Chapter Text
They don’t make any promises.
There’s no possible way for Pedro and Bella to make preconceived arrangements about how everything will unfold once they return to their own lives. The word dating feels wrong and foreign, like an ill-fitting suit, and neither of them felt like they could, or even wanted, to lay this kind of claim over the other in the first place.
Bella shoots another project for a brief period and then they have time off for the first time in years, a longer stretch in between jobs that almost feels wrong. They do interviews here and there, but mostly just end up reading comments online and worrying about being the wrong person for this job for the millionth time, too sensitive, too aware of everyone’s opinions about them.
It’s weird to go out with their friends, but they try; making an effort to go through the spectrum of a healthy teenage experience, eyes pointedly focused on shimmery eyeshadow and soft lips, avoiding boys and men of all ages, not understanding what their girlfriends find appealing about them. Seeing ghosts of Pedro when they catch glimpses of a strong arm or a faint smell of sandalwood. They drink a beer for the first time, get their license and dip into their savings to buy a car, pretending that those are the things that make them feel like a grown up, instead of the nights they spent tangled with Pedro in his hotel room, watching movies and sharing body heat.
Some days, Bella sits around in their childhood bedroom, missing him like crazy, and counts the hours in their own head, trying to figure out what time it is in Los Angeles (or is it New York? Fuck, maybe I should text him first to ask) so that they can facetime like they do every week.
And then, one day, just a month after returning home, Bella stares at a picture and bursts out crying. It’s a photo they’ve seen countless times before while milling around in their room, a picture that was taken on the last week of filming, as much of the cast and crew as possible all crowded together, huddled in their winter jackets, freezing and exhausted and smelling like smoke and so happy. But there’s something about seeing the picture now, when they’ve spent the entire weekend locked up in their room doing math problems and trying not to touch the pimples on their forehead, when it’s been two days since Pedro had last replied to their texts, because he’s in Spain working with fucking Almodóvar and making out with Ethan Hawke.
Seeing the picture tugs at something tender, just like poking a bruise, or picking the scab off a scraped knee. Before they realize what’s happening, they’re crying for the first time in a long while, standing in the middle of their room while clutching the picture, clothes strewn about everywhere from when they were still unpacking. The tears soon escalate to full-blown sobbing, their body shaking and struggling to take big gulps of air.
Bella misses filming the show, misses seeing the same people every day, living mostly alone in a different country, playing guitar and singing with Gabriel, misses going out on random hikes with Cora and Brittany, their hair and makeup assistant. Most of all, they miss Pedro, miss being around him all the time, feeling safe under his gaze, under the reassuring way he’d touch them, all broad shoulders and soft hands, always eager, always there.
It takes a good ten minutes before their mom can calm them down, whispering reassuring words while Bella cries on their lap, feeling like a child and needing to call Pedro more than ever before, certain that he will know exactly what to say.
I need to find something to do before I go insane.
-
Weeks pass in a blur.
It’s almost midnight, way past Bella’s bedtime if they ever had one, but they’re wide awake. They’ve given up on trying to calculate the time difference between London and wherever it is that Pedro’s currently at, since he’s been traveling around so much. Bella taps their socked feet against the bed for the millionth time, which earns them a scowl from their cat, lying beside them as they stare at the phone. The room is a mess, but at least their parents are out of town and won’t bother them about it.
He’s late again, Bella complains in their mind, clicking on Pedro’s contact and fighting the urge to bite their nails while they wait for the call to connect.
“I’m going to London next week.” Pedro says in lieu of a greeting when he answers, voice high as if he’s just ran a marathon.
“What?”
“Yeah, I know I was supposed to go later next month, but I rearranged some things in my calendar.”
It’s been almost two months since they’ve seen each other in person, pulled apart and going a million miles per hour like the good workaholics they are. Pedro didn’t even have time to go back to Los Angeles, flying straight to Spain after wrapping up the shooting of The Last of Us to start the pre-production of his project with Almodóvar. From there, he went to L.A. to do the voiceovers and film his scenes on The Mandalorian, texting Bella a quick mirror selfie in full costume that made them go through the entire spectrum of human emotion, all that silver armor tugging at someplace deep inside their core.
