papapascal

[papapascal]

Endure & Survive (HBO Joel Miller)

[Add. Dark Windows]

A nudge against my back has my eyes cracking open. The room is mostly dark besides the moon's light peeking between the curtains of the window. I catch sight of the digital clock on my nightstand, and it's only a little past midnight.

Panting begins and the nudge I felt not too long ago turned into jabs. I quickly sit up in the bed, looking over at the man laying beside me. The light from the moon cast over his face, revealing beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and his hair damp and matted to his skin. His chest pumped up and down at a rapid pace while his face twisted up. He cries out of what sounds like pain.

"Joel!" I grip his shoulder to shake him awake. "Joel, wake up!"

In an instant he's on top of me, his hands are wrapped around my throat. I don't think about it when I gasp and my hands grab at his. His fingers pressed deep, cutting off my air flow. I pull at his hands in an attempt to rip them away but to no avail. I didn't want to scream or else the town would hear and come running.

I resorted to smacking at his arms with as much force as I could muster while my vision dimmed.

"JOEL!" I cry out with the last bit of oxygen I had left in my lungs.

His hands release me.

I gasp for air like a fish out of water, and then I begin coughing when the oxygen enters my lungs too quickly. I grab at my throat when I feel a sharp pain when I swallow.

"Oh my god, Y/N, I am so sorry!" I could feel the weight of his body on top of me disappear.

My chest is heaving up and down and I finally regain my vision. I look at him with wide eyes and my heart beating hard against my chest, I could practically hear it in my ears.

"I can't believe I just did that."

He's not looking at me, but he's not looking at anything in particular either. He's staring into space, in disbelief of his actions.

I shake my head, sitting up. "It's okay, Joel, it's okay!" I sit up on my knees and try to hug him, but he shoves his hand against my chest to stop me.

"No, Y/N, I could've killed you!"

I force his hand back down to his lap. "Relax! I'm okay. We're okay!" My hands grip his face on both sides to force him to look at me. His hands immediately cover mine.

Joel's eyes are wide, lit up with guilt and fear. I've never been able to read them before.

"We're okay," I repeat a lot softer this time.

His body trembles before he's bursting into tears. It's like his body couldn't trap it any longer.

"I relive it in my sleep!"

"Oh, Joel!" Tears threaten to fall from my own eyes while my bottom lip wobbled. My thumbs caress his face.

"You should've left me there!" He shouts, his trembling hands gripping mine tight, almost like if he let go he'd slip away. "There's no other way to escape the hell that is my own brain!" He squeezes his eyes shut, pushing the tears out to dribble down his face.

My mind was scrambling to find a way to calm him. Seeing his emotions take over like this has left me in shambles.

"Look at me, please."

Joel opens his eyes.

"I'm someone who genuinely believes right place, right time, and that's exactly what it was. It wasn't your time, and it still isn't! You have fought like hell to get to this point. Endure and survive. Isn't that what you told me that night?"

He squeezes his eyes tight again and breathes in a shaky breath between his cracked lips.

I drop my hands away from his face. "If you were really done you would have let go long before I showed up." I sit beside him. "You're not alone, Joel. I'm here to help you fight."

I grab his left hand into my right one.

Joel inhales and exhales more shaky breaths, but his hand squeezes mine, and I take that as a thankful response.

He doesn't say a word, just sits in silence. I sit there with him, trying my best to stay awake. I force my eyelids to stay open, fighting the sleep that desperately tried to overthrow my decision to stay awake. Eventually I fall victim to it.

When I wake up I'm laid on my side, like how I usually sleep. I assumed my body became uncomfortable sleeping upright that it subconsciously adjusted during the night. The bed feels cold, that extra body heat missing beside me.

"Joel?"

I sit up and turn to look over my shoulder only to find that he wasn't beside me.

"Joel!?"

I quickly jump out of the bed, my mind racing with the worst case scenarios. I snatch up my robe and tug it on as I practically run through the house in search of him and repeatedly call out his name.

He's nowhere to be found inside the house.

I'm on the verge of a panic attack until I throw open the front door.

The man sitting on my front porch step peeks over his shoulder at me. "I'm fine," he says gruffly and turns back.

I release a sigh of relief.

"I thought you left," I say.

"And where would I go?"

I take a seat beside him, pulling my robe tight to my body.

"I don't know," I mumble with a shrug.

He just makes a 'hmph' and stares out at the other houses.

I didn't check the time before I went looking for him, but telling by the way the sun breached the horizon and the sky was a mixture of pastels I guessed it was around six in the morning. There's no telling how long Joel's been out here.

A flock of birds freely fly across the pink and blue sky.

"Why did you come out here?" I ask.

He sighs and bends foreword so his elbows are resting on his thighs and his hands are folded and dangled out in front of him between his legs. "Didn't want to hurt you again." I catch the way his eyes cast down to the ground.

I examine the side of his face. He hasn't trimmed his facial hair in a good minute, and I wonder if that's because it makes his sunken cheeks look fuller. He's lost weight since I met him.

"I was fighting back." His eyes cut over briefly to catch a glimpse of my face before flicking back down. "But she still-"

His voice gets caught in his throat, so he coughs. He shakes his head, and I assume it's to say 'I can't continue'.

