#ghostly wisp

He can't think of the details of his divorce for too long, it'll either make him feel upset or angry. As he's going to work, he can't be either of those things. The students shouldn't see him like that, and some of them are already upset and angry enough for both of them. 

He drives into the staff parking lot at 7:02, which gives him just barely enough time to get into his classroom and prepare for the day ahead. He had a good week before vacation planned, all his students were going to the lab — he finally got the okay to perform the elephant toothpaste experiment — and he was sure that the kids would love an experiment like that. He gets his bag filled with yeast, water, and food coloring – and he's off into the building.

He can tell the staff doesn't want to be here either, their huge coffees and barely awake mumbling. He can only imagine how the students will be. Only four days, then it's a long weekend and Thanksgiving. He's only halfway to his classroom when he notices you're not too far in front of him in the hall, so he calls your name. 

When you turn–you smile at the sight of your friend, honestly, you thought it would've been Jen or someone else you just didn't have the energy to talk to at the moment. "Morning, Pedro." you hum, stopping in your tracks to allow him to catch up. "What's the plan for today?" 

"Elephant toothpaste!" He exclaims, turning the corner to the hallway of both your classrooms. He's already talked your ear off about this experiment – so you didn't need to ask about it again. If there was anything he was more passionate about than teaching, it was science. It's what made him such an effective teacher. "And you?"

"Nothing special. I had a test planned but honestly, I might just put on a movie." giving them a test would be pointless, and probably just piss your students off. He nods as if he heard your thoughts, "That would probably be better." 

You smile, stopping at your door and finding your room's key on the Keychain. "A couple of other teachers and I are going out after school on Thursday, to celebrate the vacation." You tell him, he's standing up against a locker watching you struggle with your keys before finally pushing your classroom door open. "Probably to some bar, you're welcome to join us. If you want." 

It feels nice to be included in work parties like this, to have the chance to interact with people you work with for hours on end five times a week, outside of an environment where you have to watch what you say and force this sort of politeness. However, the age thing made it harder for him.

The age gap doesn't stop him from being friends with the other teachers—the technology teacher just around the corner was fifteen or so years older than Pedro, though he can assure you he won't be at this gathering. He can already imagine the crowd it will likely be, you, Sam, and a bunch of other teachers in their late twenties to early thirties. He would be out of place, too old to be hanging out with the youth. God forbid you wanted to dance — the last time he danced was at his wedding, ten years ago. "I dunno," he says after a few moments of contemplating, playing with the lid of his coffee cup, following "Don't you think – I'll be a little out of place?" He decides to put it lightly, instead of, don't you think I won't fit in because I'm old?

"Don't be ridiculous," you dismiss, waving your hand as you put your coat and bag in the closet behind your desk. "You realize, half the staff loves you, right? Think you're the coolest guy they've met." and some other things you promised not to say. 

"And the other half?" 

"They don't know you." 

Thursday came quicker than Pedro expected, though he should've known given it was just a four-day week, and there wasn't any productive work happening in his classroom.

He didn't give it much thought until you popped your head into his room once all the children left the school for the weekend. "Did you make up your mind?" you ask, his attention shifts to you, he can't help but notice the new way you had styled your hair today, and he made a mental note to say something about it.  

"Are you sure I won't be too old for you youths?" He asks playfully, "I don't want to drag the rest of you down." To this response, you roll your eyes. "Pedro Pascal." You huff, stepping completely into his classroom. "Enough with this age nonsense, I bet you can still bust some moves. Have fun tonight." 

"Fine, I'll go." He can't seem to find a way to say no to you, part of him thinks he doesn't entirely want to, it's been so long since he went out with friends and relaxed like this, perhaps it was the night of his graduation night when he went to the bar last. That feels like centuries ago now. "You don't mind if I leave at seven? I have to be in bed by eight." 

"Oh, shut up! you're not that old!" 

He's back in his apartment, looking frantically for any clothes to wear that weren't too business casual, this was a bar after all — he wasn't going to show up in one of his silly ties. It seemed though that everything he tried on wasn't right. As the clock got closer to the time you told him to meet everyone else, he grew impatient, throwing on black pants and a long black long-sleeved shirt, and he was on his way.

He pulls into the parking lot to see a good number of cars, but none of them look familiar to him–he was nervous that he was in the wrong place, and he's about to check his phone to reread your text before he sees you getting out of your car. He assumes you saw him when you start heading over to him. He turns the engine, slips out of his truck, and locks the door.

"Wow, wow, Mr. Pascal–don't you clean up nicely," you comment, making him re-check what he's wearing as if he forgot. "Thank you, Ms. L/N. You don't look too bad yourself." You only beam, before turning heel to head towards the bar. "Come on, old man. Times tickin' before your bedtime, and we're not spending it outside in the parking lot!"

Pedro's not fully sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't this.

He wasn't completely wrong in the sense of who came — it was more people around your age interested in the dance floor playing Lady Gaga – not that she's not amazing, that woman is a God – however, it just wasn't his groove tonight. He notices Sam is very into it, they're dancing to whatever song comes on and living in the moment. Pedro is envious for a moment, he watches everyone on the dance floor for a moment, thankfully, when you slide into the chair beside him, martini in hand, and distract him from his co-workers' choreography to Bad Romance. You've got a buzz going, not that he can blame you. If he had a designated driver, he would've been drinking a little more himself.

"Pedro," you start, there's a pause before you continue. "You gotta dance—have fun with us! you look awfully lonely sittin' here by yourself with a, what are you drinking?"

"Jack Daniels," He says, "Jack Daniels!" you exclaim.

"'m not lonely." He assures, sometimes he liked the solitude. While he did come here for a social outing, sometimes he liked to be left alone in places like this. "You should go back out there! Join your friends on the dance floor!" to his suggestion, you shake your head. Even with alcohol in your system, you're just as stubborn as when you're sober. "Not without you, no!"

"Can I ask you something?" If you were sober, he would've said something stupid like you already did. Though he figures that while you're in your current state, squinting your eyes at him, perhaps now wasn't the time to use such stale humor. "Shoot,"

"Why did you get a divorce?"

…woah.

For some reason he wasn't expecting that, not from you at least—maybe Sam, or Jenny, or one of the other teachers whose first names he can never remember. He can tell you're curious, eyebrows raised and your drink is pulled closer to you, his face suddenly feels hot, and he's blushing. He can't quite figure out why, is he embarrassed?

Divorce isn't something to be embarrassed about, it happens to more people than you might think. Yeah, he's forty-seven years old and that's a little later than when most people get divorced, but it's not like it's completely unheard of. He's not Ross Geller from the show friends, it's not like this is his second or third divorce. Still, the word haunts him and follows him around as this sort of shame, this dirty word. He feels like he's judged by teachers and students. Mr. Pascal moved here because he got divorced. That his friends walk on eggshells around him, Pedro hasn't been the same since his divorce. "She cheated on me," he replies, deciding on telling the truth about it. It's the best way to face it, his life fell to shambles because his wife — the woman who he promised to love through sickness and health — decided to find comfort in the arms of another, he can't sleep as well as he used to because he moved out of his home where he had caught them, he couldn't stay there because of the reminders in each hallway what used to be.

He's caught off guard when you make a "tsk" sound, "I can't believe that," you say, "Who can cheat on you? I mean you're sweet, you're funny, and attractive, any woman would be lucky to have you!" While touched by your words that he assumes is meant to be a ego boost, he knows that he didn't give you the entire story.

"I was kind of being a shitty husband, I was drowning myself in work all the time, n' when I wasn't working, I wasn't giving her an equal amount of my time either. She found someone who would, I can't blame her for that." You wave your hand as if that part doesn't matter. "Whatever, I still can't believe someone would cheat on you. I mean, you're a heartthrob, who could let that go?" He knows you don't mean it — if you do, you're too drunk to be willingly saying it. Not to him at least, he underestimated your buzz.

