rikyl replied to your post “Prompt? I’ve never really done them? So why not?”
Ooo, yay! Okay um … how about Mindy Project, Mindy/Danny (of course, who else), late-night phone call
He picks up the phone on the third try. Someone changed his ringtone to a Beyonce song about drunks. That someone is calling now.
"This is Dan," his voice scratched deep by sleep.
"Listen, Danny, no offense, but the way you answer the phone like that is weird. I know who you are. I’m calling you."
"It’s the polite way… wait. What time is it?"
Her voice comes out so small, it could be a pin prick hole in a piece of paper.
Danny sits up, rubs his eyes, Sally’s red hair is all over his hands. What the hell? That woman sheds way too much. He gingerly steps out of bed and goes into the living room, careful not to wake her.
"Min? You still there? Sorry, I had to move to the living room."
"Oh my god, are you not alone?" Mindy sounds horrified. Also, sad. He knows it now, that sound. He hates that he does. He hates it so much. Danny decides to lie. Only not really, because he is. Alone. Basically.
"Yes. I mean, No. I’m alone."
"Oh. So why did you go to the living room?"
"I’m thirsty. Shut up. It’s the middle of the night. You okay?"
"Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know. I went on a date. It was terrible, Danny. He was a hedge fund guy, which gross but also, you know, hot. Like Christian Bale in American Psycho hot. Only he wasn’t. Also, he didn’t laugh at any of my jokes which is stupid because I’m freakin’ hilarious!”
"This guys sounds like a dope."
She sighs. “And my DVR didn’t record the MTV Movie Awards red carpet thingy and I’m out of cheesecake. All I have are nachos. And they’re stale.”
"That’s terrible." He means it, nachos are a poor excuse for crackers.
"I know, right?" She yelps. "Crap. The light bulb just exploded. Can’t I get just one thing to work around here?!"
And then, because he’s a crazy person and can’t help himself or stick to his own stupid life decisions, he winds up at her door at 2:15 a.m. with three different flavors of Ben & Jerry’s. She doesn’t like any of them but makes him share the spoon. They sit on her couch while she ruins some TV show he’s never seen by telling him everything that happens (death, death, death, sex, death - sounds pretty good actually), punctuating her sentences with that infuriating, irritating, completely wonderful woodpecker laugh. He tells himself he’s there because they’re friends and friends help each other out when stuff gets hard. Best friends. Right?
When the traffic noise outside builds from the occasional passing car to a dull, buzzing symphony of taxi horn blasts and morning delivery truck rumbles, Mindy stands up. She walks over to the bedroom door, looks over her shoulder at him, and slides her shoes off.
He’s going straight to hell.