AN: Hanging out in other fandoms for the past couple of months made me really miss writing for Samcedes. I just recently found this prompt on tumblr and realized I didn't move it to fanfiction until, well right now. I hope it's alright lol
The phone rings.
Her voice is like rain on a cold Sunday morning. Bittersweet. Not too high pitched. Not too low. It's a grey area. But he thinks it's beautiful.
His voice is soft, scratchy, hurt. A smoker's voice.
She breathes a sigh of relief. She had been waiting for him to call. To hear his voice.
And then the silence starts. It's not an awkward silence. Nor is it an uncomfortable silence. It's just a silence.
A grey area.
Normally she will be busy on her computer. On his end he can hear her fingers rapidly moving about what he's sure is the click of her key board. On her end she hears the soft sounds of his Television. Usually he never has it too loud, or too quiet. It's just a grey area. Much like everything else.
They never fight. But they never really get along. It's just yet another grey area. They don't speak.
But sometimes the grey will turn just a bit lighter, or just a bit darker, and a small conversation will spark.
"I hate you."
She says it like clockwork. Her tone is lighthearted. A small breath of a laugh follows those three solemn words. A joke.
He responds quietly. Simply. And then a long drawn silence starts again. He responds because though he hears her slight laugh and her lighthearted tone he knows buried deep down, there's a small undertone of a hate. A bitter hate. A bitter knowing that, though she didn't do it intentionally, a little breath slipped out. A tone, an undertone of hate.
And he knows it's his fault.
Because deep down he really thinks she hates him.
Sometimes the silence is deafening. Sometimes it burns into her ear late at night. Sometimes he doesn't watch TV. Sometimes his music isn't blaring in the background, and sometimes her computer is off shutting away her bittersweet leave of him.
During these times he's always falling asleep, and she knows that the time she has with him is slipping away. His eyelids are drooping and the silence is louder.
It's this precise moment when she has words on the tip of her tongue she's been wanting to say. She's been meaning to say them every night since his first phone call.
She speaks his name into the receiver waking him up just a bit.
"Hmmn?" He says softly. Almost kindly. But not quite. Just a grey area.
She doesn't know what to say. Sacred words on the tip of her tongue are replaced by four routine words.
A grey area.
"You're such an asshole."
He says 'I know' because even though she says she's joking he knows from the stares and the words he'll never say, she's speaking the truth. He's an asshole to her. He hates himself for it.
But she knows he's not an asshole.
He's not kind either.
He's a grey area.
The silence begins again. This silence is more deafening than the one before that. The words are still on the tip of her tongue, she feels as though there are a thousand but she's not quite sure just what they are.
But he's falling asleep. It won't be long before he says he least favorite words.
"Hey babe?" He speaks softly. A scratch to his voice. She can tell he needs a cigarette. "I'll call you in the morning, okay?"
She sighs, she wants him to stay. But it's just another night. This will happen again tomorrow. And the night after that. And the night after that.
"Alright." Her cold, Sunday voice echoes.
The words will come to her one day.
"Alright." He says softly. "I love you."
Because between the 'I'll call you back's. And the hang ups, and the 'Hello's and the 'Goodbye's.
There will always be an 'I love you.'
"I love you, too."
And until the night comes when he's not so tired, and the computer isn't on and the TV's not up too loud or down too low, and the music isn't playing, and the silence isn't deafening.
The words will roll off the tip of her tongue.
Maybe things won't be so grey.
AN: Let me know if I should post more of these oneshots =p