Chapter Text
They had been working at the same radio station for months before Dan realised he had started listening to Phil on purpose. Their shows couldn’t have sounded more different, which was probably why Dan began tuning in. While Dan’s late night slot consisted of carefully curated playlists interspersed with soothing mental health advice, Phil’s afternoon show was borderline chaotic. The tracks were upbeat, the sound effects came readily and Phil’s bank of hilarious anecdotes seemed infinite.
It had become part of Dan’s Friday routine to tune in to the afternoon show during his commute to the studio. At first, he had told himself he was simply listening in order to attune his brain into presenter mode, but there was something comforting in Phil’s voice. He often caught himself smiling or holding back laughter as he rode the tube to work. He knew Phil’s laugh now too. He knew the signs that whatever story was about to be broadcast was going to be both outlandish, yet somehow charming. Sometimes he could almost hear the smile in Phil’s voice through his earphones.
As Dan walked the familiar route to the studio from the station, Phil’s show was wrapping up for the afternoon. Something faintly parasocial gnawed at the back of Dan’s brain as he listened to Phil’s sign-off. His thoughts wandered to the mysterious person who regularly inhabited the same studio building as him. He had made a point of not searching online for further information in fear that the fondness he held for the voice he knew so well would evaporate if he knew anything tangible. This way the concept of Phil as Dan knew him was kept preserved. Protected from the reality of human imperfection.
Upon reaching the studio building Dan removed his earphones and tucked them carefully into his jacket pocket. He slipped the black rucksack off of his shoulder and began fishing around inside it for his access card. As his hand tangled with spare biros and phone chargers a flash of movement through the glass door caught his eye.
“Thank fuck,” He muttered. He’d be able to slip in as this person leaves. He fumbled to zip up his bag as the door swung open.
“Cheers mate.” Dan awkwardly squeezed himself past the body blocking the doorway. He made it three steps along the corridor before someone called out to him.
“Hey! You dropped this.” The voice felt oddly familiar, though Dan couldn’t place it, causing him to spin on the spot. It came from the man still standing in the doorway. Dan stared blankly at the stranger who was holding a white access card in his outstretched hand. Dan’s gaze swept over the man; he was tall, almost as tall as Dan. His hair was bleach blonde under a baseball cap. What caught Dan’s attention most though was the garish knitted jumper, its sleeve pulled down over his hand as he held out the plastic card.
Suddenly aware that he had been standing there with his mouth open, Dan cleared his throat. He grabbed the card, careful not to make contact with the man’s hand.
“Oh, cheers, thank you, I promise I do actually work here.” Dan cringed internally at his own awkwardness. The man chuckled quietly as he buried his hand in the pocket of his jeans. His expression appeared almost curious as his eyes searched Dan’s face.
“I believe you, thousands wouldn’t,” the man smirked, before he pushed through the door and out onto the sunset soaked street outside. Dan stood staring at the space where he had been just moments before. He would definitely remember if he had seen those eyes before, yet the voice reminded him so much of someone he knew. He was struggling to place it when his phone buzzed in his pocket. The studio manager was texting him wondering where he was, his show was due to start in fifteen minutes and he was still hanging around the empty corridor downstairs. He raced towards the lift, his access card still clutched in his hand.
The mysterious stranger had worked his way into Dan’s thoughts throughout that evening’s show. He found himself trying to place that voice over and over again as he played through the song request queue. Obviously he worked in the studio building in some capacity, but there had to be countless members of sound and technical staff, let alone all the office workers. Nothing about the stranger’s clothes had given anything away. Except maybe that he had questionable taste in fashion. Probably a tech guy Dan mused.
Dan was fortunate to work the late shift relatively unmanaged. His producer made sure the buttons behaved, but he was largely left to his own devices once the higher-ups went home for the night. He revelled in the freedom to play the songs that his audience had come to expect from his slot, majority of which came from listener requests. The rest of the time was spent taking calls. Dan’s 'radio support group' had become a key piece of his show. He would listen to user’s personal life problems or mental health struggles and offer them advice and encouragement. By sharing his own experiences of depression he had cultivated a dedicated listener base, and they had developed an almost symbiotic relationship. Helping people helped Dan to feel like his life was worthwhile, at least for the three hours he was on air each Friday night.
It was late when Dan finally arrived home. He had stopped to pick up fresh samosas from an Indian takeaway in lieu of a proper dinner and was looking forward to settling in for another midnight gaming session. He tramped up the stairs to his flat, his mind returning to that afternoon as he jangled his keys in the lock. As he lay in bed later on, a small part of him hoped he would bump into the stranger next Friday. If he could hear more of his voice he was confident he’d be able to place where he knew him from. He was intrigued by the ‘have we met’ expression he read in those eyes during their shared glance.
