Work Text:
Through the small windows of the studio, the chill, damp breeze of early-morning Ohio was visible in the air. The reflection of the inner happenings of the building shone off the glass, masking the still-sleeping world.
Inside, it was warm. Outside, probably somewhere below freezing. Tyler sat, swaying gently in a cushioned office chair, elbows pressed firmly and painfully against a polished birch desk. He blew into the microphone in front of him; the feedback and noise was loud and grating in his sensitive ears.
Josh stood in the kitchen, methodically stirring a cup of coffee, sugar and all, until the mocha whirlpool collapsed in on itself and he deemed it finished. He clutched the speckled mug in his hand. The clock on the dingy microwave said 2:12, but that thing had been off for months, maybe years. It was just before five o' clock.
Tyler made a disgruntled noise as Josh entered the room. The bags under his eyes were very apparent now. At least he'd gotten some sleep last night. The bright glowing light reflected off the table, into his eyes, as Josh sat down across from him, setting the mug down with a thump and a slosh.
"Here. For You."
"Oh," Tyler murmured, eyes drifting closed again. "Thanks."
He tested the beverage with his lips. Sweet, but just the right amount: it didn't cancel out the coffee flavor. He pushed the cup across the table and back again, hearing it make a scratchy noise, waiting for the caffeine to kick in.
They sat down together, ready with the script, ready to let their voices fill the airwaves for barely anyone to hear. And then it dawned on them: who's really going to be listening? It was a Friday morning in the dead of winter, although to most people it wouldn't even be considered morning yet. The sun wouldn't rise for another two hours.
At 4:57 they stared at each other, a caffeine infused, giddy stare that only came around late at night or early in the morning. It was the same connection students felt in their morning classes or fellow workers on the night shift. Tyler snapped the button on the mic into the "on" position.
"Good morning. It is 4:59." Tyler murmured into the microphone's metallic netting. It grazed his lips as, still tired, he tried to wake the county from its slumber.
"I'm Josh."
"And I'm Tyler."
"Welcome."
They didn't quite know what to say next. Their reading of the script was done in confused, lethargic solitude. Thinking back, none of them could remember what was on the printout they'd created the day before. Josh secured it with his finger, a puzzled look on his face, and dragged it toward him as he left Tyler to improvise.
"Right now it is 30 degrees. High today of 41." No one cared about the weather at this hour. You were either sleeping or you were driving to work in a heated automobile. He said it anyway until Josh managed to somehow save the show.
Josh's cool temperament quickly dissolved into an uncontrollable mess of childish snickering. To Tyler's dismay, this was clearly audible from his perspective. Tyler's eyes became low although Josh's actions withdrew from him a smile.
"Josh. Josh. What?"
"No, no. I'm good."
Tyler didn't resume the broadcast and instead left it to an awkward, silent absence.
"Typo. In this ad."
Tyler exhaled in a way that was almost based in humor. Wanting to join in on Josh's desperate and uncalled for giggle fest, he asked for more.
"The Christmas tree farm. Christmas tree fram."
Of course, if it were nine or ten in the morning, no one would have found that funny. But here, alone in this studio, branches ricocheting off the windows as the breeze rolled by outside, Tyler couldn't help but join him in an inevitable tempest of snickering.
It simmered down to a point where their laughs were only from trying to catch their breath. Not a sound indicated that they had been heard. No calls came through. The world outside felt the same as it had before. All was silent on the airwaves except the faint hum of the equipment.
A single noise ripped through the airwaves. Tyler mumbled forcefully into his microphone.
"Is anyone even listening to this right now?"
They expected someone to call in to their phone, peeved and also cranked up on coffee, saying hey, you jerks, get back to the program.
However, if that were to have happened, there wouldn't have been a program to stick to anymore, as Josh had gathered up the script, a couple pieces of stark white paper, and crumpled it. He tossed it lightly over the table to hit the carpeted floor, looking accomplished and then going back for another gulp of his beverage.
He swallowed. "No. No, dude. It's freakin' five am on a Friday. No one's even awake here." He picked up the phone and dropped it, creating a clashing noise between the plastic and the varnished wood of the table.
If anyone actually had been listening, the next few minutes were composed of not much more than a weary sigh from each of them. This was followed unexpectedly by more snickering, the kind that made you wonder what exactly was so funny as you sat in your car miles away.
In the studio, Josh began to bang haphazardly against the table in a series of noises that sounded like they were supposed to be some sort of beat. Tyler, with his still drooping eyes but ravenous smile, joined in, not caring if there was some pretentious adult out there in the winter somewhere, wondering why they'd wasted their time tuning to this station.