INT – ICE'S APARTMENT — NIGHT
The bathroom door clicked softly shut behind him. He stepped out in his usual bathrobe, bare feet soundless on the floor, a towel draped over one shoulder as he roughly dried his hair.
The phone had been ringing the whole time he was in the tub. He didn't need to check the screen — there was only one person who called him at this hour. He let out a long sigh. Today had been exhausting, all of it draining: physically, mentally — because of her.
He reached for the hair dryer in the drawer, but the ringing didn't stop. Somehow he knew she wouldn't give up until he picked up.
He walked toward the bedside lamp and squinted at the screen: Video Call Request. He couldn't help shaking his head. Why did he do this to himself?
He tapped the accept button.
"Ice?" Her voice was bright and small through the speaker; the image on the screen was dark, just like his room. The lamp's glow did nothing for the phone camera.
"What?" he answered, rubbing the towel through his hair. Little drops of water trailed down his face.
"I can't see you!" she squeaked.
He padded to the light switch and flipped it on.
"Turn it off!" she panicked from the other end.
"What?" He blinked. Did she just tell him to turn the light off after he'd turned it on?
"Turn off the light, it'll hurt your eyes!" she insisted.
Unbelievable. He sat on the edge of the bed, propped the phone against the lamp, and shoved one wireless bud into his ear. On the other end: pitch black.
"You've already made a ton of requests today, missy," he said, trying for irritation but sounding more tired than mean. He continued drying his hair, keeping his face turned away from the camera. "What do you want now?"
"Nah, nothing!" she lied.
"Then drop the call," he hissed.
"I will — sorry!" she said. The call ended abruptly.
Ice stared at the blank screen. The end of the call felt abrupt and ridiculous, she never listened. He set the towel down and reached for his phone again. Was he too harsh?
Ding.
A new message had arrived. He opened it and was taken back to the earlier conversation — and a new line stood out, trembling on the display.
"Ace-suuu help me!"
Three little letters. Conjured a knot on his chest, lips twisting into a sneer. He didn't think, he just dialed.
Line busy.
Anger burned in his chest, hot and heavy, patience slipping through his grip. His fingers moved on their own, typing: Call me. If not—. Send. The chime of the notification sounded strange, almost unfamiliar, but he ignored it.
Seconds later the phone rang. Voice call this time.
"Hello! Icy? Icy?!" Her voice was panicked and confused.
"Help you with what?" he asked, dryly, flinging himself onto the bed. The earbud was still in his right ear.
"Help what?" she backtracked. "Oh—sorry, I bumped into something."
A moment later she came clean, sounding guilty. "It was a typo! I meant Ice, not Ace—wrong letters!"
"Maybe you're thinking about him too much," he muttered.
"Yes—" she started, then pulled back, "No! No, no, nothing like that!"
He pulled on the royal-blue silk pajama set she'd once bribed him with for food — the ridiculous present he'd actually kept. He heard rustling over the line as she fussed.
"Sorry, I shouldn't be bothering you at this hour, Ice," she said, voice small.
"Let's end the call. Good night," she tried to say, eager to be done.
"Yeah, so you can call someone else?"
"Ye—no! It's not what you think!"
Her nonsense never ended. Why did she keep hurting herself like this?
"Ah—ah, I'll sleep now." A click from her end — the tiny sound of her light going off.
"Good. Don't turn off the call." Ice pulled the covers up and slid into bed. He wanted to sleep, too, tired.
"What? What do you mean?" she asked.
"Just... let it end on its own. Stay there," he murmured, half-asleep, one earbud still in. His words were few, almost inaudible, like the remnants of a dream.
"That won't happen!" she exploded, suddenly all energy again — the exact opposite of him.
"Good night." He said it was slow, soft, almost sweet, and then drifted toward sleep.
The call that was meant to soothe her had the opposite effect. For her, every careless word and sleepy sigh on the line sparked vivid memories — too precious to forget and stubborn as ever when she closed her eyes.
Another clip that will keep playing on her ears on loop.
No sleep for her again.