Title: One Missed Call
Author: Kirschli Kuchen
Players: D27
Disclaimer: Please insert something witty here that tells that I don't own the characters and the original anime/manga/game.
A/N: 's kinda hard to understand ^^°°°
Btw does someone read all my stories? If yes you should see something similar in every story x3
Btw btw it's exactly one side in word xO
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It would ring. Everyday. He would pick up and be welcomed with the dial-tone.
It had become routine, really.
And he always – really always – picked up– just to see if that mysterious caller had something important to say. But – as it seems – they didn't, really.
It always just rang when he was home – which couldn't have to do with him invariably coming home directly after work and never going out – because there where no missed calls in his absence.
The caller had his number hidden from view what made calling back quite impossible.
He always told himself that it didn't matter – it simply couldn't be him.
---
He would call. Every-fucking-day. And if he then finally picked up he'd panic – badly – and slam the phone shut. Like said before everyday. Of course he always called at the same time – a routine once set should never be broken, right? – but that didn't mean that the called one had to pick up every time. Right?
In the beginning he just wanted to hear his voice, but the first few calls were left unanswered and he became scared.
So he decided to just leave a message, which then became kind of difficult, because he started to pick up his every call.
He still called.
---
He listened half-heartedly to the news report in the local pub.
"-the tragic accident of flight 0027. At the moment there are over one hundred actual deaths-" his eyes widened and his breathing sped up for the fraction of a second "-tendency increasing – and over 150 causalities recorded-" but slowed again.
He turned back to his company and shut the noise from the TV out of his hearing – after all it was none of his business.
---
He missed a call.
After long prodding and nagging from his subordinates he finally gave up and had gone out to drink with them. He really tried to get back in time for his daily call but the traffic stuck and he had to wait for about two or so houres.
The red light on the answering-machine blinked. He pressed the button and the metallic female voice resounded in his lonely home: "You have one new message:"
Then in a deep baritone oh-so familiar and sort of nervous voice:
"Hey, uhmm… What's up? Well… I've just called to say,… I love you… I miss you… And… I'm coming back… flight 0027… Yeah, that's it…" then the familiar dial-tone.
That night crying could be heard.