“Uh, hi Pedro, how are you?” Bella laughs, a bit overwhelmed by the news. “You sound out of breath, are you on the treadmill again?”
“Shut up,” They can hear Pedro smiling, a pang of familiarity growing warm in their chest, “Anyway, I’m telling you now so that you can clear your schedule.”
Bella scoffs at that. “Oh, really? What makes you think I want to see you?”
“Oh, I know you don’t care about me at all, you’re probably too busy doing your own thing. I’m saying I want to see you.”
Oh.
“Fine, if you insist.”
“I do insist. I miss you.”
It’s impossible to bite back the grin that takes over their face. “…I miss you, too.”
Bella lies back on their bed, staring at the ceiling and running their hand through the posters tacked on the wall behind it. It’s something they started doing rather often, just stay on call while they run errands. Bella tends to call when they’re bored, playing with their fidget toys, or wandering around the frozen food aisles at the supermarket, and Pedro calls as he’s packing his bags in between travels, eating dinner in front of his computer. A siren blast on the other side of the call, and Pedro swears in Spanish, making them both giggle.
“Should I ask my mom about that Airbnb you had your eye on?”
“Actually, I think Anna already booked a hotel for me in London.”
“Oh, okay.”
The line stays silent for a while, save for the rustling sounds on Pedro’s side of the call, as he walks to his car on his way out of the gym. Bella thinks perhaps something got his attention, but his voice cracks when he speaks.
“But…” Pedro trails off, coughing. “But your mom asked me to come visit your place.”
Bella sits back on the bed, shocked. “What? Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Wait, when did you talk to my mom?”
“She was with you last time we talked, remember? When I still thought it would take another month before I went to London.”
They had been going over old movies, Pedro and Lisa getting into a heated debate about John Hughes while Bella listened and attempted to make gnocchi, hands full of dough. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Well, she texted me after we hung up, invited me to come over when I’m in England, have dinner with your family and all.”
Bella peels a few strands of cat fur off their sweatpants, still in a daze. “Is that so?”
“She said something about feeling bad that I’m always traveling and not eating properly or something.” Pedro’s laugh sounds uneasy. “It would only be for a day, and she even said I could sleep over there, since your sister would be out of town.”
What the fuck, Bella thinks, mind suddenly filling with images of Pedro sitting at the dinner table beside their parents, eating their mom’s vegan shepherd’s pie. His broad frame squeezed in Josephine’s single bed. What the actual fuck.
“Hm. What did you tell her?”
“I told her I’d talk to you about it. Is that alright?”
Even after all they’ve been through, Pedro’s tone is still cautious, afraid of saying the wrong thing. It starts raining, fat water droplets pelting the closed window, and Bella watches quietly, trying to figure out if having Pedro in their house will be too much. For all the time they’ve spent together while filming, hotel rooms always felt like neutral ground, a place where typical rules didn’t apply for them. Cold, functional, standard, impersonal. At the same time, the idea of having Pedro sitting on their bed, looking at their posters and various trinkets strewn about the room fills them with a weird twist of anxiety.
“Yeah, no, I mean – It just sounds a bit wild, that’s all. I didn’t even know you wanted to visit my house.”
“Well, you never asked. And I won’t go if you don’t want me to.”
“I know, I know.”
“So…?”
“Sorry, you can come, of course you can.”
“Alright, cool.”
Bella bites their nails, eyeing the grey t-shirt peeking from underneath their pillow, stolen from Pedro on their last day together in Canada.
“Alright, cool.”
-
There’s something different about Bella.
The trip there went relatively quiet, driving alone in his rental car being a rare treat Pedro allowed himself after spending the past months working nonstop. Bella’s parents live in a small city on the countryside, far enough from London that there’s no paparazzi in sight, thank fuck. It’s the beginning of September, which means he’s not freezing as much as he thought he’d be, standing in front of Bella’s house, shaking the hands of their parents as he stares at their face and tries to figure out what’s changed about them.
Even though it’s only been a little over two months since they last saw each other in person, Pedro can sense it. It’s subtle at first, especially since being inside Bella’s house means there’s so much to take in at once. At first glance, Bella doesn’t look any different; they’re swimming inside their baggy pants and long hoodie, but that’s nothing new. Their hair looks about the same, and they’re looking at him from a distance with wide eyes, as if he’s a ghost, enough that it makes him feel a bit weird.
