Chapter Text
The drive down from Atlanta to South Carolina always felt longer than it really was. Damien Haas leaned back in the passenger seat of his mom’s SUV, earbuds loosely hanging from one ear as the low rumble of the tires against the highway buzzed beneath them. The windows were rolled down to let in the sticky warmth of early June. Salt was still far away, but the air was already heavier here, tinged with summer.
It was their tradition. They all lived close together in Georgia, but every year since before Damien could even form a memory, his mom and her best friend Deb had packed up their kids and driven to the same stretch of coast. A weatherworn but sturdy beach house waited for them just outside Charleston, white paint peeling in spots, porch swing creaking when you leaned too far, and that ever-present smell of brine and sunscreen.
The dads weren’t really part of it. Damien’s father had passed away when he was young. Young enough that the grief was something his mom carried more vividly than he did. He remembered flashes: a voice deeper than anyone else’s in the house, hands that smelled faintly of sawdust. Mostly, he remembered the quiet after.
Shayne Topp shared the same experience, having lost his dad at just a year old before Aunt Debbie married her second husband, Ray Giarratana, or Mr. G, as Damien always called him.
The Giarratana kids’ dad never came around during the summers. He had his own reasons for not doing so and Damien respected them. So it was the moms who made the rules, who lugged the coolers, who enforced sunscreen and who, laughingly, poured each other wine at the end of the day once the kids had worn themselves out.
And, well, Damien and Shayne were almost inseparable. The same age, the same appetite for stupid dares and running barefoot into the tide until their legs ached. It was easy. Comfortable.
Angela was different.
She was younger, a tag-along in Shayne’s eyes, the little sister he had to guard because Mr. G said so. Damien kind of gets it. If he had a stepdad as awesome as Mr. G, he would do anything he said too. But part of him knows Shayne really loves Angela and preferred running along the coast with his sister than having her wander around the town on her own.
Damien had never minded Angela’s presence. She was curious, imaginative, funny in her own oddly sharp way. As they got older, he noticed things. The way she worked twice as hard to keep up with them, the way she studied the games they played until she got good enough to beat them, the way her laughter sometimes came late, like she was waiting for permission.
And Angela had the best laugh, he can’t help himself from cracking jokes just to hear it from her.
By fourteen, Damien had realized with a sort of reluctant panic that he liked her. More than a little. That year, she was twelve and he told no one about how he felt for Aunt Debbie’s youngest. Not Shayne, not his mom, not Angela herself. Especially not Angela. He kept it layered over with jokes and big-brother energy until no one could tell the difference.
Now, at seventeen, with high school finally behind him and a yawning future that he hadn’t quite sorted out, he wasn’t sure how he’d manage this trip. Not when every summer she seemed to change — taller, sharper, funnier — pulling further and further away from the little kid with grass-stained knees and tantrums about losing board games. It was getting harder and harder to keep his crush contained.
Was it even just a crush at this point? Because Damien couldn’t tell the difference anymore. It felt a lot more than that. But putting a name to the feelings felt grander than the humble beach house could handle.
His mom, Marilyn, hummed along with the radio as the trees thinned and they’re met with clouds.
When they finally pulled up to the beach house, the place looked exactly the same. White siding, blue shutters, wooden steps leading to a wide porch that creaked under their feet. Damien lugged their bags inside, dropping them in their usual rooms. His room was on the second floor, between the rooms Angela and Shayne usually took, window facing the dunes, while his mom’s is on the first near the kitchen.
He was halfway through setting up when he heard tires crunching gravel outside.
“Sounds like Deb and the kids,” Marilyn called from the kitchen.
Damien jogged down the steps two at a time, heart inexplicably racing. He swung open the front door just as the Giarratanas pulled up. Deb climbed out of the driver’s seat with her usual energy, calling a greeting before heading for the trunk. Shayne unfolded himself from the backseat, hair already windblown.
And then —
Angela stepped out.
Same Angela. But not.
Her hair was held back with little silver star clips, catching the sunlight. Makeup subtle but impossible not to notice highlighted the line of her cheekbones. She was fifteen now, and in that sudden, jarring second Damien felt like the world tilted.
He panicked. So, naturally, he grinned too wide, barreled down the steps, and swept her into a hug.
“Bug!” he exclaimed, lifting her off the ground as if nothing had changed. As if his pulse wasn’t hammering in his ears. He spun her once, twice, her laughter ringing out before he set her back down on the porch.
The nickname slipped out like muscle memory. Bug. From the summers when they were little.
—
They were 6 and 8 then, playing at one of the local kids’ back gardens, when a ladybug landed on Angela’s forehead. She threw an absolute fit trying to get the insect to fly away.
“Get it off! Get it off!” Angela shrieked, swatting at her own face in an attempt to get the ladybug off. The ladybug just kept running around, travelling to her cheeks then hid behind the stars in her hair.
Damien didn’t like that she was accidentally hurting herself, so he stopped her and plucked the ladybug from her head. “Hey, hey it’s okay. It won’t hurt you. Look,” he said, showing the red and black insect that still hadn’t flown away.”
“Whoa, what is that?”
“You’ve never seen a ladybug before?”
“Ladybug,” she said with a pout, as if thinking if she has seen something like it before. “Not really.”
“Ohh, it’s super cool. They’re actually good luck in some cultures.”
Angela looks at the ladybug and the red and black-spotted dress she was wearing. “That looks like me. Can I be a ladybug? Daddy says I’m still too young to be called a lady.”
“You can be a bug. Though I think ladybugs aren’t really bugs…hmmm. Bug works too?” Damien shrugged.
Angela nodded. “Bug works too.”
—
The nickname stuck. Now, saying it again, the word tasted different. Nostalgia, warmth, a dangerous kind of sweetness.
Angela squealed when he picked her up, arms flailing before she clutched at his shoulders to keep steady. Her cheeks burned pink, though she’d never admit it was from more than just the spin. She tried to play it off with a shove to his chest once her feet touched the wood again.
“Damien! You can’t just—” she started, but her voice cracked on the laugh that followed.
“You’re still small enough to toss around,” he teased, forcing levity into his tone.
She rolled her eyes, smoothing her shorts with quick, nervous hands. “I’m not that small.”
Damien pretended not to hear when his mom whispered to Aunt Debbie, “When did she start wearing makeup?” Then in a lower voice, “She’s gorgeous!”
Notes:
That's it for part 1! Hopefully I was able to clean up all the errors on this one (Would be a shame if I left some in. I work in publishing so, really, it would be a shame). That said, all errors are mine.
I'm not from the US, so if there's something about the beach that might not line up with the actual beaches in South Carolina, it's on me. Just know that I used Cousins Beach in TSITP as my main inspiration.
I tried having a mish-mash of last names for Shayne and Angela but it wasn't working for me, so I just made them half-siblings instead. That way, Shayne can retain Topp and Angela can retain Giarratana. (More on this in future chapters). Also not sure if it's okay to keep the parents' names in. I just based their names on the Smosh wiki. I couldn't really just put them as "Angela's mom/dad" or "Damien's mom" since they're a bit more involved in this AU (though not by a lot), so I had to look them up. Given they aren't really on-screen personalities, let me know if I should change the names.
By the way, I recently came across linozz's TSITP-inspired fic. I think their fic fueled me to post this one. So thank you!
I expect later chapters will be longer than this one and we'll just do more longer ones as we go. For the next chapter, some familiar faces will be appearing! Will update the tags accordingly by the time I post that. :) See you then!
Chapter 2: Ripples
Notes:
Hi! I'm back! I couldn't really sleep, thinking about all the feedback so far for the first chapter. You guys have been so kind with your comments.
As promised, in this chapter, you'll see some familiar faces from Smosh...and a bonus Starkid character. Don't worry, you don't really need to know Starkid lore to follow. I simply didn't want to put a real person's name as that character (you'll see). Updating the tags to reflect the character additions (except for the Starkid character).
You'll start to see how it all "snowballed" from here, and everything just moved well past "just a TSITP AU". I even messed around with everyone's ages because I felt like it. It's AU territory anyway: in for a penny, in for a pound.
Also, I'm doing 2 chapters for this update. I was thinking of merging them as 1 but the pacing wasn't right, so I opted to just split them up into smaller parts instead.
Thanks and enjoy!
Chapter Text
ANGELA
There were certain rhythms to summers at the beach house. The salt-sweet air that clung to everything. The constant creak of the porch swing where her mom liked to sit with her iced coffee in the mornings. The gulls that screeched as though they were in on some private joke.
And, of course, the friends.
Angela always thought of them as a sort of extended family. The crew that had grown out of years of running into the same people in the same little beach town. They weren’t quite locals, not really, but after almost two decades of showing up each June, they were more than tourists.
The group had its own lore. Chanse was the keeper of everyone’s secrets. Amanda was the “mom friend,” self-declared, complete with SPF 100 sunscreen for all of them, whether they liked it or not. Spencer was the gamer kid, whose parents owned the arcade by the boardwalk. Courtney was sharp, effortlessly pretty, the kind of girl who seemed to glow when the sun hit them just right — and the only person who could reduce Shayne to a stammer if they so much as glanced his way.
And then there were the “trunk boys.”
That nickname had stuck ever since one of the early summers they had arrived in town. The boys were probably 9. Marilyn and Deb had pulled up to a nearby outdoor barbecue with Shayne and Damien quite literally riding in the trunk of the SUV, laughing and sticky with popsicle juice. They didn’t want to step out, not even when Angela plopped right in front of them and pouted the entire time because they wouldn’t let her squeeze in with them.
From then on, “trunk boys” was what everyone called them.
Angela, being a few years younger, had always been their collective “baby.” Technically, Courtney was younger, but Courtney didn’t have an overprotective brother hovering over her every two minutes so Angela was the one they doted over.
That morning, as they walked down the wooden slats of the boardwalk toward the beach, Angela tugged at the brim of her cap self-consciously. Black one-piece swimsuit, denim shorts, sandals. Nothing special. Still, her pulse quickened when she spotted the familiar cluster of friends near the volleyball nets, bright towels and beach bags spread out.
Chanse saw her first. His jaw literally dropped before he snapped it shut again in mock drama. Amanda noticed next, gasping so loud it made people turn their heads.
“Oh, honey, you look beautiful!” Amanda exclaimed, rushing forward and grabbing Angela’s hands. She pulled her into a spin like she was modeling on a runway. “When did you become a movie star and why didn’t you warn us?”
Angela laughed, cheeks heating. “I don’t look— It’s just— It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” Courtney cut in, wide grin spreading across their face. “Please. Max’s jaw is gonna drop when he sees you, girlie.”
Angela covered her face with her cap. The mention of him was like nails on a chalkboard.
Max Jägerman.
Every town has one, Angela supposed. The golden boy. The football star. The part-time lifeguard whose abs had their own fan club. Girls giggled when he walked by; some of the tourists even pretended to need saving just to get his attention.
Not Angela.
From the very first time they met three summers ago, she’d hated him. She had been sitting on the boardwalk, reading a battered copy of “Much Ado About Nothing”. He’d taken one look and smirked. “Guess you’re the nerdy prude type,” he’d said.
Angela hadn’t even answered. She’d just closed her book and left before he could say anything else.
But his opinion had stuck to her. He teased her every summer after that — bookworm, prissy, too uptight for fun. And the worst part? When her friends started teasing her about whether she had a crush on anyone in town, she’d panicked. Her cheeks had flamed red because she was thinking of Damien. Always Damien. And she couldn’t admit that, not with Shayne right there, not with how weird it would make everything.
Somehow, her stammering made her friends think it meant she had a crush on Max. She didn’t correct them.
Her friends hadn’t let it go since. Two years of relentless nudges and teasing. And now Courtney had said it again.
Angela forced a laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah, right. Like I’d ever care what Max Jägerman thinks,” she whispered to herself.
It was an easy cover, really. She could easily say she outgrew her crush for the town’s football star. That between him being a dumbass and her brother practically snarling at any boy who looks her way, it was easier to say she just stopped liking Max. Or didn’t like him at all.
But then it would bring up the topic of why she said Max’s name in the first place and she didn’t really want to start that conversation. So she said nothing.
—
DAMIEN
The sun was high, glaring white against the water, the sand hot underfoot as Damien followed Shayne and Angela down the slope of the dunes. He carried a cooler in one hand and a folded umbrella under the other arm, trying not to notice how many heads were already turning.
Not for him. Not for Shayne.
For Angela.
It wasn’t just Amanda fussing, or Chanse’s whistle, or Courtney’s delighted squeal. Even strangers on the beach seemed to glance twice. Damien tried to tell himself he was imagining it, that he was just hyper-aware, but then he saw Max Jägerman, the golden boy himself, striding over from the lifeguard stand like he owned the shoreline. Sunglasses pushed up onto his head, red swim trunks low on his hips, confidence radiating off him in waves.
“Hey, Shakespeare,” he called, smirking at Angela. “Didn’t expect to see you out here in daylight. Thought you’d melt.”
“Well, someone has to keep an eye on you before your ego drowns you,” she shot back.
Max’s smirk only widened. “Feisty. I like it.”
Damien’s stomach twisted.
“So, Shakespeare, I see you’ve finally stumbled into the makeup aisle. Does your brother know about that or is he gonna fight me for noticing your pretty face?”
Angela stiffened. Her hand twitched at her side, like she was tempted to throw her sandal at him. But then her gaze slid sideways to Chanse, who was watching with a grin that begged for drama. Her lips parted and to Damien’s horror, she smiled sweetly.
“No harm in noticing,” she shrugged.
Damien’s hands clenched tighter around the cooler handle until his knuckles went white. The sound of the golden boy’s voice grated in his ears. He needed to get away before something slipped, before anyone could see the jealousy rising in his throat.
“Come on,” he muttered to Shayne and Spencer, forcing a grin that felt brittle. “Water’s not gonna swim itself.”
He knew Shayne was still glaring at the golden boy. But he didn’t wait for an answer, just abandoned the cooler and bolted for the surf, splashing through the foam until the salt stung his calves. Spencer followed with whoops, diving headfirst into the waves.
Damien didn’t dive. He stood chest-deep, letting the current rock him, staring hard at the horizon as if it could anchor him.
He told himself it didn’t matter. He had no right to feel this way. Still, as the sun glared down and the laughter carried faintly from shore, Damien couldn’t shake the feeling. The image of her smiling at Max burned in his mind, and it hurt in a way he didn’t have words for.
And then, just for a moment, he felt it. The unmistakable prickling weight of someone’s eyes on him. Watching. Following his every movement.
He turned his head, but the shore was a blur of faces and colors, too far to pick anyone out.
It couldn’t be Angela. Could it?
Chapter Text
ANGELA
If she could go back in time and smack her younger self across the face, she would.
One stupid moment. One stupid slip. And now she was paying the price.
The memory replayed endlessly. Two summers ago, sitting on Courtney’s towel under the sun, heat and laughter thick in the air.
—
Her friends had asked, again, who she liked. Angela said “nobody” for what felt like the fifteenth time and they ignored it.
“There’s got to be someone, right?”
Damien took that time to plop onto the towel next to Angela, unaware of the topic at hand, just shaking his head like a dog to get rid of the excess seawater in his hair.
Angela blushed behind her sunglasses. Cute.
Then, she’s whipped back to the present when she realized she’s staring at Damien. She instinctively looked away and her eyes landed on the lifeguard stand. That seemed to “give her away.”
“You have a crush on Max?” Chanse gasped.
Angela choked on air like a fish out of water. “N—no!”
“Oh, you so have a crush on Max,” Courtney teased.
“To be fair, who doesn’t?” Spencer said.
Angela rolled her eyes, despite the sunglasses hiding it. “Sure. Whatever. Who doesn’t?”
—
Now, Max followed her everywhere.
When she got ice cream, he appeared at her elbow, offering to pay. When she lounged in the sun, he sat beside her, narrating his workout routine like she cared. When she walked down the boardwalk, he “happened” to be heading the same way.
It wasn’t that he was cruel. Not anymore. Not the sharp, mocking boy who’d once sneered at her book. But he was insistent, like a dog convinced she had a treat in her pocket.
She hated that she had to play along.
Because if she didn’t, if she pushed him away too hard, her friends would remember. They’d tease her, corner her again. Then this time, she might not be able to lie. This time, they might see how her eyes strayed toward Damien.
By the time the sun began to sink, painting the sky in smears of orange and pink, Angela felt drained. She stretched on her towel, staring at the water as the others packed up.
“Bonfire tonight?” Amanda chirped.
There were murmurs of agreement. Spencer promised to run back to his house and bring his speaker. Chanse declared he’d handle marshmallows. Shayne rolled his eyes but was already eyeing spots on the beach where they could do the bonfire.
“Can I join?” Max asked, leaning down toward Angela like it was a secret between them.
Her first instinct was to say no. To say please leave me alone for one hour of my life. But everyone was watching, expectant.
So she shrugged. “Sure.”
—
DAMIEN
The fire crackled, spitting sparks into the dark. The sand was cool now, the heat of the day buried beneath nightfall.
They’d set up in a crescent of towels and folding chairs, the speaker pumping out a low hum of summer playlists. Someone — probably Chanse — had smuggled in a couple six-packs, and cans were already half-empty around the circle.
Damien sat apart, sipping from a bottle of Coke.
He didn’t drink. Not because he was against it and not because he wanted to be a killjoy. But men in his family were the kind of men who couldn’t stop once they started and Damien knew better than to tempt fate. It was easier to keep away.
He tried to ignore the way Angela sat two towels over, Max Jägerman planted far too close beside her. Every time Max leaned in, every time Angela tilted her head back in laughter, real or fake, Damien couldn’t tell, something twisted inside his chest.
The air was sticky with smoke and sugar when Courtney, already giggly from half a beer, clapped their hands.
“Okay,” they declared. “Truth or dare. Let’s go.”
“Court—” Shayne groaned, but they steamrolled right over him.
“Just one round,” they promised. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
The circle tightened, faces glowing in the firelight. Amanda leaned forward, Chanse grinned wickedly, Spencer slouched with his beer.
“You started it, you go first,” Chanse told Courtney. “Truth or dare?”
“Fine… truth.”
“Who in this group do you think is the best kisser? No explanations.” Chanse asked.
“Hmmm.” Courtney took a quick sweep of the group before responding, “Shayne.”
Damien could feel his best friend casually dying from his folding chair.
“Now you go,” Courtney told Chanse. “Truth or dare.”
“Dare.”
“I dare you to change your profile photo to that one we took at the diner yesterday.”
“Bitch! I look terrible in that photo! I’ve got this double chin and I look stupid,” Chanse whined, already looking through his phone. “Wait… It’s not here.”
“That’s because I took that photo,” Spencer said, also holding his phone. “Here.”
A whoosh sound echoed from Chanse’s phone as he received the photo and he sighs. “Okay, I’ll do it. How long does it have to be up?”
“The entire game,” Angela chuckled before taking a sip from her soda can.
She’s also going sober for the night. Not for her lack of trying. She tried to snag a can when they started the bonfire and her brother swiped it right off her. It was bad enough that they’re drinking underage.
Chanse rolled his eyes at that dare but obliged, “Okay. It’s there now,” he said while holding up his phone to show the new profile picture. “Happy now, Angela?”
“What did I do? I wasn’t the one who dared you,” she asked.
“Whatever, bitch. I’ll dare you!”
“First of all, that’s the second time you’ve said bitch since we started this. And second, you didn’t even ask me, ‘truth or dare’.”
“Because truth is boring. Now, I dare you to kiss Max,” Chanse said.
“WHAT? Excuse me?” Angela asked, eyes wide.
There were a couple of oohs that echoed from the circle before Chanse answered, “You heard me. Kiss Max.”
Angela froze. Her gaze flicked around the circle, landing briefly on Damien before darting away.
“Okay, let’s stop this,” Shayne said, trying to get up from his chair. “This isn’t fun anymore.”
“Shut up, Shayne. I don’t care what your dad said. Your sister can kiss whoever she wants to kiss,” Amanda piped up.
But does she, though? Damien wondered. Why does Angela look like a deer caught in headlights if she does want to kiss Max Jägerman?
Angela’s eyes scanned the circle of friends gathered around the bonfire, lingering a little on Max, who was sitting next to her. Damien could swear Angela’s eyes met his a little longer than necessary.
After a couple beats, Angela finally talked. “Sure.”
“What?! No,” Shayne sounded pissed now.
“Shayne, take the group’s advice and shut up! I’m kind of in the middle of kissing someone here,” she said, gesturing to the boy next to her.
Damien wanted to punch the predatory grin that spread onto Max’s face. “Haven’t kissed me yet, Shakespeare.”
Shayne groaned so loud it startled the gulls. He clapped both hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, rocking back and forth. “Lalalalala! I’m not hearing this!”
The group burst out laughing. All except Damien.
The firelight sharpened Max’s features, throwing shadows across his smug expression. He looked like he’d been waiting for this.
“What now, Shakespeare?”
Angela’s voice came out in a way Damien has never heard before, a little deeper with a slight lilt to it. “You’ve got to stop calling me that, especially when I’m about to kiss you.”
“Oh quit the flirting and just kiss already!” Courtney snapped.
Damien couldn’t decide if he was paralyzed or just shocked this was happening in front of him.
Angela didn’t move at first. Her fingers twisted in the hem of her shorts, eyes darting nervously. Damien saw it. The hesitation. The reluctance.
And then she moved.
Every inch that she leaned in closer to Max felt like a knife. Damien’s fists curled against his knees, nails biting into his palms.
Angela leaned in slowly, so close her hair brushed Max’s shoulder. The circle held its breath. Max smirked, waiting.
She was inches away.
And then, she got up, shook her head as if waking up from a trance, then stood up from her spot on the beach towel.
Without a word, Angela spun on her heel and bolted, sand spraying behind her. Her cap tumbled off, forgotten, as she sprinted down the shoreline, the fire shrinking behind her.
Shayne’s hands dropped from his ears, confusion flashing across his face. “What the hell just happened?” he asked, starting to stand.
“I’ll get her,” Damien said quickly, already on his feet.
He didn’t wait for a reply. He just ran.
—
The sand was cool and uneven under Damien’s feet as he chased after Angela, breath ragged from the sprint. He finally spotted her down the shoreline, a small figure silhouetted against the tide, stomping through the sand like it had wronged her.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered with every kick, sending little sprays of white sand into the air.
“Angela?” he called softly.
She spun around, startled. Her shoulders tensed when she saw him, as though she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.
He slowed, careful, like approaching a bird that might bolt. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
Angela sat down on the sand then bit her lip, her gaze darting away from his. First to the sand, then to the dark stretch of ocean. She was quiet long enough that he thought she might not answer. Then her voice came, low and uncertain, nearly lost under the crash of the waves.
“That was supposed to be my first kiss.”
Damien froze. He blinked at her, trying to piece it together. Her first kiss. With Max. Hadn’t she wanted that? Wasn’t he the one she blushed over for a few summers now? That’s what everyone said. That’s what she had said.
“You…” He cleared his throat, suddenly unsure. “I thought you liked him.”
Angela shook her head quickly, strands of hair falling loose around her face. “I don’t really like him. It’s just… everyone’s got somebody they gush over, you know?” She hesitated, eyes flicking toward him before darting back to the sand. “And I…” She trailed off, swallowing hard. “I don’t.”
“None of the guys here meet your standards?” Damien figured.
Angela shrugged. “Something like that.”
Damien frowned, confused, watching her dig her toe into the sand. She was hiding something. He could tell.
Angela’s voice softened, almost a whisper now. “I wanted my first kiss to be…” She stopped, looked at him again, and his brows furrowed in question. Her throat bobbed as she turned quickly back toward the ocean. “…With someone special.”
His heart thudded against his ribs.
Someone special. Not Max. Definitely not Max. The thought tangled in his chest, both a relief and a complication.
—
ANGELA
The waves curled and broke, white foam glowing faintly in the moonlight. Angela kept her eyes on them because if she looked at Damien again, she might say too much.
He was quiet beside her, sitting close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him even in the cool night air.
Finally, he took a deep breath. “That person will come.”
Angela’s chest tightened at the tone of his voice. He’s already right here.
“And it’s just right that you wait for someone special,” Damien went on, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Because you’re special.”
Angela’s face went hot, and for once she was grateful for the chill in the breeze. It gave her an excuse for the way she shivered, for the way she hugged her arms around herself even though it wasn’t the cold making her shake.
She turned to him then, letting herself look. Really look. The sharp line of his jaw. The way his hair curled slightly at the ends from the salt air. The steady rise and fall of his chest, close enough that she could match her breath to his if she wanted.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “You know just the right things to say.”
“That’s because I know you, Bug. Like the back of my hand,” he chuckled.
“Yeah. Your really do,” she smiled at him.
Angela didn’t realize she was leaning closer until it was too late. It was like she was hypnotized and could not hold herself back from moving closer to him.
But it took a good second before she noticed Damien was leaning in too. He had the same dazed expression as someone who was just as hypnotized as she was.
Her heart leapt into her throat, butterflies exploding in her stomach in a way it hadn’t when she’d leaned toward Max. This was different. This was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
She was about to kiss Damien.
Inches. Just inches between them. Angela closed her eyes to let it sink in, savor the moment, and hope that she wouldn’t wake up from whatever dream this was.
And then—
“HEY!”
Both of them jolted back as Shayne’s voice rang out, slurred and too loud. What a lightweight, Angela thought. She and Damien turned to see him stumbling across the sand, arms waving like a scarecrow in the wind. “Mom’s gonna kill us if we stay out here too late! C’mon!”
Angela’s face burned. Shayne was too tipsy to notice how close she and Damien had just been.
“Come on,” Shayne called again, grinning dopily as he almost tripped over his own feet.
Damien stood frozen, staring at her as if the world had just shifted under him. His expression was shocked, unreadable. Angela’s breath caught in her chest.
Then, as if deciding something in that instant, he straightened. His face smoothed back into something careful, neutral. “We should go,” he said quietly, already turning away.
Angela blinked, still reeling, then hurried to follow.
Notes:
Okay, that's it for this update! I might take a while to post the next one, mostly because I would probably conk out after work given this day of little sleep. For now, thanks for liking the story so far. That's probably the last you'll see of Max, apart from an occasional mentions in the next 2 chapters.
Thanks and cheers!
Chapter 4: Don’t You Remember?
Notes:
Chapter 4, baby! As I said earlier, this fic is more or less already written out. So there might be other times that I do another double-chapter drop like I did with 2-3, if I feel like chapters could easily be a back-to-back thing.
My goal is to have at least chapter 6 out by the weekend, so just to bring me up to speed, I might do another chapter to follow up on this one soon (no promises).
I really appreciate the comments so far. Keep 'em coming! Now, back to the show.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
ANGELA
Angela woke up smiling.
Not just smiling. Beaming. The kind of smile that made her cheeks ache, that she had to bury under her pillow so Shayne wouldn’t hear her giggling like a maniac.
The night replayed over and over in her head: the sound of the ocean, the feel of cool sand under her feet, the glow of fire still dancing in her peripheral vision. And Damien. Sitting so close, his eyes soft in the moonlight, his breath brushing against her skin.
Her heart skipped just thinking about it.
They’d been seconds away. Just seconds. If Shayne hadn’t stumbled over like the world’s loudest wobbliest chaperone, it would have happened. Angela would have kissed Damien Haas.
Her Damien.
The giddy little squeal that escaped her throat was completely involuntary.
From across the room, Shayne groaned from his spot on the floor, dragging a pillow over his face. “Oh my god. What is wrong with you? What are you doing in my room?”
“This is my room, stupid. Get out of here,” she said.
She had no idea how her brother ended up passed out at the foot of her bed, but he did. Her best guess is that Shayne stumbled over there late at night, trying to play “bodyguard” again. As if he could’ve fought anybody in his state last night.
“Still begs the question: What is wrong with you?”
Angela flopped back against her bed, hugging her blanket like it was a secret she could physically hold. “Nothing.”
Shayne lifted his head and looked at her with one eye open. “You’re grinning like a clown,” he muttered, his voice muffled. “Are you… high?”
Angela burst out laughing. “No! I’m not— what?”
“You look high.” He squinted. “All wide-eyed and creepy happy. It’s disturbing.”
She tossed a pillow at him. He groaned and rolled away, muttering something about sisters being weird.
Angela hugged her knees to her chest once he wasn’t looking. Her cheeks hurt from smiling. She couldn’t stop.
She’d always wondered what it would feel like, being that close to Damien. She’d had crushes before. Little ones that were silly and fleeting. But nothing like this. Nothing that made her want to bottle up the memory just to replay it forever.
By breakfast, she could barely sit still.
Damien was already at the table when she and Shayne shuffled in, hair still damp from a morning shower. He was spreading jam onto toast, quiet as always, but Angela swore he looked different. Maybe it was just her, still buzzing from last night.
“Morning,” she said, maybe too brightly, sliding into the chair beside him.
“Morning,” he replied, not looking up.
Shayne dropped into his own seat with a dramatic sigh. “She’s acting like she won the lottery. Just a warning.”
Angela glared at him. “Ignore him.”
“I usually do,” Damien said, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Angela’s stomach flipped. That little almost-smile. It felt like a secret between them. Like maybe he was remembering too.
She waited until Shayne got distracted with his eggs before leaning closer, lowering her voice. “Hey. About last night…”
Damien glanced at her, eyebrow raised. “What about it?”
Her heart pounded. She fiddled with her spoon. “When we were out there, on the beach. Before Shayne came over.”
He frowned slightly, thinking. Then he shrugged. “I don’t remember anything.”
The words landed like a punch. Angela blinked. “You… don’t remember?”
“Yeah.” He took a bite of toast, casual, like it was nothing. “Guess it was late. We were all tired. We just talked, right?”
She stared at him, trying to process. He wasn’t even drinking last night. He had no excuse. No fuzzy memory to blame. So he was lying. He remembered and he was pretending he didn’t.
Because he didn’t want to remember.
Angela’s throat tightened, but she forced a smile, forced her voice to sound light. “Right. Yeah. Must’ve imagined it, I guess.”
He gave a small hum of agreement, already reaching for the butter. The conversation was over, just like that.
Angela turned back to her plate, face burning. She stabbed at her eggs without tasting them, her mind a swirl of too many thoughts.
Last night had felt real. It had felt electric, important. She’d been certain he felt it too. But if he could brush it off so easily, maybe she was wrong. Maybe it had only been her.
—
DAMIEN
Damien could still feel it. The heat of Angela so close, the way her breath had mingled with his. The look in her eyes right before Shayne’s voice had shattered it all.
For a split second, he’d wanted it. God, he’d wanted it. To close the distance, to find out if her lips were as soft as he’d imagined a hundred times since they were younger.
And that terrified him.
Angela was Shayne’s little sister, the “Bug” he used to tease and carry around like a kid sister himself. He had no right to be thinking of her like that. No right to be seconds away from kissing her.
So he’d forced himself to pull away. To walk back like nothing happened. But lying in bed that night, staring at the ceiling fan cutting slow circles in the dark, he couldn’t shut it off.
He remembered every detail. The salt in the air. The sand sticking to his ankles. The way her voice broke when she said she wanted her first kiss to be with someone special.
And the truth was brutal: he wanted to be that someone.
But he couldn’t be.
It was too soon, too complicated.
So he decided. If Angela brought it up, he’d lie. Pretend he didn’t remember. Pretend it hadn’t happened. It was the only way to protect her. To protect both of them. Maybe even to protect Shayne from this disaster that was waiting to happen.
Morning came and he plastered himself into routine. Toast. Jam. Normal.
He was halfway through spreading the jam when she sat down beside him. Too close, too bright. Her energy practically hummed, like she was carrying a secret she wanted to spill.
“Morning,” she said, all sunshine.
“Morning,” he answered, keeping his eyes on his plate.
Shayne groaned something about her looking high and winning the lottery. Angela told him to ignore Shayne. Damien forced himself to smirk along. Normal. Keep it normal.
Then she leaned closer, her voice dipping low. “Hey. About last night…”
His chest tightened. This was it. He didn’t let himself hesitate. He just shrugged, kept his tone casual. “What about it?”
“When we were out there, on the beach. Before Shayne came over.”
The image flashed sharply in his mind. Her face tilted toward his, eyes wide. The flutter in his chest that nearly knocked him off his feet.
He shoved it down. Shook his head. “I don’t remember anything.”
It was the hardest lie he’d ever told.
Angela blinked at him, startled. “You… don’t remember?”
“Yeah.” He forced another shrug, another bite of toast. “Guess it was late. We were all tired. We just talked, right?”
He couldn’t look at her. If he did, he’d take it back. And he couldn’t take it back.
So he kept chewing, each bite like ash in his mouth, and let the silence close between them.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile. Small, tight, not reaching her eyes. She said something light, brushed it off, but Damien felt the shift. He’d hurt her.
And maybe that was good. Maybe she’d let it go now, before it got worse.
He told himself it was the right thing. But as he swallowed down the last bite of toast, the lie burned in his throat. Because the truth was he remembered everything and he knew he always would.
Notes:
I fear I may have written young Damien as a bit of an overcautious overthinker, but I swear he'll make up for it when he grows up! For now, you get this teenage boy. XD
Thanks again! Kudos and comments are well appreciated. 'Til next chapter. :*
Chapter 5: Stormy Days
Notes:
Who's ready for an update? I know I am! (¬ᴗ¬)
Jeez guys, I didn't expect the first few chapters to get this much love. I was so hesitant to post this fic because I thought it would be too OOC for everyone to hop on my crazy-train. Tbh, at some points, I forget I'm writing about Smosh people. They just turn into characters who happen to be named Angela and Damien. But I guess that helped with the AU angle, didn't it? Hehe. I also sincerely thought everything was going to be too slow-going for everybody else's taste. Though I guess the almost-kiss absolved me a bit?
Kidding aside, your comments have kept me motivated to update and let you know how I stitched this story together.
So without further ado, here's chapter 5!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was one of those rare times when Shayne and Damien were too busy with a video game at the beach house to notice she’s missing. Or to include her in their fun. So when Courtney texted about meeting up at the diner in town, she gave a quick bye to her mom and went off without the trunk boys.
Besides, she needed time away from Damien. He’s still a puzzle she’s trying to figure out. The sudden “amnesia” wasn’t making sense. You almost kiss a girl and you shake it off? Who the hell does that?
By the time she got to the diner, it was buzzing like it always did on summer mornings, the air thick with the smell of bacon grease and syrup. Angela slid into the booth beside Amanda, across from Courtney and Chanse, while Spencer wedged himself at the end, already scrolling through something on his phone.
“Okay,” Courtney said, the second Angela sat down. They leaned across the table, eyes sharp. “What was that last night?”
Angela blinked. “What was what?”
Amanda gasped dramatically, clutching her straw like it was a pearl necklace. “Girl, don’t even try me. You bolted like someone set your hair on fire.”
Chanse raised a brow, smirking. “From Max, no less. Pretty sure his ego is still lying in the sand.”
Angela groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “Oh my God, can we not—”
“Nope,” Courtney cut in, grinning wickedly. “We’re doing this.”
Amanda jabbed a fry in Angela’s direction. “You can’t tell us you ran away from the hottest guy in town, the one every girl practically drools over, for no reason.”
Angela sat back, cheeks hot. She hadn’t wanted to have this conversation, but apparently, fate was cruel. “Fine. You want the truth?”
Four heads nodded eagerly.
Angela took a breath. “Max has been a jerk to me since the day I met him. Three summers ago, I was sitting on the boardwalk reading Much Ado About Nothing—”
“Of course you were,” Chanse muttered fondly.
Angela shot him a look before continuing. “He walked by, looked at the book, and decided I was, quote, a ‘nerdy prude.’ Unquote. That was his first impression of me.”
Amanda’s jaw dropped. “Rude.”
“I wanted to tell you guys about that first meeting with him, but then this whole conversation about crushes was brought up. I panicked and you all thought I had a crush on him. I couldn’t really say no forever so I just didn’t correct you,” Angela twisted her napkin in her hands. “He hasn’t exactly gone out of his way to prove me wrong since. Now, suddenly, he wants to hang around because I put on a little makeup and what? I’m supposed to swoon? No thanks.”
Courtney squinted at her, unconvinced. “Okay, but if you hated him all this time, why pretend you liked him? You could’ve said literally anyone else.”
Angela froze. There it was. The question she’d been dodging for two years because she can’t say anyone else.
Her stomach knotted as she tried to think of an answer, any excuse that wouldn’t give her away. But Amanda was watching her with wide eyes, Courtney leaned in like a detective, and even Spencer had put his phone down.
Chanse tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he’d just solved a puzzle. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “He was a decoy. You were using Max as a decoy for someone else. Someone you’re NOT supposed to like.”
Angela’s pulse jumped. “I—”
Chanse’s grin spread, sharp and triumphant. “The person you actually like… is Damien.”
Her reaction said it all. Eyes wide, mouth agape, stuttering to find an out.
Amanda gasped so loud the waitress looked over. Courtney slapped a hand over their mouth. Spencer muttered a quiet “Ohhh” and leaned back with a smirk.
Angela buried her face in her hands. “Please stop.”
But Chanse was relentless. “It makes perfect sense! The way you were blushing when we asked about your crush that summer. Weren’t the trunk boys, like, splashing around the water the entire time then? You weren’t looking at the life guard stand. You were looking at Damien!”
“I was not,” Angela protested weakly, but her voice cracked halfway through, betraying her.
Amanda clutched her arm. “Sweetie, that’s actually adorable.”
Courtney nodded vigorously. “Honestly, I ship it. Have you seen the way he looks at you? I didn’t wanna mention it because I really thought you were into Max. But, girlie, it’s like…” They wiggled their fingers in the air. “Stars in his eyes.”
Not if we’re judging by how he casually “forgot” almost kissing me last night, Angela thought.
She quickly shook her head. “No, no, no. You don’t get it. Shayne would murder me if he even thought—”
“Oh, don’t worry. We’re not telling them anything,” Spencer said, nodding along. “Well, I’m not telling. I don’t know about these blabbermouths here.”
“Hey! We can keep a secret!” Amanda argued. “Besides, your brother is too oblivious to realize what’s up. He’s too busy crushing on Courtney.”
Courtney sputtered, nearly choking on their milkshake. Spencer just raised an eyebrow like it wasn’t news to him.
Angela blinked. “Wait, what?”
“Don’t change the subject,” Chanse sing-songed, pointing at her. “We’re talking about your little Damien dilemma.”
Angela groaned, sinking lower in the booth. “It’s not a dilemma because it’s not going to happen. He’s… Damien. He’s Shayne’s best friend, and—”
“And you’re completely gone for him,” Amanda finished softly, her smile warm instead of teasing. “Which isn’t a crime, babe.”
Angela’s throat tightened. She hadn’t realized how heavy the secret had been until it slipped out in pieces here, in the middle of a diner with friends leaning in too close.
“Honestly? I think it’s about time. Because I thought I was the only one seeing how Damien looks at YOU,” Chanse said smugly, stealing one of Amanda’s fries. “He hides it under the big brother energy. Which I kinda get because…well… because your brother.”
“Again, patently untrue. Even if Shayne wasn’t involved, I don’t think he looks at me that way,” Angela insisted.
“No, honey, we can see it. You don’t.”
—
Storms don’t usually pass by their tiny summer town during their visit. But this time, the storm rolled in fast.
By the time the rain began to pound against the windows, the sky had turned almost black, the wind howling down the shoreline hard enough to shake the shutters. The lights flickered once, twice, and then cut out entirely, plunging the beach house into a dim, eerie quiet broken only by the storm’s roar.
The moms had retreated to their rooms with candles, claiming they were going to “rest”, which probably meant swapping stories in the dark until one of them fell asleep mid-sentence.
That left the three of them alone.
For most of the afternoon, Angela, Damien, and Shayne sprawled in the living room, each marooned in their own corner. Shayne sat cross-legged on the recliner, headlamp clipped to his forehead, flipping pages of a book without looking up. Damien leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling like it owed him answers. Angela lay on the other couch with her eyes closed, pretending to nap but quietly humming “Defying Gravity” under her breath.
None of them really expected to be stuck in the house with a blackout during the summer visits, so items to keep themselves occupied were the last in their list of priorities when they packed for the trip. Angela brought a book. But she didn’t bring her glasses. She can’t really see much without her glasses. On top of that, their phones were either dead or on low battery. Suffice to say, they’re bored out of their minds and Shayne was the only one who was somehow surviving.
The storm cracked against the house again.
Damien finally sat up with a groan. “That’s it. I can’t take this anymore. There’s got to be something in this house besides… this.” He waved a hand at the stillness illuminated by a few candles they managed to find.
Shayne didn’t even twitch. “Don’t see me complaining.”
“Yeah, well, you look like an anglerfish with that stupid light on your head,” Angela teased, peeking one eye open.
“Wow! Angie knows what an anglerfish is! Where did you learn that, Finding Nemo?” Shayne said mockingly. Then, he reached up to adjust the strap of the headlamp. “This is practical survival gear. You’re just jealous.”
Angela laughed and flopped back against the armrest. “Sure. Totally jealous.”
Damien ignored their bickering. “Didn’t Ian mention something about board games back then? ” he asked Shayne.
“Not that I recall,” Shayne shrugged.
Ian was the owner of the beach house. Scratch that. Technically, his mom and dad own the beach house. He’s just there to maintain the place and add new things to it so new renters keep coming. Only four years Shayne and Damien’s senior, Ian rarely showed up when Deb, Marilyn, and the kids visit. His family was more Deb and Mr. Topp’s people, old friends from when Shayne’s dad was still alive and before Mr. Topp moved to Atlanta.
They’re not really close, but they’re familiar faces, to the point that Ian’s mom would call Deb in the middle of spring to confirm they’re coming over for that summer.
They were friendly, though. The boys’ talk with Ian five summers ago was the reason the beach house had a handful of video games. Damien’s pretty sure Ian also mentioned something about board games, but he and Shayne were already busy playing Grand Theft Auto to actually retain information on where the board games are placed.
“Bug, do you know if there are board games here?” Damien asked Angela.
She didn’t seem to be expecting Damien to talk to her, because her singing faltered before she looked at him. “Dunno,” she muttered, closing her eyes again and covering them with her arm.
Things have been weird with Angela since that night at the beach after truth or dare. Then, it got more bizarre when she got back from the diner with the rest of the gang the other day. He’s sure he still owes her some kind of explanation for “forgetting” how close they got that night, but he wasn’t ready to delve into those feelings just yet.
“Want to help me look?” he asked her.
“Nope,” she said, popping the P sound.
“Very well.”
Damien disappeared down the hall. For a while, the sound of drawers and closet doors thudding open carried faintly over the storm. Angela hummed louder, switching to “Popular” and deliberately hitting the most nasal notes.
By the time he returned, his grin was suspicious enough that Shayne finally looked up.
“What?” Shayne asked flatly. “Looked around and found out you’re an idiot?”
Damien didn’t even flinch. He just dropped something onto the coffee table with a flourish. “Found something better.”
Angela lifted her head. The box stared up at her in all its colorful glory.
“Flip 7,” Damien declared.
The siblings exchanged a skeptical glance.
“What?” Damien said, feigning innocence. “It’ll be fun. Right, Bug?” He said the last part deliberately, eyes flicking to Angela.
Her cheeks warmed, but she rolled off the couch, planting herself cross-legged at the table. “What the hell. Why not?”
Shayne sighed theatrically, sliding off the recliner.
—
At first, the game was almost peaceful. The sound of cards slapping against the table, the occasional rumble of thunder outside, and the flicker of candlelight letting them at least see what cards they were getting.
Then Damien cheated. Or at least, Angela swore he did after he put down another Freeze card in front of her.
“Hey! You can’t just—”
“Read the rules, Bug,” Damien grinned, smug.
Shayne cackled, siding with Damien instantly. “Sorry, Angie, but he’s right. Brutal but legal.”
Angela’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? You’re ganging up on me?”
“It’s called strategy,” Shayne said solemnly, drawing another card and using his Second Chance when he noticed it was a bust.
“There are no strategies here! This game is luck-based! This is called betrayal!” Angela snapped, tossing a card down so hard it nearly flipped off the table.
“Actually, this is called Flip 7,” Damien said, matter-of-factly.
“You’ve both got over a hundred points and I’m here stuck with 47!”
The boys laughed and Angela felt her irritation grow. She crossed her arms, pouting as Damien tried and failed to stifle his grin.
“Oh God, let the tantrums start. I thought you had outgrown that, Angie. It won’t get you your way now!” Shayne said, pointing and laughing.
“This is unfair!” Angela said, leaning forward and letting her head hit the table.
Shayne just kept on laughing, holding his torso like he’s afraid he’ll burst any second now.
“It’s always been like this! You boys make it no fun for me just so you get your stupid laughs!” Angela huffed, still not looking up.
But it won’t always be like this, a tiny voice in the back of her head said. They’re leaving you behind, right? College, new friends, different state. You’ve always been their tag-along, Angela. Sooner or later, they’ll stop going to this beach house and start forgetting about you.
Great. Now she’s crying. Her tears dropped on the cards in front of her but she still refused to look up. The boys can’t see her like this.
Because they won’t be seeing much of you at all. Good riddance, Angela, the voice went on.
Her shoulders started shaking, almost involuntarily, at the same time her crying became louder.
“Oh no, let the waterworks begin.” Shayne guffawed. “Don’t be a sore loser, Angela. Come on!”
“This isn’t fair!” She looked up, eyes red-rimmed and tears flowing. “Not fair at all!”
“Yeah. We established that. Now can we—”
“You’re leaving me! Both of you!” Angela’s throat burned before she could stop it. “This isn’t fair!”
The laughter died instantly. Shayne stopped laughing, startled, cards still in his hand. Damien froze, his smirk vanishing.
“It’s not fair,” Angela said, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “You’re just—just going off to college and I’m stuck here. You’ll forget this beach house. About the gang. About me.”
For a moment, the storm outside filled the silence.