"Who's your driver for tonight?" he asks, choosing not to comment on what you said to save you any embarrassment in case you wake up tomorrow and remember this. "Sam," you say, looking at the dance floor to point to them as if Pedro hadn't ever met them before. When you go to do that, you discover that they're gone. Apparently, they left. Leaving you abandoned, because well, Pedro sure as hell was not going to allow you to drive home. He pays for his drinks, and offers his arm out to you, which you not-so-gracefully stumble into. "Where we goin', Mr. Pascal?" you ask while he guides you to the doors of the bar. You're leaning into his chest, he's a lot leaner than you thought, and he smells vaguely of vanilla. "I'm taking you to my house," he sighs, patting his pockets until he finds his keys, unlocking the car to help you in.

He sighs once he's finally got you into the car, he's thankful that he went because god knows where you could've been by now, and he doesn't want anything happening to you—he's also thankful because he has material to tease you about once you're well enough to understand.

I'm a heartthrob. He thinks, smirking wide as he gets into the driver's seat.

TAGLIST:

Pedro had proposed to you during a vacation the two of you took as a way of celebrating his big rise in fame; you two had been together for quite some time now and he thought it would be the perfect time to seal the deal between you two – this nearly a year ago now, and most of the wedding stuff was taken care of except for the cake and both of your attires needed alterations – though it seemed like he was set on making this cake the hardest part of wedding planning, for most this comes easiest – but Pedro Pascal was never like most people. 

“I’m sorry, hermosa.” His eyebrows raise slightly and he has a genuine apologetic look on his face, he reaches a hand out to place it on your shoulder gently, “I just want this wedding to be perfect in every aspect – cake included in that…” You sigh softly, dropping his arms slightly as you take in his words; you understand that he only wants the best and that he means well. 

But it’s a cake.

Perhaps he could be more focused on his tux, the guests and the venue – the entire catering of it and not just the cake – after all you like to think people aren’t just just coming for the cake, right? 

“I know, Pedro, but it’s just the cake – we’re not going to focus on that, you know? I’m not going to be standing at that alter thinking to myself ‘God, I can’t wait for this ceremony is over so I can get that cake.’” This makes him laugh, and you know you’re getting your point across, “Let's just try the next sample, if we both like it – even if it’s just not us – let it be our cake.” He gives you an understanding nod, and a very excited smile – he just loves you so much that he wants everything to be perfect, and if you’re telling him that there's no need to be so fussy about the cake, then he won't worry about it too much. 

As if on cue, the bakery woman brings out a new sample cake – she describes it as red velvet, ermine frosting and one of their richest cakes – Pedro is ready to grab the fork to try it but you’re already waving it away with nothing more than a simple “No.” 

The bakery girl sighs, taking the cake away much more and Pedro looks at you, wordlessly asking what was wrong with that sample. “Whatever happened to ‘Let the next sample be our cake?’”

“I am not having a red velvet as my wedding cake! Besides, ermine frosting is essentially boiled milk frosting. I know I said we won't be thinkin’ about it but do you want to eat cake that has frosting that's boiled milk?” Pedro’s face contorts and he shakes his head, he didn’t even like regular milk, nevermind boiled milk, and to feed that to his partner on the day of their wedding? No thank you. They’ll find their wedding cake, it just won't be a red velvet cake with boiled milk frosting. 

In fact when you decide on a cake, it’s a yellow cake with whipped cream frosting, you end up getting it from another bakery than the one you were at – the cake here seemed better, but perhaps it was because you worked out a mutual understanding, or the cake was just genuinely better. 

You ordered it small – the wedding wasn’t going to be big, but man, you were thinking about it after you decided, too, Pedro seemed just as happy on it, honestly you were glad to finally have him agreeing with you on this. 

“We’re going to have the best wedding, hermosa.” he says to you as you’re driving home from the bakery, he's still wiping some of the frosting out of his mustache. “Ceremony of our love, finally being your husband…” 

“And the best tasting wedding cake I’ve tasted yet.” 

“Fuck yeah, the best wedding cake I’ve ever had!” He laughs.

The wedding date was only a few months away now, and you couldn’t wait any longer – they say that there's this anxiety that comes to you when you’ve got a big day such of this – that people remember their wedding for the rest of their lives and so you better make yours count, no room for mistakes – but you didn’t have any of that – not with Pedro, no – anything with him was special enough, picking your wedding cake felt like the most special day to the both of you, you just couldn’t wait to finally be lawfully his. 

“Hey! In my defense, I thought he was just going to say the pay was higher or something! Not my wife left me!” after a moment of silence, Sam continues. “How haven’t you introduced yourself yet? He’s right across the hall from you.” To which you shrug, “I just haven’t had the time yet. Things are so busy, the year just started.” 

For the rest of the day, Sam’s words stick with you. Hes right across the hall, and you haven’t had the decency to even say hello to him. Though, you wonder if he was really bothered by it, maybe he would introduce himself to you by now.

The last five minutes before the bell rings is normally an unproductive time, students are packed up and standing by the door, so you never actually continue “bell-to-bell” teaching philosophy, it just doesn’t work out, and if you’re being fair, you’re far too tired at the end of the day too. “Miss,” one of your students says, breaking out of your concentration to the computer screen, you turn to see what the student might want, to your surprise, they only point to the teacher in your doorframe, Mr. Pascal. 

“Sorry to bother you,” He says, his voice is deeper than you imagined it to be. Catching you by surprise just a little bit, “I need to print some things, and I can’t quite get the grasp on how to work the one down the hall. Can you help me out?” 

The printer was a tricky thing, theres a card swipe, password, authorization and then how many you want printed. To anyone who doesn’t quite know how to work it – you had a difficult time when you first started. 

“Yeah, its a major pain in the–” you cut yourself off, realizing that you’re still in the presence of teenagers, and while “ass” is not really a “bad word” and they most definitely say worse things, you still have to watch your mouth. You stand and make your way out of the classroom, making sure you had your lanyard. “Have you sent the papers to the printer?” you ask, to which he nods. “It’s just not showing on the little screen thing.” 

The printer isn’t that far of a walk, but it feels like it was one hundred miles. Especially since the silence between you two. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” you say after the tension proved to be too much for you, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” The printer seems like its getting further away rather than closer. Though he chuckles at your comment, “Good things, I hope.” 

“You can say that.” 

Another chuckle, followed by “My name is Pedro, it’s very nice to meet you, officially.” 

You smile softly to him, as you get to the printer, finally. 

“Okay– swipe your card here, and then put in the code they gave you–the one on the back of your ID card.” He does as you say, and much to his relief, he finally saw the access granted. “The printers here are tricky, take a while to learn.” you laugh, watching him put in the number he needed, and listened to the printer whirl as it started to work. 

“At my old school, they just let us have printers in our room—I was very upset to learn that thats not allowed here. Unless you’re an art teacher.” 

“They don’t allow a lot of things, some teachers do it anyway. I keep a mini fridge hidden under my desk.” you laugh, “Sometimes, we’re no better than the students.” 

He hums, “I guess so. Though, it would be very hard for me to hide a printer under my desk.” to this, you nod. “I guess it would be.”

Hes a lot more attractive up close than when you’re standing across the hall from him, the grays in his beard compliment him nicely, which isn’t something that happens for most people very often. You also like his sense of style, the black button up paired with the dark blue tie, the dark dress pants with the slim belt he wore—you can’t deny that men who know how to dress themselves seem to be more attractive than most. You can see what everyone was saying, he was a heart throb. You can’t help but wonder, what kind of person would cheat on that. “Thank you so much,” he says, turning over to you. Its only now that you notice his tie is decorated with little planets and constellations. How appropriate for a science teacher. 

“Its no problem, let me know if you have any other problems, always happy to help.” 

“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.”

