#i stopped listening to the radio eons ago tbh

[darcymariaphoster]

Today, on my way home from work, my phone battery was dying so I decided to conserve it and listen to the radio instead of the music I have downloaded or Pandora. Gods, I won't do that again.

Why are the only stations that come through in my area six country music stations, one Christian music station (that actually has two different channels blocked out), two Christian talk stations, two 80s music stations, at least four (that I am sure of) news stations, and one classical music station?? (I didn't count one particular station because I have no idea what they have going on; it's such a hit or miss station.)

I eventually settled on the classical music station, yeah.

[leescoresbies]

i'm kinda cheating but malex + musician au ;)

KINDA but who cares, i love it. i miss these guys i should return to it soon tbh. i’ve been meaning to write a little scene right AFTER the fic happens for a while so here it is. (goes with these)

--

“how was your flight?” michael asks, which feels too banal to express the sheer horrified excitement he’d felt when his phone had rung. he isn’t very good at benefit of the doubt, had stopped himself from searching for flight numbers and traffic patterns in austin, texas. that’s an old habit. assume the worst. 

“fine,” alex says, sounding tired. it’s late, nearly midnight. his flight had been delayed and dropping him off at the airport had felt like a dividing line. a dissolution in the space they’d shared, any promises made. michael had driven home and stared at the cans of beer in his fridge for minutes that felt like eons. “i always get hassled, every time. i fly enough that i’m thinking of making a shirt that says yes it does really come off, no i’m not storing drugs inside my fake leg.” 

“didn’t expect you to call today,” michael says, after a minute. he stares at the ceiling of his bedroom; the bed they’d shared together not that long ago.

“i know,” alex says. “guess that’s why i did. wanted to prove you wrong.” 

michael laughs at that, covering his face with the hand not holding the phone. always contrary, alex, to prove a point. he’s unexpectedly grateful the point alex is making lands in his favor. one more thing that hasn’t changed, in ten years. 

“well, i just wanted to - “ alex pauses on the other end of the line. “i should go. i have to make sure tsa didn’t totally fuck up my favorite guitar.” 

“don’t hang up.” he surprises himself how fast he says it, how juvenile it sounds. “i mean, you and i both know you could never get the damn thing to stay in tune.” 

“okay,” alex says after a second. he set the phone down, and michael listens to the sounds of his movement in the background, ephemera; unzipping the guitar case and the pull tab on a beer can, the off-tune strum of strings. 

“that’s flat, manes,” he says. 

“your input is noted,” alex says into the phone, voice suddenly very close. “i do, you know, do this as my job.”

“just trying to be helpful.” 

he listens to alex tune the guitar, the stretch and release of strings resolving themselves into harmony. he strums a little, chords that slowly arrange themselves into melody. after another moment, he starts singing along. words michael doesn’t know. it doesn’t matter. 

alex’s voice undulates and crackles through the phone - michael’s heard it like that a lot over the years, tinny radio speakers and casette players and headphones, distance and time. that feels familiar. but this isn’t prerecorded and he’s the only one meant to hear it.