Can You Hear Me? *REWRITE*

In Which Nothing Happens

The following week ticked by in much the same way as ay other week; a usual routine of unpredictable sessions and meetings as you upheld the standard set for you as a performer. The buildup was endless, the payoff set in the distant future.

The only real difference was where you spent the night.

Thursday morning you awoke to instant ringing. With hazy half-consciousness you patted down your bedside table, knocking your phone to the floor as it gave another ring, and you had half the mind to leave it there. But curious guilt had you flopping over the edge of your bed in search of the device, turning it on with a wince at the light. You regretted that decision immediately, your eyes catching on the time. Who the heck called someone at 7:30am? And the caller was unknown, so you didn't know who deserved your ire.

There was only one thing to do.

Ignore.

You dropped your phone unceremoniously on the bed next to you after silencing it and snuggled in, intent on getting a few more minutes—or hours—of sleep. You didn't have work until that afternoon, so why bother getting up now?

Brzz brzz.

Nope, you weren't even going to dignify that text with a glance.

Brzz brzz.

Nope.

Brzz brzz.

Fine.

You groped for your phone, glaring at the offending piece of technology as if doing so could cause it to spontaneously combust. Oh, sorry I couldn't respond to your texts! My phone mysteriously caught fire. No, no, I'm sure it was an isolated incident, no need to worry. Then you caught sight of the irritating text senders name, and your desire to light technology on fire only increased. Mettaton you butt.

Mettaton: Rise and shine darling!

Mettaton: Could you be a dear and answer your phone?

Mettaton: Really now, the silent treatment?

As you read the missed texts, another came in.

Mettaton: I know you're up darling, probably reading these texts as we speak!

(y/n): Sorry, (y/n) can't get to the phone right now, can I take a message?

Mettaton: Excellent! You really are awake. Took you long enough.

(y/n): you

(y/n): are

(y/n): a

(y/n): butt

Mettaton: No need to be rude. Besides, the only reason you should bring up my booty in a conversation is to complement it.

(y/n): You better have a good reason for waking me up, good sir, or I'm going to come over there and kick that booty until it resembles a trash can.

Mettaton: Someone's in a bad mood.

(y/n): Gee, I wonder why?

Mettaton: And sassy. But yes, I do. Please answer your phone the next time it rings.

(y/n): I'm getting my ass kicking boots.

Mettaton: Darling, you won't get within ten feet of this fabulous ass and you know it.

Mettaton: Any who, answer your phone.

As if on cue, the device started to vibrate and chime insistently in your hand, the same unknown number as before. You had half the mind to ignore it, but found yourself pulling it to your ear and answering instead.