“So,” Sam says, their voice is sing-songy, like they’re trying to hide something they’re clearly excited about. “I heard that you and Mr. Pascal have been spending a lot of time together between classes, you’re not trying to replace me, are you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you laugh, grabbing a water from your mini fridge. “He’s new, he’s just needed help with a few things and I’m right across the hall.”

“Thats not what Jenny said!” Their tone is still playful, though they’re pointing their finger to you, accusatory. “Jenny doesn’t know me,” you respond. “She said we were dating when I first started here!” 

“Fair point.” Sam shifts in their chair, “So you haven’t been hanging out with him?”

“Well, not between classes, but I occasionally go into his classroom to help him with websites and such.” your smile is tight, you didn’t realize just how often you two had been sharing time in his classroom the past few weeks. “He’s really sweet, you know. I get why the students like him.”

“They like him because hes good looking.” Sam replies, you raise your hands, “I said what I said.”

Sam lets out a laugh, “So you’ve fallen into the ongoing list of people captivated by this man?” they ask, as if they weren’t pretty high on the list themselves. “Not that I’m one to talk.”

You shrug, “I dunno if I’d say I’m captivated. But I can admit hes very good looking,” if anyone was a winner of the genetic lottery – it was Florence Pugh and Mr. Pascal. “This is highly inappropriate talk for work,”  

Pedro was newly divorced, surely, the last thing on his mind would be the younger english teacher across the hall from him, right? Thats what you stuck to telling yourself. Every time you hovered over his chair while pointing out how to work the teacher-portal to the grading site or how you thought he was looking at you in the break room during quick conversations, even if he was looking for a relationship – there were plenty of single teachers closer to his age he would be more interested in. Like Jenny, who seemed to ruin your small moments in his room. 

“Thank you so much, Y/N. Seriously, I would be lost without you.” Pedro huffs, looking up to you, your triumphant smile evident, after many explanations and pointing, you finally taught him how to set up his smartboard screen to be different than his computer screen. “You flatter me, Pedro.” you tease. Going to take a seat back in the chair you had pulled up earlier. He smiles his normal soft, heart-warming smile – “So uh, I’ve been thinking –” 

“Ms. L/N!” Jens voice comes in, she sounds happy to see you, but anyone knew that was forced. As much as teachers are forced to come across as one big happy tight-knit family in front of students and parents, if you throw in 100 something people together, not everyone is going to get along. This just happens to be the case for you and Jen, or Jenny — luckily for you, she teaches art downstairs. So you rarely have to interact, but shes been spending a lot more time upstairs as of late. Unfortunate for you. “It’s so funny that I caught you here, I was just looking for you in your room. One of my students was talking about some assignment you posted, they got confused about it n’ I told them to talk to you, I had to talk to Mr. Pascal, so I walked with them up here, figured when you weren’t in your room this is where you’d be.” 

“Thanks, Jen.” you reply, slowly standing up, your attention turns back to Pedro, who seems upset that you’re leaving before he could finish what he had to say. “Hold that thought for me, okay?” he only nods in response, watching you walk out the door. It's too bad, too, he should really learn to close his classroom door whenever you come by, perhaps this way there would be less distraction, and less of Jenny.

TAGLIST

You still, Sam would never approve of this. They would tell you to hang up, to tell him that you’re busy, you can’t keep giving into Pedro – he's like some disease you can’t shake, you can’t let him keep affecting you like this – you can’t let him keep you wrapped around his finger, it doesn’t do you anything good. You sigh, “I don’t know if that's a good idea, Pedro, it’s late and–” he doesn’t even let you ramble the rest of whatever excuse you're about to give him.

“Please.” The tone in his voice is familiar, it brings you back to the day in your classroom – the crack in his voice and the desperation, you can only imagine that he's on the brink of tears. “Please, I need to see you.” Maybe it's your own desperation, or maybe you're just that fucking gullible, but you tell him “Okay.” Whatever Sam doesn’t know can’t kill them. You remind him of the address and your apartment number and hung up the phone. You're frozen for a moment, you wonder if you're dreaming, if this some sick delusion. You can't fathom a reason for this to be happening, why today, why now, and why was it so urgent?

When your music starts playing again at full volume, you're brought back to reality. Thougj rigjt now you prefer now to wait in silence, the music would only act as a distraction that you couldn’t have. What could this possibly be about? The thousands of scenarios run in your head—most negative—you’re pacing and picking up a couple things as you do so. Maybe this was a mistake, you should’ve stuck to your guns and told him no, maybe then you wouldn’t have this pit in the stomach. It feels like it takes him ages, but finally you hear that ear piercing buzz alerting you know someone wants you to let them in. You don’t even bother using your intercom, you just let them in. You’re on the third floor, and you’re guessing by the sound of quick footsteps that he didn’t even bother with the elevator. Your palms clam up and your pacing comes to a halt when he knocks on the door, it seems hesitant almost. Which is funny, considering he was just running down the hall, maybe he was second guessing himself or wanted to seem like he wasn’t rushing his way to see you.  

When you make it to the front door, you don’t open it right away, you take a deep breath first, and you’re slow to unlock the door. When you finally open it, he’s got one hand against the door frame, and he's slightly leaning into that for support, you want to throw your arms around him, but you don’t. He takes his arm away and looks at you, panting softly. He takes you all in, like he can’t believe he's actually seeing you, it's like in his dreams. The ones that he remembers anyways.

There's a moment where the two of you are standing there, looking at each other awkwardly. You don’t know if you should speak first or wait for him – you’re the one to break the silence, inviting him into your apartment, and he slowly steps in and looks around – He missed your apartment, the atmosphere is more comfortable than Jennys – there's a faint smell of apples from your candle, the decorations are more welcoming, it feels like a home. He loved it, and he missed the fuzzy feeling it gave him. Pedro turns to face you again, watching you lock the door like you always did. When you turn to face him, you can tell that he was either crying earlier or he's trying not to now. 

“So, what's up?” your voice is soft, oh, how he missed it. He thinks about how he wants to start his sentence; he used a lot of similar phrases the last time you two chatted, and safe to say, he didn’t want to repeat that conversation. He wets his lips with his tongue and his eyes dart around, his hands are suddenly clammy and he's sweating. “I was with Jenny and–” he watches you roll your eyes, and you start to move past him. “No! Not like—just listen to me, please.” bad start already, way to go, Pedro. He thinks to himself.

You shake your head—how could you let yourself think he would be here for anything good for you? Still, he follows you into your living room and you turn on your heel. You want to listen to him, you really do, but you don’t want to hear whatever story he has that includes Jenny, you’ve always made your feelings about her very clear to him, and he chose to hang out with her. Which you know is his choice, but you still didn’t want to hear anything about the art teacher, not after everything that's happened. Pedro stops walking when you turn, and it's a stand still. “She told me that she uh, she heard you and Sam...” you only raise your eyebrows, because you and Sam talk about Pedro a lot as of late. “She told me that – you we’re talking about getting over me.” with this, your heart stops for a moment, and you feel a pit in your stomach again. For no reason, though, because he should know how you felt about him. You basically told him, or were you not clear enough for his thick man brain?

“You know how I felt about you,” felt was a word you chose carefully, making it sound past tense, he catches onto it – but for the moment, he's choosing to ignore it. He needs to believe that he still has a shot if he's going to stand here and say what he's been dying to say for a while now. “You hurt me, Pedro, you ignored me for weeks because you were scared. And then you went into the arms of fucking Jenny. Of all people, her.”

It wasn't the fact that he ignored you anymore. It was him leaving, him going to the one person on the entire building that you felt so strongly about, she had been ontop of him since he started, there was no way he was that stupid think that wouldn't hurt—even if he was, the damage was done now, even if he apologized.