I shift closer to him and wrap my arms around his body from the side. My head leans against his shoulder. "You survived, Joel."

"Yeah, but at what cost?"

"For you, and for me."

Joel doesn't say another word. I could feel his head turn and his eyes on me. He's just looking at me. I move my head so I could peek up at him. He was in fact looking at me but with a fond expression. The rising sun illuminating against the side of his face and reflecting against his eyes told me everything I needed to know—those dark windows will one day lead to a well lit room.

"I wouldn't have made it if I didn't have you holding my hand."

- Control by Zoe Wees

[papapascal]

He looks like a Multi-Billionaire. Could be a fanfic idea? Or a one-shot? 👀🤭

[papapascal]

One-Shot Master list

Pedro Pascal

Bad Day

Missed You

Classroom Crush

Joel Miller

Dark Windows

Endure & Survive (NEW)

[papapascal]

Classroom Crush (Pedro Pascal)

The strap of my bag is practically creating an imprint on my shoulder from how tight I was pulling on it, but also because it’s holding two textbooks, a laptop, and a few folders for my classes today. One of my scheduled classes always gets me feeling giddy and nervous all at the same time. Every Tuesday and Friday I attend the same classroom for two different courses, both of them obviously taught by the same Professor.

Today is Friday, and that means I’ll be there for my Feminist Theory class. History has become my passion, but even more now since the man who teaches them is pretty easy on the eyes. There’s nothing more attractive than a man teaching a women’s history class and knows exactly what he’s talking about. Our class is mostly made up of women, and a few men sprinkled about. Let’s just say this Professor has our undivided attention. Half is looks, half is his exuberant personality, which just makes information absorption a lot easier.

“Are you ready for class?” My best friend appears beside me as I’m in route to class, and the smirk on her face was evident that she was teasing me. She knows I have a crush. “You’ve got this little pep in your step. It’s actually quite adorable. Professor Pascal would be flattered to know how excited you are for his class.” She then gives out a laugh at the way I tensed up and focused on how I was walking so I wouldn’t have that ‘pep’ in my step.

Great, now I’m going to be hyper aware of how I’m walking to his class from now on.

“Oh, shut up!” I grumble.

We turn the corner to head down a hallway when we hear music. It gets louder the closer we get to his classroom.

“Is that—“ F/N begins but pauses to listen closer. “Is that Beyoncé?”

We step into the classroom, following behind other students. They start laughing, and I couldn’t figure out why because they were blocking my view, but when they disperse to head up the stairs to their seat, I see it. Our Professor is dancing. Terribly. And every time Beyoncé asks ‘Who runs the world?’ he’d shout ‘GIRLS’.

F/N began to laugh. I cracked an amused grin.

“What is happening!?” F/N asks loud enough so she can be heard over the music.

“Good afternoon, ladies!” Professor Pascal greets us, ignoring F/N’s question and slightly out of breath.

Behind him is a large screen that has a quote pulled up: There is no limit to what we, as women, can accomplish - Michelle Obama.

Once everyone is seated he uses a small black remote that turns the music off. He perches himself on his stool. He looks very sophisticated for someone who was just dancing to a Beyoncé track—a brown cardigan, a white t-shirt underneath, green, baggy pants, and black, shiny shoes. He’s also wearing a pair of black, bulky glasses on his face. His hair looked groomed but also like he just crawled out of bed. It’s hard to explain, but it looked perfect on him.

“Wow, I’m going to be feeling this in the morning,” he jokes before taking a deep breath. “Don’t question it if I end up laying on the floor in the middle of class.”

Everyone gives out a laugh in unison.

“You’re getting too old, Mr. Pascal,” one of the men in the front says.

Professor Pascal shoots him a glare as his hand reaches back and rubs his lower back. “Fuck you.”

We all laugh again.

“Good afternoon, class! Today is March first, which means for the next thirty days we will be celebrating Women’s History Month, although, we should be celebrating our women and appreciating our women everyday!”

Simultaneously, we’re all clapping.

“Lucky for us though, we get to do just that, even when it isn’t March. There’s people in this world that don’t understand why we devote an entire month to women. I would simply ask them, why not? One day isn’t enough to teach the countless accomplishments women have made that have greatly impacted our history…our lives…our world…and as individuals.”

I’m mesmerized by the way the words flow through his mouth without a slideshow. He knows what he’s talking about. He’s a proud man who is proud to celebrate women. He recognizes women. There’s nothing better a man can do.

He goes on to tie in the quote on the screen before he jumps into the curriculum. He keeps his voice loud and clear so nothing is unheard or misunderstood. He’s confident in his education. He loves women in a way it’s harder for other men to do the same. And how do you not form a crush on someone like that? He keeps my faith in humanity alive.

I enjoy the brief moments he lays his beautiful brown eyes on me.

“I’m going to throw another quote at you, because we like quotes in this class. G.D Anderson—feminism isn’t about making women strong…women are already strong.”

There’s a ‘WHOO’ from the back of the classroom.

“It’s about changing the way the world perceives that strength,” he finishes. He’s quiet for a second to allow us to soak in the words before proceeding. “And you know what, I’ll throw another one at you. Melinda Gates—a woman with a voice is, by definition, a strong woman.”

