Off Script | Pedro Pascal

Between Takes

Joanna nodded without looking up. "It's steady. It makes sense."

Pedro tilted his head, his eyebrows squinting together to form a frown. "You don't seem thrilled."

"I don't need to be thrilled."

"Maybe not," he said gently, his expression softening. "But it helps."

That truck something in her. She glanced at him briefly before returning to the jacket in her lap. 

"You always read people like this?" she interrogated.

"Only the ones who pretend not to be interesting."

Joanna's hands stilled over the fabric.

She didn't murmur another word. 

And he didn't push her.

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Joanna sat at a back table, her salad mostly untouched and her Diet Coke empty. Genevieve pranced over to her, a soda in one hand and a clipboard in another. 

"Make room for your queen," Genevieve said playfully, nudging Joanna in the process.

When she had moved enough, Genevieve dropped into the seat beside her and scanned the room.

"They changed the call sheet again. Pedro's not needed after lunch."

Joanna kept her eyes on her fork, stiffening at the mention of the actor she had slowly grown to tolerate. "Good. It was a tough one."

Genevieve tilted her head slightly, studying her best friend. "He brings you coffee?"

"Yeah," she nodded before adding, "thanks to someone for giving him my order." If looks could kill, Gen would be dead.

Gen chuckled, shaking her head. "Look," she said after a moment. "I'm not trying to make things out of this. I just... notice things."

"You always notice things."

"That's why they hired me."

Joanna finally looked at her friend. Her ocean blue eyes pierced through her hazel ones. The dark, shaggy mullet and multiple facial piercings she rocked were the opposite of her bubbly personality. But for some reason, it fit. "It's not a thing." Joanna finally confirmed. 

Genevieve reluctantly nodded. "Okay."

Silence settled between them. Not awkward- just known. Comfortable. Like two people who didn't need to fill the air to feel close. 

Eventually, Genevieve nudged Joanna's arm with hers.

"You're coming home tonight, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Movie night?"

"Only if we're not watching anything from Nicos' cursed DVD shelf."

"Deal." Genevieve agreed as they shook hands before the pair fell into a fit of laughter. 

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The living room looked like it had been decorated by a collective fever dream of vintage stores and Goodwill bins. Nothing matched. Everything had character. 

Joanna sat on the floor, her back against the olive green couch, legs stretched out. She wore flannel pants and an oversized vintage band t-shirt she had stolen from Nico. Her hair was half up, the rest falling around her shoulders like autumn leaves. 

James was half-asleep on the armrest of the couch. Morgan was fiddling with the hem of her coat, muttering to herself about seam allowances. Nico had taken control of the speaker and was playing a playlist titled "chaos and vibes only."

Genevieve leaned against the window frame, scrolling through her phone.

"Petition to change the group chat name to "we're all emotionally unstable + Joanna." Morgan abruptly shouted out of nowhere. Her hair was sticking up in random places from the static on the couch.

Joanna almost spat out the wine she was drinking in laughter. "I mean, both statements are true, so I have no say." She let out before tipping the bottle back to her lips.

"I told you to let me make you a Tinder account," Nico said pointedly, a mischievous look on his face. 

"Hey," Joanna hit him playfully, "I am ok with my sex life."

"You mean your lack of a sex life." James chimed in, finally risen from his much-needed nap.

Joanna rolled her eyes as her roommates chuckled. "Next topic, please," she begged. 

Morgan glanced at her again. "That Pedro guy still walking around like a sad poet?"

Joanna stiffened slightly. "You don't even know what he looks like."

"Still sounds like a sad poet."

She smirked. "You're projecting."

Morgan grinned. "Aren't we all?"

Joanna laughed as her mind drifted to a particular  moment that same day.

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Pedro had nailed his scene. The crew had gone quiet in the way they did when something real happened.

Joanna watched from behind a rolling rack of coats, hardly breathing. 

His character cracked mid-monologue-voice strained, eyes glassy, fists clenched. There was something about watching a man fall apart on purpose that felt almost to intimate to witness.

And when he looked up afterward, like he was quite ready to be himself again, he found her.

Their eyes held.

She didn't smile.

Neither did he.

But it didn't feel like nothing.

It felt like the start of something neither on them had the words for yet.