call the riot squad
title: call the riot squad
author: knotweed
characters: baekhyun, chanyeol
rating: pg13
length: 2.1k
summary: inspired by. the awkward encounter with an ex at a party; an exercise in dialogue. college AU.
-
“Of all the house parties in the world,” Chanyeol intones dryly, “you walk into this one. I mean, well, of course. It just wouldn’t be my life otherwise. People are always telling me not to do that incestuous friend circle dating shit because the fallout is just-it’s garbage. You’ll regret it, Chanyeol. You’re going to run into them every other day for the rest of your life, Chanyeol. You’re never going to go out on Friday nights again, Chanyeol. Fuck it, I said, I’ll do what I want. I’m a grown man. It’s college. You have to live life without any regrets, or, like, whatever trite bullshit it was, but now I’m really starting to see why. The one night I can get wasted without worrying about a composition due on Saturday morning is that day you walk into Kyungsoo’s house.”
“Please stop talking,” hisses Baekhyun out of the corner of his mouth, shoulders hunched, facing away from the doorframe. “You’re in the way.”
“Damn right I’m in the way. Why are you even here? You and Kyungsoo don’t even talk unless you have to. Not that he asked for one, but I’m Kyungsoo’s temporary bouncer, and I’m pretty sure that assholes named Baekhyun aren’t invited to Kyungsoo’s parties. Don’t interrupt,” he cuts in firmly, pointing to Baekhyun’s left ear.
Baekhyun’s fingers curve nervously over the shell of his ear, and then he catches the strong whiff of rum from Chanyeol’s plastic cup.
“I wasn’t-”
Chanyeol shushes him.
“Look at all those people stuck behind you! Jesus Christ, Baekhyun, you’re in the fucking way. Come in! Don’t mind this asshole here. There are jello shots in the kitchen if you ask Jongdae nicely. Three dollars. I know. We’re all going through some pretty hard times-my psych book from freshman year was almost four hundred bucks and I looked at it, like, once for the final. I’m still paying off the debt on my credit card-but it’s booze. Kyungsoo makes a mean jello shot. Mean as in really offensive to your mouth. Obliterates your throat. Pure rubbing alcohol. I’m not positive that someone won’t die from alcohol poisoning tonight. Come on, Baekhyun. I’ll even let you have one. I’m jacking the price up to four, though. You’re an asshole and you deserve to be shit on like that.”
“How about three-fifty?”
“I mean, if you have fifty cents on you.”
Baekhyun pats his pockets.
“Does the lint in my pocket add up to fifty? Look, I’ll leave if you want me to. I took a chance going out tonight, and you know how my apartment’s in BFE and these three dollars could probably pay for my cab home. Maybe. If I beg. I’ll probably end up paying for the fare in sexual favors. It’s fine. I’ll go now-”
“Nah. I’m just fucking with you. I’m not still angry at you for, like, you know.”
“I know?”
“Like, I mean… you know. Being a rude asshole. Breaking my heart last year? Leaving me really confused. Crying at Jongdae on the phone at three in the morning. Not crying at Kyungsoo because he would just hang up. I gained six pounds from emotional overeating. You know. It’s casual, right? Whatever. A party’s a party. I can’t make you leave, but I could just get so drunk I projectile vomit all over you.”
“Jesus, Chanyeol. That’s disgusting.”
“Yeah, well.” Chanyeol shrugs, sloshing his rum and coke on Baekhyun’s tattered grey Chucks, “you know how it is. Four-fifty.”
“Four-fifty for a jello shot?”
“Look, you’re a fucking beggar, not a chooser. That’s just how life works. Four-fifty or get the fuck out.”
Baekhyun presses four dollars, a crumpled receipt from Chipotle, and a paperclip into his Chanyeol’s. Chanyeol blinks down at the jumble of trash.
“Huh. Burrito bowl. Chicken’s the best. Extra guac? Nice.”
“I got the vegetables, actually. I’m watching my weight. I’m pretty sure in some roundabout way the vegetables and the extra guac are just as bad as the chicken, but it’s the thought that counts. Avocados are good for you. I read that somewhere. I hope this somehow adds up to four-fifty.”
“The paperclip adds up to four-fifty. I just ran out of staples and I have a seven page paper due Monday.” Chanyeol stuffs the cash into his jeans. “Walk with me. You can’t just get your fucking jello shot and leave; if I’m miserable for the night, then you have to be miserable, too. It’s the transference property. Principle. Whatever. It’s probably not, but first of all, I’m a music major, and second of all, I slept through every psych lecture I had. You could call it a talent-hey, how’s it going, Lu Han? Yeah, no, don’t mind this asshole over here, what’s grad school like? Huh, that’s nice-and you know how many of those I have. Especially sexually. In the sexual area. I’m talented sexually.”