Then Shayne shoved his cards aside, reaching across the table to ruffle her hair. “Hey. Don’t be dramatic. You’re my sister. You think I could forget you if I tried?”
Angela sniffed, swatting at his hand.
“It’s not just that. You’ll have new friends in California. You’ll start wanting to spend time with them rather than us here. You’ll stop coming over for holidays and… and…”
Damien set his cards down carefully, his gaze steady on her. “Bug,” he said softly. “You’re not losing us. Okay? USC’s a long way from Georgia but…California isn’t Mars. We’ll still come back here. We’ll still…”
He trailed off, searching for the right words. “We’ll still be us.”
Angela blinked at him, her chest loosening just a little.
“Besides,” Shayne added, “who else is gonna keep you from cheating at board games?”
Angela let out a wet laugh, shoving him.
“Stop that. C’mere,” Shayne said, reaching his arms out for a hug.
“No,” Angela said flatly.
Shayne came closer and pulled her in anyway. Then, he gestured at Damien to join them, looking at him through Angela’s shoulder. “What are you doing? Come here. Group hug.”
Group hug? Angela thought.
Group hugs were a thing of the past.
Angela couldn’t even recall the last time she went in for a group hug with her brother and Damien. But they used to do it a lot. When they played at the Haas apartment in Atlanta. When she scraped her knees at the playground and the boys were comforting her. When they all raced through the park in tiny bicycles and Shayne ended up winning. When they went to the zoo together with her dad and they all took photos wearing silly animal-themed hats.
It was a constant thing among them. Best friends that came from another set of best friends. A gesture that came with growing up with somebody.
At some point, they implicitly decided that they were too grown up for group hugs. But if she were being honest, Angela missed them. Just her and the boys. Things have just been a bit more complicated now. With feelings a bit more serious for gestures from their shared childhood.
“I’m not sure…,” Damien hesitated.
“I said get in here,” Shayne snapped, leaving no room for argument. He briefly let go of Angela to pull Damien in for the hug. She ended up getting crushed between them, causing her to giggle as she put an arm on both of the boys.
This is nice, the voice in her head said. I’m not hopeful, but I sincerely wish you don’t lose them.
That was when Damien met her eyes. He smiled in a way that made her feel anchored. His eyes, warm and reassuring, said a multitude of things Angela couldn’t name, but one message was clear: You’re not losing us. You’re not losing me.
Notes:
Okay, I may have oversold myself with my promise of chapter 6 this weekend. I wanted to post it soon because it's one of the chapters I've been too finicky with. It's written from Shayne's POV and I'm not sure if I'm happy with my draft just yet. So I planned on posting it with the hope that I'll stop overthinking it in time for some of my other commitments over the weekend.
Mission failed.
I'll take a few days off updating to get my mind off the next chapter and hopefully look at it with fresh eyes as soon as I deal with other things this weekend.
That said, the next few chapters are gonna be a wild ride. Hopefully, you're alright with non-linear storytelling because we will start moving back and forth between timelines soon. Just a forewarning. ;)
Anyway, that's all. Cheers!
Chapter 6: Cali-fucking-fornia
Notes:
Hi all! Here's the Shayne POV chapter I promised. Let's set aside the Damien drama for a bit and let's focus on our beloved siblings. (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
I fear that of all the characters, Shayne was the one I really struggled with because I plan on giving him a tiny emotional storyline that deliberately makes him a difficult read for other people, especially his sister. But I wrote him as the big brother I wish I had growing up, so I have so much respect for the guy.
Again, I'm not from the US. If I made any mistakes regarding geographic locations, schools, or systems in place, I tried doing my research and what you see here is the extent of said research. Beyond that, I may be just dumb.
Posting chapter 6 alongside a shorter (but quite juicy) chapter I'll follow-up with in a bit. I'm starting to question the T rating because of the f-bombs in this chapter, but I think they weren't used in an M rating situation?
Anyway, enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The storm had blown itself overnight and the sun was making an aggressive comeback by noon. The air smelled clean, the ocean glittered, and the beach felt alive again.
Finally, freedom.
The moms staked their claim with beach chairs, coolers, and umbrellas, laughing as they stretched out to soak in the sun.
Shayne would’ve wanted to come with everyone to the beach, except he really wanted to talk to his sister. Angela had been all over the place recently. Grinning like a maniac one morning then sulking the next. The breakdown from last night’s game of Flip 7 bothered Shayne the most.
Angela crying to a degree that she’s physically shaking had only happened once in the past: when their old family dog Buster died. His sister was inconsolable for days on end. Buster was more his dog than Angela’s, adopted from when their mom and dad were still dating and before Angela was even born. The dog slept next to him, always sat by him, and came to him first.
If she could cry like that over a dog that barely spent time with her, what are the chances she’d be just as inconsolable once her brother, with whom she literally shared her entire life with, had packed up and moved to the other side of the country?
Shayne didn’t want to take his chances.
When Angela told their mom she’d rather stay at the beach house than go out that afternoon, Shayne volunteered to stay there with her. “Sand’s gonna be all clumpy anyway. You guys go ahead,” he told Deb as an excuse.
Their mom shrugged and practically dragged Aunt Marilyn out of the house.
Shayne approached Angela’s room with caution, opening the door slowly until he realized she wasn’t sleeping. She was playing music with the electronic keyboard she had insisted on bringing to the beach house.
He took a moment to figure out the song: a slower rendition of “Moon River”. The keyboard was placed by the window in front of Angela’s bed and she was now facing away from him.
Angela didn’t really notice him walk in. That usually happened when his sister started playing music, she forgot anybody else existed. She would hammer away at the keys or strum a guitar without being aware of the world around her.
“Can we talk?” Shayne asked softly.
Too softly, it appeared, because Angela kept on playing.
“Angela,” he called out, a little louder.
Still, no response.
“Angie, turn that thing off. I wanna talk,” he said.
Angela still didn’t acknowledge him.
So Shayne took matters into his own hands, walking over and turning the instrument off.
Mission successful, he supposed, because she finally looked at him. “You turned it off,” she whispered.
“You couldn’t hear me, Angie,” he said.
Several emotions flashed across Angela’s face. Sadness, annoyance, confusion. Mostly, she looked sad, but she quickly shifted her face into something neutral. “What do you need?”
“Do I need to need anything from you? I just wanted to talk,” he said.
“No,” she started. “You only call me Angie when you’re making fun of me or you need something. Which is it?”
Shayne looked at her for a beat, her face not really giving him anything. “Okay, fine. I guess we’re doing this.”
He took a seat at the foot of her bed, facing her at a safe distance. “Do you not want me to go to California?”
“What? Why would you think that? Of course, I want you to go,” she said with an incredulous look on her face. “You wanna go to California. We wanna go to Cali-fucking-fornia. You’ll go to USC, I’ll go to UCLA. Wasn’t that the plan all this time?”
Shayne did make that pact with Angela.
—
Having only lived on the East Coast, he had wanted to head west. Experience more than their side of the United States. But he had almost chickened out of applying to West Coast universities several times, the pamphlets and flyers glaring at him.
“What are you waiting for? I thought you wanted to try them out,” Angela said, sifting through the pamphlets because he wouldn’t. “Look, this one’s pretty cool. Heard their psych program’s good too.”
Shayne ignored the pamphlet Angela was handing him to ask, “How are you not scared? Moving all the way from here to there? It’s a lot.”
“Because I know I wanna go to California. I’m gonna be an actress and Hollywood can’t reach me from here,” she said. “There’s always New York for Broadway stuff too. But, I don’t know, if you’re going to California, I’d rather go there.”
“Are you not sick of me yet?”
Angela scoffed. “Are you sick of me?”
“Fair point. But still. It’s… scary.”
“Change is supposed to be scary. Isn’t that what they always say? No idea who they are, but they say it so…” She waved another flyer in his face.
“Gimme that,” he said, grabbing the flyer. “I can’t really decide where to apply right now; there’s a lot out there.”
“You can always start with places that already have master’s programs. Doesn’t the therapy gig need like… at least a master’s?”
Shayne shrugged.
“Wow. Informed and decisive,” she laughed. “The real world’s gonna eat you alive, mister.”
“Okay, miss actress, where are you going?”
“You’re deflecting a lot, you know that?” Angela shook her head in disbelief.
She went through the pile as she continued, “How about this: you apply to at least one of these places, preferably California. And I…” she put down a pamphlet for UCLA in front of him. “...will see you in a few years.”
—
Shayne didn’t really think Angela would remember that pact. It was informal at best, anyway. It did make sense, though. Between the two of them, Angela had always been the dreamer.
When he received his acceptance letter to the University of Southern California, she squealed, jumping up and down, and told him “See you in Cali-fucking-fornia.”
Maybe he should give his sister more credit for having a sharp memory and committing to that pact. But now, he was second-guessing everything about that agreement.
“First off, you bawled like a baby when you remembered Damien and me are going to California without you,” he said.
“Yeah. But it’s not because I think you shouldn’t go to California. It’s just…” Angela looked away, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “...I guess you were right. Change is scary. It’s the first time in my life I won’t see you all the time.”
Figured. Angela loved fiercely, but that also meant she felt everything else just as fiercely. Even the feelings that shouldn’t be popping up their ugly little heads.
Shayne exhaled, “Do you remember when we’d fight over toys back then? Dad always told us, ‘fight with each other all you want, as long as you also fight for each other…’”
“‘...You don’t know when the last fight will be.’” Angela continued the words, ingrained in her memory since childhood. “Of course, I remember that.”
“Nobody really tells siblings—or people, really—when they stop sharing a life with each other. But you know what? Sharing a life with you hasn’t been so bad. College doesn’t have to stop that,” he went on.
“I get it. You don’t really want to tell me about crushes or personal drama and all that jazz. I don’t need to know all those things either. But you know I’ll always be here for you, right? That’s what big brothers are for,” he said.
“Of course, I know that. I can give you updates all the time. I’ll even text you all about the school gossip you’ll be missing if you want.”
“No, thank you.” Then, after a beat, “Though I do want in on the Max drama. I thought you liked him?”
Angela threw her slippers at him. “You really had to ruin the moment, didn’t you?”
“What? Sue a guy for being curious.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “If you must know, I’m not really crushing on him. It was a whole misunderstanding that blew out of proportion. The truth or dare was my breaking point.”
“So you don’t actually like him?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. He isn’t that cool anyway,” Shayne scoffed.
“You took all this time before telling me you don’t think he’s cool? What if I actually liked him?” she pouted unconvincingly.
“If you want to be an actress, you’ve got some work to do. You looked like you wanted to barf just as you said that.”
“Really? This starts as some heart-to-heart I never asked for and ends with you questioning my acting abilities? You were so nice yesterday, giving bear hugs and all," she whined mockingly.
Shayne smirked, “You want another bear hug?”
“No,” she said. Instead, she got up from her seat by the keyboard to offer her hand up for a fist bump. “This works, though. Come on, don’t leave me hanging like you always do to Damien.”
Shayne looked at her hand for a little too long.
“Come on, Shayneeeee. I’m waitiiiiing,” she teased.
God, she can be annoying, Shayne thought.
Without a word, he got up from the foot of the bed and returned Angela’s fist bump.
But it didn’t stop there.
He grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her closer. Angela let out a tiny yelp as he wrapped his arms around her in a big hug. Angela took a moment to recover and hug him back.
“Gonna miss you out West, sis,” he whispered.
Angela let out a little laugh. “Look at us, getting mushy on a random Tuesday.”
Notes:
Stop turning off Angela's keyboard. Stop. Silencing. Women. L(° O °L)
Chapter Text
10 YEARS LATER
Angela’s key scraped against the lock before the door gave way with its familiar creak. She slipped inside, shrugging off her scarf and kicking off her boots, the stale air of the subway still clinging to her.
The New York apartment buzzed faintly. Amanda perched on the couch with her laptop, Chanse curled up nearby with a script in his lap. Both looked up when she entered.
“Hey,” Angela greeted them both. Both gave automatic “heys” in reply.
“Mail’s on the counter,” Amanda said, eyes darting briefly toward the pile.
Angela groaned. “Bills, bills, and more bills, probably.” She padded to the counter, flipping through the stack with quick fingers. Nothing interesting. Flyer. Bank statement. Another flyer.
“Not all of them,” Chanse noted flatly, not looking up from his script.
Angela had just landed on a postcard from her parents when her hand caught something heavier from the pile. The envelope was thick, cream-colored with a burgundy ribbon, her name written in swooping calligraphy across the front.
Not that she needed to open it to know the contents. She helped pick it.
The invitation slid into her hands, all pressed flowers and gold ink.
You are cordially invited to the wedding of Shayne Topp and Courtney Miller
Angela barely skimmed the details. She already knew. Shayne had called her months ago, so nervous about proposing he’d nearly dropped the ring on FaceTime. Now it was official. Her brother was marrying Courtney Miller this summer in Los Angeles.
Angela smiled. Courtney had been part of their lives for so long, it almost felt overdue.
She didn’t realize her roommates was watching her until Chanse leaned over her shoulder. “Ooo, fancy,” he sing-songed.
Angela pulled the invite closer. “Yes, yes. My brother’s wedding. Maid of honor duties. About damn time.”
Angela had wanted to turn down the role of maid of honor out of fairness to Courtney. They were at opposite ends of the country. It didn’t make sense for her to be maid of honor to a Los Angeles wedding when she’s in New York. And had never been to LA.
But then, Courtney mentioned wanting a New York bachelorette party because they’d hadn’t been to the Big Apple. And since Chanse and Amanda were in New York too.
It all snowballed from there. Before Angela knew it, she was helping Courtney pick wedding dresses and helping them book cake tastings over the phone.
“I wanna see,” Amanda chirped, setting her laptop down and looking over Angela’s shoulder.
“Of course you’re going,” Chanse said, abandoning his script. “But the real question is can you handle it?”
Angela blinked. “Handle what?”
Amanda reached out, plucking the invite from her hands with a speed that was borderline criminal. She scanned it quickly, her brows arching. “Wedding. Romantic atmosphere. Your mom and her best friend there. Who’s the best man?”
Angela took the invite back, trying to keep her attention on it instead of at her friends.
“Damien.” She forced her face into neutrality.
“I mean,” Amanda went on, shrugging, “he is Shayne’s best friend. You kinda had to expect he’d be there.”
Chanse tilted his head. “It’s been, what, ten years?”
Angela slid the card back into its envelope, maybe a little too carefully. “Nine and change. Would be ten once this wedding takes place.”
“I still can’t believe you managed to avoid him for that long,” Chanse said.
Angela shrugged, “Wasn’t that hard. He started it.”
Amanda softened, leaning forward. “Seriously, Ange. Will you be okay? Being maid of honor next to him as best man? Standing up there together?”
The concern in her voice was genuine.
Angela forced a laugh. “It’s fine. It’s Shayne’s wedding,… not mine. I can deal.”
But she couldn’t quite meet their eyes.
She’d done well all these years. Carving out a steady rhythm in New York, building her name step by step. Plays, workshops, smaller productions. Enough to keep her afloat, enough to keep her dreaming. It’s not Hollywood but it feels rewarding all the same.
And Damien? She didn’t let herself look too closely. Didn’t let herself linger on the way his name sometimes slipped into conversations with Shayne or the way she once, only once, dialed his number three years ago in a moment of weakness.
Amanda and Chanse didn’t know about that call. But they knew the outlines of everything else that came before that. They also knew that Shayne had somehow managed to still be in the dark about her history with Damien. It was easier that way, Angela supposed.
Even now, after ten years of only hearing about Damien’s life through bits and pieces that her brother said over the holiday dinner table or their occasional FaceTime calls, Angela knew one thing for certain: She was not ready to meet Damien again.
She was terrified that the moment she saw him again, she’d unravel back to that fifteen-year-old girl. The one who thought love that young could last forever. The one who got her heart broken.
Angela Giarratana wasn’t that girl anymore.
At least, that’s what she told herself as she put the envelope on top of a stack of unopened bills.
Notes:
Sooooooo? What did you think? ԅ(≖⌣≖ԅ)
Chapter 8: Under the Stars
Notes:
Aaaand we're back at the beach house. Just for everyone's reference, I know both Angela and Damien have real-life siblings, but they don't exist in this fic (sorry). It's just easier to deal with as few non-Smosh personalities as possible.
We'll delve into more Shayne/Angela siblingism lore in this chapter + more! I did my best to tie everything together with a neat bow, but if there are plot holes (especially with the sibling lore) just know I did my best and that's what's important. XD Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
10 YEARS EARLIER
Angela could pretend everything between her and Damien was good ever since the blackout, but that would be a lie. She sees one thing; her friends see the same. But his actions? Flip-flopping all over the place.
—
Just that morning, she was dipping her toes at the beach house pool, savoring the silence of 6 am when Damien had passed her. His hair was still damp from his morning shower, that one stubborn curl curling against his forehead as usual. He’d given her that grin, that stupid grin like they were the only ones in on some big secret. Except this morning, it didn’t feel like a secret she was in on.
“Morning, Ladybug,” he’d said.
Ladybug. Not Bug.
He never called her that.
Damien stared, seemingly waiting for a reaction. He opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head like he was trying to ignore something rattling inside his brain.
“Missed you at the beach yesterday. Everyone was there. Minus you and Shayne,” he said, sitting on one of the lounge chairs near her. “Did he talk to you yet?”
“He told you he wanted to talk to me?”
“Not really. He just has a look. I call it the ‘something’s bothering Angela and I have to fix it’ face,” he explained before leaning back. “So he did?”
“Yeah. Got all mushy about it too,” she said. Then, she took a breath, “Does he seem to actually want to go to California?”
Damien thought for a moment. “If I’m being honest, I can’t get a good read on what your brother wants out of life right now. But who does, right? We’re all just lost. I think the fact you made it known you wanna go to UCLA kinda helped him, though.”
“And that’s the problem,” Angela turned from her perch, looking at him. “I thought about our talk yesterday and he kept going on and on about whether I wanted him to go to California or not. What if he was the one who had second thoughts about studying in California?
“He’s already done so much for me. He volunteered to teach me math personally because I didn’t want to go to Kumon like him. I say the word and he’s always got my back. Did you know he almost sold his holographic Charizard just so I could get my old keyboard replaced? Luckily, it wasn’t worth anything, so he didn’t have to give it up,” she said. “I love the guy, but he’s not great at telling people what he wants. He just…gives. ”
Damien smiled a reassuring smile, saying, “If it makes you feel any better, he did seem excited about rooming with me. He started talking about classes and places we could hit once we’re settled.”
“Plus, you sell yourself too short. I’m sure you’ve done more for Shayne than you realize.”
“Not holographic Charizard levels! He freaked out when he got that thing all those years ago, mom nearly swerved into oncoming traffic. Nothing I can consider a major sacrifice… or near-sacrifice for him,” Angela argued. “I dunno. Is there anything you’d give up just to make him happy?”
Damien paused, opened and closed his mouth again like a fish out of water. For a second, she thought he was about to say something else.
“Don’t think I can think of one on the spot,” he said finally.
Angela tilted her head, but Damien was already looking past her, pretending to study the ripples in the pool. After a minute of silence had lapsed, he just got up without a word and left.
—
Angela spent the entire day thinking about that moment and trying to make sense of it. Ladybug. Like that ladybug from when he started using the nickname on her. The moment she knew he was going to be in her life forever. Because you never give nicknames to people who are temporary.
Did that moment mean the same to him? That she always and forever will be Bug? His Bug?
Did one breakdown over a game of Flip 7 cause that?
Now, lying awake, she was no closer to answers.
Angela sighed, swinging her legs off the bed. A walk. A walk might help. She changed into her softest shorts, a T-shirt that was presentable enough, and tugged on a cardigan before padding out into the hallway.
She wasn’t expecting to run into Damien.
He stood in the hallway barefoot, hair messy, rubbing the back of his neck like he’d been tossing and turning all night.
“Angela? You’re still awake?” he asked. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Angela shook her head. “You too?”
“Yeah. Uhhhh…could fix you up with some vanilla milk if you’d like,” he offered, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.
Angela chuckled. “You’re the only person I know who treats vanilla milk like a snack.”
He tilted his head. “Works for me.”
“I was actually hoping some fresh air would help,” she said.
He studied her for a beat, something unreadable flickering across his eyes. “Are you heading out? It’s late.”
She nodded.
“I’ll walk with you,” he said, already turning back into his room to grab his slippers.
They slipped out quietly into the night. The beach was softer under starlight, the sand cool, and the surf whispering rather than roaring. The houses along the shore glowed faintly with warm windows. Above them, the stars stretched endlessly.
They walked without speaking for a while, the only sound the hush of the waves.
Then Damien broke the silence. “It’s weird, huh? Thinking about next year.”
Angela glanced at him. “Yeah.”
“I always thought if Shayne were to move states, it would be here. South Carolina. I would’ve come with him, you know?”
“Of course, you would’ve. You guys are like a package deal. Trunk boys and all that.”
Damien chuckled. “It’s not just that. I know how much South Carolina means to him. I always think this place means more ‘dad’ to Shayne than our moms.”
Angela nodded, though she didn’t completely get it. Her gaze shifted to the ocean as she recalled early memories of South Carolina.
Angela used to ask about Mr. Topp, but Shayne didn’t really remember much. He had been barely a year old when his dad died in a car accident. After the accident, their mom was practically raising Shayne on her own.
By the time Shayne was almost two, Angela’s dad came into the picture. Ray Giarratana never really treated Shayne any differently from Angela. He never insisted on giving Shayne his name, but he was a Giarratana in every way that counts. Sometimes, Angela forgets they’re not fully biologically related. Sometimes she forgets they technically don’t share a father.
Mr. Topp was from South Carolina. From what Angela understands, Shayne’s biological dad was the reason the beach house vacations even started. He felt homesick in Atlanta, where there wasn’t a coast in sight. So their mom devised these supposedly yearly trips to see the ocean. Only he never lived long enough to actually go on the first trip.
That’s when Aunt Marilyn stepped up, insisting they take the trips anyway as a “mom and kids getaway.” Which is how Damien got dragged into the trips too.
Deb used to insist on Angela’s dad joining the South Carolina trip, but Ray said it wouldn’t be fair to Shayne. He deserved a place that was just his and his dad’s. South Carolina.
Damien’s voice pulled Angela back to the present.
“Anyway, when he said he’s applying to USC, I thought, ‘What the hell? California? Count me in!’ and applied with him. Didn’t really think that would pan out. That I’d get into the game development program. Or that he’s still not sick of me to suggest we become roommates.”
“Please. If I didn’t know my brother was head over heels for Courtney, I would’ve thought he wanted to be with you,” Angela snorted.
“Hey! I love Shayne, but not like that.” Damien said in mock offense.
There was a beat of silence between them, just the sound of the ocean slapping onto the sand.
Damien took a deep breath. “I hate to be the one to say it, but I really hope college doesn’t stop this tradition. It already sucks having to leave my mom behind. I’m all she has.”
Angela hesitated. “How do you feel about moving away?”
He exhaled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Excited. Nervous. Worried. I know college is all about fresh starts and such but…” He trailed off, looking at the water. “I guess I’m scared of missing out on what happens here. And in Atlanta.”
“You’ll be fine, though,” he added, keeping his eyes on the horizon. “You worry a lot, but you’re gonna be okay. You’ll do great things without us.”
She looked down at her feet, burying her toes in the cool sand. “You sound so sure.”
“I am sure,” he said simply.
She smiled faintly. “If I got into UCLA someday, would we still be friends?”
“Correction: It’s when you get into UCLA. As for the second part,...” he shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. “USC’s not that far away. At least not Georgia distance. I wouldn’t be opposed to getting in touch.”
Angela’s hair fluttered around her face as the breeze picked up. She turned her eyes to the ocean. Beside her, Damien drew in a deep breath.
“Bug, are we okay?” he started. “You’ve been weird with me lately. I even called you Ladybug this morning, just to see if you’d clock me for changing it up, and you didn’t. I understand if you’re avoiding me. I owe you an apology.”
Angela looked at him as he drew a deep breath. “Why would I be avoiding you?”
“I remember what happened at the beach that night. When I chased after you, you know? The truth or dare thing?” he breathed deep. Again. “I know I was leaning in and I just— I didn’t want to make things weird between us. It was presumptuous of me to think…”
“Okay, so you do remember.” She almost hissed at him.
“Yeah. At that same time, I remembered you’re Shayne’s sister and you’re off-limits,” he chuckled uncomfortably. “That was a dumb move. I just wanted to forget I did that. Though I guess that doesn’t give me much accountability. So I take it back. And I’m sorry.”
Angela analyzed his face for a few seconds, noticing that his explanation was more about her supposedly being “off-limits.” Not because he didn’t want to kiss her.
Okay, the behavior kind of makes sense now. He was guilty the first time and me ignoring him just made him think he spooked me, Angela thought.
She sighed before responding. “I leaned in first.”
“W—What?” Damien stuttered.
“I noticed you leaning in. But I’m pretty sure I leaned in first.” Angela looked down at her sand-covered feet and played with the hem of her shirt before continuing. “The reason I’ve been acting weird lately is that Chanse and the others said something about you… and me…”
“What exactly did they say?” Damien asked.
Angela looked at him for a beat before looking away. “Nothing important.”
“You can’t just do that. The mystery will kill me. What is it?” he insisted.
Angela can’t help but berate herself internally. Is this really the time to say this? He’s moving out of state, for God’s sake!
“Bug…” Damien nudged her.
“They said… They think…,” she started, wavering a little and taking a deep breath. “They said I ran away from Max that night because I had feelings for somebody else.”
She tried to keep it vague. Chill. But once the first part was out, she couldn’t stop herself from talking. “They said you look at me a certain way and that maybe the feelings were mutual.”
Now or never! Angela thought.
Angela didn’t even realize she was bracing for a rejection until it didn’t come. Not that she had outright confessed anything, but she was getting pretty close to it. And Damien was smart enough to piece together what she was saying.
She couldn’t even gauge what Damien was feeling. He had this look on his face that was between conflicted and in awe.
“Bug…” Damien said, then stopped, running a hand over his face. “I think I should tell you something before I move to the other side of the country.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t expect anything,” he rushed out. “Nothing has to change. I just… I need to say it before—”
“Just say it already,” Angela said, exasperated, heart hammering.
He looked at her then. Really looked at her.
“I love you,” he said.
Angela blinked. He loved her. Not just like. That can’t be true, right? Damien Haas, the boy she’d been in love with since she was 11, loved her too.
The traitorous side of her brain took the reins for a second. No. He means ‘I love you like I love a sister. Not whatever delusion you’re thinking.’
Unsure how to proceed, she moved to safer territory. “I love you too,” she said automatically. The way they always had, in the safe, platonic way. The way she always said it during their group hugs with Shayne.
But Damien didn’t smile. He didn’t look away.
He reached out, delicately tilting her chin toward him. “No,” he said quietly. “I mean I’m in love with you.”
Angela’s eyes went wide. Her pulse stumbled. For a second, she thought she’d misheard him again. But the look on his face said she didn’t. He meant what she thought he did.
“I’ve been in this free-fall for you for a long time. Since I was, what, 14? Maybe younger. I can’t really pinpoint when. Tried denying it for years, but it wasn’t working,” Damien went on, words tumbling over each other. “I get it if you don’t feel the same way. I don’t want things to be weird, especially with Shayne around but—”
Damien didn’t get to finish talking because Angela was already moving. Her hands found his shirt, pulling him down. Their lips met halfway. Angela pressed her lips against his, tasting salt from the mist of seawater mingling with the menthol toothpaste at the beach house.
She was kissing Damien! After all this time, she was kissing Damien. Right after he’d told her he’s in love with her, no less!
Damien froze against her for a heartbeat, long enough for her to feel her lips gain warmth from his. Then, he gently kissed her back, like he was afraid the world might tilt if he moved too fast. One of his hands found the small of her back, pressing her closer.
Angela felt short of breath, yet it made her feel so alive. If this was how all kisses felt, Angela wished she had just done it a long time ago.
Was it the act of kissing or the person she was kissing now causing all of this? Perhaps both. Angela can’t really tell. She needed more info to find out. So she slid her arms around Damien’s neck as she tried to stand on tiptoes to meet his height. The act seemed to electrocute Damien as he pulled his face away from her. But he was still holding her, making no move to loosen her grip on him. That was a good sign, she supposed.
“Bug…was that…was that your first kiss?” his voice came as a whisper.
She nodded, shyly.
“I thought your first kiss was supposed to be special. I—”
“You are special. I’ve been in love with you for a long time, too, Damien,” she said, cutting him off.
His eyes searched hers. “Are you serious? You can’t be messing with me now, Bug. I’ll hate you.”
“No. You love me,” she shot back, a small, wobbly smile tugging at her mouth.
Damien searched her eyes before laughing softly, almost awestruck. His other hand travelled to her cheek, caressing it in such a tender way that it had Angela melting beneath his touch.
“Yeah. I really, really do,” he said before kissing her again. Firmer. More sure.
Now, Angela knows for sure. Not even California can stop Damien from staying in her life. She’ll always have Damien.
Notes:
Halloo~
Updates might take a bit longer this week as I'm not really in tip-top shape. Plus, I had this crazy idea of adding more scenes to my original draft, so some chapters might take longer to write or edit.
That said, I hope you're liking this format of flashback-flashforward as y'all try to find out what happened/what happens. 'Til next time! ^_^
Chapter 9: Nothing to See Here
Notes:
Hi! Thanks for the kind comments last chapter. I really appreciate the feedback and I hope you keep 'em coming. <3 Had to work through a terrible cold the past few days. I was afraid it would turn into a full-on flu, but I'm definitely feeling better now. ^o^
It's been a real treat writing this fic on top of work. I get so giddy from the scenes as I write them, especially the earlier chapters where Damien and Angela are still two kids falling in love. Honestly, I can't keep away from this fic for long; I think about it constantly.
Now, all I can say is buckle in and I really appreciate that you're enjoying reading this fic as much as I enjoy writing it. It'll take a little while before Angela actually gets to LA, so imma let y'all stew first.
Since y'all have been so nice, here's two chapters. (｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ After this set, she IS finally arriving in Los Angeles.
Chapter Text
10 YEARS LATER
Spring soon gave way to summer and in a blink, Shayne and Courtney’s wedding was happening in a few days. Angela’s room looked like a storm had passed through it. Open suitcases littered the floor, clothes spilling over the sides, a simple dress for the rehearsal dinner hanging from the closet door.
She was halfway through wrestling a stubborn zipper on her suitcase when her phone lit up with a FaceTime request from her brother. She accepted it, setting her phone down on the bed.
“What do you want?” she said upfront, not really paying attention to the screen.
“Wow. Good evening to you, too,” Shayne greeted. “Where am I? Why am I looking at your ceiling fan?”
“You’re on the bed! I was working on—ow!” Angela called out as the zipper finally gave way and her hand slipped, causing her to accidentally hit herself.
“What the hell are you doing? I’m trying to have a conversation here. Do you mind showing your stupid face?” Shayne said, annoyed.
Angela groaned, getting up from her spot on the floor to adjust the phone so it would face her. “There. Happy? I’ve been trying to get this stupid zipper to give. Haven’t really used this thing in ages.”
“And whose fault is that? I’ve been telling you to visit me here for years and you never do.”
“Have you gone to New York?”
“Not the point,” her brother sighed. “Please tell me you’re at least packing for the flight over.”
“No, I was actually just looking to overturn my entire closet,” Angela snapped sarcastically, glaring at the screen. “I promise, I’m not chickening out of going to Los Angeles.”
“You better! Courtney’s not pushy about you visiting, but I am.”
“Of course, you are.”
“Look, we’ll be there to pick you up from LAX around 2. Let me know if your flight gets delayed. Might need to move a few appointments around,” he explained.
Angela scoffed. “As if I didn’t already know that? You texted me like 10 times yesterday.”
“Yeah. But all I got from you was a question about whether we had a Target near our house.”
“Okay, okay,” Angela waved him off. “I really need to get to packing if I wanna make the flight. See you tomorrow.”
“See you! And clean up before you go. Your room’s a mess, Ang.”
Angela rolled her eyes as she ended the FaceTime.
From being the most oblivious person she knew, Shayne had evolved into someone too observant. Someone who could easily guess when something’s up. She could still remember times when he thought pebbles on glass meant raindrops and broken roof tiles meant raccoons.
She used to laugh about it a lot, quietly, with somebody.
—
10 YEARS EARLIER
The next morning felt different.
Angela woke up with her heart already racing, as if it remembered before she did. The night came back in pieces: the walk, the stars, Damien’s voice breaking when he said the words she’d been waiting to hear. The way his hands trembled just slightly when he held her close.
Her first kiss. Her second. Okay, maybe her tenth. But who was really counting?
She pressed her face into her pillow, half to hide her grin and half to keep from squealing out loud.
Downstairs, breakfast was business as usual. Shayne drowning his pancakes in syrup, her mom and Aunt Marilyn gossiping while the coffee brewed. But every time Damien and Angela’s eyes met across the table, heat rushed to her cheeks. A smile tugged at her mouth that she couldn’t contain. He smiled back. Small and secret, but so full it made her want to look away and stare all at once.
Shayne, oblivious, complained about the storm. Angela stabbed her pancakes and prayed her brother would never learn to read the room.
The rest of the summer trip unfolded into a rhythm that was entirely theirs. By the second week, Damien had figured out how to crawl through his window and slip to her room unnoticed, just so nobody would catch him walking to her room through the shared hallway. Besides, that way, he didn’t have to deal with his unbelievably creaky bedroom door just to get to her.
Some nights, they just talked side by side on her bed until they got too sleepy to say more. Other nights, he kissed her slowly and carefully, like every moment was something to memorize. Anything more was too risky to try, not with Shayne two doors over and their moms under the same roof.
Every night, Damien crawled through her window and every night, he crawled back to his room.
“Pretty sure I broke a shingle on the porch roof when I was crawling over here. Heard something crack,” Damien told Angela one night as he walked to the window to get back to his room.
“I’m not really in favor of you going in through the windows. You’re gonna break your neck one of these days,” she shot back, holding the curtains aside.
“Worth it, though.” Damien took a glimpse outside before confirming, “Yup, definitely broke it.”
“Well, be careful. If anybody asks, I’ll say I heard a wild animal crawl on the roof or whatever.”
Damien chortled but put one leg out the window, turning to her. “Good night, Bug,” he said.
“Good night.”
—
The following afternoon, Angela stayed in her room with her battered paperback of “Twelfth Night”. She was just about to turn the page when something sharp pinged against the glass.
Her head jerked up.
Another tap.
Frowning, she crossed the room and drew back the curtains. A pebble bounced off the glass of her window just then.
She looked down below, by the backyard pool, where Damien stood in swimming trunks with a pile of pebbles at his feet. He caught her eye, grinned shamelessly, and blew her a kiss.
Angela’s jaw dropped. “What are you doing?” she hissed, half-leaning out the window, though an indulgent smile was already showing on her face.
Damien didn’t answer, just “caught” another imaginary kiss on his hand and tossed it her way. He then mouthed “come down here,” pointing to the pool.
She pointed at her book.
He tilted his head, as if to say, Really? You’d rather read right now?
She rolled her eyes, but the grin stretched across her face before she could stop it. She mouthed, “dork”, then yanked the window shut again before Shayne’s voice drifted up from the kitchen downstairs. “What was that? Is it raining again?” her brother shouted.
Angela pressed her back against the wall, clutching her book like it might steady her. Her heart refused to calm. Just a handful of kisses on the porch, a few more tucked into the shadows of the beach, and Angela was reduced to this. All giddy and kicking her feet in the air.
She and Damien hadn’t really talked about what they call what they have, just that they love each other and whatever they were was something they weren’t willing to share with anyone else just yet. Angela didn’t mind. If it meant she got to have Damien throwing rocks at her window just to make her smile… Well, she wasn’t about to complain.
Angela decided joining Damien by the pool wasn’t that bad an idea, so she changed into something more suitable for swimming and raced down the stairs. She must’ve been pretty loud because her mom sounded panicked when she asked, “What’s wrong?”
Angela turned quickly, like she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Nothing!” she said, overly cheery. “Was just excited to go for a swim.”
Aunt Marilyn, who was washing dishes next to her mom, grinned as she made a small noise that seemed to be a laugh. “I think Damien’s already there. Enjoy, sweetie!”
Before the two women could say more, Angela ran out of the house as she heard her brother say something along the lines of, “Damien’s at the pool?”
Angela went out the back door and slammed it behind her, causing the figure standing by the poolside to turn his head.
Damien grinned at the sight of her and Angela didn’t even hide the huge smile that crossed her face. The butterflies in her stomach were making it difficult to do that.
She just kept running to him… then tried to push him into the water.
Except, it appeared Damien was prepared to get tackled, because he wrapped both arms around her and dragged her into the pool with him.
Both of them splashed into the water, Angela shrieking as they went down. Going underwater with Damien felt no different than every moment since last night. All floaty, calming, and cool.
Their eyes met briefly beneath the surface before Damien let her go to swim up. They surfaced together, giggling, Damien running a hand through his hair to push away excess water.
“Glad you came out here, Ladybug,” he said, paddling his feet beneath him.
Angela knit her eyebrows together. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“I’m Bug, not Ladybug.”
“Ladybugs are cute,” he argued. “I was trying it out and it seemed cuter.”
“Sure. But they’re not me. They’re not us. I like Bug better.”
Damien tilted his head, considering, “Okay. Shame, though. I found these cute ladybug bracelets at the arcade. Was planning on winning one for you.”
Angela giggled, swimming closer and wrapping her arms around his neck. “You can still get me ladybugs. Just… don’t call me anything else.”
Damien looked at Angela with his adoring gaze; she had to actively stop herself from kissing him. “Okay, Bug,” he said, hugging her by the waist.
The moment was broken by the sound of the back door creaking open, causing Damien and Angela to snap apart. Shayne stepped out of the house, now in swimwear and scowling down at a deflated beach ball. He clearly didn’t see anything.
“Next time you go swimming without me, don’t come barrelling down the stairs. You startled the whole house,” Shayne frowned, distracted by blowing air into the beach ball.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize I was being too loud,” Angela said.
“That’s because you’re always loud. I’m used to it, but Aunt Marilyn isn’t,” Shayne bit back, inspecting the beach ball that looked somewhat decent. “This look good enough to throw around?”
Damien smiled, already moving to the center of the pool, “Gimme.”
Smirking, Shayne tossed the ball Damien’s way and cannonballed into the pool, splashing water everywhere. Once he was settled, he told them, “I was thinking we play a game.”
“What game?” Damien asked, tossing the ball back to Shayne.
“Angie in the Middle.”
The mention of her name had Angela’s head snapping to her brother’s direction. “What?!”
“I said Ange, catch,” Shayne said, tossing the ball so high Angela wouldn’t have reached it.
Damien caught it. His eyes darted between Angela and Shayne, mouth letting out an amused “oooh” before responding. “Got it.”
He also tossed the ball high, too high for Angela.
Before Angela knew it, she was in a game of Monkey in the Middle where the boys had no plans of letting her win. The ball went back and forth without her touching it even once.
“You make it so easy, Ang,” Shayne teased.
Angela was taking it all in stride, simply enjoying the game, “No, you make it so difficult. At least Damien was trying to toss a bit lower.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Shayne said, throwing the ball again.
Shayne overshot and the ball bounced off the pool’s edge, then went flying over the fence.
“Finally! Are we done yet?” Angela grumbled.
“Nah. This isn’t over. I’ll go get it,” Shayne said, already climbing the pool ladder.
Angela exchanged a glance with Damien, “At least go easier on me when you get back. Might send the ball flying again.”
Shayne shrugged and got out, doing a double-take somewhere overhead as soon as he faced the house again. “Huh.”
“What?” Damien asked.
“Nothing. Just… Ian keeps this place in tip-top shape every year. Wasn’t expecting to see the roof losing shingles,” Shayne said, pointing to a spot on the roof between Damien and Angela’s rooms.
Angela didn’t even look. “Heard a raccoon last night. Maybe it did that?”
Shayne waved her off, “Nevermind. I’ll just go get the ball.”
“Good Shayneyyy,” Angela teased like she was addressing a dog. Her brother just glared at her before going after the beach ball.
As soon as Shayne was out of earshot, Damien poked Angela’s side, “That what we’re calling me now?”
Angela’s eyes were glinting when she turned to him. “Didn’t you just hear me? It was a raccoon,” she whispered.
Damien briefly looked in the direction that Shayne took off, his smile faltering slightly. “I hate lying to him,” he said. “I hate lying in general, but lying to your brother? Doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Do you wanna tell him?”
“I kind of do. But we haven’t really completely figured this out yet, have we?”
Angela shrugged.
“I was thinking I should tell him something by the time we get to California,” he sighed. “I just don’t want this summer to end.”
Angela smiled, “Me too. I just wanna enjoy this summer. We can worry about moving away and dealing with Shayne another time.”
—
Enjoy the summer, they did. Angela glowed. Everyone could see it.
Her cheeks ached from smiling too much, her eyes brighter, her laugh quicker. Even Aunt Marilyn and her mom remarked on how “sun-kissed” she looked, though Angela was pretty sure the sun had nothing to do with that.
Chanse, of course, was relentless. “You’re glowing, Ang,” he said one afternoon at the ice cream shop, leaning over the table with a grin. “Don’t tell me it’s just because of sunscreen. Spill. Because clearly something happened with you and Damien.”
Angela didn’t even look up from her chocolate cone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing to see here.”
Chanse arched a brow, unconvinced.
Angela smiled into her ice cream, refusing to budge. Let him speculate. She liked having something just hers and Damien’s. Stolen kisses, whispered words, his arm curled around her as the house slept.
Her mom and Aunt Marilyn used to joke that it wouldn’t be too bad if she and Damien ended up together, because then they’d graduate from best friends to in-laws. She and Damien used to shake those jokes off, but maybe their moms had been onto something all along.
Maybe she really was made for him.
Chapter 10: Ladybug Charms
Chapter Text
10 YEARS LATER
Jewelry boxes stood half-open on Angela’s desk, their contents scattered across the surface. She was still packing and growing sick of it.
She held up two necklaces, squinting. “Gold or silver?” she muttered to herself.
The door creaked, and Amanda leaned in, tall frame ducking just slightly to fit into the cramped space. She shut it behind her with a hip-bump, crossing the room.
“This is a bit too much,” Amanda said, gesturing at the piles of clothing all over the room.
“Easy for you to say. You and Chanse are staying for the wedding weekend. I’m staying there for the entire week,” she said, stuffing another shirt into her suitcase. “My brother insisted I stay there for two weeks, but I had to think of a compromise before he suggested I move there. ‘Stay at my guest room all you want, Ang, I don’t care’,” Angela said in a poor imitation of Shayne’s voice.
Then, raising the necklaces, “Gold or silver?”
“With the burgundy dress? You look better in silver, but gold suits the dress.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s helpful.”
Amanda chuckled. “Gold. Wear gold.”
After a minute of silence, Amanda settled into the lone armchair, her long legs folding awkwardly like the chair was three sizes too small for her.
“You sure you’re okay?” Amanda asked.
Angela didn’t look up, just continued sifting through the pile. “I’m fine.”
Amanda’s voice was softer this time. “I mean… I get that you don’t want to miss Shayne’s wedding. But—” she hesitated, then added, “—girl, you were a mess when Damien disappeared from your life.”
Angela froze, fingers brushing over a set of earrings.
Amanda had lived with her through the worst of it. Through the quiet heartbreak that Angela thought she’d hidden better than she had, her friend had sensed danger all the way from South Carolina. Of course, Amanda could read her like a book.
“I’m not a teenager anymore,” Angela said finally, forcing steadiness into her voice. “I have to be okay.”
She turned back to the jewelry box, shuffling pieces around. Rings, necklaces, and earrings. Then her fingers brushed something buried at the bottom. Cold metal.
She pulled it free.
A small charm bracelet lay in her palm. Its gold plating had faded with time, tiny painted ladybugs dangling from the links. She’s sure it had more charms in the past, but the craftsmanship wasn’t exactly high quality.
The room blurred for a second, her mind dragging her back—
—
10 YEARS EARLIER
She was fifteen again, sprawled across her bed in her family’s home in Georgia, scrolling through her phone. The entire house was probably asleep, but Angela couldn’t sleep a wink. The summer, which seemed endless, was now coming to an end.
Shayne and Damien were bound for California the next day.
She and Damien still haven’t discussed what comes next after this summer. Though, judging by their nights in Atlanta since coming home from the beach house, a bunch of texting and whispered calling was bound to happen.
-
Angela (11:52 pm)
Can’t sleep. You there?
-
A faint tap-tap sounded against her window. Probably just the wind.
She ignored it. Then it came again. Louder and more persistent. A burglar? But that couldn’t be right. A burglar wouldn’t knock. They’d just break in.
Angela frowned, setting her phone aside. She padded to the window, tugged the curtains open,... and nearly screamed.
“Damien!” she gasped, heart hammering.
He was grinning up at her from the porch roof, the moonlight catching his messy hair. “Hey, Bug. Let me in?”
She shoved the window open and stepped back as he swung himself inside with all the grace of a Labrador. Angela secretly hoped her dad or Shayne didn’t hear anything.
“Be quiet!” she said, grabbing his arm to make sure he didn’t fall over. “How did you get up here?”
“That giant tree at the front of your house. Just jumped from ledge to ledge from there.”
“I didn’t like it at the beach house and I don’t like it now. You have got to stop doing that,” she scolded. “You’re going to give me a heart attack. I thought someone was breaking in.”
“Sorry,” Damien said, utterly unrepentant. “It’s easier to sneak in at the beach house compared to here.”
“You could’ve waited until morning. You practically live across the street!” she hissed.
“Nah, this can’t wait.” His grin widened. “Got something for you. Close your eyes.”
Angela’s pulse jumped. For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her. She shut her eyes quickly, lips tingling with anticipation.
