#harridrew

“Someone’s in a bad mood.”

Drew closes his eyes. He lets himself have just the one, brief moment, of total nothingness.

“Bad day,” he settles on. He pulls up his chair next to where Hal sits on the recording booth table and begins to adjust his microphone. Kelsi from the hour before him is unreasonably tall. “Shit day, actually. And shit weather, the past, like, four days— what’s up with that?”

Hal doesn’t answer him, but she at least has the decency to look sympathetic when she says, “It’s about to be worse, actually. Your new co-host called— he’s gonna be late.”

Drew blinks. Or— he means to blink. What he actually does is close his eyes and then just— stay like that. He sighs and buries his face in his hands. Hal’s eye roll is practically audible.

“Alright, Mr. Dramatic. It didn’t sound like it was going to be too long. Just, y’know— vamp for a bit, yeah? Kill some air time, you’re good at that. What happened to the guy who’s been giving me shit since the term started about his new, mandatory ‘partners’?”

Drew lifts his head and gestures to his, well, everything.

“He’s soaking wet, Hal. And cold. And tired. And apparently he’s not ‘likeable’ enough to host on his own, remember?

Hal snorts. The smile that crosses her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes— or overwrite the concern there— but she does let Drew’s snippy comment slide.

She hops off the table and ruffles his hair as she leaves, tapping the ‘On Air’ sign— still dark— at the door as she goes.

“Five minutes, bud. Try to be a little less doom and gloom by then, yeah? Or at least less drippy in my booth— if your puddle breaks shit, you're paying for it!” 

And then she’s gone— or, at least, off in the control room on the other side of the glass— but she can’t hear Drew when he mutters inanely to himself for the next five minutes— not unless he turns the mic on.

Which he doesn’t. He checks. Twice.

And, if Hal’s expression is anything to go by, he does manage to brighten up at least a little bit by the time they go live. He likes to think he’s being extremely professional.

“...And this is all a very likable monologue. Wouldn’t you say this is likable, Hal?”

Well— he’s being somewhat  professional. It’s worth it, anyway, to see Hal flip him off in the control room window. That, at least, makes him feel better. In response, Drew turns and gives her a cheery, double thumbs up. 

A few minutes later, Drew’s phone goes off. He panics— he could have sworn he turned his ringer off— but, when he turns to mouth an apology to Hal, she’s beaming back at him.

Drew frowns and checks his screen. It’s a text from an unsaved number, talking about the show.

He turns back to Hal. She gives him two, happy thumbs up. 

Drew flips her off.

“..So one of you is actually texting me on my personal cell phone solely to interrupt my program to talk about irony, and this is me pointedly ignoring you.”

There’s a reason Drew never gives out his number for the show— the reason is the next ten minutes of non-stop messages, some about the show, most about his squirrel story, which— he will not be elaborating on— when the studio door slams open. 

“Sorry! Sorry, I’m late— I’m here! I’m…” 

The voice trails off. Standing in the door, dripping water on the floor the way Drew imagines he himself was not so long ago, must be this week’s new co-host. 

Wide, brown eyes meet his own. 

“...Hi.”

Drew gives them a flat stare. A quick glance at his phone tells him it’s just past 8:17. Whoever this person is, they’ve missed over half the show.

“Hi,” Drew deadpans.

His co-host sheds their scarf and jacket. Long, blond hair spills down around their shoulders, mostly straight but curling up at the damp ends. Even from across the room Drew can see freckles— and maybe eyeliner? 

His co-host settles into the seat across from him. Despite his annoyance, that gets him a point in Drew’s book. There had been one co-host Hal brought in that chose the seat directly next to Drew, of all places, and that had pissed him off so supremely they hadn’t even made it through a full segment.

“Hi,” Probably His New Co-host says, again. “Sorry I’m late.”

Drew rolls his eyes. He wonders if he’s just going to repeat the same two sentences for the next fifteen minutes. 

“Oh, no worries. Your schedule is clearly more important than the radio station’s.” 

They don’t pick up on Drew’s sarcasm, or if they do, they blunder gracelessly past it. 

“I brought cookies. You should have some.”

For the first time, Drew sees the purple cardboard box in his new co-host’s hands. It’s already open, and a little lopsided from where they must’ve stuffed it in their jacket to protect it from the rain. 

Drew frowns at it, uncomprehending. Hal’s never let food into the studio. Surely, she told this random stranger that. 

Drew glances at the control room window. Hal’s scrolling on her phone, a half-eaten cookie sticking out of her mouth.

“It would make up for not having any lunch.”