“Jesus, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun says again, sidestepping a couple passionately making out next to the stairs.
“You keep saying that. I’m not sure you know what that means.”
“It’s an interjection.”
“Interjection? Shit, guys.” Half of Chanyeol’s drink ends up on a freshman. “Look at Baekhyun. Thinks he’s so high and mighty with his fucking interjections. Could you get any nerdier? Are you going to go out back and start a grammar battle in the parking lot?”
Baekhyun ducks his face into his sweatshirt. “Please stop talking.”
“You’ve said that before. Are you a human being or a broken record?”
“Are we human or are we dancer?”
Chanyeol scowls.
“You can’t say that, it’s copyrighted. Look at you. You were so capable of just pulling shit out of nowhere and now you can’t even make shit up. You used to be so good. You were going places. I know I’m talking at you like you’re some washed up washed out loser who had a lot of potential. Everyone always has potential and they lose the-inertia or whatever. Have you?”
Baekhyun doesn’t know what to say or what to do with his hands. They end up at his side. He hates his arms. It doesn’t matter though.
“It doesn’t matter though,” Chanyeol decides abruptly, shoving a vibrant blue jello shot under Baekhyun’s nose, “because I know who you are. But hey, it’s alright. Sit on this couch. I promise it’s been disinfected. Probably. Well. It’s Kyungsoo. You know how he is.”
Baekhyun sits, loosely gripping the little plastic cup. Chanyeol towers over him this way.
“Aren’t you going to sit, Chanyeol?”
“I’ll ask the questions here, bud. I got you the worst one. Do you know how late me, Kyungsoo, and Jongdae were up until last night? We poured our souls into those shots. And a lot of money. Mostly a shit-ton of vodka. It was a scene straight out of Breaking Bad-not that I’ve seen it or anything but Kyungsoo follows it religiously-it was like we were in a fucking meth lab or something-what are you doing?”
“Lmthwgh?”
“Try to put some vowels in there.”
“Sorry-hang on-is my tongue blue yet?”
“Getting there. What the hell was that?”
“I was trying to say meth lab.”
“Right. You should have seen the kitchen.” Chanyeol sways on his feet. Baekhyun starts to eye the vacant space next to him. “There was definitely a rainbow in there. You know Jongdae’s white button-up from freshman year? Green. Kyungsoo’s phone case? Blood orange. Everything’s all fucked up-now what are you doing?”
“I can’t get the jello out.”
“Just pretend you’re sucking a dick; we all know how good you are at that.”
Baekhyun puts on a brave face.
They look at each other then. Chanyeol’s hardened mouth, Baekhyun’s slack hands. Chanyeol’s empty cup, Baekhyun’s ruined shirt. Someone brushes by Baekhyun’s shoulder. He suddenly feels very sober.
“Everything is tiny in here.”
“I know you’re short but no, it’s not. Everything is people-sized.”
“That’s not what I… I meant that everything is all cramped and Kyungsoo’s house is tiny. Those chairs over there? It doesn’t go with the feng shui, you know? And that table is ruining the vibe. Don’t ask how. It just is. And these cushions? On this sofa? I’ll drop the bomb: it’s tacky as hell. Kyungsoo should have known better.”
“You’re awfully picky for a stranger. You don’t know anything about Kyungsoo.”
“If you sat down with me,” Baekhyun says, carefully folding his words into something that didn’t sound so desperate, “you’d understand.”
Chanyeol purses his lips.
“Fine,” he replies shortly and drops gracelessly next to Baekhyun with a muted thud. “Now what?”
Now what? Baekhyun would like to know. He traces the rim of the cup of the jello shot, fingers blue and sticky.
“I know you still hate me.”
“Nah. Remember? I told you.”
“You passive aggressively told me that you still hate me.”
“Well, I couldn’t just straight up tell you how much of an asshole I think you are to your face, could I?”
“You could’ve.”
Chanyeol shrugs.
“It’s not my house. I’m not in charge.”
