Hello there. This is my little side project which consists of a few short scenarios I wrote down whilst watching the show and there will be more soon. This is my real first attempt at Dan/Jones so I hope you enjoy it. Ty.

It doesn't matter to Dan how annoyed Claire gets at her lack of sleep; the music stays. 4 am, so loud the walls are pulsing and the plaster's cracking, so loud Claire is in the bedroom with her hands clamped over her ears and bags under her eyes. So loud it lulls Dan to sleep. It's like a numb buzzing that blocks out all the things that make his head hurt during the day, piercing into his brain with more force than the buzzer at SugarApe. It's like fire or smoke, suffocating his thoughts until he's just empty, the notes carrying him in and out of slumber as though it gets easier every time.

Jones always knew exactly what to do with his hands, how to stretch his arms and apply pressure in all the right places to make magic that would sound like poison to anyone except him and Dan. He could take the most mundane noises and make them complex and powerful, and strip a tornado of notes down to its bare bones. Even with hair in his face and dark circles under his eyes his movements always remained flawless, perfectly designed.

It was no surprise the night Claire stayed out things were so different. Then it was just Dan and him. Dan, Jones, and the throbbing techno that was the only thing left to mask the silence. Silence did follow though, the way it always does; a mutual agreement whenever they bumped into each other around the flat, downcast eyes and mumbled apologies. Jones would even stop mid-flow because it had to be done, vinyl scratching to a sickly halt as the thumping and tempo would end only to be replaced with a knowing smile and an 'all right, Dan?' Then Ashcroft would nod, like an approving signal and Jones would bow his head, his fingertips stroking over the record's ridges before the music swirled around them once again.

Jones wasn't an idiot, Dan knew that. He worked with idiots all day and he knew that Jones wasn't one of them. Maybe he was loud and oblivious to the disruption he caused, but he wasn't an idiot. Dan could tolerate him because he cared about something, he had a passion and he'd take any amount of toxins and stay up for an obscene amount of hours to feel like he'd achieved something.

He didn't talk much either, one of the main reasons Dan did find him so tolerable. He only really spoke when he was absolutely sure Dan was listening, even if Jones knew he'd only catch half the sentence. That, and they both couldn't stand Barley.

That was the first time since he moved in that Jones saw Dan Ashcroft smile.

He told Dan that at Nathan's party he'd told him he was rubbish, and then a few days later at Stanley Knives Nathan had touched his decks. "He was well jealous." Jones said. "That's why he tried to ruin my flow. What a twat."

Dan was on the sofa, lying across the whole length of it with Claire's laptop on his legs and he'd laughed. Jones was cross-legged on the floor in front of him, looking up through his fringe and smiling back as if nobody had ever listened to him before.

Dan liked him because he didn't care what people thought; he just did what felt right, and that was everything Dan believed in. When he'd had a bad time at the magazine, Jones would just sit there on the floor and talk until it made Dan smile, and then that was enough. The rest of the night he'd blast out music that reminded him of Dan until the walls were pulsing and the plaster was cracking and Dan himself is lulled in sleep.