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girlgenius1111 · 20 days ago

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different when it's me

barcelona femení x reader you've had a secret for a really long time, one that is getting harder and harder to keep. your friends and teammates know that something is wrong, but they aren't sure how to get you to talk when you seem so insistent on keeping it all to yourself. basically, r is struggling with her sexuality, and her teammates try to help. angst, fluff, you know the drill. cw for internalized homophobia

—

For as long as you could remember, there had been rules. Rules that applied to you, even if they didn’t apply to anyone else. Like how you weren’t allowed to yell at your parents, but they could yell at you. Or how you weren’t allowed to see your friends on school days, but your brother could.

Even as you’d gotten older and moved out, the ‘you’ rules remained. Some of them were entirely self imposed. It was alright if other people took time off training when they were sick, but you couldn’t. It was okay if Vicky left a dish in the sink instead of washing it right away, but if you did that you’d have felt like a terrible roommate.

And then there was the biggest rule of all. It wasn’t even a rule, really. It was just… how things were.

Other people could be gay. Your teammates, your friends. Anyone else, that was okay. You’d stand by that, you’d fight for it.

But you couldn’t be. You just couldn’t.

Maybe it was your parents, or maybe it was the hours you’d spent in church, hearing the priest casually slip into his homelie comments about men and women and Leviticus 18:22. Whatever had kickstarted the shame and guilt within you, it didn’t matter that much. It was there.

Every time a pretty girl smiled at you in public, or when the cute barista would draw a little smiley face on your coffee cup. Every time you instinctually frowned and stepped away from a man who was looking to make a move on you. Every time you noticed a girl’s smile or the color of her eyes, the soft skin of her hand as it brushed yours.

Shame.

And you tried, tried so hard. To imagine the perfect man, the perfect wedding, the perfect life. But it just wasn’t right. The longer you spent away from your parents, away from the catholic church you’d grown up in, you started to wonder. The longer you spent around your friends who didn’t even blink when Jana announced she had a new girlfriend, the standard you set for yourself started to crumble, no matter how tightly you tried to hold onto it.

You’d find yourself daydreaming. The domestic life you’d always been so sure you didn’t want would flash in your mind, except this time, it was a lot more appealing. A wife, instead of a husband, and your stomach didn’t turn. For so long, you’d thought that there was no option to accept what you knew, knew really deep down, to be true. You’d rather die than accept it, if life in the closet was so miserable, you’d rather die.

But acceptance began to start without you even telling it to. Like your brain was so tired of the shame, it started to reject it.

So what? It would say. It had never felt like that before, and you were beyond terrified.

—

What kickstarted everything was a visit home to your parents. As it often went, 90% was nice. Home cooked meals, the feeling of not having to be responsible for anything, just for a little while.

It was good. Or, at least, it was alright enough that you could convince yourself it was good. You could pretend everything was okay.

And then, your mother had asked the dreaded question. Do you have a boyfriend yet?

You could tell as time passed, as you got older and never brought home a boy, your parents grew more and more worried. Whether that was worry that you were going to die alone, or worry that you weren’t into guys, you didn’t know.

But they always asked. And when you’d shake your head, say no and give the excuse that football kept you too busy to think about that, they’d always respond the same.

Well, don’t close yourself off! The perfect guy is out there.

You really doubted that. Normally, it stopped there, but this time, your father took it a step further. Said something that made your stomach twist and your palms sweat.

The perfect man, he’d emphasized. I know how your teammates are. Don’t get any ideas.

It was an off handed comment, probably didn’t mean he suspected anything. Logically, you knew that. Illogically, though… not so much.

You spent the whole drive back from their house crying. Disappeared into your room as soon as you got home, shaking off Vicky’s concerned questions. You didn’t emerge until the next morning for training, and you didn’t feel any better.

There was this weight sitting on your chest. It felt like everyone knew, everyone was staring at you, thinking things about you that you were barely able to admit to yourself. It was the weight of obligation; to your parents and to yourself, pulling you in opposite directions.

It was tearing you in half.

—

No one would ever describe as quiet or withdrawn. You hung around with the louder portion of the team, and you were no exception to that group. You were loud and unrestrained and goofy most of the time. Of course, you were serious when you had to be, but normally not a day passed at Ciutat Esportiva where the sound of your laughter wasn’t bouncing off the walls of the locker room, audible to anyone walking through the hall.

That is, until today.

It wasn’t obvious, not to everyone. There were so many players, so many of you messing around that it didn’t raise alarm bells for any of your older teammates. But for your friends, your best friends, they knew something was wrong the second that you didn’t crack up at Jana’s ridiculous story about Ona falling asleep on her couch and rolling off onto the floor. You gave a weak smile, one that was barely there and very fake.

And immediately, your teammates were giving you a closer look. They noticed bags under your eyes, the distant look on your face as you stared off at the wall. You were wound tightly, it seemed, every muscle in your body tense as you waited to walk out onto the pitch with your friends. It didn’t even occur to you that they’d think you were acting any different, but though they could be absolute clowns, they were also observant, intelligent people.

They could tell, without question, that something was wrong. Jana and Claudia exchanged glances, before turning to Vicky, who could only offer them a shrug in response. She’d known something was wrong since last night, when you’d come home from your parents. You’d barely said two words to her, though, and she was fairly certain you weren’t going to talk if anyone tried to get you to.

But Jana was Jana, and soon she was meaningfully looking between the rest of your teammates and the door, a not so subtle nod for them to give the two of you a moment. For your part, you didn’t even notice them walk out the door. You didn’t notice Jana stay behind, gazing at you worriedly. You were stuck in your head, a billion questions racing through it even as you tried to push them out and focus on the training session ahead of you.

Would your parents hate you?

“Are you okay?”

Would they disown you?

“Huh?” You replied, only half hearing your teammate. You should tell them. Just get it over with. But tell them what? You weren’t even sure. No, of course you were sure, but there was always the chance that you were wrong?

“Hey, amiga.” Jana’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, and this time you looked up at her.

You couldn’t tell. It would ruin everything. Absolutely everything.

“Yeah, yeah, what’s up?” You murmured, voice quiet. But how could you keep this to yourself? How could you live with a secret for the rest of your life? You couldn’t.

Jana was really concerned now. You looked destroyed, almost, like you were being ripped in two. Something was really, really wrong.

“Did something happen?” Jana wondered. She had such a calm, soft demeanor. Her expression was so open, and so concerned, it was hard not to break.

It only took a moment for her question to register, and it was as if your brain had detected some kind of threat and instantly drawn all your walls up. You sat up straighter, your eyes clearing. Gone was the look of anxiety and sadness. In its place, you just looked determined. Your face was wiped of any emotion and you stood, giving Jana a half smile.

“Nope! Sorry, I’m tired today. Everything’s fine. Let’s go?”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked towards the door. Jana followed you after, slowly, studying the back of your head as if it would give her the answers.

She wasn’t sure what the hell that was. But she knew, she knew that you were hiding something, and that you weren’t okay. And that wasn’t okay with her.

—

They watched you all throughout training. You could feel their eyes on you, too, and it only strengthened your resolve to act normal. But your friends weren’t having it. They didn’t leave you alone for a second. If it wasn’t Claudia pairing up with you for drills when she normally was always with Patri, it was Esmee standing right next to you during a water break. If it wasn’t Vicky taking the spot right next to you at lunch, it was Jana following you to the bathroom even though she’d just been.

It wasn’t that you blamed them for being worried; you knew you’d been weird upon arriving that morning. Since then, though, you’d made a very strong effort to appear as though you were fine.

Your friends didn’t buy it, but apparently your captains did, because Jana tried to tell them something was up, but they just brushed her off.

Jana explained to Alexia, Irene, and Marta that something was wrong. That you seemed like you were somewhere else entirely that morning, barely fighting back tears.

Vicky had told them how weird you’d been acting since coming home from seeing your parents, and how she could have sworn she heard you crying in the shower that morning.

Claudia told them you didn’t even blink when she took a few blueberries off your plate at lunch, even though you were notorious for being bad at sharing food.

None of them thought anything of it.

Even when Patri told them you hadn’t made any jokes about how she’d worn her shorts inside out for the first half of training, Alexia just shook her head with an amused smile.

“She’s growing up, then? Being more mature?” Alexia asked.

“You’re complaining that she beat you to it, are you?” Irene chuckled.

“The girl doesn’t pull a prank and suddenly she’s been replaced by an alien.” Marta grinned.

Your act was too good; you’d put on a very strong façade since slipping up that morning in the locker room. You had everyone but a few of your best friends convinced you were fine.

—

Annoyingly, no one seemed to be giving up on worrying about you. It continued for the next couple days. Even as you acted normal, completely fine, you could tell you were being watched by one of your friends at all times. They were waiting for you to break, again, which was an unsettling feeling and only made you more determined to be fine. You’d pushed the issue from your mind entirely. Wouldn’t think about it, wouldn’t even name it. It was just the issue, and you’d decided it didn’t matter. You couldn’t handle thinking about it while still pretending to be fine, so you didn’t think about it. If your friends caught even the slightest slip up from you, you knew you’d be cornered and interrogated. And above all else, you couldn’t tell them.