“I said I was sorry,” Baekhyun blurts out suddenly. “I tried to call you. Jesus. I must’ve called you about ten times. Twenty times. Thirty. Fuck. I don’t know. I lost count. I left you messages, I tried to reach you but you weren’t there, and now I’ve been carrying this-this sorry torch for you. Look, I can leave. I can hitchhike back to BFE where I belong if you really want me to, but I’m so sorry I can’t even think this year; every thought that runs through my mind is a variation on a theme of an apology for you. I didn’t come all the way here to pay four fucking dollars and a paperclip for a fucking jello shot. I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t. You have to believe me. I’m sorry.”
The music plays on, settling into the cracks of their silence.
“Is that it?”
“I-what do you mean?”
“Your stupid pity party? Is it over? Is that it?” Chanyeol furrows his eyebrows. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with your apology? Maybe I do hate you. Doesn’t mean I’m angry anymore. Look, Baekhyun, if I got paid to not care about the shit you’ve done, I could just drop out of school right now.”
“Is that it?” Baekhyun parrots unpleasantly.
“Shit, what do you even want me to say?”
“I don’t know!” he shouts.
“Then what are you here for, to apologize to my face? Is that really necessary? I got it the first time. I got it the moment I found out you cheated. You did a fucking horrible thing. You played me. That’s what you do, Baekhyun. You read people, and you say all these nice things, and then you throw them away, like-fuck, I don’t know. Like a math problem. I’m not a math problem. I thought I was…” Chanyeol rewinds. “I’m sick of you. I’m sick of your apologies.”
A beat of silence.
“I shouldn’t have come,” says Baekhyun. “I remember why I hated myself when I was with you.”
Chanyeol chokes out a laugh.
“Are you even listening to yourself? I never did anything. You did this to yourself. God, it doesn’t even matter. Everything was always on your terms. It was always rules with you.”
Someone trips over Baekhyun’s foot (“Jesus, Sehun, watch where you’re going,” Chanyeol interjects). The music is so loud that it scrambles his thoughts. His heartbeat is so loud in his ears that it thumps in time with the beat. Everything is so loud that it’s quiet.
“What are you even doing?” Chanyeol breathes, eyebrows drawn together, the first semblance kindness of the night.
“I don’t know,” Baekhyun says plainly. Again: “I shouldn’t have come here.”
“It’s a start.”
“Sometimes I just want to stop.”
“You can’t. Fucking life, man. How’s the jello shot?”
“How’s the-Jesus, Chanyeol. We just had a moment. Did Kyungsoo pour rubbing alcohol into this?”
“I believe it was Bacardi.”
“Bacardi tastes like garbage. This tastes like nuclear waste.”
“Right. Bacardi. You don’t want to know how much he put in, but it’s Bacardi. Oh-don’t cry, Baekhyun. You’ll get the couch wet.”
“I’m not-?”
Baekhyun gingerly touches his face. It’s dry. So is Chanyeol’s smile.
“You played me,” Baekhyun accuses.
His smile drops a little. “There you go.”
Chanyeol goes back to tracing the rim of his plastic cup with a finger. The song changes. Baekhyun imagines someone shouting his name. Pretends that it is the year before, and that this was a party that people wanted him to be at.
“I wish I knew,” Baekhyun relents. “What I was doing, I mean. I wish I wasn’t so…”
“Mean? Patronizing? Self-centered? All of the above, maybe?” The words should have stung but there was something in Chanyeol’s tone.
In a small voice, Baekhyun says again, “I don’t know.” In an even smaller voice: “Do you think we could ever be friends again?”
A beat.
“Your tongue is blue, Baekhyun,” is all that Chanyeol says, and somehow Baekhyun understands.
author: knotweed
characters: baekhyun, chanyeol
rating: pg13
length: 2.1k
summary: inspired by. the awkward encounter with an ex at a party; an exercise in dialogue. college AU.
-
“Of all the house parties in the world,” Chanyeol intones dryly, “you walk into this one. I mean, well, of course. It just wouldn’t be my life otherwise. People are always telling me not to do that incestuous friend circle dating shit because the fallout is just-it’s garbage. You’ll regret it, Chanyeol. You’re going to run into them every other day for the rest of your life, Chanyeol. You’re never going to go out on Friday nights again, Chanyeol. Fuck it, I said, I’ll do what I want. I’m a grown man. It’s college. You have to live life without any regrets, or, like, whatever trite bullshit it was, but now I’m really starting to see why. The one night I can get wasted without worrying about a composition due on Saturday morning is that day you walk into Kyungsoo’s house.”
“Please stop talking,” hisses Baekhyun out of the corner of his mouth, shoulders hunched, facing away from the doorframe. “You’re in the way.”