“Hey,” He tries, opening his arms in invitation for a hug, “Come here, you.”
Bella all but throws themselves against him, collapsing in his embrace with such force that it pushes an oof out of them both. The hug feels like a comforting warm bath, like no time has passed since they last saw each other, but also like they haven’t been in the same room for years. Pedro gets overthrown by affection, burying his face in Bella’s hair and squeezing them, giggling when they wrap their arms around his waist in a vice grip.
It’s only when Bella’s forehead clips him in the jaw that he realizes that the thing that’s different about Bella is that they’ve grown up. Maybe only an inch or so, enough that they’re eye level with his neck instead of his chest, but still considerable enough for him to notice. It shouldn’t be so surprising, given that they’re still a teenager, but it rattles him all the same.
Before he can comment on it, however, Bella slides their hands over his hair with the same wide eyes, a teasing smile already on their lips.
“I see you’ve decided to give up on haircuts.”
He huffs out a laugh, swatting their hands away. “Oh, stop that. It’s for a new role.”
“Uh-huh, I’m sure it is.”
They walk inside Bella’s childhood home, where their parents show him around, warm and inviting, Skipper trailing behind them and barking every now and then, demanding attention. Pedro pulls the puppy in his arms, smiling at every baby picture of Bella he can find along the walls, something he doesn’t dare name growing in his chest. Lisa’s all too happy to see him again, and Bella’s father, Alex, is surprisingly funny, commiserating when Pedro complains about his back, all dry wit and strong accent. He looks jovial, almost too young to be a father.
He looks, just like Bella told him, younger than Pedro.
He notices that Bella steers clear of their own room, but doesn’t comment on it, figuring that, if they want him there, they’ll surely say so.
Soon enough they’re all gathered around the dinner table to eat, talking about upcoming projects, about the weather, about the impressive collection of vintage records that Bella’s father keeps on the living room cabinet. The dinner tastes nice, and he’s good and patient, but it’s hard not to jump when Bella’s foot rubs against his calf, face completely impassive when he stares at them sitting beside him. Still, he manages to focus on the conversation enough that it curbs the urge to reach out and place his hand on Bella’s thigh under the table.
Pedro offers to do the dishes, and they all move to the kitchen as a single unit. Bella’s family is a well-oiled machine, so much that he ends up just sitting back and watching, fascinated, as Alex washes the dishes, Bella retrieves them from the drying rack and wipes them dry before handing them over for Lisa to put away like they’re a plate-juggling circus act, or parts of a production line.
They carry on their previous conversation, discussing which airline is most likely to displace your luggage, and Bella giggles at his attempts at making jokes to ease his own nerves, wondering if they suspect anything about them. Pedro winks at them and hopes to high heavens that he’s coming across as nice, more like a fun uncle and less like the much older man who spent the past year secretly sleeping with their teenage kid.
When it starts raining outside, they say goodnight and Bella leads him upstairs to show their sister’s bedroom, where he’ll be sleeping. Josephine’s room is big, furniture sparse since she spends most of her time at college quarters and only returns during the holidays, and Pedro drops his bags at the bottom of the bed, feeling slightly misplaced, like a bull in a china shop. Bella’s staring at him from the doorstep, peeling a faded Pucca sticker off the corner with a strange expression on their face, biting their lip hard enough that it blooms red when they let it go.
“What is it?”
“Do you want to see my room?”
“Oh. Of course.” He knows their bedroom is five steps away, at most, but waves his arm in their direction anyway. “Lead the way.”
Being inside Bella’s bedroom feels like a fever dream, like he’s definitely doing something he’s not supposed to. Even underneath the barely-there light emanating from a bedside lamp, some parts of it are more recognizable than others, either from pictures that Bella’s sent him before or from the glimpses he managed to catch during some of their videocalls. The peeling corner of a Hokusai’s The Great Wave off Kanagawa poster. Their desk, wooden surface barely visible under heaps of books, notebooks, fidget toys, and trinkets in general. One of Bella’s binders hangs by its strap in the chair arm.