They couldn’t know. No one could know. That was what you lived on, the mantra that kept you going when all you wanted was to curl up into a ball on the ground and cry. No one could find out.

You thought that you’d maybe have a respite when Vicky announced she was spending Thursday night at home with her family as it was one of her brothers’ birthdays. But almost as soon as she’d given you that information, your phone was buzzing with a text from Jana.

We’re coming over to watch a movie tonight, because you have the biggest TV. We’ll bring snacks. 8:00. :)

Your TV simply was not the biggest one, that was a blatant lie. But what could you do?

No, Jana, you can’t come over, I have plans of self loathing and sobbing into my pillow until I fall asleep.

So, there you found yourself, curled up on the couch next to Patri as a movie you couldn’t even recall the name of playing on the average size TV hung on your wall. It was harder at night, for some reason, to block everything out that you refused to think about. Mostly, you were picking at your nails and trying to keep up with the plot of the movie so you could appropriately laugh and not bring attention to yourself.

Claudia and Jana were each in an armchair, both of them annoyingly angled so they could see you out of the corner of their eyes. It was impressive, honestly, how committed they were to this. One or two odd moments, and they’d become an investigative team.

You supposed, though, being with them and pretending to be happy was better than being by yourself and feeling it all.

One second, you were holding firm. You were laughing at the funny parts and smiling when you had to. You were holding it together, and you could almost feel your friend’s worry for you dissipating as you acted like yourself.

It felt like you there was a collapsed building sitting on your chest in doing so, but you were doing it.

But of course, the universe wasn’t on your side. Of course the movie that Patri had put on had a scene where a character came out to their parents. Who knows, maybe Patri had her suspicions about what was going on with you, and the movie choice was intentional. Maybe it was entirely unintentional.

Either way, you were crying before you could even try to stop the tears. It wasn’t even a negative scene; the character’s parents were accepting. Loving. They hugged the kid, told him they loved him no matter what.

It was a happy scene, yet all you could think about was that you would never ever have that. There would be no acceptance. No love. There would be tears, but they wouldn’t be the happy kind. It would be the end of the world as you knew it, and that felt so fucking unfair.

You didn’t want to be like this. You wanted to be normal, but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t, and you were going to lose your parents as a result. There was nothing you could do to change that.

So, you cried. Tears silently tracked their way down your cheeks. So quietly, in fact, that it went unnoticed for a minute. Until Jana peeked at you briefly, as she’d been doing all evening, and caught the shine on your cheeks and the tremble of your lip. Most of all, she noticed the devastated look in your eyes, and she was moving before she even knew what she was doing.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” She murmured, sitting down beside you and pulling you into her. You went willingly, or at least you didn’t resist. You let Jana hug you nice and tight, just for a minute. You felt Patri’s hand on your back, not unlike how she’d approach you when you’d get hurt in a match and stay down.

And now…now you were hurting. But not in a way that any of them could fix, you were sure. You wouldn’t let them try, anyway.

The movie was paused when you pulled away from Jana, hastily wiping at your eyes. You could feel the gaze of all three of your teammates on you, insistent and concerned. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to convince them you were fine this time.

“What’s going on with you, hm?” Patri asked gently, nudging your shoulder until you looked at her.

“You’ve not been yourself for days, chica. Talk to us.” Claudia chimed in, moving to perch on the coffee table in front of you. The three of them surrounded you, and maybe it was meant to feel comforting, but all you felt was suffocated.

The walls were closing in in every aspect of your life. You couldn’t hide anymore. Not from your parents, and not from your teammates. That didn’t stop you from trying. Didn’t stop you from clawing at the walls as the room got smaller and smaller, forcing an exit into existence even though there wasn’t one in reality.

“Nothing.” You replied, looking down at your hands fidgeting in your lap. You couldn’t look at them. Not at Claudia’s normally happy face, pinched with concern. Not at Jana, who was surely biting at her lip like she did when she got nervous. Not at Patri, who you knew was studying you closely, brows knit together. You felt transparent, like eye contact would tell them everything, so you didn’t look up, not even when they began to speak.

“Nothing is wrong?” Jana repeated incredulously. You just shrugged in response. “You just started crying in the middle of the movie for no reason.”

Patri shifted closer, slinging her arm around your shoulders. “Vicky said you’ve been acting weird since you came home from your parents. If something happened with them, you can tell us. You can trust us, nena.”

“Nothing happened, I swear.” Finally, you looked up, and it was Claudia’s eye that caught yours. Surprisingly, she looked frustrated… almost stern.

“I don’t believe you.” She said simply.

A flash of frustration washed over you at how insisted they were being. Though it was for your benefit, it made you inexplicably annoyed; they couldn’t just let it go. They couldn’t understand that you didn’t want to talk, that they couldn’t fix this for you. Every push on their part made it harder and harder for you to pretend to be okay. If you broke, fully, not cracked like you did just a few minutes prior, it would be their fault. If you broke and everything came spilling out and your whole life fell apart, it would be on them.

Maybe if that frustration hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have reacted in the way you did.

Instead, you stood, forcing a scowl onto your face. “Well, that’s not my problem. If something was wrong, I think I’ve made it very clear I don’t want to talk about it.” You snapped.

All three of your teammates blinked up at you, stunned. They’d never heard your voice sound like this, angry and raspy and devastated all at the same time. They’d never felt your anger directed at them, not really.

“Chica–”

“No. You all just keep pushing and pushing no matter how many times I tell you to back off. Leave me alone! I didn't ask you to hover over me, and I didn’t ask you to come over tonight. So please. Go.”

Before you could second guess yourself, before you could let the string of apologies waiting on the tip of your tongue out, you turned and stomped down the hall to your room.

Shame had been your constant companion for a long time. But now, as you lay on your bed listening to the sounds of your teammates quietly leaving your apartment, it burned through you in a way you weren’t used to. Normally, you directed everything at yourself. Every negative emotion was your problem and your problem only. People didn’t see you angry or sad, not even your closest friends.

Something had to give, though. You couldn’t keep going the way you had been, pretending you were fine when it felt like your brain was eating you from the inside out. Like the monster of self loathing inside your head would consume you if you didn’t open your mouth and let it out.

That didn’t stop the guilt.

The apartment was quiet in your friends’ absence. It was quiet, yet the silence was thick. You dragged yourself out of bed, threw on some pajamas and went to brush your teeth. All the while, your head was spinning. Because the way you’d acted tonight might have gotten them to leave for now, but there was no way they’d let this go. You’d been rude and harsh and unkind. All things very out of the ordinary for you. In your attempt to push them back, you’d given them exactly what they needed to know, to prove that you weren’t okay.

You didn’t remember going through your nighttime routine at all, really. Your clothes for the next morning laid out, your water filled and placed on your nightstand, the doors locked, the fan on the correct setting. It was all right, but you didn’t remember doing it.

You did remember curling up under the covers and pulling your childhood teddy bear close. You did remember the text you sent to your friends.

I’m sorry about tonight. There’s no excuse. I’m really really sorry.

It wouldn’t help your case at all, really, but you were a bit resigned to that now, and if your parents had taught you anything other than to despise who you were, it was that you didn’t treat friends the way you had that evening. Not all of their lessons were bad, you supposed.

As soon as you placed your phone back down on the nightstand, the silence was broken with a buzz. Another buzz. And another. You picked your phone right back up, reading the three texts.

Jana. It’s okay, chica. We love you.

Patri. We’re here if you need to talk. Day or night.

Claudia. You aren’t alone, okay?

You pictured them in their own homes, probably already texting Alexia and Irene. All three of your friends, all of your team really, looked to them for guidance on practically everything. They were wise, seemingly all knowing. It shouldn’t have been a comfort that they’d been on your case next, but somehow it was.

Because for all you talked about wanting to be left alone, for all the pushing away you did, you didn’t really want to do it by yourself. Deep down, you wanted someone to come and stay and not let you self destruct. It was really just a matter of which part of you won out; the terrified you or the desperate you. Terrified of honesty and truth and being you. Desperate for someone to tell you that everything was going to be okay.

—

You didn’t expect your teammates to act as quickly as they did. The team had the weekend off, and you thought you’d have a day or so before someone came busting your door down. But Jana, Claudia, and Patri must have called Alexia and Irene and woke them up, because your friends had left after your captain's bedtime.

And so, at just barely past 9 the next morning, your doorbell rang. Whoever was at your door probably thought they were giving you a nice lie in, but it felt like the middle of the night to be woken then on a day off. You pulled a sweatshirt over your head, unable to even form a thought on who was at your door and what you would say to them in your groggy state.

You opened your door, internally sighing when you saw Irene standing there. A part of you was surprised it was just her, more surprised when she didn’t ask to come in. Instead, she handed you a paper bag full of tupperware containers.

“Hi, chica. This is for you.”

Taking the bag, you gave her a confused look, not quite awake enough to talk.

Irene looked a bit frazzled, like she was in a rush. She was in mom mode, three stray stickers stuck on the front of her shirt, though you were sure she wasn’t aware of them. Even so, she softened for a moment, leaning against your doorframe.

