrugged. “Especially when there’s a spotlight involved.”

I looked over at her, struck by how young she still was — and how much older she seemed in moments like this. Wise in a way that didn’t come from years, but from living through it.

“You’re good at this,” I said. “At talking people off ledges.”

She smirked. “Only the people I like.”

I laughed, soft and grateful. We watched Pedro from afar — his hands gesturing mid-story, Coco rolling her eyes like this was the tenth time she’d heard it today.

“I think you're the real deal,” Lux said after a moment. “You know that, right?”

“I’m starting to.”

“Well,” she said, standing up and brushing crumbs from her jeans, “keep doing what you’re doing. Just… maybe practice lying a little better next time.”

I flipped her off playfully. She winked.

And just like that, she melted back into the quiet buzz of the crew, leaving me with a warm granola aftertaste and a chest full of soft static.

The car was warm with late afternoon light, tinted gold through the windshield. The heater hummed low, a quiet backdrop to the street noise outside. Pedro drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gearshift, thumb drumming absentmindedly.

We hadn’t said much since we left set. It wasn’t awkward, exactly — just silence, in a good kind of way. Like we were both thinking too many things at once, waiting for the right moment to let them out, but patient enough to not rush it.

Lux had flown back to New York earlier that day. I had hugged her a little tighter than necessary before she got into her rideshare, she promissed me some spanish classes and she whispered with a voice so certain: “Don’t worry so much. He’s got you.” Like she already knew what was going to happen.

Pedro glanced over at me at a stoplight. “You tired?”

I nodded. “Just a long day.”

He didn’t press. Just returned his eyes to the road and kept driving.

I watched him from the corner of my eye. The way his brow furrowed slightly like he was halfway into another thought. His jaw clenched just enough to show restraint. There was something about the stillness between us that made my skin prickle.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, finally.

My pulse picked up. “Yeah.”

“Yesterday… when Lux introduced herself on set, you looked like you were going to pass out.”

I gave a small, guilty laugh. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Clearly.”

There was something gentle in his voice, but pointed too — the edge of curiosity, or maybe concern. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.

“You didn’t tell me you ran into her the day before.”

I shifted in my seat, fingers tightening around my bag. “I meant to. It just… didn’t feel like the right time. And then she asked me not to, said she wanted to see how good I was at lying.”

Pedro laughed — not mocking, more amused. “Oh, that sounds like her.”

“I wasn’t great at it,” I admitted, wincing.

“No,” he agreed softly. “You weren’t.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “I didn’t want it to be a thing. You seemed so happy. I didn’t want to make it about me.”

His knuckles flexed on the gearshift. “But it is about you. I want you to be part of that — all of it. Not just when it’s convenient.”

I looked at him then — and the warmth behind his eyes, the frustration, the care… it all hit at once.

“I’m still learning how to be in this,” I said quietly. “How to show up without feeling like I’m intruding.”

He turned onto my street, pulling up in a parking space in front of the building. But he didn’t put the car in park right away. He just looked at me, hand still on the gearshift.

“You’re not intruding,” he said. “You never were.”

Something in my chest loosened, and I didn’t realize the weight of his words right away. But it slowly started to sink in.

I reached for his hand, and he took it, fingers lacing with mine across the console.

“Okay,” I said. “I believe you.”

He smiled then — a small, private thing, like he was proud of me for saying it out loud.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m all in. Even when you suck at lying.”

I let out a quiet laugh, leaning toward him just a little.

“Then I guess I should stop trying,” I murmured.

He kissed the back of my hand and finally put the car in park.

“Yeah,” he said. “I like it better when you don’t.”

The stairwell smelled like old wood and some home-cooked food I couldn't name, but it felt like home. Pedro carried the bag of snacks we’d picked up on the way — chips, chocolate-covered almonds, and some kombucha Kate had specifically asked for. I unlocked the door and nudged it open with my shoulder.

Kate was sprawled on the couch, legs crossed under a fleece blanket, a laptop balanced on her knees. The hum of some low-budget crime doc played on the TV. She looked up as we walked in.

“Well, look who it is,” she said with a smirk. “Canada’s hottest fake couple.”

I shot her a look and kicked off my boots. “You’re hilarious.”

Pedro dropped the bag on the counter and helped himself to a glass of water, his easy confidence fitting perfectly in the small kitchen like he’d done it a hundred times before. He grinned at Kate. “We come bearing snacks.”