Instead, cool metal brushed against her wrist. A soft clink as something clasped into place.
“Okay. Look.”
Her eyes flew open. A delicate bracelet hugged her wrist, the tiny ladybugs swinging with her movement.
Angela blinked down at it, then at him. “You got this for me?”
Damien shrugged, suddenly sheepish. “Actually won it at the arcade during our last day in South Carolina. Spencer’s dad reserved 50 tokens ‘for the trunk boys’. Said Shayne and I were his best patrons. Not sure if he was just saying that because Spencer would think he’s cool.”
“Their family owns the arcade. Spencer already thinks he’s cool,” Angela pointed out.
Damien’s shoulders shook in a quiet laugh, then he sighed. “I’m leaving for LA tomorrow. Figured you should have something to remember me by.”
“Would be pretty difficult to forget you,” she teased.
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s just for the meantime, anyway. UCLA’s gonna be waiting for you. And I’ll be waiting too.”
Angela giggled, cheeks flushed, and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome,” he smiled. “That was pretty much all I wanted to do. Wasn’t sure I’d get a moment alone with you tomorrow when mom drives us to the airport.”
“I’m glad you came over anyway. Now go before my dad catches me sneaking a boy into my room,” she whispered, shoving lightly at his shoulder, though she was smiling. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Damien laughed softly, walking slowly to her bedroom window. Then, he lingered. “Actually, I have something else I wanted to say,” he said, looking at her.
“What?”
Damien smirked before pulling Angela closer and kissing her, chaste and warm. He didn’t pull away from her immediately, just pressing their foreheads together. “I love you. Always remember that, yeah?”
“I love you, too. And of course I’ll remember. I even have a reminder here,” she beamed, briefly waving her hand with the bracelet.
Damien grinned, turning away from her to sneak back out of the window. He crawled right out, chancing a glance back only once before he stepped from ledge to ledge like he said he had done.
Angela tracked his every move, making sure he didn’t hurt himself in getting down. She only breathed easier once he reached the ground.
Damien waved goodbye at her from the distance and she waved back, a small smile tugging at her lips. She watched Damien leave, taking off in the direction of the apartment building two blocks away.
Angela slept smiling that night and she couldn’t stop herself from looking at the ladybug bracelet as soon as she woke up.
—
10 YEARS LATER
The memory snapped like a rubber band.
Angela stared at the bracelet in her hand. The paint was chipped now, one of the ladybugs scratched beyond recognition.
With a sharp breath, she shoved it back into the jewelry box, pushing it beneath the other pieces, almost too forcefully.
Amanda, still watching from the chair, raised a brow. “Doesn’t seem okay to me.”
Angela forced a laugh that didn’t reach her eyes, snapping the box shut. “It’s fine.” But her heart thudded traitorously in her chest, the weight of the bracelet still ghosting against her skin.
Chapter 11: Touchdown, Los Angeles
Notes:
Finally, our girl arrives in LA. ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ You're about to see some familiar faces this chapter. But I'm not including their names in the character tags since their appearances are brief and more of a cameo nature anyway.
I know I went tropey with the "best friend's little sister" aspect of this but perhaps you guys have some theories? Would love to hear what you all think. (╭ರ_•́)
Enjoy!
Chapter Text
The humid LAX air hit Angela as she stepped out of the plane and into the chaos of baggage claim. Los Angeles already felt like a world away from New York, buzzing and sun-drenched, as though someone had swapped the stage lights she knew for relentless daylight.
She had just gotten her bag when she heard someone call her.
“Ang! Ang! Right here!”
Her head whipped up at the familiar voice. Shayne stood waving his arms high, grinning wide, and Courtney was beside him, bouncing on their toes with both hands raised.
Courtney reached her first, throwing their arms around her. “Finally! My favorite sister-in-law.”
Angela laughed into Courtney’s shoulder. “Don’t tell Shayne. He’ll get jealous.”
Shayne rolled his eyes, dragging Angela into his own hug. “Took you long enough to visit. We’ve been bribing you for ten years.”
“Flights are expensive,” Angela countered with a smirk.
“And yet you finally caved.” Courtney looped their arm through Angela’s as they made their way out. “See? All it took was a wedding.”
Shayne’s car was parked close, his trunk already empty to make room for Angela’s luggage. Meanwhile, Courtney chatted nonstop about crazy stories at her café, mostly interesting customers and new recipes they’ve been trying by swapping some ingredients out.
Angela sat in the backseat, grinning as she listened to them.
“So,” Shayne said, glancing at her through the rearview mirror, “you owe me for clearing my afternoon appointments. If you hadn’t gotten delayed, I’d be knee-deep in paperwork by now.”
Angela gasped in mock horror. “Oh no. Imagine wasting your precious master's in psychology on me.”
Courtney elbowed him. “Don’t listen to her. She just doesn’t want to admit she loves being spoiled by us.”
It was true. Sometimes, she thinks Shayne and Courtney see her as sort of their “pseudo-first child.” She might not have visited LA ever, but when her brother and Courtney come to Georgia for some holidays, they make sure she’s also there, and they always find ways to take her somewhere nice.
The couple’s little house in LA felt instantly like home when they arrived, warm and welcoming in a way she hadn’t expected. Angela settled into the guest room, still half-buzzing from the long flight.
Shayne ducked out an hour later to see a client, leaving her in Courtney’s care.
“Girls’ day,” Courtney announced, already holding Angela’s purse hostage. “Shopping. Coffee. Wine. Let’s go.”
That afternoon, they strolled through boutiques where Courtney held up dresses against Angela’s frame, declaring half of them “perfect rehearsal dinner options” despite Angela saying she packed her own dress.
They traded stories about planning stress and bridal shower games, about the endless opinions of mothers and the dangers of Pinterest boards. Courtney was magnetic, and Angela soaked up the joy of it. Their second-to-last stop was Culinary Crimes, Courtney’s detective-themed café tucked between a hair salon and a bookshop.
“We’ll make it quick. I just need to grab a few things out back,” Courtney said as the bell above the café door rang.
Angela made an audible gasp as they walked in.
The café screamed noir detective. Soft jazz was playing in the background. Fake streetlamps illuminated the corners. The walls were covered in newspaper clippings and fake case boards, with photos of food attached to each red thread instead of photos of evidence. Looking briefly at the dark wood tables, Angela noticed each one had a puzzle or riddle to decode. Some drinks were poured into beakers instead of cups.
“Oh my god, Amanda would love it here!” she said.
“I think you love it here,” Courtney giggled as they approached the counter, where a tall man in a beanie was busy packing a takeaway order. “Blackmail Brew for Wesma?” the man called out, smiling when he saw Courtney.
“Hey, Court!” he said.
“Hey. You’re out front today? I thought you were just working mornings,” Courtney greeted as the customer in question claimed their drink, thick eyebrows and mustache scrunching up and going a hundred different directions.
Angela, who was still looking around, finally asked Courtney. “Blackmail Brew?”
“A dark roast,” Courtney explained, then introduced her to the man behind the counter. “Ang, this is Trevor. The reason the pastries here taste heavenly. Trev, this is Angela, Shayne’s sister.”
“Oh, you’re the elusive sister. Finally came by for the boss’s wedding. Good thing you guys could stop by,” Trevor said, exchanging nods with Angela. “Do you guys want anything?”
“Actually, we were just gonna be quick. I left a few documents in the office. I’ll just go grab them and we’ll go to Tommy’s in a bit,” Courtney explained.
“Oh, okay. It’s unlocked. You can just go straight in,” he said, pointing behind him.
“Thanks. And go home! The desserts are all done. We don’t need more,” Courtney told Trevor before ducking into an Employees Only door behind him. Angela followed after them, chancing a look at the menu board. Each drink and food item was detective-themed, too. A “Detective’s Breakfast” for bacon and eggs, a “Stakeout” for a drip coffee, a “Cold Case Brew.”
“Wow, you really went all out with the theming here, huh?” Angela said, trailing after Courtney. “Looks amazing.”
“Thank you. Honestly, I think I picked up the detective theme from you. You kept on talking about all these true crime shows you liked and the ideas just kept firing off,” Courtney replied.
The kitchen for Culinary Crimes was modest at best, but clearly well-maintained. The whole operation wasn’t big to begin with, just three more people working away in the kitchen when Courtney and Angela walked through. They all greeted Courtney with a “hey, chef” as they passed by. Angela isn’t sure if she saw another employee disappear into a side door.
Once Angela and Courtney reached the small office tucked away at the back, Courtney gestured for Angela to take a seat at the lone recliner in the corner. “I just need to look through my stuff. We’ll be quick, I promise,” Courtney told her distractedly.
“So, you’re like a girl boss in here, chef?” Angela teased, putting deliberate emphasis on the last word.
Courtney chuckled, pulling open a drawer. “Please. You saw the size of this place. I’m forced to wear different hats,” they said.
“You did a good job, though. And your guys seem to like you.”
“You run a 6-person staff and I think that’s bound to happen,” they pointed out.
“Still. Amazing work. I still remember when you fed us those god-awful cookies back then,” Angela recounted. “Oooh, oooh, and that incredibly salty spaghetti. I was salivating for the wrong reasons.”
Courtney giggled, pulling something free from a folder. “I was still learning, thank you.” They took a quick look at it before tucking the document back in and bringing it with her. “There it is!”
“What is that anyway?”
“Contracts. Invoice. Florist’s been messing up our order,” Courtney huffed.
“Wait, shit, shouldn’t I be the one doing that?” Angela said, getting up from the recliner. “Maid of honor means I shouldn’t be making you stress over these things. Especially this close to the wedding.”
“Oh, no, Angela. I don’t mind, promise.”
“I insist. Come on. I just need to go down there and remind them about the order. How hard could that be? Besides, they need you here. Not running around chasing after stupid florists.”
Courtney rolled their eyes. “Okay, fine. Everything’s here,” they said, passing the folder over to Angela. “If they try to swap out the orange poppies, just show them the invoice.”
Angela looked through the papers Courtney mentioned, nodding. “Heard.” Then, after a beat, “Now what’s this about a bar?”
Courtney laughed as she pulled Angela out of Culinary Crimes, tucked the vendor's folder away in their car, and led Angela to a bar just across the street from the café. The flickering neon sign above it read After Dark.
Behind the sleek bar was a tall man with dyed blonde hair, wearing a dark button-down layered over a white tank top. He was busy shaking up a drink, the silver chain on his neck swaying, when his eyes lifted and found the two women walking in.
“Hey, Court! Wasn’t expecting to see you today,” he greeted, then leaned to get a closer look at Angela. “And who’s this?”
“Oh, this is Angela. My fiancé’s sister. She’s staying with us for a few days,” Courtney explained. “Angela, this is Tommy.”
“Hi,” Angela greeted and Tommy smiled in return.
“Can we get a tab started? Start off with espresso martinis for both of us,” Courtney said.
“Coming right up,” Tommy said, already getting the glasses ready. “So, Angela, haven’t seen you before. I’m guessing you don’t live in LA?”
“New York, actually. Manhattan.”
“Oh, really? Been there a few times. Don’t really understand why I came back after the first time. Pretty chaotic,” he said, making a face.
“Could say the same about here,” Angela chuckled. “Hot. Traffic is terrible, but I guess you could say the same about New York. Pretty great, overall. Though I think that has more to do with Courtney being my tour guide than Los Angeles.”
“You still have a vendetta against this place?” Courtney piped up.
Tommy’s eyes bounced from Angela and Courtney, sensing he was missing a piece in the puzzle. “You don’t like LA?” he asked.
Angela shot Courtney a look. “Vendetta is a bit much. I just like being in New York.”
“Ang, you can’t be serious. We both know why you didn’t move here.”
“Yeah. Because UCLA rejected me,” Angela said automatically.
Courtney gave her a knowing look but let it go. Tommy didn’t, though.
“I know I just met you, but even I can see that was a big fat lie,” he noted. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” he trailed off as he gave them their espresso martinis and approached another customer at the other end of the bar.
With the two women alone, Courtney swirled their glass dramatically. “So…” they began, eyes glinting.
Angela groaned. “That tone is dangerous.”
“I noticed something,” Courtney said, tapping their glass. “You don’t have a plus one.”
Angela snorted. “You know I don’t have a boyfriend. Or girlfriend. News would’ve reached Shayne by now if I did.”
This reasoning is exactly why Angela didn’t even hint at something between her and Damien back then. She knows Courtney wouldn’t do it on purpose, but Courtney was too close to Shayne and Angela just couldn’t afford a slip-up from anybody else.
Courtney found out anyway when they noticed the ladybug bracelet on Angela during one of their video calls. As it turns out, it was only Courtney and Damien at the claw machines when Damien won the bracelet.
Angela made Courtney swear up and down that they wouldn’t tell a soul about what the bracelet meant. They hadn’t, even to this day, when the idea of keeping the secret felt moot.
“True,” Courtney allowed, tilting their head. “But Angela, you’re twenty-five. You’ve never introduced anyone to your family. Not since…”
Angela’s smile faltered. Courtney didn’t say the name, but they didn’t have to. Angela swirled her own drink, watching the coffee beans floating around in it. “Because there’s nobody.”
“Mm-hm.” Courtney whistled low. “You’re in New York. You can’t tell me there aren’t prospects.”
Angela laughed without humor. “Prospects, sure. But not… anyone worth introducing. Not long enough. Not serious enough.”
There had been flings, yes. A girl who didn’t really stick around for more than 2 months. A boyfriend Amanda and Chanse had hated. A crush who only strung her along for a role. Nothing that stuck. Nothing that didn’t feel like trying too hard.
Courtney studied her with gentle curiosity but didn’t press further. They only raised their glass. “Well. Here’s to better prospects.”
Angela clinked her glass with theirs. “I’ll drink to that.”
—
It was past 9 pm when they pulled into the driveway. Angela was still giggling at one of Courtney’s stories, heels dangling from her fingers, when she noticed the figure on the porch.
Her breath caught.
Shayne stood there, chatting with someone. He didn’t look like he did in the group photos Shayne would sometimes send her. No blue or purple hair. Just the dark curls that looked just like the ones that used to catch sand and salt, falling into his face with that one stubborn strand that had always reminded her of Clark Kent. His pale skin now featured a brushstroke tattoo running across his left arm.
Facial hair framed his face, glasses perched on his nose. His shirt was an anime tee, faded but clearly beloved.
Damien Haas.
Angela froze halfway through the front yard. Ten years dissolved in an instant.
She wasn’t sure if she was fifteen again or twenty-five, standing by the porch of her brother’s house, staring at the boy—no, the man—she had spent a decade trying not to love.
Angela used to have a recurring nightmare of her running away from a big, angry dog. The dog would bark tirelessly while it chased after her, taking every turn she did. Then, it would eventually get close enough to bite and get her startled enough to jolt awake.
She wished this were a dog instead.
Because then, she’d know this was a nightmare and that she’d wake up any second now.
But no, the dog is real. And that dog now wears small silver studs shining on his ear.
She couldn’t help it. Logging every single thing that had changed about Damien’s appearance and trying to reconcile this man with the boy who threw pebbles at her bedroom window.
“...Hey,” she managed to let out.
“Hey,” Damien echoed back, sounding unsure.
Shayne snapped them back to reality. “Really? You never saw each other for a decade and all you’ve got is ‘hey’?”
Before Angela could stammer on a different, more appropriate greeting for a “friend” from forever ago, Courtney came to her rescue. “Hey, Damien. Why don’t you stay over for a bit? I think we still have some of that seafood pasta from last ni—”
“Nah, I think I should get going. The girls are probably hungry by now. I don’t want them picking at the walls like last time. Nice to see you again, Angela. See you Thursday,” Damien said, already walking off the porch and into his car parked by Shayne and Courtney’s driveway, avoiding eye contact with Angela.
The girls?
Was he married? Did he have kids? Why hadn’t she heard about that?
The questions must be written all over Angela’s face because Courtney offered her an explanation. “It’s what he calls his cats.”
Okay. Great.
Wait. No. Not great. Not anything. She doesn’t feel anything about that.
Once Damien’s car drove out of sight, Angela remembered something else he said. “Thursday?”
Shayne frowned. “You don’t know? Mom insisted on Damien coming. I think she just wants Marilyn to show up, but she won’t be able to fly out until the day after.”
“Coming to what?”
Suddenly, Shayne’s mouth formed an O and he looked guilty. He turned to Courtney, who was looking at him with raised eyebrows as if to say, You didn’t tell her, did you?
“I must’ve… forgotten to tell you?” Shayne said. “Everyone’s coming. Millers, Topps, Giarratanas. Family gathering. Just a little pre-rehearsal-dinner lunch.”
“So… a second rehearsal dinner, except it’s lunch?”
“A little one.”
Angela had to check her phone to make sure she had the day right. “It’s Tuesday, you idiot! You didn’t even think of saying anything to me?"
Shayne, to his credit, did look sorry for forgetting. “I’m sorry, okay? It genuinely slipped my mind. How about this: I’ll take you out to lunch tomorrow. My treat.”
“I can’t. I have to go down to the florist tomorrow for Courtney,” Angela said.
“I can take you after,” he offered. “You can drop by the florist early. They open at 8.”
“I’m not getting up at 8 am.”
—
Angela did get up at 8 am.
In fact, she got up around 6 and could not sleep again after that. Though, to be fair, LA’s 6 am is New York’s 9 am. So she figured it wasn’t such a bad idea to just get on with the florist fiasco.
Around 7:30, she got dressed, collected the folder Courtney had given her, and sped down the steps, calling out to her brother, “Shayne! I’m going out. Need to—oh. Hi.”
Right at the foot of the stairs is Damien, holding a medium-sized package with both hands. “Hi. Just… needed to drop this off.”
“Ang, I swear to God, your neighbors must love you. You’re the loudest—” Shayne started, rounding the corner of the living room and trailing off when he saw Damien. “Oh, hey man. Didn’t hear you come in.”
“Yeah. Courtney let me in. They saw me pull in just as they were leaving for the café. Anyway…” he put the package down on the coffee table. “The old man’s still getting some of your mail. Got worse this week. I think it’s wedding gifts or something.”
Shayne inspected the package quickly before groaning. “I already told these people I moved house, like, two years ago.”
“Is this the old man from that old place you guys used to rent?” Angela asked, curiosity getting the best of her.
“Yeah. I’ve been living with Courtney for years now and Damien moved out months ago, yet mail still somehow ends up there.” He turned to Damien. “Thanks for this, though.”
Shayne was about to turn away from both of them when he did a double take, realizing Angela was not dressed for staying at home. “You going somewhere?”
“Uh yes? The florist, remember?”
“Right, right…you’re going there how?”
“I can Uber.”
“What are you talking about? Damien’s right here. He can drive you there instead of just hanging around here,” Shayne said, clapping Damien on the shoulder. “Right?”
Nope.
“I’m sure Damien’s busy. I can really just—” Angela argued.
Shayne interrupted her. “No, come on. It’ll be good for you guys to talk. Don’t you guys want to at least catch up?”
I really, really don’t think we should.
Damien tried protesting, too. “Shayne, I really think Angela can handle herself.”
“No offense, Angela,” her brother prefaced before talking to Damien again. “She doesn’t know her way around LA. I’d really prefer it if she were with someone I know. Treat it as one of your duties as best man.”
Damien tossed Angela a hesitant look, not really talking. She knew they were backed into a corner at that point.
“Okay, fine. He can drop me off,” she said, already fixing her bag and avoiding eye contact with Damien. “Come on. Let’s go.”
—
The tension inside Damien’s car could be cut with a knife. They made a grand total of one interaction since walking out the door of Shayne’s house: her giving the address to the flower shop. After that, it was absolute silence.
Absolute silence that was broken by the sound of Angela’s stomach grumbling.
Damien did a double-take at her, hesitating to ask, “Have you eaten yet?”
“No,” she answered, clipped.
“You could’ve eaten before we left. I don’t have anywhere else to be.”
“I just want these flowers dealt with first. I would’ve gone to McDonald’s or something afterwards,” she grumbled.
Damien sighed, took a turn at an intersection, and pulled into the McDonald’s drive-through not far from it.
“What are you doing?”
“Feeding you,” Damien said, not really looking at her. “You want coffee?”
“What? You don’t have to—”
“Best man duties,” he said, eyes glued to the car in front of them. “Shayne would kill me if he found out I let you walk around hungry.”
“I walk around hungry all the time in New York. You don’t hear anything from him.”
“This isn’t New York and you’re not going hungry on me when we’re about to argue with someone over flowers.” He was really insisting.
“You don’t need to be part of that argument. Just drop me off and—”
“Angela, I know you fucking hate me, but would you please let it slide just this once and let me do this, at least for Shayne?” he snapped.
That stopped Angela short. For Shayne sounded like a terrible excuse to do things for her and try to correct what happened between them. But that’s not what really caught her attention.
“I don’t… hate you,” she said softly.
That was the truth. Even in those 10 years of not seeing each other, she never found herself hating Damien. She felt confused. Abandoned. But memories of him were never tarnished by hate.
“Well, you should,” he groaned.
She wanted to ask him why she should. She wanted to know more. But they had reached the window and Damien had already faced the cashier. By the time he turned back, he looked less tense than he had been.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed, driving the car slowly to the next window. “Didn’t mean to snap like that.”
His order was ready by the time they got to the take-out window. He reached over for the bag and coffee, thanking the employee as he dropped the food on the space between himself and Angela. “You should eat.”
Angela took a while to pry open the bag and talk again. “Sorry. You were trying to be nice and I was being a bitch about it.”
Damien kept on scowling at the road as they merged back into traffic. “As I said, you have every right to.”
That’s the second time he said something like that. Angela wasn’t aiming for hostility, but it seemed to be coming across that way with Damien. And he was just taking it.
She tried for something friendly but inconsequential as she dug into the breakfast sandwich he bought. “So you stay at my brother’s house all the time or was today special?”
Damien glanced at her quickly, brief enough that he didn’t fully take his eyes off the road. The scowl vanished. “I…uh…” he stuttered, like he wasn’t prepared for her to initiate small talk. “Yes. I’m usually there. I come by some mornings, a bit more lately now that the wedding’s getting close. You know, try and help with planning. It’s not like I have a lot going on anyway.”
“So you’ve been doing your job as best man and now my brother has given you another task to do? I just feel terrible right now,” she whined.
“Why’s that?”
“I already told Courtney no on this whole maid of honor situation. I can’t help much with the wedding planning all the way from New York. But they still wanted me.”
“Because you know them more than any of the friends they made here combined. Of course, they’d want you up there,” Damien pointed out, taking a beat before he asked, “Is that something that still bothers you? Not being able to do things for Shayne?”
“It doesn’t bother you? You used to be so agitated about leaving him hanging. Not helping him out when he needs you. Not doing things for him when he asks…because he rarely asks for anything.”
Damien paused for a moment, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. “I think I’ve done enough things for your brother, even when he doesn’t ask,” he said in a tone that seemed too wistful for simple favors.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Angela asked.
He exhaled. “Never mind. Not important.”
Chapter 12: In Hindsight
Notes:
Ladies and gents, we're back! And a third of the way there!
Forgot to add this to last chapter's end notes, but I just wanted to say I totally enjoyed swirling in a bit of Smosh easter eggs into this story. It's one of the things that make me giggle while writing even the angsty scenes. I'm glad you guys are catching them so far: Flip 7 at the beach house, Angela's keyboard being turned off, naming Courtney's café Culinary Crimes, and Detective Wesma Kofi showing up at Culinary Crimes, to name a few. I think I was in a very giggly mood when I wrote Courtney and Angela's girls day, if I'm being honest. There are a few more easter eggs I plan on incorporating moving forward and some of the easter eggs I already have here weren't really noted, but I believe you saw them too. Anyway, I'm just happy that the giggles from Chapter 11 paid off.
I'll just preface this chapter by saying that I have no idea what it's really like dealing with vendors at weddings and I am no flowers expert. I just searched up orange flowers in California (because I remember a Shourtney photo with flowers of that color) and ran with it. If the flowers I used here are not really the best option, I think we'll all still live so just run with it too.
Angela has got questions. So here are some answers. This entire chapter is written from Damien's POV. We haven't heard from him in a while now, have we?
Let's see what he had been up to in those 10 years.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
DAMIEN
Damien hadn’t expected his chest to hurt this much.
He knew he would run into Angela at some point during this wedding week. But when he first caught sight of her last night from Shayne and Courtney’s porch, everything seemed to dissolve into that single moment.
Her hair was shorter than he remembered, cut just above her shoulders. Her smile, faltering at the sight of him, was faint but familiar. Her eyes went wide the moment they landed on him. They were still the same hypnotizing brown that urged him to come closer and get lost in them.
Ten years collapsed into a single heartbeat, and Damien swore the air thinned out around him. He told himself not to spiral. Too late. Because the last time he saw her—really saw her—he’d made the worst choice of his life.
—
10 YEARS EARLIER
The car ride to the airport was quiet. Shayne sat beside him in the backseat, animatedly talking to Mr. G at the passenger seat about LA weather and how college football was going to blow Georgia’s teams out of the water. His mom hummed along softly to the radio up front, smiling at every ridiculous thing Shayne said.
Damien didn’t say a word. He didn’t really feel like talking after Shayne said Angela shouldn’t go to the airport because she’d “just bawl like a baby and make a scene.”
He wasn’t really sure if he wanted Angela to see him off. Yet, more time with her was better than less time, or no time at all. So, of course, he’d prefer if she was at least there for the car ride over. But then, Mr. G said that between the luggage and the four of them in the car, there was only little room left for Angela to squeeze in.
Damien knew he couldn’t really insist at that point.
He was set on staring out the window for the entire commute. Except, he overheard them.
“Did you see that bracelet she had on?” Mr. G said casually. “Never seen her wear it before.”
Shayne scoffed. “Yeah. And she kept fiddling with it at breakfast, grinning like an idiot. Suspicious, if you ask me. I swear I heard someone in her room last night too. She said it was nothing. Think she snuck a boyfriend in?”
Damien’s throat went dry.
They didn’t know. They had no idea it was him.
“Do you know if your sister has a boyfriend? I don’t think she told her mom anything about a boyfriend.”
“Better not have,” Shayne grumbled. “She’s still a baby.”
“She’s fifteen, Shayne. Not five,” Damien's mom rolled her eyes affectionately.
“Doesn’t matter. If any guy even looks at her, I’ll bury him six feet under. Don’t care how nice he is.” Shayne paused for effect, then smirked at Damien.
“Even someone as nice as you,” he added. “Even then.”
Damien forced a laugh, but his stomach sank. Don’t react. Just smile. Think of it as a joke.
But if it’s a joke, he didn’t like the punchline.
“You wouldn’t do that to me, right, man?” Shayne clapped his shoulder. “You’re like family. It’d be too weird.”
Family.
The word lodged in Damien’s ribs like glass. He loved Angela. He’d known that for years. But hearing it framed like that, like she was off-limits by blood proxy, cracked something open.
Damien knew that the unofficial “rules” between him and his best friend included never getting involved with Angela. That the “smart” thing to do in order to not break those rules was to cut this thing between him and Angela at the root.
He never really believed in luck as a concept, but if he were an unlucky guy, he was certain the current situation was an easy equation to break him and Angela apart.
Nobody knew about them. If “them” was even a thing. They never called the sneaking in, kissing, and exchanging “I love yous” anything. Maybe it was for the best.
She still had the rest of her high school years to enjoy. In Georgia. Not with some long-distance what-if with her brother’s best friend tethering her down. He would be at the other end of the United States and she would be so far away that he wouldn’t be able to stop it if she did somehow wake up one day and realize he wasn’t worth her time. That there are other boys far closer to her.
But knowing what was right and wanting it were two very different things. He couldn’t stay away.
The first weeks at USC, every night ended the same: Angela on the phone, her voice bubbling with stories about school, rehearsals, neighborhood gossip.
-
Angela (10:13 pm)
Guess who tripped in the cafeteria today and launched jello across the room?
Damien (10:14 pm)
Bug, it’s 1 am in Georgia. Sleep.
Angela (10:15 pm)
Let me finish first! It’s Mr. Spruce. Right on his tie. Bright red.
-
He’d text her good night, every night. It was fine. Until it wasn’t.
Three months into the first semester, he got a message from Angela.
-
Angela (8:49 pm)
Didn’t try out for “Romeo and Juliet.” I was too tired.
-
What? She really wanted to be part of that play. Why wouldn’t she audition? Angela was the most hardworking person he knew. She wouldn’t miss a single audition just out of tiredness.
Damien scrolled through his calendar and realized the auditions for the school play were supposed to happen two days ago. That was when he was on a call with her, hiding under his blanket to avoid Shayne overhearing, whispering about an interesting lecture he had that day. He was so excited to talk about learning game design that they stayed up until midnight. Well… he did. She stayed up until past 3 am.
Scrolling back through their messages, Damien realized Angela had been texting late into the night. Past midnight. Past one. Past two. He thought of her groggy the next morning, yawning over cereal.
Stupid.
He was so excited about this new thing between them that it didn’t sink into him that distance not only meant a difference in location, but time. And it seemed Angela was too engrossed in it that she didn’t mind.
“Would be pretty difficult to forget you,” she had told him.
She was apparently forgetting about herself in the process. It was so like her. To get so lost in something she’s passionate about to realize she’s wearing herself thin. She was tired. Because of him. Because she stayed up waiting for his texts. She was clinging to him when she should’ve been living.
Shayne was right. Angela deserved better. Even someone like him clearly isn’t good enough.
And he himself was right. He usually liked proving himself right, but he was right, and it ate at him. He stared at her words until they blurred. Telling her to just rest was never enough. She just kept on telling him all sorts of stories from her side of the country.
-
Angela (9:12 pm)
You there?
Damien (9:47 pm)
Sorry, studying.
Angela (10:01 pm)
Oh. No worries. Good luck.
-
At that moment, Damien made a decision. To stop. For her. For Shayne. For all of them. Let Angela down easy. Ease her into losing contact with him.
Maybe then, he’d find it in himself to properly say goodbye.
Except he didn’t.
-
Angela (5:42 pm):
Did you ever figure out how to use the laundry machines there?
Damien (7:18 pm):
Kinda. Lost a sock already.
Angela (7:19 pm):
Guess you’ll have to wear mismatched ones. Did the machine eat you alive? Took you more than an hour to answer.
Damien (9:05 pm):
Maybe. Mismatched socks is a look, though.
Angela (9:06 pm):
Took you long enough to reply, nerd.
-
Angela (2:57 pm):
I had the weirdest dream. You and Shayne were in a band??
Angela (4:12 pm):
You played tambourine.
Angela (6:23 pm):
Hello??
Damien (8:56 pm):
Lol what song were we playing?
Angela (8:57 pm):
Don’t remember. You didn’t sound bad though.
Damien (8:58 pm):
That’s new.
Angela (8:59 pm):
You okay? You’ve been quiet lately.
Damien (10:14 am):
Just busy. College stuff.
She doesn’t reply. The next morning, he finds the chat read but without a response.
-
Angela (4:08 pm):
Hey, haven’t heard from you in a while. You okay?
Angela (8:17 pm):
D?
Angela (next day, 11:22 am):
Hope school’s good.
-
Damien couldn’t find it in himself to say goodbye to her. It felt too final. It hurt too much to even think about it. So he let her say goodbye to him, in her own way.
Eventually, her eagerness faltered. She matched his distance like a mirror. The more he pulled back, the quieter she became. And soon, the calls stopped. The texts never came again.
The next summer, Damien drove to the South Carolina beach house, half-hoping, half-dreading to see her. But Angela wasn’t there.
“Some theater camp thing,” Aunt Debbie said when he asked casually. But her eyes lingered on him like she knew. Aunt Debbie always knew.
—
10 YEARS LATER
Damien couldn’t help it. When Angela asked him about doing things for Shayne, the honest part of his brain took over. “I think I’ve done enough things for your brother, even when he doesn’t ask.”
Wrong move. He sounded too rueful.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Angela asked.
He wanted to tell her then. Tell her that he stepped away in fear of betraying his best friend. Tell her that he kept his distance in hopes it would give her the life she deserved. Which, in reality, it did. She built a life in New York. She had obviously done the great things he knew she would.
Damien wanted desperately to come to her first show. Especially when he heard from Shayne that she got the lead. Her first-ever show and she landed the lead. He wanted to see her kill it like he knew she would. But he also knew she wouldn’t want him there. He had convinced himself that Angela hated him. What else was there to work off?
He poured his heart out on that beach, gave her a glittering summer, and disappeared as soon as the bubble popped. Of course, she’d hate him. So instead, he bought a digital ticket and watched her from afar. He bought a digital ticket to every single production she was in, not even missing small roles.
At times, he’d catch himself looking at the screen, asking the Angela on it all sorts of questions.
“Are you happy, Bug?”
“If I showed up to this show in person, would you tell me to leave?”
“Do you still think of me?”
In hindsight, he had so many regrets over how he handled his love for her. His “I hurt you to protect you” decision didn’t help him. It just let all the pain remain like a festering wound. He thought he was doing the right thing. He had the best intentions. But well-intentioned cruelty is still cruelty. And he couldn’t ask for forgiveness when he wasn’t even brave enough to fight for her the first time.
He deserved this ache in his chest, all because he didn’t want to ruin a lifelong friendship. Now, sitting in an enclosed space with Angela, a small part of Damien can’t help but throw some blame Shayne’s way. Which wasn’t fair. His best friend never asked him to actually do anything.
He also wished he had been selfish. He wished he had just gone, “forget Shayne and what he would think of him harboring feelings for Angela.” But he didn’t do that either. He made a choice and now, he had to die every day living with it. Now, his grave was too deep, and he didn’t feel like there was an easy way out.
So he exhaled, focusing on the drive. “Never mind. Not important.”
Angela gave her a skeptical look but let it go.
By the time they arrived at the flower shop, Damien wordlessly pulled over, still clutching the wheel. “I’ll wait for you to be done. I’m already here anyway. Might as well…”
“Don’t you have better things to do than chauffeur me around?”
“I don’t mind and as I said, I’m already here. Shayne asked me to drive you here; he would’ve asked me to drive you back.”
“Fine. If you’re staying, at least come in with me.”
“Really? I’m sure you can handle that.”
“You have no idea what I’m like around negotiations.”
Damien chuckled. “It’s easy. Show them the invoice, make sure the flowers get to the venue by Saturday.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. It has to be poppies. Not tulips. They’ve been trying to switch it out since last week. Please just come in with me. I’m bad at confrontation.”
“I highly doubt that.”
—
Damien should’ve doubted. He came into that shop expecting to see the confident Angela he grew up with. He was so wrong.
The bell above the shop door gave a cheery ring that didn’t match the air inside.
The florist’s counter was crowded with half-finished arrangements, vases of wilting stems, and one exhausted-looking woman flipping through order forms.
“Hi,” Angela started, clutching the folder. “I’m here for the Topp-Miller wedding? Courtney sent me to double-check the order.”
The woman didn’t look up. “Name?”
“Courtney Miller. Saturday. White roses and orange poppies were—”
“Yeah, about that,” the florist interrupted, finally meeting her eyes. “Our supplier’s short on orange poppies this week. I know they’re in season, but we can swap them out for yellow tulips! Very similar color scheme, same vibe. I can even knock off five percent.”
Angela blinked. “Oh. Um, okay, that—”
Damien could see she was already about to fold. He dragged her away from the woman for a moment. “What are you doing?”
Angela shot him a look, but he folded his arms, unbothered. He nodded toward the invoice she was still holding. “You’ve got the paperwork, Angela. It says orange poppies, not yellow tulips. They paid for poppies. They’re getting those flowers.”
“Yeah, I know that. But they said…”
“Shayne and Courtney placed that order two months ago. They should’ve made arrangements before instead of substituting now. Tulips are probably cheaper. You’re gonna be throwing their money away.”
The florist frowned from the desk, popping the gum she was chewing as she addressed them. “I’m telling you, the supplier can’t guarantee delivery. You’ll thank me when the arrangements actually show up.”
Angela looked like she wanted to agree just to avoid the tension, whispering to Damien, “I mean, if they’re out, I guess we could—”
Damien leaned closer, his tone quieter but firm. “Don’t fold. Courtney picked those flowers for a reason. You’ve got the invoice. Use it. They paid for poppies. They’re getting poppies. You were a bitch earlier in the car. Be a bitch now. Play a character. Play mob wife. You can play that.”
Angela took a breath. Damien could swear he could hear her pep-talking herself as she walked to the counter and set the folder down gently. Be a bitch. I can do that.
“Look, I totally get that your supplier’s having ‘issues,’” she said, gesturing air quotes as she said the last word but keeping her voice calm. “But Courtney and Shayne placed this order months ago. These flowers aren’t optional. The bride’s been planning around them.”
The florist hesitated, eyes darting to the invoice Angela slid forward.
“And I know you’ve been swamped, but Courtney already approved this order and paid the deposit. You can’t change the flowers without her consent,” Angela added. “And you still haven’t seen that final payment — it would be a shame if you didn’t.”
There was a long pause. The florist exhaled, “Let me make some calls. I’ll see what I can do.”
Angela smiled, the kind that was equal parts relief and diplomacy. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”
The florist nodded, scribbling something down on her clipboard. “You’ll have your orange poppies.”
Once they stepped out of the store, Angela blew out a deep breath. “Well,” she muttered, “that could’ve gone worse.”
Damien smirked. “You almost took the tulips.”
“I was trying to be nice!”
“You were trying not to make a scene. That’s different.”
“Though I have to admit, Chanse would be proud of you,” he added.
“He would, wouldn’t he?” she said, the corner of her mouth tugging upward. “What time is it?”
“A little past nine,” he replied. “Come on. Let’s head back.”
Angela, thankfully, hopped into the passenger seat without argument. Damien had just entered the driver’s side door when she buckled herself in, tilted her head, and uttered, “Huh.”
“‘Huh’ what?”
“Did you know I actually played a mob wife?”
I do. You were absolutely amazing in that play.
“No way! Well… happy coincidence, I guess,” he said, avoiding her eyes as he started the car.
Damien surmised Angela was going for “friendly but not too much”, so he wasn’t exactly surprised when she asked him, “Do you have any idea what this lunch for tomorrow is all about?”
“I kinda do,” he chortled. “Your brother thought it was a good idea to get the Italian out of the Italians before the actual wedding, whatever that means.”
Angela groaned. “I know what that means.”
Notes:
I hope this chapter successfully filled in the gaps for all of you!
Once again, I am aware I went really tropey with the best friend's little sister aspect of this story and totally leaned into it with how I framed the quiet fallout between Angela and Damien.
I also get it if Shayne's words (which served as the inciting incident to Damien ending things) might read as Shayne wanting to "own" the women in his life. I wrestled with that plot point a lot because I didn't want to write him as that person. On top of that, I get that young Damien could read as a coward who couldn't face his own feelings. I've alluded to that in the earlier chapter where he "forgets" almost kissing Angela.
But I had to constantly remind myself that they were practically kids at that point in the story. Teenagers and feelings are a terrible combination, plus a lot of things can change in 10 years. Though I imagine Damien had conditioned himself to believe he still deserved the consequences of those dumb actions. So I'm extending the same sentiment to you: I'm gonna need you guys to trust the process on this one.
Okay? Okay. The next chapter picks up the morning of the "pre-rehearsal-dinner lunch," or, as Angela put it, Shourtney's "second rehearsal dinner, except it's lunch."
See you then!
Chapter 13: Take the Mic
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
ANGELA
By the time Angela woke up on Thursday morning, her mom and dad were already there, along with a handful of Giarratana relatives.
By noon, Shayne’s house was in absolute chaos.
The Topps, she could handle. The Millers didn’t really bother her. It’s her side of the family that got on her nerves. The Giarratanas. She was starting to question why she even woke up that morning when Shayne reminded her she’s the Giarratana, not him.
“What are you talking about? You’re as much a Giarratana as all of us,” she told him.
“Do I look Italian?” he shot back. “If I have to endure another second of your Uncle Frank and dad screaming over a football match, you are too.”
Truly, Angela appreciated how her extended family embraced Shayne as their own. Because at the end of the day, he is. But it’s moments like this, when the pure Italian-American chaos starts, that her brother refers to things as “yours” and “mine.” She hated when he drew the line like that. When he’s the one who reminds her they’re half-anything.
Shayne had been loved into this family. Angela figured that by now, he’d come to the conclusion that he is part of this family, not just an add-on that came with their mom. But she guessed it’s easier for Shayne to separate himself from the chaos exactly because he isn’t biologically a Giarratana.
So Angela endured.
Aunts and uncles with strong opinions. Cousins Angela hadn’t seen since middle school asking invasive questions like no time had passed. Courtney floated between rooms trying to host, while Shayne looked two seconds from hiding in his office.
Angela didn’t escape as easily.
“You’re getting rounder in the cheeks, Angie,” one aunt asked between forkfuls of salad.
“You don’t have a boyfriend yet?” another chimed in.
“Oh, shush! Kids these days can be into anyone. Are you into girls?” another butted in.
“I know this sweet boy from church. He’d be perfect for you,” offered a cousin she hadn’t spoken to in years. “Unless you are into girls. Then I guess never mind.”
Angela appreciated their openness to accept whoever she was into. Her family was well-meaning. Sweet to a fault. But she didn’t have the energy to get into her sexuality with aunts and uncles she only saw once in a blue moon.
She just smiled and nodded. Until she couldn’t. She had to get out.
She slipped out the front door, heart racing with relief the second it shut behind her.
“Long day?”
She spun. Damien stood by the walkway, hands stuffed in his pants pockets.
“And I know it’s only half-past noon,” he added with a wry smile, “but the question stands: Long day?”
“Why is my brother having a big wedding? They could’ve just eloped,” Angela grumbled.
Damien laughed. “I’m sure there’s a universe where they eloped.”
“I’m sure that version of Shayne and Courtney are happier about their wedding than those two in there.”
He shrugged, glancing at the still-closed front door. “They have each other. I’m sure they’re happy in whatever universe they’re in, as long as they’re together.”
Angela exhaled. “I sometimes forget that’s my family.”
That earned a grin. “Right? One of your uncles told me streaming isn’t a real job. To my face.”
Angela snorted, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. That’s not funny.”
“No, it’s hilarious. You’re allowed to laugh.”
Angela had only heard about the Twitch streaming gig from Shayne. Chanse and Amanda knew better than to bring up Damien around her, especially in the early years.
Sometimes, she wanted to ask Damien why he didn’t move on to developing games after graduating. But she supposed he also has similar questions about her decision to study at NYU instead of UCLA, like they used to always talk about. So she figured it was something that found him instead. It’s not like he was making millions from it. But it appears he was making decent enough money to buy a house. It was also sort of games-adjacent, so it wasn’t like he truly let go of that passion. It just took on a different form.
She had been tempted to hop on a stream at least once or twice. Maybe a hundred times. But as soon as she started typing in his name, she froze and didn’t do it at all.
“Doesn’t seem laughable to me. You like what you’re doing, right?”
Damien shook his shoulders. “More or less. Depends on the day, I guess. The occasional voice acting stuff helps. Keeps things from being too… monotonous.”
Their eyes met, just for a second too long.
Then Damien tilted his head toward his car. “Want to get away from this house before they notice you’re out here avoiding everyone?”
Angela hesitated. Her brain screamed bad idea. But the thought of going back inside…
“Let’s just leave,” Angela huffed, walking to his car. He followed her and opened the passenger door with a boyish flourish. “After you.”
Angela rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. She slid inside.
“Where’d you wanna go?” Damien asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t live here,” she shrugged.
“We could go to USC. I could show you around…”
Angela sank back in the passenger seat. “Yeah. I guess…”
But all she could think about was that she had lost the boy at the beach house to the boy at USC.
You there?
Are you up?
Hope you have a great day!
Tell me all about this lecture you’ve been raving about!
Hey, are you okay?
Haven’t heard from you in a while.
God, just the thought of those texts made her want to gag at how desperate she sounded. For love. For attention. For him.
Stop doing this to yourself, Angela, she mentally berated herself. It’s in the past. Let it go.
Angela let out a deep breath, making Damien look at her.
A minute of silence lapsed and neither of them seemed eager to break it until they came to a red light. “Are you okay? I mean… are you comfortable spending time with me?” Damien finally asked.
“Yep. Yep, no problem here,” Angela said, though her voice sounded clipped.
He didn’t let it go. “I know it’s been ten years, but we didn’t really end up in good—”
“We didn’t end anything because nothing had started. And as you said, it’s been ten years. Let’s not get into it now.” Angela exhaled. “It won’t change things.”
“Are you sure? Because—”
“If I didn’t want to spend time with you, I wouldn’t have gotten into the car. We’re grown-ass adults and we can look past teenage crushes. Now, drive to USC and show me around.”
Angela wanted to ignore how angry she sounded. But she couldn’t. Ten years' worth of questions does that to a person, probably. So, now, she was being a bitch again.
Damien drove for a solid two minutes before taking a deep breath of his own. “I’m sorry, Angela. For pulling away.”
“You didn’t feel the same anymore. It’s in the past—”
“Yes, it’s in the past. But still. I hurt you. You deserve an apology,” he said, shoulders tense and not looking away from the road. “I hope we could still be friends, though.”
“Friends” was safe, right? They had been friends before. Friends who harbored feelings for each other, but still. They made it work before. How hard could being friendly be?
So Angela made a dismissive noise and focused on the road ahead. After several beats, she couldn’t take the silence. “Can I ask you something?”
Damien hesitated before responding, “That depends. What do you want to know?”
“You still got to make games, right? Before you did the Twitch thing?”
He smiled. “Yes. I did a few games here and there. Nothing major. It was actually Spencer and this old co-worker of mine, Alex, who gave me the idea to do Twitch. Didn’t hurt, in hindsight. I did a few voices on the channel and got a few voice acting gigs from there,” he narrated. “I guess it was for the best. It was more performance from there and I do better performing.”
The fact that Spencer was mentioned gave Angela pause. “You still kept in touch with everyone?”
