Adult Content Warning
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Summary
Robin leans back in the cracked vinyl chair and slides her headphones over her ears, sealing herself inside the booth. The station smells like warm dust and burnt coffee — almost like home, if home hadn’t been steeped in stale beer and sour wine. If home hadn’t hummed with television static and the low thud of bottles set down too hard.
“Good evening, Hawkins,” she says into the mic, voice smooth, practiced into something silkier than she feels. “You’re tuned to WSQK, and this is Rockin’ Robin keeping you company on this fine Monday.”
She smiles automatically. It doesn’t travel past her mouth.
The board in front of her glows a dependable green. Levels steady. No distortion. She still waits for it. For months after Starcourt, any electrical hum had meant something else — the grinding whine of that machine chewing at the fabric of reality beneath layers of concrete. Even now, the low buzz in the station walls makes her shoulders inch toward her ears before she forces them down. Her body has better memory than her mind. Her body still expects Russian voices bleeding through plaster.
She flips a switch. A soft click. Queues the next track.