He frowns, he knew what he was doing was stupid at the moment—but hearing it said to him made it so much worse, like it actually smacked him across the face. “I know,” he says quietly, ashamed. Though can't take his eyes off you, he can't look away no matter how embarrassed he felt. “and I’m not going to stand here and make excuses, and pretend like I did no wrong, I fucked up. I know. I ran, because that's what I do. I didn’t think about how it would make you feel, and I don’t expect you to forgive me.” You only scoff in response, folding your arms infront of you tightly, but there's this sense of sorrow in his eyes that you can’t bring yourself to pretend to be angry with – his eyes can pull at your heartstrings in ways nobody else has ever had the power to. “N’ maybe I’m delusional, Y/N, but no matter how hard I try forgetting, no matter how hard I try to ignore it, you’re always there. Everything I look at, I see you. I think of you. It’s always you.” Your arms slowly drop, your guard goes down a lot faster than what you wouldve wanted. There's sincerity in his words that's dragging you in, you don’t even take a step back when he moves closer to you ever so slowly. “I’m a wreck without you,I don’t know how you do it...” When Pedro smiles, you feel this flutter in your heart— a sensation that you hadn’t felt in a while, and you think you missed it a lot more than what you thought. “Feel like I haven’t known you all that long and you’ve taken over all my senses.”

You want to scream at him, you want to tell him that he's lost his chance and this ship has sailed. That letting him come over was a mistake, lash out all your feelings to him — but you can’t, you won’t. Because you’d be lying. Your face is red, and no sounds come out of your mouth no matter how badly you want to say something. You can’t, because his smile alone is rendering you speechless. He doesn’t say much either, he reaches out and his fingertips slowly graze down your arms, his hands slip into yours, and there you stood – holding his hands in your apartment. You think, how much eaiser it would be if you were mad at him still. You'd rip your hands away in an instant, tell him to go fuck himself, but you can't bring yourself to be mad at him, and you're lying if you say you didn't love the sensation of his hands holding yours. People of held your hand before, and hand holding js pretty low on the romance scale, but it felt like the most pivotal thing in the world to you right now.

You never touched him like this before, it felt intimate, romantic, in a way that you hadn’t expected, sure you’ve hugged him and let the hug last for a second too long, you’ve kissed him on the cheek before – but this felt real, there we're no ifs, no possibilities for it to be misconstrued in another context. You could feel the tingling sensations your hands and your heart, and you don’t know what the next move is. He doesn’t either, because he only steps closer and looks at you, he thinks about leaning in – but he doesn’t, he had many different thoughts about how this moment would go – confessing feelings like this – it would be after your second date, maybe you’d be at his place and he makes a nice meal, or out at a restaurant or some other date, something that would stick out more than in your apartment after a fight. Though now that he's here looking at you, watching the way the blush on your face grew, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Oh, how he missed you, he missed your face, he missed his lover. 

You may have never been his “lover” officially, but might as well, because he never wanted to spend another moment like this with anyone else. He can’t bring himself to pull away, to say anything that ruin this moment. You notice how sweaty his hands are, which would normally unsettle you, but in the moment, you can’t bring yourself to care about it. Pedro’s stomach tingles, because he accepts, finally, that he can’t prolong this any longer. That running away will only make his situation worse, his feet feel cemented to the ground, but he's okay with it. For once, he doesn't plan on running.

He pulls one hand away from yours, which leaves this cold, lonely sensation, but it's rested on your hip, and it's when he does this that you know what's going to happen, too. Your heart feels like it's going a mile a minute, he's the one to lean in first, but you meet him halfway. 

Your lips brush over each other at first, as if you’re both unsure if this is what you want to do in the moment, but it doesn’t take long for your lips to connect again, he's grinning into the kiss, but you could care less. This was the best feeling you’ve had in a while, the warmth that came over your body, the kiss is tender and delicate. Slightly addictive, if you're both being brutally honest.

His other hand lets go of yours, and he moves it up to place it on your cheek, as if to pull you in closer. Your hands are just under his arms. It lasts only a couple seconds, but you wish it could’ve been a lot longer, his he doesn’t take his hands away, in fact, the one that's placed on your hip slides to your back as if to pull you closer. The sentiment is mutual, because you don’t want to take your hands away from his either, you just slide them down to the sides of his stomach. You could feel the feelings of his lips on yours still, and it tingles. When he looks at you, he's trying to get a sense of how you feel, and you finally smile. He can’t help but thinks about how he missed that smile. “Will you please forgive me?” he asks of you quietly, “I want this to happen more. I want to hold your hand; I want to eat lunch with you and Sam again, if you'd let me.”

You laugh quietly, for once, you start taking each one of Pedro’s features to note, you’ve obviously never been this close to him before. His pores, the details in his nose, honestly you probably wouldn’t have noticed that he said anything if he didn’t raise his eyebrows in anticipation. You even have to think about it for a moment, “I can try to forgive you,” you say quietly, no louder than a whisper. “Sam might never be able to, though.” 

“I think I can live with that.” 

It's not until the following Monday that you get around to telling Sam about your reunion with Pedro. It's not that you felt like you had to wait, it was just that things were so good with Pedro that you wanted to stay in the blissful phase before you told anyone, but you figured you would have to because Pedro would come by for lunch anyway. So, you stop by their room in the morning before any students got there, “Hey, Sam, I gotta tell you something.” 

“Perfect, I was just going to text you to come here— I saw the funniest thing when I was walking in today. What's up?” you shake your head, more intrigued by their story. “You first,”

They turn in their chair, standing up and closing the door. As long as no student looks in, they might have an idea that Sam wasn’t there yet, and also, they didn’t want any other teachers overhearing them. “I saw Jen and Pedro walking in together, right?” They say, going to sit on the edge of their desk across from you, now you’re nervous as to where this is going. What Sam might thing is going on, because whatever they say is going to make your news sound untimely. “She kept trying to grab his hand–and it's so funny, because he would move his hand away, and move physically further from her but she just kept trying. I don’t know what got into him, but all the sudden, but it’s eating Jen alive. I even saw her go up to his room.” 

“You did? When?” you hadn’t even stopped by your own yet, so if she was still there, you wouldn’t know. “Just a little while ago, shes probably still there – I wonder what shes saying, I just want you Pedro why won’t you hold my haaaand!” They laugh at their own mockery, but once Sam stops laughing, they ask you, “Anyway, what was it you wanted to say?” 

Though you can’t answer, you have to know what Jen is saying; you have to know if Shes still there or if Pedro delt with it. You knew that Sam could hear this later, and you can explain it. But you slip off of the desk you were sitting on and grabbed your bag. “I gotta go.” you say matter-of-factly, opening Sam's door; seeing of their students waiting patiently, and they seemed shocked to see you walk out of the room in a hurry. “I can explain it later, teacher Sam.” you say, mindful to call them by their professional term. You never felt this urgency, Jesus Christ, can’t this woman just leave you alone? Why does she have to be so fucking obsessed? You wonder what she might actually be saying–how Pedro must feel. Or if you’re too late, maybe she's already crying, cursing your name, you can't help but feel sympathy for her. You could've easily been in her position. It just so happened that your classroom was closer.

You turn the corner, and over the lockers you can see that his door is open. You can't hear much, which you assume is a good-ish sign, at least she's not yelling. You slow your steps, you wanted a feel of the situation first, so you grab your room keys to start unlocking the door to your classroom—trying to listen closely.

Pedro isn't exactly sure how he got into this situation, two women having feelings for him was flattering, but good God, was it awkward. Especially since he liked one, and the other sat in his room just about sobbing. “I just don't understand.” Jenny tells him, after he's explained why they can't see eachother anymore. He didn't want to say that you had anything to do with it, but that was pretty self explanatory, even if he tried saying it was "for other reasons".