“Of course. In varying degrees, I guess, but yeah. Shayne and Courtney are a given. Spencer is more of an occasional text here and there. Showing each other new releases or playing together. Whichever works. Chanse and Amanda… not much. Though I guess you can say we’re still friends. I reach out from time to time but not much since…,” he wavered at the last part, then seemingly forced some cheer into his voice. “But you three are roommates, right?”
Chanse and Amanda apparently made their loyalties pretty clear with Damien.
“Uhh yep. The place is tiny, but it’s not like we stay there a lot anyway. When Amanda graduated, she asked if I was staying in New York after NYU and well, I was. So she moved from Massachusetts and roomed with me. Chanse moved in not long after. Theater jobs came easier there anyway,” she recounted. “I guess I never really lost contact with anyone from the gang.” Except you.
They made no move to address the elephant in Damien’s car, ignoring the fact that while every single one of their friends remained friends, they didn’t.
Friends. Angela had to remind herself that he was trying to be friends. She needed answers but sure, she could do friends.
Besides, it wasn’t really that difficult to jump back into a friendly, or at least a civil, exchange with Damien Haas. He has that air about him: easy-going and comfortable.
When they pulled into campus, Angela barely held back a gasp at the beautiful architecture. Damien’s love for random facts didn’t hurt either because he did an amazing job playing tour guide. He pointed out landmarks as they wandered around. Tommy Trojan, Doheny Library, the quad where students sprawled on blankets. The afternoon sun cast long shadows, and for a moment, Angela forgot ten years had passed.
They ended up grabbing food and trading updates in fragments. Damien glossed over his streaming and voiceover work. Angela mentioned auditions and shows without much detail. There were moments when Angela felt like he had seen a show. She would mention a joke from one of the productions she’d been in—an absolute hit during shows—and he’d just smile, like he’d heard the joke before.
“I must be saying this shit wrong because you aren’t laughing,” she said.
He did a double-take as he handed her the sandwich they bought, paused, and tilted his head as if gauging a proper response. “Maybe my sense of humor doesn’t align with the writing.”
Damien was doing that a lot. Taking a beat to answer, absorbing a question before giving vague responses. It was driving Angela nuts. But she knew better than to question it.
“You’re quiet. Did I say something wrong?” he asked. “You have to tell me if I did something wrong. I’m bad at social cues. The ‘tism does that.”
“The ‘tism?”
Damien looked at her like he had been expecting her to know what that meant. “You don’t know?” gesturing like he’d just forgotten something unimportant. “Oh, right. I got diagnosed with autism not long ago.”
He went on. “It’s amazing you still haven’t noticed me blinking a lot. I’m also pretty oversensitive to sounds, lights, and such. Terrible at non-verbal communication, not knowing when someone’s actually saying something or just joking about it.”
This is new. More of this new Damien. Angela couldn’t help herself from asking, “So sarcasm isn’t really your friend?”
“No. Not really. When someone tells me things, I usually just take it as gospel.”
She snickered. “Aren’t we just a pair. You’re easily overstimulated and I’m here, often at 200 percent.” Whoops. That sounded weird. They’re not a pair. They’re barely even friends now.
Damien ignored it, though, more focused on his sandwich. Instead, he changed the subject, “Do you think they’re done over at Shayne’s?”
Checking her phone, she found it was already 5 pm. She’d spent about four hours with Damien at this point. She didn’t even realize the time. “I’m pretty sure they’re done with the festivities by now. No point in going back soon. Unless you have somewhere else to be?”
He shook his head. “I’m all good for the rest of the day. If you want, there’s this karaoke place Shayne and I used to hit not that far off,” he said, eyes lighting up.
Before Angela could protest, he had already tugged her into a brick building with a bright neon sign in the window. The air buzzed with chatter, laughter, and clinking glasses. Someone was singing “Numb” by Waterparks onstage.
Damien headed straight to the host stand, where a woman scribbled names onto a clipboard. “Whoa, hey! Damien! Long time no see,” the woman greeted him.
“Hi! Was just showing my friend around,” he said. “Can you put down the name? Angela Giarratana.”
Angela’s eyes widened at that. “What?! No, no, no.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Damien teased. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Pick your song.”
Angela’s eyes flicked between Damien and the host, both unmoving. It was clear she was singing no matter what. “Fine. 9 to 5, Dolly,” she told the host, then pointed to Damien. “And he has to sing too. He’s singing before me.”
Damien chuckled as he faced the host. “Fine. Go ahead. Add me to the list. Surprise me.”
“Surprise you? Are you insane?” Angela asked, bewildered.
“What? Britney here knows what music suits my voice. It’s part of the fun.”
Angela shrugged. “Eh. Okay, do whatever you want. I’m getting seated.
—
Damien had just put down two drinks between them when Angela noticed another patron waving at him. He waved at whoever that was, just as Angela nudged him, “Are you famous or something? How do these people know you?”
“Nope. Just a regular. Was supposed to stop coming when I graduated, but Shayne kept on dragging me here while he was doing his master's.”
Angela pulled her drink closer, taking a quick sip before realizing it was non-alcoholic. “Oh.”
Damien wavered with his glass, eyes flicking to her, “Were you looking for a beer?”
“No, no,” she answered, a bit too quickly. “I guess I just didn’t expect you’d still be keeping away from alcohol after all those years.”
His lips formed a tight smile, the next words coming out a bit more biting than Angela expected, “If there’s one thing I do best, it’s keep away.”
What was that supposed to mean?
Before Angela could question him, Damien was called onstage as a boy in a letterman jacket hopped offstage. She clapped instinctively as Damien approached the mic stand.
And the music started.
It should’ve been fun. Harmless. But then Angela heard anxious strings and drowsy saxophone melodies. Then, she wasn’t sure it’s that harmless anymore.
He started singing.
I know a place
It's somewhere I go when I need to remember your face
We get married in our heads
Something to do while we try to recall how we met
Fuck.
In all the years she’d known Damien Haas, she had never heard him sing. As it turns out, his voice was like honey. Maybe that’s why the people here know him. He wasn’t just a regular. He was sort of a star here.
Do you think I have forgotten?
Do you think I have forgotten?
Do you think I have forgotten
About you?
Did he?
Suddenly, she’s whipped back to South Carolina, whispering “dork” to a boy in dark blue swim trunks. Back to Georgia, with a new ladybug bracelet clasped to her wrist.
“Would be pretty difficult to forget you,” her younger self had told the boy.
Fuck.
You and I
We're alive
With nothing to do, I could lay and just look in your eyes
Angela can’t take her eyes off him even if she tried. And it appears he was facing the same predicament.
Wait
And pretend
Hold on and hope that we'll find our way back in the end
He was staring. Staring like that boy in South Carolina used to. Their eyes found each other and the bar, the people, the noise—all of it blurred.
All at once, the linoleum under her shoes felt like sand between her toes and the lights shifted into stars. Her heart was hammering against her chest the way it did before. She could barely hear Damien finishing the second chorus as the minus-one track gave way to the female voice for the bridge.
And there was something about you that now I can't remember
It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender
And I'll miss you on a train, I'll miss you in the mornin'
It was just them with words that felt dangerously close to confessions neither of them dared speak.
Fuck.
Pull yourself together, Giarratana. It’s just a random song. A song that’s causing Damien Haas, your first love, to stare at you like nothing ever changed.
By the time the last note faded, the room erupted in applause. The sound was too loud, too bright. Angela blinked like waking from a trance. Heat crawled up her neck.
What was she doing, spending time with him? Didn’t she promise herself to avoid reverting back to that smitten 15-year-old girl? Why was she feeling this way? Again? Why was he looking at her that way? Why did the thought of Damien missing her all these years make her want to leap into his arms and forget the past 10 years ever happened?
She couldn’t take it anymore. Angela broke eye contact, muttered something incoherent, almost toppled the table over as she stood, and bolted for the door.
Damien stood dumbfounded on stage, microphone limp in his hand.
Then he dropped it back into the stand and rushed after her.
Notes:
Raising the rating to M because I don't think I can get away with the language for the next chapter.
Chapter 14: Inevitable
Notes:
(*buckles seatbelt*)
Chapter Text
The air outside the bar was sharp, the kind of LA night that hummed with music and headlights and chatter spilling out of doorways. Angela pulled her cardigan tighter, pacing a few steps before she heard footsteps behind her.
“Angela, wait—”
She spun and Damien stopped short, caught off guard by the storm in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, almost gentle, almost too casual.
Angela’s laugh was brittle, humorless. “What’s wrong? You really don’t know?”
His brows drew together, confusion etched across his face. “Did I do something?”
“Did you do something? Are you seriously asking me that?”
“What—”
“You didn’t do anything! That’s the problem!” Her hands clenched at her sides. The words ripped out of her before she could contain them. “You didn’t do anything, you just— you don’t get to look at me like that!”
Damien blinked. “Wha are you t— Look at you like what?”
“Like we’re okay. Like you didn’t break my heart. Like you didn’t vanish and leave me to figure out why. You don’t get to look at me like you never left me hanging. Like you didn’t leave me without even explaining yourself.” Her voice cracked, but she pressed on.
“You just faded away, Damien. I had no idea why. I kept myself up night after night, wondering what I did wrong. And when I couldn’t come up with anything, I thought maybe I was what’s wrong. That I was some mistake you regretted the second you woke up.”
“Bug—”
“Don’t you ‘Bug’ me.” Her voice was sharper than she intended, but she couldn’t stop. “You lost the right to call me that a decade ago.”
Damien flinched like the words were a slap.
Angela’s chest heaved as she glared at him. “You’re going to tell me now why you ended it before it even started. Why you made me feel like I wasn’t worth the truth.”
“I didn’t mean for it t—”
“Then what did you fucking mean, Damien?! I felt so stupid, so desperate, chasing after you while you couldn’t even fucking look back!”
“I’m sorry. I just—”
“No! No more of your apologies! I don’t even know what you’re saying sorry for. Spit it out!”
Damien swallowed, shoulders tense. His voice was low, rough around the edges. “I was being stupid. That’s what it was. You were still in high school, Angela. I was leaving for college. In college. You still had years ahead of you, and I—”
He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. “I overheard Shayne and your dad talking. About you sneaking someone into your room. About the ladybug bracelet. Shayne said if any guy even looked at you, he’d bury him six feet under. Then he looked me in the eye and told me it’d be wrong if it were me. I already felt bad then, but I ignored it because I cared about you. I cared about us.”
“And then you told me about missing all these great things in school, in life. I thought…” Damien continued, eyes fixed on hers, “...I thought that if I held on, I’d ruin everything. Your teenage years, your relationship with your brother, my friendship with him. I thought I’d be selfish to keep you tied to me from across the country. Maybe I cared too much, but for all the wrong reasons. You deserved a life, Angela. High school, plays, hanging out with friends. Not staying up every night waiting on my calls, trying to chase after a life from miles away that you forget to live the life already in front of you. I was trying to stop us from getting hurt in the long run.”
“Well, mission successful!” Angela cried, but there was nothing successful about her tone, only dripping with sarcasm. “You broke my heart to protect me and I’m supposed to believe that?”
“I know it was stupid. But it’s what I thought was right. I thought it was what’s best for everyone. For you. For Shayne—”
“Jesus fucking Christ! Enough with Shayne! You listened to Shayne’s feelings before considering mine. He wasn’t the one in love with you, Damien!” Her voice was trembling, but the anger underneath was steady. “You thought for me. You decided what my life should look like.”
“Angela, I know now that it was a stupid decision, but you were—”
“Shut up! You don’t get to decide what I would’ve wanted.”
Damien’s throat stopped working as he tried to answer, but she cut him off.
“You keep saying you did it for me, but you didn’t even give me the choice. You didn’t explain. You didn’t trust me enough to decide if I wanted you anyway. It’s been forever, Damien! Ten years! You left me in pieces, and I’ve been trying to glue myself back together since. Then tonight, you stood on that stage and looked at me like no time had passed. Like you were the same boy who ran after me at the beach, kissed me by the ocean, and crawled through my bedroom window just to be near me. But that boy doesn’t exist. He left me.”
“I was trying to protect you,” Damien repeated, well aware he was being a broken record but wanting to get his point across. “I was protecting you from me. From the distance. From everything that could’ve gone wrong.”
Damien continued. “I know now that it was an immature move. I thought I was making things right when I was just hurting both of us. I’m sorry, Angela. I really am. But I can’t change what I did and I can’t unhurt you.”
He paused, rubbed the back of his neck, then looked away before asking, “Why does it even matter to you now? You said so yourself: It’s in the past. You’ve moved forward.”
“Because—” Angela’s voice broke, breath ragged. “I can’t—” she pressed a hand to her chest. “I can’t tell if I’m furious at you for doing that to me or furious at myself. I spent a couple of days in LA and just like that, all the feelings I shouldn’t be feeling are back after ten years.”
“What?” Damien turned to her again. “What kind of feelings?”
Angela froze, eyes darting away.
“Angela. What feelings?” Tears were brimming in his eyes.
Angela shook her head, unable to breathe past the lump in her throat. Tears streaked hot down her face. How did she get to this? She was supposed to confront him. Demand answers. Not cry because he wanted to know where he stands in her life. In her heart. She’d vowed never to give him that power again.
“Do you still feel the same way you did that night by the beach, Bug? Do you still feel the same way you did in South Carolina?” he asked, voice almost breaking.
The nickname lodged in her ribcage like a thorn. She wanted to scream at him, to run, to deny everything. She wanted to tell him Bug belonged to Angela from 10 years ago. From the 15-year-old who couldn’t tell the difference between fantasy and reality. Not her. But she just stood there, silent.
“Please,” Damien whispered. His hands caught her arms, firm but not trapping.
“You don’t have the right to act like nothing happened, Damien. You don’t get to act like you still love me—”
“But I do.” He stepped closer, his face close enough she could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. “I still love you.”
Angela did her best to stop the gasp that rose from her throat. She wasn’t sure she was successful. But he continued.
“God, it’s been ten years, but I still love you. I regret every mile I put between us. I regret letting you go without explaining. I wanted to come see you, but I was terrified you hated me. I was a coward, Angela, and I know it. But I never stopped loving you.”
Angela shut her eyes, shaking her head. “You cut me off like I was disposable. Now, I learned you didn’t let me decide…”
“I wanted you to live your life.” Damien’s voice cracked. “Fuck, I know now it was the wrong move. But back then, I didn’t know that. I thought it was the right thing to do. That doesn’t mean I didn’t love you. That I don’t love you.”
She laughed, sharp and wounded. “You can’t mean that,” she said, shaking her head. “All those years, thinking I wasn’t enough, it was because you thought you knew better…”
“I do mean it. I love you. Still. Always.” His grip loosened, but his voice was raw. “You were the best thing to ever happen to me, Angela. And I wish do-overs existed because I would take it in a heartbeat. I regret everything that happened. Forget USC. Forget California. Forget everything that happened here. All of it. If it meant making things right, I’d give it all up without thinking twice.”
Angela’s breath hitched. The streetlight bathed him in gold, no lies in his face, no mask she could dismantle. Just Damien.
“But I get it. You made it abundantly clear you don’t want me in your life anymore. You can feel anything you want and still not want me to have anything to do with you. That’s fair. But I don’t want you thinking that my walking away was your fault, because it wasn’t. It was mine. I was trying to act like some prince charming on a noble mission when I was simply. being. dumb.”
But she did want him in her life. Still. It was ridiculous, these feelings not faltering once in those ten years. He could’ve changed. He could’ve stopped wanting her. But he didn’t. Angela knows it. She can see it. That he would’ve chosen any version of her if given the chance, as long as it was her. And she would’ve done the same thing, as long as it was him.
“Look, after this wedding, I promise you don’t have to hear a word from or about me. I’ll come clean to Shayne. Tell him everything. I’ll step away. From both of you. I really should’ve done this a long time ago. Maybe then you would’ve gone to California sooner,” he told her.
Damien exhaled and stepped back, loosening his grip on her, as if bracing himself for what’s next. “Shayne was really broken up when he found out you didn’t get into UCLA. ‘Cali-fucking-fornia’, right? It was idiotic of me to even try getting in between you two. I’ll steer clear of you guys. The trunk boys can’t be the trunk boys forever. The end was inevitable.”
Inevitable, her mom used to say. At some point in her life, she’d feel this unbelievable pull toward someone, no matter what happened. There will be someone she can’t stop choosing, even when it hurts. This moment? The past ten years? That was what it felt like. Inevitable. She would always choose Damien. She just had no idea he still chose her.
Apparently, he had been choosing just her. But she needed him to choose her, with her.
“You’re doing it again,” she uttered, all too softly as she hugged herself.
Damien’s chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. “What?”
“You’re abandoning me. Again. Throwing yourself in the crossfire, thinking that’s what I need. You’re trying to blow up your life to make up for breaking mine,” Angela continued. “You pull the pin on the grenade and then you hug it. That’s not what I want, Damien. That’s not what I needed from you then. I don’t need it from you now. Let me decide what I want this time.”
“What do you want?” His jaw clenched, like he was preparing himself to take a hit.
“I want you to stay. Not run,” she replied, moving closer. “I want you.”
His eyes snapped up to hers, measuring and decoding.
Her hand lifted almost of its own accord, trembling as it touched his face. His skin was warm under her palm, familiar in a way that undid her. A hundred emotions flashed across his face that Angela couldn’t name them all. Her eyes locked on his and for a second, she was fifteen again. The boy at her window, the bracelet clasped at her wrist, and the endless summer night ahead. Her chest ached with everything unsaid, everything buried.
For a second, she realized that the boy at her window never left. He never stopped loving her. She felt her head spin at the thought that she never stopped loving him, too. That the distance between them back then had never cut ties she thought were long gone.
And what she could do was close the distance between them now. So she touched his face, admiring this older version of the boy at her window. The one with a heart that, apparently, kept beating for her despite the 10 years.
With a shaky voice, she uttered words she never thought she’d admit. “It’s been really difficult trying to forget you.”
Then, in the middle of the street, under the glow of the bar’s neon sign, ten years of silence cracked open with the press of her lips against his.
And by god, did it feel inevitable. She didn’t stop loving him and he didn’t stop loving her. It was the one thing neither of them could undo. This kiss felt very much like coming home, like the kind of inevitability that survives a decade, distance, silence, mistakes, and heartbreak, all crashing down in front of a neon-lit street outside a bar.
Damien froze. Like he wanted to pull back but couldn’t, like he couldn’t believe this was what the night would lead to. That this was how the past decade dissolved around them.
As soon as he placed a hand at the small of her back, Angela truly felt the past decade did dissolve around them. When his lips moved to kiss her back, it started off hesitant. But Angela hooked an arm around his neck and all bets were off the table; his kisses became firmer and more fervent.
Angela didn’t want to pull back. Not even if air became a necessity.
She’d been holding her breath for 10 years. She needed to breathe him back in.
Chapter 15: Bruises
Chapter Text
It took a group of college kids in USC shirts cheering and hollering from afar for Angela and Damien to stop themselves from kissing from each other. Oh, right, the real world exists.
Angela let out a breathless laugh, her forehead still dangerously close to his. Damien stepped back half a pace, but his hands didn’t entirely drop, only hovered at her waist.
One of the boys wolf-whistled. Another yelled, “Get it, king!” before their friends dissolved into loud cackles.
Angela hid her face in her hands for a second, heat flooding her cheeks. “Oh my god,” she groaned.
Damien dragged a hand over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut as he muttered, “Great. Fantastic. Audience participation.”
He swallowed hard, nerves flickering across his expression. “Are you… Are you okay? With what just happened?”
Angela’s laugh was softer this time, shaky and disbelieving. “I kissed you, Damien. Pretty sure that puts me in the pro-kiss category.”
Angela knew they should leave their spot by the bar’s entrance, but she couldn’t move a muscle, too afraid to fully burst this bubble that she and Damien found themselves in. The same could be said for him, still holding her flush against his body as he beamed at her.
“I…I can’t believe this is real,” he said, happiness seeping through his words.
“It’s really real.” She had to bite her lower lip to stop herself from grinning too widely.
His answering smile was tiny, unsure, but beautiful in a way that made her chest ache. Angela still felt like she was floating when Damien came to his senses and ran his thumb across her lip so she’d stop biting on it. “Stop that. We already gave those kids a show.”
Angela snickered despite herself.
“We should probably head back in. Still wanna sing Dolly?” he asked, threading his fingers through hers.
“I’m sure they moved down the signup sheet now. We should probably just go,” she replied.
“Shit. It must be late,” Damien muttered, already walking both of them to the nearby parking lot where his car was waiting. “Do you know what time it is?”
“I-I’m not sure. My phone died earlier. I guess we should drive back.”
The shift was all too sudden in Angela’s mind. Minutes ago, she was practically in a screaming match with Damien, arguing about everything that went wrong between them. Now, they were hand-in-hand, walking to his car while her brain more or less shut itself off.
Damien opened the passenger side door and Angela wordlessly stepped in, grinning like a Cheshire cat. It was only when he started the car that they were made aware it was a little past 8 pm. Time flew by fast, but Angela felt like it had stopped around her.
It felt like the beginning of something that had never truly ended.
The ride back to Shayne and Courtney’s house was heavy with silence, but it wasn’t the same silence Angela remembered from ten years ago. This one buzzed, charged, filled with the weight of what had just happened outside the bar. The kiss, the words, the shattering of walls she thought she’d built too strong to ever break.
Damien kept one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly against his thigh, restless. Angela sat angled toward the window, but her thoughts weren’t outside. They were all on him.
At the next red light, she cleared her throat, her voice softer than she intended. “I don’t know if my lipstick on your face is any indication, but… I just realized I didn’t say it.”
Damien turned to her, brows raised.
“I love you, too. Still,” she whispered.
A small smile tugged at his lips. His tone was maddeningly easy, almost cocky, but warm in a way that melted her defenses. “I know.”
Her heart fluttered at the two simple words. God help her, she didn’t think it had ever stopped fluttering for him.
The light turned green, but the car might as well have been standing still for all she noticed. Damien reached over to her and took her hand, gently pressing her knuckles to his lips. “I want to make this work this time, Bug.”
Bug. The nickname was back. Angela had no idea how much she missed him calling her that until then, as a giant grin spread across her face.
Damien didn’t give her enough time to react as he went on, using their clasped hands to move the gear shift. “I’ll make up for lost time. I’ll jump through whatever hoop you ask me to. Just say the word.”
“I…I do want to go out on an actual date,” she sing-songed.
“An actual date?”
Angela tilted her head in consideration, “Never got it the first time. I would like to see now. I don’t think walking around a university campus, getting sandwiches, and going to a bar where I end up crying in the end counts. Especially not when I look like this.”
Damien glanced at her quickly. “What’s wrong with what you look like now? It’s comfy.”
“Yeah. It’s not exactly pretty, isn’t it?”
“Jeez, Bug, I’ve seen you in worse looks. But…Okay… how about this? I’ll take you out after the rehearsal dinner tomorrow,” he offered, smiling.
“That sounds okay,” she figured. “That rules out dinner. Hmm…We can figure out the details later, I guess. Do you still have the same number?”
“You mean the one you called two, three years ago? Yes. Still the same one. But…”
“But…?”
“Don’t you think it’s time we tell Shayne about this? About 10 years ago?”
Angela pursed her lips. “Agreed. Him not knowing makes you sort of a flight risk.”
Damien’s lips curved in a tense smile, “Won’t dispute that. Okay. I’ll… I’ll talk to him later. Then maybe you guys can straighten things out. The last thing I need is for him to think we were doing things behind his back all this time.”
“Okay, that works,” Angela agreed.
By the time they pulled up in front of Shayne and Courtney’s house, Angela’s pulse was still racing. “Okay. This is me,” she said.
She unbuckled her seatbelt, ready to get into the house before she lost her composure, when she noticed Damien wasn’t moving. He was staring at her.
“What?” she asked, blinking.
“Nothing,” Damien said, but the look on his face contradicted him. “Just that… I really wanna kiss you again.”
Her lips twitched into a smile despite everything. God, she really was fifteen again. “All you had to do was ask.”
He leaned in, hesitant only for a second before his mouth found hers again. Angela’s hand threaded through his curls, tugging lightly, and Damien let out a groan that vibrated through her. Emboldened, he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer until they were breathing each other in.
They only broke apart when air became a necessity. Their foreheads lingered together, breaths mingling, both of them caught in a suspended moment where the rest of the world didn’t matter. But then—
“Jesus, Angela!”
They snapped apart like guilty teenagers.
Shayne was rushing to the passenger-side window, eyes wide, voice incredulous. “We’ve been looking all over for you. Mom thought you got kidnapped! Good thing Aunt Caroline mentioned you must’ve been with Damien. You just disappear—" His sentence cut short as his gaze locked on their faces, on the undeniable evidence smeared across Damien’s lips and cheeks, on his hair tousled in the most obvious way.
“What the hell is happening here?”
Angela’s heart plummeted. Damien stammered, “Shayne, I—”
Angela tried to speak too, but all that came out was, “We—It’s not—”
It didn’t matter. The hesitation, the sputtering, was all the answer Shayne needed.
His jaw set, and before she could react, Shayne yanked the passenger door open and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her out of the car.
“Shayne!” Angela yelped, stumbling.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” His voice was sharp, furious, the kind of tone that wasn’t really looking for answers, only demanding obedience. He practically dragged her halfway toward the house, muttering under his breath.
Angela yanked against his grip, trying to slow him. “It’s not what you think!”
Behind them, Damien’s voice rang out as he rushed out of the driver’s seat and followed them across the front yard. “Wait, Shayne, I can explain. Nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened?!” Shayne whirled, releasing Angela so abruptly she nearly tripped. His face was red with rage, his fists clenched. “I’m not stupid, Damien!”
Damien held his hands up in surrender, taking a cautious step forward. “I swear, man. We just drove around town. Talked. That’s it.”
“Talked?!” Shayne’s voice cracked, fury spilling over. “Is that what you call this?” He jabbed a finger toward Damien’s face.
“Shayne, listen—”
But Shayne wasn’t listening. With a guttural sound, he lunged forward, his fist connecting with Damien’s jaw before anyone could stop him.
“Shayne!” Angela screamed, rushing forward, but he shoved her back with one hand.
Damien staggered, caught himself on the pavement, but Shayne was already swinging again. Blow after blow, Damien tried to dodge, tried to hold back, unwilling to fight his best friend. He raised his arms, curling inward to shield himself as Shayne’s fists rained down.
“I thought you were my best friend!” Shayne’s voice broke with betrayal as his knuckles collided with Damien’s ribs. “That’s my sister! I trusted you!”
“Shayne, stop!” Angela shouted, pulling at her brother’s arm, desperate. “You’re hurting him!”
But Shayne was blind with rage, landing another punch that sent Damien pinned to the ground.
The front door burst open. “What the hell is going on?!”
Courtney flew down the steps and grabbed Shayne’s shoulders, yanking him back with a strength Angela didn’t know they had. “Enough! Shayne, enough!”
Shayne’s chest heaved as he struggled against their hold, but Courtney stood firm. “You’re going to kill him, Shayne!”
Angela dropped to Damien’s side, her hands frantic on his arms, his face, checking for damage. “Are you okay? Oh my God, Damien—”
Damien winced, spit blood into his hand, but managed a crooked, almost pathetic grin. “Yes. Yes. I’m okay.”
The fact that Angela went straight to Damien instead of to her brother lit another fire in Shayne’s eyes. “Angela.” His voice was low. “I don’t care if you miss the wedding. Pack your stuff. You’re going back to New York.”
Angela whipped her head around, glaring at him through her tears. “No!”
“Yes,” Shayne snapped.
“No!” she shouted back, louder this time.
Courtney threw themselves between the siblings, hands out. “Stop it, both of you! Angela, get inside. Guest room. Now.”
Angela looked like she wanted to argue, but Courtney’s tone left no room for refusal. Shaking, she got to her feet and stumbled toward the house, throwing one last look over her shoulder at Damien, who was sitting up now, wiping at his bloodied lip.
Courtney turned back, voice firm but calm. “Shayne, living room. Damien, come with me to the kitchen. Let’s get you patched up. Cool off before you say or do something you can’t take back.”
The night had splintered and Angela’s heart hammered against her ribs as she shut herself in the guest room upstairs, catching only fragments of Courtney’s voice telling everyone where to go.
—
SHAYNE
Shayne’s fist ached. He sat on the edge of the couch, knuckles throbbing, chest heaving as though the adrenaline hadn’t quite figured out where to go now that the fight was over. He couldn’t sit still. He kept getting up, pacing from the window to the fireplace and back again.
He didn’t venture too close to the staircase, because then he’d catch a glimpse of Damien in the kitchen, holding an ice pack to his jaw. As far as he could tell, he didn’t break the guy’s jaw or his nose. Just a few bruises. Shayne couldn’t tell if that made him feel better or worse.
Courtney leaned against the arm of the sofa, arms crossed. Their eyes tracked every agitated movement he made. “You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet if you don’t sit down.”
“I can’t,” Shayne muttered. He dragged a hand through his hair, causing it to go 15 different directions. He flexed his bruised fist with a wince. “I just… I can’t believe him. I figured Damien was the kind of guy who would protect her, not—” His voice cracked with the sharp sting of betrayal. “...not do this behind my back.”
Courtney straightened, tone crisp. “Damien says nothing happened. And you know what? I believe him.”
Shayne snapped his gaze to them. “You believe him?”
“Yes,” Courtney said simply. “And you should too.”
“I don’t know, Court,” Shayne said, shaking his head. “I don’t think he’s banking on brotherly trust right now. He’s supposed to be family.”
Courtney arched a brow. “If I recall correctly, he was ‘destined to be with Angela.’ Your mom used to tell me that all the time. You got sick of it back then.”
Shayne stopped pacing, the words sinking in. He had completely forgotten about his mom and Aunt Marilyn’s years of swearing they’d end up in-laws. He rubbed the back of his neck, groaning. “Fuck. I grew up with the guy. I can’t believe it.”
“I can believe it. This has been bubbling under the surface for over a decade, Shayne. He and Angela made heart eyes at each other when we were teenagers. It became unbearable the summer before she stopped going. After that, we all figured something happened between her and Damien that she stopped coming altogether,” Courtney said.
Shayne turned to his fiancée. How had he never known this? All this time, he thought theater camp was just Angela racking up her extra-curriculars and being the theater kid she always was. But maybe she was also avoiding someone during the summer trips.
Courtney stood now, closing the space between them. They put a gentle hand on his arm, grounding him. “Listen to me. You’re hurt. You’re angry. I get that. But before you let this ruin everything, think. Angela is a grown woman. She doesn’t need you deciding who she can and can’t be with.”
“She’s my little sister,” Shayne muttered, almost under his breath.
“And you’re acting like she’s still fifteen,” Courtney countered, softer now. “She can make her own choices. She doesn’t need you like that anymore. Second, don’t let anger drive this. From what I gathered, you didn’t even let Damien get a word out before you started swinging. And third…” They tilted their head, studying him. “Is Damien really such a bad guy for your sister? If you had to choose someone for her, would you really pick someone who wasn’t like him?”
Shayne’s mouth opened, then closed. He hated that Courtney had a point. Damien was his best friend for a reason: loyal, protective, and kind underneath all the banter. If it were any girl but Angela, Shayne would’ve vouched for Damien in a heartbeat. And that was the problem.
“Shit,” Shayne muttered, collapsing back onto the couch. His hands covered his face, muffling his voice. “I don’t know what the hell to think anymore.”
Courtney knelt in front of him, taking his bruised hands in theirs, forcing him to look at them. “Then stop thinking like a brother who’s been blindsided and start thinking like the man who knows Damien better than anyone. Has he ever used you? Has he ever done anything to purposely hurt you?”
Shayne hesitated, then shook his head.
“Exactly,” Courtney said. “So maybe you owe it to both of them to hear him out before you jump to any more bad conclusions and make things worse.”
Notes:
Hi! I love how some of you thought I could genuinely pull an UNO Reverse and have Shayne be in the know the entire time. I thought of that while I was writing the 10 years prior chapters. However, the scene at Shayne's driveway had been written well before everything else in this fic. I placed it at the more-or-less midway point of the story because this is the story's climax in my book. It's why I wanted to explore the sibling relationship from the very beginning. And it's why the reunion's inciting incident takes place at Shayne's wedding.
I just loved the idea that Angela joined Smosh so Shayne could be a big brother. I know I went pretty overboard with the concept, but some stories deserve to bask in their tropes. It's the reason I started this fic to begin with; TSITP just became the launching pad to get the actual backbone established and the story off the ground. The Shayne+Angela dynamic is what made Damien the perfect love interest for Angela because we already know he and Shayne are good friends even before Smosh and it's hard to think of anyone else in the cast as his best friend (other than Courtney, of course).
Anyway, that's all. Just wanted to share a bit of my process as we go further into this story. And yup, there is more in store. Editing has been slow-going, mostly because I get these last-minute ideas of adding more to scenes. I was supposed to conclude this by the time Damien's birthday rolls around, but I don't see that happening anymore. So I'll just enjoy the ride, hoping everything's wrapped soon enough. Cheers! /d
Chapter 16: Big Brothers and Bassinets
Notes:
Hey there! Other than the naming issue I previously mentioned when I first went into Shayne and Angela sibling lore for this fic, this chapter explores why I made Shayne and Angela half-siblings. Having them as fully-biological siblings just won't hit as hard for the arc I had been planning for them and I think I've established I like my angst where I can shove it so here ya go. I know last chapter was quite a whiplash and I don't intend to keep Shayne a bad guy for too long. But, damn, give the guy a break, he didn't know any of this was going down. Things were bound to explode at some point with how Damien and Angela handled their past. Our boy was just collateral damage.
That said, take off your protective gear, folks! We're all good. /d
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
SHAYNE
Minutes later, Shayne wandered into the kitchen, drawn by the faint clink of ice against glass. Damien sat at the counter, hunched on a barstool, an ice pack pressed against his jaw while Courtney chatted and fussed, trying to angle it just right.
Damien didn’t look like he was paying attention, just staring at a spot on the floor.
Shayne hovered in the doorway before forcing himself forward. He cleared his throat, the sound awkward in the quiet kitchen. “Since when has this been happening?”
Damien looked up, his expression tightening at the words.
Courtney took that as their cue to leave. They passed the ice pack back to Damien and threw Shayne a look that said, “play nice.”
Damien sighed, setting the ice pack down with a soft thud. “I don’t know, 10 years? Today? What do you want to know? Have you really been that oblivious?”
Shayne bristled. “What does that mean?”
Damien met his gaze, steady and unflinching despite the swelling at his jaw. “Shayne, you’re the most observant person I know. You practically read people for a living. And yet, you never noticed I’ve been in love with your sister since we were kids?”
The words hit Shayne like a punch. “You’re in love with her?” His voice cracked, hardening again. “Because I swear to God, Damien, if you’re just messing around with her—”
“I’m not,” Damien cut in firmly. He ran a hand through his curls, exhaling shakily. “I knew it when I was fourteen. I didn’t act on it because it would’ve been weird. But I couldn’t shut it off, Shayne. That summer after high school, it all… caught up with me. With her.”
Shayne wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear this, but he had to. “You were together…Then, what, you broke up?”
Damien shook his head. “Can’t really call it a breakup if we never called it anything back then. But, yeah. I guess. Something like that.”
Damien’s voice softened. “I used to sneak into her room just to talk, to hold her hand. That bracelet she wore? I gave it to her. And I overheard you and your dad on the way to USC move-in day. The way you swore you’d bury any guy who looked at her. Even me. That scared the hell out of me. And then… I don’t know. I was stupid. We were still too young to really know what to do with all that distance. I thought the best thing I could do was back off, let her live her life without me holding her back. But I couldn’t stay away then, and I can’t now.”
“I wanted to tell you so many times. But it always felt like the wrong time… until it was too late.”
Damien’s voice cracked and for a moment, Shayne could see the same kid who used to fall asleep on their couch after movie nights. “We were planning to tell you tonight. Timing just wasn’t on our side, I guess.”
“You both went through all that and you didn’t think you could tell me?” Shayne’s jaw clenched. “You’ve been pining after her all this time because of something I said when we were younger?”
“You’re my best friend, Shayne. What you thought matters to me. But…after you said she’s basically off-limits, I just…” Damien’s voice trailed off.
“Earlier tonight, we went to the karaoke bar. Garth’s place? I was singing, looking at her, and it felt like nothing had changed. Like it was still that summer from long ago.” Damien let out an easy breath, like a pleasant image flashed in his mind. “I told her I still love her. That I regret how things unfolded between us and I want a do-over. I need a do-over. If she’d let me.”
“For a sec, I thought we could make it happen. Then, when you yanked my car door open, all I could think about was, ‘Here we go again. Another wall between me and her.’ And I don’t want to see you as that wall, Shayne. You’re my brother.”
It all sunk into Shayne then. That’s the heart of it all, wasn't it? Damien, loyal and conflict-averse, took his words as they were. His best friend believed he wouldn’t understand.
“I wish you had told me.” Shayne took a deep breath. “How do you not resent me, man?”
“Why would I?”
Shayne rubbed the back of his neck, moving on, “From what you’re telling me, you two had a good thing going. It was just me, the words I told you, that held you back. I was the one stopping you guys from being happy.”
“You never asked me to do it.”
“But you thought I would've,” Shayne exhaled. “I would’ve understood, Damien. I would’ve been weirded out at first, but I would’ve understood. You ended things pre-emptively, trying to save our friendship. Damien, it wouldn’t have been in danger.”
Shayne had no idea he was hurting his best friend all this time. Not on purpose, sure, but he still had a hand in it. Now, Damien had been carrying it with him for what was apparently ten years. But it was clear as day. He had seen Damien in other relationships. Seen him try and “make things work” with a girlfriend here and there. None of them made Damien look the way he did while he was talking about that moment at the karaoke bar with Angela.
“You really do love her,” he breathed out.
A small smile tugged on Damien’s lips. “I know our moms used to joke about it, but a part of me always belonged to her. Of course, I love her.”
“And she feels the same way?” Shayne asked, voice low.
“I think so,” Damien said softly. “She told me she does.”
Shayne rubbed his face with both hands. Under normal circumstances, he’d clap Damien on the shoulder and say, Dude, the girl said it! Believe it. But this was Angela. His baby sister. And his best friend. His two worlds were colliding in a way that felt impossible to reconcile.
He couldn’t even find it in himself to think that anger is still justified.
All he could think about was that he had stopped his sister and his best friend from finding happiness because of some dumb remark he made when he was younger.
“I am sorry you had to find out that way, but I can’t feel sorry for how I feel,” his best friend continued. “I want to make this work. I want to make it up to her. I want to actually stay in her life this time, if she’ll let me.”
Finally, Shayne exhaled, voice rough. “I shouldn’t have just started swinging. That was…stupid. I’m sorry.”
Damien managed a lopsided smile despite the swelling. “I get it, man. It was a shock. I would’ve punched me too if the roles were reversed.”
“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t overreacting and that this is okay,” he said, pointing to the bruise forming on Damien’s jaw. “So, all I can say is I’m sorry. I can’t fault you for feeling that way you do.”
Damien nodded in understanding. “Water under the bridge, Shayne,” he assured.
That’s one rift patched up, but the night wasn’t over. He still needed to talk to one other person. Shayne exhaled, “I should go talk to Angela.”
“Of course.”
He patted Damien on the shoulder, leaving him in the kitchen to head for the stairs.
—
ANGELA
Angela buried herself deeper under the covers. Her chest still hurt from crying, and her pillow was damp, but the tears kept threatening to fall anyway. The muffled knock on her door barely registered until the hinges creaked and she caught movement in the corner of her eye.
Shayne.
He stood awkwardly in the doorway for a second, then stepped in and shut it behind him. The room smelled faintly of Shayne and Courtney’s lavender detergent and Angela’s perfume, a bubble she had built to keep herself safe.
“Can we talk, please?” he asked softly.
After a beat, she sat up, wiping at her blotchy face. “I’m sorry I kept this from you.”
Shayne pursed his lips, lowering himself into the desk chair and spinning it once before letting it face her bed. “I really wish you had told me something even before. We used to tell each other everything. What happened, Ang?”
She sniffled. “You heard I had a crush on the part-time lifeguard and you never looked at him right for years. How was I supposed to know how you’d react?”
“For starters, it’s Damien. I trust Damien.”
“Not based on how you swung at him.”
Shayne considered her for a moment, tapping at his knees a few times before uttering, “I need to tell you a story. You don’t remember this, but I want to tell you anyway.”
Angela didn’t move, but he pressed on.
“When Mom and Dad brought you home from the hospital,” Shayne began, his voice steady but soft, “...you were only a day or two old. I was maybe two, three, tops. I remember walking into the living room and seeing you for the first time. You were this tiny thing, cooing in the bassinet.”
“Dad told me it was my job to keep you safe. That Giarratana men took care of their girls,” Shayne exhaled. “I was terrified.”
Angela blinked slowly, her eyes flicking toward him. “You were scared of Dad?”
Shayne let out a little laugh at himself. “Not of dad. Of Buster. Remember him?”
Of course, Angela remembered Buster. Their old pet dog. Adopted from a rescue shelter when their dad was still trying to gain Shayne’s trust. Shayne wanted a puppy, so Shayne got a puppy: the gentlest dog in the shelter, a crusty white dog that refused to leave Shayne’s side. He originally went by Mr. Muffins, but Shayne saw “Toy Story 2” one time and refused to call the dog any other name. So Buster he became.
Angela finally turned her head, eyes red-rimmed. “You loved Buster.”
“I did,” Shayne admitted. “Loved that dog to pieces. But you were so small and so helpless. I was convinced Buster would… I don’t know, knock the bassinet over, drag you around like a doll. Hurt you somehow. I kept circling the room, watching him, making sure he didn’t get too close.”
Angela sniffed, her lips twitching despite herself. “Buster used to sleep with you every night.”
“Yeah,” Shayne said with a shrug. “And I knew he wouldn’t hurt you. But that didn’t stop me from worrying.”
Angela’s shoulders softened, her breathing evening out as she watched him now.
“I was ridiculous, but I couldn’t stop. Mom said I kept on whining, ‘baby,’ pointing at your bassinet. Like I was scared you’d disappear.”
Shayne exhaled. “And maybe I was scared of that, too, Ange. I felt like you were the only real link I had to dad. To the Giarratanas. To belonging in this life. I always felt like I was an outsider to that side of the family. But when dad gave me this… job to look after you, it felt like I could earn my way in. Like I could belong by making sure nobody laid a finger on you. So I took that job really seriously.”
“And sure, I wanted to belong. But you’re my baby sister. Of course, that means I’ll look after you, no matter what. But I think I was working myself up because of this belief that I don’t belong. That’s on me.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I sometimes forget that you’re not that baby in the bassinet anymore. That you don’t need me hovering like that.”
Shayne ran a hand down his face. “What I felt tonight, it’s the same thing. I know Damien isn’t going to hurt you. I know he’s a great guy. But when I saw you two…” His voice faltered. “You’re twenty-five, and I still felt like I had to protect you from the harmless dog.”
Angela exhaled shakily.
“Tonight wasn’t my best,” Shayne continued. “I was shocked, okay? I didn’t think… I didn’t think you guys had something like that going on. He swore nothing untoward happened, and… I think I should believe him. I should, right? He didn’t… You know… take advantage or anything?”
Angela shook her head, already feeling more at ease than when the conversation started. “You know he wouldn’t.”
“I know he wouldn’t,” he echoed. “But it’s not exactly easy to shake off twenty-five years of being your protective big brother.”
“And, look, it’s my bad for not seeing because everyone else knew just from how you guys looked at each other. Maybe I was trying not to see because if things went sideways, I didn’t want to deal with the fallout. Who knows? If anything, you’re not allowed to go your separate ways again. I’m gluing you guys together now.”
He gave a weak laugh at the same time his sister did.
“If Damien makes you happy, then… I’ll deal with it. And maybe call Mom, because she’s been waiting for this for two and a half decades.”
Angela groaned. “Please don’t.”
Then, a ghost of a smile crept onto her face. “I like that it’s just between me and him right now. We took too long figuring ourselves out. We owe it to each other to get it right before anyone else gets involved.”
Shayne exhaled, relieved to see Angela smiling again.
“I’m sorry you had to find out like that. If it’s any comfort, we really were planning to tell you about everything tonight,” she continued.
Shayne tilted his head, studying her. “Damien did say something like that. You mean that?”
She nodded. “It just seemed right. Without you, the beach trips wouldn’t have happened.”
“Aunt Marilyn wouldn’t have insisted on going to South Carolina every summer. We wouldn’t have been as close as we were. Me and him. Us. That wouldn’t have happened without you.”
“Also…” Angela picked at the blanket on her lap. “It’s not that big a deal. It’s not like Damien and I have gone on an actual first date.”
Shayne scoffed. “Tell that to the lipstick on his face.”
“You punched him for that lipstick.”
“Well, I’ve moved on from that shock and I’m trying to be supportive here. Okay? I’m still not fully recovered, but at least I’m trying.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the tension between them softening. Angela continued picking at the blanket, chewing her lip. “I never wanted to hurt you, Shayne. I know how much he means to you. I… I hated the idea of being the wedge between you two. That’s why I—” She broke off, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“It does,” Shayne said firmly. “And look… I don’t know if I’ll ever be one hundred percent comfortable with this. But I trust you. I trust Damien, even if I forgot that for a minute tonight.”
His voice hardened. “But I need you to know something. I don’t care that he’s my best friend. If he hurts you, if he makes you cry, if he even thinks about breaking your heart, I’ll drop him in a heartbeat.”
Angela gave a watery laugh. “You already dropped him once tonight. His jaw probably still hurts.”
“Good,” Shayne muttered. Then his expression softened again. “But seriously. If he hurts you, I’ll be the first one there. Always.”