“Jana called me last night. Your friends are worried about you, and I am too. We all are, really.” She paused, her very wise eyes searching yours. “Lucía and I are taking the weekend off to go see her family, but I couldn’t leave without stopping by to check on you. And Lucía heard what happened, and she cooked you dinner. Because that is how she solves things.”

At this, Irene rolled her eyes, but did so fondly. You noticed the light in her eyes she always got when she talked about her wife, and you tried to ignore the deep pang inside your chest. Would you ever have that?

“Anyway, I brought food and this.” Irene stepped forward, wrapping her arms tight around you. You were frozen for a moment, unsure how to react. Would giving in and hugging her back be admitting that something was wrong? Maybe you were passed that point. Either way, you allowed yourself to lean into the older woman, letting the momentary comfort wash over you.

“Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.” Irene told you. She squeezed you tight one more time before releasing you and stepping back. “Oh! Alexia will be over later. Prepare yourself to talk, because this whole silent thing is not going to fly with her.”

With that, Irene was walking briskly back down the hall. You watched her go, a little dumbfounded. If the defender’s intentions had been to throw you off, it had worked. All you could think was that you hadn’t said a single word to Irene, yet you felt like you’d confessed everything.

She had three more stickers on the back of her shirt, you noted as she turned the corner and walked out of sight. You couldn’t even really be amused, your brain too busy already anticipating Alexia’s visit.

Alexia… Alexia was going to make you talk if it took all day. She was stubborn like that.

Irene was right. You did need to prepare yourself.

—

The apartment was spotless, Alexia noticed. She looked around, gingerly leaning against your kitchen counter.

It was spotless. You’d channeled your anxious energy into cleaning, and besides; your parents had always taught you to clean for guests, and Claudia had somehow spilled popcorn all over your chair so you had to vacuum anyway.

Alexia was very quiet. She’d shown up at your door, not bothering to explain why she was stopping by. You both knew the reason. You’d let her in, and she’d followed you into the kitchen as you got her a glass of water. It was an awkward silence that filled the room, an awkward silence that was making you antsy.

Alexia, on the other hand, was relaxed. Like she’d cleared her calendar and had all the time in the world. Knowing her… she probably had. She wasn’t waiting for you to talk, necessarily. She was just waiting for the right opportunity to get at what was bothering you.

And when she noticed the picture frame facedown on the shelf above your counter, she knew she’d found what she was looking for.

“Thought you had a picture of your family there.” Alexia commented casually. She actually wasn’t sure what picture had been there, but she was making an educated guess. Judging by the way pain flashed across your face, it had been a good guess.

You could have lied, and say the picture frame had broken. Could have lied and told Ale that you’d knocked it over and forgot to pick it up. You could have played it off defensively, kept yourself closed up like you had been for days.

All morning, you’d been trying to decide how to go about this. Ultimately, you couldn’t get over everyone being worried about you. Nothing felt worse to you than being a burden on other people. Jana was worried. Claudia, Patri, Esmee, Vicky, Salma. They were all worried. Clearly Alexia and Irene were too. You knew what you should do. You just didn’t know if you’d be able to do it when the time came.

Yet when you sighed, nodding your head at Alexia’s statement, your decision was made. And once it was made, it was like the truth had been waiting for a moment of weakness to force its way out.

“I’m gay.” You burst out.

Alexia blinked. That was not what she was expecting. She was a bit confused; she’d come over here thinking you were depressed or something. She’d prepared for that, or something similar. She wasn’t prepared for this, and for a moment she was frozen, searching for the right words.

You, on the other hand. You were about to fall to pieces.

You’d never said it out loud before. Had barely even let yourself think it. But now it was out there, and you couldn’t inhale your words back in. You couldn’t go back, and that knowledge had your hands trembling and your breath catching.

“Oka-” Alexia began, nodding her head and taking a cautious step closer to you.

“I like girls, and it’s going to ruin everything, Ale. My parents are going to hate me, everyone is going to hate me. Everything… everything is going to be so hard and I don’t think I can do it!”

You were crying, by now, a steady stream of tears running down your face. Alexia’s expression was one of deep empathy and concern. She looked like she would have done anything in that moment to make you feel better, but you weren’t sure there was anything to be done.

“And I know it shouldn’t matter, but it feels like it does. It feels like it matters because it’s me. It’s different. It’s different and I don’t know what to do, I don’t want to lose my family.”

For the second time that day, you were being wrapped up in a tight hug. So tight it almost hurt. You clutched onto your captain just as tight, pushing your face into her shoulder and letting the weight of what you’d admitted wash over you. Alexia just held you for a minute, her sweatshirt soft as you pressed your face into it, her hands warm on your back. It felt almost safe.

“It’s not different, nena. It’s not. Not because it’s you. You’re not bad, you’re not weird. You’re still you, and anyone who deserves to know you will understand that.”

You cried harder, but not in a bad way. It was just… exactly what you’d needed to hear for so long. Maybe for your whole life. And someone was finally telling you, someone you loved and trusted. Someone you respected.

“It’s okay. It’s all okay, I promise. I know it feels terrifying, but you’re not alone. We’ve all got you, pequeña.” Alexia murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Thank you.” You choked out. You weren’t sure if you were thanking her for knowing exactly what to say, or for showing up at your door practically the minute she’d realized something wasn’t okay. You had a lot of people to thank, you realized. “Thank you, Ale.”

Alexia just shushed you, running her hand up and down your back. She didn’t let go, and you didn’t either. Because for the first time in so long, you felt like you were safe. You felt like maybe you’d be okay. Maybe.

—

i know this one has been very anticipated, so i hope it lives up to expectations :)

i kind of have an idea for a part two, but i'm not sure if anyone wants that or not.

anyway. enjoy 🙂❤️‍🩹🥰

#woso x reader #woso imagine #barcelona femeni x reader #woso fanfics #woso one shot #barca femeni x reader #barça femeni x reader #alexia putellas x platonic reader #alexia putellas x reader

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okay-j-hannah · 1 month ago

Text

The Kickstart | Smosh 💛

Smosh : Multishot

Spencer Agnew x Reader

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: slow burn, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, Spencer pining, reader is struggling in LA, not a lot of money, multiple jobs, poor studio apartment, inconsiderate boyfriend, lots of musical theatre talk, reader insert but a few things are already decided (last name is Bennett, favorite drink is Diet Coke, love the colors blue and green, artist, theatre nerd, etc.)

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: I haven't written for Smosh in years... but the current cast and crew has me sucked back into the fandom. And I am sorely in need of more Spencer content 😭

I was initially inspired by this incredibly well done fic "Late Night" by @simpingsavant Please give it a read because it's a masterpiece.

Part 1: The Kickstart {You Are Here}

Part 2: Mama Bear

It was nearly three in the morning. The witching hour, you think with a smile. There was a light flickering near the fountain drinks. You lean against the checkout counter, thumbing through an aged script.

You memorize the cue lines that signal when quick changes are supposed to happen between scenes. The current musical you are working on is Hairspray.

Going through the script and your production notes really help pass the time.

The small rinky-dink gas station you manage is your reluctant home most nights. It wasn’t your favorite place, but it helped with the bills. Trying to make a living on production design for musicals isn’t the money maker you hoped it would be in LA.

You barely made anything doing hair and makeup for the community theatre. But it was something you loved.

And wouldn’t you rather be doing something you love than being miserable in a high paying corporate job?

Sure, you think.

It had been nearly eight months since you started working at this gas station. The owner was as rinky-dink as the store itself, speaking in short, to the point sentences and avoiding eye contact. There were only two gas pumps out front that rarely attracted customers.

The biggest commodity are the cheap drinks and snacks inside. Many stop by for something quick on their way to and from work.

Normally working the night shifts from 10pm to 6am, you are quick to notice any regulars. Not many people are awake at this time of night, let alone on their way to the gas station for a drink.

The bell sounds above the door as a familiar face enters. It was Glasses.

That’s what you called him after seeing him for the third time in a week, back when you first started working here.

He usually came in late like this, looking exhausted. He has curly dark hair, gold rimmed glasses, and some scruff. Today he’s dressed in jeans rolled up at the cuffs, brown boots, and a gray sweatshirt.

He gives you an awkward, close-lipped smile as he passes. You watch him go for the drink fridges. Energy drinks are his specialty, maybe the occasional coffee or breakfast sandwich. He always bought them two at a time, taking the slight discount for buying a duo instead of a single.

About every other week he’s there three to four of those days. You’ve always wondered why – especially when he always looked so tired when he came in.

But you’ve never had a conversation that’s lasted longer than the cordial exchanges.

“Hello,” you say.

“Hello,” he replies with his awkward smile.

You scan his drinks, Mountain Dew Kickstarts like always. “Find everything you need?”

“Yep.”

The computer beeps. “That’ll be $8.56.”

“All right.” He taps his card on the machine in front of him.

“Would you like your receipt?”

“No thanks.” He grabs his two cans.

“Have a nice night.”

“You too.”

It had been like that for maybe six of those eight months. After that, your curiosity began to plague you. The next time he came in, you watch him browse for a Kickstart and a breakfast muffin.

Saying hello to him had felt routine. But it was clear that you both recognized each other. So you decide to say something a little more than usual.

“Getting breakfast a little early?” you joke in your quiet voice.

