Saturday Night Live (One-Shots)

Mikey Day

My eyes felt like weights as I struggled to keep them open. Working the night shift at SNL was no joke. It was like Lorne Micheals was a vampire and never slept; every moment that I thought I had one second to breathe, Lorne had another script he needed me to edit. I was the editor for Saturday Night Live. My job was to edit the scripts; to make sure there were no grammar errors. Or just making sure the script was actually funny.

I huffed as I barely made it up the steps to my apartment complex. I walked towards the elevator, I pressed the up button, but it didn't light. So I pressed it again, nothing. I pressed it again, nothing. Again, nothing. Again, nothing. Until I realized I didn't have my key card. I groaned as I dropped all my belongings to the floor, so I had a free hand to get the card from my bag. 

There was only one light that lit up the bare hallway, and the hall lit a dark yellow. The luminance gave off a creepy feeling, but I tried to ignore it as I dug through my bag. Once I had the key, I tapped it against the scanner. The elevator finally made a beeping noise. I sighed in relief. The dented metal doors slid open. I gathered my belongings and rushed inside before they closed so I didn't have to do the whole process again.  Once the elevator doors shut behind me, I lamented. The only thing that prevented silence was the creaking noises of the elevator. 

Once the elevator notified me that I was on my floor, I looked up to the blinking light before the doors opened. I stepped through and walked down the long hall that had windows peaking outside to waking New York. It was around 8:00 A.M., so the sun was just barely over the harbor. I stopped at my apartment door and used the same plastic key to unlock the door.

I walked down to the kitchen to notice that it was quiet, awkwardly quiet. I laid my things on the kitchen counter. I raised an eyebrow to think he was playing a trick on me and he was going to come from behind and try to scare the shit out of me. But he's done it enough already, so I'll be prepared if he even thinks of scaring me.

I stood my ground, not moving, waiting for him to pop out of somewhere and scream like a banshee. But that never came; the eerie quiet was still pulsing through the apartment. "Mikey? Are you home?" I asked softly, leaving the kitchen to walk around the house to see if he was here. 

A groan came from the couch. "Mikey?" I asked again to make sure that it was him on the couch and not just some stranger. He groaned again in response to my question. I walked over to him to see his head face planted into a pillow. He was still in his clothes from yesterday's show. I crouched down to his level on the couch. 

He moved his head slightly, so one eye peaked out, he looked at me, and a faint smile came across his face. I smiled back and pushed back a strand of hair that escaped his gel. "Are you alright?" I asked quietly, not wanting to be too loud.

He then turned his whole head, so he was looking at me completely. "I don't know...I don't feel too well." He said as his eyes began to close on his own, the eye bags on his face stretched as far down as they could.  His body moved at his own pace to sit up on the couch. His polo was halfway unbuttoned; it was also very wrinkled.

"Did you get any sleep?" I asked, sitting next to him on the couch. Once I did so, he laid his head on my shoulder.  "Mhm," he responded. I could still smell the cologne that was still on him from last night.  "Did you have anything to eat?" I asked, looking down to see he was still in his work shoes as well. "Mhm..." he responded again. 

I stood up and faced him, "Go get changed into something more comfortable. Your clothes are all wrinkly." I told him, he then stood up with the strength he had to do so. He walked into our bedroom and our closet. He pulled out an ashy grey shirt and plaid pants. I walked into the kitchen to get him something to eat. He did say he ate, but I know it wasn't an actual meal. He most likely just had half of a Poptart. I turned my head to see the Poptart box, not in the cabinet. Yep, he did. 

I walked into our bedroom to see him already asleep on the bed. He didn't even try to get inside the covers or anything; he just passed out right on the bed. I let out a chuckle as I placed the food next to him on the bedside table. I walked to my side of the bed and laid down next to him. He opened an eye and smile as he spread out his arms, asking me for a hug. I slid next to him as he put an arm over my waist. I buried my head into his chest. 

"I love you..." He said to me in a quiet scratchy voice.

"I love you too," I responded. 

He pulled me in closer as he laid his head on top of mine. I shut my eyes as I started to get more tired than I already was. "Mikey?" I asked, but there was no response. He was already asleep. I smiled before falling asleep in his arms.

Word Count: 971

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