Clapping fills the room.

“We’re going to name off some strong, impactful women. Just throw them at me.”

“Frida Kahlo.”

“Harriet Tubman.”

“Wilma Rudolph.”

“Clara Barton.”

“My mom.”

“Love that answer!” Professor Pascal exclaims, pointing a finger in the direction of a man who said his mom.

“Me!” I answer loud enough.

He claps his hands together. “Yes!” His eyes are wide and practically sparkling. I couldn’t tell if it was just me but he always lights up when I participate. “If I was capable of doing a cartwheel I fucking would!”

“Give it a try,” one of the students call out.

“Alright!” He raises up from the stool, holds his arms up high above his head, and jerks his body to one side, making it seem as if he was actually going to attempt a cartwheel but not. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” He chuckles and slides back onto the stool.

“No, try it!” Another student exclaims.

“I think I’ll have bigger issues than a sore back if I attempt it. Knowing me I’d tumble off the stoop here,” he says, hand pointing down to the single stair that creates a step up to the stage-like platform he’s set up on. “I bet you guys would like that, that’s why you want me to do it.”

“Psh, no,” the same guy he cursed out earlier says.

“I’m too old, right, Randy?” Professor Pascal shoots.

I always forget the guy’s name even though him and our Professor always banter during class. They have a great, playful student-teacher relationship. They’re always amusing the rest of the class. Something inside me envies that…

“I mean, you can prove me wrong right now,” Randy says, shrugging.

“There’s nothing wrong with being old, Randy, but if you keep it up you better have quick hands to catch a flying stool. Anyways!” He flashes us a pearly white smile while we all laugh. “We are surrounded by women who are impactful that you forget that you, as an individual and a woman, leave an impact as well. Your actions and voice are just as strong and important.”

He claps his hands together. “Alright, that’s all I’ve got for you guys today! Enjoy your weekend, stay safe, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Is there anything you wouldn’t do?” Randy asks.

“Exactly. Go have fun!” Professor Pascal exclaims.

Everyone begins gathering their belongings and filing out of the classroom while he turns the music back on. He’s back to dancing, even a few students joining him while they’re leaving. I giggle while still packing my things, shoving my textbook and unit folder back down into my bag. F/N gives me a little wave as she leaves without me.

All of the seats are empty except where I’m sitting, eventually standing up and slinging my bag over my shoulder.

“I enjoyed your participation today, Y/N.”

I look over to find Professor Pascal approaching me, hands stuffed in his pants and a thoughtful smile on his face to match his kind eyes.

“Oh, yeah, it’s a good class to participate in,” I say, and it’s the truth.

“Gotta keep it lively in here, you know? People should be excited to learn about women. It can’t just be another history class.”

I pull the strap of my bag tight on my shoulder. “You’re doing a great job at it. Probably one of the best classes I’m taking. And really, it all depends on the teacher when it comes to how we absorb the information. You keep it real and exciting,” I say.

He chuckles, and I notice the dimples in his cheeks. They make him appear younger—child-like.

“Well, I don’t want to hold you up any longer. I’m sure you’d like to begin your weekend,” he says.

My brain immediately flipped through anything and everything I could possibly say to get me to stick around a little longer. I’m not quick with thinking when I’m in the presence of someone I believe is attractive—man or woman—but today it’s going at full speed. “Wait, could you maybe help me out with the paper that is due on Monday? I’m almost finished with it, but just need help with a few info pieces.”

“Absolutely!” He perks up and pulls his hands out of his pockets while I scramble to throw my stuff back down into the seat. “What ya got for me?”

I flip the top open on my computer and my paper immediately pops up on the screen since I was working on it earlier during class while he was discussing a topic I’m writing about. “I just need a few more things to back my thesis. Like, I have an idea of something but I don’t know how to incorporate it.”

Professor Pascal sits beside me.

“I wrote down a few potential pieces to add though,” I say as I whip out my unit folder and pull out a loose-leaf piece of paper that had my written ideas and citations scribbled down on it.

He reviewed what I had written down, nodding his head as he read, and I’m assuming liking what I had written. He points out the best ones to back my thesis, and then he’s rattling off more from the top of his head that could strengthen my argument further.

I enjoy being in his presence, especially this close to him. The aroma of his cologne lingers off of him and fills my nose. He smells just as good as he looks. He’s then pointing to something on the screen, but I’m too busy watching his hand to listen to anything he’s saying. There’s a tattoo between the space that separates his thumb and index finger. It looks like a bullseye. Simple, but makes me wonder what the meaning is behind it.

“You still with me, Y/N?”

I snap out of my thoughts the second I hear my name. “Huh?”

He begins laughing at me, eyes scrunched up to reveal crows feet, and his face looking absolutely squish-able. Who knew men could be adorable? “I asked if you were still with me, but I think that ‘huh’ just answered my question!”

“Oh!” My cheeks fill up with heat, so I know they’re tomato red. “I’m sorry, I think I just spaced out a little. Sorry.”

“Here.” His large hand slides the paper in front of him. “Got a pen?”