“Jen, It's not you, okay? I just—I just don't have the same feelings towards you, you're an amazing friend, but I just don't see us working.” For some reason, even though this was the gentlest way he could've thought to put it, it ignited something in Jenny—she quickly stood, wiping her tears away. He hoped she would just storm off, alas it couldn't be that easy. “This, this bullshit right here, is why your wife fuckin' left you.” and no matter how much time passes, no matter how much the wounds of his divorce heal. It hurts, it hurts more when it's thrown in his face in a way. “I hope your god damn happy,” she yells across the hall to you once she notices you trying to unlock your door, you don't think she's talking to you at first, especially since you're in the hallway when anyone could see. It's not until you hear Pedro trying to diffuse the situation, and her hand grabs tour shoulder tightly. “Is this what you wanted? for me to cry? You have to have everything?”

You're trying with every fiber of your being to remain professional, not to give into the scene at hand. You don't want to get in trouble, nor do you want your students asking you about this later. You finally get your key to work and push open the door to your classroom. "Jen, I never wanted to hurt you. I didn't plan for this to happen, but I'm sorry it did." You say softly, "It's really not fair of you to throw his divorce in his face.” You step in to your classroom, turning around quickly so that she couldn't follow you in. “You've always hated me, and frankly, I never understood why.” Her words are a lot louder than necessary, and you're trying to make sure there are no students nearby, but it was probably too late for that anyways. “I'm tired of being nice to you, only to be handed back disrespect. This is over a line.”

“I didn't tell him to leave you for me, I wasnt evem speaking with Pedro. He did that on his own accord. You're making a scene, Jen, I'm begging yoh to please go back to your room. You've done enough.” Jen looks around the nearly-empty hallway for support, but she's met with a few confused stares, and Pedro, who still looks rather upset by her earlier comment. She doesn't say anything, instead, she storms off back the stairwell, hopefully, to her classroom.

Your attention turns to Pedro, and while he's happy that you stood up for him, he's very clearly upset. You go to reach for him—to welcome him into your classroom even for just a moment, but he wordlessly turns into his own room; closing the door behind him. Leaving you worried for him, maybe you had done something wrong. You quietly sigh, all you can do for the moment is hope he's okay.

TAGLIST: (also please read my comment in the comment section I think it's important)

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She pants, “Yeah,” she stands normally in front of him. “How are you? I heard that there's some…problems–” she's not sure how to word it, and Pedro doesn't want to talk about it in the middle of the hallway. “I'm fine.” he says, “No problems.” Honestly the fact that it was going around the school already – like you and Pedro were some sort of object to be observed by everyone else, and for her to confront him about it in the middle of the hall. He thinks back to something you told him when you first met – sometimes we’re no better than the students – Jenny hums, “That's good, I’m glad.” She fixes her bag over her shoulder before she speaks again. “Can I ask you a favor? I have a shit ton of art supplies in my car that I need to get into my classroom. It would take me so long if I do it alone, could you help me out?” He hesitates, but he thinks that perhaps he judges Jenny too soon. “Sure,” he says, “Let me put my stuff in my room and I’ll be right back down.” 

That was only the beginning. 

Pedro found himself in situations more often with Jenny around, she would come to his room for lunch, they could talk comfortably about problems. Jenny is very nice – but she's not you. He can’t get past that, no matter how hard she tries. The two of them hang out after school sometimes and she always sits herself just a hair too close to him, he never says anything. He just silently allows it, because he thinks that maybe this is the way to get over you. He thinks that if he moves on that all his problems will wash away. Maybe you don’t even notice what's going on.

You definitely notice, though. 

The way Jennys hand lingers on his arm for too long, the way he goes quiet when you enter the room. You see her going into his room every day during lunch and leaving just before the students come back, you’re not stupid. She’s liked him from the very beginning, and you’re out of the picture. It was only a matter of time before this happened, still, it hurt like hell. 

He was never yours, you were never his – but still, you liked to think about what could’ve been, maybe you were too harsh, or things were moving too fast. What's stopping you from being friends with him? He was still so valuable to you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to walk across the hall to see him. Even if you did, you knew Jenny would be there, and you really didn’t want to see her. 

You had no reason to be mad at her in this situation, really, she saw an opportunity and she took it. You would’ve done the same thing if the roles were reversed. He was just a stupid guy that you were getting worked up about, like some teenager who watched her crush get with someone else. Still, you wonder if he even thinks about you anymore, if he wonders how you are, if even for a moment he thinks about coming into your classroom too. Sam notices you staring in the direction of his classroom for a second too long, and snaps their fingers to bring your attention back. “Y/N!”

“Sorry,” you say, turning your chair to face them again. “What were you talking about?” Sam only gives you a blank face, putting their lunch down on the end of your desk. “Y/N, you have to get over him.” They say it like it's so simple, and this, admittedly, annoys you just a little. “It's not that simple, it's like if I told you to get over Jae.” 

“It is absolutely not the same thing!”

“How?!”

“Jae and I have been married. For three years!”

You scowl, they have a point there, but still, you put the rest of the food in your mini fridge. You decide to take the rest of the conversation back to Pedro. “It's just hard, you know, I’m not just losing the guy I had a crush on, I’m losing a friend.” To that, Sam feels for you. You had been there when Sam was going through their men, too, they know how it feels. “I know,” they say quietly. “But you know, maybe this is for the best. He’s a bundle of hurt, a package you don’t need right now.” Still, you can’t help but think about what could’ve been. 

It could’ve been you, Pedro, and Sam. Laughing and making stupid jokes. It could’ve been you and Pedro hanging out at his apartment watching stupid movies, talking about your day, students. 

It’s not that you don’t value your time with Sam, you love them dearly. It's just that, you missed that extra presence, you missed the new person in your circle. Now you don’t have that, and you know the other teachers know what happened. Because they give you this sympathetic look when they ask how you are, and they suck their breath in whenever Pedro’s nearby. For teachers, they’re not very discreet people. They treat you now like even saying his name will cause you to burst, you hate it. You just want things back to normal, sometimes you wished that Pedro never came here. It would be easier if he just never moved into your district, never into the classroom across from you. Life would be easier if he just asked someone else for help on printing things, it wouldn’t be as fun though. Maybe it's your age, if you're older this could’ve worked. Or like Pedro said, if you met sooner. 

“Still.” you say in response to Sam, “It hurts, but I’ll get over it you just have to give me time.”

Jenny invites Pedro over on friday night, and he accepts the offer, it beats sitting in his apartment alone. They don’t do much, or talk about a lot, they just sit and watch Young Sheldon – which wouldn’t be his first choice, but it was the only thing that was on that they could agree on. 

She’s almost on top of him, their legs touching, and she's leaning awfully close to him. Still, he doesn’t say anything, he places his arms across the top of the couch – almost welcoming it in. When it cuts to commercial, she finally speaks. “I would hate to have a student like him.” Pedro raises his eyebrows, “Really? I think it would be interesting, hearing what he has to say. I guess he is condescending, though.” he replies, “I don’t necessarily want to say I would hate to have a student that acts a certain way, he clearly doesn’t see how he's hurting their feelings.” She shrugs, slowly pushing herself away from him to get up. “Still. I would’ve gotten so frustrated.” 

“Well,” he smiles, to show that he teases. “Good thing you’re an art teacher. I would be screwed. Science n’ all.” Jenny nods, “I guess so.. I’m going to get a glass of water, do you want any?” 

He shakes his head, “I’m good.” and when she disappears into the kitchen – he can’t help but glance around. He notices a few things, a coloring book on her glass coffee table, a stack of student artwork that he assumes is to-be-graded, and lastly, a staff photo that was taken just a year before he started working at the school.

He gently picks it up, looking around at the familiar faces. But his eyes are drawn to you. 

You're smiling widely, you and Sam have your arms around each other, the top you’re wearing looks nice on you, and he knows he's seen it on you a couple times. His heart pangs a bit, he misses you. No matter how much time he spends here, he can't deny that. He notices the dip in the couch from Jenny placing herself next to him, just as close as before. “I look so stupid in that photo,” she laughs, assuming that he was looking at her. He quickly scans for her to avoid making this awkward. Jenny sticks out like a sore thumb, she's in the front of the stand and she wasn’t ready for the photo because she was barely in her spot. “I was the one taking the photo, so I had to rush into the spot.” 

