Chapter Text
It was another chaotic day at Smosh HQ. The set was buzzing with energy, cameras rolling, crew members adjusting lights, and the smell of coffee and half-eaten snacks lingering in the air. Amanda and Angela sat side by side on the worn-out couch in the lounge, flipping through a stack of sketch ideas for an upcoming shoot.
"Okay, hear me out," Amanda said, adjusting her beanie. "A sketch where we’re two rival chefs who keep trying to sabotage each other’s dishes, but in the end, we accidentally create the perfect meal together."
Angela snorted, sipping her iced coffee. "So, basically, our actual friendship but with more food?"
Amanda rolled her eyes but grinned. "Exactly. It writes itself!"
Before Angela could reply, Damien burst into the room, waving his arms dramatically. "Emergency! The prop table just collapsed, and we have—like—five minutes to fix it."
Angela sighed, setting down her coffee. "Why does this always happen when we're about to film?"
The three of them hurried to the set, where Shayne and Courtney were already assessing the damage. Keith walked in, shaking his head. "This place is like a disaster movie, but with more wigs."
As they began resetting the props, Amanda caught Angela stealing quick glances at her, her fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on her sweater. Amanda wanted to ask about it, but something about the moment made her hesitate. Instead, she focused on the props, stealing glances of her own.
"Hey, you good?" Amanda asked, nudging her gently.
Angela forced a smile. "Yeah, just...a little tired."
But Amanda knew her better than that. The two had been working side by side for years now, building a comedic rhythm that felt effortless on camera. Off-camera, though, things had started to feel strained. Long nights, back-to-back shoots, creative disagreements—they were all adding up. Amanda wondered if Angela felt it too, if the weight of it pressed against her in the same way.
As the day dragged on, Amanda kept an eye on Angela. Between takes, she noticed the way Angela’s shoulders sagged just a bit more than usual, the way her usual quick wit felt slightly dampened. It wasn’t like Angela to hold back, especially not when Damien was making a fool of himself in the background.
"You sure you’re okay?" Amanda whispered as they waited for their next scene. "You’re not usually this quiet."
Angela gave a half-hearted shrug. "Just one of those days."
The words felt dismissive, but Amanda let it go—for now.
As they moved from one take to another, Angela seemed to withdraw into herself even more. At one point, during a break, she excused herself and disappeared into the break room. Amanda hesitated for only a second before following her.
Angela was sitting at the small table in the break room, staring down at her untouched water bottle. Amanda pulled out the chair beside her and sat down without a word.
"You know," Amanda said after a long silence, "I get it."
Angela finally looked up, her eyebrows raised. "Get what?"
Amanda hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "That feeling where you love what you do, but something about it just feels... off. Like you’re losing yourself in it."
Angela blinked in surprise. "Yeah," she admitted. "That’s exactly it."
Amanda smiled, relieved that she wasn’t pushing too hard. "Then we’ll figure it out together."
Angela nodded, a small but genuine smile forming. "Thanks."
Later that evening, as the crew wrapped up for the day, Amanda caught Angela lingering behind again. The others had mostly cleared out, heading off to grab late-night snacks or collapse in their apartments.
"Ang," Amanda started, hesitating. "Look, I know something's been up lately. Talk to me."
Angela exhaled, crossing her arms. "It’s just... I love this job, I do. But sometimes, I feel like I’m being pushed in a direction that isn’t really me. Like, I want to be funny, but I also want to be me, you know?"
Amanda nodded slowly, leaning against the prop table. "Yeah. I get it. You don’t want to just be a character in someone else’s script."
Angela looked at her, something unspoken passing between them. "Exactly."
Amanda reached for Angela’s hand, then stopped herself. The air between them felt charged, too thick with words left unsaid. Finally, she settled for a reassuring pat on Angela’s shoulder. "We’ll figure it out. Whatever it takes."
Angela studied her for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. We will."
As they left the set that night, neither of them knew exactly what the future held. But for now, at least, they were still in it together. And that was enough—for now.
The long workdays had taken their toll, and the Smosh crew was in desperate need of a break. Keith was the first to suggest it: "Guys, we’re going out tonight. Drinks, bad karaoke, and absolutely no work talk."
