#matt walsh simping hard for pedro pascal

[queerdailywire-rpfwriter]

As the credits rolled on Strange Way of Life, Matt leaned back into the couch, stretching out with a forced air of indifference, but his mind was anything but calm. Michael had made some passing comment about Pedro Pascal's performance—how the actor had such a gentle, understated quality, a softness that made his characters linger in your mind long after the credits rolled.

Matt hadn't responded to that, but the words stuck with him. And as the film's imagery lingered in his thoughts, Pedro's presence began to take shape in his mind—short, his frame slight but not fragile, the kind of person you'd instinctively want to shield from the world. Matt could almost feel the weight of his dark, expressive eyes—eyes that seemed to carry every hurt, every hope, all at once. Pedro's vulnerability wasn't a weakness; it was an openness, an honesty that Matt found disarming.

He could picture it now, without even meaning to. Pedro's voice, low and a little hoarse, trembling with some unsaid plea as he looked up at Matt, his expression soft and trusting. The thought made something warm flare low in his chest, a protective urge so strong it caught him off guard. He imagined what it might feel like to be that anchor, that shield Pedro seemed to need—not out of pity, but because it felt... right. Matt shifted in his seat, uneasy at the strength of the image in his head. His gaze flicked to the now-empty screen, but all he could see was the curve of Pedro's lips, the vulnerability in his half-smile, the way his shoulders seemed to carry just a bit too much weight for one man to bear. And then, in his mind, he saw himself—standing there, solid and steady, grounding Pedro with a touch or a word. It wasn't lust, not entirely. It was something deeper, something that made him feel both tender and raw. He liked the idea of being that for someone—being needed in a way that felt so genuine it cracked through his defenses. With Pedro, it wouldn't be about proving himself or keeping up appearances; it would be about comfort, about safety. About warmth.

He let the fantasy unfold, just for a moment longer, the images vivid and unapologetic. There was no shame in it—no nagging voice telling him to push it away. For once, he let himself lean into the softness of the thought, the strange comfort of imagining something he'd never admit to wanting.