#azkabcn

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen anyone,” Neville shrugs, glancing around; just as he’s about to step out to look for the mystery guest, he appears in a flurry of billowing cardigan, wild-eyed and with hair fluffed in various directions. He’s slightly tall, gangly, and shifts restlessly from foot to foot, staring right at Neville and also right through him. “There he is,” Neville says, sounding only mildly surprised.

“I got the lineup changed,” the boy gasps. “Can’t… start with… Rock Me Like a Hurricane…” He wheezes, taking a few hits of a small blue inhaler before straightening up. “Oh my God, you’re Charlie and Neville.”

“That’s us,” Charlie says cheerily. “You must be Luna’s co-host. Nice to meet you; good luck with her.”

“Yeah, I’m Rolf,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, please help me. Her music choice is off the wall and I haven’t heard a single good thing on campus about the show. It took me half an hour just to try and sort out today’s show.”

Charlie laughs. “You free after your show?” Rolf nods. “Meet me at Starbucks then, and I’ll try and sort something out for you. Nev’s got classes, or he’d help, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Rolf says, turning to the door, pausing for a brief moment to turn. “White Light Doorway is an okay opener, right?”

“Absolutely perfect,” Charlie agrees, trying to stifle his amusement as Rolf enters the studio, a rabbit in the headlights. “Aw, he’s sweet. Here’s hoping he won’t get steamrolled by our dearest Luna.”

Neville clicks his tongue. “I wish we’d opened with Florist.”

--

“You know, I’d never actually heard of these guys until I heard their song in a movie, but I’ve got a feeling you’ll be hearing more of them at breakfast now - that movie is Suburban Gothic, very trippy, check it out; this is Such a Bore by Bass Drum of Death on KILV.”

Charlie leans back in his chair, glancing over at Neville as he shifts his headphones down to his neck. “So, heard the consensus on Rolf and Luna?”

“Everyone I’ve spoken to says they’re brilliant and that Rolf has completely improved the show,” Neville beams, trying to resist the urge to jump out of his seat. “I recorded a few to listen to, and they really are great, aren’t they?”

“Rolf’s sorted the music front, that’s for sure,” Charlie grins.

“What did you even tell him that day? I couldn’t have helped much; I mean, we just play what we like, don’t we?”

“I don’t play everything I like,” Charlie shrugs. “I try to keep it morning appropriate. No one wants to wake up to PUP. But I told him to try and build blocks between songs, as if he were making a playlist: don’t just jump from one extreme to another, but try and flow from one to the other. I also told him to check out what the rest of us play if he wanted to think about radio cohesiveness, but since Pansy and Blaise at six and Sirius on Thursday afternoons don’t, it doesn’t really matter.”

“I like Pansy and Blaise’s show,” Neville muses. “They play cool stuff.”

“Yeah, so I said it wasn’t too much of an issue,” Charlie nods. “It’s swings and roundabouts, I think, as to what Rolf goes for every day. But it’s working pretty well; yesterday’s show was so good someone put all the music on Spotify.” He puts his headphones back on, takes a moment to check Twitter, and leans back into the microphone. “That was Love in the 4th Dimension by The Big Moon followed by Beach Slang and Punks in a Disco Bar. We asked you earlier to text in about your favourite new release. Thoughts, Neville?”

“The right answer to this is The OOZ by King Krule and I’m glad to see that Ernie Macmillan agrees with me,” he jokes. “Though I think Beck’s latest was good, too; it’s getting a lot of airplay on The 12” menagerie, so remember, don’t switch off after we’re done and support our friends, too.”

--

Neville’s afternoons are usually filled with classes, but Charlie has some time to himself after the show which he usually spends studying and either listening to something on Spotify or listening out to Luna and Rolf.

It’s to his surprise, then, when they’re doing a show on crushes featuring text-ins when Rolf admits, the blush audible in his thick accent, to having a crush on “Charlie from the show before us” before dedicating Walking on a Dream to him.

“I know this is totally one-sided,” he says over the airwaves, “but he’s so nice, and he has great music taste - well, that puts me in agreement with most of the campus, for once…”

Charlie fumbles for his phone and shoots a message off to Neville, his stomach doing acrobatics with glee.