He smiles, pulling out his wallet. “I just haven’t eaten anything all night.”

“Sounds like a rough night. That’s $9.34.”

He scans his card. “It has been.”

With him looking down at the keypad, you take the time to look at the circles under his eyes. “You should try the croissant sandwiches. Much better than stale muffins.”

He nods his head, “Next time. Thanks.”

You watch him walk away, still at a loss as to why he’s always in there this late at night.

A couple days later he’s walking in and giving you a wave. You smile at him as he makes for the drinks again.

He’s dressed in those same jeans and combat boots. Now he wears a t-shirt with a denim jacket. If you had friends to talk to, you’d want to tell them how Glasses loves to wear the same jeans and jackets all the time.

He comes to the counter and clears his throat.

You scan his drinks and a breakfast sandwich. A croissant sandwich.

You chuckle, “You won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m counting on it,” he says, tapping his card against his hand while he waits.

“Haven’t eaten anything all night again?”

He hums, shrugging his shoulders, “Felt peckish.”

“Do you want your receipt?”

“No, that’s fine. Have a good night.”

You throw the balled up receipt into the garbage bin beside you. “You too.”

You’d love to tell a friend that Glasses seems shy. He seems nice.

A few weeks later, you’re drawing sketches for costume designs. You were doing Shrek The Musical at the community theatre. Papers were full of drawings depicting a white rabbit, a wicked witch, a wolf in granny clothes, and fairies with colorful makeup.

You were humming one of the songs when Glasses came in with a yawn. His eyes search for you and he waves, “Good evening.”

“Good night,” you say sarcastically.

He grabs his drinks and comes to the counter with wandering eyes. You try to move your sketches and pencils out of the way.

“Sorry,” you say, “That’ll be $8.56.”

He scans his card, but keeps looking at your art. “You draw those?”

“Yeah,” you say, abashedly. “Little project.”

“They’re really good,” he pops open one of the drinks and takes a sip. “Are they just for fun, or…?”

You shyly pull out a drawing of a person in a dragon scale costume. “They’re for the musical I’m a part of. Down at the local theatre.”

“That’s cool,” his face lights up.

Something warm tickles your stomach. You were actually having a normal conversation with Glasses.

“Are you the costume designer?”

“Assistant,” you bow your head. “I’m head of hair and makeup.”

He nods, clearly interested. “Have you been a part of production teams much?”

“For years,” you smile, “I love theatre. I’ve done almost everything. Acting, costumes, set design, lighting – you name it.”

He pockets the other energy drink in his jacket pocket. “Sounds like fun. Have a nice rest of your night.”

“Thank you, you too.”

If you had friends, maybe you’d tell them that Glasses might become a friend. The only person you have to text is your new boyfriend Aaron. But he wasn’t a fan of nonsense texts – texts that were unnecessary.

A few weeks go by, now seven months into your job at the gas station. Glasses was still making his almost daily visits. You caught him standing outside the window for a minute before coming in.

You have confusion in your face, but a smile on your lips. “You okay there?”

He raises his eyebrows and talks as he walks to the fridges. “What do you mean?”

“Was there something on that window or were you just making sure you weren’t a vampire?” At his knitted brows, you continue, “You know… checking that you still had a reflection.”

Heat floods your face at the poor attempt at a joke, but Glasses laughs, nonetheless. “I might be nocturnal, but no, I’m not a vampire.”

You smile, admiring him walking towards you. His fluffy curls were sticking out from beneath a green hat. In white embroidery it says, Smosh.

“How were auditions?” he asks, getting his card ready.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Good. I think we’ll have a good cast.” Earlier that week he asked about the latest Hairspray script that was on your counter. “The quick changes will be fun.”

He clears his throat, having paid but still standing at the register.

“I’m sorry, did you want your receipt?” you ask suddenly. “Normally you don’t so I stopped asking.”

“No, no – sorry. I’ve been trying to find some clever segway to introduce myself. But we’ve been seeing each other for months and it feels strange to do it now.” He rubs his forehead, struggling to maintain eye contact with you while he talks. “I mean, it’s not like I have a nametag like you.”

You look down at your chest to see (Y/N) printed on the laminated tag. “That’s true.”

He takes a deep breath and extends his hand. “I’m Spencer.”

You take his hand. It was very warm. “(Y/N).”

He smiles, “Nice to officially meet you.”

Maybe you’ll tell Aaron that Glasses has a new name now. Spencer.

One night at two in the morning, you were asked to do inventory while another employee managed the registers. It was strange to have a coworker with you on night shifts, but when things need to be restocked, it took a team.

You use a box cutter to break through packages, pulling out chip bags and candies. You roll them out on a dolly. Plastic wrappers crinkling as you restock shelves, you don’t notice who Eric at the counter is talking to.

But then a pair of glasses peek around the corner. “Hey!”

You smile wide, “Spencer!”

He smiles back, “I was worried when I didn’t see you at the registers.”

“Yeah, they need two of us here when we do inventory,” you shake a bag of doritos before putting it on the shelf. “How was your day?”

He sighs, opening his drink, “Long. Shooting weeks always are.” He tells you about the online comedy group he’s a part of. It was called Smosh.

“Oh, you’ve worn some merch that has that logo on it,” you say, moving a box out of the way.

Spencer nods, “Gotta promote whenever we can.”

“How large is the group?”

“Well, it’s more of an entertainment company. We have a huge production team and a cast. We film content for four different channels.”

“That’s impressive.”

He suddenly dips down to help hand you boxes of candy. “I guess. I think most of LA are internet personalities in one way or another.”

“I’m not,” you say quietly. “It is impressive.”

You learn about his directorial position on one of the channels. Being a head producer, he has a lot of sway on that content. You commend him on the responsibility, and he seems pleased, if not a little embarrassed.

He excuses himself not long after that.

You head towards the registers to restock the candy on the counters. Eric is there giving you a telling smile.

“What are you looking at?” you ask.

The middle-aged man scoffs, “That guy came in with the biggest smile on his face, but then he realized I was the one standing at the counter and he looked so disappointed.”

“I’m sure he was just in need of an energy drink.”

Eric shakes his head, “It wasn’t me that he wanted to see.”

Now in the present, you stand at the counter while Spencer leans against the other side. You had just revealed the fact that you have a boyfriend.

“H-How long have you been together?” he asks with much more nervousness than before.

You scrunch your nose in thought, “About two months. It’s been great though. He gives me rides to work and everything.”

“You don’t have a car?” Spencer asks, paying for his snacks.

You throw the receipt away, “No. I was taking the bus before I met him.” Noticing the awkwardness enter Spencer’s face, you say, “Rough I know. But I manage.”

“It’s nice of him.”

“Yeah, especially because I don’t really make enough to get a car right now.”

“Isn’t that why you have this job on top of the musical theatre stuff?” he offers you a package of your favorite candy.

It makes you smile, “Sure. But rent isn’t helping with my savings. Living paycheck to paycheck.”

“Does Aaron drive you to theatre too?”

Your gaze falls from Spencer’s, eating a piece of candy to give you some time before answering. “No, he’s not a big fan of musicals.”

Spencer scrunches his brow. Unsure of what was stepping over the line with this new friend of his, he tiptoes. “He won’t drive you because he doesn’t like theatre?”

“It’s kind of inconvenient asking him to come get me late after rehearsals. I shouldn’t ask for so much, he’ll think I’m dating him just to have a cab driver.” You snicker at your joke, but Spencer doesn’t seem to think it’s very funny.

He drinks from his can when another customer enters the store. That always meant he would excuse himself so you could get back to your job.

You start to expect Spencer each week. You wait for when you know a filming week was at Smosh. During that time, Spencer would visit for his necessary caffeine. He always stops to talk to you for a few minutes before leaving.

You always feel bad since he normally came in exhausted from work. He denies himself sleep just to spend a few more minutes with you.

It takes a couple more weeks, but he starts to stay even when more customers come in. He just steps to the side and waits for you to ring the customer up.

Then he comes back to continue your conversation.

“So do you prefer acting or production?”

You share the snacks that he’s purchased. “Production, for sure. I kind of developed stage fright a couple years ago. But I do miss being on stage sometimes.”

He looks at you while you talk. He’s an active listener. He zeros in on your face while you speak, ensuring he doesn’t miss anything.

But when he speaks, he tends to look elsewhere. “Did something happen?”

You shrug, “I just get nervous being in the spotlight now. I don’t like the attention much.”

“I get that. I haven’t always loved being on camera. It’s taken finding the right company to do it.”

You nod, “That sounds nice. To be so comfortable in the workplace. And to have everyone there as friends.”

He agrees, “Though a lot of them like to crack jokes about not seeing each other outside of work.” He chuckles as he remembers something. “It’s great being a part of a company where the goal is comedy content. You get to have fun with your friends every day.”

“And you’ve been there for so long,” you say, “You’ve definitely earned your place.”

“Thank you,” he feels warm around the collar, “It’s been hard at times, but well worth it now.”

You suddenly feel a warmth in your cheeks. “You know, um… my show opens next week. If – If you’re interested in seeing it. I’ll be there every night.”

“Helping Edna quick change into her fancy 60s outfit,” he smiles kindly. His eyes are soft and considerate as he watches your nervous gesture. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

You brighten, “Great!”