Drew whirls back around to this new stranger, who— somehow— got Hal to break a years-long standing rule in the first five minutes of being here.

“How do you know I didn’t have any lunch?”

The person across from him smiles, shrugs. “I was listening.” 

“That was—” another glance at his phone, this is why he doesn’t like having it in the studio— “five minutes ago. Don’t tell me you were late because you were stopping for cookies.” 

“Okay. I wasn’t late because I was stopping for cookies.”

And they continue on like that. Drew learns his co-host’s name— which is obviously fake, and he calls him out on it— and he eats an entire sleeve of the most mediocre cookies he’s ever tasted, they talk at ridiculous length about an egg, then he learns his co-host’s name for real this time, and…

And it’s kinda nice. Maybe it's just the warm, dry heat of the radio station, but he feels himself relaxing into his chair as the show goes on. He finds himself smiling, more than once, and when Hal knocks on the glass and holds up a hand to signal their last five minutes, Drew finds himself surprised like he hasn’t been in a long time that the segment is almost over. 

And then, for the briefest moment, Drew sees something— a glint, maybe, of the studio lights catching in Harrison’s— Harrison’s— eyes— but it’s gone before he can pin it down. The memory of it lingers, though, like a sore tooth he keeps running his tongue over. Like an old bruise he’d completely forgotten about, until someone presses up against it just right. 

And it’s— well, Drew doesn’t actually know what it is. Something, for sure. Definitely new. Definitely… not neutral.

“See you Thursday!”

Definitely… something.

-— 

Sidlesmith was magic, obviously, but Drew knew what any reasonable person knew— which was that Sidlesmith was magical in the same way the entire world was magical, and therefore not special in any unique way at all. 

Still, there was something undeniably fantastical about the campus— especially this time of year. The term was nearly halfway over, and leaves had started to fall. The whole campus was a kaleidoscope of bright oranges and reds, yellows and browns, and pale stones covered in ivy.

“I’m sorry— run that by me one more time?”

He’s sitting outside now, at one of the random picnic tables scattered around campus, with his laptop open and a very exasperated Hal— Hallie Prine, Executive Student Producer of the Sidlesmith Audiovisual Department— sitting across from him. 

“I’ll explain it one more time if you promise to actually listen! I’ve literally watched the light leave your eyes twice now the second I start walking you through this.”

Drew believed it. Hal was a quarter fae, if her dad’s stories about her grandpa were to be trusted, and she could be freakishly perceptive about these kinds of things. It made her a great producer, and an absolute menace of a best friend.

“I’ll focus, I’ll focus,” Drew promised.

“Okay…” Hal flipped her notes back to the beginning. “The first thing you're gonna want to do is understand the main purposes for types of production equipment, right? It’s easier when you’re not confusing post-production software with the type of server we record things and run our live shows on—”

And listen, Drew may be a radio host, but he was a journalist, not a tech major. He tried to listen to the words Hal was saying, and he did manage to fill in most of the gaps in his notes this third time around, but he’s honest enough to admit his attention drifted long before she finished speaking. 

Speckles of light danced through the trees around them. There were more people than usual walking through the quad, taking in the last of the good weather and sunshine before snow started rolling over the surrounding mountains. 

Drew watched as a group of people lost their frisbee, only for it to land at the feet of a girl walking by. She stopped and picked it up, looking around for just a second before one of the people from the group called out.

He watched the two run toward each other and pass the frisbee between them. Even after the exchange, they stood, toe to toe, and though he couldn’t hear what they said, he could take a wild guess. 

A smile bloomed across the girl’s face and she flushed high on her cheeks. Drew’s own complexion didn’t show a blush like that, thank God. Only his ears were a dead giveaway, flushing scarlet anytime his heart so much as skipped a beat. He kept his curls long to hide it.

The frisbee player had her phone out, and was passing it over to the other girl. Their smiles lingered, even as they both gave a short wave and went their separate ways.

“Andrew.” 

“Listening!” Drew jumped out of his seat. It was only because of Hal’s hand resting on the keyboard that his laptop didn’t go flying. “Listening, I promise— look.”

He turned his screen around so she could look over his notes. She frowned at it for longer than he would’ve liked. 

“You’re gonna fail this exam.”

Drew was well aware. “Thanks.” 

“It will be completely your fault.”

“Why do I talk to you?” 

Hal grinned. “You like my charming personality.”

“That’s definitely not it.” 

“You don’t have any other friends.”

“Ouch. You didn’t have to say it out loud.” 

 “You didn’t have to ask.”