(In no world does Charlie expect Neville to send a text in to Rolf and Luna proclaiming his love for Charlie; Rolf’s response to this is Beck’s Debra, which he plays, he says “ironically”.)

--

It’s not in Charlie’s vested interest to host a breakfast show with someone who has feelings for him without discussing those feelings first, and so he meets Neville for pizza in the Italian restaurant by the student apartments, laughing to himself as he hears Pansy’s dulcet tones over the stereo.

“I’m sorry,” Neville says immediately. “I’ve made things difficult for you; I’m so sorry…”

“No,” Charlie says, vigorously, leaning across the table. “I’m glad you told me, cause truth be told, I kinda like you too. It’s just that I like Rolf, too, and the idea that I have to somehow make a choice between you is…” He trails off, not entirely sure where he’s going or if it’s stupidly selfish; he’s never been the target of anyone’s public affection, never mind two people at once, and he wishes there was a handbook on this kind of thing.

“Maybe you don’t have to choose,” Neville suggests, leaning in reciprocally and lowering his voice. “I’ve heard about multiple people dating before, and maybe - maybe we could try it.”

“You think you’re up for that?” Charlie asks, frowning lightly. Neville nods awkwardly. “Okay. Have you asked Rolf?”

“He suggested the idea,” Neville says shyly, looking away. “He found me after the show and we - talked about stuff. Sorry. I should’ve said, but - it’s just kinda hard to suggest that…”

The pizza arrives and Charlie takes a bite, with vigour. “Stop being sorry, Nev! I get it, proposing the idea of a poly relationship or whatever they call it is hard, but I’m down for it, so just - stop apologising.”

“Sorry,” Neville replies out of instinct; for a moment, they look at each other and burst into laughter. “I swear I didn’t mean to do that!” he giggles, only to be interrupted by Charlie’s lips on his; he’s stiff out of surprise but slackens, comfortable, one of Charlie’s hands tucked at the back of his neck and winding in the ends of his hair.

“How long do you think it’s gonna take before that’s made its way round student Twitter?” Charlie asks as he sets back to his pizza, stealing the lemon from Neville’s water.

“It probably already has,” Neville replies.

(He’s not wrong.)

--

“I think the eighties are my favourite decade - I know there’s plenty to be said for the seventies, definitely not the nineties, but I’ve been really enjoying the nostalgia boom right now and I think it’s a phenomenal decade, visually and musically - and, you know, we got our name from The Breakfast Club, so we have a lot to be thankful to the eighties for. Have you guys all seen the second series of Stranger Things yet? Charlie and I binge-watched the whole thing last night. It was so good! I really enjoyed it; Tweet me your thoughts, spoiler-free, at k-i-l-v-milk, and here, suggested by Seamus, are The Human League with Don’t You Want Me.”

Charlie drums on the table. “So, where’d Rolf say we’d meet after class?”

“He said he’d treat us to coffee and cake at the chocolate café. What’s it called? Choco-Latte?”

“I think so. Can’t say I’ve ever really thought about the name, just that the cake is fucking delicious,” Charlie grins. “Did you have an alright sleep last night? All two hours or whatever of it. I’d have asked this morning, but…”

“You were too busy shoving toast in my face,” Neville finishes. “I slept okay, I think. But I kinda just want to watch Stranger Things again. Maybe we should do it with Rolf. I don’t know if he’s ever seen it.” He scrolls through Twitter, raising an eyebrow. “Rolf has just suggested Close to Me.”

“He likes The Cure! Mercy Lewis, we’re playing that one next.” He kicks his chair back over to the desk, prepping for the song to finish; he starts as Neville reaches out to grasp his hand, tightly, looking as if there’s something he’ll burst if he doesn’t say.

“Charlie?” he whispers, looking up shyly. “Yesterday - that kiss - it was my first.”

--

Charlie orders a tad much at Choco-Latte and they take the remainders of his lunch and another few slices of cake back to Rolf’s to finish off; Rolf’s house is a matrix of rich corridors decorated in bright IKEA furniture that doesn’t look like it’s been assembled quite right, a Billy bookcase collapsing by his bedroom and a long-haired cat curled up on top of a cardigan that’s fallen from his clothes horse.