Kate snorted. “You know the way to my heart.”

The three of us settled in naturally — Pedro and I taking on one couch, Kate taking up the other one, blanket draped across both our knees. The show kept playing, but it was mostly background noise as we tossed commentary back and forth. I leaned into Pedro’s side, my head against his shoulder. His hand rested casually on my knee, warm and familiar.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table, and I reached for it without thinking. A FaceTime call — Mandy.

I hesitated for a second, thumb hovering, then picked it up. Her face filled the screen, framed in the soft lighting of her bedroom, a loose braid over one shoulder and a mug of tea clutched in both hands.

“Hey, trouble-maker,” I said softly, a smile pulling at my lips.

Mandy rolled her eyes with a small grin. “I’m not that grounded. Still have my phone.” She said like that was a victory.

Pedro leaned in a little, his face just coming into view on the screen. He gave a small wave. “Hi, Mandy.”

Mandy blinked at the sight of him, the corners of her mouth twitching into something surprised but not nervous. “Oh. Hi, Pedro. You’re... still around.”

“Trying to be,” he said, easy and warm.

“Persistent,” I muttered, and he nudged my leg with his knee. I grinned.

Kate looked over her laptop screen. “He’s doing alright. Seven out of ten boyfriend material. He loses points for never doing the dishes.”

Pedro raised a brow. “I don’t even live here.”

“Excuses,” Kate said dryly.

Mandy laughed, really laughed, and the sound felt like something I hadn’t heard in years — not since before Matt's incident. Not since before everything.

“I just wanted to say hi,” she said, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “And show you something.” She shifted the phone around and pointed the camera down to the floor, where a small easel sat. On it was a new painting — abstract, fluid brushstrokes in warm reds and pinks, layered with streaks of blue and gold. It looked like movement, like memory.

“I started it today. I think I’m calling it Bones and Lightning.”

“That’s beautiful,” I whispered. “You’ve been painting a lot lately?”

“Yeah.” She tucked her knees up, camera wobbling. “It’s like... I don’t know. It helps, really makes the thoughts quieter.”

Pedro leaned closer. “You’ve got talent, Mandy. For real.”

She flushed a little. “Thanks. That means something, coming from someone on a show that is Star-Wars-Best-Sequel.”

He chuckled. “Grogu does the heavy lifting in that one, I’m just there to fill up a blank space”

“Still.” She paused, then added, a little softer, “You make my sister happy. That’s not nothing.”

I blinked. My throat tightened unexpectedly.

Pedro reached over and touched my knee gently. “She makes me happy too.”

Mandy let out a long breath. “Okay, gross. I still have to be the younger sibling, you know. Balance the universe.”

Kate laughed from her end of the couch. “You’re doing a great job, Kid.”

“Thanks.” Mandy smiled at the camera again, and then at me. “I’m glad things aren’t weird after what happened with Matt and all.”

“It wasn’t your fault” I said quickly. “I’m mad at dad, not you.”

“Yeah, figured.” She glanced offscreen, probably checking the time. “I should go. My tea’s cold and I’m trying to sleep normal hours like a human person.”

“Call me again soon?”

“Promise.” She looked at Pedro again and gave him a small, genuine nod. “Nice talking to you.”

“You too, Mandy. Take care of yourself.”

When the screen went dark, I held the phone against my chest for a moment before setting it back on the coffee table.

Pedro looked at me with soft eyes. “She’s strong.”

“She is,” I said. “Even when she doesn’t know it.”

Kate yawned, long and theatrical. “You two are disgustingly wholesome sometimes.”

“You love it,” I said.

She gave me a lazy grin. “Unfortunately.”

Kate said something about being too tired, so she disappeared into her room with a sleepy wave and a final comment about hiding the last cookie under her pillow. The apartment grew quieter with her door closed, the hum of the fridge and the city beyond the window filling in the silence. Pedro shifted on the couch beside me, tugging the blanket higher over our legs.

I curled into his side, resting my head against the crook of his shoulder. He smelled faintly like the lavender soap from my bathroom and the worn fabric of his hoodie. His arm came around me, instinctive, warm.

"She loves you," he murmured, his voice low, already softer with the weight of the night.

"Who, Mandy?" I asked.

