Off Script | Pedro Pascal

Something You're Not Saying

It was barely 7:00 a.m., and the sky was already too bright.

Joanna leaned her head against the cool tile of the shower wall, letting the water run over her until it went lukewarm. Her head ached, and not in a hangover way. In a relentless, too much thinking way. Her cigarette count from the night before had been embarrassing.

She could still hear Morgan's voice from the living room at 2 a.m., yelling about Sondheim and how"Company" was actually about fear of intimacy, not just commitment. Genevieve had passed out face-first on the couch in full eyeliner, and Nico had dramatically taken his wine glass to bed like a grieving widow in a period drama.

But Joanna hadn't slept.

Every time she closed her eyes, it was Theo's hand in hers. Then Pedro's eyes crossed the set. Then the tiny bottle of eucalyptus oil she still hadn't returned.

She turned the water off and stood there dripping for a moment, counting to twenty like she could will her heartbeat to slow. It didn't.

When she arrived at set, the crew was already buzzing with early call energy - someone yelling about lights, someone else dropping a tray of fake blood packets. Joanna moved through it like a ghost, her head wrapped in a faded bandana, the sunglasses she wore too big for her face. Her usual armor.

"Hey." Genevieve appeared at her side, sipping aggressively from a travel mug. "You okay?"

Joanna grunted. "Define okay."

Genevieve narrowed her eyes. "You look like you've been thinking about feelings."

"I'm quitting smoking."

"You're never quitting smoking."

"Then I'm spiraling. Pick one."

Genevieve smirked but didn't push. That was the thing about her. She knew when to back off.

They walked toward the wardrobe trailer together, and as they turned the corner, Joanna caught sight of Pedro across the lot.

He was laughing at something one of the set decorators said, a hand in his hair, sunglasses tucked into the collar of his black T-shirt. He looked good. Effortless. The kind of good that made her stomach pull in on itself.

He didn't look at her.

Theo found her mid-morning, right as she was restitching the seam of a particularly stubborn jacket. He leaned against the doorframe like a movie still- clean lines, warm smile, perfect stubble. His voice was low when he said, "You disappeared on me last night."

Joanna looked up, squinting in the harsh trailer light. "I had a headache."

He stepped inside. "Anything I can do?"

She wanted to say no. Or maybe she wanted to say yes and mean it. Instead, she nodded at the garment on her work table. "You can stop sweating through your costumes."

Theo grinned and held up both hands in surrender. "Guilty. But I am trying to impress someone."

Joanna arched a brow. "Really?"

"You, obviously."

She paused, needle frozen mid-thread. "That's bold."

"You're not exactly subtle either."

That caught her off guard. She blinked, lips parting like she might argue- but Theo just smiled again, softer this time.

"I was thinking," he said, "maybe we could do something after wrap this week. Just us."