Neville gets a little lost on his way to the bathroom: Rolf’s house is enchanting, interestingly decorated with paintings being sold by strapped-for-cash art students or picked up at art fairs and pinned-up magazine covers and framed records. He stops more than once to reach down and scratch behind the ears of a cat or dog, and he catches a glimpse into Rolf’s airy bedroom where birds sing in a complex of cages.

“The toilet’s that way,” Rolf’s voice chirps helpfully, and Neville starts, spinning around. “It’s okay. I like to look at the birds, too.” He grins, bashfully, as if Neville’s just discovered a secret - but the kind of secret that he wants to be discovered and shared. “Charlie’s going to put on The Breakfast Club, by the way, if that’s alright with you.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Neville nods, turning. “Um… thank you. For this. For coming out with us and letting us in here to watch movies.”

“No problem,” Rolf says, with a smile. “I like you. Both of you.”

Neville is somehow able to find his way back to the living room from the toilet without much more distraction than a hairless cat trying to trip him up, which Rolf spots and removes. “Sorry,” he says, lightly kissing the cat’s head. “This is Leta. She likes to do that. Leta, come on, what did I tell you about bothering people…”

Charlie is on the sofa, cupping a mug of hot chocolate in his hands and singing along to Simple Minds, and so Neville sits next to him, locating his slice of chocolate cheesecake among the menagerie of cocoa and digging into it with a spork.

“Doesn’t he have forks?” Neville asks, frowning. “Or - spoons?”

“I believe that sporks are Rolf’s ideal implement for cake eating,” Charlie replies, grinning and lifting his. “Look! It’s even got a smiley face on it. We should talk about this on the show.”

“It’s silly, but… I would love some of these,” Neville says, smiling back at his spork. “I know that people would just laugh at me, and maybe you would too, but they’re sweet.” Charlie laughs softly - but earnestly, and runs a hand through Neville’s hair, making Neville flush. “W-what?”

“Nothing,” Charlie chuckles, shifting over as Rolf joins them on the sofa. “Whatever happened to these guys? Molly Ringwald was huge in the eighties. More importantly, what happened to John Hughes?”

“He died,” Rolf says, glancing over. “Didn’t you hear? It was a few years ago.”

Charlie’s eyes are wide as saucers as he sits up. “What? No! I missed this news! Not John Hughes - Ferris Bueller was my childhood! Neville! My childhood! It’s been over for years and I didn’t know!” He reaches out, his hand grasping at Neville’s arm and for the briefest moment an electric shock passes between them that stops Charlie in his tracks for a moment as he flinches. “Christ. You’re electric, Nev.”

“Keep your ’lectric eye on me, babe,” Rolf sings, startled as both Charlie and Neville turn to him. “Um… hello.”

“That was the first song we ever played together,” Neville says, softly, his eyes wistful. “On the show. We wanted to play something that felt like growing up, because we were.”

“I didn’t know,” Rolf admits. “It’s just one of my favourite songs, and one of my favourite albums, and I like David Bowie, and…” Neville cuts him off with a kiss, lightly pressing a hand against Rolf’s back and against the fabric of his yellow polo shirt; it’s short, and Neville can’t stop himself from giggling when he pulls back, overwhelmed by everything.

Their hands intertwine, and as they turn back to the movie, Charlie stretches his arm out as far as he can around the pair of them.

--

“Ilvermorny! Good morning to you all, and what a good morning it is indeed. I’ve been having a fantastic time over the last two months, which I know is contrary to the general mood on campus, but why can’t we all feel great, even just for this morning? Buy yourself a cake. Eat a cookie. Splurge on that top you were thinking of buying - it’ll look great.”

“But before you do that, stay tuned,” Neville adds, reaching over for Charlie’s hand. “We’re on for the next hour, and after that, our good friends Rolf and Luna are going to be spinning the best tunes of this year so far. Now, here’s a song for someone special: Apartment by Modern Baseball, a song I don’t think we play enough.”

He lets go of Charlie just long enough to spin around to Rolf, taking up an extra seat in the booth, eyes shining. “Maybe we should go for cake after this,” he says. “And watch-”