He hums, “You look fine.” 

Just fine she thinks, but she’ll take it. “So, I heard Y/N and Sam talking today, they were talking about you a lot.” This gets his attention, a lot more than what she had hoped for when she brought up the conversation. She hates the hold you still have him, she just wishes you could fucking let go already. He doesn’t say anything, so she continues. “Sam was tellin’ her that she needs to get over you, that you’re not worth all this time.”

That alone fills Pedro’s heart with this excitement, this sense of hope that he needed – but he's careful not to show it. He sucks in a breath, putting the photo down, he feels her hand slowly slide up his hand. This is the first time she actually physically touched him. He tenses at the touch, not expecting it. “If you ask me, she ought to let this go at some point. You know, she can be such a bitch. I mean she made you feel like shit and now she wants to act like–”

He isn’t sure what it is, but he feels an anger bubble inside him, and he whips around, lightly smacking her hand off of him. “Don’t you fucking talk about her like that.” he didn’t realize he raised his voice, his nostrils flare and he glares at her. This surprises her, her jaw is slack and her eyebrows raise slightly. Normally, Pedro would apologize for raising his voice in such a manner, but he doesn’t. “She didn’t hurt you. You have no fuckin’ right to talk about her like that.”

You’re in your apartment, you've got your headphones in listening to You’re On Your Own, Kid, by Taylor Swift. Cleaning up around your kitchen. Your music goes quiet in your headphones, and you notice an incoming call from Pedro. You pause, you even feel your body freeze unsure what to do. If Sam were here, they would advise you not to answer it, but then you think – what if it’s an emergency? If it's an emergency – why doesn’t he just call Jenny?

The pair stare at each other for a moment, and suddenly he stands. She doesn’t protest him, her eyes just follow his movements as he frantically looks for and grabs his coat, throwing it on. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he says quietly, “but I think I should get going now.”

But then your heart pangs, if he isn’t calling Jenny, maybe it's because he thought of you first. You disconnect your headphones and slide the green button. 

“Hello?”

TAGLIST (IM SORRY FOR THE DOUBLE TAG!! THIS IS A REPOST!!)

@djarinsstuff @doodlebob-mp3

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@peqchsoup @surazim @melanie451 @krisviciousx @elliescumsl0t @theanxietyqueen17 @vasiliki-koshka

You weren't even sure if he was going to take you at first—you would've been upset if he didn't at least ask, but the two of you had kept your relationship rather private for personal reasons. You weren't ashamed or scared; you just didn't want people in your business. People knew he was in a long-term relationship; they just knew very little about it, and you wanted it to stay that way.

As the day was coming closer, he still hadn't asked yet – and honestly, it was starting to hurt your feelings a bit. He hadn't picked up on it, too invested in making sure he remembered his lines and that his suit would be properly fit and ironed for the big night. He had attended the Oscars before, but this would be the first time he presented. He wanted everything to be perfect. Who can blame him for that?

“What are you going to wear?” He asks you one night as he's in the kitchen reading over his lines for the one-hundredth time, the last time he was this dedicated to something, it was his lines for The Last Of Us, you were cozied up on the couch while watching Friends. “What?” You ask in return, not understanding the context of his question; he rounds the corner so he can face you. He thinks you're joking, but the confusion on his face settles when he sees your confused facial reaction. “To the Oscars? I figured we could match a little. Maybe my tie matches your outfit?”

“I'm going?” You say, sitting up a little, clearly very excited. Pedro raises his eyebrows as if it's the most obvious thing ever. “Duh! Why wouldn't you? You're my partner, of course. I want you there.” Pedro puts his note cards down. “Did you think I wouldn't take you to see me present at The Oscars?” He asks while walking closer to you, and you stand. “You never asked!”

“I didn't think I needed to!”

Given the short notice, you didn't get one of those big, over-the-top outfits you've seen on TV. growing up, but you don't mind that. Because you're literally attending the fucking Oscars. Your outfit is simple yet elegant, and Pedro still thinks you're the most attractive person there. He looks extremely good too, since you were both wearing black he didn't add the tie to his suit, he has on a white turtleneck underneath his jacket, and my goodness, he looks good. The “red” carpet this year is champagne in color rather than red, but you don't mind it, you think it makes your black clothes stand out more with such light backgrounds as people took photos, the only negative so far was an interviewer asking Pedro rather questionable questions—but other than that, the night so far was a blast. 

The nice thing about being out of the spotlight is that nobody wants to interview you, you get to stand there and look pretty beside Pedro, listening to people call his name excitedly, though you're the one actually entering the event with him.

The room is packed, as you expected, still—there are so many people, some of them you've admired for years. It takes composure not to point to celebrities with their husbands, wives, partners, or friends excitedly to Pedro. You'd think dating one of the biggest names in Hollywood at the moment would train you to be calmer in situations like this, but honestly who can't feel a little excited when they're in the presence of Melissa McCarthy? You are literally in the presence of the woman who played Sookie in Gilmore Girls!

Pedro takes you to your seats, and you look around the room. It's everything you've imagined, from being a little kid to now, the elegance, the outfits, and you can't believe you're here. Pedro can easily sense your excitement, and he grabs your hand. “Is this everything you've dreamed of?” His tone is quiet, contrasting to everyone else around you two talking at a normal volume. You nod your head, turning to face him. “And more.”

It feels like you're sitting in those chairs forever until the award ceremony starts, though the seats were surprisingly more comfortable than how they looked. 

The host this year was Jimmy Kimmel—Pedro was on his show not all that long ago, he seemed like a rather decent guy and he was funny, which presumably would ease the nerves of those nominated and anxious about winning or losing tonight. 

You're holding hands as the lights dim, and Jimmy comes on stage to begin his speech, most of the jokes seemed to be centered about a mishap that happened last year. Though they never said any names, but everyone in the room knew who they were talking about… Kimmel mentions the people who play strong characters in the crowd, the camera pans to Pedro as he mentions “You have to go through the mandalorian to get to me.” and you laugh as Pedro gestures two fingers from his eyes to the camera to say I’m watching you. Some of his jokes, and he eventually brings in the presenters for the first category. Time flies a lot faster than you anticipated it would, and before you know it, Pedro is releasing your hand and whispering, “I'm up next.” You just barely had enough time to reach up and kiss his cheek, offering him good luck. Though you know he doesn’t need it, you know he’ll do great, he always does. You’re not sure who was the person that decided to pair him with Elizabeth Olsen, but they did their job well and you know that the internet is going to love it. 

While walking out – the crowd respectfully cheered, though having known Pedro for so long you can tell, even from your seat, that he was nervous. Shaking slightly, and his face was red. You’d think that being an actor he’d be used to standing in front of so many people, maybe it's because almost everyone in this room had the same profession as him or perhaps he never fully was ready for all the eyes. He had put his glasses on at some point and he looked very handsome, and you can confidently say that you’ve never seen a man so drop dead gorgeous and he was yours. The started by presenting “Best Documentary Short Film” – while Pedro didn’t say as much as Lizzy, his couple lines were delivered quickly yet professional, despite how nervous he was he didn’t stutter. He was the one to read out who the Oscar went to – The elephant whisperers, which you have never heard of before but still, the applause in the room seemed happy enough. He hands someone their oscar before standing off to the side while they give their speech. 

He knows roughly where you are, and he's trying to see if he can find you but in the sea of people that's a hard thing to do, he settles on looking in your area – you can definitely see the attempt he's trying to make, and you’re appreciative of his gesture. They also present “Best Animated Short Film”, one of the names gives Pedro an opportunity to make a joke, which he goes by simply grinning this goofy, big grin to the camera. It melts your heart a little, seeing him seem so happy on the stage. 

