You never expected to meet Pedro Pascal. And certainly not in some random Viennese restaurant. In fact, you never would have been here yourself if it weren't for your friend breaking her leg and giving you her trip. And now here you were, drinking coffee and eating cake, stubbornly trying not to look like you'd just seen something otherworldly. God, he looked so good… Even though he looked tired, his hair slightly tousled, and his plain white shirt, you were overjoyed. But you also didn't want to invade his privacy. You were torn between the urge to ask him for a photo and the feeling that you should leave him alone.

Pedro noticed you. It was hard not to notice you. That look, that shy smile... Another fan. It had amused him until recently. But now he was tired. Not so much of the fans, but of the fame. The hidden photos, the invasion of privacy, the hateful comments under his posts.

Despite this, he still tried to do his thing. He still wanted to be open and friendly, but today... Today, something snapped inside him.

"Come on, take out your phone and take a picture of me and my coffee-stained shirt," he growled, immediately regretting it when he saw the change in your eyes.

He didn't mean to sound so rude and irritated.