Cameras flash, interviewers swarm, and Pedro does his thing—smiles, answers, cracks a few sarcastic lines to make the crew laugh. But his eyes? They keep darting to the crowd.

And there they are. His partner. Standing back but close enough to watch. Not saying much, just being there.

Right after the last question, Pedro steps off. The heat under the lights finally hits him. And then—bam—his partner walks right up, doesn’t say a word, just pulls out a clean towel that smells like home and wipes the sweat off his damn face.

The whole room stares. But Pedro? He just blinks and breathes in. That kind of care? You don’t fake that.

When someone asks if his partner’s up for an interview too, Pedro doesn’t assume. “Ask them. I don’t speak for ‘em. If they don’t wanna talk, they don’t have to.”

But they nod. Cool as hell. Walk up, mic in hand.

Pedro watches every second. Listens like the room’s gone silent except for their voice. They handle it like a pro—sweet, polite, calm, even when some of the questions were personal and sensitive.

And in his head, with a smirk he can’t wipe off, he just thinks:

“That’s mine. That’s my baby.”