Drew smiled and rolled his eyes. He took his laptop back and stuffed it into his bag. 

“Thanks,” he said. “Seriously, I owe you one—”

He stopped short. Just behind Hal, at the base of a tree, a red squirrel poked its head out from a pile of leaves. Its little beady eyes met Drew’s. 

“What was up with that, by the way?” 

Drew snapped his head back to Hal. She was following his line of sight, and nodded at the squirrel as it scampered off.

“So, which was it? Was it a not-for-on-air story, or a not-for-anyone story?”

The concerned look in her eyes was back. Drew gave her a smile that he hoped reassured more than he knew he was actually capable of.

“I’m not sure yet,” he lied. “It’s a complicated story, regardless. A longer one than we have time for.”

Hal said, “I always have time for you.” 

The weird ache in Drew’s chest returned. It had been there since last Tuesday, and he was pretty sure Hal knew. That quarter of fae blood was always stronger than he would’ve liked, at times like these.

“I know,” Drew said. He wasn’t sure if it was a lie, but if it was, Hal didn’t call him on it. The look in her eyes was something magical, something powerful in its aching sincerity. That was another thing about Hal that Drew just couldn’t understand. She was so real, and so present, in every moment. Like she lived right on the surface of her own skin. 

Whatever Drew had been feeling for the past week, it was something that lived in some far, dark recess of himself. Somewhere that kept drifting in and out of his own reach. 

“Same for you, of course. I always have time for you.”

Hal took a breath, and Drew knew whatever she was about to say was going to make the dam inside him burst— or at least take him by the chin and force him to look at the cracks in the plaster, see, there and there— and so before she could get a word in, he scooped up his bag and shot her a wide smile. 

“Seriously, thanks again. I’ll see you at the studio later?” 

“Drew—” 

“Bye, Hal!” 

It wasn’t until he made it halfway back to his dorm that he realized today was a Sunday— two days from the next show. 

He grimaced. He’d text Hal about it later, he told himself, and apologize for being weird.

——

“Harrison. Harrison! Can you hear me?” 

Everything was dark, and covered in dust and cobwebs. Drew kept feeling like he had to spit one out of his mouth, but when he went to wipe it away, there was nothing there. 

“Harrison!”

A cough, from somewhere to his right. Drew squinted, but he couldn’t see past the dark and debris.

“—Drew? Are you okay?” 

Relief hit Drew like— and he did appreciate the irony here, letting out a breathless, hysteria-tingedlaugh— a pile of rocks. 

For the first time in weeks, Drew actually paused and took inventory before he answered. His head was swimming from where he hit it. He was probably concussed. He knew his knees were scraped and bleeding— his elbows too— and there was definitely a weird twinge when he moved his wrist that probably shouldn’t be there. 

“I think so?” Drew called out. It was so dark. If only he could just focus— “How about you?” 

The answering silence lasted way longer than Drew liked. The relief disappeared as soon as it had come. 

“Harrison?” He asked again. He felt stupid, repeating himself over and over again, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He was vehemently reminded of Harrison and his incessant apologies the very first day they met. “Are you—”

“I don’t know,” Harrison said, and it was the worst thing Drew ever heard. “Drew, I think…” 

Silence. Again. And for the first time, truly and honestly and deeply, Drew wished that the Sidlesmith magic was real, if only so that some stupid, unreasonable, impossible thing would come along and fix this. 

I haven’t even kissed him yet, he thought deliriously. Panic began to make his vision blur.

“Drew.” Harrison’s voice cut through the cloud of static ringing in his ears. “Drew, breathe for me. I can hear you hyperventilating from all the way over here.” 

“Harrison, are you okay?”

“...I’ve got a cut, I think. I don’t think it’s serious. But Drew—”

Drew started tugging at the rocks around him, half out of his mind but still careful, trying not to destabilize anything important. 

“Okay. Okay, Harrison just like— you should put pressure on it, right? I think that’s what you do. Can you do that? Please?” 

“Drew.” 

“I’m just going to— shit—” A rock tumbled and fell, hard, on his foot. “Fuck, okay, ow, whatever, that’s fine— I’m gonna try and make a opening, okay?” 

“Drew, I—” 

“Because then we can, like, figure this out together, alright? So just—” he laughed, high and reedy, because it was stupid, out loud. It always came out so stupid when he didn’t have the time to write it down. “Just stay where you are, okay?” 

“Drew.” 

There was something new in Harrison’s voice this time, something a little far away that scared Drew more than it comforted him. 

Before he even spoke, Drew knew, somehow, what Harrison was going to say.  Still, he asked, “Harrison?”