I reach down into my bag, and my fingertips touch a familiar plastic, and I fish out a pen, handing it to him. He gently takes it from me and begins to scribble down I guess the information I missed. “Apply this to your fifth paragraph.” He writes the number ‘5’ next to what he wrote. “And then this…” he jots down more words, “for your conclusion.” He writes ‘conclusion’ next to that one. “But your paper is phenomenal so far. How you transition between each argument and topic is beautiful.”

I could kiss him right now. I could press my palms against his scruffy cheeks and press my lips against his and just experience the warmth of him, or even his hand against my neck. For someone who is a very proud woman, I’d risk anything to have a chance with him. He’s too professional to sneak around and create a romantic connection with a student like me. He’s older. Way older. It’s unforeseeable to believe he would pursue someone as young as me.

He’s sliding the paper back in front of me. “I enjoy having you in my class,” he says.

We connect eyes, and for a brief moment his eyes flick down to my lips and then back up to my eyes. It could also just be my imagination. I’d be delusional to think he’s attracted to one of his students. It was my imagination.

“Just finish this up on Monday. You can turn it in late, even. A lot of work has gone into this paper, I can tell. Just go enjoy your weekend, okay?” He smiles softly before getting up from the seat.

I close my laptop and slide it into my bag, along with my unit folder that I slid the loose leaf paper into. “So I get special privileges?”

“If you tell anyone I just might have to kill you,” he jokes. “Now get out. You’ve already wasted thirty minutes of your weekend sitting in my classroom.”

“Alright, alright, I’m getting out!” I pull my bag over my shoulder.

“Git! Git!” He’s waving me out like an old man trying to chase me off his lawn. “Don’t touch that paper until Monday, you hear!?”

I give him a thumbs up while I’m scampering out of his classroom.

[papapascal]

Missed You (Pedro Pascal)

I haven't seen him in what feels like months, even though it's only been a few weeks. I know he's busy. I know he's trying his best. I know he's doing what he can for me. But being home by myself makes the nights feel longer while he's miles away. If anything were to happen it would take a few hours flight to get back home to my side, or vice versa. I think that's the part that bothers me most. He's not within my grasp, and I'm not within his.

Pedro told me he'd be home. He never said when, though. I took off work to wait, just in case he were to show up this morning, or this afternoon, or this evening. He didn't show up. I took off work for this. I couldn't even sleep the night before because I was too excited to see his face, but also feel the safety jacket of his arms around me.

I'm startled awake, immediately jumping into my fight or flight. I let out a scream when my hands touch a warm body close to mine and I begin to wriggle in the chair in attempt to escape. My vision is blurred from sleep.

"Y/N!" I hear a familiar voice, and he sounded startled himself, and then his hands grab my arms. "It's just me!"

I grab his arms too. I feel stunned and I'm shaking. My heart beats hard against my chest. I thought for sure my biggest fear had become a reality: a strange man breaking into mine and my boyfriend's home knowing I'm alone.

"Pedro," I sigh.

"It's me," he says softly.

Relief washes over me, but it's soon blanketed with anger. I yank my arms from his grasp.

"Y/N..."

I look him in his face while he stands directly in front of me, the lamp illuminating half of his face while the other side is shadowed, and his eyes rimmed with glasses. He appears to be dumbfounded by my reaction.

"You never texted or called me!" I spit out bitterly.

He frowns.

"And then you're just going to show up during the night and scare the shit out of me!?"

He shakes his head. "Sweetheart, that wasn't my intent-"

"But you did!" I cut him off.

My face feels hot to the touch. It's probably paired with a red tint on my skin.

I could see his eyes shifting to look into each of my eyes. He's probably trying to come up with another excuse. I could still feel my body shaking.

"I was late for my flight, so I was in a rush. By the time I got off the plain I figured you were in bed. Didn't want to wake you," he explains.

"You didn't say anything before your flight," I argue.

"Y/N, I've been up since four in the morning yesterday filming little stuff. By the time I got finished with that I had to rush back to the hotel, grab my things, and get going to the airport. I didn't have any time." He kneels down in front of me and slides his hands over my thighs. "I apologize."

A wave of emotions crashes into me, and then I'm breaking down. A sob escapes my lips. The image of his face distorts from the tears that fill my eyes and pour down my cheeks. I bend over and put my face in my hands.

He's still for a moment and it feels like he's just staring at me with this clueless look on his face. His hands are still on my thighs, but I feel one of his thumbs softly caress me.

"Y/N." His voice is soft and comforting. "Look at me."

I shake my head.

"Please look at me."

Not immediately, but I eventually lift my head up and away from my hands. I hate for him to see me like this. I meet his brown eyes. He's not the most serious person, but when it comes to me and my feelings he's the most mature person I have ever seen.

"Shhh," he hushes, both of his thumbs caressing me.

I try to stop crying altogether, but then I begin to hiccup, and my breath stuttering as my body reacts to the overload of emotions and stress. I close my eyes so I don't have to keep looking at his face. I love his face, but not the look he's giving me right now. He's trying to read me. Trying to understand where all of this is coming from. He's also confused. I've never blown up on him like his before.

"That's it. Now take a deep breath for me," he instructs.

I take in a deep, stuttering breath, hold it for a couple seconds, and slowly exhale. His hand on my right thigh disappears but then he's grabbing my hand. His skin is warm.

"Take another deep breath for me."

I do just that.