A week later you’re in the wings of the stage, sweaty with the heat the spotlights generate. A headset adorns your head, microphone near your mouth. You’re readjusting a costume onto a rack from the last quick change.

The last number of the show was currently playing: You Can’t Stop the Beat. You whisper the lyrics and subtly follow along with the choreography.

It was safe to do so with the curtains hiding you from the audience.

You listen to the applause as the cast bows. You imagine them gesturing to the tech booth, acknowledging the production team behind the scenes. You give a little imaginary bow to the audience.

Waiting in the dressing rooms, you help organize the costumes and clean up the makeup counters. Cast members thank you for your help, carrying massive bouquets and presents from the crowd.

You compliment the flowers and give your praise to their performances. It’s forty minutes later, having put the makeup and hairspray away, preening the wigs, and spraying down the character shoes, that you find your purse and head towards the front doors.

Outside on the sidewalk you’re met with an unexpected surprise.

Spencer.

He stands under the white lights of the theatre logo. He adorns his usual rolled up jeans and band t-shirt, denim jacket over it. His curls look extra defined tonight and in his hand are three colorful carnation flowers.

“Spencer? What are you…? I didn’t know you were coming tonight!” You walk towards him and for the first time since meeting him – you hug him.

Arms around his shoulders, smelling his clean, fresh scent. He seems timid to hug you back.

“Well… I did say I would come see the show.”

You shake your head. “I would have come out sooner if I knew you’d be here. I’m so sorry to keep you so long.”

“It’s no problem,” he offers the flowers. “Worth the wait.”

You give a smile, but your face is still regretful, “You shouldn’t have. I wasn’t even on stage.”

“Of course you were,” he says, “Your costumes and wigs and makeup were there.”

You hold the few flowers, completely endeared by him. “Thank you. This is really kind of you. You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs, shoving his empty hands into his pockets. “It’s kind of weird seeing you out of uniform. I’ve never seen you out of that polo and black pants.”

“Well, stage crew attire isn’t much different,” you laugh, gesturing to the long sleeve black shirt and leggings. “What did you think of the show?”

“It was excellent,” he says, “It’s such a fun show. I bet you loved teasing those wigs and picking out costumes with those crazy patterns.”

“And the quick changes?”

“I counted like 38 seconds,” he laughs, “That’s super impressive.”

You smile warmly, though the night air had a chill to it. “Thank you for coming, Spencer. It means a lot.”

“Of course,” he steps away, “I’ll see you later.”

You start to walk down the sidewalk, opposite the parking lot. Spencer suddenly has a thought. He runs up to you.

“Wait, how are you getting home?”

“Oh, I walk to the bus stop and take that.”

He looks down at your crossed arms trying to keep you warm. “Aaron really won’t come get you?”

“I don’t want to inconvenience him.” You wave away the look of worry in his face. “I do this every night, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Yeah, but… you shouldn’t have to.”

“Have a good night, Spence.”

You’ve never used a nickname with him before. He huffs a little before following your retreating figure, “Then let me give you a ride.”

You keep walking, “Really, Spence – I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” he says, “But let me help. I want to give you a ride. It’s cold.”

Your fingers feel like ice against your arms. You look in the direction of the bus stop before looking at the pleading in Spencer’s face.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

Relief floods his expression, “Great, this way.”

He guides you to his car and even opens the passenger door for you. It’s a kind gesture that you aren’t used to. He turns on the heater and your seat warmer before exiting the parking lot.

You direct him to your poor excuse of a studio apartment. The pair of you speak pleasantries the entire way. The lighting design of the musical, the strategic sets that move quickly, the realistic prop hairspray, and things like that.

He didn’t notice how you cower in the seat. He thinks it’s just because you’re still cold.

“Is the gas station good about changing your schedule so you can be there on show nights?”

“Yes, they’re so kind about it,” you say, playing with your fingers. It was a nervous habit of yours – pinching, rubbing, and picking at them. “I switch with a usual day shifter.”

Spencer nods, “I – I’ve missed seeing you at our usual time.”

“Our usual time?” you laugh, like your gas station hangouts were scheduled playdates.

He smiles, embarrassed, “Yeah, I mean… your customer service is so excellent. How am I supposed to get a Kickstart when you’re not there?”

“You know there are dozens of other gas stations and convenience stores around here.”

“Yeah, but they don’t have you.”

Something beats loudly in your chest. It sends a waterfall of warm, fizzing fireworks into your stomach.

Your apartment building is in a scary part of LA – but it’s what you can afford. Aaron was hinting at moving in together just for the ease of splitting the rent. It did sound appealing when you could actually save a little for a car.

“Thanks again for the ride,” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt.

He looks nervous again, “Anytime. And… maybe we could exchange numbers – in case you need another ride from the theatre?”

You look at him warmly, “I’m not going to ask you to come grab me when you could be in a filming week.”

He shrugs his shoulders, “I would still come.”

With a small smile, you take out your phone and open a new contact. In the name slot you put ‘Glasses.’ Spencer switches your phones and puts his number in.

You smile wider as you put your name in the contact and put a little theatre emoji after it.

“Glasses?” he asks, handing you back your phone.

“Yeah, that’s…” you brush warm fingers with him as you accept your phone. “That’s what I called you when I noticed you as a regular at the gas station. I didn’t know your name, so I gave you one in my head.”

He seems overly please about that. He has to look away from you and smile. “That’s funny, I like it. What would you do if you saw me without glasses? It would be a whole new identify to you.”

“Very Clark Kent of you,” you laugh.

He suddenly removes his gold rimmed glasses and looks at you all serious. “You’re right, during the day I’m fighting crime with the Justice League and at night I refuel at the gas station.”

“Superman refuels with energy drinks?” you laugh, causally reaching over to snatch his glasses. “I don’t know if Krypton would approve.”

“No, no – Kryptonians thrive off extra energy. Sun energy and now caffeine energy.”

His eyes are a dark green-gray color. Maybe that’s just because it’s dark outside. But you can’t decide what color they actually are. They’re definitely not brown.

You raise the glasses to your eyes and look at him. “I didn’t realize Superman was so blind.”

“It’s not that bad,” Spencer laughs, looking at you fondly.

You return the glasses, “Drive safe. Thanks again for the ride. Text me when you get home safely.”

He waves you off, waiting until you’re able to unlock your door before driving away.

Inside your apartment, you look at the chipped walls and cracked ceiling. The musty, uncomfortable couch in front of the small tv atop a table you got free off a lawn. To the right is the tiny kitchen with only one counter and no dining table.

Rummaging through a cabinet, you find a tall plastic cup to put your carnation flowers into.

The bathroom is straight ahead, where you go into to get ready for bed.

The porcelain of the tub and sink have rust stains around the handles. The tile of the floor is broken in places and the dim light above is giving off an ugly yellow glow.

You open the mirror cabinet to grab what you need to brush your teeth. Brand names are all obscure as you did get the supplies from a dollar store down the street.

If you had a little more money, you would buy a face wash and face towels. But the essentials were good enough.

You cross the hall to get to your bed. Being a studio apartment, there isn’t a separate room for your bed. It lies on the floor behind the tv stand and in front of the only window in the whole place.

The queen mattress was the one thing you spent a little more money on. It doesn’t have a headboard or support to keep it off the ground, but it was comfortable and had nice periwinkle blue sheets.

You change into sage green pajamas with little daisies on them, climbing into your bed and fumbling for the phone charger next to the mattress.

As you plug your phone in, a text message comes in from Glasses.

“Just got home. You did amazing tonight! See you later this week.”