She reached out a hand, and he took it, letting her tug him closer until she wrapped her arms around him. His chin rested on the top of her head, and for a long moment, they just stayed there, breathing in sync.
“I’m sorry,” Angela whispered. “For ruining the night. Two days before your wedding of all times.”
“Oh, who cares,” Shayne said, squeezing her tighter. “You’re important too.”
Angela smiled into his chest. “You’re such a sap.”
“And you’re still my baby sister.”
Notes:
Not done yet for today, double chapter update incoming. :)
Chapter 17: Out in the Open
Notes:
Here's a shorter one just to get things moving along. :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
DAMIEN
Damien sat on one of the kitchen barstools, hunched over. His busted lip looked worse under the warm kitchen light. Angry red, the skin was starting to appear more puffed and swollen.
He heard a door open upstairs but didn’t lift his head, too lost in his own thoughts. When Angela rounded the corner to the kitchen, Damien noticed her eyes on him right away and he straightened. Her eyes were still red from crying, her cheeks blotchy, but her chin was lifted. Shayne was right behind her.
Angela didn’t give him the chance to speak. Didn’t even hesitate. She crossed the kitchen in three strides and wrapped her arms tight around him.
Damien froze. For a moment, he looked wide-eyed at Shayne as if asking for permission. His best friend simply nodded.
That was all Damien needed. He melted into Angela’s embrace, one arm sliding around her back, the other resting carefully against her waist as though afraid to break her. His face softened despite the bruises.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He nodded against her neck. “I’m fine.”
Shayne cleared his throat, drawing both their attention. He leaned against the counter, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
“I need to say something to both of you. I screwed up tonight. Big time. I went straight for the jugular instead of asking first.” His eyes flicked between his best friend and his sister. “I’m sorry. To both of you. I thought I was protecting you, Angela. I didn’t know all that was happening back then. I was blindsided. I thought you’ve been… doesn’t really matter right now.”
Angela opened her mouth to answer, but Damien beat her to it, his voice rough. “I get where you were coming from, Shayne. It’s alright. Really.”
Shayne sighed, hands on his hips. “Look, it’s late. We’ve got the rehearsal dinner tomorrow. Best we call it a night.”
Damien shifted, leaning on the counter. “Still want me as best man?”
“Of course.” Shayne’s answer was immediate, firm. “Just because you’re with Angela—and that I busted your lip—doesn’t mean I don’t want you standing by me.”
Damien gave him a grateful nod, then stood. “Okay, I should go,” he started, but Angela squeezed his hand quickly, leaning in to whisper in his ear.
“I love you.”
He squeezed her hand back, returning the words in kind. “Love you too, Bug.”
When she pulled back, Damien was sure Shayne heard them say the words to each other and it briefly sent Damien into a panic, until he realized there was no more need to hide now.
He could love her openly and nobody had to get hurt. He wasn’t sure how to feel now that they’re out of the woods.
Angela didn’t give him much room to think it through as she started for her room. “I should… I should get to bed, too,” she said, pointing to the direction of the stairs. “Good night, Damien.”
Damien couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face as he told her, “Good night.” He watched her get up the stairs, leaving him with Shayne as soon as he heard the bedroom door shut.
“Well, aren’t you two adorable?” Shayne teased, nudging him to the front door.
Damien became suddenly too aware of his best friend’s presence again. He shifted on his feet as soon as the front door was open, chewing at his cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? Because… I can back off.”
“I don’t think you can,” Shayne countered, shoving his hands into his pockets. “After we left for USC, Angela was a wreck. I thought it was just about me leaving home, being alone in Georgia. But now I realize… It was about you, too. Don’t break her heart like that again. I mean it.”
Damien’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I won’t. I swear I won’t.”
But he still couldn’t let it go. “No, really, Shayne. If this is too much, if you’d rather I—”
“No, dude. Stop. You’re self-sabotaging and taking my sister with you. I already told you. This doesn’t change our friendship,” Shayne’s voice was sharp enough to cut him off clean. “If anything, you’re stuck with her now. I know you’ll do this anyway, but it’s worth saying out loud: take care of her. That’s all I ask.”
“Of course.” Damien’s answer was immediate, no hesitation, as he stepped onto the front porch.
“Wait,” Shayne’s voice stopped him cold from the doorway.
Damien turned, lingering.
“I’m glad she chose you, Damien.”
Damien froze. For a second, he didn’t know what to say. Then a slow, quiet smile spread across his face. Shayne returned it with a small nod, the kind only best friends could share.
Walking over to his car, Damien still can’t believe this is actually happening. That this could’ve happened years ago if he hadn’t let fear get the better of him. Why did he even let fear get the better of him? He should’ve known better. Everything felt possible when he was with Angela.
Damien finally made his way to his car and paused once more, glancing back at the house. His eyes drifted to the second floor, the approximate spot where he knew the guest room, Angela’s room, would be. The faintest longing crossed his face.
“She’s on the second floor and there aren’t any ledges by the guest room!” Shayne jeered from the doorway, smirking. “You’ll break your neck if you try sneaking in like you used to!”
Damien chuckled, shaking his head as he slid into the car.
Notes:
I just wanted to extend a big thank you to everyone who's been following this story so far. I started writing this thinking it would barely get 100 hits and now this has gotten more than that. It's been an amazing outlet for me the past few weeks, especially as I have been feeling creatively stuck at my day job.
I know RPF can get into off-putting territory and I acknowledge that the people I specifically plucked from real life to be part of this fic have not confirmed anything about their personal lives, as is their right. Honestly, it's their dynamics that drew me in, especially since they fit a story that already exists in my head. I suck at character building so when I got inspiration from Shayne and Angela's dynamic, I just completely worked off everything from there and built around my initial ideas until it became a Damien + Angela fic. (Yes, in my head, this started as a Shayne + Angela sibling fic with a faceless love interest.)
That said, this is probably just a one-off project for me and it's likely that I will cut the remaining chapters short (maybe even reduce the initial chapter count from the original 36 I had planned) because it has been a weird time to be a fan right now. With the recent issue Damien mentioned in his stream and perhaps even weirder fan behavior outside Smosh, it's been a struggle to like anything and not think of every interaction as parasocial. I've tried delaying this message until the end (it's also why I had been meaning to pump out as much chapters as I could by doing double chapter drops at times) but I figured it's high time to address it now since I published the scenes that started this fic to begin with.
For those following this story, no worries, I will finish this one way or another. I started this from a good place and I wanted to end it that way. I also get it if the hits start falling off and you don't stick around 'til the end. I'm just gonna complete this for my closure. Thanks and I hope you all understand. <3 /d
Chapter 18: Don’t Have to Imagine
Notes:
You know how they say there might be a gas leak at Smosh? Well, the gas leak may also be at my place because I'm giggling with this chapter opener. Here's me toying with another iconic Smosh moment. Enjoy. /d
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
EIGHTEEN YEARS EARLIER
SHAYNE
The movie was playing on the old boxy TV in their Georgia living room, its speakers crackling faintly as “Cars” ran for the fiftieth time that spring. Shayne didn’t mind. He loved “Cars” and he absolutely adored Lightning McQueen.
His mom grew sick of him going “ka-chow!” every fifteen minutes, she threatened to throw the DVD away if he didn’t stop it. Nevertheless, the movie kept on playing over and over, that he had the lines memorized by heart.
The three of them, Shayne, Angela, and Damien, were sprawled across the carpet with bowls of popcorn between them, sticky soda cans sweating on the coffee table. They were only kids, 7 and 9, but they took their debates with all the seriousness of grown men in boardrooms.
“I think Mater’s cool,” Angela said, out of the blue. “Funny too. Imagine if he could, like, I dunno, shoot tear gas. He’d be unstoppable.”
Shayne scoffed in between bites of popcorn. “No. If you want a cool character, there’s Lightning McQueen. Or, or…Aquaman! And he doesn’t need tear gas because—get this—he has all the powers of Aquaman.”
Damien lifted his head, butting into the conversation. “Okay, how about this: who’s more entertaining? I know Mater would take that”
“What? No way Mater could beat Aquaman even if it were about being entertaining,” Shayne declared, tossing popcorn into his mouth with an air of finality.
Angela’s head snapped toward him, pigtails swishing. “What?!” she asked, scandalized.
“You heard me,” Shayne smirked. “You’re gonna stand there and say you love Mater? Go ahead. Say it.”
Angela froze, small fists clenched on her knees. “What’s… what’s wrong with Mater?”
Shayne grinned, leaning into it. “What? You go to Disneyland, ride the Cars ride, and just start crying? ‘Oh no, Mater!’” He mimicked fake sobs, shoulders shaking with laughter.
Angela’s lip trembled. Her eyes glossed over, tears brimming. Louder now, desperate, she asked again: “What’s wrong with Mater?”
Shayne was laughing outright, pointing at her meltdown, and Damien sat stuck in the middle of the storm, looking back and forth between the siblings like a referee with no whistle.
“What’s wrong with him?!” Angela bawled.
Finally, Damien picked a side. “I don’t know what Angela’s feeling. But I’m on her side.”
Angela sniffled, turning to him like he’d just extended her a life raft.
“Not all of us can be Lightning McQueen, Shayne!” she wailed through tears, as if it were the most profound truth in the world.
“What?!” Shayne asked, bewildered.
Damien moved instantly into comfort mode, crouching closer. “Hey. How about we play Mario Kart instead? That sound fun?”
“But the movie isn’t even over!” Shayne objected, scowling.
“We’ve watched ‘Cars’ enough times. You already know what happens.”
Shayne wanted to argue some more, stand his ground, but Damien was already reaching for the controllers and Angela’s tears always had a way of sealing the deal. Shayne grumbled but joined in anyway, muttering about traitors under his breath.
So they played Mario Kart.
It wasn’t that much of a bother after all. Shayne could wall ride and drift like a pro. Mario Kart was a piece of cake for him. It wasn’t even that much of a surprise that he was in first place.
“Suck it! Bye losers!” he screamed as he saw the finish line.
Except he didn’t get a response. Damien was still watching over Angela and Angela had a pout on her face again. She was losing by a lot. As soon as Shayne was declared winner, her eyes got wet again and she dropped the controller.
“ANGELA! Stop being a baby and quit being a sore loser!” Shayne huffed. “That move doesn’t even work on dad anymore!”
Angela didn’t even acknowledge the mocking.
Damien caught it instantly. “Hey. Hey,” he said gently, brushing a knuckle over her cheek. “You’re not losing. You’re winning! We’re playing Don’t Win Mario Kart. You’re the champ.”
Angela’s face brightened immediately, giggling through her tears.
Shayne’s jaw dropped. “That’s not even a real game! I was winning! I won! How does she suddenly win because she’s crying?”
“Because she’s Angela,” Damien said simply, grinning.
Shayne sulked. A lot. He didn’t talk to Damien for two whole days after that.
When he and his best friend eventually met up again by the big tree in front of the Giarratana home, Shayne was still frowning at Damien.
It was only once they took out their bikes and pedalled to the nearby park, hearts racing and scrambling to buy popsicles from a nearby stand, that Damien got to say his piece.
“I think she said she likes Mater because you wouldn’t shut up about Lightning McQueen,” Damien explained as he dug into his popsicle. “She wanted something to bond over. You know, be your best friend like those two are best friends.”
“She’s my sister, though.”
“So what? You can still be best friends with a sister. I wish I had a sister so I didn’t have to run two blocks over just to find a friend,” Damien replied.
“Why do you always pick her side anyway?” Shayne asked, starting with his frozen treat, too. “She cries and suddenly you take her side.”
“I’m not on anybody’s side,” Damien countered. “I just don’t like seeing her cry.”
—
EIGHTEEN YEARS LATER
Now, years later, Shayne paused by the doorway of the guest room, leaning on the frame with his arms crossed as he watched Angela. He was supposed to tell her that she should pick up speed because they were leaving in a few minutes, except the sight left him mute.
Angela was in front of the mirror, hair half-curled and half-pinned, wearing the black satin dress she’d chosen for the rehearsal dinner. But her eyes were away from the mirror and on her phone instead. She was smiling so wide, her whole face lit up.
She was uttering words under her breath as she typed, barely holding back her grin that everything came out like a tiny giggle. It didn’t take a genius to guess who she was texting.
Shayne still felt astounded that he knew the very person making her smile like that. And that he never noticed it a decade ago. It made sense to trust his best friend with his other best friend.
All those little memories—the Mater meltdown, Mario Kart, the bracelet, the way Damien always bent toward Angela when push came to shove—flashed through Shayne’s head like puzzle pieces finally snapping into place.
Damien had always been on her side. Even when it didn’t make sense. Even when it meant betraying him in the dumb battles of childhood. Damien was always thinking of how his actions affected Angela, good or bad, even when it could break his heart. Shayne exhaled through his nose, almost laughing at himself. Maybe he’d been blind for a lot longer than he realized.
Angela set her phone down on the dresser as she got back to fixing her hair, but then the device pinged. It made her jump and burn herself slightly on the curling iron.
“Ow…fu—.” She finally saw Shayne lingering by the door. “Shayne, didn’t see you there. Did you need anything?”
Shayne beamed. “Nah. Just get a move on. We’re leaving in 15,” he reminded her. “And Damien better be there before us. He lives closer.”
Angela just rolled her eyes at him.
—
ANGELA
Families were already mingling in the small restaurant in downtown LA by the time the wedding party finished with a quick run-through of the ceremony. The place had string lights woven through the rafters and ivy creeping up the outer brick walls. Waitstaff were darting around with trays of wine glasses, the warm hum of overlapping conversations.
Angela was about to go into the dining area when her phone buzzed.
-
Damien (5:17 pm)
Side garden. Just for a minute?
-
She glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, the side garden sat just around the corner, shielded from the street by a row of tall hedges.
Angela slipped away, holding her clutch bag to her chest as she moved across the cobblestones. She found Damien there, leaning against the wall beneath a lantern light. He still had the faintest swelling on his jaw, and even though he’d clearly gone overboard with concealer, it didn’t quite hide the bruise.
“Hey, what’s up?” she asked softly.
“I needed to see you before the circus started,” Damien admitted. Then, with a crooked grin, “And before one of your uncles tries to ‘recommend’ me another career path.”
Angela giggled, and for a moment, the nerves in her chest loosened.
But then Damien grew serious. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I talked to Shayne before I went home last night.”
“And?”
“He’s not exactly thrilled, but—” Damien’s lips twitched. “He didn’t say I had to disappear. And that’s something.”
Angela let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “So… he’s okay?”
“He’s… trying to be supportive,” Damien said, a touch wry. “That’s a start, right, Bug?”
“Guess so.” Angela smiled faintly and reached out to touch his cheek, right over the bruise.
He winced, then chuckled. “Ouch. Easy on the battle wound.”
“You deserved it,” she teased.
“Yeah,” Damien admitted. “But worth it.”
“So… did we meet here only for you to tell me about your talk with Shayne, or is there anything else on the agenda?”
“There is another thing… uhm,” Damien stammered slightly. “Are we still on for that date later?”
Angela couldn’t stifle her giggle. “Are you seriously getting shy about asking me out on a date? We already talked about going out after this.”
Damien visibly relaxed at that. “What did you expect? I’ve been waiting a decade to do this. We never really got to hammer out the details before your brother started swinging at me. I didn’t want to mess it up. And it sounded off asking a girl out to be your date to a wedding when you haven’t even taken her out on an actual one-on-one date.”
“So what you’re really asking of me is to be your date to the wedding?” Angela chuckled.
“Yes, he is!” shouted a voice from behind them.
Both Angela and Damien turned to the source. Shayne was peeking out of a side door, looking like the world’s most annoyed bouncer.
“How long have you been standing there?” Angela asked.
“Long enough that I’ll answer for you: Yes, she doesn’t have anything planned after this. Yes, she’d love to go on a date with you. No, I won’t blab to mom. Now get in here. We’re about to start.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up. You practically had a rehearsal lunch yesterday. You can wait.”
“A ‘rehearsal lunch’ that both of you bailed on to make out at the curb outside my house. Now, get in.”
Shayne popped back into the restaurant, leaving no room for argument.
“We should go in,” she said, walking toward the door. “And just so it’s clear. Yes, I’d love to go out with you after this.”
Damien smiled. “Can I drive you to Shayne and Courtney’s later so you can change into something more comfortable?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
—
Dinner was chaos in its purest form.
The long tables had been pushed together to accommodate the horde of relatives and family friends. The wine flowed too freely, and everyone seemed to have an opinion about everything. Angela had barely sat down before the barrage began.
Despite the invasive questions and sometimes well-meaning remarks, Angela smiled politely. This time, there was no shrinking in her chair, no defensive huffs. She just let the words slide over her like water on glass. She twirled pasta around her fork and nodded vaguely, lips curved in a secret smile that no one could quite place.
Across the table, Deb’s sharp eyes caught it. She arched an eyebrow and flicked a knowing glance at her own best friend, who was already suspicious. Marilyn’s gaze darted between her chipper son, bruised jaw, poorly concealed with makeup, and Angela’s uncharacteristic calm.
Later that night, when dessert had dwindled and people were wandering between tables, Angela nearly collided with a cluster of familiar faces near the bar.
“Angela!” Chanse exclaimed, pulling her into a hug. Amanda and Spencer weren’t far behind, buzzing to be there.
“You made it!” Angela grinned, hugging each of them in turn.
Amanda, already flushed from too much wine, leaned closer with a conspiratorial smirk. “So…have you exploded on Damien yet? Slapped him? Is that why he has that giant bruise on his face?”
Angela looked away to try and find Damien, but also to hide her blush, ending up unsuccessful in both fronts.
“Oh, no, did you two get back together?”
Angela froze, eyes widening. “Not answering that,” she said too quickly, shaking her head.
“Oh my God, you absolutely did! What happened?!” Amanda’s voice was going up octaves Angela hadn’t heard her reach.
“Would you—sshhhh,” Angela tried shushing her friend as an involuntary but big grin plastered itself across her face.
Chanse, holding a flute of champagne, butted in, “Wait, I think it’s a good thing…”
“It’s nothing big, I swear,” Angela answered, almost too quickly.
Chanse barked a laugh. “You’re a terrible liar, bitch.”
Spencer, who was standing on the sidelines, joined the conversation, pointing his glass toward Damien from afar. “Okay, so you didn’t slap him. Then why is our boy walking around with an obvious bruise on his face but grinning like an idiot?” he asked.
Damien, chatting with a group of groomsmen at one corner, had no idea he was a central topic of conversation at the other side of the venue.
“How did that happen?” Spencer followed up.
Angela’s mouth opened, then shut. “Long story.”
Chanse’s mouth hung open. “Now, I’m even more curious. That means you’re telling us everything after this. And I mean everything.”
The teasing didn’t stop. “You so got back together,” Amanda sing-songed, then straightened. “Though I guess, technically, you finally got together. Since you keep on insisting the first time didn’t count.”
Angela forced a smile, stepping back. “I, um—I need to check on something. Be right back.”
She pivoted quickly, weaving through the crowd before her friends could press further.
—
HOURS LATER
Angela hadn’t been this nervous in years. Not for auditions, not for opening nights, not even for flying across the country for her brother’s wedding. This was different.
It was a little past 8 pm. The rehearsal dinner had ended about half an hour ago, a little earlier than intended. Now, she was fidgeting. She stood in front of the mirror in Shayne and Courtney’s guest bathroom, picking at the cotton fabric of the dress she’d picked out. Something simpler than the rehearsal dinner dress. A deep forest green that made her eyes stand out.
She dabbed on lipstick, hesitated, then laughed at herself. “It’s just Damien,” she whispered. Except it wasn’t just Damien. It was her Damien.
“This is stupid. He’s seen you in your awkward teen phase and he wouldn’t care,” she muttered to herself as she traded her heels for flats.
There was a knock on the door that startled Angela from all her fidgeting.
“Your knight in shining armor’s been downstairs for 20 minutes. Pick it up, Juliet,” Shayne said.
When she came down, Damien was in the living room, also fussing. He’d abandoned the dark jacket from the rehearsal dinner, leaving him with a white button-up with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked up as she entered and his jaw literally dropped.
“Bug…” he said softly, eyes sweeping over her. “You look… wow.”
“What a lousy line,” Shayne said, clearly pretending to go through paperwork from the recliner beside Damien, before he stood up and clapped his best friend on the back.
“Bring her back in one piece. And as early as possible. The wedding’s tomorrow.”
Angela narrowed her eyes at her brother. “Are you seriously playing dad right now?”
“Yes, I am,” he replied, stonefaced, before breaking. “Can’t you give me this one?”
Shayne’s grin twitched wider, the kind of grin that made her suspicious. “Now go. You’re cutting it a little close.”
“Close to what?” she asked.
“You’ll see,” he said, too fast, too smug, and then, louder: “I SAID GO!”
Damien didn’t even acknowledge the comment.
“We should get going,” Damien said, glancing at his watch. “Don’t want to miss the view.”
“View to what?”
—
Damien drove them into the city, refusing to tell her where they were headed. Angela kept pressing him with guesses. A dive bar, bowling alley, karaoke, a movie. It’s not like they still had a lot of options after dinner and given the hour. But he stayed mum, smirking the whole way.
Then, the giant dome appeared on the horizon and Angela barely held back her gasp. “What the hell…”
The observatory looked bigger than she imagined.
The road curved uphill, city lights falling away behind them until all that remained was the dark silhouette of the nearby park. Angela pressed her hand against the window.
“The observatory?”
He grinned, the headlights catching the faint purple tint of his bruise. “It’s not the stars in South Carolina, but it’s as close as we could get. I actually wanted to go to the zoo but I’m not sure how good you are with birds after that seagull flew straight at you back then. Figured New York doesn’t really do the sky justice with all that pollution. LA isn’t really any better but, well, telescopes…”
She laughed, the sound soft in the enclosed car. When they parked, the air between them felt suspended, almost sacred. They climbed the last few steps to the terrace where the city sprawled beneath them. For a while, neither of them spoke.
“You can see everything,” Angela whispered.
“Yeah,” Damien sighed.
She glanced at him then, catching the way the glow from the city hit his face. “I used to imagine this all the time,” he stated. “Taking you out. Picking you up in my beat-up car, trying to impress you with milkshakes and bad movie tickets.”
He smirked. “And now…I don’t have to imagine.”
The quiet settled back between them. Comfortable this time. The kind of quiet that made her heart race, because she knew there was no running from it anymore.
“Come on,” he said gently. “We should go in now before they close.”
They wandered through the exhibits for a while, Damien ready with an explanation every time Angela enthusiastically asked about something. It’s one of the things she loves about him, the way he always knows how to make the world sound fascinating. It’s one of the things he loves about her, the way she never stops wanting to understand it.
Eventually, they had to leave the observatory and Angela suggested getting dessert.
“From a meal we had four hours ago?”
She smirked, “Yes.” Damien shook his head but drove to a 24/7 diner.
When dessert came, apple pie and milkshakes, Damien scooped up a bite and held it out to her. Angela’s eyes crinkled. “Are we really doing the ‘feed each other dessert’ thing?”
“Yes,” he said flatly, spoon still held out. “Now say ‘Ahhhh’.”
She sighed dramatically, leaning in to take the bite. “This is ridiculous.”
“Delicious, though,” Damien teased, stealing his own bite right after.
Angela shook her head, but she was laughing, really laughing, the kind of laugh that left her cheeks sore.
—
When Damien finally drove Angela home and walked her to the threshold, it was already well past midnight. He stopped just shy of the porch steps, tugging her closer. “So, how was it? Worth the wait?”
Angela tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm… food was good. The company was decent. But the guy kept trying to feed me dessert, so—”
Damien cut her off with a kiss, soft but lingering. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. “You’re terrible,” he murmured, though he was smiling.
She whispered back, “You love it.”
He chuckled, kissing her again. “Yeah. I do.”
The door swung open just then, but this time Damien and Angela didn’t even bother springing apart. She just rolled her eyes and said, “Jesus—Fuckin— Shayne, were you waiting for me to come back the entire night?!”
“It’s 1 am,” her brother said, as if that were any explanation.
Then, a beat of silence. “And no. I was working. It’s why I have my glasses on,” he said, tilting the spectacles up and down.
“Really, man? The night before your wedding? Shame on you. Also, you don’t wear glasses,” Damien pointed out.
“Maybe I’m trying something out,” Shayne said, smug.
“Okay,” Damien shrugged. “It’s a bit. I’ll go.”
Damien started to walk to his car, but Angela held onto him through their linked hands. “Call me when you get home?” she asked.
He nodded. “Of course.”
Angela let him go slowly, like each finger was going stiff and couldn’t physically let go. When they eventually split, Damien offered her that knowing smirk again. “Good night, Bug.”
“Good night,” Angela said, turning back to the house, where her brother was still leaning against the doorframe.
Damien walked a few paces away before Shayne said in a mock-scandalized tone, “That clingy on the first date? Angela, control yourself.”
“Shut— Shut your mouth!” Angela said, whizzing past Shayne and bounding up the stairs two at a time. Before closing the door to the guest room, she added. “I’m not the one who’ll have bags in my eyes for the wedding photos! Good night!”
Notes:
Thanks for the kind words last chapter. <3 It means a lot to hear that I wasn't the only one who felt icky from recent events. My brain was on overtime yesterday so I think it went too hardcore on what it means to enjoy a fandom experience. Hoping everyone is taking care and being respectful. :)
Some housekeeping: I'll FINALLY post the wedding chapter after this as I usher in Act 2 and introduce another "conflict-ish" for this AU's Damien and Angela. However, I do need a break and will be taking a few days off to focus on other responsibilities (mostly work, real life, that type of stuff). Got an important presentation by early December and I need to prep, so I'm aiming to refocus my energy on that for now. :) 'Til next time.
Chapter 19: The Wedding
Notes:
HONK! HONK! (Did you just honk?) I reported. I would like to report to everyone that we have arrived at Fluff Central Station. FINALLY it's the wedding.
My presentation got moved to a later date, so I'm updating earlier than expected. Enjoy! /d
Chapter Text
Angela had always thought she’d be the kind of person who could breeze through weddings without crying. She loved love, adored theater-worthy romance, and could recite Shakespeare’s swooniest sonnets by heart, but when it came to real life, she prided herself on keeping her composure.
That promise evaporated the second she saw her brother standing at the altar. After all, she’s the biggest Shourtney shipper.
The garden venue was perfect. Arched trellises were draped with ivy, poppies, and roses clustered along every aisle seat. The late afternoon light was soft, golden, casting everything in a glow that made the whole thing feel like a movie set. Shayne, in his dark suit, shifted nervously at the altar, his hands wringing.
Then, Courtney appeared. Her friend walked down the aisle in an ivory dress, their eyes locked on Shayne’s. Her brother, her perpetually dorky, overly protective brother, was looking at Courtney like they were the only people in the world.
She sniffled once, then again. By the time the couple exchanged vows, tears streaked down Angela’s cheeks freely. Courtney’s vows were sweet and earnest, painting Shayne as the boy they’d always known and the man they’d always wanted.
Shayne’s vows were clumsy but heartfelt, stumbling over a few words, making the crowd laugh, but when he said, “I’ve loved you since I was a kid, and I’ll love you until I’m old and gray,” Angela had to cover her mouth to stop from sobbing out loud.
When Courtney and Shayne kissed, the whole crowd erupted in cheers. Angela clapped furiously, her chest full, her heart breaking in the best way possible. Her brother was married.
—
The reception started not long after, the garden transformed into a dance floor under strings of lights. Laughter echoed across the space as people mingled, clinked glasses, and devoured hors d’oeuvres. Angela made small talk with relatives, hugged old friends she hadn’t seen in years, and tried to keep up with Chanse and Amanda’s endless teasing.
Then, the celebration had wound down into the inevitable: the speeches. Courtney was glowing at the head table, Shayne half-smirking, half-bracing himself as Damien took the microphone.
“Alright, alright,” Damien began, holding up his glass. “I was told this had to be heartfelt, so I’ll try. But let’s be honest, if you’ve known me for more than ten minutes, you know sincerity comes with a side of goofster.”
The crowd chuckled. Shayne groaned.
“First off, I should mention that Shayne has been my best friend since we were babies. Which basically means I’ve had a front-row seat to every single crush, every stupid haircut, every misguided attempt at impressing a girl.”
He turned to the crowd, “And trust me, there were many.”
Shayne buried his face in his hands, while Courtney laughed.
“But then came Courtney. And honestly? I don’t think it took a genius to notice he was a goner from the start. Every summer at the beach house in South Carolina, we’d be hanging around, goofing off, and Shayne would somehow always end up orbiting Courtney. Like gravity. Like he was drawn to them. It was obvious. The only person who didn’t know from the get-go was Shayne himself. For years, I swear the tension was so thick, it made the rest of us nauseous.”
The table erupted in laughter. Chanse, Amanda, and Spencer clinked glasses together, nodding in agreement. Damien grinned. “And when they finally, finally got together that summer after freshman year of college? All I could think was: ‘Took you long enough.’”
He paused, then glanced at Angela briefly before returning to his glass. “But sometimes, love works that way. It takes time. Then, when it finally clicks, it feels like it was always meant to be. That it was always worth waiting for.”
Angela’s cheeks heated. She ducked her gaze quickly, pretending to fix the hem of her dress. She could feel her mom’s eyes on her.
“So here’s to Shayne and Courtney. Proof that the best stories are worth waiting for.”
Applause thundered through the room as Damien handed the mic off to Angela. As he was walking away, Shayne muttered something to him that Angela didn’t hear. Damien simply smirked and said, “Nope, it just fits.”
—
Angela held the microphone with both hands, steadying herself. Her heart was still fluttering, but she forced herself to focus.
“I’ll keep this short because, honestly, Damien already took half of my material,” she began, earning a laugh from the room. “But, as Shayne’s younger sister, I’ve had the privilege of seeing him fall for Courtney since… well, since the start. I mean, I knew before he did. Everyone did. Courtney, you’ve never been great at hiding how you felt either.”
“I used to tease Shayne about it all the time, but he’d just brush me off. Still, every summer, it was Courtney this, Courtney that.”
Angela smiled warmly at the couple. “Shayne, I’ve watched you grow from being that big brother who thought no one was good enough for me—don’t roll your eyes, it’s true—to a man who found someone who matches him step for step. Courtney, thank you for loving my brother as fiercely as he deserves. You make him better. You make him happy. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted for him.”
She lifted her glass, her throat tight. “Here’s to my brother and the woman he’s loved since we were kids. To Shayne and Courtney!”
Everyone raised their glass in turn, echoing Angela’s words. Shayne reached across the head table to squeeze Angela’s hand, eyes a little misty. The applause came again, warmer this time.
—
DAMIEN
Later, as the crowd spilled into little clusters and conversations, Damien found himself intercepted by Deb Giarratana.
“Damien,” she greeted, pulling him into a hug. “It’s been too long!”
“Aunt Debbie!” Damien said, hugging her back, genuinely happy to see the woman who practically became a second mother to him.
“Heard the video game gig wasn’t for you. What have you been up to?”
“Oh, still in games, actually. I do voice acting for some games, a little TV, and then I video stream sometimes,” he tried explaining.
“Oh— I’m… not really sure what that means. Is that kind of like that Tik-Tawk thing kids these days do?”
Damien giggled despite himself, “Uhm… yeah. Kinda? Mostly, I just play games and people like to watch that. It’s fun.”
Deb nodded along. The look on her face said she didn’t really understand, but she was supportive anyway.
“Well… I’m happy you’re happy. Voice acting, streaming—was it? Making something of yourself.” She gave him a cheeky grin before giving a light tap-tap to Damien’s face, right by the bruise on his jaw. “And getting into fights with my son.”
Damien blinked, confused. He touched his jaw instinctively. “Wait—how did you—?”
“Oh, please,” Deb interrupted, waving her hand. “I know my children. But I know you, too. I’ve seen you grow up just as I did Shayne. My son has been protective of Angela from day one. If the two of you came to blows, I can only assume Angela was at the center of it. You weren’t the exception.”
Damien froze, half-panicked. The confusion must have been written across his face, because Deb chuckled.
“Relax. I’m not here to tell anyone off. I only wanted to say what I’ve always believed. Always knew we were meant to be family.”
—
ANGELA
Angela had just gotten comfortable in her chair, sipping champagne and watching Courtney glide around the dance floor, when the DJ’s voice boomed over the speakers.
“Alright, ladies! You know what time it is!” The crowd whooped and hollered, already anticipating the next tradition. “Single ladies to the floor for the bouquet toss!”
Amanda and Chanse immediately turned in their seats, grinning at her like sharks who’d scented blood. “You’re up,” Amanda said, tugging Angela’s arm.
“No, no, no,” Angela laughed nervously, clutching her glass tighter. “I’m fine right here. Champagne’s keeping me company.”
“Oh, come on, it’s tradition,” Chanse teased, looping an arm through hers, trying to drag her up.
“Bite me,” Angela shot back, though she was smiling despite herself.
That was when Shayne’s voice cut through the laughter. “Sit down, Angie.”
She looked over and found her brother right next to her, giving her the kind of stern older-brother look that had been haunting her since childhood. He didn’t sound angry. If anything, Angela thinks he’s playing up a bit. But underneath it, she could sense he was clinging to some tiny scrap of control after the chaos of two nights prior.
She was willing to give him that. So she raised her hands in surrender. “See? The groom says I’m excused. Even called me Angie. You guys know what that means.”
Amanda simply pulled harder. “You’re literally perfect for this. Don’t make me throw you out there.”
“The only person doing the throwing is Courtney. Leave my sister alone,” Shayne insisted, smiling.
Angela shook her head and dug her heels in, finally prying their hands off her. “I’m listening to Shayne. I’m sitting this one out.”
Her friends left her alone after that.
Shayne gave a curt nod before turning back toward Courtney, who was already laughing at the spectacle. The DJ ushered all the single women onto the dance floor, forming a loose circle behind Courtney as they prepared to toss the bouquet. Angela sat back.
“Alright, Courtney. Give it a good throw! Let’s see who’s next!” the DJ announced.
Courtney turned their back, holding the bouquet high. The crowd counted down. “Three! Two! One!”
The bride tossed. And overshot.
Instead of a neat arc into the waiting crowd, the bouquet sailed high, flew through the group entirely, and came crashing down…
…right onto Angela’s lap.
Angela stared at the flowers like they had stunned her. The room lost it.
“She didn’t even stand up!”
“Oh my God! Angela!”
Even the DJ lost composure. “Well, folks, I think we have our winner anyway!”
Angela buried her face in her hands, her cheeks burning red. She hadn’t even touched the bouquet. It had literally hunted her down.
Angela peeked away from the flowers to see her brother, who looked like the universe personally conspired against him but was chuckling his way through it all. Then, Shayne’s head swung to the far side of the room, where Damien sat at his table. Their gazes locked and Angela saw her brother subtly shake his head. Damien chuckled but nodded in Shayne’s direction, giving him a thumbs-up.
Angela was pretty sure she was the only one who picked up on the quiet conversation that took place between the best friends and she couldn’t help herself from giggling. It was ridiculous, but it was also perfect.
Damien broke eye contact with Shayne and met her eyes. He mouthed to her: “Nice catch.”
—
By the time the DJ announced the slow dances, Angela’s feet were sore, her cheeks ached from smiling, and she was grateful when Damien appeared at her side, offering his hand.
“May I?” he asked. Angela nodded, slipping her hand into his as he led her onto the dance floor.
The music swelled, romantic and low, and for the first time since the ceremony, the chaos around them melted away. For a while, the two of them just swayed, the silence between them comfortable. Then Angela broke it with a laugh. “Did you know my brother compared you to a dog?”
Damien blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”
She grinned, leaning closer so only he could hear. “He told me this story from when I was a baby. About how he thought our family dog was going to eat me because I was so small. Completely irrational. But it stuck with him. He said that’s how he feels about you. So… yeah, you’re a dog, apparently.”
Damien’s brow furrowed, then softened into something warmer. “Wow. Shayne really does know how to flatter a guy.”
Angela laughed again, but Damien’s gaze was already shifting across the dance floor to Shayne. “You’re lucky to have him as a brother,” Damien said after a beat, his voice low.
Angela smiled, her eyes misting again. “I know. I really am.”
Damien pulled her a little closer, one hand pressing gently against the small of her back. Angela let her head rest against his shoulder, not caring who was watching. And a lot of people were. Chanse, Amanda, Spencer, and even some cousins on her mom’s side whispering with not-so-subtle curiosity. But she didn’t care. Neither did Damien.
After a minute of swaying like that, she tilted her head up toward him. “I can call you my boyfriend now, right?”
Damien’s lips curved into the softest smile, his laugh rumbling against her temple. “You can call me whatever you want, Bug. Boyfriend does have a nice ring to it, though.”
Angela laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. She really wanted to kiss him, but stopped herself. They’d already subjected Shayne to enough PDA.
Damien’s gaze shifted again, this time toward the tables where his mother sat. Angela followed his line of sight and caught Marilyn watching them with a delighted expression. “My mom’s having a field day,” Damien muttered.
Angela snorted. “So is mine. Those two saw the vision before either of us did.”
—
DAMIEN
The music inside the reception hall pulsed faintly through the walls, muffled laughter and clinking glasses carrying into the quiet of the garden terrace outside.
Damien stood alone beneath a string of golden lights, their glow soft against the deepening evening. He exhaled slowly, the cool air grounding him after the whirlwind of toasts, laughter, and far too many relatives circling him. He leaned against the railing, watching the silhouettes of guests dance inside.
The sound of grass crunching underfoot broke his solitude.
“You look content,” came Shayne’s voice, steady but lighter than Damien expected.
Damien turned his head, lips quirking into a smirk. “You’re one to talk. You’re the guy who just got married.”
Shayne chuckled, sliding his hands into his pockets as he stepped beside him. “True. But apparently you’re next.” He let the joke hang for a moment, watching Damien’s face before adding, more seriously, “But seriously, man. Not yet.”
Damien laughed, a low, honest sound that released some of the tension in his chest. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that.”
The silence stretched until Damien tilted his head, a thought sparking. “You know… I remember you and Courtney back in college. You wouldn’t shut up about them, actually. This girl who loved cooking so much that you practiced cooking yourself. I was fed for an entire semester because you wanted to impress them. Not complaining. My wallet loved it. But it was so obvious this thing was endgame from the get-go.”
Shayne laughed at the memory, his shoulders shaking. “Yeah. I also remember you saying I was crazy. Then Courtney threw me that graduation party and you ate more hors d’oeuvres than the actual guests.”
“Hey,” Damien said, pointing at him, “those sliders were amazing. Can’t help that you’re with an actual chef.”
Shayne shook his head, still smiling. “I remember telling you then: you’d meet a girl who made you do all those grand gestures, too. Made you want to try harder.” He hesitated, his tone dipping more serious. “That my sister?”
Damien smirked.
“That’s just a guess,” Shayne continued.
“The same way you guessed that I’d been sneaking into her room every night that summer?”
“I’m usually good at guessing! It’s not my fault you guys were secretive as hell.”
Damien glanced sideways, half-expecting a lecture, but he just looked… curious.
Shayne hesitated before asking, “Did you ever stop? With Angela? I mean, in those ten years? Because you dated other girls. None of them lasted and every time I asked what the problem was, which I rarely do, you’d clam up. Cagey as hell.”
Damien looked down at his hands, thumbs brushing together as if searching for the right words. He chuckled, but it was humorless. “The problem was they weren’t Angela.”
Shayne glanced, like he was trying to decode Damien.
“By the time we were about to graduate,” Damien continued, eyes fixed on some point beyond the garden lights, “I was still comparing every girl to her. I realized Angela set the bar so high without even trying. No one else fits. By then, I stopped thinking I could be with anyone else.”
“God, that sounded cheesy,” Damien added quickly, cringing. “Please don’t tell her I said that.”
That break in seriousness caused Shayne to snort. “Sure, dude. Your secret’s safe with me.”
A beat passed. Someone inside the venue squealed in delight over something. Cheers echoed.
“How’s the bruise? I saw my mom talking to you earlier. She seemed to notice it.”
Damien chortled, touching the area instinctively. “She did. Feels a little better. It isn’t that subtle, but at least I won’t look too beaten up in the photos. How’s the fist?”
Shayne did a quick close-open motion with his fist, showing it was more or less untouched. “If there’s one thing Dad taught me really well, it’s how to throw a proper punch. Didn’t think I’d actually have to use it though.”
“It shows.” Damien touched the bruise again, wincing.
Shayne raised an eyebrow at his best friend. “I wanna say you didn’t deserve it, but knowing that you broke Angela’s heart…I kinda wanna say you earned it. Even if it was a long time ago. Even if you’re okay now.”
“I can jokingly bully her all I want, but nobody hurts her on my watch. I fight with her, but I’ll always fight for her. So even if I punched you for a different reason, I can’t feel sorry for reacting the way I did.”
“I know. I deserved at least one hit,” Damien agreed.
The door to their left creaked open, bringing out some of the music and commotion from inside the venue. Angela stepped out, her hair a little mussed from dancing. She raised a brow at the sight of the two men together.
“You’re not ambushing him again, are you?” she asked, voice light but with an edge of wariness as she approached.
Shayne immediately raised his hands in mock-surrender. “No ambush. Promise.”
Damien turned from sibling to sibling before he pushed himself off the railing. “I should leave you two alone,” he said before making his way back into the venue. He brushed past her gently, fingers grazing her arm in passing.
—
ANGELA
Angela’s eyes followed Damien before narrowing on Shayne.
“What? I swear I didn’t ambush him, as you so violently put it,” Shayne said, arms raised.
“You better. Mom’s been smiling at me like a maniac all evening and I don’t think another fist fight will help.”
“What did you expect from mom? You made her biggest dream come true,” Shayne quipped.
Angela rolled her eyes. “That’s not her biggest dream.”
“Maybe. But she’s been wishing for this the longest, I think.”
Shayne leaned against the railing like Damien did and gestured for Angela to get closer. So she did, facing away from the venue.
Shayne let out a long exhale and glanced at his sister.
“I should’ve seen this coming. Now, I feel bad I spooked him off the first time,” he said. “Have you talked about what happens after?”
“After?”
“You know…you in New York. Him here. If the distance thing is what broke you two apart a decade ago, isn’t it worth talking about it now?”
Angela’s gaze lifted as she turned to her brother. “We—I haven’t really… thought that far ahead,” she said as she started picking at her nails.
“This whole thing just started. And I didn’t even think it was going to happen. Now, it’s here… and I…is it possible that would—?”
“Stop that,” Shayne said, firm, as he covered Angela’s hand with his. “Didn’t mean to upset you. You can always talk about it with him. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’ll happen again. He’s crazy about you.”
“But—”
“Shhh…”
Shayne clutched her hand a little tighter and didn’t let go until he was sure she wouldn’t start with the nail picking again. A beat passed. Two. Angela only realized she was shaking when the shaking stopped.
“You know,” he started, voice casual. “Courtney and I could use the house to ourselves tonight. Our flight for the honeymoon is in the morning, but… we could use a proper first night.”
He raised his brows meaningfully. “Bummer we have someone in the guest room, though.”
Angela snorted. “Are you kicking me out?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I’m just saying… Do you not want to spend time with your boyfriend? — wait, he is your boyfriend, right? Because I just talked to Spencer and the thing from a decade ago ‘doesn’t count’? What does that mean?”
“Didn’t you talk to Damien about this?” she asked, exasperated.
“We did, but… I punched him and I was more focused on the fact that I can apparently throw a mean punch, enough to leave a bruise. I didn’t take in everything properly,” he said. “Anyway… We’re getting off-topic. If you’ve got anywhere else to stay. Anyone else to stay with…I’d suggest you just pass by the house for an overnight bag or something and…”
His voice trailed off as he made a face, before turning abruptly back toward the reception.
Angela stared after him, half laughing, half mortified. Of course, that was his way of telling her to stay with Damien.
Chapter 20: All the Time in the World
Notes:
Forgot to add this to last chapter's note, but welcome to Act 2! ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ)و✧*｡ Let it be known that events in this chapter are also part of the reason I raised the rating. It's still closed-door and I make more than enough hints throughout the chapter for y'all to know what's about to happen. Thanks! /d
Chapter Text
The drive to Damien’s was uneventful. They swung by Shayne and Courtney’s place for a change of clothes and pretty much spent the entire drive in silence, with Angela’s head leaning against the passenger side window. The city lights flickered across Angela’s reflection in the window. Damien hummed faintly to the radio, tapping the wheel in rhythm.
Just as Damien took a left into his driveway, Angela broke the silence. “Are we making a mistake?”
Damien, too focused on his parking job, chanced a glance at her, frowning. “Uh—what? Pretty sure I know what my own house looks like…”
Angela straightened before responding. “No. I mean… I live in New York, Damien. I have my apartment, my job, my life there. And you…your life is here. What are we doing? It feels like ten years ago, keeping you tethered to me on a what-if on the other side of the country—”
He cut her off gently, killing the engine. “Hey. No. It’s not like that.”
She frowned, unconvinced, but let him continue.
“We were kids back then. We didn’t know the first thing about long distance, about keeping something alive across miles. We barely knew ourselves. But now? Now isn’t a what-if, Angela. We know what this is. We know what we want. We can make it work.”
Angela bit her lip. “Even if it’s a long while before we see each other again?”
Damien shook his head. “Not that long. A few weeks or months at a time, maybe. Flights aren’t impossible. Besides, I have all those conventions on the East Coast. I can make a quick stopover from time to time.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his thumb grazing her cheek. “And now there’s FaceTime. We can fall asleep on the phone if we want. You realize how much easier that makes this? Ten years ago, we didn’t have that. We didn’t have any of this.”
Angela let out a shaky laugh. “So you’re saying if we survived ten years of silence, we can survive a few weeks apart?”
“Exactly,” Damien said, a small grin tugging at his mouth. “We waited ten years. What’s a cross-country flight every once in a while compared to that?”