"I second this!" Courtney exclaimed, tossing they jacket over their shoulder. "We deserve some fun."
Amanda hesitated for a moment but saw the excited look in Angela’s eyes. "Alright. But if Damien gets up to do interpretive dance again, I’m leaving."
The city’s nightlife was in full swing as they stepped onto the streets, neon lights flickering from every direction. Music spilled out from bars and restaurants, laughter from strangers creating an electric atmosphere. The group walked in sync, already caught up in the energy of the evening.
They finally arrived at their favorite karaoke dive, a small but lively bar packed with people ready to make fools of themselves on stage. The scent of fried appetizers and cheap whiskey hung in the air. The place was buzzing with voices, overlapping melodies of half-sung lyrics from the current act on stage mixing into the chaos.
Keith, fueled by his usual exuberance, practically leapt onto the stage the moment they arrived. "Ladies and gentlemen! Tonight, I will be blessing you all with the greatest karaoke performance of our time!" He pointed dramatically at Shayne. "Backup vocals, let’s go!"
Without hesitation, the opening chords of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" started playing, and Keith’s voice filled the room. Shayne, ever the theatrical performer, added exaggerated gestures and dramatic wails, making the performance ten times more ridiculous.
Amanda and Angela slid into a booth near the back, shaking their heads but laughing. Olivia and Courtney had already migrated to the small dance floor in the corner, trying to outdo one another with wild dance moves. The bar pulsed with the beat of the music, drinks clinking against tabletops, strangers cheering on every absurd performance.
Angela tapped Amanda’s glass with her own. "To finally letting loose."
Amanda grinned, taking a sip of her drink. "To escaping the madness—only to find more of it here."
Amanda watched Angela as she took another sip, her expression relaxed in a way Amanda rarely saw. They didn’t often get moments like this, just the two of them, away from the usual chaos of their friend group. Amanda smirked. "You know, you’re way more fun when you let loose."
Angela raised an eyebrow, swirling her drink. "Are you saying I’m not fun usually?"
"Not at all," Amanda teased. "Just… a little too responsible sometimes. It’s nice to see you like this."
Angela rolled her eyes but smiled. "You just wait. Maybe I’ll surprise you."
They lingered in the booth, their conversation drifting between past memories and playful teasing. Amanda found herself watching Angela more closely, the way she laughed so freely tonight, how the dim lighting softened her features. It was different—comfortable, yet charged with something unspoken.
As the night wore on, the drinks flowed more freely, conversations deepened, and inhibitions loosened. The group took turns embarrassing themselves on stage. At one point, Olivia pulled Amanda up for a duet, choosing an overly romantic ballad just to fluster her. Amanda played along, dramatically serenading Olivia while Angela watched from the booth, shaking her head and smiling.
When Angela finally took the mic, the entire group erupted into cheers. "No pressure, but if you don’t absolutely nail this performance, we’re never letting you live it down," Shayne teased.
Angela smirked. "You guys are the worst." But as the music started, her hesitation faded. Her voice, smooth and confident, silenced the room more than expected. Amanda watched, something warm settling in her chest. Maybe it was the drinks, or maybe it was just Angela, completely in her element, stealing the spotlight without even trying.
By the time she finished, the applause was deafening. Even the bartender had stopped what he was doing to clap. Angela gave a mock bow before returning to the booth, cheeks flushed from the attention.
"Well, damn," Keith said, shaking his head in mock defeat. "I think we just found our group’s secret weapon."
Angela waved him off. "I just picked an easy song."
Amanda leaned in, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Uh-huh. Sure you did."
Later in the night, Chanse slid into the booth next to Angela, the both of them clearly buzzed from the drinks. Chanse rested their head on the table dramatically. "Angela, you ever just… feel too much?"
Angela, glass in hand, nodded solemnly. "All the time."
Chanse sighed, lifting their head slightly. "Like, you wanna say something but it’s so big in your chest, and you know if you say it, everything might change."
Angela groaned, taking another sip of her drink. "God, you get it. It’s like, you think you’re playing it cool, but really, you’re just one strong drink away from spilling your guts."
Chanse tilted their head. "You got something on your mind?"
