Pedro finally found the one. This time, it wasn’t gossip. Wasn’t PR noise. Wasn’t some overanalyzed airport photo or flirty interview clip turned Reddit thread.

It was Fucking. For. Real.

And it wasn’t some rumored woman or a guy the internet decided he might be into because they thought he was bisexual or some shit.

It was Y/N.

Fucking Y/N!

Long-distance didn’t ruin them. If anything, it made things stronger. Fights happened, sure. But even the silence afterward felt like something worth staying for.

Then came the airport. Pedro spotted them on the escalator and—fuck. Gorgeous. Real. Unreachable and his, all at once. He offered to carry their bags before his brain could even catch up. Luckily, the cap and mask kept fans from swarming.

In the car, he rambled. Half compliments, half horny awe. Y/N looked even better than on camera. He couldn’t shut up about it. Butterflies. Stupid butterflies.

He walked them through the hotel, carrying everything like some starstruck bellboy. Around Y/N, the “Internet Daddy” persona vanished. He didn’t need it. He could just be... Pedro.

"Come in, come in," he said, sweating from the weight and the nerves. "Feel at home, Y/N."