The logic was solid. The reassurance, even more so. Angela stared at him, all warmth and steady certainty, and felt something inside her unclench. She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips. Soft at first. Then another. And another. Each kiss deepened, grew more insistent, until her hands were sliding into his hair and she was pulling herself against him.
He met each kiss in turn, caressing her hip through the bridesmaid dress. Then, he pulled her closer as much as the cramped space in the car would allow, groaning at the contact.
Angela was two seconds from settling herself on Damien’s lap when he pulled away, panting, “As much as I like where this is going, I don’t think we should be making a habit of making out on driveways.”
Angela bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a giggle. “Yeah. You’re right. Got carried away.”
She pulled back, proceeding to fix her hair. She reached towards the backseat for the overnight bag when she noticed Damien wasn't moving. “Anything wrong?”
“Nothing,” his voice sounded ragged. “Just… give me a minute.”
—
Angela and Damien weren’t even two steps away from the door when a noise came from inside the house. MRRROOOWW!
“Oh. Great. The girls are pissed,” Damien deadpanned as he continued walking and unlocked the front door. He led Angela through the threshold as he called out, “Girls, I’m back!”
Angela followed him in, smiling faintly. Oh. Right. Guess I’m meeting Damien’s cats, she thought to herself. She doesn’t really have a great track record with cats. The smell of cat food makes her want to gag, so it’s safe to say the feeling’s mutual.
At that very moment, a black-and-white blur whizzed past their feet and into the living room. Then a yowl echoed from the adjoining hallway.
“I swear to God.” Damien quickly shrugged off his jacket and dropped his keys onto a console table before making it for the living room, leaving Angela by the entryway.
She followed Damien to the living room slowly, afraid that the black-and-white cat would barrel into her and start scratching because she was unfamiliar. Then, she heard Damien’s voice.
“There you are, you little goose! Missed daddy, huh?” he said in a tone only reserved for babies.
Angela stepped closer and found him on the floor behind the sofa, cradling a gray cat. “Yeah, you did. Don’t lie. You missed me. I missed you, too, little goose.”
Angela couldn’t help but laugh and Damien’s head snapped up to her. She’s still a safe distance away, too wary to get any closer.
“Hey there, wanna meet somebody?” he asked, but he was already standing up to show Angela the cat. “This is my human daughter, Freyja. The most majestic being in this household.”
“Hey there.” Angela didn’t expect her voice to sound small.
Not like the cat cared. Freyja just looked at Angela, swooshing her tail while Damien carried her as if saying, “What are you gonna do, lady? He likes me.”
“And thi— where’s the piss whale?”
Angela blinked. “The what?”
“The black-and-white cannonball that just ran past us. One hecking chonker of a cat? Did you see where she went?”
“Wait. You named your cat Piss Whale?”
“Wha—no! That’s just what I call her sometimes. Her name’s Zelda,” he answered, putting Freyja down. “I’ll be right back.”
He ambled over to the kitchen just as a thump echoed from the hallway. “Found her.”
A second later, the black-and-white cat stumbled into the living room, tail flicking. She paused at the sight of Angela, assessing. “That is Zelda. Fat as a sow, but I love her,” he said.
Zelda blinked once, twice, before moving in slow circles around Angela’s legs, her tail brushing against Angela’s calf. Angela froze in place.
“Oh wow. She likes you already,” Damien grinned.
Okay, so the circling is a good thing?
“Comforting,” Angela murmured, though a smile tugged at her lips. This cat didn’t look so bad. It was better that Zelda initiated contact instead of her. So she started lowering herself to the ground.
“It’s nice to meet them, but why do you call this one pi— oh.” The smell hit Angela just as she hit the floor. Piss Whale definitely fits.
“I promise, I clean her. She’s just the size of a zeppelin and stuff misses the litter box,” he chuckled.
Zelda took that opportunity to try climbing into Angela’s lap. At least until Damien pulled Angela up.
“Don’t. You’ll be stuck there forever,” he said, as Zelda let out an indignant meow.
“Ignore ‘em. It’s late. We should get settled for bed,” he added. Then, he scratched the back of his neck as he asked, “You’re comfortable sharing a bed, right? I have a guest room upstairs, but I haven’t cleaned up in a while. If you’re not comfortable…”
Angela cut him off. “My brother was practically giving me away to you. We’re sharing a bed.”
She scooped the overnight bag from where she dropped it on the sofa and took Damien’s hand. “Lead the way.”
—
Angela doesn’t think she has ever slept as comfortably as she did. A sleep that deep only came to her during tiring rehearsal days, when she could barely stand up. Sure, the wedding day was a tiring affair—too tiring for other activities she had thought of starting in his driveway—but she thinks the real cause for her deep slumber was being cuddled up next to Damien. The last thing she remembered was Damien running a hand through her hair, almost unconsciously, like he needed to constantly remind himself she was actually there. Then, she was practically knocked out.
Angela stretched the sleep away and cracked her eyes open to the soft glow of morning light filtering through Damien’s bedroom window. Reaching out to the other side of the bed, she noticed he wasn’t there.
“Damien?” she called out softly.
She got an answer that confused her. “Come on, girls, it’s Christmas!” Damien said in a cheery voice as he walked past the slightly ajar bedroom door, followed by two furballs.
“Damien?” she repeated, a little louder, though she was already throwing back the covers and padding out of the bedroom.
There was a pause before he responded, “Yeah?”
The voice came from the kitchen, so Angela followed the sound there, where Damien was perched on a barstool as he watched over Freyja and Zelda eating.
“What were you doing?”
“Feeding the cats.”
Angela whirled around, looking for a calendar or a clock. Anything to indicate what day it was.
“What do you mean it’s Christmas? It’s the middle of summer.”
He chuckled, eyes flicking from the cats to her, standing in the archway with her NYU shirt and pajama shorts. Angela could swear there was heat in his gaze as he gave her a once-over.
“They don’t know that,” he whispered. “And look, they’re excited as hell.”
Angela took a peek at the two whipping tails, hunched over food bowls, before telling Damien, “You fuck around with them all the time or something?”
“Usually, it’s just the three of us, so can you blame me for chasing the little joys?” he quipped.
Angela rolled her eyes in fond exasperation. “Okay, since the girls have eaten, when do the humans get to eat?”
“Wasn’t really expecting company, so the fridge isn’t stocked. I would’ve gone for takeout by now but…”
He turned, looking at her over his shoulder.
“You know,” he started, “I was thinking of grabbing brunch today. There’s this place a few blocks away. They do these ridiculous stuffed croissants and cold brews that’ll ruin you for any other coffee—don’t tell Courtney. Figured… maybe you’d want to come try it?”
She smiled — the kind that crept up slowly, almost against her will. “Brunch sounds nice.”
“Good,” Damien said, a little too quickly. “I’ll—uh—get changed, and maybe actually fix my hair.”
Angela bit back a laugh as he hurried toward the bedroom, mumbling something incoherent. She glanced back down at the cats, who were now both staring up at her.
“What?”
Zelda let out a single, unimpressed mrrp.
“Yeah, yeah. I know,” Angela sighed, smiling to herself. “He’s cute anyway.”
—
The café Damien had promised wasn’t far: a sunlit corner place sandwiched between two other restaurants. The smell hit Angela first. Butter, espresso, and something sweet that made her stomach growl. They found a small table by the window, the late morning light pooling over the wood. “This is… cozy,” Angela said, glancing around.
“Yeah, it’s my weekend spot,” Damien replied.
Angela laughed as she took the menu, though her attention snagged when a server passed by with a tray of pastries. “Oh my god, is that the croissant you were talking about?”
“The very one,” Damien said, grinning. “Told you they’d ruin you for life.”
Minutes later, their order arrived: an iced coffee, orange juice, and two plates with flaky, golden pastries oozing with cream and fruit. Angela didn’t even wait for grace or politeness; she tore off a piece, popped it in her mouth, and made a sound that could only be described as indecent.
“Mmph—oh my god—that’s—” She caught herself mid-sentence, but not before another muffled moan escaped.
Damien froze with his pastry halfway to his mouth. “...Yeah, they’re, uh… they’re good,” he managed, looking anywhere but at her.
Angela opened her eyes, blinking at him. “What?”
“Nothing. Just—” He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “You really like the croissant, huh?”
“Yes! It’s amazing!” she said, oblivious to his struggle. “You weren’t kidding. I think I saw God for a second. I’d stick this in my mouth anytime—.”
Angela finally turned to him. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t think before speaking there, did I?”
“I, uh…,” he muttered, stabbing a piece of pastry.
Angela caught on then. The flush on his cheeks, the way he was pretending to study the menu even though their food had already arrived. A slow smile tugged at her lips.
“Are you blushing?” she said, tone low.
He didn’t respond. Didn’t really need to. He was so pale, the redness stood out.
“Damien Haas, so beside himself after a G-rated night with me. How adorable,” she said teasingly.
He huffed out a laugh, still dissecting his pastry, like it held the universe’s secrets. “I thought we were keeping things G-rated until at least after coffee.”
She laughed, a bright, unguarded sound that drew a glance from the next table over. “Sorry. I uh… I’ll try to keep it down.”
Damien looked at her through his lashes. “Ooookay. Anyway, do you mind if we swing by the grocery store for a bit? As much as these outings are fun, I’d like to actually cook for you.”
Angela didn’t miss how he tried to quickly change the topic of conversation. She couldn’t really blame him.
—
Angela had no idea that going to the grocery store to buy things for German-fusion tacos would make her think this much. Think about how domestic it feels. How idyllic. Like if her weekends consisted of her and Damien going through aisles to buy things for a life that is theirs, it didn’t look so bad. She had to shake her head to agitate the daydream away because it’s still too much, too soon.
Damien, going through different types of mustards, glanced at her. “You good?”
“Yep. Don’t mind me. I guess I’m more tired than I thought,” she said.
“Okay. We’ll make it quick here. I promise.”
But Angela couldn’t help herself. She had to say something. “Actually, no. Don’t rush. I just… Does this feel a little… fast to you?”
Damien narrowed his eyes on her. “I don’t know if you think 12:30 is too early to buy stuff for dinner or that’s a jab at how slowly I go through mustard bottles.”
“If I’m being honest, you’ve been crouched and holding those two bottles for a solid two minutes now and that’s just too long. But that’s not my point,” she exhaled. “Are we going too fast? Should we have done the whole getting to know each other thing again? I mean, Damien, it has been ten years. Who knows if you still like me?”
Angela continued as Damien abandoned the bottles and fully turned to her.
“I didn’t do the shit I told you I’d do, aside from pursuing the theater thing, I guess. But I didn’t go to UCLA. I never stayed in California. I can be an absolute slob—ask Chanse and Amanda—it’s been ten years!”
Damien put a hand on each of her shoulders as he took a deep breath. “Didn’t think grocery shopping would trigger an existential crisis, but here we are. I guess we’re doing this in the condiments aisle…”
“Bug, it’s been ten years and you’re still worried that people who love you will bolt at the littlest of things. And I guess that’s kinda my fault, but you can’t spook me off that easily now,” he said. “I love you. Every version of you. Even the ones I don’t know about.”
An “aww” came from behind Damien. They both looked to the direction of the noise to find a young grocery worker covering her mouth next to a box of restock items.
“Sorry,” the girl said. “I didn’t mean to…”
“No, no. That was on me spiraling in the middle of a grocery run. We’ll just go,” Angela said, already walking away.
Damien hesitated, “But the—”
“Get your mustard and let’s go,” Angela sighed.
Damien barely kept up with Angela as she sped through checkout and basically powerwalked to his car. As soon as it was unlocked, she hopped onto the shotgun seat and just sat there, hands covering her eyes. Damien loaded everything into the trunk—good thing they didn’t have a cart to return—and walked to the passenger side.
She startled when he knocked on the window, but she rolled it down anyway.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have had a meltdown,” she started.
“Bug, stop apologizing. I’m more than okay with you telling me how you feel. That’s how this works. It was a valid concern. One we probably shouldn’t have discussed in a public place, but we could talk about it now. I think I already said my piece back there, but is there anything else on your mind?”
“Not really. I just wish I wasn’t this anxious. Since we saw each other again, you’ve been too kind… I’m a mess.”
“Hey, I happen to love this mess,” he said, caressing her cheek. “If being with you means I get to tell you every day how much I love you, I’d take that. Always. It’s my favorite thing to do now.”
Angela groaned as she touched his arm. “God, how do you say the sweetest things?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. Ten years of suppressed emotions?”
Angela couldn’t stop the giggle as it spilled out of her. “If you must know, I do love every version of you, too. Can’t believe all it took was me flying here for all this to align in favor of us.”
“Yeah. One hell of an expensive dating app, if you ask me,” he smirked.
Dork. Her dork.
—
“Oh, I just remembered,” Damien said as they pulled up to his house. “You should open the glove compartment. There’s something for you there. Been keeping it there for a while.”
He didn’t wait for her to move. He just killed the engine, got out, and started unloading the groceries. “I’ll be back for the other bag. Easier to do two trips. The girls tend to trip me when I’m holding bags. Just stay there,” he called out as he walked into the house with the first batch of things they bought.
A little bewildered, Angela did as she was asked, opening the glove compartment.
Inside, among his license and some papers, is a small rectangular leather box with her name on it. It looked old, like it had been lugged around and gathered dust from space to space. Angela cautiously opened the box and found a bracelet. Golden chain with a single ladybug pendant. Sturdy. Elegant. Definitely prettier than the arcade bracelet from a decade ago.
A new bracelet? She already had one. She kept it all these years. What’s this all about now?
The answer came in the form of a note written on yellowed paper, in Damien’s handwriting.
Curious, she unfolded the note and found it was dated 8 years prior, a little before the summer after she graduated high school.
-
Angela,
Congrats on UCLA! Always knew you would make it.
I guess I’m being presumptuous. Not really sure if you are still coming to UCLA by the time you get this, but you used to talk about it a lot. So I hope you made it happen. I’m too scared to ask Shayne, so all I can really do is hope.
I got this part-time job at a leatherworking place and figured I owe you an upgrade. The first one wasn’t exactly quality craftsmanship, so I saved up a little cash and got this custom-made. It seemed right for you to have it. I also owe you an explanation. In person. Not from thousands of miles away. And I totally understand if you don’t want either of those things.
I was an ass. It’s been almost two years and I still wish for another chance. For me to make things right. Actually right. Not just me playing hero.
Shayne just flew back to Georgia for your high school graduation. I wanted to come with. Mom wanted me to come with him. But I’m not really sure if you wanted me there.
I guess I am still being a coward by waiting for you to come here instead. But the timing never felt right. To come back. To explain myself. Now, it just seems too late. But I love you. That hasn’t really changed these past two years.
I’ll keep on holding out hope our story isn’t over. I refuse to believe it’s over.
Hopefully, one day, we’ll see each other again and I can be deserving enough to give you this bracelet. I’ll make it right this time, if you’ll let me. I really hope you’d let me.
- Damien
-
My god, two years after everything? Eight years ago? They could’ve saved themselves years of hurt if she had gone to UCLA? This could’ve gone relatively well for them if she'd gone to UCLA? If she moved to California?
He kept this bracelet with him the entire time, even when she had lost contact with him and it seemed too optimistic to think their story could still move forward. He held onto this in hopes it wasn’t over. She was here worrying so much about his feelings changing when he talks exactly like the boy who wrote the note. Trying to make things right, but not sure how to. Believing she’d come back into his life.
How did she get so lucky to deserve something like this? A decade of yearning for him when he had been doing so in equal measure for the same amount of time. With happy tears prickling her eyes, Angela rushed to unbuckle her seatbelt and get out of the car.
She was about to go through the front door when it opened and out came Damien.
“Oh, hey. Did you see the bracelet? It had been rotting there for like— why do you look like you’re about to cry?” he said.
Was she? Angela had no idea. She was too touched to even think about what she looked like. So she stood there, grinning as she felt the world narrow around her and Damien.
A beat later, he added. “Oh wait. The note. I completely forgot about the note. What did I say there? Was I being—”
Angela didn’t let him finish what he was about to say. She grabbed him by the collar and let their lips collide. It didn’t even feel tender anymore. Only desperate. A raw sense of hunger that she feels with him and him alone. A heat only they can produce.
“I love you. so. much.” she said in between kisses, her teeth clashing with his.
Damien returned each kiss, trying to catch up with her intensity. He obviously wanted to say something, but Angela kept catching his lips in between hers so he stopped whatever it was he was thinking about. Angela walked him back, their lips still connected as he collided with the front door. Groaning, his one hand threaded through her hair, the other travelling dangerously down her torso.
But then, Damien pulled away, panting. She was about to scream at him when she noticed him fumble with his pocket for his car keys.
“Just a sec, I swear,” he gulped, squeezing her waist as he pressed a button on the fob. The car locked with a loud beep, and his full attention was quickly returned to her.
“Sorry, nothing sexy about getting robbed… Now, where were we?” Damien dove right back in, grabbing her and holding her closer. Angela moaned at the restored contact, more than happy to return his kisses.
Everything that came after happened too fast; Angela wasn’t so sure they happened.
Their lips barely separating as they walked into the house. Damien lifting her up and pressing her up against the door as soon as it clicked shut. Her letting out an uncharacteristic mewl as his mouth moved to her face, her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. Tipping her head back to give him better access. Nearly tripping as they went up the stairs. Fumbling with their clothes before they even got into the bedroom.
I’ve had sex with other people before. It never felt this electric. Never felt this hot, Angela thought to herself as slipped off her shirt.
The rest of the world disappeared, clothes became a blur, and soon there was nothing left between them but ten years of tension unraveling all at once.
—
Later, the room was quiet again, save for their uneven breathing. Angela lay sprawled across his chest, sheets tangled around them. Damien’s hand traced lazy patterns along her back, grounding and tender. She looked up at him as she finally managed to catch her breath. “I still have the old bracelet. I kept it in my jewelry box all these years.”
“You did?” he asked, meeting her eyes. “I mean, that old thing is probably rusty as hell. Plus, with the history, I figured you had thrown it away by now.”
“I kept it. It didn’t feel right to throw it away,” she said. “Though… Do you remember where the new one is? I’m sure I still had it with me when we got through the front door.”
“I think by the windowsill near the stairs. You were trying to take your shoe off and had to put it down somewhere.”
“Okay, uhm, I think I should get it. Doesn’t feel right not to—”
Angela was already moving to get up, but Damien tightened his hold on her. “Do it later,” he grumbled. “We've got all the time in the world. We’re comfy here.”
What a novel concept, Angela thought. To not race against time with Damien. To not have to steal it. To simply have it.
“Of course,” she chuckled. “Of course, we do.”
Chapter 21: Lucky to Have You
Chapter Text
Angela was curled on Damien’s couch, Zelda sprawled across her lap, while Freyja kneaded the blanket beside her. The cats, but more particularly Zelda, had made her their human for the past 24 hours, refusing to leave her alone for more than a few minutes at a time. She had grown used to the soft weight of them, the low purrs like background music.
Her phone buzzed. Chanse.
“You’re up for a night out, right?” his voice rang through the speaker, bright as always. “We’ll pick you up from your brother’s house in a bit.”
Angela bit her lip, smiling. “I’m not at Shayne’s house.”
“Hotel?”
Before she could answer, a small, plaintive meow echoed through the line.
There was a pause. Then Chanse: “...Was that one of Damien’s cats?”
Angela smirked even though he couldn’t see it. “Maybe.”
The sound of Chanse’s gasp was followed by Amanda yelling in the background: “I really hope you’ve got party clothes in there because WE’RE COMING OVER!”
Angela had no choice. Ten minutes later, Amanda and Chanse were standing in Damien’s doorway, practically buzzing with the smug energy of people who knew they were right all along. Zelda and Freyja greeted them with suspicious stares. Damien, meanwhile, barely managed a “hey” before they’d latched onto Angela, pulled her up from the couch, shoved her into a room to get ready, and whisked her out the door.
Angela sat in the backseat of the rental car Chanse and Amanda got for their stay, trying not to shrink into herself. Amanda, however, kept glancing at her with a grin that screamed mischief.
Finally, Amanda blurted. “Are we seriously not gonna talk about the bruised jaw? Because I am dying over here.”
“Yeah,” Chanse seconded from his spot on the wheel. “Also, we avoided talking about the guy for years. You spend a few days with him and suddenly we’re back to the heart eyes.”
“I do not—”
“Honey, you do,” Amanda interjected. “Now, are you gonna tell us what happened?”
The fact that her two best friends had no idea about everything that had happened over the past few days was a miracle in and of itself. She owed them the tea. So she told them everything.
She recalled seeing Damien again for the first time and the tense car ride to deal with the flower fiasco. She narrated bailing on the family lunch, the karaoke bar, and the confrontation that came after. She stumbled through Shayne punching Damien, hoping she could simply erase the memory from her head.
“I mean we told you before, especially when you decided to go to NYU, you had to tell Shayne. Maybe he wouldn’t have felt blindsided. Besides, knowing the guy, he probably would’ve found a way to get you two together again,” Amanda said, craning her neck from the passenger seat. “Would have saved you and Damien years of lost time.”
“True! But it’s good now, right?” Chanse inquired. “Am I a terrible person if I kinda wish we were here for the drama? Like, come on, how did you not think that remark about doing things for your brother meant something?”
“I dunno. I was confused. I was a little hungry, too. Maybe I was angry.”
“That too! You can’t still be angry after that long and not have feelings of any sort. Girlie, we raised you better than this. The hints were all there. You never really moved on from him.” Amanda rolled her eyes. “You really are helpless without us.
Angela shrugged. “Helpless? I’m with him now. I can’t be that helpless. Besides, I don’t care. What matters is now. We’re happy now. I’ll focus on that.”
Chanse glanced at Angela through the rearview mirror, smirking now. “Speaking of happy…how was it?”
Angela blinked. “How was what?”
Chanse didn’t even give her time. “Girl, that decade-long tension needed somewhere to go.”
Angela sputtered, choking on air. “What?! I—”
“Oh, come on,” Amanda groaned. “You’re glowing. I feel like we’re riding with a lamp!”
Angela turned her head to the window, cheeks flaming. “I’m not talking to either of you.”
“Tell that to the hickey on your neck.”
Angela’s eyes widened, her hand snapping to her neck.
“Gotcha,” Chanse laughed. “You’re all clear. But I’m happy for you, knowing that there could’ve been a mark.”
Okay. Good. No marks.
But there really could’ve been marks. Damien didn’t hold back last night. Or maybe he did, in the best way possible.
All of a sudden, Angela’s mind betrayed her. It replayed flashes of the night before.
Damien mumbling “I love you” against her ear as his hands threaded through hers, tugging her hair gently, coaxing tiny bits of laughter out of her even as she was flushed and trembling under his touch. She remembered clawing at his back as he growled, “So fucking gorgeous” against her skin, overwhelmed by everything but wanting more.
“Shhh… I waited ten years for this. Let me savor it,” he whispered when she told him to move faster. It hadn’t just been sex—it had been giddy, intimate, and tender, all at once.
She’d felt wanted and cherished, like every second was both grounding and dizzying. She felt worshipped by someone she worshipped in equal measure. The term “making love” finally made sense.
Angela recalled waking up that morning and finding that the new bracelet was behind the lamp on his nightstand. She put it on and stumbled into the bathroom with nothing but the bracelet, Damien still dreaming away in bed.
She looked intently in the mirror as the woman there stared back at her, beaming as she started to believe Damien’s words when he said she looked gorgeous. Because she did. She had the biggest grin gracing her face, hair a mess, and skin tingling. She guffawed as reality sank in. His touch was the one her skin recognized as home.
A giggle slipped out of her before she could stop it.
Amanda caught it instantly. “Oh my god. That good?”
Angela pursed her lips, putting a stop to her wildly running imagination. She couldn’t wait to come home to Damien again that night.
—
If Angela learnt anything from nightlife in Los Angeles, it was that it is nothing compared to New York City nightlife. Given the distance between places, it was practically impossible to go club hopping. They had to settle with one place that had some music, but not loud enough that they couldn’t hear each other.
So the night ended as their nights always seemed to, at a noisy bar with sticky floors and neon lights. Angela wasn’t sure how many drinks she’d had, only that the martini in her hand wasn’t her first. Or her third. She was warm, buzzing, and unsteady.
Chanse had to snatch her phone out of her hands more than a couple of times because she had constantly been on the verge of dialing Damien’s number. “My god, you started dating the guy four days ago and you can’t even be separated from him for a couple of hours,” he rolled his eyes.
Angela pouted until she was given her phone back.
“I’m happy for you Ang, but pump the brakes a bit. You’re not exactly the clingy type,” he added.
But maybe she was. Ever since their first kiss in 10 years, every moment that she wasn’t around Damien’s presence felt suffocating. Or maybe it’s just the inevitable doom of having to do long distance again, with a lot more at stake.
New York. She had to go back to New York. The subway. The constantly blaring sirens. The endless tourists. The constant hustling and bustling.
Angela’s hand drifted to the ladybug bracelet on her wrist and suddenly, she was sobbing, doing her best to keep her glass upright with her shoulders shaking.
“I don’t think I can go back to New York,” she cried.
“Well, mission accomplished, Shayne Topp. Your sister doesn’t want to leave,” Amanda sing-songed. “What’s this really about, babe? As far as we know, you love it in New York.”
“I don’t know…” Angela wavered, wiping at her face as tears kept falling. Then, she planted herself onto the bar’s sticky floor and put her head in her hands. “I… I wasn’t even…”
“Ang, get up. You’re mumbling. Are you okay?” Amanda asked.
“That’s it. We’re getting out of here,” Chanse told Amanda.
Slipping away from the noise, Angela was pulled up and out of the bar by her two friends and plopped on a spot on the curb outside.
“Angela, what the hell is up with you? You’re not a crying drunk. We were expecting you’d be bouncing off the walls by now. Not bawling your eyes out,” Chanse probed, getting more and more concerned by the minute.
“I wasn’t supposed to go to New York,” Angela finally let out, still sobbing.
“Yep, babe, we know that. But life happens and all that. Something is upsetting you and at this point, we’re more concerned about what got you out of your good mood. Go back to missing your boyfriend or something,” Amanda explained.
“I could’ve…Maybe I shouldn’t have hidden it,” Angela said, standing up, or at least trying to until she stumbled over her own two feet.
Angela almost face-planted on the pavement if Chanse hadn’t caught her. “Whoa there! Sit down, Ang. What do you mean you hid it? What’s it?”
She peeked at Chanse, eyes glassy, “Cali-fucking-fornia.”
“Yeah. It’s your first time here, right? We should be having fun. We were having such a nice time, weren’t we?”
“I shouldn’t have done it. I should’ve shown the thing to my mom or Shayne or… maybe they would’ve talked me out of it.”
“You what? Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?” Chanse asked Amanda.
“No. She keeps trailing off or whatever. Angela, what’s happening?”
Angela’s shoulders slumped and she stared into nothingness. “I miss Damien,” she frowned.
“I guess… that’s more like it? Amanda, I think we need to call it a night. She’s obviously upset about something and keeps going on tangents.”
“Guess so.” Amanda reached into Angela’s purse and pulled out her phone. “We’re calling Damien, okay? You better stay upright until he gets here.”
Angela grumbled, leaning into Chanse’s shoulder as Amanda found Damien’s contact.
A second later, Amanda was talking into the phone, “Hey… Hey, Damien… Yeah, it’s Amanda—what the fuck—”
Angela snatched the phone clean off of her friend’s hand, “I miss you, honey.”
“Honey?” Damien’s voice echoed through the phone at the same time Chanse and Amanda repeated the word after her.
Angela didn’t hear any of them. “I miss you so much. I wanna see you right now.”
Damien chuckled softly. “Yeah, you’ve been drinking. Where are you?”
“Where are we?”
Amanda called out the name of the bar, more to the phone than to Angela.
“Did you get that? Because I didn’t.”
He laughed again, trying to keep her talking as she heard the sound of his cabinet opening and closing, followed by the jingle of keys. “Okay. Just stay on the phone with me, Bug. What’s this about honey? You just randomly wanna call me that?”
“No,” she giggled.
Angela then went on babbling nonstop. “Saw you grab like a spoonful of honey earlier. Is that for your voice? Ooh, speaking of which, your voice is like honey. So, so prettyyyy. Do you like honey? You must be a bee. I like bees. Bees are cute. Better than birds. I hate birds. I hate feathers. They scare me. Do you like birds? Wait–no, you like birds. Oh no…,” her head hit her hands again as the world spun.
Damien laughed from the other end of the line. Count on her to send herself into a spiral.
Drunk Angela, as it turned out, was a fountain of topics.
Her curiosity about Sagittarius men (“Do you, like, feel more Sagittari-y when the moon’s in retro-whatever? What does that even mean? Big balls?”). The last part made Chanse sputter as he reprimanded her with his signature “Angelaaaa.”
Her desire to one day adopt a small dog (“So small. Smaller than Freyja! Imagine them together! Oh my god, I’d die.”). Her apartment building not allowing dogs (“It’s one teenie tiny dog. How harmful could one dog be?”)
Her love for pancakes (“They’re like cakes, but for breakfast! What do you think the dessert version of scrambled eggs is? Like, you know, when a muffin is a breakfast cupcake!”)
“You see! This, I was expecting.” Chanse told Amanda. “Drunk Chatterbox Angela is fun. We must’ve gotten the dosage wrong earlier.”
Angela just went on with her rambling. “Anyway, you’re like a bee. Maybe I should call you my bee, you know? Have you buzz around or something bzzz…bzzz…bzzz…bzzz.”
“Oh, great, now she’s vibrating like a fucking phone. Where was this Angela when we were looking for a party?” Chanse added, annoyed that his evening was being cut short.
Once more, Angela ignored him, choosing to focus on Damien and their call. “Bees are weird. Did you know they do a little dance? You should do a little dance—”
—
DAMIEN
By the time Damien had arrived, Angela was still holding her phone to her ear, still talking with her head down, not really aware Damien was standing directly in front of her.
“I was walking around one time and then I heard this weird animal noise. I’m not really sure if it’s an animal, actually, but it went something like this: krooo-krooo-krooo.”
“Ang, Damien’s here,” Amanda tried interrupting, but Angela didn’t look up.
“You know what? Why not? Let’s go to the zoo! I bet you’d stare at everything while I don’t know what the fuck anything is,” she babbled on, head down.
“Angela!” Chanse chastised, causing Angela to finally look up from her stupor.
Her face lit with drunken recognition. “Gotta go, a hot guy’s picking me up,” she said into the phone and hung up.
Amanda and Chanse absolutely lost it; they didn’t even bother hiding their laughter. Damien could only shake his head, crouching to help Angela up. “Alright, Bug. Let’s get you home.”
Together, the three of them got Angela settled in Damien’s car. She was babbling again, telling him how much she liked Damien’s face and how Zelda and Freyja loved her more than him.
Once she was safely seated, Chanse grabbed Damien’s arm before he rounded the car to the driver’s seat. “She’s upset about something. Won’t really tell us what it was. Just sounded wistful and shit. You didn’t get into some argument already, did you?”
“What? No. What’s this about?”
“Something about her not being supposed to go to New York or whatever? Right?” Amanda answered, turning to Chanse to verify she got it right.
Chanse nodded, making sure Angela was fastened securely to her seat. “Maybe talk to her once she’s sober. I’m not really sure what triggered her crying, but she was crying at some point before we called you.”
“Sure, sure. Thanks, guys. And sorry you had to babysit her.”
“We’ve been doing that for years, bee-boy. We’re just happy she’s off our hands now,” Amanda joked.
Damien waved goodbye to them as he drove off, noticing Amanda and Chanse actually walked back into the bar as he drove out of the parking lot. Angela had been pretty much out of it for the entirety of the drive and only started muttering again once he’d pulled up to his house.
“Bug. We’re here,” Damien crooned, noticing she was moving. “Want me to carry you in?”
Angela grumbled something unintelligible, serving as Damien’s cue that she was in no shape to walk into the house, much less climb up the stairs to his bedroom. So he carried her in bridal style while she kept on mumbling under her breath. For a second, when they crossed the threshold, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d get to carry her across the threshold in a different, happier occasion. For another time, he thought as he bounded up the stairs with her in his arms. Good practice, though.
—
ANGELA
Angela cracked one eye open, a little more lucid, to find Damien tucking her into bed. It was still dark out and she was still in the clothes she had worn out. “Wha—How did I…?”
“Shh… get some rest,” he said, then looked at her as if noticing her words came out less slurred. “Unless you wanna talk about what was upsetting you? Chanse mentioned you cried at one point. I figured from how worried he got, you’re not a crying drunk. So…”
“I don’t wanna talk right now. Cuddle with me,” Angela pouted despite herself.
“Oh. I’m not… You’re getting pretty handsy, Bug. This is like the fourth time I’ve tried putting you to bed. You keep jumping me. We can cuddle once you’re out cold.”
“But I don’t wanna be away from you… I’m going back to New York in a few days and… Fuck–I think I need water,” Angela groaned as the world spun around her.
Damien sighed and started walking to the door. “Fine. I’m getting you water and then you’re going to sleep, okay? We can talk in the morning, if you feel like it.”
Talk. Angela wasn’t so sure she knew you to start broaching the subject with Damien. It had started with missing him at the bar and then realizing her flight back to New York was drawing near. It was Monday evening and her flight back alongside Chanse and Amanda was on Wednesday. Only one full day left and she’d be miles away from Los Angeles again.
A week later, she would’ve celebrated the thought of leaving LA. But now, she wanted to savor as much of her time there as humanly possible. Maybe even reconsider leaving.
The idea of doing long distance with Damien had Angela’s mind running wildly. He’d already eased her worries about history repeating itself. But as soon as she saw the bracelet, she remembered Damien’s note, the note that said he was planning on mending bridges two years out of them going separate ways. She remembered how much time they lost to simply keeping distances and never talking. She remembered the decisions she made that prolonged both of their suffering.
When Angela got her acceptance letter to NYU, she felt nothing. She had opened that door because even the thought of California made her want to curl up into a ball. When she confirmed her slot with them, it did not feel like a win. It only felt like running.
Angela laughed humorlessly at the irony of it all. Their story was riddled by opportunities that could’ve been fixed if time had been on their side. Falling in love during the summer before they went in two different directions. Stealing time in the night while the beach house slumbered. Believing that staying together then would have hurt in due time. Not finding the right timing to reconnect for a full decade.
She was apparently just as much a fan of self-sabotage as the man taking care of her right now.
Damien had just opened the bedroom door with her water when she found the words.
“I got into UCLA.”
She sighed.
“I got into UCLA, but I told everyone I got rejected because I didn’t wanna see you. I backed out because I couldn’t bear coming to California when California took you from me.”
He paused, eyebrows quirked up. Despite her vision dancing, Angela knew she had to get the words out before she lost the chance. She lost eight additional years with Damien. If only she hadn’t been too angry to set foot in California. She was just as much to blame for how badly things had gone sideways. If only she hadn’t let emotions get the best of her.
Angela breathed out as she felt Damien falter by the door. “I could’ve gotten here sooner. We could’ve saved ourselves years of hurt, Damien. I feel terrible. I’m sorry.”
Her next breath came with tears and Damien was next to her in a flash. “Hey. No. Angela. No.” He wiped at her tears. “It doesn’t matter, Bug. We’re here now, right? We’re together now. That’s what counts.”
“But—”
“No buts. Look, I have a feeling you want to actually remember having this conversation, so just sleep and we can discuss this in the morning.”
He was up and out the door before she could protest. And she passed out quickly enough.
—
Come morning, Angela woke to the sharpest headache of her life. Her skull felt like it had been stuffed with maracas and shaken by an overenthusiastic street performer. She groaned, burying her face deeper into the pillow, only to realize the pillow smelled faintly of cedar and laundry detergent she didn’t recognize.
Damien’s bed.
Her suspicion was confirmed when the mattress dipped and a familiar voice, infuriatingly cheerful, said, “Good morning, sunshine.”
Angela cracked one eye open. Damien was perched on the edge of the bed, grinning at her in a way that suggested she’d done something very, very embarrassing. Which, given the fragments she remembered from last night, was probably true.
“Kill me,” she muttered into the pillow.
“Nah, can’t do that. You still owe me an explanation about why I’m apparently a bumblebee.”
She groaned louder, dragging the blanket over her head. “Stop talking.”
“Oh no,” Damien said, far too delighted, putting on a news anchor voice. “And now, for your Monday morning news…Do you want the list? Because I wrote it down.”
Angela flopped back with a groan. “You’re evil.”
Damien leaned closer, his grin widening. “Let’s see… First, you told me to come get you right now and called me honey. Said something about how my voice is pretty—I’m flattered, by the way. Then you went on a whole tangent about birds. For your info, yes, I love birds. Pigeons, specifically. I also make friends with crows. Please don’t fight Edgar Allan Crow when he visits. He’ll remember you.”
“Why would I ask you about birds?” Angela mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow.
“I dunno either, but you did…Anyway, you declared you were going to adopt a chihuahua and kill your landlord so nobody could kick you out for having a chihuahua. And then you tried to convince me that I’m a bee. Again. Something about eating honey and buzzing around? You were very passionate.”
She buried her face deeper. “I hate myself.”
He chuckled, reaching out to rub her arm soothingly. “Don’t. It was adorable. Drunk you is very… creative.”
Angela risked a glance at him, cheeks flaming. “Please tell me I didn’t—”
“You tried to kiss me about a dozen times,” Damien said, cutting her off with obvious delight. “Not that I was complaining, but you were drunk out of your mind, Bug.”
Angela winced. “Oh my god,” she grumbled, silently wishing Tuesday came sooner so she could finally hop on a plane back to New York.
“And then…”
“And then…?” Her voice came out muffled from between the sheets.
“You talked about getting into UCLA,” Damien’s voice softened. “You said you feel terrible that you could have gone to California sooner. That we, and I quote, ‘could’ve saved ourselves years of hurt’. You know that’s not necessary to dwell on now, Bug. We don’t need more of that.”
Her impassioned speech from the night before came to Angela like a wave.
“I’m sorry. It’s stupid,” she said.
“No. Don’t apologize. God—Bug, dwelling on what-ifs is what got us in trouble the last time. I need you to keep in mind that every stupid decision we made led to us being together now. Sure, it hurt like hell, but that’s a win in my book. You’re happy here now with me, right?”
“We could’ve made each other happier for much longer,” Angela’s voice quavered.
“I’m sure the rest of our lives can make up for that,” he smiled.
The rest of their lives sounded nice. But it sounded nicer coming from him. It was stupidly easy to imagine it with him. Waking up in his arms, the cats padding across the hardwood floor, and them dancing barefoot in the kitchen as they made tacos. Her mind conjured every domestic scenario it could possibly muster until her head throbbed again.
“Ughhh. I feel like I’m dying. I’m never drinking again,” she grumbled.
“I think it’s safe to bet that you’ve said that before,” he teased as he reached for the nightstand and offered her pills and water.
“You’re a godsend. I love you,” she sighed, taking the items from him.
“I love you, too. Now let me draw the curtains and play really loud music…”
Her hand went straight to cover his face, immediately shutting him up.
“Why do your fingers smell like pizza?”
—
The morning of Angela’s flight came too quickly. The days after the wedding had blurred together into one giddy, happy ball. But now, the suitcase by the door was zipped shut, and the reality of leaving hung in the air heavier than she wanted to admit.
Damien carried her bag down to the car while Angela gave Zelda and Freyja their last scratches behind the ears. “Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered to the cats. “I’ll be back. Promise.” Freyja gave her a halfhearted meow as if to argue, while Zelda promptly flopped on her side like she’d been betrayed.
The drive to the airport was silent at first, the city sliding past the windows. Angela sat in the passenger seat, hands folded in her lap, staring at the bracelet Damien had given her. The golden ladybug caught the light with every movement.
“You’re too quiet,” Damien finally said, glancing over at her.
“I’m thinking,” Angela replied.
“About?”
“About how I hate leaving,” she admitted, her voice smaller than she intended. “Please tell me not to leave.”
“Nope. We're not doing that. You love it in New York, right?” Damien reached over, threading his fingers through hers, and gave her hand a squeeze without taking his eyes off the road. “It’s not forever, Bug. We’ll figure it out. Flights, FaceTime, surprise visits. We’ve already done the hard part with ten years of pretending. This? This is the easy part.”
Angela let out a shaky laugh. “Funny, easy doesn’t feel like the word right now.”
At the terminal, Amanda and Chanse were already waiting with coffees in hand, waving Angela over the second they saw her.
“Finally! Thought you were gonna ditch us and stay here,” Amanda teased, handing her one of the cups.
Angela tried to smile, but Damien standing a few steps behind her made it harder to play along.
“You ready?” Chanse asked, already checking the flight status on his phone.
“Not really,” Angela murmured.
Amanda glanced between Angela and Damien. “We’ll give you a sec… meet you at the gate,” she said gently, tugging Chanse along before he could argue.
That left Angela and Damien in the crowded terminal, the world buzzing around them while they stood still. Damien stuffed his hands in his pockets, his usual calm stretched thin. “So. This is it.”
“Just for now,” Angela said quickly, refusing to let the moment feel final.
He nodded, then pulled her into his arms. Angela pressed her face into his chest, memorizing the feel of him, the way his heartbeat steadied hers.
“I’ll miss you,” she whispered.
“Miss you more,” Damien murmured back. Then, with a faint chuckle: “But don’t worry. I’ll spam you with texts and pictures of the cats. You won’t have time to miss me too much.”
Angela laughed through the lump in her throat. “Better.” She grinned, then kissed him—quick, soft, but enough to anchor the promise between them.
Then, Chanse’s voice called from down the terminal: “Angela, let’s go!”
Angela exhaled, turning toward the gate. Damien caught her hand one last time, brushing his thumb over the bracelet he’d given her. “I’ll see you soon, Bug.”
She nodded. “Soon.” Then she let go and walked toward her friends, the weight of his gaze following her until she disappeared through the gate.
On the other side, Amanda looped her arm through Angela’s. “You good?”
Angela forced a smile. “Yeah. I’m alright.”
—
Hours later, Angela tugged her suitcase out of JFK’s sliding doors, the humid New York air hitting her full in the face like a reminder of where she belonged.
It was starting to get dark. Amanda and Chanse were already ahead, hailing a cab. They piled her things into the trunk and collapsed into the back seat together while Angela took the front passenger seat.
Amanda groaned as the cab pulled into traffic. “Didn’t realize the subway was that terrible until I had several days without it.”
Chanse scoffed. “Please. I didn't really overthink street hot dogs until I had other food for nearly a week.”
“Well,” Amanda said, smirking toward the front, “as Angela says, New York’s lucky to have us.”
Angela froze. The words hit her like a jolt because she hadn’t heard them in her own voice for a very long time.
They weren’t her words at all.
—
3 YEARS EARLIER
The apartment was dark except for the faint glow from her phone. Angela dropped her bag by the door and collapsed onto her bed, face pressed into the pillow, before the sobs started. She hadn’t wanted to cry. Rejections were part of the job, her coaches always said. But this one hurt. She had wanted that role. She had believed she was right for it.
She wanted to talk to somebody. Her eyes burned as she scrolled through her contacts, thumb hovering over Shayne’s name. But the thought of hearing his voice, smug and insistent, “Just move here, Angie! LA’s got everything you need!” made her stomach twist.
Their last fight still rang in her ears.
She had told her family NYU was her only option. Told them UCLA had rejected her. Safer that way, she’d thought. Safer to put miles between herself and Damien, safer to keep Shayne from pushing her westward into a world she wasn’t ready to face.
But then her Mom had unearthed the acceptance letter one day, proud as anything, calling Shayne and waving the letter around like a prize. Nobody told me she got into UCLA! Did she tell you about this?
Shayne called Angela that same day and he sounded like she’d slapped him.
“You lied to me? Why? What did I do wrong, Ang? What happened to Cali-fucking-fornia?”
It had spiraled from there. His voice wounded, hers defensive without telling the real reason she had forgone UCLA. By the end of it, she couldn’t stand to hear him anymore.
Now, lying on her bed with tears wetting the pillow, she wanted someone, anyone, but not her brother. Not her theater friends either, who’d just tell her to chin up and move on. She wanted comfort. Safety. Someone who believed in her.
Her scrolling thumb stopped on a name she hadn’t seen in years. Damien Haas.
Angela’s heart lurched. Seven years. No word. No calls. Not since the summer everything fell apart. Reaching out now was insane. What if he had someone? What if she unraveled everything she’d stitched herself back together from?
But her chest ached too much, her breath came too fast, and before she could talk herself out of it, her thumb pressed Call.
After three rings, the line clicked. A beat of silence. Then his voice, older, deeper, but achingly familiar: “...Angela?”
She broke instantly, a sob rattling down the line.
“Woah, hey—what happened?” Damien’s voice softened into instinctive concern. “Talk to me.”
The words tumbled out between shaky breaths: the audition, the rejection, how brutal New York felt, how she was second-guessing everything. She skipped the details of Shayne and the UCLA letter, trimming that wound into vague outlines, but the pain bled through all the same.
“I don’t know if I made a mistake coming here,” she whispered. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this city.”
“Angela,” Damien interrupted, firm but gentle, “what the hell are you talking about? You’re the most talented person I know. You walk onstage and the whole room leans in. You sing like your name—like an angel. You’re magic up there. Shayne said you’ve been working there, what, a year? If New York hated you, it would’ve spit you out from NYU alone.”
Her chest squeezed tighter. She wanted to believe him. Wanted it so badly.
“You don’t know that,” the you haven’t even talked to me in years was implied.
“I do know. Because you’re Angela fucking Giarratana and when you want something, you do everything in your power to make it happen. I don’t think that has ever changed,” he said.
Wow, where is he getting all this belief in me? Angela thought. Just as she was about to let go of that thought, it kept on going. The old him believed in you, too. Too much. To a fault.
Now, she’s just hurting at the memory of him. How is he? Does he still think of her as fondly as she does for him? Shayne showed photos of him with Damien sometimes and she knew every hair color change. Every new tattoo. And she missed him. God, she missed him.
