#hypersensitive

This stupid game was NOT meant to go like this.

It was one of those simple Smosh Pit improv bits. The kind that only needed a table, a camera, and everyone dressed in the unofficial black improv uniform. Shayne, Courtney, Angela, Chanse, Tommy, and Damien were all there, already half-losing it before the game even started.“K-Change of Plans,” Shayne explained, tapping the bowl sitting dead center on the table.

The rules were easy. Inside were folded slips of paper, each one holding a character you had to commit to: an old woman, a pilgrim, something equally ridiculous. You pulled one. Your scene partner pulled one. The rest of the group threw out a situation.

And then, BOOM. Improv time.It started out really silly. Shayne was Guy Who Can Only Say Zonk™, Angela was some sort of... little Italian man? Cortney was a scarily good Facebook Mom. You were amused, but not surprised by the talent of your castmates. Now, however, it was time for you to go. Damien volunteered as your scene partner, and while you managed to stay cool, your head was screaming and your heart was pounding. "

This is gonna be awesome!" Angela grinned, and added: "I mean, it literally can't be worse than Straight Chanse." She added a dramatic shiver. "Let's fucking go!" Tommy slammed a hand on the table. Everyone was hyped, the mood on improv days was always so good. That was why you felt comfortable enough to actually go a little crazy.Damien picked a paper slip first. "Geez, Guy Who Thinks Everyone Is Participating In His LARP? That's hilarious."

And then he looked at you. Him in his gorgeous black button down, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the tattoos on his ridiculously pretty arms. It was truly unfair how he got to be everything all at once; talented, adorably nerdy and unfairly gorgeous as well?! You took it as a sign to pull your card, though. "Tired Customer Service Person? I like it. Let's do this!"

Oh, you were ready.

You'd been ready for a long time, you thought. Secretly, you had been hoping for this to happen. To be quite honest, you'd been interested in Damien from the start, since you got to join the crew and this ridiculously attractive man grinned at you like you were just what he'd been hoping for. You felt like a secret mastermind, always turning the situation so you'd end up somewhere with him. But is a girl to blame for that?

No, no one was to blame for liking a man like that. He had been there, even when you weren't this entertaining, actress persona. Even when you weren't the funniest, or the best at something. His eyes were on you. You could still remember the first time you got overstimulated at a Smosh event. You'd been masking up until that point, but it was exhausting and one day, it just kinda dropped. You'd left the room, thinking, HOPING, they'd not come after you, because crying in front of these awesome people was just embarrassing— especially because of seemingly nothing.

But he came looking for you. When he'd seen you, he just sat next to you for a moment. After some time, he'd asked what happened. That was the day you'd admitted your hypersensitivity. Instead of being all confused or asking you too many questions, he just nodded. Then, he started talking about the original Pokémon, about his D&D character and literally anything else to distract you. And after that, you were basically inseparable—

—which led you to where you were now. Crushing on a fucking theatre kid with interests which competed with those of fucking Sheldon Cooper. Said theatre kid was now facing you on the little space used as the improv stage. You instantly switched to acting mode. Pretending to sit at a register, you waited for Damien to approach you.

“Ah, good evening! You- you must be the mysterious innkeeper! Pray, how many shillings for a room? Preferably with a bed.”

You blinked, leaning back against the counter.

“Sir… this is a Hilton.”

"What? YOU'RE Ms. Hilton?” He stepped a little closer, chest puffed out as if presenting a ceremonial sword.

“No! I meant—” You threw up your hands, almost knocking over a stack of imaginary brochures.“Ah! So you are the Guardian of this establishment!” He swept into a bow so dramatic it nearly knocked over a brochure stand that did not exist. “I knew it. You’re the boss encounter. The one Hilton was named after...”

You groaned but laughed anyway, crossing your arms. “Is this a bit? Sir… I make fourteen dollars an hour and none of them cover medieval combat.”

“LIES! To get a room in this establishment, I must fight you first, correct? Hah! I am a level five paladin! I will SQUASH YOU!” He raised an imaginary sword and took a deliberate step closer, forcing you to lean back slightly.

“You can't say that! PLEASE lower your voice. And your expectations. I don’t have a sword.” You leaned forward over the counter, hands planted firmly, staring him down with mock seriousness.

He tilted his head, smirk twitching, and stepped closer, so your shoulders brushed. “Yet I sense a great power within you… and frankly, it’s distracting my oath. Are you a practicer of magic, perhaps?“

You rolled your eyes but smirked. “Magic? Surviving this lobby every day without losing my mind has to count for something, right?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice like the fluorescent lights were suddenly torchlight. “Tell me, Guardian… do you challenge all who seek rest, or only those who catch your interest?”

Courtney whispered, “Why does he always do this?”“Because God abandoned us,” Angela murmured, already laughing.

You leaned over the counter, unimpressed. “I challenge anyone who raises an imaginary sword in my lobby. And if you don't stop, I'm going to call the police.”

“Ah,” he said softly, shoulders brushing yours. “Then I will sheathe mine… for now.”

You let out a long, exaggerated sigh, slumping slightly on the counter. “Sir… if you don’t either book a room or do something that isn’t… whatever this is, you’re going to have to leave.”

“Ah!” he gasped, stepping closer like the fluorescent lighting suddenly became torchlight. “You do not yield easily, Guardian. Truly… you are remarkable.”

You snorted, trying to shove back a laugh, but your chest betrayed you for a millisecond when his hand brushed just slightly against yours while gesturing wildly, a completely accidental touch, and your stomach did that stupid, fluttery thing that made you hate yourself a little more.

"What's remarkable is that I haven't QUIT MY FUCKING JOB ALREADY!" You'd caught yourself and ended the scene with a well deserved crashout.