I feel calmer, but still hiccuping. I also feel a mess. Sticky cheeks from my tears, a dripping, red nose and swollen eyes and lips. It's probably one of the worst states he could possibly see me in.

"Can I see those pretty eyes again?"

I couldn't help but grin just a tiny bit before opening my eyes. I'm met with a gentle smile but sad eyes.

"What happened, babe?"

"I thought you were somebody else," I murmur.

His brows knit together. "Who?"

I shrug. "I don't know..."

"So you were afraid I was just...anybody?"

I nod.

I see the moment of realization on his face when the crease on his forehead softens and eyes grow a little wider.

"Is this something that bothers you often?" He asks this time.

I nod once again, afraid that if I open my mouth I'll just cry again.

Pedro gets up from his kneeling position, using the arm of the chair to assist him. "Come here." He motions for me to stand up too.

I get up from the chair, and as soon as his arms open up I'm forcing myself into his chest with my arms wrapped around him. As soon as I feel his arms secure themselves around me it's almost like every bit of worry and fear dissipates from my body. His familiar scent gives off a calming effect. The safety and comfort I'm feeling also makes me recognize just how exhausted I feel.

To be honest, I haven't slept properly since he left for business. The world is so scary today, and with his rising fame it puts me on edge to know that he's out there and I'm here.

"I've missed you," I whisper in his ear.

Pedro's arms tighten around me, even a single hand running up the back of the t-shirt, that was once his that I claimed long ago, to rub my back. "I've missed you too, baby." His lips press a kiss to the side of my head.

[papapascal]

That feeling when you read a fanfic that’s just right, that’s just what you needed and your entire soul sort of just lights up with the possibilities and miracles the universe has to offer

[papapascal]

Wow, I haven’t been on here in AGES. I was on here back when One Direction was relevant. Tumblr doesn’t hit like it used to. But the writing content be fire on here, so it’s good to be back. I also take requests for one-shots, so feel free to send those. Maybe I’ll make some special posts specifically for Tumblr and post some different stuff on Instagram (where I also post my one-shots, and Wattpad as well).

[papapascal]

Dark Windows (HBO Joel)

It's been a year and a half since I rescued him. Since I found him bleeding out, on the verge of his final breath. Sometimes I dream about it. I know they're flashbacks. His swollen face gashed and bruised. He looked dead upon first glance. I remember him shaking his head as best as he could when I told him that he'd be okay. I don't think he wanted to be okay. I think he wanted to succumb to his injuries.

He's healed now, but scars scatter his old face and mind. He lives with me in a safe town, and far away from where I originally found him. I couldn't risk the people who wanted him dead to find him still alive. He won't tell me why they wanted him dead.

"Joel." He's sitting at the dining table, a bowl of soggy cereal in front of him. He hasn't touched it since I gave it to him thirty minutes ago. He's still wearing the red and black plaid button-up and blue jeans since the other day. He's 'slept' in it for two days. He does this on the occasion. It's the depression. He isn't living. He's just breathing with a beating heart. Simply surviving. "Everything okay?"

His eyes finally but slowly move away from the table but looks me dead in the eyes. There wasn't a single light in those dark, aged eyes. He's seen too much. They're empty.

"Hey," I speak softly as I walk around behind him and rub a gentle hand onto his broad shoulder. He doesn't react. "I know you didn't sleep well last night. Did you maybe want to talk?" My other hand rubs over his other shoulder and then sliding both of my hands down to his chest and interlocking so I was practically hugging him from behind. His head tilted to lean against mine.

I've learned he enjoys physical touch, and that he's also deaf in his right ear, so I speak to him on his left. I've asked him why that is. He tells me an accident, but never goes into detail.

"I'm okay," is all he says.

He doesn't tell me much, just says he's ready for a fresh start. It's hard to believe when he's staring into space and sweating and crying in his sleep from the reoccurring nightmares. His panic attacks grow worse with every week that goes by. Sometimes I'm afraid he's having a heart attack. He's prone to them at his age. I've tried convincing him to meet with the Psychiatrist. He refuses, says he'll handle it. His best way of handling it is not sleeping at all and bottling it up. The exhaustion has only aged him and compromised his immune system.

"You're tired, Joel," I state the obvious. I turn my head and press a kiss against his head. "I think maybe if you talk about it you'll—"

"I said I'm okay!" He cuts me off, his voice strong but bitter. It almost shakes the China cabinet pressed against the wall to our left while I feel it reverberate through my body. "I tell you this everyday!"

"And everyday you don't convince me."

There's a moment of silence. I could practically feel the anger building, and building, ready to burst like a ticking time bomb.

He's ripping my arms away before I could even register what is happening.

"Joel!" I yelp.

He jumps up from his chair. "We've already had this conversation, Y/N, and I'm not having it again!"

I try to reach for his hand in an attempt to calm him but he yanks it away.

"Don't touch me!"

"Maybe if you talk about it—"

"I'm not fucking talking about it!" He swipes the bowl off of the table, sending it flying across the mahogany table and shattering against the wall. I let out a gasp when it shatters. Cereal is sliding down the wall. He grabs the chair he was sat in and violently shoves it into the table. "Especially with you!"

