Author's Note: There's no specific paring for this standalone, so feel free to use your imagination. :) Song: "Call Me" by Blondie.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except for the basic plot.

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Call me your color, baby

Call me your car

Call me your color, baby

I know who you are…

Call me on the line

Call me any, any time…

I’m not talented in any regard, he says, but you don’t believe him; that’s just his way of being humble. Everyone fawns over him, including you. You don’t understand why anyone would put him down. If all the hate were directed towards you it wouldn’t be a problem. You’d take it like you always do. Just as long as he comes out looking pristine, which is exactly how you see him.

You hold him up in the brightest light. But can he stand the heat?

A cell phone rings. It’s yours. He’s calling. You know because he has a special ring tone (one of your favorite songs), and whenever you hear it sing your heart jumps. Though the song is beautiful and you think you could listen to it resonate forever in your quiet hotel room, you’re sure to pick it as quickly as you can. His voice is soothing, and you’re desperate.

“Hey” is the first word that comes out of your mouth. You say “hey” to everyone you talk to, but with him the greeting is happier, sometimes seductive, depends on your mood. He gives the same greeting. Sometimes his voice sounds tired, sometimes happy, sometimes bored, but you don’t let it fool you. You know that beneath his tone, beyond the idle chitchat and your meaningless rambling he claims to listen to, and ingrained in his every retelling of past events, he only wants one thing: to get off.

Then it goes back to how everyone thinks he’s phony, how they he’s got nothing but catchy hooks that attract the kids by the masses, yet there’s nothing behind the words but sorry, sickening, typical angst about… well, everything. You push all those negative thoughts away, because, at least in your mind, he’s perfect, and he’s all that you’ve got.

“I’m horny,” he says, after about forty-five to fifty minutes of wasting precious battery power and money and making the cell phone company all the richer. The words don’t surprise you; they come up in almost every conversation. There are times when you pretend like you didn’t hear him and continue to talk about nothing—anything to fill the silence, or to cut him off. Inwardly you laugh when you do this. It excites you and you like making him sweat it out until you give your reply. Other times you really don’t feel like satisfying him because you get so damn annoyed by it. But, for the most part, the attention is nice.

“So I went to look at the magazines and saw that we were on the cover and we look like suck dorks…” Blah blah blah. Again, nothing of real importance is being expressed.

“How come you always make me so hard?” he says, cutting you off. He sounds almost frantic. You’ve teased him too long and you can practically hear him begging. You smile; glad he can’t see the grin over the phone. Is giving in the thing to do? You’re not sure if you want to tonight.

“How come? What is it about me that makes you so excited?”

“… I don’t know. It’s just that when you speak I can’t think of anything else other than being with you. There’s just something about you, I guess.”

Somehow you expected a better answer, but deep down you knew there wasn’t one. Still, it didn’t remove the slight disappointment you felt. He never was very good at being specific. But that light you shone on him never faded. After a long pause, you said, “I guess you wanna have phone sex?”

“Mmmhmm,” his reply.

Cover me with kisses, baby

Cover me with love

Roll me in designer sheets

I’ll never get enough

Emotions come, I don’t know why

Cover up love’s alibi

You walked to your bed and told him to hold on while you took off your shirt and jeans, and then placed your warm back on the cool, white sheets. You picked up the phone and told him that you reached inside your boxers and was now touching yourself. He said he had done the same, then he softly said to moan his name. You obey. Don’t you always? In the midst of the sighing and heavy breathing, caught up in ecstasy, you say, “I love you.” And as soon as the words come from behind your tongue they are instantly regretted. He says nothing. In fact, he’s not moaning anymore. The next thing said is an awkward apology. Still nothing. The mood is ruined.

Though you and him had spewed off enough dirty words and phrases and “I need you”s to last a lifetime, saying the L word was something else entirely. The thing is, it was never to be said. Even after you had said it you were never sure if you actually meant it. But if it accidentally escaped, you always hoped he say that he loved you too.

You know it would never happen, but you like to keep dreaming because the hope is the very thing you like to hold on to. And that’s all this friendship is: a dream. You’re not his lover, just his friend he likes to call up so he can get some action. People say he’s a leech. You say he’s an angel and there’s nothing he can do to make you let go.

Call me, my love

Call me, call me any, anytime

End.