You heart his message and give him a thank you in reply.

~~~

The end of the week is approaching and you’re at the theatre again. Headset on, you hang in the tech booth, grabbing a few more safety pins, mic tape, and alcohol wipes.

The oversized fanny pack you love to wear across your chest is open and full of supplies. You stuff the microphone items inside, watching the stage from the view of the booth.

Tracy was beginning the song Welcome to the 60s. You turn on the microphone by your mouth.

“Head to the wings for quick change pretty please.”

A muffled reply comes through the headset, “On the way, (Y/N).”

You leave the tech booth and walk out of the audience room to the side entrance of the wings. Waiting on stage right, you hold Edna’s new dress for the song. Two stage crew members help by holding accessories and waiting to take off Edna’s current costume.

“Go mama, go, go go!”

Edna comes running off to stage right, tossing their purse to the stage crew member. They wiggle out of their simple purple plaid dress and step right into the sparkly pink dress you have waiting open on the floor.

You pull up the fabric as you hear the lyrics continue on stage.

“Don’t let nobody try to steal your fun, ‘cause a little touch of lipstick never hurt no one.

The future’s got a million roads for you to choose, but you’ll walk a little taller in some high-heeled shoes.”

You zip up the dress and readjust the mic pack on the suit strap beneath. Stage crew throws a new necklace on and a sparkle to the lip makeup. The other stage crew snugs a fuller wig onto the actor, starting to pin it down onto the wig cap. You hand a feather boa to the actor and help pin the new wig in.

“Come on out, hear us shout. Mama, that’s your cue!”

Just in time, you think, sending the actor back onto stage. It always felt like a close call, but the audience shouting their surprise and praise always felt like a reward.

You smile at the stage crew members and wave them off to help with set pieces. You then take the old purple plaid costume to the rack to keep it from wrinkling on the floor.

While in the dressing rooms you meet the actress playing Penny Pingleton, “Hey, sis – I noticed your mic tape not sitting so good on your cheek.”

She smiles worriedly, the action making the mic tape unstick from her face and the microphone dangle from her ear. “Just a little.”

You pull out an alcohol wipe and roll of tape from your pack. “There might just be too much makeup in the way.” You wipe the spot where the microphone sits on her cheek, fanning your hand to make the alcohol dry.

Cutting two pieces of tape, you line the microphone and stick it in place. The actress keeps her face straight, letting it adhere.

“Thanks, (Y/N).”

“Anytime.” You leave the dressing room to find the man playing Seaweed. His mic belt kept twisting beneath his costume.

You track him down and use safety pins to secure the mic belt to his undershirt. Now as he dances and changes, the mic pack will stay in place. He shares his gratitude and runs off to the next scene.

The rest of the show goes without a hitch. The audience claps during the bows, and you give your imaginary bow to the curtains.

You begin to clean the dressing rooms when you get a text. From Glasses.

“Hey, I’m at the entrance by the concessions when you’re done in the back.”

A smile creeps onto your face. He saw the show a second time? You text back, “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

You’re quick to clean up and organize the costumes before heading out. The front was still packed with audience members trying to talk and take pictures with the cast members. You push your way towards the concessions table to see Spencer there.

He was wearing a black Creed t-shirt, arms full of silly tattoos on total display. Instead of holding flowers, he’s holding a Diet Coke from the concessions. You grin, falling out of the crowd and into him for a hug.

He catches you and hugs you back. You feel the cold soda against your shirt.

“I can’t believe you came again!” You pull away, eyes shining. You’ve never had someone to meet outside the theatre after a show before.

He extends the drink he got for you. “I told you it was an excellent show. And I wanted to bring a friend to see it too.”

A woman stands beside him, “And he misses seeing you at the gas station every day.”

You miss how Spencer nudges the woman with his elbow. You were too busy recognizing her face.

“Oh my god – oh my fucking god,” you accidentally shake the soda as you wave your hands. “You’re Angela Giarratana!”

Her brown eyes widen ridiculously, “Um… yeah, I am.”

“You were on Nerdy Prudes Must Die!”

A smile replaces the surprise on her face, “Oh, yes! I was in that show last year. You really scared me there for a second.”

Spencer licks his lips, watching the excitement on your face. “I wondered if you’d seen anything from StarKid.”

“Well, I’m a theatre kid, aren’t I?” you say, “I literally have a Hatchetfield Nighthawks letterman jacket. It’s so nice to meet you, Angela. I’m (Y/N).” You lean into a hug and Angela returns it kindly.

“I know, Spencer’s talked about you.” She steps away and compliments the show, “You did a great job with the costume design. Spencer and I were timing the quick changes.”

“I am very proud of those,” you say excitedly. “I’m sorry, I can’t stop smiling. Thank you for coming to our show. How do you know Spencer?”

Angela smacks Spencer’s arm, “We work together. He’s more behind the scenes and I’m more on camera.”

“At Smosh? That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, it’s all right,” she says, looking to Spencer and then laughing. “I gotta be careful or Spencer won’t put me in any of the videos on Games.”

You open your soda, drinking it like you were parched all night. “Are you working on any more theatre projects?”

“Eh, not at the moment,” Angela says, folding her arms. “I’m spending most of my time on Smosh sets.” She eyes you for a second before saying, “Do you have a portfolio by chance?”

“A portfolio?” you ask, wiping your lip of soda. “Of what?”

Angela rubs at her chin, “Sketches of your costume designs or makeup aesthetics. Maybe a performing arts resume. Pictures of your work on stage.”

“Um…” you pull awkwardly on the edge of your shirt. “No, not formally. But I could pull something together.”

“That’d be great. I’d love to see more of your work.”

Spencer looks incredibly pleased with himself, biting on his lips. “Would you let me give you a ride home?”

Your eyes are still shining, flitting your gaze between the two friends. “Um… yeah – that’d be great.”

All of you walk outside the theatre and towards the parking lot. Spencer is quick to open the passenger door for you and you give an awkward thank you.

Angela rolls her eyes and climbs into the back. “He’s such a doofus.” You watch Spencer walk around the hood of the car to get into the drivers side.

“A what?” you laugh.

“Just watch him – you’ll notice sooner or later.”

He climbs in and uses the seatbelt, “Watch who?”

You clear your throat, “Joey Richter. He’s another actor on StarKid Productions. He’s super talented.”

Angela snickers in the back. “What was the first thing you watched on StarKid?”

“A Very Potter Musical,” you laugh, “Way back in the day.”

“Classic,” Angela says, folding her arms and slumping into the seat. “What brought you to LA?”

You play with your fingers. “I wanted to move out of my home state. And I wanted to get more into the arts. But it’s been hard to find stable work.”

“You’re telling me. That’s the life of an actor – just jumping from one gig to another.”

“It would be the dream,” you sigh, “To do this full time. I just wish I had a little more security with it. A stable income. Not to be afraid with how I’ll afford food every month.” You awkwardly laugh as you realize you might’ve said too much. “But I’m doing all right.”

Angela agrees, “It’s hard to do well in the arts.”

“Hard to be recognized,” Spencer says. “(Y/N) already does well in the arts.”

You smile, your cheeks warm. “When is your next filming week?”

“Next week,” Angela sighs, yawning big. “Which reminds me – I gotta pick up that new pair of glasses for the office.”

“Angela is super blind and never wears her glasses during shoots,” Spencer explains. “Especially on the games channel. She’s always squinting super bad at the tv whenever we’re playing a game.”

“And I’ve been doing just fine!” Angela says loudly, “I’ve been training my eyes to see that far.”

Spencer scoffs, “Yeah, and the compilations of you squinting are growing at an exponential rate because of it.”

“Shut up!” Angela yells.

You laugh at their antics. “Are you allowed to yell at your boss like that?”

Spencer looks in the rearview mirror, “Yeah, Angela. As your superior you need to treat me with a high level of respect. I expect a full written apology and a certain amount of groveling before you’re allowed back on the Games set.” His tone was serious, but by the wide comical look in his eye, you know he’s using hyperbole as a joke.

“The heads of Smosh are actually Ian and Anthony, so don’t you even pull that superiority card!”

You keep giggling at this funnier, more outspoken Spencer. Proof that he was very comfortable with this coworker and their workplace.

It sounds nice.

~~~

Angela sits in the passenger seat now, slumped into the door and leaning her forehead against the window.

“She’s really nice.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says quietly, thoughts still lingering on you.

Angela looks over at him and smirks. “You like her so fucking much. I knew you did when you wouldn’t shut up about her at the office, but damn – seeing you with her was nearly painful.”

“What are you talking about? I’m so subtle about it.”

“So you don’t deny it!” she sits up stick straight, so fast that the seatbelt locks into place and stops her from moving anymore.

Spencer flounders, “I – what – no, that’s not what I said!”

“You totally did you little fucker! You like her so much it hurts. You like her so much your cheeks are going to burst into flames. You like her so much you can’t get a full sentence out.”

“Angela, shut the fuck up – you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

She bounces in her seat, “I’m so subtle about it. I can’t believe you. You’ve been talking about this girl for almost a year. Of course you have a crush on her!”

“Angela, I swear to god, don’t ruin this for me.”

“How would I ruin this? I want my little Spencey to have true love. You have to ask her out.”

“Yeah, genius – you’re forgetting about a teensy little detail. She has a fucking boyfriend.”

Angela freezes, sitting back. “Right.” She bites her lip, “Should have made your shot earlier.”

“And risk looking like a creep asking a girl out at a gas station? No thank you.”

“Is you considering her for the production team on Smosh an elaborate way to play the long game with her?”

“No!” Spencer grips the steering wheel, sounding like a bickering sibling. “She has real talent, and I think she deserves the position.”

Angela holds up her hands, “All right, okay.” She side eyes him with raised brows, “… but you wouldn’t be upset if she suddenly became available and you could ask her out?”

He refuses to meet Angela’s eyes. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction by answering that question.”

“You basically just answered it,” she folds her arms, “You know… I can’t promise I can keep this from Amanda. Or Shayne.”

Spencer puts his elbow against the window and holds his temple.

“Or Chanse.”

“I figured.”