Next Friday rolled around quicker than Dan expected. As he got ready for his shift he found himself feeling almost nervous with anticipation at the prospect of running into the mystery stranger again. He spent an unreasonable amount of time attempting to perfect his curls for someone who was essentially faceless as far as his listeners were concerned. There was a subconscious desire to look his best, just in case he bumped into him again. In his anxious state he completely forgot to chuck his earphones into his backpack. Riding the tube without his usual comfort radio show left Dan chewing on his bottom lip until it was raw.
As he approached the studio he slipped his access card from his pocket. He was determined not to fumble this time. Just as he touched it to the sensor the door sprung open.
“Looks like someone’s prepared this time.”
Dan lifted his gaze to find the same smirk as the previous week. The jumper was replaced by a biker jacket this time. The contrast between the dark leather and the man’s fair skin made Dan’s breath hitch ever so slightly. His blonde hair was tousled over his forehead and those eyes held that same curious expression. Dan cleared his throat, he could feel his cheeks warming under that inquisitive gaze.
“I wasn’t planning on repeating last week’s disaster,” Dan said, giving a half smile. He hoped he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.
There was that soft chuckle again, the sound of it sent Dan’s heart racing.
“S’pose I better let you in,” the man smiled, before stepping aside to make space for Dan in the corridor.
As Dan slipped through the doorway, he was greeted by the scent of warm amber cologne. Something stirred in his chest as it washed over him. He suddenly noticed how narrow the entryway felt, now that he was inches from the man who had been running through his mind all week. Yet neither made any attempt to move away to give them both more space.
“Can’t leave my show hostless because I’ve been trapped outside the building by some mysterious stranger,” Dan said, regretting the words as soon as they had left his mouth. Now I sound like some conceited asshole, Dan you’re an idiot. Tech guys probably hate us presenters. He shifted his weight side-to-side, avoiding the man’s gaze.
“I’m sure someone could keep your listeners entertained until you wrangled your way in.” The man’s voice had a playful tone to it as he smiled.
Somewhere in the back of Dan’s brain called out in recognition, but it was drowned in the fuzziness that smile stirred in him. He had leaned back against the corridor wall, one hand in the pocket of that leather jacket. Dan began to feel awkward as he remained hovered in the middle of the space. He could have sworn he caught those eyes flicking down to his hands for a moment before they returned to meet his gaze. Dan realised he was still holding his access card in his hand. He quickly shoved it deep in his pocket, hoping his mortifying staff photo hadn’t been visible this whole time.
“Better not keep them waiting… who else would reassure everyone things are fine,” those eyes flashed mischievously at Dan before the man turned towards the door.
Dan felt his stomach flip as the realisation that this guy must know his show sank in. His brain scrambled for something witty to say, but instead all he mustered was an awkward nod as he watched the man leave. He groaned in self-disgust. Smooth Dan, really smooth. He stood there chewing his lip for a few moments before he dragged himself off towards the lift.
Dan queued up the first track, a small smile tugging at his lips at the thought of the attractive stranger’s surprising interest in his show. That feeling of warmth was quickly replaced by a prickling awareness that he could be tuning in at that very moment. Dan was suddenly overcome with self-consciousness. Something that he hadn’t experienced since the early days of his show being on-air. He began second-guessing every button he pressed, struggling to keep his voice in that soothing register he was known for as a presenter. As the show continued, he tried his best to listen carefully to the first caller’s dilemma surrounding their estranged sister, but his mind was somewhere else.
It was a relief to get back to the next block of listener requests. Dan had found the most manageable way to take requests was through the radio station’s official Facebook page. Each show had a scheduled post prior to broadcast asking their respective listeners to drop a comment with their picks, sometimes with a little message explaining their choice. As Dan scanned through the comments on tonight’s post, one caught his eye. It was from the radio station’s own Facebook account;
Dan, please play Sewn by The Feeling. You’ve got my heart in a head-lock!
He stared at the comment, it left him puzzled. He had never really considered who made the posts for the page before. He had always assumed it was some kind of social media team within the building that had access to the log-in. He skipped over it for a request of one of the latest chart hits instead, but he re-read the comment over and over again. Dan got along amicably with his co-workers, but he was at a loss trying to work out who might be trying to speak to him via 2000s pop throwbacks.
The hours seemed to fly by quicker than usual that night, perhaps as his mind had been somewhere else for most of the show. As he began winding down the broadcast, he decided to play Sewn. Dan was instantly hit with a wall of nostalgia, these songs always transported him right back to secondary school. At the time, a pop song containing his name had been a first class ticket to teasing central with a quick stop at bullying station. Two decades later, he allowed himself to sit back and listen properly for the first time. Somehow this song request felt deliberate. Almost like someone knew him. He shook his head, quietly laughing to himself as the track continued. Stop reading into it Dan.
Once again his mind returned to thoughts of the stranger in the corridor, and that mischievous glint in his eyes when he had mentioned Dan’s show. The familiarity of that voice continued to bother him, it was on the tip of his tongue. Next Friday he was going to be there early, he needed to know who this guy was once and for all.