Chapter Text
Blake knows she’s too early as she scans her school ID against the card reader. Her show doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. Still, it’s a new studio space to get used to, so it can’t hurt to acquaint herself with the new setting. As she steps into the cramped lobby, she’s immediately hit with the musty smell of aged paper and fabric. The lobby is empty, just as she had expected, but she sees a light down the hall indicating that someone in the studio is on the air.
Sun, she remembers, was slated to host the show before hers. She makes a face to herself as she carefully closes the door behind her. She appreciates Sun for introducing her the group of students running the college radio station at Beacon, and she enjoys his company in limited amounts, but she suspects that his obvious crush on her might make the transitions between their shows uncomfortable.
She brushes the thought away with a sigh and begins to survey the space. The walls are plastered with stickers, concert posters, and flyers, their muted colors betraying their age. Two mismatched, ratty couches sit across from each other, the cushions faded and threadbare. A coat and backpack have been tossed haphazardly on one of the couches, and someone has left precarious stack of CDs next to a half-drunk mug of cold tea on a worn side table. The room feels messy. Disordered. Almost grimy.
Blake loves it.
For the first time since transferring from Menagerie U, she feels at home. The student-run WFNG radio station there was a bit bigger than this. Maybe a bit cleaner, too. But Blake can sense that the students who run this place share the same kind of unrestrained, earnest love for what they do.
She wanders down the narrow hallway toward the studio, poking her head into a darkened room on the left. Flicking on the light, she finds shelves and shelves rising against the low ceiling, packed with CDs and records. Grinning, she steps forward to peruse the collection, running her fingers along the soft, worn cardboard edges of the record covers. She spends the next few minutes casually searching through the station’s holdings, making mental notes of what she might want to play during her show in the weeks ahead.
After she’s made a lap through the library, she checks her phone. Almost time.
Blake makes her way out of the room and down to the end of the hall, where the door to the studio awaits. As she approaches, her ears twitch, hearing the music Sun is playing through the door. She pauses to pay attention to the song, and she raises her eyebrows, curious. The driving pop-punk sound doesn’t strike her as being in line with Sun’s tastes, though she can’t say she knows him all that well after only a few weeks.
Maybe he’d surprise her yet.
But when she quietly opens the door, the first thing she notices is that the host is not Sun at all. Not even close. Seated at the soundboard is a woman, as far as Blake can tell. The woman has her back to her, so all Blake can see are gorgeous waves of long blonde hair flowing like molten gold from underneath a black snapback cap. She doesn’t turn to look at Blake, but she holds up a yellow and black prosthetic hand to acknowledge Blake's presence, still bobbing her head in time to the aggressive drumbeat of a song that Blake recognizes but can’t name. It’s not really Blake’s thing, but she can’t help but nod along—the woman’s enthusiasm is infectious.
“One of my favorites,” the woman raves as the song comes to an end, pulling the mic toward her. “But with that, it’s already ten o’ clock! Guess time really does fly when you’re having fun. So, for the last time this hour, you are listening to Total Yangers at OZPN 96.7 FM Beacon College Radio. This is DJ Yang XL signing off with one final yanger to get get you goin’ this Friday night!”
As an upbeat guitar riff begins to play, DJ Yang XL removes her headphones, fiddles with the volume levels on the soundboard, and lifts the microphone before spinning around in the chair to face Blake.
“Do you think that’s too much? I’m still working on my sign-off.”
“I, uh….” Blake’s mouth falls open as the woman’s lilac eyes find hers. Fuck. It’s not only her hair that’s striking. She’s flashing a dazzling grin, watching Blake expectantly.
Blake swallows, finding her voice again. “Maybe? What’s a ‘yanger?’”
The woman throws back her head and lets out a bright, wild laugh.
“Come on! You know, it’s like a song that’s a banger! But like, with my name!”
She takes off her cap and runs her fingers through her hair as she looks back to Blake.
“I’m Yang, by the way. Yang Xiao Long.” She stands—she’s tall—and walks around the desk between them, holding out her prosthetic hand.
Blake takes it; she's surprised by its warmth.
“Blake Belladonna.”