A black cat is perched on their bed, blinking lazily at Pedro like it knows something he doesn’t. He doesn’t need to strain his eyes to recognize his own faded grey t-shirt hanging from one side of Bella’s bed.
“Is that my shirt?”
“No…?”
“It sure looks a lot like it.”
“Well, it isn’t.” Bella smiles, watching him walk around their room with a surprised expression. “I mean, it was, but, you know. It’s mine now.”
He diverts his eyes from the open door of Bella’s wardrobe with a smile. “Oh, okay. I see how it is.”
They stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, unsure of what to do next. It’s obvious enough that he won’t be sleeping here, but Pedro still can’t help but wish they could hang out some more, just the two of them.
“So…” Bella begins, but a loud cough coming from across the hallway startles them both. They throw him a look that must mirror his own, the walls are really thin, and he laughs nervously.
“We should go to bed.”
Bella nods at him, not looking sleepy in the slightest. “Yeah, probably.”
He walks out of the room, Bella’s shoulder brushing past his arm. Maybe it’s the weirdness of their situation, maybe it’s the months they’ve spent apart, but the briefest second of contact between their bodies feels electrified, overcharged with static, a spark waiting to explode.
“So, good night then.”
His eyes are fixed on Bella’s right hand, currently tugging at the hem of their sweater, reminding him of every part of their body that he’s so familiar with, every part of their body that’s out of his reach at the moment. Pedro rubs his hands together, closing them into fists to prevent the urge of reaching out to hold Bella.
“Good night, Bell.”
“Good night.”
He doesn’t sleep a wink, of course.
It’s impossible to do anything but stare at the ceiling and wonder how he ended up here, lying on the bed of his teenage co-star’s sister in the English countryside, feeling like a teenager himself. There are faint, discolored rings of adhesive on the bedpost, a few faded Hello Kitty stickers still withstanding the test of time, and Pedro’s suddenly struck with the vivid image of how lived-in the whole house feels. Bella’s the younger sibling; did they scramble out of bed after a nightmare, running into this room instead of their parents’? Did they squeeze together in this already tiny bed, sharing body heat and comfort?
He's reaching for his phone in no time, fingers typing a message to his siblings in their group chat before he feels silly about it. Yo los quiero muchissimo, los extraño todos los días. A giggle escapes his lips, already guessing how hard Lux will tease him about this.
The house creaks around him, old wood settling for the night, and Pedro puts down his phone, willing his body to relax so he can finally get some rest. Still, it’s hard, especially knowing how Bella must be itching to cross the threshold and come find him. He can be normal about this, he wants to be good, can’t even entertain the idea of being alone in the same room as Bella when he knows their parents are sleeping next door, trusting that he’s being nice and respectful of their home. His parents raised him to be almost too respectful, sometimes.
It’s almost two in the morning when his phone buzzes on the bedside table.
hey
hi
can’t sleep?
no, Bella’s reply comes almost instantly.
you?
not really
what are you doing?
Pedro sighs.
staring at the ceiling
do you regret coming over?
no, not at all
is it weird for you to be here?
He debates on what to say, but settles on honesty.
a little bit, but it’s nice
your family is nice
I guess
and I missed you
me too
well
I still miss you
really?
yeah, wanted you to sleep with me
in my bed
Pedro stares at his phone, mouth agape, unsure of what to say. Before he thinks about replying, Bella is typing again.
not sleep with me like that
well, I also want to have sex, but not here, that would be weird
mostly I just wanna sleep next to you
Bella’s forwardness and honesty tastes different when they’re separated by a brick wall instead of an ocean. He spends five minutes once again debating how did they got here, separated by a wall and still missing each other.
I know, me too
tomorrow you’ll come back with me to london, right?
do you want me to?
I’m asking you, aren’t I?
For a wild moment, he wonders if Bella’s about to backtrack on their agreement, but his phone buzzes before he can overthink.
yes.
I want to.
good, then tomorrow we can sleep together
sleep together, you say?
Pedro snorts, the cadence of Bella’s voice ringing in his mind as he reads their words.
yes, Bell, sleep together. But for now, good night.
fine, alright.
good night