Impractical Jokers Preferences (Currently Updating)

#45: You Call Him Crying

Sal: You scroll through the pictures one more time, waiting for Sal to pick up his phone. He's across the Atlantic, but you had to call him. "Hey, babe," he answers, his voice cheery, as the loud voices in the background slowly fade as he finds a quieter space to talk. You sniff loudly, trying to hold your emotions in before even attempting to talk. "Everything alright? What's wrong?" He questions with concern, wanting to know why you were calling him crying. "Everything is perfect," you say, your voice cracking. "Babe, what's the matter?" His tone searching for an answer from your side of the line. "Absolutely nothing," you continue, trying your best to control your tears in an attempt to actually have a conversation. "Okay, well, why are you crying?" You take a deep breath in, looking at the pictures on your computer screen once more, shaking your head in awe, a smile forming on your face. Once you gain enough composure to talk you answer him. "Can I just say something?" You begin. He says nothing, allowing you to get your thoughts out uninterrupted. "Can I just say how absolutely and incredibly proud I am of you?" You hear him sigh in relief at your confession and the truth that nothing was wrong. "I am scrolling through these pictures of you visiting that girl and her family in The Bronx, and Sal, I don't think I have ever been more overwhelmed by anything else in my entire life." He laughs softly at your honesty. "I just wanted to visit her," he tells you and your smile grows wider. "I know you did, and the fact that you actually went shows just how..." You pause your thought as your tears begin to fall once more. "...it just shows how incredible you are. I am so proud of you. And so unbelievably honored to call you mine." "Honored? That's a bit of a stretch babe," he acknowledges with a chuckle, trying to play off his actions. "It isn't," you begin. "Thank you for once again showing the world the true Sal Vulcano, the one that I love with all of my heart." "You're welcome, I guess," he answers, with another soft chuckle, never being able to fully accept sentimental compliments. As your eyes begin to dry, you review the conversation the two of you had just attempted, laughing at your breakdown. "What is it now?" He inquires, your laughter sounding like wailing. "Nothing, I'm just laughing." "Good, laughing is good. Please don't call me crying again, especially when there's no reason to," he orders playfully. "I'm overemotional sometimes. I can't help it!" "You're overemotional all of the time," he counters. It was true.

Brian (Q): "Wait, what? Slow down," Brian says over the line, and you try and catch your breath. "We broke up," you cry, your sobs creeping back up your throat. "What? Why?" Brian's concern was ever present in his voice. "He just said he didn't love me anymore," you reveal, your heart weakening as you relive the moment those words had come out of your now ex-boyfriend's mouth. "Babe," he begins, pausing to find the right words. "Come over," he offers, the right words not coming to him. "I don't want...." "Come over," he interrupts. You sigh into the phone, knowing turning down his offer, especially when you were like this would not end well for you, he would be at your door in minutes if you weren't heading out it now. "Good, I'll see you soon," he responds to your sigh. You credited Brian with getting you out of your flat, something that needed to be done. The drive allows you to concentrate on something other than being told you weren't loved anymore, something that hurt so deeply. You find a spot in the parking garage of Brian's complex, using the guest card he had given to you almost as soon as he had moved in. The lift ride up to his floor was long and quiet, not the situation you needed to be in. You look at yourself in the reflection of the mirrored walls surrounding you, your emotions flooding back. You had to get away from this. You quickly exit the lift once the doors open, hurrying down the corridor. Your knocking at the door sounds more like pounding to him. Once you stand face to face with him in the doorway your emotions consume you completely. His hand latches around your neck, pulling you into him as tight as possible as he closes the door with his other hand. He sways slowly with you in his arms now, trying his best to comfort you. You know you should move, step back from him, so he doesn't have to keep holding you. You can't though. Your legs won't budge. "I'm sorry," you say into his chest. "Do not be sorry," he scolds, his grip getting tighter as the swaying continues. You look up at him, your eyes swollen and red. He looks down at you with a smile, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You're staying with me tonight," he tells you, pulling away only to take your hand to lead you over to the couch.