“Wow,” Yang says, raising her eyebrows. “That’s kind of—uh—I like it. It suits you.”
“Thanks.”
They stand for a moment in awkward silence, hands still clasped as the last song of Yang’s show plays in the background.
“Oh, shit!” Yang exclaims, eyes widening. Breaking the tension between them, she drops Blake’s hand and shuffles around her in the tight space, gently pushing her toward the chair and soundboard. “I forgot how short this song is. I hope you’re ready—we wanna avoid dead air.”
“I know that,” Blake bristles, ears dipping as she steps around the desk and pulls her backpack from her shoulder. “I might be new here, but this isn’t my first show.” She slips her laptop out of her backpack, and sets it on the desk beside her before carefully putting on the set of headphones Yang had just been wearing. She adjusts the microphone with one hand while the other finds the fader for the mic.
Yang gives Blake a thumbs-up, indicating that the song is about to end. Blake nods, and Yang mouths ‘good luck,’ stepping toward the door. Blake turns to the soundboard and slides the song’s volume down, while turning up the mic’s. She takes a breath and conjures her radio voice, low and resonant in her throat.
“Hey there. You are listening to Nightshade on OZPN 96.7 FM Beacon College Radio. I’m your host, Blake, and tonight I’ll be taking you through some tracks to help you kick back and relax. So whether you’re feeling low or getting high, I’ve got just the thing you need.”
While she speaks, Blake finds the cable to connect her laptop, plugging it in. She selects the first song on her playlist and presses play, slowly increasing the volume so that the opening notes pulse beneath her voice.
When she’s finished her spiel, she turns up the volume and mutes the mic. As she does, she senses Yang’s presence still hovering at the doorway of the studio space. She tugs the headphones down so that they rest around her neck and looks up to find Yang staring, mouth half open.
“Oh, sorry,” she says, cheeks reddening underneath a smattering of freckles. “It’s just… your voice…. It’s, uh… it’s really nice.”
She clears her throat. “No DJ name, though?” she continues, playful humor returning to her tone. “No fun.”
“I thought you said my name suited me,” Blake counters.
“Well, yeah! But it’s kinda fun to have an alter ego, too y’know?”
Blake quirks an eyebrow. “An alter ego, huh? Isn’t yours just your first name and your initials?”
“Hey!” Yang grins. “Not my fault I have such a cool name.”
Blake can’t help it. She smiles and rolls her eyes.
“It was nice meeting you, DJ Yang XL.”
Yang laughs. “Okay, I see how it is. Nice to meet you, too, Blake Belladonna.”
It’s Blake’s turn to blush as Yang winks at her, tapping on the door frame.
“Have a good show. See you next week?”
“Yeah,” Blake nods. “Next week.”
Yang departs with a jaunty wave, leaving Blake in her wake, a little shaken, a little breathless. What a whirlwind of a person.
When she’s gone, Blake leans back in the chair and sighs. She pulls the headphones back onto her head, and turns up her own volume. She lets the music seep into her, the singer’s voice, low and yearning, vibrating through her chest. She’s missed this. She hadn’t been sure that she would get the chance to have a radio show ever again after leaving Menagerie. But now, with the music enveloping her, she settles into a familiar feeling.
She pictures the building she’s sitting in from the outside, envisions the song she’s playing on the airwaves, traveling through the night, finding its way to anyone and everyone listening right now.
She imagines it in the headphones of a student in the library desperately trying to finish an essay due at midnight. Or maybe droning out of someone’s phone as they smoke with their friends in a dorm room across campus.
The same song could be crooning over the car speakers of someone in Vale stuck at a red light. It could be gently playing from the radio as a young parent tries to soothe a mewling infant to sleep.
Maybe Yang’s listening, too, adjusting her earbuds as she strolls across campus, on her way to whatever cool party she’s certainly set to attend.
Maybe Blake’s the only one listening at all.
She hums to herself as the song nears its conclusion, sitting up in the chair and maneuvering to the soundboard, preparing to transition to the next song. She works the sliders, finds her rhythm, settles in for a night to herself.
Just Blake, the music, and the thought of freckles and molten gold whispering in the back of her mind.