“Year of what, Pedro?” Lizzy asks, smiling widely while looking at her co-presenter, Pedro doesn’t take his eyes off the camera as he answers. “Well, you’ll find out when you watch this.” “How thrilling!” 

It's unfortunate that My Year Of Dicks didn’t win for the sheer comedy of it, but The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse seems just as deserving of it and the people who accepted the award seemed genuine in their speech. 

The Rhianna performance was incredible, as to be expected – her recent Superbowl performance was fantastic and this didn’t disappoint. You saw how excited Pedro was for her to sing, he had been talking about it before he even knew if it was going to happen or not, his wide grin and the way he squeezed your hand just a little tighter made it clear just how thrilled she was. She’s incredible when you’re driving in your car singing along, but she's absolutely jaw dropping in person. If you weren’t so infatuated with your boyfriend, you would say that she was the best part of the night without doubt. 

By the time the award ceremony was over, you were so tired that you weren’t even sure if you wanted to go to the after party, you’ll go anyway if Pedro wants to, he is the one who the people cared about after all. 

The two of you wait for a decent amount of people to leave the theater before you do, in order to avoid possibly losing each other in the crowd. You leave holding each others hands, which does not go unnoticed by journalists waited for celebrities to come out to get an interview in; unluckily for the two of you, Pedro gets flagged down by one, begrudgingly, he makes his way over to the woman in a white dress and microphone. “Pedro!” She says once the two of you are close enough, “It’s nice to meet you, big fan of The Mandalorian!” He remains polite, “Thank you.” he replies, his arm is tight around yours because he notices the journalist taking a few glances at you, and he thinks he knows what's coming. “I see you bought a guest! People online have been freaking out by the rare sighting of your partner.” he was right, “Yeah, I couldn’t not bring them with me to a big night like this!” he beams, while his patience for these people as of recently has gotten rather faulty and thin – he loves talking about you, and he's pretty well trained at pretending to be enjoying whatever conversation is happening. He truly means what he's saying, but he wishes he could be saying it so someone who's not going to write it in some article about how “He never talks about you enough” or whatever shit they can spin to get clicks. “Y/N, is it?” the reporter asks, now facing more to you than Pedro. You nod politely, but you too wish that you could get a move on to the car. “How does it feel to be dating Hollywood's biggest heartthrob?” This question makes you internally cringe, but you aren’t going to just walk away. You feign a pleasant smile – “I mean, it’s no different than if he was just a regular person heartthrob.” you say, “As for the people who are jealous of me for it, I get to go home with him at the end of the night.” You add with a playful wink to the camera, his hand squeezing yours, his laugh is quiet though you think if he could it would’ve been louder. His attention is on you, this sort of thing isn’t your thing to do, yet you’re handling it elegantly and he couldn’t be more proud.

You finally get away from the reporter, and he kisses you gently on the head. “I just want to say goodbye to Javiera,” he tells you, “Then we can go home.” 

“You don’t want to go to the after party?” you ask, you assume that he would – use the time to unwind before he's back on his high-stress schedule, he only shakes his head before saying. “No, I want to spend time with you for a little, God knows I’m going to be busy the next couple weeks and I just want to spend the rest of my night with you.” 

So you do, in your pajamas curled up on the couch watching whatever garbage television was on this late at night, you were fighting to stay awake – but you wanted to savor every moment of this you could get. Pedro was a very attentive partner, sometimes though work consumes him. It's one of his flaws that he has but hey, everyone has them. “You can go to sleep if you need to, mama.” he says quietly, the pet name he uses is purely affectionate, he's been saying it for years, still it makes your heart flutter like it's the first time he's ever said it. “I’m here, I’m not goin’ anywhere,” yet you shake your head. “No, I want to enjoy every moment of this…” he can hear just how tired you are, but he knows better than to argue about whether you should sleep or not. “Did you have fun tonight?” he asks instead. 

Your smile is wide, “Mm, yeah, I had fun bein’ with you. Next time though, I want more notice, and to be properly asked as your date.” This makes him chuckle, his grasp around you pulls you closer into your chest. “Dually noted.”

He wishes he still did, he wishes he had met you before he got this mentality of love is nothing but a world of hurt, maybe you could’ve changed his mind – if he's being realistic you have that power over him now, he's just too scared to admit it. He's too vulnerable to think that way of someone else right now. Once the whole thing with the crush is over, maybe things can somewhat go back to what they were. Stupid jokes and making fun of each other playfully in front of students, speaking of which – he thought that they wouldn’t realize the less amount of time you were spending in the classroom, but he was stupid to underestimate the memory of teenagers hellbent on something (they were hellbent on the two of you being in love, unbeknownst to him apparently).

He had them silently filling out a lab report whilst he graded papers from another class, one kid leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and looking over to his desk. “Mr. P,” he says, which causes Pedro to glance at him from his desk, “What's up, Arthur?” he asks, the student gets up from the lab chair, makes his way to the front desk, and grabs a tissue box. “Why doesn’t Ms. L/N come by anymore?” he asks, and Pedro’s stomach pangs – he quickly has to come up with a lie, he realizes that most of the kids in the class must be curious, too, because he can see them staring as he stiffens, but he takes a deep breath and says, “She's probably busy, she has work too,” he turns in his chair to look at Arthur, “She's probably busy and didn’t want to disturb the class anymore.” 

He heard a few whispers about a big fight that you two allegedly had that the kids were making up, some said it was about how often the two of you were visiting each other and others said some personal relationship stuff as their guess. Some kids even pick teams – he wants to scream. Everyone should be on your side, you're the innocent one here. He's just the broken-to-pieces new teacher, and there was no fight anyway! At least, he didn’t think so. 

Come to the end of the day he's packing up his bag, and cleaning up his classroom (sometimes you’d think he was babysitting third graders), but he gets distracted by knocking on his door, he looks up and sees you. You’re wearing this dress he likes, and your hair is styled in a way that he could just swoon for, but he can’t, so he stands up straight as you speak.

“Hey, long time no see.” 

“No kidding.” 

You chuckle a bit, stepping a little further into his classroom, and taking a seat on top of one of the desks, the one that he hadn’t put in the seat on top of yet. “Can we talk?” he thinks that he knows what this is about, but he doesn’t want to give anything away, so all he does is nod, set his broom down and close his classroom door before taking a seat in his chair. His focus on you for the first time in a while, sitting in front of you and consumed by only you. His mind wants him to run, to run far away, but he can’t, now after you asked to talk to him so sweetly. Though you did everything “sweetly” because you were a sweet person. You sigh, trying to think of the best way you want to phrase your question, but you just blurt it out – “Are we okay?” He pauses, thinking of the nature of his question, and he nods, “Yeah, why would you think otherwise?” He watches your face turn into slight anger, perhaps some sadness in it too. “Pedro, you act like I don’t exist,” you said it a lot harsher than what you intended, and yet, you didn’t regret saying it. He isn’t sure what to do, because honestly, he hadn’t expected you to say anything to him so he never planned for this. “‘m not,” he says flatly. “I'm just busy, Y/N.”

You consider that you’re being too far in your head, too accusatory of him if he was actually busy and you were coming out wrong in the situation. You take a deep breath, trying to think of a better way to express your feelings. So you start again, “I just feel like you’re avoiding me, and I’ve been trying to assure yourself that you’re not but it's getting harder and harder.” He knows you’ve made the effort, he's been getting more messages and you would offer your assistance in certain things more often than he did before. He feels bad, and it feels worse now that you’re in front of him expressing these feelings. “I had some kids tell me today that they’re on my side, and I don’t even know what that means.” he huffs, shrugging his shoulders. “Don’t worry about it–” 

“I’m pretty worried, Pedro!” again, you didn’t want to come right out and say your feelings like this, but you couldn’t help it. Once you realize his eyes are on you and he's calculating his response, you continue with what you were saying anyway. “They're talking about some fight that I didn't even know we had!"