“Aaand scene!” Angela laughed.“Nice!” Shayne clapped, and you high-fived Damien, the energy still buzzing.“Be honest,” you said, grinning. “Is this just how you are outside of improv?”

He snorted. "Mhm, you got me. I run around with my wooden sword and act like LA is fucking Baldurs Gate or something." After you, Chanse and Tommy had their turn, something about a mime and an opera singer, and you realized you hadn’t actually been paying attention at all.

Damien was sitting beside you. And he was so close. Close enough that your legs touched, warm denim against warm denim, and it felt impossibly loud in your head despite no one else seeming to notice.You didn’t move. Neither did he.

You laughed when everyone else laughed, stared resolutely forward, and tried not to think about how aware you suddenly were of your own body, of how stupidly fast your heart was going, how carefully you were breathing.It was nothing, yet it was more than that. It was everything.You felt like a teenager again, full of nerves and hope and humiliation, praying he wouldn’t notice while desperately wanting him to.Eventually, the scene ended. The moment didn’t.

And when things finally moved on, it felt like waking up from something you weren’t ready to leave.

—

Pretty soon after, they wrapped up filming for the day. It was a good day, and you all were pretty satisfied with your efforts, but it was loud. Yeah, you loved improv days, but they were quite exhausting. Keeping up the performance even when things got too much was part of the job, and so draining nonetheless. You were sitting in the break room, sipping on your standard chamomile tea. That's kinda what you were known for here at Smosh, because every time you were on set, you'd have at least two cups of that damn tea every few hours. That was when someone sat down next to you.

"Chamomile tea again, huh?" Of course it had to be Damien. You didn't even have to look at him to know he was smiling as well. Your eyes drifted to his anyway. "If you see me drinking anything else, you know that's my evil twin," you joked. He grinned. "Do you not get tired of it?"

You shook your head. "Never. It's kinda like my emotional support tea, you know? It, uh, it always tastes the same, no matter how loud things get. That's what I like about it." "No, I get it." He paused, tilting his head to look at you better. Under the table, your hand was gripping your jeans, you were trying not to explode because of the eye contact.

"Today was loud again, yeah?" He asked. You shrugged. "I mean, it's what I signed up for. Plus, for emergencies, I still have these babies," you said, pointing to the noice cancelling headphones you always kept around your neck, just in case. He gave a small nod. "Well, you did really good today. Kinda made me wanna go again, to be honest." You looked at him with a grin.

"You just want an excuse to flirt with me," you teased. Sometimes, you wondered where you got the balls to flirt, but you had realized a whole ago that sometimes, you'd have to fight for what you wanted. This wasn't a fight, really, it was much better, but you weren't usually the one speaking up like that, so every battle counts for something. Damien leaned a little closer. "Oh please, I don't need excuses to flirt," he stated, crossing his arms. "Just don't want you to explode the moment I say something that's not PG-13."

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks. "Jesus-" You whispered under your breath, before catching yourself and flirting back because WE DIE LIKE MEN.

"Hm, you know what I think?" You asked, tilting your head teasingly. "I think YOU'RE the one who can't take it." With a grin, you blinked up at him, before getting up, having finished your tea.

Unexpectedly, he followed. "Nuh uh, you're not leaving. Not after you looked at me like that." He gently grabbed your wrist, and after realizing how demanding he sounded, he added: "Please?"This time, you couldn't regulate yourself enough to form a proper answer. "I... you... Damien, are... are we still acting?"

He carefully, almost hesitantly stepped closer, having let go of your wrist to not crowd you. "Honestly? I've stopped acting a while ago."

"What?"

"Listen, I... I don't want this to be weird or anything, really, I just-... I think you're pretty awesome, and, uh," he took a moment to breathe before continuing, "I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you." He didn't look at you for a moment, he couldn't. But when he did, he saw a ridiculously red face. You were rendered speechless for a moment, but you were sure your expression spoke for you. It actually made him chuckle. "You doing okay there? Geez, I... I didn't think I could do that."

"Oh, shut up!" You finally shook it off, but you were smiling like an idiot. "In case it wasn't completely obvious, I am head over heels for you, Day. Sometimes I scare myself, but, uh... I guess I don't have to anymore." You smiled a bit at your own awkwardness. He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Wow. Okay. So this is… happening.”

“Yeah,” you said, still smiling like you couldn’t stop it even if you tried.He bumped his shoulder against yours, warm and solid. “Guess we’re really bad at pretending, huh?”

You leaned into him, just a little. The space between you shifted, subtle but unmistakable, like the air itself had leaned in too. His shoulder was warm against yours, steady, and you became acutely aware of how close his face was now. Close enough that you could see the way his breath caught, the way his jaw tightened as if he were working up courage all over again.

“Hey, uh... Can we-... Can I kiss you, please?” He asked, voice soft, careful, like he was holding something fragile in his hands.

You felt your eyes widen, your heart stuttering hard enough that you were sure he could hear it. You turned your head to look at him fully now, really look at him, and found that he was already watching you, hopeful and nervous all at once.“You wanna kiss me?” You blinked, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. His smile came slow, crooked, fond.“If that’s okay?”

“Please.”

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then he lifted his hand, hesitant, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. You didn’t. His fingers brushed your jaw, barely there, like he was still making sure this was real. When he leaned in, it was unhurried, reverent, his forehead resting against yours for a heartbeat as he exhaled a quiet laugh of relief.

The kiss itself was gentle, soft pressure, more promise than anything else. It lingered, unspoken words settling between you as easily as his lips did. You kissed him back without thinking, without fear, and something warm and steady unfurled in your chest.

When you finally pulled apart, you stayed close, foreheads touching, breathing the same air.It felt right.It felt like the easiest thing in the world.