There's a pain in my chest. I couldn't tell whether it was anxiety or actual hurt. "I thought-"

"See, that's your problem!" In the blink of an eye he's in my face. "You do all of this fucking thinking! Just stop! All of it! The thinking and doing! The thinking and assuming!"

I felt minuscule underneath his overbearing shadow of his body in front of me. His jaw tense, fists clenched, and eyes hard as stone. I'm not used to this behavior being directed at me. I just shrink down and stare into his burning eyes.

"I need you to stop!" He's stern, like he means it, and threatening if I don't listen.

I'm unable to speak. I swallow hard but it gets caught up in my throat because now the tears are surfacing. "Joel," I choke out, eyes blinking and my sight becoming blurred.

Joel's hard exterior doesn't soften as he glowers at me. He's in different form. "You need to mind your business! You should've minded it almost two years ago!"

My bottom lip wobbles, but I bite it to stop. I just shake my head. He's just a blob of madness as my tears distorts his face. I'm scared. "D-Don't hurt m-me," I'm able to get out.

The man I no longer recognized stepped away, his facial expression never changing. "They beat me with a fucking golf club, Y/N! Some little girl got her panties in a bunch because I killed her father! I can't even fucking blame her!"

I just stare at him, shaking, while he paces the dining room. I'm stood frozen in my spot. I didn't know what to say or do.

"The same man who tried to take the life of a child to make a vaccine!" He pauses. "A child, Y/N," and his voice weakens as he finishes. He leans forward on the dining table with his hands pressed flat against the surface. "I had a second chance. I wasn't going to lose her like I lost my Sarah! Ellie became my purpose. You know how long I've gone without having a purpose?"

I still haven't moved from my spot. His eyes on me made me feel anxious. The words flowing from his lips made no sense to me, so it only horrified me more than his behavior.

"Too damn long, Y/N." He pushes upright from leaning on the table. "I thought I did right by her, but in reality I just failed again! I cared deeply for that girl, lied to her thinking it was the best thing for her, but little did I know that lie dug my fucking grave!"

Gulping, the hard knot in my throat finally goes down and I'm relieved to finally form words. "You didn't fail." Probably wasn't the best set of words, but they were words and something I genuinely believed.

Joel laughs, but it was nowhere near genuine. It was to mock me. "You can't be fucking serious, right?" He chuckles and shakes his head. "I got my fucking face whacked in and left to die!" He shouts.

I close my eyes because I didn't want to see the anger on his face. The darkness behind my eyelids only allowed the image of his face beaten and bloodied to penetrate my brain. I could almost throw up right now.

"I failed her, Y/N! I was supposed to protect her, but instead I got my ass kicked and all she could do was watch!"

I open my eyes when I hear his voice waver.

There's tears in his eyes, one falling loose down his cheek and dribbling down until it reaches his salt and pepper facial hair.

I force my legs to move and then approach him across the room. My arms open up for him, but he holds a hand out to stop me.

"No!" He barks and even cringes at his own angry voice. "I don't need your comfort or sympathy. You wanted me to talk, so I am." He sighs. "I'm sorry." His voice this time is a lot softer to my surprise. I like it soft.

"Who is Ellie?" Is all I could say. It was probably in my best interest to console him with my words, but the question nagged at me since he said her name.

He seemed hesitant by the way his eyes shifted and his hand subconsciously rubbed at the back of his neck. "She was...my partner. She was handed off to me to take her to Colorado since she was immune."

"Immune? To the-"

"Yes." He was quick with his answer, almost like he didn't want to hear me say it. "They were going to use her to make a vaccine. I wasn't under the impression they were going to take her life in order to make it, nor did I think an attachment would form. She's such a great kid. I did what I had to do to protect her. At least I thought I did..."

"And Sarah?"

This time he swallows hard. "She's-"

He pauses to wipe at his eyes with his palms and clear his throat.

"Sarah is my daughter. She was shot and killed by a soldier..."

The urge to wrap my arms around him was strong, and I couldn't help how I gravitated closer to him. This is the first time he's ever been completely vulnerable with me. The more he talks the more the hard exterior comes down like a warrior lowering his shield.

"You're a good man, Joel. I am so sorry that you had to struggle this much in this life," I say.

He yanks his chair back out and plops down into it. His body slumps, tired. "That bitch couldn't have beat me any harder than life has been," he says and kind of snickers.

I pull a chair out beside him and take a seat. "Can we please find a solution? This isn't healthy. I want you to have the chance to experience some kind of normalcy."

He breathes in deep, cutting his eyes at me. "Normalcy?"

"You can live a normal life, and I want you to. I want you to talk to somebody, work through this with a professional. I promise it will help. You're safe here," I explain. My hand hesitantly reaches out and touches his back. He doesn't flinch.

Joel pursed his lips tight and sat in silence. The anger dissipated, the creases on his face softened. It was almost like he was considering my words.

"I'm not sure about this."

"Joel, please?" I beg, gathering his large hands into mine. "I don't want anything to happen to you..."

His eyes finally meet mine again. I couldn't read them. It was like looking through the windows of a dark room. I've always wondered how I could turn on the light.

"Please?"

Joel sighs. "Fine." His voice was gruff, like he was reluctant to give in.