James (Murr): You had picked yourself up from the floor long enough to grab your phone, only to collapse beside the bed. You took in a few deep breaths, your hand shaking too much to try and even unlock your phone. Once you had calmed enough to see the screen straight you had called James. He was in Vegas right now, so you were safe with the time and not waking him up. "J-James?" You cried into the phone. "Oh my god, what's the matter?" He had responded, worry in his voice. "It's Zander," you revealed, the name enough to choke you. "James, Zander died last night," you sobbed. "Oh god," was all he had managed to get out. Your arm fell, your phone sliding away, as you sobbed at the loss of the dog you had grown up with. He had been a part of the move into James's apartment in Long Island and had become a beloved member of the group, traveling with you whenever he could. You had made that phone call two days ago, your heart still in pieces. James had asked for prayers from his fans via Twitter for your heart to heal, but the void that was now present didn't seem like it would ever go away. You stand in the kitchen, mulling around, knowing you should eat something. A loud knock echoes throughout the house and you jump in shock at the sound. You weren't expecting anything, but then again it wasn't you who usually received the packages in this house. You open the door to see no one standing in front of you. Great, a prankster, the last thing you needed to deal with right now. While turning to close the door back, you hear a slight yelp. Your head turns around, looking down at the ground this time. A large purple box sits in the doorway. You bend down, noticing the holes covering the cardboard. You pull the box top open, your hands covering your mouth once you realize what is inside. Jumping up to peak out of the box for the first time since being put in is a small light brown shih tzu. It barks once more and tears fill your eyes. A bright red bow is tied around its neck a small piece of cardstock attached. 'Another someone special to love you just as much as I do. xx James' it reads. you choke up at the overwhelming emotions you were feeling. "Hi," you coo as you pull the puppy from the box. With introductory kisses out of the way, you carry your new housemate in your arm as you search for your phone, calling James to cry once more, but for a very different reason.

Joe: "Hey, hey, hey, why are you crying?" You wipe your eyes, looking to the ceiling to try and get them to stop crying. "I miss you," you say softly, the phone tightly pressed to your ear, wishing every so badly that his voice wasn't across the Atlantic. "Babe," he begins, relieved it wasn't anything worse than this. "I'm sorry, I know I never do this," you interrupt. "You don't have to be sorry. I miss you too." "But you aren't the one crying over the phone," you acknowledge getting a slight laugh from his side. "That's true, and I'm not quite sure why you are either." "I don't know. I'm just so full of so many emotions. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you. I can deal with this on my own like I usually do." "You cry like this when I'm gone?" He questions. You had revealed your secret to him. "Yes," you whisper. "Why?" He asks, almost laughing. "I don't know," you respond, a little hurt by the fact he wasn't comforting you. "Babe, I'm coming back, I always do. We said our "I do's" for a reason. Why don't you listen to that?" You shake your head at his humor, a small smile forming on your lips. This is what you needed. This was the kind of comfort he offered. "To be fair, the last thing I want to do is listen to that crap you play in the car," you mock. "Ouch," he replies, pretending to be hurt by your comment. "Are you smiling yet?" He asks after the two of you had shared a few moments of silence. "Maybe." Of course you were. You couldn't not smile while talking to him. "What is that?" He inquires, listening intently to what is happening in the background of this conversation. "Music..." you answer. "Like what?" "When You're Gone by Avril Lavigne." "For the love god, babe, no wonder you called me crying. Turn that nonsense off," he protests and the smile on your face grows wider. "Please don't ever listen to that song, ever again," he orders and you know he's serious. You had never called him crying because you missed him before and it was primarily because you had sunken into a spell of sad love songs about people going away and never coming back. "I won't," you promise, your voice in awe of how he had turned this conversation around so quickly. To say you were lucky to have him was an understatement. "Alright, well if you don't mind, I'm going to go back to this eating contest the guys are having. Remember no more listening to that terrible music." He voiced playful, "and no more crying." His tone more caring with his last statement.