Angela blinked, then looked over at Amanda, who was laughing with Olivia at the bar. Her chest tightened. "Nope."
Chanse gave her a knowing look but didn’t press. "Okay, sure. But if you ever wanna… you know, say stuff, I’m an excellent secret keeper."
Angela laughed, nudging them. "Noted."
A few drinks later, Amanda found Angela leaning against her shoulder as they sat in the booth. "You’re comfy," Angela murmured, her voice drowsy with warmth.
Amanda chuckled. "Glad to be of service."
Angela hummed. "You know, you make everything feel easier. Like… like I don’t have to think so much."
Amanda felt her heartbeat stutter but kept her voice light. "That’s what friends are for, right?"
Angela lifted her head slightly, her gaze hazy but serious. "Yeah. Friends."
The moment lingered before Keith stumbled back to the booth, slamming his hands on the table. "Alright, party’s moving outside. Let’s go before we all turn into pumpkins!"
The energy in the bar only seemed to grow as the night continued. They lost track of how many rounds of drinks they’d had, how many times they’d thrown their arms around each other in exaggerated sways to the music. Courtney had befriended an older couple at the bar, challenging them to a dance-off. Olivia was now in the middle of the floor, spinning wildly to whatever song was playing.
By the time they stumbled out onto the streets again, the city was still buzzing, the air cool against their flushed faces. They linked arms, making their way down the sidewalk, still humming the tunes from inside.
"Same time next week?" Keith asked, his voice hoarse from singing.
"Absolutely," Olivia said without hesitation.
Amanda looked over at Angela, who was still softly humming to herself. She nudged her gently. "Next time, I’m picking the song."
Angela grinned. "You got it."
And with that, they disappeared into the night, their laughter mixing with the hum of the city around them.
The morning after their wild night out hit Amanda like a freight train. Sunlight streamed aggressively through the blinds, making her groan and bury her face into the pillow. The faint sound of someone stirring nearby reminded her that she hadn’t gone home alone.
Angela lay sprawled out on the couch, still wrapped in Amanda’s jacket from the night before. Her hair was a mess, her eyeliner smudged, and she let out a small, exhausted sigh as she shifted in her sleep. Amanda watched her for a moment, unable to help the small smile tugging at her lips.
It wasn’t until Angela groaned and sat up, rubbing her face, that Amanda spoke. "So, do we want to acknowledge whatever happened last night, or pretend we were responsible adults?"
Angela blinked blearily at her. "Do I want to know?"
Amanda smirked. "That depends. Do you want to remember Damien’s dramatic air guitar solo?"
Angela groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. "Nope. Absolutely not. Let’s pretend none of that happened."
Amanda chuckled, stretching her arms. "Alright, but we do need coffee. And probably something greasy."
Angela peeked out from under the blanket. "McDonald's?"
"Always." Amanda grinned. "Get dressed, sleepyhead."
Their post-night-out ritual had become an unspoken tradition—picking up fast food, heading to Amanda’s apartment, and recovering in mutual silence over questionable breakfast sandwiches.
Angela sat cross-legged on Amanda’s couch, lazily sipping her iced coffee. "So, did we get any footage of Damien’s performance? Or was that just a fever dream?"
Amanda smirked, unlocking her phone and scrolling. "Oh, we got footage. Several angles. Keith took a panoramic shot."
Angela groaned, stuffing a hash brown into her mouth. "I hate us."
"You love us," Amanda corrected. "Admit it."
Angela rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.
As the hours dragged on and the caffeine started kicking in, the energy between them shifted. The lighthearted banter softened into something else—something neither of them dared to name.
Angela tapped her fingers against her cup. "You know… last night was fun. Like, actually fun."
Amanda nodded. "Yeah. It was."
Angela hesitated, biting her lip. "I don’t know. I guess… I liked just hanging out. Without all the stress of work."
Amanda exhaled, leaning back against the couch. "Yeah. We should do it more often."
Angela glanced at her, something unreadable flickering in her expression. "Yeah. We should."
Neither of them moved. Neither of them said the things lingering on the tip of their tongues. But as Amanda nudged Angela’s knee with hers, and Angela smiled, the air between them felt heavier, charged with something unsaid.
For now, though, neither of them were ready to say it.