He smiled into my hair. "Yeah, but I meant Lux."

I smiled too. "I liked her, Pedro. She’s... bright. The kind of person that makes you forget the world sucks sometimes."

"She has that effect," he said. "Always has. But she told me you were kind to her. That you made her feel safe."

I shifted slightly to look up at him. “She made me feel safe, too. It was easy with her, just natural.”

Pedro nodded slowly, fingers tracing a lazy pattern along my arm. “She’s been through a lot. I’m protective, maybe too much sometimes. But she said you didn’t treat her like something fragile. You just saw her.”

“I think,” I said quietly, “we both knew what it felt like to be a little out of place.”

We sat in silence for a few moments, his thumb brushing along the inside of my wrist, grounding.

“Do you miss her?” I asked softly.

He let out a slow breath. “Every day. But I’m proud of her, you know? She’s making her own path. Even if I’m not around.”

I leaned my head back down. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“She’d say the same about you.”

A silence stretched again and I felt his breathing slow beneath me, the steady rhythm of his chest rising and falling. My eyes fluttered shut, feeling the drag of this peacefulness, so simple.

Under the blanket, our legs tangled without thought. My arm rested over his stomach, his hand resting lightly at my back. There was no urgency, no teasing tonight. Just the feeling of him here, solid and warm.

“I liked tonight,” I whispered, not sure if he was still fully awake.

“Me too,” he murmured. “Even the part where your sister kind of roasted me.”

“She didn’t roast you.”

He kissed the top of my head. “She kinda did. But it was cute.”

I smiled against his chest. “Stay?”

“Wasn’t planning to leave.”

The city outside went on, but our corner of it faded into quiet, into breath and warmth and stillness. Eventually, his arm tightened a little, and I felt his breathing shift — slower, heavier.

Asleep.

And I let myself follow him. Not the we planned on sleep on the couch, but it happened.

The morning light bled gently through the living room curtains, catching on dust motes and the edges of an abandoned mug from the night before. I blinked awake slowly, a twinge running through my neck as I shifted under the blanket.

Pedro groaned behind me. “Ow.”

“Good morning to you too,” I murmured, not even trying to move yet.

“My entire spine is eighty-five years old now.”

“You took the good half of the couch.”

“I was the good half.”

I turned, slowly, to face him — his curls were a mess, his cheek creased with the outline of the knit throw pillow, and his expression was an exaggerated version of suffering. Still, he looked unfairly good in the morning light. Soft and Rumpled.

“You drooled a little,” I said, brushing the corner of his mouth with my thumb.

“No I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“Was probably because you kicked me in my sleep.”

“You wish.”

Pedro laughed lowly, and I nudged him until we were both sitting upright, stiffly stretching our limbs with synchronized winces. My back popped in three separate places and he laughed at that.

“I swear the couch wasn’t this awful before,” I muttered, rubbing at my shoulder.

“It’s a test,” he said seriously. “A trial. Only the strongest couples survive the apartment couch sleep.”

“We’re not a couple yet,” I teased.

“Then I died for nothing.”

That made me laugh, the sound echoing a little too loudly down the hallway. A groggy, muffled, “Some of us are still sleeping,” followed quickly by the slam of Kate’s pillow behind the door.

I winced. “Oops.”

Pedro gave me a wide-eyed, panicked look and whispered, “Should we flee the scene?”

I pushed him toward the kitchen instead. “Nope. You’re helping me make breakfast.”

The kitchen wasn’t big, but we moved around each other like we’d done this a dozen times. I took out the eggs and bread, while Pedro stole strips of bacon from the package before I even had the pan hot. I batted his hand away. He grinned, unrepentant.

He made coffee, and I took care of the stove.

And it felt… easy.

So comfortable.

Like something we’d earned.

By the time the toast popped and the bacon was crisping, Kate shuffled in with her blanket still wrapped around her like a cape and a deep scowl on her face.

“I hate both of you,” she said, then accepted the cup of coffee Pedro handed her without question.

“We made breakfast,” I offered brightly.

“You’re forgiven.”

Pedro leaned on the counter, watching me move around the kitchen with his chin propped in his hand. When I caught his eye, he just smiled, like this morning — this moment — was something worth remembering.

And maybe it was.

Because even with the couch aches and the blurry sleep lines, it felt like a morning worth waking up for.