“We never fought–”

“Really? because it feels like it.”

silence. 

He doesn't know what to say, and you feel like you have nothing more to add. You're waiting for him to add anything, to assure you more than “don't worry about it” and “I'm just busy”. Maybe it was ridiculous of you to think he owed you an apology, he didn't owe you anything. For sake of mind, though, you wanted him to tell you everything was okay between you two without brushed off excuses.

But he stays quiet, he doesn't say a word, he just looks at his hands on his desk, maybe he's thinking or maybe he's waiting until you leave. Either way, he was getting what he wanted, because you slipped yourself off your desk trying to blink back whatever tears were accumulating, and opened the door to his classroom, you looked at him for a second, trying to think of something else to say but nothing came to mind — so you just left. Any other circumstance and you would've waited, but all you wanted was a simple we're okay, I've been distant because ___. Not just “I'm busy. ” When you leave the room, you're sure to close the door behind you. You return to your classroom, closing your door as well.

When you leave his room, Pedro finds it difficult to keep his emotions contained, he wants to go into your classroom and yell at you—for making him care so much, making him scared to hurt you, making him miss another person like you're a part of him. He also wants to cry, and tell you exactly why he's doing this. He's not doing it maliciously, he's doing it to protect himself the only way he knows how. He also wants to protect you, but he sure as shit shouldn't make that decision for you. So all he does in the moment is cry at his desk. 

He wishes he met you sooner, maybe before he met Annabelle, or if he never met you at all, none of this would've happened. He has a printer at home, he could've just waited, but no he had to talk to you. He only did so because he saw no other opportunity, he wanted to meet you and didn't know how else he would've. Meeting you was both the best and worst thing to have happened to him since he got his divorce—and he thinks that he fucked it all up. You only want answers to his behavior and explanations, and you can't even get that from Pedro. If you did something, you want to know what exactly you did. He wouldn’t even give you that.

He was busy now, trying to formulate his thoughts. He started this, he knows that. He knows he has no right to feel this terrible about something when he started the situation but alas, he was fighting back the tears as he closed out his windows account and packed his things up for the day. He puts his backpack over his shoulder and leaves his classroom, closing the door behind him.

He looks at your room, and he thinks about going over. He stands there in thought for a while, all it takes is a couple steps – a couple steps, an apology and perhaps everything can go back to normal. All he has to do is knock on your door and beg for forgiveness and maybe you’ll be kind enough to forgive him. He doesn’t deserve it, though, at least he feels that way. Hes sure you do too. The only thing thats stopping him is his own mind, but his own mind is what got him into this mess in the first place. Fuck it. 

You’re packing your things up slowly, assuring you don’t forget anything that you may need behind. You’re still upset, angered, and its making every small thing annoy you – like the water bottles your students left behind or the pencils that were forgotten about. Of course it wasn’t really about the bottles or the pencils, but they were inconveniences to your attitude right now. 

You’re just about done, you’re ready to leave when the door opens and you assume its Sam – so without even looking, all you do is sigh and say, “Not today, Sam. I don’t have the energy.” but what shocked you was the fact that it wasn’t Sam, it was Pedro. You could tell he had tears ready to break in his eyes but he was doing everything to avoid that from happening, his vision busy be blurry. You both stand there in silence for a moment looking at each other. Is he going to say something? You’re about to come out and say something, but he finally speaks. 

“I’m scared.” his voice is quiet, it cracked, too, theres this emphasis on his words that make your body shiver, you’re stunned, unsure on how to respond, lucky for you, he continues. “I’m scared of being hurt. I’m scared of hurting you. I’m scared of liking you.” he gives up on keeping his tears, he feels just how wet his cheeks are and how warm his face is. Hes suddenly aware of how congested his nose feels. “I miss you, you know that? But I can’t do this. I can’t allow myself to be hurt.” 

“You think I would hurt you?”

“No!” he quickly exclaims, putting his bag down on the ground. Hes suddenly aware that he might be here longer than he thought – in his mind, he was already begging you for forgiveness, or maybe you understood his point and the two of you were friends again, not whatever this limbo shit you two were doing. “I’m so vulnerable right now, Y/N, I just got divorced. I can’t be around someone like you – so.. Perfect. Annabelle took a part of me and I can’t let myself be in a position where someone can take more pieces. I wish I met you sooner.” You’re confused, because everything hes saying sounds like a breakup, but you weren’t in a relationship – unless this was his way of ending your friendship, you’re not exactly following most of what hes saying. Though still, you have that pang in your heart and your blood runs cold. You’re frozen in his face, even when he steps closer to you. “If I met you sooner, I would love to know what could’ve been, if anything, but Y/N–” you put your hand up, and he pauses waiting for you to add something. 

You take a shaky breath, “I get it, Pedro.” your voice is quiet, like hes fragile, if your voice is too loud that you’ll break him, and perhaps you’re right about that. “You don’t have to say anything more. I get it.”

You knew that whatever feelings you had for Pedro you couldn’t indulge on anyways, the age gap, the fact that you worked together, his divorce, nothing was working out for you two. Its not meant to be, all these things you wanted to ignore became so clear to you, it felt like a slap in the face. “I want–” he says quietly, “I want to be with you all the time, you don’t quite understand how much I think about you. But I think about how I will only hurt you and that kills me.” 

Its true, he thinks about how happy you could be before he goes to bed and sometimes he doesn’t know what he dreams of – but he knows that when he wakes up he feels a tightness in chest like the saddest thing in the world happened to him. He dreads going into work because you’re there and you seem so happy, and he wants to preserve that happiness. You look best with a smile on your face, you make so many other people around you smile, who would he be to take that away? He can’t do it, no matter how much hes willing to risk the chance just to be around you more, he thinks about risking it to see if perhaps you would make him happier. Then he comes back to reality, the moment in front of him. He realizes that hes hurt you, hes made you sad, and that feeling of tightness in his chest returns. He can’t even recognize himself, this isn’t how he normally is. “Please understand,” he whispers, his hands reach out for yours, but he quickly takes them away when he realizes what situation that might put you in. “You’re the first person since my ex-wife to make me feel the way I do, I feel so scared to have these feelings. I don’t know what to do, how to care for you the way I should. I don’t know if its still too soon.”

He feels the kind of hurt only love makes, he hopes you don’t feel the same, but deep down he knows you do. He knows that he caused it, he knows that theres nothing he can do to fix it now. He can ramble all these excuses but your heart is hurting because of him. He doesn’t know how to fix it, if he can, but he so desperately wants to. He stands in your colorful English classroom – a place so familiar to him, yet suddenly the room seems strange. Like he doesn’t belong in there, and maybe he doesn’t anymore. You’re standing in front of him on the brink of tears and he doesn’t know what to do. He takes a step back, his heart pounds faster and his chest tightens, he suddenly can’t breathe and the room is spinning. He’s only able to whisper out a couple of apologies before he grabs his bag and scurries out of your room. He wants to run, he felt like running away was the only relief he would get from the panic he felt, the anxiety, but the hallways of the school feel like they’re getting longer with every step he takes. Hes in an endless loop, this was an absolute nightmare and he doesn’t know what to do, he regrets going into your classroom, but he feels like at the same time it was the best thing hes done since he started distancing himself away from you. 

He wonders if you’re okay in your classroom, there's an itch in him to go back and check on you but he just can’t, not now, because he knows that would only make him feel worse. He hopes you know how sorry he is, he hopes you know that he didn’t mean for things to end up like this. He knows he fucks up; he just doesn’t know if he can fix it.

TAGLIST (some people only asked to be reminded for part 2 but I put your name here to make it easier, if you want to be removed just let me know I won't be hurt) + sorry if your tag isn't working:((

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