My hands squeeze his, a smile forming on my lips. I was relieved to hear him finally consider. It's taken nearly two years.

Joel pulls his hands away from mine and sets them in his lap. "I guess I'm ready to heal mentally now..."

[papapascal]

Bad Day (Pedro Pascal)

Today is awful. Dreadful, even. Car is in the shop. Bombed an important job interview. Spilled coffee down the front of me, but at least on the bright side it was after the job interview, not before. The white blouse I'm wearing would say otherwise.

I drag myself down the sidewalk, ready to give up. I shouldn't have gotten out of bed to begin with. I thought today would be a perfect day because the sun is out, it's warm, and although I didn't have a car, it was good enough to weather to walk to my interview. None of it went as planned. Even the sun was giving up on me when it hid behind a dark, storm cloud. The world around me dimmed until it was grim and dreary. What's the worst thing that could happen to me? The sky open up?

A downpour of rain cascaded down and drenched me like a bucket of water was poured over the top of my head. All I could do was stand there on the sidewalk while the water soaked through my clothes and filled my heels. There's literally nothing worse that could happen right now.

A car passing by ran through a puddle and a fan of water sloshed me. It would have been more exciting if I was at a water park...

I continued to just stand there, pitifully, looking much like a drowned rat. If only there was a piece of wood around me that I could knock on.

Another car was approaching. I tense up and squeeze my eyes shut, waiting to be drenched again. I hear the car but it doesn't pass. I peak one eye open to see that the car has pulled up to the curb. It's a sporty, sleek black Audi. The tinted window rolls down to reveal a man wearing a pair of sunglasses that covered his eyes. He looks familiar. Short wispy hair covered his head, a band of patchy facial hair covering his chin and a groomed mustache above his upper lip. Older man, probably somewhere in his forties.

"Bad day?" He calls out from the drivers seat.

I hold my arms out to the side. "You can tell?"

He gives out a chuckle. "You look pitiful."

I stand there just taking the hits. Any other time I'd take offense to that kind of comment, but today it's true, and very difficult to deny.

"I'd like to offer you a ride if that's comfortable with you," he says.

The rain continues to pour down on me. At this point my clothes are completely soaked.

I reach down to the hem of my blouse and twist it up tight until water is forced out of the fibers and splattering onto the concrete to join the rain. "I'm drenched. I wouldn't want to ruin your leather seats."

He shakes his head. "I could care less."

I sigh and step off of the sidewalk and grip the door handle. A wave of warmth exited the car and enveloped me. I carefully sit down in the seat, steadily pull the heels off my feet and dump the water out of them before putting them back on and shutting the door.

The man carefully reaches across and aims the vents towards me. I know my manners but for some reason my throat closes up and I couldn't get a word out to even say 'thanks'. It was such a sweet gesture that I guess it took me aback.

Out of my peripheral I see him slide his sunglasses off and slip them into an above compartment specifically for glasses. "You let me know if you need me to turn the heat up," he says.

I wanted to see him without his sunglasses, so I took this as a good opportunity to turn my head towards him. Nearly at the same time he turns his head too, revealing a pair of chocolate brown eyes. They look kind and warm. I suddenly feel safe. A man with those kind of eyes couldn't harm a fly.

"You look awfully cold." He pulls his black sweatshirt off to reveal a purple Lakers t-shirt underneath and then hands me the sweatshirt. "You can put it on or lay it on your lap like a blanket, whatever-whatever you want, really." His slight stutter led me to assume he was feeling nervous, especially when he shifts in his seat after.

"Thank you." I look down to see that my white blouse practically looks transparent, showing the outlines of my white bra. Either I genuinely look cold or he offered me to put his sweatshirt on because my bra is obviously showing. I pull his sweatshirt over my head and my arms through the sleeves. His body heat that lingered in the fibers transfers to my body. I shivered, my body attempting to warm itself, and I could feel tiny bumps rise to the surface of my skin.

"You wanna give me directions to your house?" He asks.

"You can just type it into your GPS," I say.

"Oh." He clicks on the touchpad screen and chooses the 'GPS' icon. "I didn't think you'd be comfortable with me logging it in here. But I promise to delete it when I drop you off."

I couldn't help but blush and grin at his sincerity but also the adorableness. He's so empathetic. I haven't met too many men that are.

I tell him my address and he types it into the GPS, but not before slipping on a pair of prescription glasses. I notice how they make him appear more sophisticated. Well, to an extent, because he's wearing a basketball t-shirt.

"Warming up?" He asks, shifting the car into drive. He does his head checks before pulling away from the curb.

I pull his sleeves over my hands and bunch the ends in my palms. "I'm getting there." There's a moment of silence besides the engine running and the rain pounding against the car. "I'm really sorry for maybe ruining your seats."

"Don't worry about it," he says and flashes me a warm smile. "What's your name?"

"Y/N."

"I like your name. Y/N."

We stop at a light. Traffic flowed as good as LA traffic flows.

"I'm Pedro." He turns his head to face me and I copy the motion. His cute little smile and his glasses made him look dorky, but in a good way. I couldn't help how the corners of my lips turned up.

Something about him appeared...celebrity-like. He looks like somebody's dad, but a famous dad, but also not a dad at all.

"Pedro." The words roll off my tongue and something in my brain lights up.

