Off Script | Pedro Pascal

Between Takes

The trailer was warm, already humming with the quiet sounds of someone ironing a shirt, fabric rustling as hangers were shifted, drawers opening and closing.

Joanna stood alone in the back, pinning the hem of a jacket to match a stunt double's measurements. Her hands moved on autopilot. She preferred the silence-no small talk, no weird eye contact, just the rhythm of stitching, adjusting, repeating. 

Then came the knock.

Not loud-more like a soft tap.

She looked up.

The one and only Pedro Pascal stood in the doorway with two cups of coffee. 

"Is this stalking yet?" he asked.

Joanna blinked. "I think we passed that threshold yesterday."

He gave a faint smile. "Guess I should commit, then."

He stepped inside, carefully balancing the two cups like they were precious cargo. Joanna wiped her hands on the green floral dress she wore that fell just above her knees and reached for the cup he held out to her. 

She took a sip of the coffee, this now being the second one she's had that morning. She looked up at him, a surprised expression on her face. She didn't expect him to know her exact order.

"How?" Joanna questioned him, her eyebrow raised quizzically. 

"All I can say is your roommate can talk," he answered with a proud smirk.

"Genevieve you little bitch." She cursed to herself, already thinking of a plan on how she was going to get revenge. 

Pedro chuckled lightly at her reaction. 

Joanna cleared her throat, moving her gaze to the man in front of her once again. 

"You didn't have to do this."

"I know," he said matter-of-factly, settling into the same spot on the bench he sat on just the night before. "I just wanted to."

Joanna paused. The air in the trailer felt smaller all of the sudden, more aware. He wasn't looking at her with the easy charm she expected- he was watching her like he was trying to understand her. She took this moment to study him. His salt and pepper hair was messy in just the right way. The lines on his face told stories of their own. And his eyes. Oh, his eyes. They were a deep coffee brown, and he had a gaze that could pull you in with just a second of eye contact.

Joanna shook her head to get rid of her unwanted thoughts. "You should be in makeup."

"They're backed up. I've got twenty minutes to kill."

She didn't reply. Just kept working. 

Pedro sat quietly for a while, sipping his coffee, finding comfort in watching her thread a needle with practiced ease. 

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"What?"

"This," he motioned to the trailer with his hands, "Costumes. Sewing."