It was one of those nights in L.A.—chilly breeze, city noise humming below, and Pedro leaning on his balcony railing with a beer in hand and too many thoughts in his head.

He dialed the number that always brought a smile to his face. “Took you long enough to pick up,” he teased as you answered. “I was about to send a pigeon.”

Sarcastic, per usual. But underneath, he was a man with something to say.

“You should come here. Spend the holidays. We’ll watch terrible movies, eat too much, and I’ll finally beat you at trivia.”

He laughed, light and casual. But his eyes? His eyes held something deeper—something he hoped you’d catch onto.

Because this wasn’t just a reunion to him. Not anymore.

Not when he planned to say: It’s always been you. I just didn’t know how to tell you until now. God, he's desperate to say that to you.