Off Script | Pedro Pascal

Something You're Not Saying

The pause stretched.

And in that moment, she wished she could split herself in half. One version of her would say yes easily- because Theo was kind, and uncomplicated, and already halfway inside the version of her life that made sense.

The other half...

Well. The other half was still thinking about the fact that Pedro had noticed her eucalyptus comment. That he had remembered.

Theo tilted his head. "You don't have to decide now."

Joanna nodded slowly. "Okay."

He left her with a wink and the scent of expensive cologne. And for a moment, everything felt calm again. Straightforward.

But calm wasn't the same as right.

———

Later that day, Joanna found herself back on set adjusting collars between takes. Pedro's character was in a hospital bed, fake IV and all, and she hovered near the edge of the frame, pretending she didn't feel every molecule of tension vibrating between them.

"Your sleeves flipped," she muttered, leaning in.

Pedro didn't look at her. "Thanks."

She fixed the cuff carefully, fingers brushing the inside of his wrist. She felt him tense, just barely. The silence thickened between them like honey.

"You okay?" she asked, barely audible.

Pedro's eyes met hers for the first time all day.

"I'm fine," he said. But it wasn't clipped. It wasn't angry. It was... careful.

She hesitated. "You've been quiet."

He looked past her. "You've been busy."

She flinched.

There was a second, just one, where she almost said his name. Just to break the wall of it. But the director called for quiet, and Joanna stepped back into the shadows where she belonged.

———

It was nearly midnight when she climbed onto the roof.

The air was thick and warm, the city buzzing faintly beneath them. Nico sat cross-legged in pajama pants and a fake fur coat, a Diet Coke in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

"You look like you need to talk or cry," he said without turning.

Joanna sank down beside him. "I already cried. Just need to smoke now."

She lit a cigarette, the flame small between her fingers. They sat in silence for a while, the sky stretching wide above them.

"I think I like Theo," she said after a while.

Nico took a long sip from his can. "But."

"But I can't stop thinking about Pedro."

Nico didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

"I don't even know why," she said. "He's infuriating. He doesn't say what he's thinking. He's all walls."

"But he leaves you oil for your headaches," Nico said.

Joanna blinked. "How do you know about that?"

"You're loud when you think you're alone."

She laughed, half-choked, flicking ash off the edge of the roof. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"You're attracted to emotionally unavailable men and you love show tunes," Nico said dryly. "I don't think it's that complicated."

Joanna leaned back against the railing, smoke curling around her face.

"I want to want the right thing," she said. "But I think I already chose something else without realizing it."

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" she asked, voice small.

Nico didn't look away. "Yes."

She gave a quiet, broken laugh.

"But not because of this," he added. "This is... human."

Joanna let that sit for a moment. A breeze rolled across the rooftop, warm and soft, but it gave her goosebumps.

"I hate that I can't read him," she said. "Pedro. He says so little, but it's like—every time he looks at me, it's loud. Like he's thinking everything and saying none of it."

Nico tapped ash from his cigarette. "Maybe that's the problem. Maybe he is thinking everything. Just for himself."

She looked at him, hazel eyes tired. "And Theo's the opposite. He tells me what he wants. He shows up. He holds my hand in front of people."

"And yet..." Nico gave her a sly look.

Joanna groaned, tipping her head back. "I'm broken."

"You're a romantic. Which is way worse."

She flicked the end of her cigarette over the edge of the rooftop. The ember sailed briefly, then vanished. "I feel like I'm waiting for something that's never going to happen."

Nico leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Then maybe the question is: if it never happens, will you still want him anyway?"

Joanna didn't answer. She didn't have one. Instead, she closed her eyes, letting the warm night breathe against her skin.

———

In the quiet of his trailer, Pedro sat on the edge of his couch, elbows on his knees, his phone glowing dimly in one hand. His thumb hovered over Joanna's name, then moved away. He looked at the eucalyptus bottle on the counter. Unopened. Waiting.

He didn't text her.

———

Back on the rooftop, Joanna pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them close. Nico lay down beside her on the tar-papered floor, fur coat spread out like a cape, staring at the stars.

"Wanna know something sad?" she whispered.

"Always."

She rested her chin on her knees. "I think he sees me. Like... really sees me. Not the curated version. Not the girl who makes jokes and yells about Sondheim and posts frat-boy captions."

"But?"

"But I don't think he knows what to do with that."

Nico sighed. "Well. Neither do you, babe."

They sat in silence a while longer, the night thick and unsolved around them.

Eventually, Joanna stood. Her cigarette was out. Her head was quieter, but no less heavy.

She touched Nico's shoulder gently. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For not telling me what I want to hear."

Nico smiled, eyes closed. "You wouldn't believe me anyway."

Joanna made her way back inside, the rooftop door swinging shut behind her with a soft, final click. In the hallway, she paused, palms pressed to her thighs, heart beating hard and aimless.

She didn't know what she wanted. But she knew who she kept waiting to hear from.