“Sorry,” she whispered after a long silence. “I shouldn’t have called. This is weird. I’ll let you go.”
The same way I should’ve seven years ago.
“No, Ang—”
But she’d already pressed End Call.
Her fingers found the ladybug bracelet buried in her drawer, slipping it on for the first time in years. But it hurt to see it glinting on her wrist, hurt to think about what it meant. That night, she took it off and shoved it deep in the jewelry box, burying it under earrings and tangled chains, not really okay with throwing it away yet wanting to keep it as far away from her as possible.
Her phone pinged with a new message. From Damien.
-
Damien (7:39 pm)
New York doesn’t know it yet, but it’s lucky to have you.
-
Angela stared at it until the tears blurred the screen. She didn’t reply. She couldn’t.
But she never deleted it either.
—
The cab horn blared as a truck cut them off and Angela startled back to the present.
Angela forced a smile and looked at the buildings surrounding the cab, the city rising around them like it always had. Chaotic, merciless, impossible, and hers.
As the cab sped toward their apartment, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her old messages until she found it. The words glowed up at her. Her friends think it’s just a personal mantra. Something she came up with. But that encouragement had carried her through the worst nights in New York that even Chanse and Amanda caught on, saying the words, not knowing somebody else had said it first.
New York doesn’t know it yet, but it’s lucky to have you.
Damien said all of those uplifting things when, in hindsight, he clearly wanted her in California. The note made it clear. Keeping the bracelet now clasped on her wrist made it clear. But he knew she chose New York, so he decided to push his personal feelings aside to back her up on her choices.
They were so close to making it work and saving themselves a world of hurt. But now that Angela thought about it, it was probably for the best. Angela then wouldn’t have forgiven him.
When she graduated from high school, she truly wanted nothing to do with Damien. So she picked NYU. New York. Right now, all she could think about is how she made this life her own. It may have started with her running away, but it had taken a life of its own, sparked a fire in her that she didn’t know was dead or dying. It was hers.
Not her parents’. Not Shayne’s. Not Damien’s. Hers.
She’s glad she gets to keep it hers.
—
The elevator to their building was broken.
By the time the trio had gone up the stairs to their apartment on the sixth floor of the complex, Angela was already out of breath, lugging around a much bigger suitcase than her friends.
“Why the fuck did I do this to myself?” Angela muttered to herself as she lifted her luggage up the steps leading up to the hallway, while her roommates went ahead of her and rounded the corner with their much smaller suitcases.
“Oh my God,” Amanda gasped from the other end of the hall, where their apartment is located.
“What?” Angela called out as she finally got the thing rolling instead of carried.
“We can’t get in. Something’s… Blocking the door,” Chanse replied as Angela approached the turn, clearly seeing she was pissed off and exhausted at this point.
“What?! We were gone for a week. A few days, even! We’re on top of rent and—oh,” Angela’s rant faltered as she turned and saw what her friends were referring to.
A colorful arrangement of flowers was waiting for her by the door. Laid out in a dark, rounded box were yellow and green chrysanthemums, a few peach roses, a giant sunflower at the center, and yellow tulips. Angela couldn’t help but snicker when she saw the last one, as flashes of the florist fiasco sped through her mind.
The arrangement came with a small note, reading: Welcome home, Bug -D.
When could Damien have found the time to have this ordered and delivered? And how did he know her New York address? She didn’t really give him details. Which left her with two other options.
Turning to her roommates and best friends, she found that Amanda already had a finger pointed toward Chanse. “Not me,” she said.
“What? I like that he finally got his head out of his ass. Sue me for wanting to see Angela looking like this,” Chanse countered, non-apologetic.
Angela couldn’t really be mad. The flowers were beautiful and thoughtful. It was a great reminder that New York might not have been her first choice, but it still chose her.
“As much as I think they’re pretty, I really wanna lie down. Can we unlock the front door now?” Amanda asked with a knowing grin on her face.
Angela barely acknowledged them as she moved out of the way, still holding the flowers close to her body.
“You’re about to cry, my girl,” Chase teased, poking her at her side.
She only made an unintelligible noise as she waved her friend off and got into the apartment.
Chapter 22: Make a Wish
Notes:
Hi! Disclaimer: I don't claim to know a lick of Doom lore, so chances are I'd get some stuff wrong here.
That said, we're going back to the TSITP roots (a little bit) as this chapter slightly references a scene from Season 1 (Conrad and Belly dancing in 01x05) and another scene from Season 2 that Angela included in her TikTok ("He can't really dance, he just keeps jumping"). Like Doom, I don't claim to know much other than the TikTok vid Angela posted and the absolute turtle crawl I made of Season 1.
Most importantly, I don't claim to know anything about the Smosh cast's personal lives. This is all in good fun and more or less a story where characters just happen to be named Damien and Angela. It took a while to edit this chapter, but here ya go. •ᴗ•
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
ANGELA
A little over two months after Shayne and Courtney’s wedding, New York had fully swallowed Angela back into its rhythm. Her days blurred into rehearsals, callbacks, and late-night subway rides with her makeup still smudged on her cheeks. She’d landed two short-term projects. Enough to remind her she belonged in the city.
Still, there were moments when she’d come home to the apartment, drop her bag, and wish Damien were waiting there with his cats. Wish she could lean her head on his shoulder, hear him groan at her taste in TV shows, and feel him tuck a blanket around her when she inevitably fell asleep on the couch mid-conversation. Instead, she had a glowing rectangle. FaceTime, texts, emojis. And though it wasn’t nothing, it wasn’t enough.
On Damien’s end, LA was buzzing. His streams were thriving, his friends kept him busy with hangouts, and he’d picked up some voiceover work that had him in and out of studios.
He made a point to do a pitstop in New York when he had a project in Boston, but Angela’s day was packed then and all they managed to do was hang out at her apartment with Chanse and Amanda. Not that he was complaining, but there were days when the screen felt like a wall instead of a bridge.
That particular afternoon, Angela was sulking in the living room, curled up on the couch with her laptop open and a video call from Shayne echoing through the speakers. Amanda and Chanse were on the other side of the small room as Shayne’s voice filled the space above the movie they were watching.
“Damien’s been snippy today,” Shayne said, not really paying attention to the screen. “What did you do?”
Angela groaned. “Why does it have to be my fault?”
“Because I know Damien,” Shayne replied dryly, clearly making dinner, because Angela heard something sizzle on his end. “If he’s cranky, it’s because you lit the match.”
“It’s none of your business,” Angela grumbled.
“It kind of is my business when he didn’t even so much as snicker when I said the word ‘pepper.’”
Angela made a face. “Why would he—What’s pepper?”
“So…capsicum plant,” Shayne replied, only to be met by more confusion. “It’s kinda– oh, never mind, you won’t get it. Anyway, stop derailing the conversation. What happened?”
Amanda gave Angela a look like she already knew where this was going.
“Go on, bitch, we already told you this fight was stupid,” Chanse challenged, not even looking away from the TV that was playing some superhero movie Angela wasn’t familiar with.
“Okay, you see, stuff like that just makes me want to hear about it more. So let’s hear it. What happened?” Shayne asked.
Angela huffed. “Fine. He watched ahead on ‘Love is Blind.’ Without me.”
There was a pause. Then Shayne’s laugh boomed through the phone. “Wait—that’s it? You’re seriously wasting precious time with your long-distance boyfriend because he got excited about a reality show? A reality show you begged him to start watching with you in the first place?”
Angela’s cheeks flushed. “You don’t get it.”
“No, I think I do,” Shayne said, still wheezing a little. “You’re not mad about the show. You’re mad you can’t be in the same room with him. You’re letting dumb things blow up because of it.”
Amanda chimed in, grinning. “He’s right, you know. I don’t even know what you want to hear anymore. We’ve been poking fun at you all morning.”
“You love your drama, but this was… peak crazy,” Chanse added.
Angela grabbed a pillow and threw it at them both, groaning.
“What?! It is! Shayne, she hasn’t spoken with the guy since yesterday because of freaking ‘Love is Blind’. I’m all for hills to die on, but not on this one,” Chanse argued, leaning toward the laptop.
Angela pouted in response, still wearing the crease on her forehead. “That was our thing. I look forward to watching it with him every week,” she muttered.
“Good god, Ange, cut the guy some slack. You don’t even watch his, and I quote, ‘nerd shit,’ and he’s out here watching ‘Love is Blind’ because you wanted to watch it with him so bad.”
Angela picked at the hem of her shirt. “I don’t like your guys’ nerd shit.”
Shayne shrugged. “You don’t have to like it. Just see what everything’s about. You’re good at showing genuine interest in something you’re not really into. Remember when Spencer showed you and Amanda Resident Evil?”
“Ooh! I do! I do!” Amanda piped up. “That was sooooo fun. We should do that again.”
“Wasn’t fun for Spencer. You ruined Mrs. Agnew’s table, you woke up the house with your screaming, and there were goldfish crackers everywhere,” Chanse chortled.
“And you all just watched while Ang and I did the commentary for everyone.”
“The point of showing you Ressy was to spook you. We didn’t think you’d actually be so invested in the game.”
“The filthy ass house was spooky, sure,” Angela butted in.
“Glad to be everyone’s source of entertainment.” Amanda turned to Angela. “Can we do something like that when Damien comes over next?”
Shayne cut in, “He did seem jealous that Spencer was the one doing all the playing during that sleepover. Could be an idea.”
Angela sighed. “Yeah, sure. I’ll look into it. You do have a point, though…still gotta call Damien back or whatever… Gosh, this is stupid.”
“Good. You see it, too,” Shayne said emphatically, voice muffled from munching on something. Count on him to eat while he cooks. “Now talk to him about ‘Love is Blind’ or I’ll come to New York to shake some sense into you.”
That night, after hours of wrestling with her pride, Angela FaceTimed Damien. He picked up quickly, his face filling her phone screen. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She fiddled with the corner of her blanket. “I… might’ve acted a little crazy.”
His lips twitched into a small smile. “Might’ve?”
“Fine. I definitely acted crazy.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t about the show. Not really. It’s…sometimes this distance thing gets to me.”
Damien leaned back in his chair. “I get it. I’m sorry too. I should’ve realized how much watching together meant to you.”
“Still. It really was unreasonable for me to go nuclear.”
He chuckled. “You’re Angela. If there’s anything I expect of you, it’s big reactions. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he echoed, softer.
Eventually, Angela curled into her pillow, her screen still lit with Damien’s face. “I don’t wanna hang up yet,” she murmured, half-asleep.
“Then don’t,” he said. “I’ll be here.”
He always will be. And in a few days, he’ll mean it literally.
—
October first in New York was brisk and golden. And busy. For Angela, the day involved back-to-back shows that night. She didn’t even have enough time to appreciate the smell that came with the start of fall and the look of changing leaves against her tiny bedroom window.
She pulled on her boots and wrapped a black and white scarf around her neck before turning to her roommates, “Do I look okay?”
Amanda looked up from her pancakes as Chanse turned around, holding a steaming cup of coffee. There was a pause before Amanda replied, “Uhm, yes, babe. You look good.”
“You said that like something’s wrong.” Angela patted herself to check if everything was intact. “I don’t think I forgot anything.”
“Won’t hair and makeup deal with you anyway? Why’re you so concerned about appearances?” Chanse queried in between sips.
“I don’t know. I’m so antsy today, I don’t even know why,” Angela slung her bag over her shoulder.
The two exchanged glances. “Really? You don’t know?”
“What’s with that tone?” Angela turned to the mirror, fixing her hair and checking her face. “I totally forgot something. What is it?”
“You know what? Just go. You’re obviously anxious about these shows. We’ve got everything covered here,” Amanda waved her off.
Chanse was already walking to the door to shove her out. “Just text if you need anything. We’ll see you after the curtain call later.”
Angela didn’t even get to protest. She just walked away.
As soon as they heard the loud thump-thump-thump of Angela’s footsteps running down the stairs (the very ones that had caused noise complaints from neighbors), Chanse whispered to Amanda. “Did she seriously forget that today’s her birthday?”
—
DAMIEN
By the time Damien landed at JFK around 2:30 pm, Amanda and Chanse were ready.
“Are you sure she has no idea I’m coming?” Damien muttered as Amanda flagged down a cab.
“More than sure. She was too stressed out about the show tonight. If you didn’t tell us you were coming, we would’ve told her she scheduled something for her own birthday. I love her, but she is the most workaholic person I know,” Amanda said.
“Lucky for you, that leaves us with enough time to sneak you into the apartment before the show. Get you settled first,” Chanse added.
Damien rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling as he got into a cab with them.
—
12 YEARS EARLIER
Music floated through the tiny stereo in the Giarratana home’s kitchen at the same time hostile demon cries vibrated from the TV as Shayne and Damien played “Doom” in the living room.
“There! There! Get it!” Shayne shouted as a creature attacked Damien's character onscreen.
“I got it. I got it. Jeez, Cocayne, calm down,” Damien said. “It’s like playing Flip 7 with you all over again.”
The demon crumpled and both boys cheered, leaving a very frustrated Angela who could barely hear the words to her song. She walked into the living room, finding the boys still shooting away while the TV drowned out their own screams.
“Would you boys keep it down? I’m trying to practice,” she whined.
Shayne didn’t even look away from the screen, still pressing away at his controller. “Go practice in your room. We got here first.”
“My room doesn’t have a stereo.”
“Not our problem.”
“It is if you’re disturbing my practice time.”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
“Shut up!”
“Mom! Shayney’s being mean!”
“Mom’s not home, stupid!”
“I’m not going upstairs!”
“Yes, you are!”
Damien abruptly let go of his controller and let his character die.
“Hey!” Shayne complained, gesturing to the forgotten controller and the screen.
“That’s it. I’m done. Why do I always have to play referee with you two when Aunt Debbie isn’t around? I don’t even live here,” Damien said.
“Don’t ask me. She started it.” Shayne pointed at Angela.
“I was trying to practice! The school play is in five days. I want to get this right.”
Damien rolled his eyes, grabbed the remote to the TV, and turned the volume down before looking back at Angela. “There. Better?”
“Much,” she smiled.
Shayne gestured wildly again. “And what about me?”
“I didn’t turn the TV off, did I? Have at it. I don’t feel like playing anymore.”
He walked Angela back to the kitchen, taking a seat at one of the dining chairs. “Think you can continue practicing now, Bug?”
“Yeah, but I don’t really feel like showing anyone yet,” Angela whispered.
It’s not like Angela was looking to show off her dancing, but Damien noticed she had been struggling with stage fright and he figured some encouragement wouldn’t hurt. Asking her to demonstrate was just a good way to squeeze in the encouragement.
Other than that, he loved watching Angela, anyway. Ever since he discovered his crush on her last summer, he found out he loved watching her do anything. It was how he realized that her eyebrows always crease when she gets to a particularly interesting part of a book, how she is pretty much transported to a different dimension when she plays an instrument of any kind, or how she squints at a video game but doesn’t ask for glasses because she thinks her glasses make her look stupid. He’s pretty sure his mom caught on and it.
“That’s fine. How about we try something else first? Take my hand,” he told her.
“What’s this for?” she inquired, doing as she was asked.
“Warmup.”
Before Angela could react, Damien raised his hand to lead her into a twirl, causing her to yelp in surprise and giggle immediately after. “I don’t think twirling counts as a warmup.”
“It does. See? Now, you’re smiling. That counts. The enjoyment’s part of it.” Damien gave her hand a gentle squeeze and guided her into a slow step. “Just follow me. No pressure.”
Angela hesitated for a moment, then nodded. The music from the kitchen stereo shifted from the upbeat musical number to a twinkly, slower song, filling the small space as Damien felt Angela relax next to him. At least until Shayne let out a triumphant whoop from the living room.
“Gotcha!” he yelled.
Damien exchanged a glance with Angela before smirking. “Ignore him. He becomes a different person when he plays shooters. Focus on the steps.”
Angela laughed softly as Damien spun her around again. Damien had to fight the urge to smile too widely at how light she was on her feet. He could feel his heart galloping at the sight of her.
“Okay, now a little side step,” Damien instructed, demonstrating slowly.
“This one’s boring. I think we can make it a little fun.”
Damien was about to ask what she meant when she slid her arm under his so their elbows were hooked, then she bounced lightly on her feet. “Come on, Damien, jump around. Can’t be that hard,” she squealed.
Damien was helpless to her charms. He jumped along with her. The music from the stereo swelled and seemed louder now, carrying them into its beat. Angela hopped and stepped with him, turning slightly as they moved in a circle together.
Soon, they were laughing as their jumps became a little wild, a little clumsy, but perfectly in sync. “Careful!” Damien chuckled as they nearly bumped elbows too hard. “You’re right, this is more fun.”
Every misstep only made them laugh more, and Damien felt a warmth he hadn’t expected. This playful chaos, just the two of them, was exactly what he wanted.
“You’re really good at this,” she giggled, a little breathless, but still hopping along.
“Only because I’ve got a good partner,” Damien replied, his voice softer than he intended.
Angela’s cheeks turned pink. “I… I guess I’m not too bad.”
“Not too bad? You’re amazing,” he said, careful to keep it light. “You’ve always been amazing.”
—
The auditorium was nowhere near packed when the boys walked in with Damien’s mom and Aunt Debbie, but it quickly became crowded five minutes before showtime. Damien was beginning to feel overwhelmed by everything when the house lights went out.
“I think we can make a run for it,” Shayne whispered to him.
“Sit down,” Aunt Debbie scolded immediately. “Your sister’s about to go onstage and you’re not bailing just to play your stupid video games.”
“Pokemon isn’t stupid.”
“Sit. Down. And keep it down. This isn’t the Damien and Shayne show. This is Angela’s show.”
That shut Shayne up.
If he had to keep up appearances, Damien would’ve actually gotten up and bolted out the door with Shayne, but the truth was he didn’t want to leave. He wanted to watch Angela. It wasn’t like the show was anything fancy, only a small play by the eighth-graders. But he’d be more than happy to see her do whatever she pleases if it means he gets to see her smile.
And Angela smiled the widest when she was onstage.
Damien does not recall a single instance where he took his eyes off the stage, taking in every detail so he could properly tell Angela what he liked about her performance. He had to pretend he didn’t sense his mom’s eyes on him and how she shook her head affectionately as she whispered to Aunt Debbie, “I’m telling you, Deb, he caught it bigtime.”
Aunt Debbie shushed his mom, but even Damien could feel his mother’s best friend smiling.
—
12 YEARS LATER
Angela didn’t smile widely onstage anymore. Not because she didn’t love it. If anything, the inability to break that easily just showed she was deep into it.
“Stare harder and she might melt,” Amanda teased Damien in the darkness of the theater as Angela continued with her musical number under the bright lights.
She still hadn’t spotted him in the audience. How could she, if she wasn’t wearing her glasses? And perhaps it was a good thing, because Damien had lost the ability to take his eyes off her. Could anyone really blame him? He had been watching each and every one of her shows, but only through a screen. Only under the lens of thinking they would never be together again. For years, he survived on seeing her perform by paying for a digital ticket, thousands of miles away. Now, there she was, delivering lines and hitting notes right in front of him.
“She’s still so amazing,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Clearly, you never saw her play Hipster #2,” Chanse snorted.
“Oh, I did. I watched everything,” he said, still not looking away.
Chanse could only snicker next to Amanda, muttering something about rose-colored glasses. Amanda and Chanse didn’t really pay much attention to what was happening onstage. They had seen the show before. So they ribbed Damien and the “return of the heart-eyes” instead.
By the time the house lights turned on, Amanda and Chanse were already up, signaling Damien to follow them. “Come on. She’ll be coming out any second now,” Amanda said, leading the way to the building’s lobby.
Damien balanced the bouquet of orange dahlias and yellow gerbera daisies in his arm before following his friends (they were friends again, right?) out of the theater. As soon as they stepped out, a chorus of the birthday song was echoing from somewhere.
Happy birthday to you…Happy birthday, dear Angela, the group sang.
Looks like the cast didn’t forget either. Unlike the birthday girl herself.
Damien, Amanda, and Chanse followed the sound of the birthday song and found all the actors gathered right by a side entrance. Damien still hasn’t caught a glimpse of Angela, given the hoard of people there, but he heard her gasp loudly. “Oh my God! Is it October 1st?! I totally forgot it’s my birthday!”
“Well, tough luck, we didn’t forget. So make a wish,” someone responded to Angela.
Damien, Chanse, and Amanda had inched closer to the circle, but the gathering meant a lot of people to go through, so still no Angela in sight. However, one of the male actors must have recognized Chanse because they hugged briefly and greeted each other before Chanse whispered to the man and pointed at Damien.
The man went wide-eyed. “Oh shit. That’s him? C’mere, man. You can see her from ‘ere,” he said and moved out of the way, giving the three of them a clearer view of Angela looking at the cake as everyone waited for her to blow out the candles.
—
ANGELA
“Make a wish,” her castmate Joey said, holding out a cake with flickering candles.
“I didn’t even realize it was my birthday and now you’re asking me for a wish?”
“I’m sure you can think of something. So go ahead, close your eyes. Don’t tell us what it is,” another castmate, Lauren, told her.
Angela shook her head in disbelief, but did as she was told. She could only think of one thing she could wish for at that moment.
I wish Damien were here.
She smiled at the thought of seeing him again in person, not through a FaceTime call. He hadn’t even responded to her texts from that morning. I wonder what he’s doing right now, she thought, before opening her eyes and blowing out the candles. The entire group cheered as she did so.
“Thank you so much, guys!” she said, doing a slow sweep of the people gathered around her.
“I really appreciate it. Thank you so—Damien?!”
Everything might literally be a blur to her, but she’d recognize that man anywhere. As soon as she saw him, there was no denying that the blurry blob of pale skin at the back of the group was her boyfriend.
“Holy shit! Damien!”
The crowd practically parted like the Red Sea as Angela rushed over to him, half-hysterical and half-relieved. She more or less jumped him, throwing both arms around his neck as he caught her, laughing.
“What the hell are you doing here?!”
He laughed into her shoulder, still keeping a steadying grip on her. “Surprising you. Which worked, it seems. Happy birthday, Bug.”
“You—oh my god—you’re here!” She pulled back, eyes darting from the flowers to his face, like she couldn’t decide which was more unbelievable. Then she kissed him, fast and breathless, before hugging him all over again.
He grinned wider.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” she said, literally leaping into his arms.
She peppered Damien’s face with kisses. As if the past weeks had her bottling up every ounce of affection she could possibly send his way, spilling over now that he’s within reach.
Damien laughed as he received every kiss without question.
Then, another familiar voice interfered. “Okay now, calm down. Don’t climb the man. He’s not a tree. We can’t grow more of him,” Amanda quipped as she tugged lightly on Angela’s arm and gestured to everybody else, reminding them they had an audience.
“Okay, fine. I’ll stop.” Angela gave him a chaste peck on the lips before stepping away. “I’m just really happy you’re here.”
—
“Can we keep him? He’s a better cook than all of us combined!” Chanse joked as he dug into his plate of chicken.
It has only been day three of Damien’s stay in New York and the roommates are not willing to let him leave just yet.
“I’m flattered. I had to feed myself all these years. But I think Courtney deserves some credit. Got a lot of tips from her,” Damien replied, taking a bite.
“Oh shoot! We didn’t visit her cafe when we were in LA, didn’t we?” Chanse said. “Was it open then? The head chef was busy getting married, but I figured…”
“Culinary Crimes was closed the day of, not really sure about the other days,” Damien pointed out.
Amanda nodded. “Okay. That absolves us a little bit. And even if it were open those other days, I’d prefer to visit my friend’s detective-themed cafe while my friend is actually there. We should swing by next time, though.”
“It took us forever to visit LA and suddenly we’re thinking about ‘next time’? Whenever will that be?” Angela rolled her eyes.
Chanse blinked, his eyes meeting Amanda’s before darting between Angela and Damien. “When you two get hitched.”
Angela nearly choked on a sweet potato, but her friends ignored the reaction like nothing had happened.
“But preferably earlier,” Amanda amended.
“Preferably earlier,” Chanse echoed.
Notes:
As usual, reviews are much appreciated. Thank you!
Chapter 23: The Holidays
Notes:
Note written on 2 December 2025:
What does it say that I'm editing this chapter and Angela just casually posts a TikTok thanking Patrick for getting her into Smosh?
߹𖥦߹Truly, thank you Patrick McDonald for getting Angela into Smosh. Seeing her be her fun, chaotic self has made it really enjoyable for me to be authentically myself these past few months. Even my roommates and co-workers have noticed that change in my mood.
I always find it awesome seeing people who are so passionate about their work and their friends, it genuinely inspires me. Thank you, Patrick! And thank you, Angela! ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
NOVEMBER
ANGELA
The flight into LAX for Thanksgiving was packed with holiday travelers, but Angela didn’t mind. By the time she walked through the terminal doors and saw Damien leaning against a column with a coffee in hand, she felt her whole chest warm. Her first Thanksgiving in California. Her first Thanksgiving with Damien as her boyfriend.
They were set to hold a small dinner at Shayne and Courtney’s place. By the time they got there, the place already smelled like garlic and herbs, butter melting into fresh bread, and something roasting in the oven. Courtney greeted Angela with flour on her apron and a proud smile. “Welcome to your first California Thanksgiving,” they said, ushering her inside.
Angela laughed and slipped out of her boots, Damien trailing behind her with her suitcase. Shayne appeared then, arms wide. “Look who finally decided New York wasn’t the only state with food!” He hugged his sister tight, ruffling her hair before she swatted him away.
Damien coughed. “And I’m here too, thanks.”
Shayne gave him a quick pat on the shoulder, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. You too.”
Angela rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile.
They settled into the rhythm of the day easily. Courtney worked like a machine in the kitchen, Shayne acted as sous-chef, Damien poured drinks and set the table, and Angela… well, Angela was mostly told to stay out of the way.
“You’re a guest,” Courtney insisted when Angela tried to chop vegetables.
“But I can help—”
“Sit. Drink. Tell us a story. That’s helping.”
So Angela curled up on the couch with her wine, watching Damien hover around the table, adjusting plates like they were chess pieces. He caught her eye once and winked, and she had to bite her lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.
Dinner was perfect. Courtney’s food lived up to every expectation: buttery mashed potatoes, golden turkey, green beans with toasted almonds, and fresh sourdough rolls.
“Why am I not surprised you’re a Thanksgiving guy?” Angela asked her brother in between bites.
“What? I am not a Thanksgiving guy,” Shayne argued.
“You ran this place like a boot camp. Both of you,” Angela pointed to the married couple. “You are such a Thanksgiving guy.”
“I’m not a Thanksgiving guy.”
“Yes, you are,” Damien backed Angela up.
“Great!” Shayne rolled his eyes, mock-exasperated at Damien. “Remember when we used to team up against her? Now, the two of you are teaming up against me?”
“Oh, Shayney days and Mondays, I was just keeping up appearances until my true partner-in-crime took me in,” Damien ribbed.
Shayne narrowed his eyes at his best friend, assessing. “An ex-girlfriend of his used to call me Shayney days and Mondays,” he told his sister, thinking he’d gone for the kill.
“So?”
“Whatever,” Shayne rolled his eyes.
“Did you think that would get me in trouble or someth—?” Damien chortled.
Angela cut him off clean. “Oh, I’m having a word with you. I’m only choosing to set it aside because it’s your birthday tomorrow.”
Shayne’s eyes darted between Damien and Angela before he burst out laughing, almost choking on his turkey. “Ya good?” Courtney asked, lightly tapping on his back while exchanging a look with Angela as if to say See what I have to deal with on a constant basis?
Courtney then tried steering the conversation in a different direction. “So, Damien... turning 28 tomorrow. Any plans?”
“After Thanksgiving? Nah. We’ll probably just stay at my place and watch a movie or something. I got a voiceover session the day after, anyway.” Damien said. “That good with you, Bug?”
“I guess… but you really don’t wanna do anything special?”
Damien leaned close to Angela, lips barely brushing her ear. “Oh, I’m doing someone special tomorrow, for sure.”
He pulled back with a cocky smile. Angela’s eyes went wide.
Shayne’s fork clattered onto his plate. “I’m. Right. Here.”
“That’s for bringing up the origins of the nickname.”
“You brought it up first! Doesn’t give you the right to traumatize me with you and Angela’s…activities.”
Courtney snorted into her drink. “Okay, we’re done with that topic. Who wants pie?”
“Please, god,” Angela croaked, almost begging Courtney to keep the conversation on pies.
—
DAMIEN
The drive back from Shayne and Courtney’s was quiet, the good kind of quiet. The kind that came after too much food and too much laughter. Angela had leaned her head against the car window, humming softly along with the radio. Damien couldn’t stop glancing over at her. She looked so at ease, so at home.
When they finally pulled into his driveway, Angela slipped out of the car with a stretch, groaning about too much dessert, while Damien fished out the house keys. By the time the cats came bounding to the door, meowing their greetings, Angela had kicked her shoes off and disappeared into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder something about needing water. Damien just chuckled and headed upstairs.
He peeled off his sweater, washed his face, tugged on an old soft tee, and was ruffling his hair with a towel when the door creaked open.
Angela stepped inside, her face half-hidden behind a little plate she carried carefully in both hands. A single cupcake sat in the center, a lone candle flickering on top. She started singing, voice playful but hushed.
“Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday to you…”
Damien froze mid-motion, his towel dangling from one hand. For a second, he thought about laughing it off, about teasing her. But then he caught the clock on his nightstand: 12:07. Past midnight. His birthday had officially begun and Angela was standing there, smiling nervously as she softly sang the end of the song.
“I know you don’t like celebrating birthdays, but I love celebrating you,” she said, stepping closer and holding the plate out to him. “So I figured… this would do. Just you, me, and a cupcake. Now…” she tipped her head toward the candle, “…make a wish.”
The candlelight reflected in Angela’s eyes, casting shadows across her face that made her look impossibly young and sure of herself. His chest tightened. Last year, Courtney and Shayne had just gotten engaged. Angela was still out of reach in New York. For a while that year, Damien found himself feeling jealous of his best friend. How come Shayne gets to be with his soulmate while he couldn’t even get himself to reach out to his?
Soulmate. There wasn’t even a second of hesitation in his head when he thought of Angela as his soulmate. Angela is his soulmate. He was beyond grateful he would be able to spend his birthday with her this time around. It was definitely an upgrade from his last birthday. Hopefully, he gets to spend every one of his birthdays moving forward with her.
Before he could second-guess himself, the words left him.
“Marry me.”
The air in the room immediately shifted. Angela blinked rapidly. Her lips parted. The candle flame wavered between them. It was after logging all these minor shifts in her expression that Damien realized how his words must have sounded.
She was panicking.
“Not right now,” he added quickly. “I know it’s still too early. We haven’t been a couple that long. I saw you with that cupcake and I… I thought that if each of my birthdays moving forward meant you bringing a cupcake to me at midnight, it was perfect… I want that, Angela. Doesn’t have to be now, I swear. I just meant someday.”
Angela let out a stuttering breath and her shoulders slumped with obvious relief.
“What the hell. I think I need to sit down,” Angela muttered, more to herself than to him, placing the cupcake on a nightstand and slumping onto the edge of his bed.
“I don’t really have a proposal planned,” Damien admitted, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth as he crouched in front of her. “No ring in my pocket. I only… I have wanted this since I was a kid. I still want it now. For the rest of my life. So… someday.”
Angela laughed an uneasy laugh, hands shaking slightly. “Damien. You can’t just casually give me a mini heart attack like that.”
He winced playfully. “Sorry. Bad timing?”
“Bad timing, great sentiment.” She shook her head, then looked at him again, softer now. “You know I love you. I really do. But—” she let out a shaky laugh, “—we literally just got together last summer! You can’t just—”
“I know. I didn’t mean to shock you. It just slipped out. Are we good?”
Angela exhaled. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re good. I’m just… processing.”
“Fair enough,” he said softly.
She blinked herself back to the moment and gestured toward the cupcake. “Anyway. Candle’s still burning. You better make that wish.”
Damien turned toward the flickering flame and picked up the cupcake, if only to appease her desire to actually celebrate his birthday. But as he thought about it, he realized he didn’t really have anything left to wish for. Still, he closed his eyes, leaned forward, and blew the candle out.
Angela clapped quietly, teasing, “Okay, Bee Boy. Don’t tell me or it won’t come true.”
He smirked, leaning closer until their foreheads touched. “Don’t need to. It already has.”
Angela groaned, then laughed . “Corny. So corny.”
“Maybe,” Damien said, tugging her closer. “But you’re stuck with me anyway.”
Angela melted into his arms, and for a moment, everything fell away. It was just them, and the faint scent of vanilla frosting, and the certainty that someday didn’t feel like a gamble.
It felt inevitable.
—
ANGELA
The house felt too quiet without Damien in it. Angela had grown used to the sound of his keyboard clicks, the low murmur of his voice carrying through the walls, the occasional thump of the cats knocking something over. With him out for a voice gig, the silence pressed down on her until she couldn’t stand it anymore.
So, she grabbed her coat, called for a car, and headed straight to Shayne and Courtney’s place.
Courtney was still at Culinary Crimes, which meant it was just Shayne, his kitchen, and a fridge full of leftovers from Thanksgiving. Angela perched on a barstool at the island, chin resting in her palm, watching her brother move around. He hummed a little as he plated up some pasta, tossed in garlic bread, and started to reach for the microwave.
The thought had been eating at her since the day before. And now, with no one else around, she blurted it out before her nerves could strangle her.
“Damien kinda asked me to marry him.”
Clank. Thud. Thud.
The bowl slid from Shayne’s hand and nearly shattered as it hit the countertop hard. Shayne turned, eyebrows climbing his forehead. “I’m sorry—what?!”
Angela squirmed under his stare. “Not like that.” She waved her hands. “It wasn’t a proposal proposal. No ring. No kneeling. We were just…” she faltered, “…I brought him a cupcake for his birthday, and while I was telling him to make a wish, he—well—he said, ‘Marry me.’”
“What?!”
“He said it was more of a someday type situation and I believe it. It didn’t seem like he was actually thinking when he said it. But it kinda…surprised me.”
“It better have. You’ve only been together since, what, last summer?” The microwave door clicked shut as Shayne set the bowl down, carefully this time, and folded his arms.
Angela fiddled with a napkin on the counter. “That’s what I told him. That it’s way too soon. I really, really don’t want to think about marriage yet. I have so much I want to do first.”
“I get that the guy’s so sure of you, but damn it, Damien…He’s being a moron. He could’ve at least said—”
“SHAYNE. You’re. Not. Helping.” Angela added some force into her voice, putting her head in her hands and leaning on the countertop. All the leftover panic from that night was starting to boil over again and Shayne making comments about it wasn’t doing her any favors.
As soon as the words left her, Angela could feel her brother’s counselor persona clicking into place. “Alright, what’s going on inside your head?”
“I don’t know…”
Shayne took the barstool directly in front of her and asked softly, “Do you want a future with him?”
“Obviously, yeah. Just not this soon.”
“Who said anything about ‘soon’?” he told her. “He’s being a moron. Again. But he didn’t say he wanted the two of you to run to the courthouse or anything like that. He was telling you where his heart was at. You said so yourself, it seemed like he was too happy to get his emotions in check.”
Angela wrung her fingers together. “I mean, sure, but if his heart’s already there, what if mine takes longer to catch up? Won’t he feel like I’m holding him back?”
“The guy waited ten years to be with you and you’re worried about whether he’ll get tired of waiting? I get that you want to be with him. And you can. You can want to be with him and still want your own life first.”
Shayne leaned back, rubbing his jaw, “Look. If he really cares about you—and I know he does—he’ll wait.”
“Won’t the idea of waiting some more after the full decade just…scare him off?”
“Time doesn’t scare someone who actually means it when they say they love you. You’re 26. You’re allowed to want more time. It doesn’t mean you love him any less.”
“Time doesn’t… whatever you just said, that was some profound shit,” Angela let out a shaky laugh. “When did you get so good at this?”
“Seven years of school. Two years of counseling hours. And being your brother for twenty-six years,” Shayne said dryly, though his smile softened it.
He shifted from one foot to another before continuing. “I mean it, Angela. When ‘someday’ finally feels right, you’ll know. You won’t come running to me, or anyone, on the verge of a panic attack. You’ll be telling me you said yes. Maybe even scream it.”
Shayne then remembered about heating his pasta and got back to it, sliding it into the microwave while Angela’s chest loosened a little.
Silence lingered for a bit, only the hum of the microwave taking over the room.
“Don’t bring this up with Damien. Please,” she told him, almost in a whisper.
Shayne raised his hand, palm out as if making an oath. “Scout’s honor. What happens in this kitchen stays in this kitchen.”
Angela narrowed her eyes. “I mean it, Shayne.”
“I mean it too,” he said, more serious now. “That was for you to say. Not me.”
The microwave beeped. Shayne fished out his pasta at the same time Angela poked at some leftover pie. “Thanks,” she told him, offering a tentative smile.
He chuckled, patting her arm. “Anytime. Now, that would be 100 dollars.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Are you seriously gonna charge me every time I ask for advice?”
“Nah.” He slid the bowl of pasta in her direction, taking the fork she was using to poke at the pie. “Eat. Panic on a full stomach.”
—
DECEMBER
Seasons quickly changed and before Angela knew it, it was winter and snow had fallen steadily over New York for three days straight. By the time Damien’s flight landed, her city looked like something out of a postcard. He stepped out of the terminal into a flurry of white, his breath forming clouds in the cold air, and smiled despite himself.
Angela had been nervous about him flying in with the airport chaos, the biting wind, and the city’s sensory overload. But the moment he saw her waiting near the cab line, wrapped in a cherry-red scarf and hopping from foot to foot to stay warm, every doubt melted away.
She spotted him before he even had the chance to call out her name. “Damien!”
Her voice cut through the noise of honking taxis and rolling suitcases. She practically launched herself into his arms, both of them laughing.
“You’re freezing,” he said, his nose brushing hers.
“Yeah, and whose fault is that for being twenty minutes late, Mr. LA?”
“Hey, I brought you a present. That buys me forgiveness, right?”
“Depends what it is.”
“Then I’m not telling.”
Angela rolled her eyes but kissed his cheek before dragging him away.
The apartment was blissfully quiet when they got back. Chanse and Amanda had already left for South Carolina, which meant Angela and Damien had the place entirely to themselves. The living room was dimly lit by the soft glow of fairy lights strung along the windows and a modest tree in the corner, its ornaments a mix of sentimental keepsakes and dollar-store trinkets.
“You did all this?” he asked.
“Yeah. You like it?”
“I love it,” he said honestly. “It feels like you.”
They ordered Chinese food instead of making anything complicated, splitting cartons of lo mein and dumplings on the couch while a movie played in the background. Damien’s cats were back in LA, being babysat by Shayne and Courtney, but Angela swore she could still hear their tiny meows when she dozed against him.
When it came time to open presents, Damien reached for his duffel bag and pulled out an envelope, giving it to her.
“This one, we do together,” he added.
“We do— This isn’t something freaky, is it? I swear I’ll kill you if it…oh my god” Angela said, as she opened the envelope and gasped.
Definitely not what she was expecting.
“You freaked out when I said I haven’t seen Wicked yet. So guess what? I’m losing my Wicked virginity to you this week,” he quipped. “I know how much you love sharing the things you love with people. Seemed just right to not only watch it, but to watch it with you.”
Angela cackled at the wording, then blinked hard. “Well, shit, this makes that anime figure I got you fricking unsentimental.”
Damien perked up like a dog who just heard the word “treat.”
“Which one?”
“Oookay, maybe not that bad,” she said, her voice wavering slightly as she pulled her gift from under the tree.
As soon as the present was placed in front of him, Damien tore through the wrapping like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh hell yeah!” he exclaimed, peeling off the wrapping from the box.
“Chanse wasn’t sure if you collected so he told me to be careful with the wrapping, just in case. No tapes on the boxes, I promise,” she said. “I just worked off the tattoos on your right arm. Did I get the character right? If I didn’t, blame Chanse.”
Damien peeled off the last of the wrapping paper as Laios Touden wielded his sword from within the packaging. “Damn,” he whispered as he admired the figure. “In pristine condition too.”
“I take it you like it?” she asked, hesitant.
“I love it,” Damien said, pulling Angela into his lap and giving her a quick kiss as he completely abandoned the figurine to the side table. “Plus, you went through all the effort of learning about my tattoos and all. By the way, I prefer displaying over keeping everything boxed up. But the cautiousness with the tape is appreciated.”
“Good. Because Chanse said I should have gotten the sword instead but I think the TSA won’t like that,” she joked. “I was also thinking of getting you something that fit your creepy-ass house, but honestly, I don’t want anything like that when I come over. The skeletons at the dinner table are already quite a lot.”
“Good call,” he chuckled. “I love you, Bug. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Damien. I love you, too.”
They spent the rest of the night wrapped in blankets, Christmas movies looping quietly on TV as the snow kept falling outside. Damien fell asleep halfway through The Muppet Christmas Carol, his hand curled around hers. Angela just watched him for a while, thinking how strange and wonderful it felt to have him here, in her city, during her favorite time of year. For a longer time, too, as his flight back to LA won’t be until January 4th. She really enjoyed spending Thanksgiving with Damien, Shayne, and Courtney, but nothing beats spending Christmas with Damien.
—
New Year’s Eve came faster than either of them expected. Damien insisted on seeing the ball drop, saying, “It’s my first New York New Year’s; it’s practically a rite of passage,” while Angela hesitated.
“It’s going to be chaos,” she warned as they layered up in scarves and gloves. “Crowds, noise, freezing wind—”
“Then I’ll hold onto you the whole time,” he said simply.
She tried talking him out of it more than a couple of times, until she ultimately gave up. Let him enjoy the holiday however he deems fit.
They arrived in Times Square hours early, finding a spot where they could see the glittering orb perched above the skyline. The cold bit through every layer of clothing, but Damien didn’t complain once. He stood behind Angela, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder as the countdown neared.
“This is insane,” he murmured, laughing under his breath as a wave of confetti rained over the crowd.
“I told you,” she said, her teeth chattering through her smile.
“Worth it,” he replied, his breath warm against her ear.
When the final seconds began to echo through the square, Angela felt her heart beat in sync with the shouting crowd.
Ten! Nine! Eight! Her pulse quickened not from the cold but from the weight of Damien’s arms holding her close.
“So fucking worth it,” he whispered, leaving goosebumps on her neck.
Three! Two! One!
The ball dropped, the world erupted in cheers, and Damien kissed her hair, whispering just loud enough for her to hear, “Happy New Year, Bug.”
Angela turned in his arms, her eyes shining under the cascade of fireworks. “Happy New Year,” she laughed.
Yup. So fucking worth it.
—
JANUARY
Angela hadn’t even finished taking down the Christmas decorations when her phone buzzed. The caller ID flashed a name she hadn’t really gotten in much contact with since NYU. Patrick, an old friend she met at a theatre production class from long ago, was contacting her.
For half a second, Angela thought about letting it go to voicemail. She was still in Damien’s hoodie, one she stole while he was packing for his flight back to LA. Everything in her wanted to stay in that little moment. Warm, slow, ordinary. But instinct won over comfort. She answered.
“Hello?”
“Angela, hey! Patrick here. Remember me?”
“Uh yeah, of course. What’s up?”
“Weird question, but do you still have dark hair?”
That took Angela aback. “Weird question, indeed. Uhhh… yeah. Didn’t dye my hair or something.”
“You’re still on speaking terms with your brother? He’s still in LA, right?”
“Um, yes to both? What’s this about, really?”
If this were any other person, she would’ve hung up by now. But she knew Patrick really well and he spoke to her like he was speaking business.
“Oh, god, sorry! The thing is: I got something for you. You’d be perfect for it, Ang,” Patrick fired off. “A friend of mine is shooting this movie. Some horror-comedy based on a musical. I can’t talk much about it until you’re locked in. But they’re looking for dark-haired females in their early-to-mid twenties. Theatre experience is a major plus because, duh, it’s based on a musical. That’s right up your alley.”
Angela completely abandoned the box of ornaments as her friend continued talking about the project and how the producers were great guys he had met once he moved to the West Coast after graduation.
“I saw you in the role, Angela. I can’t imagine anyone else playing her. Of course, you’d still need to read for it, but I’m sure you would nail it. What do you say? I can give you the details.”
“I’m sure it’s great, but…what exactly does my brother being LA-based have to do with this? Also, won’t you have trouble getting me? I’m in New York.”
“Right, right. Actually, they’re looking for talent there in New York, but they’re also doing shoots here in LA. I immediately thought of you and figured, ‘Hey, Angela could get in on this.’”
Angela blinked. “Okay. I’m listening.”
“Good, good, so,...” Patrick said, followed by the sound of rustling papers. “I’ll send you sides for a self-tape and then I think they’re planning to meet up with potential talent next week. You in?”
Nothing harmless in auditioning, right?, a small voice at the back of her head whispered. Plus, if her classmate from university thought of her despite years of not working together, perhaps that’s saying something about her being truly fit for the role.
“Okay. Sure. I can give it a shot.”
“Hope the filming thing works for you? Part of it’s in LA. Thought it might be a nice way for you to, you know, keep one foot on the West Coast. Maybe jump coasts now and then. Visit family.”
“Yeah. That’s okay. My brother’s been bugging me to visit him for years. He won’t stop now that I actually went there.”
“Wait, really? You’ve been allergic to LA since forever! It’s nice you actually went out. We should meet up next time.”
Some shouting emanated from the other line as Patrick added in a rushed tone, “Look. I gotta go. But I promise, you’ll get the details through text by the end of the day. I still need your email. Get back to me with it, yeah?”
Angela nodded despite Patrick not being able to see her. “Right. Okay. Thanks.”