Pedro.

The light changes and now Pedro was focusing on the road rather than looking at me.

Traffic was slowly moving as drivers carefully maneuvered through the heavy rain. I observe my surroundings to figure out exactly where we are. My eyes scan the amount of traffic on both sides of the road but my eyes catch sight of something.

A billboard.

'The Last Of Us' spelled out in large, white block lettering. A young female character stood slightly turned to show a side profile of her face and an older male character, around Pedro's age, matched the position but stood opposite of her.

I look over at Pedro. He's still paying attention to the vehicles in front of him. I can't help but notice how his side profile matches exactly to the side profile of the male character on the Billboard.

There's no way a celebrity would pick anyone up off of the side of the road, right?

Pedro began to say something as the light changed and we were proceeding ahead, but when he did his phone started to go off in the console. I also notice a bottle of green juice sitting in the cup holder.

A name pops up on the screen of the car.

'Coco'.

He clicks the green bubble. "Hey, girly!"

"Hey, Pedro, I'm just calling to make sure you know to be here by 5, right? I've got some new products for your skin so the camera flashes don't pick up on too much glow, you know what I mean?" A woman's voice came over the speaker.

"Yeah, yeah! I gotcha! I'm just doing a quick run and I'll be there. This rain is terrible."

"That's what Nicole was telling me! I talked to her earlier. Said traffic is pretty gnarly too."

"It's moving for me. I'm surprised she's not there yet."

I sit awkwardly in the passenger, wondering what they're talking about. Clearly he's getting pictures taken and this woman on the other line is probably his stylist from the sounds of it.

"She's actually close now. But be sure you're back in time because the event starts at 7, and really 2 hours isn't much time for hair, skin, and dressing," Coco says.

"Gotcha! I'll let you know when I'm close," Pedro says.

"Great! I'll see you soon."

The phone call ends and the screen blinks to a Home Screen to show a line of most used apps, one of them being messages. Over 300 messages.

"I guess she knew better than to text you," I blurt out but immediately cover my mouth. "Okay, I didn't mean it to sound like that."

Pedro lets out a laugh. "Why do you say that?"

"I just see how many messages you have," I say.

He looks down at the screen and continues to laugh. It's more like a cackle. "Listen, I see the texts, I just call them. I don't really like texting. I'm old and I can't see the letters. I also have big thumbs." He takes one hand off of the wheel and shows off his thumb. He does have large thumbs.

I laugh with him. It would be hard not to because his is so contagious.

I have the urge to ask him if he's a celebrity but decide against it. He would probably pull off and drop me off in the rain. Maybe not. He seems too kind and soft.

Instead I ask him how his day is, and from there he goes on to tell me and eventually asks about mine. It turns into a deep conversation. Today was terrible and I hate everything right now. He validates that. Even though he was driving I still felt like the main focus. He remained attentive and invested. He's a good listener.

"Not all days are good days, but not all days are bad days. As plain as that sounds it's always resonated with me," he says, turning onto a familiar street. My apartment is only two miles down this street. Too bad our connection was going to come to an end soon.

"It means a lot, actually. This is just one bad day and plenty of good days ahead," I piggyback.

Pedro turns into the parking lot and stops at the entrance of the apartment complex. He sits back in his seat, lets his hands drop away from the steering wheel to rest on his thighs. He smiles at me. A very light-hearted smile too. "You are absolutely correct."

His doe eyes make me blush. He likes eye contact, but it makes me nervous, so I turn my head away to look out of the window at the apartment building. I give out a sigh and let my shoulders slouch.

"Well, I guess I should get inside and peel these sopping wet clothes off and get dressed in something comfy," I say.

I go to pull his sweatshirt off to give back but he stops me.

"You can keep it and return it later. It can give me an excuse to see you again," he says.

My brain fuzzes. "Oh, okay." Complete sentences are impossible in this moment.

"If that's okay. If you don't want to see me again then you can just throw the sweatshirt out. Or you can keep it. I don't know if you'd want to keep a strange man's shirt but—"

"Pedro," I giggle out.

He purses his lips shut and his cheeks bloom pink. Embarrassment. It's the first I've seen it on him since I got in the car. He clears his throat. "I talk too much."

"I need your number to let you know when to get your sweatshirt back."

He stares for a minute. "Right!" He grabs his phone out of the console and hands it to me. He didn't even unlock it for me.

I click the phone on to find that it doesn't need a passcode to get in. "Pedro, you need a password on this thing!"

"Passwords are for chumps!" He rolls his eyes.

I snort. "Passwords are for smart people."

"Exactly," he responds and it makes me laugh because he's so goofy.

I type in my number and send a text to my phone so I have his. I hand him back his phone. "I'll have mercy on your old eyes and give you a call when you can come by to get your shirt back."

"Ugh, please and thank you! You're the only one that gets it," he says and chuckles.

I open the car door and step out. It's only drizzling now.

"Thank you for driving me home, and just being a really kind person. It means a lot to me," I say.

He waves me off. "Get inside and get dry clothes on before you get sick!"

I shut the door but continue to stand there, so he rolls the window down.

"I'm not leaving until you're safe inside," he says, quirking an eyebrow at me.

And with that I spin around on my heel and walk inside.