Write about the most recent gift you, or a character, gave someone.

My phone chimes the familiar incoming text alert. It comes through later than my bedtime. But the screen has lit up the room, and I'm awake anyway.
I pluck my phone from the wooden nightstand. The screen is bright, and I squint against the light. It's blinding against the blackness.
I debate opening it, until curiosity wins out.
The text is from my friend. Her words are urgent. She needs me. Now.
I yawn and rub my eyes. I can't read the clock across the room, so I glance at the time stamp on the text. 1:27 am. I've been asleep on and off since midnight. Seems my night is going to be cut short.
I ask the essential questions...where she's at,  and how to find her when I get there.
The location is only a couple streets away. I text her I will be there in a few minutes.
Pulling on my discarded sweats on the floor next to the side of my bed, I wrestle with the point of waking up my husband and letting him know where I am going, or not. I decide I'd best tell him, just in case he wakes up to find me gone.
He wakes up with a start, his eyes wide, unseeing. I wonder if he will even remember what I'm telling him as I relay the message that my friend texted, then what I'm doing.
He nods his understanding, then lays his head back on the pillow, an instant snore slipping from his parted lips.
The carpet is cool under my bare feet. I grab a pair of socks from the sock drawer, then leave the room as quietly as possible. The stairs creak as I climb them. The clanging of my keys alert anyone awake enough to hear me, that I'm leaving. Luckily, nobody is that awake, not even my 2 year old.
The garage is cold. Winter air sneaks through every crack and crevice the structure owns.
Pulling my coat closed, I zip it to my neck, glad I have a scarf to fill the gap between my coat and neck.
The car starts with a groan, the same one that's been building in my bones since I slipped from the warm cover of my bed. I release mine too, letting it fill the silence.
Cold air blasts through the heater vents. I quickly turn off the air, before shifting into reverse.
The steering wheel is cold. My fingers begin to ache as they clutch it. I pray it warms up from whatever body heat I put off.
Streets are quiet and deserted. Houses have their drapes pulled. Lights are off. Only a stray outside light announces that anyone is home at my neighbor's. My house looks just as empty. I feel like I'm the only one on the snow covered earth.
The drive is fast with nobody out. I pick out the house the party is at as soon as I turn onto the drive. It's the only one with every light on, and music loud enough to hear through my car's rolled up windows. I feel bad for the neighbors, and send up a thankful prayer for the ones I have.
My friend bounds down the sidewalk, a look of terror on her face. What has her so frightened?
She slams the door behind her as she slides into the passenger seat. "Thank you so much for coming."
I nod. "Where to now?"
She bites her bottom lip. "Is it okay if I stay at your house tonight?"
"Of course. Just finished washing the sheets today." I'm silently thankful my husband helped motivate me to remake the bed before we called it a night. Can only imagine how hard it would be while I'm half awake.
"Thank you." She sighs before she launches into her story that has her freaked out.
I yawn and drive us back home, glad to be the safe haven my friend can depend on.