When the call ended, Angela sat there for a moment, phone still in her hand. Her mind raced with what-ifs. She should tell Damien. Or Shayne. Or at least Amanda and Chanse. But something in her resisted. She didn’t want to raise anyone’s hopes. Not even her own.
So, she kept quiet.
A week later, she found herself in front of a studio building. The sign was subtle, the doors unassuming, but her stomach still fluttered like she was walking into a Broadway callback. The holding room featured a bunch of women who resembled Angela. Dark hair. Roughly the same height. Around the same age range.
Angela was handed her sides and more or less stewed, muttering the lines to herself until she was called in. She was ushered into a brightly lit room where a few producers and casting folks sat behind monitors.
She made a quick introduction of herself and the producers nodded, before saying, “Ready when you are.” Getting ready wasn’t even a challenge anymore. Once the camera light blinked red, something clicked. Her performer instincts took over. The nerves melted away.
She forgot there was a camera rolling. The producers were scribbling notes. One was nodding as she reached the end of the monologue. She wasn’t so sure if that was a good sign.
When it was over, one of them said, “Thanks, Angela. We’ll be in touch soon.”
She smiled, thanked them, and stepped back out into the sunlight, her heart thudding.
When she called Damien after “an errand” she vaguely described, Angela kept up the usual banter between them. She wanted to tell him, to see his face light up with that soft pride he always wore when she talked about performing. But she didn’t.
Not yet.
This one, she needed to keep to herself for a little while longer.
Notes:
It's been a while! Hoping everyone's enjoying the holiday season so far. I'll try to keep up with updates as much as I can, given the hectic season. For now, I'm honestly at a backlog on edits. As usual, kudos and comments keep me motivated and inspired. I have a few new AU ideas in mind, but none are solid yet. And I might break my word on stopping with "Full Circle," so long as my next work is another AU. We'll see! Hoping everyone's keeping safe!
P.S. I read about Zelda's passing earlier today and I had to release this chapter before schedule to get in touch again with fellow fans. It's truly heartbreaking to lose a beloved pet. Hoping he and Freyja are doing okay.
Chapter 24: Booked
Notes:
Hey there! I'm not really 100% sure how these things work, but I did my best with the storyline I had in mind. Also, run with me and just assume that Black Friday and the Starkid team are a bit more of a bigger name than what it is now. Think Universal or Warner Bros. type stuff hehe.
The fic becomes more time-skippy from this point on. It didn't seem right to keep on focusing on the mundane stuff they do so I focused on a few moments I deemed important. Enjoy!
Chapter Text
ANGELA
By the time early February rolled around, the audition was a distant blur in Angela’s mind. One of those “we’ll see” things she’d tucked into a mental drawer and forgotten about. Her life had resumed its New York rhythm: early morning rehearsals, late-night gigs in cramped venues, and long walks home under the city glow. Given how often she and Damien had been flying the past year, they figured some restraint was in order. They’re getting good at working through things long-distance, so they were both content with the calls, texts, and FaceTimes.
Then her phone rang one morning, flashing Patrick’s name. She didn’t even think when she picked up the phone.
“Angela!” the familiar voice practically sang through the line. “Are you free to hop on a quick Zoom call?”
Angela frowned, but held her phone in between her ear and shoulder as she opened her laptop on the kitchen counter. “Uh, sure. Let me just set up real quick. What’s going on?”
“It’s best you hop onto the call first.”
It took a hot minute getting everything ready, but as soon as Angela clicked on the link Patrick sent her, she was met by the beaming faces of the very people she met during her audition: the director, Nick, and two producers, Jeff and Matt. Angela froze for a moment. She wasn’t expecting to see these people again after the audition.
“Hey, Angela. Nice to see you again!” Nick smiled.
She blinked out of her trance and replied, “Oh, wow, um… hi. I have to say, I’m surprised to see you again.”
“Yeah, well, someone said it should be a surprise,” Matt told her.
“Okay, you got me there, I guess. What’s—Patrick, what’s this about?”
“Can I tell her?” Patrick asked the others.
“Sure, go ahead.”
Angela’s eyebrows furrowed. “Tell me what?”
“You booked.”
Silence. The kind that stretches too long to be polite.
“I—wait. What?”
“Angela, we really loved you. Starting this moment, you’re now the perpetually annoyed stock girl to our imaginary toy store,” Jeff explained. Then, as if to drill it down, added, “You’re joining our cast. You booked the role.”
Angela’s heart jumped, excitement and disbelief mixing into a single dizzy rush. She gripped the countertop tighter. “Are you sure? I mean—are you sure sure?”
Angela pressed her free hand to her mouth, half to muffle the involuntary squeal threatening to escape. The fact that it was happening felt surreal.
“Positive.”
“Thank you,” she managed. “I just… wow. I need to think.”
“Don’t worry. You’ve got lots of thinking time. You don’t start filming until mid-April because we’re still filling in some of the other roles. But still… Congratulations, Angela.”
“We’ll get in touch regarding contracts in a few days, okay?”
“Yep, sure. You have my contact. I look forward to it. Thank you again.”
Angela had no memory of the call ending, but by the time she returned to her body, she stood in the apartment for a long moment and stared at her reflection in the kitchen window. When she first imagined herself as an actress, she always thought she’d wind up in California somehow. This movie isn’t exactly that, but it was something. And it thrilled her.
Her hands moved of their own accord, tapping on her group text with her two best friends.
-
‘roomies or some cheesy shit’
Angela (9:40 am)
sos, need you at the apartment. When are you guys back?
Chanse (9:44 am)
What??? It’s not even 10 am and you’re texting like this?
Chanse (9:44 am)
What happened?
Angela (9:45 am)
Nobody’s dying or anything. I promise. I just need to talk about something important.
Chanse (9:47 am)
Are u kidding me? I’m not gonna get back until tonight. What is this about?
Angela (9:52 am)
I can tell you later. 6pm sound OK?
Chanse (9:56 am)
Ang, what’s this about?
Chanse (9:59 am)
Hello?
Chanse (10:11 am)
I swear to God, if Damien dumped your ass again, I’m killing myself. And then him. AND THEN YOU. WHAT DO YOU NEED FROM US, WOMAN?
Chanse (10:11 am)
ANGELA???
Amanda (10:30 am)
what the hell is happening?
Amanda (10:42 am)
Chanse, what’s this about?
Chanse (11:41 am)
No. Idea. She’s not answering calls either.
Amanda (11:43 am)
I was off my phone for a bit and suddenly we get this cryptic shit?
Chanse (11:51 am)
It’s what you get for being chronically offline. See u later, tho.
-
Amanda and Chanse practically burst into the apartment once they got back from their respective gigs. Meanwhile, Angela was sitting cross-legged on the couch, wine glass in hand and surprised to see Amanda and Chanse’s expectant faces.
“WERE YOU DEAD? Why aren’t you replying to our texts?” Chanse bellowed.
“You texted us like someone who got dumped or discovered she’s secretly royalty. Which is it?” Amanda asked with equal incredulity.
Angela set her glass down, facing the two. “Neither. I kinda booked something.”
That perked them both up immediately. “You booked?” Chanse echoed.
“Yeah.” She smiled nervously, twirling the stem of her glass. “I auditioned for this movie a little after the New Year. Didn’t tell anyone because, honestly, I didn’t think I’d get it.”
“What’s it about?” Chanse asked.
“They’re still keeping a lid on things, but from what I know, it’s a horror-comedy thing produced by a couple of brothers Matt and Nick…something. I’m bad with names, sorry.”
“Wait,” Amanda squealed, perking up and typing something into her phone. “Wait, wait, wait.”
Angela gave Amanda a sideways glance before saying, “I’m waiting…”
When Amanda showed her screen, it displayed a People.com article featuring the very people she met during her audition. “Is this them?”
“Uh… yeah. What is this?” she said, grabbing the phone and scrolling through the article.
“Are you kidding me? These guys are good. They’ve been flying under a lot of people’s radars—oh, you remember that halloween movie we watched where the main guy is basically the grinch in a suit and there was a lot of blue goo?”
“Uh… yep. That was good. Why?”
“They made that movie. There have been talks of a sequel for a while now. I think this is the sequel,” Amanda squealed. “This is kind of a big deal, Angela.”
“Are we about to have a movie star in our hands?” Chanse teased, nudging Angela, who was still scrolling through the article.
“What the… I never heard of these before. Quick, what should I send Patrick for this? I had no… what the fuck?” she said, wide-eyed as she gave Amanda’s phone back.
Chanse whistled low. “This is… actually massive, Ang. You’ve been talking about wanting to try other ways of performing. This is it.”
Amanda nodded. “Yeah, this is big. You’ve got to be excited.”
“I am,” Angela admitted. “But I also love it here. I love my gigs, the theater scene, the people. But they’re filming in LA for a bit. I know LA isn’t exactly new territory for me at this point, but it’s so… different from here.”
“It’s also a place you thought of pursuing in the past. Until things in your personal life didn’t line up. Maybe,... I don’t know, maybe this is the universe’s way of telling you now is the right time to pursue it,” Amanda said. “If New York’s lucky to have us, to have you, imagine how LA would take you.”
“Yeah. Plus, it is just one project. For now. If it doesn’t work out, New York would still be waiting for you,” Chanse said simply. “If the gigs there become long-term, you’ll figure it out. We could sublet your room for a bit, if that’s what you need in the meantime.”
“Why not?” Amanda added. “That way, you don’t have to uproot your entire life over something that’s just starting. Stay flexible. I’m sure production would cover accommodations when you guys start in LA. Unless…you were planning on staying with a certain cute nerd out there.”
“Please. I think Patrick blabbed that my brother lives in LA. They probably think I would not take the hotel they would give me.”
“Not really the nerd I was talking about, but okay. Whatever the case, New York is still here if LA doesn’t suit you.”
“The real question is if I will suit it,” Angela frowned, considering. “It’s my first major project. It’s not like going there will open new opportunities on the spot.”
Amanda scoffed. “Oh honey, you really don’t know yourself very well, do you?”
Chanse grinned. “Yeah, give it a bit. They'll be raving over you in no time.”
Angela laughed, shaking her head. “You two are ridiculous.”
“We’re realistic. You have this energy that people remember,” Amanda insisted. “Not to borrow from Damien, but he’s kinda right. You’ve always been amazing.”
Angela’s head fell and she started picking at her nails. “That’s a bit much. The part isn’t that big. Just this toy store worker with a deadbeat mom and a little sister. If anything, I’m shocked they cast a 26-year-old to play a teenager.”
“Yeah. And the actress who played her in the musical was 27. Who cares!?”
—
DAMIEN
Damien wasn’t supposed to come to New York that March. But he couldn’t help himself. When he got a last-minute gig in New Jersey, he took a quick trip to New York before his flight back to California. It was only 16 hours with Angela, but he’d take it over not seeing her in person.
Now, it was 9 am and it had to be the worst possible morning for New York traffic to act up. They were barely crawling along the JFK departure lane. Every red light felt personal, every car cutting them off like a direct challenge.
“Why does everyone suddenly need to fly today?” Damien muttered under his breath as the cab driver drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.
“Because the universe hates punctuality,” Angela said, her tone a little clipped.
He glanced sideways, catching the edge of her smile. “You okay? You’ve been weirdly quiet.”
Weirdly quiet was an understatement. She’d been acting odd since he showed up at her, Chanse, and Amanda’s apartment last night. She kept on looking his way, then averting her gaze, claiming she wasn’t staring.
At some point during the night, she asked him, “Aren’t you tired?”
“Of what?” he asked.
“Getting 16 hours every three months with me,” she replied, almost a whisper.
His response came matter-of-factly. “Angela, I’d rather take 16 hours with you than everyday with someone else.”
Angela took a moment to consider his answer, then plopped back onto his chest like nothing happened. He wanted to ask her what the problem was, but he had only gone so far as “What’s the ma–” in “What’s the matter?” when she started kissing him. A bit too aggressively. Angela knew how to distract him a little too well that the question was forgotten. The night got a little too heated that at some point, Chanse knocked violently on the shared wall just to tell them to keep it down because, “If you must know, the walls in here are paper thin! I can hear everything.”
Now that his blood wasn’t rushing to head south, Damien kind of regrets not insisting on what was bothering her.
By the time the cab finally pulled into the departure curb, it was getting so close to this flight back. Damien rushed over to the back of the cab and pulled his things from the cab’s trunk. Angela just stood there. Again, not odd. Just for later.
He checked his watch and groaned. “Fifteen minutes to spare. Barely.” He was about to walk to security when Angela grabbed his arm.
“Hey, um,” Angela began, voice uncertain. “Before you go—there’s something I need to tell you.”
Damien turned toward her. “Okay… what’s up?”
“I, uh—this is kind of… big. And I didn’t mean to wait this long to say it, but I didn’t want to dump it on you over the phone or—”
She was rambling. She doesn’t ramble like that unless she’s worried about something. What could possibly be the problem? Were they having problems? Did he do something that upset her? Was it a family problem? A health problem? Heck, is she pregnant?
Damien had to cut off his own spiraling to stop Angela’s by putting his hands on both of his arms. “Hey. Bug, chill. What is it?”
“Nothing big. Wait, no, it is kinda big. But, uhhhh,” she said, exhaling sharply. “Okay. So. You remember how I told you I’ve been keeping an eye out for more on-screen projects?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, one of them came through. For—uh—for Black Friday.”
That caught him. His eyebrows shot up. “Wait—Like—I’ve been hearing nothing but hype about that. Isn’t that based on a stage musical?”
She nodded. “Yeah. A college friend of mine, Patrick, sent me to audition a bit after the New Year. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it because I honestly didn’t think I’d get it, but, um—turns out, I did.”
For a moment, Damien just blinked. The words took a second to process, his expression a flicker of shock, pride, and maybe confusion. “You booked it?”
“I did.” She chewed her lip. “They’re filming here first, but they’re moving to California by early June.”
“Wow,” Damien breathed, the corners of his mouth twitching in a stunned half-smile. “That’s—that’s incredible, Bug.”
She hesitated. “You’re not mad I didn’t tell you about the audition?”
“What? No, of course not! Why would I—” He checked the clock on his phone, grimaced. “Okay, maybe I'm a little mad at this timing, because they’re probably calling my group right now.”
The airport loudspeaker echoed with a boarding call for Damien’s flight. He really had to go. Damien grabbed his luggage and turned back to her, torn between rushing and wanting to say everything that needed saying.
“Hey,” he said, leaning in, his tone softer now. “We’ll talk about this properly when I land, okay? But for the record, I’m really, really proud of you. You earned this.”
“Even though I didn’t tell you sooner?”
He smiled. “You’re allowed to have things that are yours for a while. We’ll figure the rest out.”
She laughed weakly, half from nerves, half from relief. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead before stepping toward the gate. “We’ll talk soon, Bug.”
—
By the time Damien finally touched down in Los Angeles, it was well past sunset. His phone was a chaos of missed messages. One from Shayne asking if he’d landed, one from Courtney sending a meme about airport food, and five from Angela, each more anxious than the last.
He hadn’t been mad at her, not really. Just… surprised. Proud, mostly. But it had been a lot to process at thirty-thousand feet with no Wi-Fi and only his thoughts to keep him company.
He called Angela the moment he dropped his bags on his living room floor.
“Hey, you,” came Angela’s voice on the other end, a mix of relief and hesitation. “Made it back in one piece?”
“Barely,” Damien joked, kicking off his shoes. He sat down, keeping the phone to his ear. “So. Black Friday. Shooting in LA. Does that mean more face-to-face time with you?”
“Yeah. I just met with the team earlier this week and they said it’ll be three weeks to a month in LA,” she said again, a little uncertain. “I wasn’t really keeping it from you on purpose, you know. I just didn’t want to make a big deal until it was real.”
“I know.” His voice softened. “And I get it. You wanted to make sure it wasn’t just some audition that went nowhere. Still, that’s huge, Ang.”
“I know, right?” She let out a breath of laughter, almost sheepish. “It feels surreal. It’s technically not a long-term thing. So it’s not like I have to pack up everything overnight.”
Damien leaned back into the couch. “That’s actually not bad. Gives you time to ease into it.”
“Yeah, but it’s the logistics I’m nervous about,” she admitted. “I’m sure the production company will have things set up in terms of accommodations, but I was thinking I could maybe—uh—stay with you when I’m out there? Maybe even extend my stay?”
“Was that what was driving you into a spiral? Staying with me for a full month or two?”
“I wasn’t spiraling.”
“You kinda were, but you were trying not to look the part,” he chuckled. “I know there’s this ten-year gap where I didn’t see you. But I know you. So I know when something’s bothering you and when ‘nothing’ actually means ‘nothing.’”
An audible sigh echoed through the phone and he could practically hear her shrug. “I don’t know, it feels a little like we’re doing a trial moving-in phase. I didn’t want to appear presumptuous that we were already there.”
“Ang, come on, if we’re going from barely seeing each other to seeing each other every day, I’m more than happy with the latter,” he smiled just as Zelda made her way over to him. “If you don’t have to shoot anything else out east, then you can stay and extend. That’s a given. You don’t even have to ask.”
“Are you sure? I mean, it’s not like we’ve lived together before and I don’t want to—”
“Angela,” Damien interrupted with a small chuckle. “You’re fine. It’s nothing official yet, right? Plus, a sort of trial run wouldn’t hurt. You more or less lived here for a few days after Shayne’s wedding. It wasn't so bad. How could a few months hurt?”
“Oh, you have no idea how annoying things get when you move in with someone because you only roomed with my saint of a brother,” she grumbled. “I remember when Chanse first moved in. I wanted to kill him. I love him but… jeez.”
“No worries. At least, this way, I get to experience having a new roomie and she’s the prettiest woman I know. How lucky is that?”
“Dork. I was so nervous about asking to stay with you because I really wanna try and you come up with lines like that.”
He paused, smiling faintly. “Why would you be so nervous? The idea of you being here for an extended period doesn’t sound bad at all to me.”
Angela snorted. “You say that now, but wait until I’m hogging your bathroom counter.”
“Please,” he said with mock indignation. “You’ve seen my bathroom. It’s already chaos. You’d just be adding structure.”
That made her laugh, and for a few moments, the tension between them dissolved. “So,” she said eventually, quieter now. “We’re good?”
“We’re good,” Damien said firmly. “You focus on what’s next. Let them see what I already know, that you’re brilliant. And when you’re here, you’ve got a place to land. Always.”
Angela didn’t answer right away, but he could hear her steady breathing through the phone. Then, softly: “You’re really good at this, you know. The whole supportive boyfriend thing.”
Damien smiled, laying on the couch. “Only because I’ve got a pretty amazing girlfriend to practice on.”
She hummed, content. “Speaking of practice… When did you practice what you did last night? Because, goddamn, Haas. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“See, this is why Chanse gave us the stink eye all morning. He knocked all but four times and you wouldn’t keep it down,” he replied, pretending to be annoyed.
“I couldn’t keep it down because someone kept on teasing me. Now, whose fault is that?” she told him.
“I CAN STILL HEAR EVERYTHING! EITHER YOU TURN OFF SPEAKERPHONE OR YOU CALL IT A NIGHT, BITCH!” Chanse’s voice echoed.
“What the— I’m on speakerphone? You started that conversation on speakerphone. Are you out of your mind?”
“I was doing my nails! Sorry! Had to do something to keep from spiraling,” she said, then after a beat, “Now, it’s off. But look, we should end the call now. I’ve been jittery the entire evening, I need to rest. Besides, someone kind of tired me out last night.”
Chanse knocked hard again. “Shut your dirty whore mouth and sleep already!”
Damien couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. “Yeah, I’ll go. Zelda just climbed into my lap and is already demanding attention, anyway. Good night, Bug.”
“Good night.”
—
2 MONTHS LATER
The “toy store” set looked nothing like a real store anymore. Which, to be fair, it wasn’t. It was a warehouse somewhere near Long Island, but had been made to look like the real thing since Angela and the Black Friday crew started.
Half the shelves were bare and fake price tags curled under lights as they wrapped up one of their final scenes in New York, a chaotic scene where customers fought over a single piece of merchandise. Angela stood behind the fake display case, name tag crooked, holding a prop doll that had been through a dozen different hands throughout the day.
“Ready to be done pretending we work minimum wage?” Frank, who plays her greedy and arrogant boss, said to her as he took his mark.
“We? Don’t you mean just me? You’re the boss. Credit-grabbing on me, now I can’t wait to finish filming here,” she teased.
“Aw, don’t get sentimental on me. You’re gonna have palm trees and sunshine in a week.”
Frank would be finished as soon as the New York shoot wrapped, with most of his scenes confined to the toy store, but Angela? Angela and a handful of other castmates were flying over to California soon.
Angela smiled at that, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah. Sunshine.”
The assistant director’s voice cut through the set: “Alright! Quiet, everyone!”
The room stilled. Angela took her mark. The director, Nick, leaned forward from behind the monitor. “Alright, Angela, we’ll do one more for safety. Same energy — tired, fed up. Ready?”
She nodded, rolling her shoulders. “Ready.”
“Scene 22, take five… and… action!” The slate snapped.
Angela stepped right into character, making a quick exchange of dialogue with Frank before turning to the display. She picked up a plush toy from the counter, looked at it like it carried every bad decision she’d ever made, then smiled faintly as she tickled its belly.
The camera tracked her face. Then, an offscreen PA made the cue for post to add a dismembered voice that possesses the doll.
“Cut!”
The sound of it sliced through the quiet, followed by a round of light applause. Nick grinned. “That’s the one. We’re wrapped in New York!”
The crew erupted in laughter, cheers, someone ringing the tiny bell by the prop register. Angela’s eyes lingered on the set. The mess of cables, the familiar scuffed floor tape, the smell of coffee and fake fog. She’d spent weeks here. It already felt like home, and now it was over.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the screen.
-
Damien (12:18 am)
How’s filming? Just finished streaming for the day. Will probably call it a night. Miss your face.
-
Angela smiled softly and typed back.
-
Angela (12:19 am)
Still on set. Just wrapped our last scene here. Miss you too.
-
Then, she added,
-
Angela (12:19 am)
Next stop, LA.
—
1 MONTH LATER
By the time July rolled in, Angela’s life had turned into a blur of soundstages, early call times, and caffeine-fueled nights. She had been filming in LA for a month now and the scenes were a lot more physically challenging, since the character she plays is now on the run with her sister. In her free time, she spent time working on self-tapes and spending time with Damien and the cats.
She should have been exhausted. She was exhausted. But she’d never felt more alive.
When news of her casting came out, this relatively unknown actor who studied at NYU and has been appearing in small stage New York productions, her phone refused to stop buzzing with notifications, messages, and mentions from family and New York friends congratulating her.
She was burning at both ends and loving the glow.
Damien, though, wasn’t as thrilled about her “run-on-adrenaline” lifestyle.
“Bug,” he said one morning as she scrolled through her phone with one eye open, half a granola bar in her mouth, “you’ve had, what, six hours of sleep? Total? This week?”
Angela groaned, knowing that Damien was exaggerating to make a point. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“It is a bad thing,” he replied, tugging the phone out of her hand. “You’re not a robot.”
“I’m fine,” she protested, sitting up. “I’m just… excited. I can’t believe people are actually curious about me. And they like me!”
“Everyone likes you,” he said with a fond smile. “But you’re allowed to take a breath, too.”
Angela harrumphed just as Zelda hopped off the spot next to her. “I don’t want to sleep.” She could use a break. And yet, every time she thought about slowing down, the old fear crept in. That she’d fade back into obscurity if she wasn’t giving 110%.
It’s the workaholic in her, which became very apparent by the end of week one, that pushed Damien to find little ways to remind her to live outside of work. They went out, ate at the cafe where she finally stopped moaning over the croissants, and had night-ins just watching movies. He’d drive her to set when she was too tired to trust her own sense of direction and showered her with small acts of affection that made even Shayne roll his eyes.
“If you don’t feel like laying down, how about we go out?” Damien insisted. “We could walk somewhere. Visit Shayne? He hasn’t seen you in a hot minute, he’s gonna start thinking I’m holding you hostage here. Come on, where do you wanna go? “
Angela pouted, considering her options, “We could go for a walk… or… ooh. Can we swing by the shelter? Hannah said we could come by anytime.”
Angela met Hannah, a volunteer at a private animal shelter near Damien’s place, during one of the filming days when they had dogs on set. The shelter was one of the few places in the area where screened visitors could come spend time with dogs. Hannah had a conversation with Angela in between scenes and before she knew it, Hannah was offering an open invitation to her and “this cute boyfriend of yours.”
Damien had only heard bits and pieces of that conversation from Angela. Mostly, his girlfriend recounted some childhood stories of Buster. From that alone, he knew that if Angela did take up the offer, it’s likely she’d come home with a new furry friend. He didn’t really mind. The house was big enough for another pet. Besides, Angela’s smile was enough for Damien to agree.
They pulled up into the place, a tucked-away spot somewhere in Burbank, and were greeted by a petite brunette woman at the reception area.
“Oh, hey! Angela! I didn’t expect you today. So nice to see you again!” Hannah said, walking out from behind the desk to welcome them. “And you must be the boyfriend. Damian, is it?”
“Close. Damien, actually,” Angela answered for him. “Hope this is not a bad time. We were hoping to spend some time with some of the rescues, if you don’t mind?”
“Of course! Of course! The little guys could use some company.” Hannah said, nodding along. “Nice to meet you, Damien.”
Hannah offered a hand for a handshake and Damien took it. “The dogs won’t go crazy if I smell like cats, will they? We have cats. Can they smell cats?”
Hannah laughed, “Probably. But I bet some of them won’t mind. Come on, I’ll take you to the back. We’ve got a few new rescues since last week. Most are still getting used to people, but they’re sweet.”
They followed her through a short hallway that smelled faintly of disinfectant and wet fur, then stepped through another door leading outside. The dogs were out in the backyard for some exercise. But as Hannah explained, the rescues were divided based on energy levels, and this group was made up of the low-energy dogs.
A few dogs perked up as they entered the fenced-in area. One wagged its tail so hard its whole body moved with it. Another just tilted its head, eyes curious but cautious.
Angela crouched instinctively near one of the dogs, a tiny terrier mix with trimmed fur. “Came in here with extremely matted fur. Had to shave a lot of it off,” the rescue volunteer explained without prompting.
“Hey, buddy,” Angela said softly. The dog inside wagged uncertainly, sniffing the air before pressing his nose against Angela’s hand.
Hannah grinned. “That’s Oliver. He came in about two weeks ago. Shy at first, but he’s got a lot of heart. We’re still waiting for his confidence to catch up.”
“Do you still have the dogs we had on set?” Angela asked.
“A few of them. One got adopted last week, I think?”
Angela looked around, spotting one of the bigger dogs that the Black Friday crew had on camera, playing with a chew toy by the fence. “Oh! That’s one of them. Can we see him?”
“Yeah. Sure. Come on,” the girl replied, already leading the way.
Damien and Angela had barely taken three steps when a small ring ring ring sound approached them. Damien was the first to turn around, spotting a tiny chihuahua with its tongue lolled to the side approached them. “Hey dawg. Got a bell, huh?”
Angela turned around then, hearing Damien’s voice more than the tiny bell. As soon as she saw the little dog padding after them, she instantly melted. Even Damien never gave her a case of love at first sight like this dog did. “Oh, baby…” her voice instantly went up a pitch that she’d never used before. “Aren’t you just precious?” she cooed.
The dog kept on walking, bumping into Angela’s foot before shaking his entire body. It didn’t take a genius to find out the dog couldn’t see them.
Hannah, who noticed the couple was no longer following her, found them both crouched next to the tiny dog. “That old guy’s Spork,” she said with a smile. “We’re guessing…senior chihuahua, about ten years old. Had to give him a bell just to avoid bumping into him. He tends to run into people’s legs.”
“Guessing?” Damien asked.
“We don’t really have an idea where he’s from. Somebody found him in the street and then surrendered him here. Poor guy. He’s blind and deaf. But he loves people.”
Spork had cloudy eyes, but the moment Angela offered her hand, his tail started wagging. He pushed his face through the gaps between her fingers, practically demanding attention.
“Oh my god,” Angela said, scratching gently under his chin. “He’s so sweet.”
Spork licked her fingers in appreciation.
“You know, when he first got here, he didn’t warm up to us this fast. Also takes a few visitors some work to get to him,” Hannah said, watching them. “Probably why we’re having trouble getting adopters. But out of everyone here, he’s the one who needs a new family the most.”
“Oh my god,” Angela breathed, crouching closer as the small chihuahua shook his body again and started scratching at the grass beneath his feet. “He’s perfect.”
—
DAMIEN
“He’s perfect,” Angela whispered, scratching the dog again. “Hey, buddy. You’re just a baby, aren’t you?” She clearly tried to school her voice into neutrality and failed miserably as her eyes started looking misty. Damien knew that look more than anything else.
So he wasn’t exactly surprised when she abruptly stood up and asked the volunteer about directions to the bathroom.
Hannah gave her instructions and Angela walked away, pace faster than normal and shoulders tense. Damien tracked her with his eyes, knowing better than to follow her to the nearest crying bathroom, only turning back to the chihuahua once she reentered the shelter building.
This was it. The way she looked at this fragile little dog. Her heart was already gone before she could say a word. Angela wanted this dog so badly. He could see it. But practicality was tugging her the other way. Between filming, the temporary stay in LA, and everything else going on at the other side of the country, she’d barely managed to sleep. How could she add this responsibility?
“Is she okay?” Hannah asked him.
“Yeah. She just gets choked up easily.” He offered the girl a small smile, turning back to Spork. The dog obviously had some troubled past before winding up in the rescue shelter. It’s no wonder Angela would fall in love at first sight. She had a surplus of love to go around.
“What would it take to bring him home with us?” he asked Hannah.
The volunteer’s eyes lit up. “Do you mean that? He’d be so lucky to have you two.”
“You saw the look on her face,” Damien chuckled. “We have room. And it wouldn’t be too bad to add another friend to the household. If she really wants him.”
Hannah’s smile faltered a little, but the smile stayed on. “That’s really nice to hear. I can see you’re good people. But…” she peeked at the back door to check if Angela was back yet. “I know you guys have cats. You’d probably have to see if your other pets will go well with him. He’s pretty… delicate. And he has lots of needs.”
“From what you’re saying, I’m assuming you’re hesitant about us getting him.”
“I’m thinking…how about you try fostering him for a bit. See how you guys get along first before committing to adoption.”
“This isn’t the first time someone tried adopting him?”
“I’ve just seen a lot of them come back. It sucks.”
Damien nodded along. “Then I guess we could try fostering him for a bit. See how well he gets along with the cats at home. But I do need to check with Ang first if she’s fine with that.”
“Sounds good.” Hannah smiled, already walking back into the shelter building. “Let’s get inside and maybe I can get started with the paperwork once Angela steps out of the bathroom.”
Damien hesitated for a bit, unsure whether he could bring Spork in with him or not. But then, the dog lifted his little head and tilted his head at Damien, bell jingling slightly. “Okay, fine. You’re coming in with me.”
He had barely lifted Spork a few inches off the ground when a laugh rumbled from his chest. “Would ya look at that, his dick’s out.”
“His dick’s always out,” Hannah giggled, walking ahead.
Damien had just gone through the back door, Spork tucked into his arm, when he heard a door to his left open and close, revealing Angela who had a little puffiness in her eyes. “Wait, wha– Where are you guys headed?”
He paused, glancing at Hannah, who was already sifting through documents at the reception counter, and at Angela, whose eyes were going wide at the sight of him holding the chihuahua. “I was thinking of taking him home with us.”
“What? Are you…Damien, are you sure?”
“Doesn’t have to be anything permanent. For now. We still need to see how well he gets along with the girls,” he explained. “But Hannah mentioned something about fostering. A week with us to gauge if we could deal with three pets and this little guy’s medical conditions. Formalities, if you ask me. But in my head, he’s already ours. You okay with that?”
“I just went to the bathroom and you’ve somehow talked about all that? You’re serious? I’ll be going back to New York in a few weeks. I can’t adopt a dog with you right now. Especially one who needs so much attention. My building doesn’t even allow dogs!”
“I’m serious, Bug,” he chuckled. “You’ve been talking about getting a chihuahua for months. And I’m not letting you back out of this one. You clearly love him already. Besides, we have the room. As for you being in New York…a baby needs two parents, and that includes fur babies. I was thinking he could stay with me. Isn’t that right, old man?”
Damien scratched Spork’s head and the chihuahua’s eyes closed in delight.
That did it. Angela broke down, laughing and crying at once as she flung herself into Damien’s arms, Spork getting slightly squished in between them. “Look, now I’m crying! You can’t just do things like this!” she said into his shoulder.
“Guess I can,” he teased, kissing her hair.
Once they pulled apart, Damien shifted Spork in his arms and passed him over to Angela, who accepted without hesitation. “Just because you’re my soulmate doesn’t mean he doesn’t get to be yours,” he told her.
By that evening, they were driving home with a new passenger: a tiny bundle of fur wrapped in a blanket, snoring in Angela’s lap. “He’s such a sweetheart, look at him,” Angela whispered, barely moving out of fear of waking up the dog.
Damien squeezed her knee, barely looking away from the road. “I know I said he’s already ours in my book, but don’t get too attached just yet. We don’t know how well he’d adjust to living with us.”
“Oh, please, who wouldn’t want him? Even your little princesses won’t be able to resist him,” she shot back.
—
It turns out, Angela was wrong.
Spork didn’t get along with the cats and adjusted to Damien’s home rather slowly. When they first brought him home, Zelda kept on bumping him on the head, causing Spork to let out little angry noises and hide under the sofa where the chunky cat couldn’t reach him. He kept on bumping into furniture, which is to be expected given that he is blind, but he kept on making pained noises that always caused Angela to tear up. The shelter gave them very specific instructions on Spork’s medication, but getting Spork to trust them in administering it took a lot of work. Angela was too gentle, scared she’d hurt the dog, while Spork growled weakly at Damien when he tried.
If meds weren’t involved, though, Spork loved Angela. He cuddled up to her every chance he got to the point that she just forgot the existence of chairs and often laid down on the floor, where Spork (and the cats) could reach her. Given that Zelda didn’t really like the newcomer, staying on the floor caused a lot of fights that Angela had to break up.
One time, Angela had even yelled at Zelda, which she never did before. “Jesus! Fucking! Christ! Damien, I love this stupid zeppelin of a cat, but get her away from Spork!” she screamed when Spork issued a small whine at getting bumped in the face for the 40th time in a row.
Damien was starting to think they’d have to give up Spork by the end of the week.
Which was why he was shocked to find the scene that greeted him after a three-hour stream that day.
He had just walked out of his office, noticing the uncharacteristic quiet of the house, when he heard someone calling him. “Damien,” Angela whispered to his left.
“Bug? Where are you? Where’s everyone?” he said, matching the tone of her voice.
“Right here, bee boy.” An arm suddenly popped up from behind the couch, where a sunbeam was filtering through the windows. The cats love their sunbeams.
“Are you…still laying on the floor? It’s hot there, Bug. Get up,” he said.
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t?”
“It means I can’t.”
Intrigued, Damien approached her instead. “Oh.”
Angela had laid out a fleece blanket right where the sunbeam was making its way into the house. She was curled up with Spork laying by her arm, Zelda swooshing her tail sleepily by Angela’s neck, and Freyja firmly planted on her chest.
“They love it here. No offense, but they love me. They love sleeping. I figured, why not give them everything at once? Bond over the things they love. They’re loving each other one way or another,” she said, gesturing with her free arm.
“Of course, they love you,” Damien said, crouching as a smile crept across her face. “Need help?”
“No. Not really. Just…” Angela looked at the cats then at Spork. Tears started pricking her eyes. “I thought we would have to let him go. I don’t want to give him up. I mean, look at him.”
“Yeah, I know, Bug. I know,” Damien said, wiping a tear off her cheek. “I could keep you company here. Maybe draw the curtains so the sun isn’t so in your face.”
“No, no, don’t close the curtains. They love the sun. You know that.”
Damien smiled. “Okay. The sun beam stays. Guess I could stay here. We could just talk about your day or mine. Then, we’ll see how they get along once they’ve all woken up.”
“You could, but… turn up the AC, maybe? It is getting hot here.”
Damien chuckled and did as he was told.
Soon enough, it was 5pm and Spork was stumbling about the living room, trying to chase after the cats who were in far better shape than him. Nobody was fighting. Damien looked at Angela, now finally curled up on the couch beside him, “You work miracles, Bug.”
“Don’t ever doubt me again,” she quipped.
Later that week, the adoption of Spork became official. Damien called Shayne on speakerphone while Angela lay on the couch, Spork nestled on her chest. He told him about the new addition to the household, mostly because Angela insisted on calling Shayne to let him know about Spork. “So, you two actually adopted a ten-year-old blind and deaf chihuahua with a bunch of ailments?” Shayne asked flatly.
“Yep,” Damien replied proudly.
A beat of silence. Then, Shayne said dryly, “Of course, my sister wants the fucked-up dog. She likes taking care of fucked-up things.”
Damien froze. “I… don’t know if I should be offended.”
“You should,” Angela mumbled from the couch, too tired to lift her head.
“See?” Shayne said through the phone, chuckling. “She’s already got her hands full.”
“You should come by our house. Meet the little guy,” Angela said, loud enough for the phone to pick it up.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make his existence known one way or the other,” Shayne chortled from the other end of the line. “Look, I got a meeting in like 10 minutes. I should go.”
“Yep, bye Shayne,” Damien said.
“Bye!” Angela said, waving her hand despite it being an audio-only call.
Damien had hung up the phone and went back to playing the movie they were watching, not really thinking much about the call with Shayne. A beat passed. Then two.
Out of nowhere, Angela sat up abruptly, causing Spork to yelp in surprise. She met his gaze with wide eyes, hair a mess from laying there for a long time.
“What?” Damien asked, concerned.
“Did I just say our house?”
Chapter 25: One Year and Home
Notes:
This chapter is dedicated to Angela "What?!" Giarratana >ᴗ<
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
3 WEEKS LATER
Angela had never known a kind of chaos that felt this good.
The floor of Damien’s living room was a maze of cardboard boxes, bubble wrap, open suitcases, and the faint hum of music playing from her phone on the kitchen counter. Outside, the midsummer sun poured through the big window, catching on the stray dust motes floating lazily in the air.
Her movie was officially in post-production and Angela took the return flight to New York with her castmates, only to tell her roommates she’s officially moving to California.
She should’ve known that moving was inevitable. Chanse and Amanda certainly thought so.
—
When she walked back into the apartment with Damien, the place was already littered with stickers that indicated whether her (former) roommates were going to fight her over keeping certain items in the old place. A toaster. An espresso machine. A lamp that Angela bought with Amanda during the summer of freshman year.
Books cluttered the hallway table because they were apparently willing to let go of the shelf. It was even cleaned and disassembled, waiting for Angela in her bedroom, along with a box of her old Shakespeare paperbacks. “What the hell, guys, are you that excited to get me out of here?” she asked, mock-incredulous. “What if Damien and I didn’t move in together?”
Chanse scoffed, Amanda rolled her eyes. “Please,” they said in unison.
—
So now, here they were.
Spork was in the middle of all the mess, yawning, while Freyja was losing a fight with a small sheet of bubble wrap. Zelda’s nose was buried in a box marked DRESSES – NY, her tail swaying about like she’d discovered treasure.
“Zelda, that’s not for you,” Angela called out, swatting playfully at her with a roll of packing tape. The cat ignored her, of course, as cats with royal attitudes do. Her ears merely twitched.
From the hallway, Damien’s voice floated over, warm and teasing. “Okay, I know I said moving from a shared apartment to a house isn’t that hard space-wise, but what the hell are we supposed to do with all these?”
She smiled, turning to see him emerge with a pile of folded blankets in his arms. His hair was a little mussed, his old anime tee half tucked. “It doesn’t even get that cold here.”
“Careful,” she said, eyeing the precarious stack. “That’s my good blanket on top.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, setting them down gently beside her.
Angela leaned against one of the unopened boxes, taking a deep breath. It still didn’t feel real — that she was here, for good this time. No countdown to the next flight, no stack of return tickets on her nightstand. “I think that’s the last of it,” Damien said, dusting his hands off. “Everything that survived shipping, at least.”
“Survived,” she repeated, smiling faintly. “You make it sound like the boxes barely made it.”
“They did barely make it,” he reminded her. “One of them looked like it had been used as a seat cushion.”
“Probably the blender box,” she muttered. “I told Amanda to bubble-wrap that thing.”
Damien chuckled and came to stand beside her, resting a hand on the back of her neck. “So… officially moved in.”
Angela let the words settle between them, feeling the weight of it in her chest. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Officially.”
He squeezed lightly, grounding her. “Feels weird?”
“Feels right,” she said. Then, after a pause: “And a little weird. But mostly right.”
He grinned. “Good weird.”
“The best kind.”
—
Later that evening, as the sun dipped low, Damien brought out the surprise he’d been hiding all week. Angela was sitting cross-legged on the couch, Spork curled against her hip, when he returned from the kitchen with a small white box.
“What’s this?” she asked, suspicious but smiling.
“Anniversary gift,” he said, setting the glasses down.
“We were already having that dinner later. I told you no gifts,” she said.
“And I told you I don’t listen.”
She groaned, though she was already smiling.
“Open it.”
Angela rolled her eyes but did as she was asked. Inside the box was a tiny glass snow globe shaped like a stage. The interior had a little golden spotlight and a miniature ladybug sitting right at the center stage. Except, instead of snow, the particles floating inside imitated confetti.
Angela’s breath hitched. “You’re kidding.”
“I saw it in a shop window a month ago. Reminded me of my soon-to-be superstar girlfriend,” Damien said softly. “You’ve always been the one in the spotlight.”
Angela rolled her eyes again, but appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. “Ridiculous.”
“And you love me.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I really do. I wonder why…”
He shook his head but leaned closer, brushing a kiss against her temple. “Happy anniversary, Angela.”
“Happy anniversary,” she murmured back.
—
Someone proposed during their anniversary dinner.
Not Damien. Definitely not Damien.
Damien and Angela were sitting side-by-side in a booth when someone from a different table got down on one knee just as their dessert was being served.
Angela immediately looked away. “Did she say yes? Did she say yes? Tell me she said yes,” she muttered quietly to Damien.
“They’re still… talking—wha—why are you… folding in on yourself?” Damien whispered.
“‘Cause I hate the idea of public proposals. It’s too much pressure on the recipient of the proposal and just too… performative,” she said, then added more after a beat. “Now, did she say yes?”
Damien discreetly looked back at the couple two tables over. “Yeah. He’s putting the ring on her now,” he said.
Then he giggled.
Angela looked at him questioningly. “What?!”
He giggled harder.
“What!?”
“Nothing. It’s just…hic… great, now I got hiccups…hic…It’s just that… you’re so adorable right now,” he said, reaching for his glass of water. “I only see that face on you when you’re so taken aback and it’s… god, Bug, I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”
Angela still hadn’t fully taken her attention away from the dinner proposal. “Damien, I’m serious. These types of things creep me out. If you ever propose to me—”
“When I ever propose to you…”
“I—when… you ever…” she wavered. “...Just don’t pull shit like that. I would seriously walk away from you.”
Damien giggled again. “You’re doing the face again,” he said.
“What face?! What?!?”
“Oh shoot, it’s the ‘what’ that’s killing me. That’s what,” he chortled, slapping his knees beneath the table. “God, you’re so cute, Bug. I’m so lucky to have you.”
“I still don’t know what the ‘face’ means,” she pouted.
Damien smiled wider, leaning closer to kiss her cheek. “Don’t worry about it. Just know it’s a good thing.”
—
Angela had been trying to nap on the drive back from dinner when she realized the ride was taking longer than usual. She cracked an eye open only to find out they had gone on a freeway.
They’d been on the road for maybe twenty minutes, the city glow fading behind them, when Damien flicked on his blinker and took a turn she didn’t recognize.
“Uh,” she said slowly, glancing at him. “This isn’t the way back.”
Damien kept his eyes on the road, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Isn’t it?”
Angela squinted. “Pretty sure home is the other way…” She was liking the sound of it when she said it. Home. It’s still so new to her to call his house their home, but it fits just right.
“Maybe,” Damien replied, the non-answer dripping with mischief.
She crossed her arms, settling back into her seat with a suspicious glare. “You’re up to something.”
“Always.”
Ten minutes later, the ocean appeared in the distance, dark and endless, the moonlight shimmering across the waves. When Damien finally parked along the quiet stretch of coastline, Angela’s suspicion melted into awe.
“You brought me to the beach?” she asked, voice soft.
“It’s not South Carolina,” Damien admitted, shutting off the engine. “But it’s ours for tonight. Well… ours and a quarter of California’s teenage population, I guess.”
Angela got out of the car, the salty air hitting her instantly. The sand was cool beneath her shoes as she stepped forward, staring at the horizon. It wasn’t the same as the summers she’d grown up with, but it was still the ocean. Only now, it featured a different coast and a big group of teens having a party in the distance.
They used to be those teenagers, gathered around a bonfire by the beach, hooting and hollering over nothing and everything.
Behind her, Damien joined her, hands shoved into his pockets. “Figured it was kind of poetic,” he said. “We missed out on a lot of summers back then. Thought I’d give you one tonight.”
Angela turned. “Damien…”
He looked sheepish then, fumbling in his pocket. “Also, uh—there’s something else. It’s nothing much, but since you’re officially moved in… I got you this.”
He showed her a ladybug keychain with the keys to his house. “We sorta match now,” he said, showing his own key that had a bee chain hanging from it.
“Cheesy as always,” she sighed.
“Hey, don’t blame me. You decided to live with cheesy.”
Her laugh came involuntarily. She didn’t even think. Just stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him. Damien held her tight, returning the kiss until they both pulled away. Angela rested her forehead against his, whispering, “I love it. I love you.”
His smile was tender, almost reverent. “I love you too.”
Notes:
Shorter chapter for now. The next one is gonna be... a lot to process. /d