Angela gave him a sympathetic smile. “For what it’s worth – I think she has a real shot. We should get her portfolio to Ian and Anthony asap.”

~~~

You’re cleaning the counters at the gas station. It’s nearing the end of your shift, almost 6am. And Spencer hadn’t visited you like he usually did. It was actually making you worried.

You had spent the last few days collecting every piece of art and experience you had to compile a portfolio. It didn’t feel like a very thick folder, but it had every ounce of hard work from the last few years.

It sits within a blue cover under the registers, waiting for Spencer to come.

“Hey!” there he comes through the door. “I’m so sorry, we had an overnight shoot, and I forgot to tell you.”

You look confused, “Spence, you didn’t have any obligation to be here. We didn’t make any plans.”

“I know, but I usually…” he looks flustered and upset. “You know, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

You smile kindly, “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

He runs a hand through his curly hair, his eyes considering you as you clean. “This early in the morning, we both look exhausted now.”

“Aw, we have matching dark circles under our eyes!” You go under the counter to grab the blue folder. “Here’s that portfolio Angela was asking about. I wasn’t sure how to get it to her, so maybe you could take it to work?”

“Um… yeah, for sure. Thanks.”

The bell above the door rings, signaling the appearance of a new customer. Usually at this point in the mornings, customers would come in for their sustenance before work. You’re focused on Spencer, unaware of the person walking towards you.

“(Y/N), let’s go.”

You turn your eyes around and see Aaron beelining for your counter.

“Oh, hey,” you say quietly, “You’re twenty minutes early.”

“And?”

This man was over six foot, broad shouldered, and unkempt. His eyes are lazy and hard pressed, his jaw tense as you contradict him.

You wring your hands, “I’m not allowed to leave until six.”

“Well, I’m here now. Let’s go.”

“That’s…” you suck in a breath. He smells like stale beer. “Let me clock out and tell my boss.” You round the counter and are quick to enter the back rooms.

Spencer stays where he is, holding the blue portfolio, and looking at Aaron with an air of disdain. It was not the first impression he was expecting when picturing your boyfriend.

“You waiting to buy something?” Aaron asks, frowning at the way Spencer’s looking at him.

“No, I was just…” he swallows. “I was just talking with (Y/N).”

Aaron squints his eyes, hands moving to his hips. “And you know her because?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“(Y/N) doesn’t have any friends.”

“Untrue, because I’m standing right here.”

Aaron flexes his jaw, “She hasn’t mentioned you before.”

“Yes, I have,” you reappear without your nametag and your purse now around your shoulder. “I’ve talked about him a couple times.” You stand beside Spencer and instantly feel the tension.

Aaron extends his hand like he wants to take yours. “If you did talk about him, I would have remembered. We’re leaving.”

You go to hold his hand, but he moves his to grab your arm, pulling you towards the door. You turn your head to mouth, “Sorry,” towards Spencer.

Spencer waves at you, his face placid and upset. He watches out the windows to see Aaron let you go on the sidewalk to get into the car yourself. He slams the car shut, neglecting his seatbelt, and squealing out of the parking lot.

Still upset, Spencer gets into his car and contemplates his next move. His instincts told him that you weren’t completely safe. He wonders if you and Aaron have moved in together yet – he was trying to pull the ‘cheaper rent’ card on that account.

It was blatantly clear that Aaron was gaslighting you. Within three minutes, he was pegged as an asshole.

Spencer pulls out his phone and sends you a text. “Nice seeing you today, hope you get some good sleep.”

He rubs hard at his face before driving off. He plans to show your portfolio to Ian and Anthony tomorrow.

~~~

You’re sitting on the couch, playing on your PlayStation, when someone knocks on the door. Enjoying the day off, you wonder what door-to-door salesman is at your house.

You open the door and a giant smile envelopes your face, “Spencer! You didn’t tell me you were going to visit.”

He take a breath, “Um… yeah, I wanted to ask you something and I couldn’t wait until you were on shift.”

You lean against the doorframe, biting your lip. “Well, I would invite you inside, but I have to warn you… it’s not very nice.”

“I don’t care,” he says matter-of-factly. “I just want to talk.”

“All right,” you say shyly, opening the door wide. You watch his reaction, already feeling embarrassment brewing in your stomach.

Spencer looks around for a second, taking in the minimal furniture and all around lackluster state of the structure. He zeros in on the old tv displaying your video game.

“Are you playing Red Dead Redemption 2?”

“Uh… yeah,” you say quietly, holding yourself and you walk into the living room. “It’s one of my favorites.”

Spencer smiles, finding it amazing to learn something new about you that he loves. “Nice horse.”

You laugh, sitting on the couch and grabbing your controller. Your cowboy character was riding a white horse in the middle of a river. “It’s the White Arabian you have to tame by Lake Isabella.”

“Is that… like the best horse or something?” Spencer comes to sit beside you, sinking into the musty couch.

“It’s the only elite Arabian horse that you can find in the wild.”

Spencer leans against the couch arm, resting his face in one hand. “I didn’t realize you were a gamer.”

“The more you know me, the more of a nerd I become.”

“Nothing wrong with that, you big nerd.”

You giggle, “What did you want to talk about?’

Spencer clears his throat. “I uh… I took your portfolio to work.”

“What did Angela think?”

“She thought it was all great. But um… a few others got a look at it too.” He shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “There’s this job opening on the production team, specifically on the Smosh main channel. But they would help with all the channels.”

You pause the game again and really look at him. “What is the position?”

“An assistant art coordinator. They help the art directors with creating sets, costumes, and character looks.”

“And what are the responsibilities?”

“They’re looking for someone to manage hair and makeup for Smosh skits and any character work on other channels. Most of the cast do it themselves, but we do need someone who specializes in prosthetics makeup. And you seem to have done that a lot in theatre. We also need someone to manage costume work – the upkeep of them.”

You swallow hard, arms slowly moving to hold yourself. “Do you know what the salary is?”

“I think it’s around 50k-60k. You’ll make between $24 - $28 an hour.”

You bite your cheek. “That’s great.” You look at your surroundings. This new job would be paying you over $10 more than you’re getting now. “Are you saying Smosh is interested in interviewing me for assistant art coordinator?”

Spencer nods his head. “That is basically what I’m saying.”

“Did you show your bosses my portfolio on purpose?” You lower your eyes but look at him through your lashes.

He takes a deep breath, stretching out on the couch. “Maybe. Maybe I thought you deserved a chance.” He looks at you seriously, “I think you’ve got some real talent, (Y/N). You should go for an interview.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll do it.”

You look at him, “I’m suddenly super nervous.” A laugh escapes you, “I… I have to talk to Aaron about it.”

“Okay,” Spencer says with an edge. He tries to be respectful. “Have you two…”

“We’ve moved in together,” you say softly. “To make bills a little easier. And… and as a trial run, I guess. I’ll be able to save up for a car now.”

Spencer has a finger on the corner of his mouth. “Do you think you could make an interview this Thursday?”

You think for a second, “I’m sure Aaron would be okay with that. I’ll just talk to him about it tonight.”

He doesn’t seem happy about that statement. But instead of saying something he might regret, he points to the PlayStation. “Have you completed this game before?”

“Oh, yeah – maybe three times,” you pick up the controller again. “This time I’m trying to complete all of the side quests before finishing the main story.”

“You should be wearing a cowboy hat while playing.”

“That would be awesome,” you laugh. You look at him with sincerity, “Thank you for looking out for me, Spence. I appreciate the chance.”

