#poyr fic

[katyswrites]

put on your records (and regret me)

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station AU.

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

PART 6

FIC PLAYLIST

[katyswrites]

coming soon...

The moment you set foot in the vinyl library, you groan. He looks up from where he’s perusing the records on the shelves, grinning as soon as he locks eyes with you.

“Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart.”

Fuck off, you think.

“Hey, Harrington,” you say, exhibiting what you consider to be an exorbitant amount of restraint. After your blowup at the meeting yesterday, the last thing you need is to continue to give him the satisfaction of the upper hand.

You march straight ahead, going right to the shelf next to him. You pointedly stare straight ahead running your fingers along the spines of the albums, pulling out the ones you’re looking for as you find them.

You hear Steve scoff next to you, and you roll your eyes - practically an involuntary response with him.

“Do you have a problem?” you asked, your tone biting.

He just shrugs. “No. You’re just… predictable.”

“How so?”

“If you asked me to come in here, and pick out the records for your radio show for you… it’d just be too easy. Let me guess… The Smiths… Talking Heads… R.E.M…and some European band whose name I can’t pronounce, probably. Am I close?”

You clutched the records close to your chest, arms crossing to obscure them.

Steve just grins smugly.

“That’s what I thought.”

You straightened up, keeping eye contact.

“You act as if you’re any better, with your Worst 40 bullshit -”

“You only pretend to not like it to be different -”

“I don’t pretend to not like your music! I’m just trying to make us sound different from any other station people tune into -”

“So you do listen to my show?” he asks. He’s still wearing that shit-eating grin, but for just a moment, you swear he sounds surprised.

You open and close your mouth a few times, debating what to say. You’ve been caught. And he’s just staring at you, so blatantly self-satisfied, that you want to punch him.

“Shut up,” you say quietly.

“You gonna make me?” he asks.

put on your records (and regret me) - a new series, coming soon