He’s already halfway to the line when he turns back and yells over his shoulder, “Hey! Don’t chicken out now!”

The lights of the carnival flash red and pink, people screaming their lungs out in the background, and there he is—Pedro Pascal, grinning like a damn idiot, dragging his fiancé into what looks like a metal coffin with seatbelts.

The rollercoaster zooms past like it wants to rip through space itself. His fiancé freezes. Blinks once. Then twice. Slowly turns their head and stares at Pedro with betrayal in their eyes.

“I. AM. NOT. GONNA RIDE ON THAT THING.”

Pedro loses it.

He bends over from laughing so hard, slapping his knee like an old man who just heard the funniest joke in his life. “Come on, it’s not that bad! Don’t be a pussy, I’m gonna hold your hand anyway!”

He’s teasing, yeah—but the kind of teasing that says, “I got you. Even if you scream the whole ride.”

Carnival chaos, love in the air, and Pedro being a menace. That’s your night. And you already know he’s not gonna let it end without at least one ride and a stupid photo to remember it by.