He gives a close-lipped smile. “Always.”

~~~

You step off the bus and begin to walk down the street. Using your phone, you follow the directions that Spencer gave you.

The Smosh office was right around the corner.

You enter the building, pulling on the only pair of dress pants you own. You readjust the simple blouse to show off the single diamond necklace you wear around your neck. You hope it gives you a professional first impression.

The main entrance of the building shows a little receptionist desk and plush chairs to wait in. You advance the desk while noticing behind it are many tables and folding chairs – probably for lunches.

“Hello, how are you?” a nice lady at the desk says.

You wave shakily, “I’m good. I’m here for an interview with Mr. Hecox and Mr. Padilla.”

She seems to find you saying their surnames comical judging by the little smile on her face. But she gestures to the plush armchairs behind you. “Sure, just wait there and I’ll call them.”

You turn around and notice that behind the chairs is a large window showing a large kitchen. The lunch tables and folding chairs makes more sense.

“Thank you,” you say, looking down at the name plate, “Selina.” You sit down and holding your famously large fanny pack in your lap. It gives you something to hold with your fidgeting hands.

Now sitting, you can see the wide windows behind Selina’s desk. There’s a long conference table in there with a television and speakers on a stand. There’s a phone speaker in the middle of the table for any people that are being called in remotely.

Behind the conference table is a little sitting area with a couch and armchair. A couple tables and folding chairs are in the rest of the open space. It’s probably a big room for any meetings with teams or big groups of people.

“(Y/N) Bennett?” someone asks. You jump and stand to see two men coming around the corner.

One is taller with dark, wavy styled hair, a nose ring, and cool tattoos spidering up his neck. He has a great smile and just radiates a natural energy you like.

The other is slightly shorter with brown hair in a classic cut. He has a scruffy beard and black square glasses. He gives very much dad energy with how he’s dressed.

“Yes,” you say rather breathlessly. “I’m (Y/N) Bennett.”

“I’m Anthony,” the taller says, “And this is Ian.”

You shake hands with them, Ian gesturing to the conference room. “We’ll meet in here.”

The three of you walk into the room and take seats around the long table. “It’s nice to meet you,” you say quietly, “Thank you for offering me an interview.”

“For sure,” Anthony says, leaning forward in his chair. Ian sits and immediately starts spinning back and forth. “We saw your portfolio and were really impressed with your work.”

“Thank you,” you say eagerly.

Ian clears his throat, “Could you tell us a little bit about yourself?”

“Well, I’m living here with my boyfriend. I’ve lived here for about two years. Before that I was in Nevada, just outside of Vegas. My family is still there,” you say quietly. “I’ve been a theatre and fine arts student all my life. I’ve been doing community and school productions since second grade. I have experience in both stage acting and in tech behind the scenes.”

“Which do you prefer?” Anthony asks.

You hold onto your fanny pack, “Right now, probably tech. I really enjoy designing costumes and putting characters together. Sometimes I do miss acting though.”

“What do you enjoy about art design?” Ian questions.

You focus on his chair spinning back and forth. “I’m a fan of storytelling. I think one of the greatest talents a person can have is in telling a story, no matter the platform. If I can be a part of that process, I’d enjoy every second. I want to show the story in costumes, hair, and makeup. It’s the most expressive way to describe a person or character.”

“Well said,” Anthony nods. “How would you manage a set when coordinating those things?”

“I would need to see the costume closet to know how to care for it. Organization is key, ensuring you don’t lose any pieces. You’d need a costume rack on set and some essentials, like safety pins, apparel tape, a lint roller, things like that. Makeup vanities will need to be disinfected and cleaned after use, brushes clean and organized. Prosthetics and stage makeup would need to be cared for to make sure we don’t share any germs and possible infections. The same goes for any hair and wig essentials.”

Ian seems a little lost in your explanation, just impressed that you were on top of it. “You have a fine arts degree, is that right?”

You nod, voice still quiet with the nerves. “That’s right. I got a bachelor’s in fine arts at Utah Tech University in St. George, Utah.”

“Is that close to where you’re from in Nevada?” Anthony asks.

You smile, “Yeah, it’s just over an hour away. It has a well known outdoor theatre called the Tuacahn Amphitheatre. I helped with a few tech things during summer shows. And then I acted at the college.”

“What shows did you act in?” Anthony asks further.

You play with your fingers. “We did Footloose, Addams Family, The Drowsy Chaperone, Elf: The Musical, Measure for Measure, and Much Ado About Nothing.”

Anthony whistles, “You did Shakespeare?”

“I love Shakespeare,” you say. “Much Ado About Nothing is my favorite play.”

“You are a major theatre kid,” Ian says, “Why don’t you act anymore?”

You squeeze your fanny pack, “I’ve gotten a little camera shy the last couple years. I prefer helping with quick changes and fixing any mic tape mishaps.”

You take a turn asking some questions about their art department and typical filming schedule. You learn about their expectations for the job and what the salary would be. It was exactly as Spencer had said.

Ian and Anthony share a look with each other before leaning forward. Anthony looks at you kindly, “Would you mind if we conference for a minute? We want to give you an answer today.”

You widen your eyes, “Yeah, of course. Thank you.”

The pair stand and excuse themselves to discuss things outside the room. You’re left in the swivel chair, picking at your fingers and praying that the interview went well. It would be incredible to be given a job that grants you the security and stable income you wanted.

There was a chance to have friends here. Spencer and Angela would be here. You would be storytelling in little comedy sketches. You’d be a part of a team that designed characters. You’d be in charge of ensuring faces weren’t shiny on camera, hair was in place, and clothes looked good.

This could be a home for you.

It takes almost ten minutes for Ian and Anthony to return. They come back with two others that are introduced as Cassie and Erin. They are art director and assistant art director for all productions.

You would be working beneath them should you be offered the position.

More questions are asked by the newcomers, and you find them to be very kind and artistic like yourself. You agree on many fronts, having many things in common. You would be happy to be working in their department.

Ian and Anthony both have smiles on their faces when they say:

“(Y/N), we want to formally offer you the position of assistant art coordinator. Responsible for hair and makeup, and the costumes of the cast. You’ll be our main reference for any special effects makeup and prosthetics. And you’ll help coordinate for all four channels.”

Tears start to form in your eyes. “Really?”

Cassie and Erin had faces full of sympathy. Cassie was covering her face with her hands. Erin was folding their arms and smiling.

Ian was standing their awkwardly, looking at your emotional reaction, but Anthony was quicker to ask. “Is that a yes?”

You laugh tearily, “Yes! Yes, I’d love to take the position. Thank you guys so much. I’m so excited – I don’t know what to say other than thank you.”

They all clap momentarily, Ian announcing, “Then we should call everyone to the lunchroom and make introductions.”

“We’ll have Selina bring up contracts to sign,” Anthony says, gesturing to the door. “You want to follow us?”

You nod enthusiastically, shaking hands with everyone on the way out. There are lots of thank yous and congratulations.

Cassie, Erin, and Ian go to round up cast and crew to the lunch tables you spotted earlier. Anthony goes to speak with Selina at the receptionist desk.

You exit the conference room, wiping tears away and clutching your fanny pack.

Spencer was there, pacing by the plush armchairs you sat in earlier. He has his arms crossed, one hand at his mouth, tracing his lips in a nervous gesture.

At your arrival, his head whips to you, eyes wide at the tears running down your face. He looks so afraid, unsure of how the interview went. But he might’ve misinterpreted your tears.

“(Y/N),” he says softly, “What… what did they say?”

He didn’t even notice the other people gathering at the lunch tables.

You walk towards him, still trying to wipe at your face, “Spence.”

He wants to hug you desperately then. He wants to comfort you. And he wants to hurt whoever decided to make you cry.

You throw your arms around his neck, burying your face there. He holds you back, still at a loss as to what the final verdict was.

“(Y/N)!” you hear Anthony, “Get over here!”

Spencer still holds you as you whisper to him, “I got the job.”

He pulls away and holds your waist, “What?”

“I got the job,” you whisper more excitedly. “They’re about to announce it to everyone.” You flounce away to stand at a counter with a few mini fridges, addressing a group of cast and crew. You notice Angela standing in the crowd.

She gives you two thumbs up and you wave back.

Spencer walks over just as Ian begins to talk.

“Hey, guys! We wanted to introduce our newest member of Smosh. This is (Y/N) Bennett!”

Anthony continues, “She will be working in the art department as an assistant art coordinator. She’ll be our head of character design and management of costumes, hair, and makeup.”

The crowd begins clapping and shouting their congratulations. Spencer joins them, standing next to Angela and a few others.

Unbeknownst to the pair of you, some cast and crew were sharing looks. People you hadn’t met yet were winking at each other. They knew full well how much Spencer wanted you to get this job.

You wave at everyone, “Hello! I’m so excited to meet you all and start working on these projects.”

Everyone breaks apart to introduce themselves.

Angela brings over a number of people, “Hey, (Y/N).” She says, “Here are some of our castmates.”

A tall woman in a beautiful jumpsuit says, “I’m Amanda, welcome to the Smosh family.”

“I’m Shayne,” a fit blonde man shakes your hand, “And this is Courtney.”

“Hi,” a blonde woman then shakes your hand, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Angela sticks her head in, “Those two are married.”

You nod, giggling, “Wonderful.”

“I’m Chanse,” a curly haired man says, giving you a hug, “Welcome to the team.”

A tall man with a great mustache waves, “I’m Tommy!”

“Hi!” you say, “It might take me a while to remember all your names. Thank you for being so welcoming. I’m so excited to start.”

“Spencer’s told us a lot about you,” Amanda says with a cheeky smile.

You look toward Spencer’s rosy face. “All good things, I hope.”

“Oh, definitely,” Shayne laughs, “He has nothing but praise for you.”

Spencer ignores the immediate retort that the single worst thing about you is your boyfriend. “You guys need to calm down.”

“Can we give you a tour?” Amanda asks, taking your arm, “The office has a lot of sets and rooms.”

Courtney appears on your other side, “We can show you the art department and the costumes closet!”

“And the makeup vanities,” Chanse says, already leading the way, “There are a couple by the sets, but there is one in the green room where Angela takes her naps.”

“Hey!” Angela instantly retorts, “Hey, hey, hey… uncalled for!”

Amanda scoffs, “But true.”

Angela snorts, “Yeah, sure.”

You are dragged away by Amanda and Courtney, Chanse and Angela still bickering along the way.

Spencer stays where he is with Shayne. The latter having a very knowing smirk on his face. Spencer ignores him as long as he can.

“Have you ever been told that you shouldn’t make faces because you’ll be stuck that way?”

Shayne chortles, “I’m just curious how you feel about this.”

“Clearly you already have a theory.”

“I do, based purely on the last eleven months of you pining over this girl.”

“I am incapable of pining.”

Shayne wheezes, “Yeah, sure. What do you call bringing up (Y/N) whenever possible, talking through ways to introduce yourself to her, workshopping conversations with me to get to know her…”

“All of those things were in confidence.”

“And all blatant examples of pining over a woman you’ve grown attached to!”

Spencer licks his lips, watching you being dragged by Angela towards the pods of employee desks. “I don’t… I can’t do anything about it now.”

“I’ve never seen you like this, man,” Shayne chortles. “It’s kind of throwing me off right now. You don’t talk about girls much.”

“The dating apps have been seriously lacking the last year.”

“Because you’ve been talking up some chick at the gas station,” Shayne laughs again. “I have to commend you for playing the long game.”

Spencer shakes his head, “I have to be fine with being just friends.”

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to be your best friend.

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