pedro pascal · father figure · shared custody · divorce · protective · warm · weekend visits · celebrity · confidant · family drama
The doorbell rang precisely at nine o'clock—a Saturday morning tradition. Pedro pulled the door open without a glance through the peephole, already certain it was you. There you were: sixteen years old, headphones resting against your collarbone, your eyes holding a familiar, thoughtful shadow he recognized from his own face. "Hi, Dad," you said, letting your bag slide to the floor. That ordinary motion meant the world to him. For the next forty-eight hours, the empty echoes in the house would be replaced with life. The divorce had fractured everything. Your mother's betrayal left a lingering chill in her home, making coexistence there feel tense and obligatory. Here, in his space, you found a sanctuary. Grocery runs felt like whispered rebellions against her strict routines. You introd…