“Damn right I’m in the way. Why are you even here? You and Kyungsoo don’t even talk unless you have to. Not that he asked for one, but I’m Kyungsoo’s temporary bouncer, and I’m pretty sure that assholes named Baekhyun aren’t invited to Kyungsoo’s parties. Don’t interrupt,” he cuts in firmly, pointing to Baekhyun’s left ear.
Baekhyun’s fingers curve nervously over the shell of his ear, and then he catches the strong whiff of rum from Chanyeol’s plastic cup.
“I wasn’t-”
Chanyeol shushes him.
“Look at all those people stuck behind you! Jesus Christ, Baekhyun, you’re in the fucking way. Come in! Don’t mind this asshole here. There are jello shots in the kitchen if you ask Jongdae nicely. Three dollars. I know. We’re all going through some pretty hard times-my psych book from freshman year was almost four hundred bucks and I looked at it, like, once for the final. I’m still paying off the debt on my credit card-but it’s booze. Kyungsoo makes a mean jello shot. Mean as in really offensive to your mouth. Obliterates your throat. Pure rubbing alcohol. I’m not positive that someone won’t die from alcohol poisoning tonight. Come on, Baekhyun. I’ll even let you have one. I’m jacking the price up to four, though. You’re an asshole and you deserve to be shit on like that.”
“How about three-fifty?”
“I mean, if you have fifty cents on you.”
Baekhyun pats his pockets.
“Does the lint in my pocket add up to fifty? Look, I’ll leave if you want me to. I took a chance going out tonight, and you know how my apartment’s in BFE and these three dollars could probably pay for my cab home. Maybe. If I beg. I’ll probably end up paying for the fare in sexual favors. It’s fine. I’ll go now-”
“Nah. I’m just fucking with you. I’m not still angry at you for, like, you know.”
“I know?”
“Like, I mean… you know. Being a rude asshole. Breaking my heart last year? Leaving me really confused. Crying at Jongdae on the phone at three in the morning. Not crying at Kyungsoo because he would just hang up. I gained six pounds from emotional overeating. You know. It’s casual, right? Whatever. A party’s a party. I can’t make you leave, but I could just get so drunk I projectile vomit all over you.”
“Jesus, Chanyeol. That’s disgusting.”
“Yeah, well.” Chanyeol shrugs, sloshing his rum and coke on Baekhyun’s tattered grey Chucks, “you know how it is. Four-fifty.”
“Four-fifty for a jello shot?”
“Look, you’re a fucking beggar, not a chooser. That’s just how life works. Four-fifty or get the fuck out.”
Baekhyun presses four dollars, a crumpled receipt from Chipotle, and a paperclip into his Chanyeol’s. Chanyeol blinks down at the jumble of trash.
“Huh. Burrito bowl. Chicken’s the best. Extra guac? Nice.”
“I got the vegetables, actually. I’m watching my weight. I’m pretty sure in some roundabout way the vegetables and the extra guac are just as bad as the chicken, but it’s the thought that counts. Avocados are good for you. I read that somewhere. I hope this somehow adds up to four-fifty.”
“The paperclip adds up to four-fifty. I just ran out of staples and I have a seven page paper due Monday.” Chanyeol stuffs the cash into his jeans. “Walk with me. You can’t just get your fucking jello shot and leave; if I’m miserable for the night, then you have to be miserable, too. It’s the transference property. Principle. Whatever. It’s probably not, but first of all, I’m a music major, and second of all, I slept through every psych lecture I had. You could call it a talent-hey, how’s it going, Lu Han? Yeah, no, don’t mind this asshole over here, what’s grad school like? Huh, that’s nice-and you know how many of those I have. Especially sexually. In the sexual area. I’m talented sexually.”
“Jesus, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun says again, sidestepping a couple passionately making out next to the stairs.
“You keep saying that. I’m not sure you know what that means.”
“It’s an interjection.”
“Interjection? Shit, guys.” Half of Chanyeol’s drink ends up on a freshman. “Look at Baekhyun. Thinks he’s so high and mighty with his fucking interjections. Could you get any nerdier? Are you going to go out back and start a grammar battle in the parking lot?”
Baekhyun ducks his face into his sweatshirt. “Please stop talking.”
“You’ve said that before. Are you a human being or a broken record?”
“Are we human or are we dancer?”
Chanyeol scowls.
“You can’t say that, it’s copyrighted. Look at you. You were so capable of just pulling shit out of nowhere and now you can’t even make shit up. You used to be so good. You were going places. I know I’m talking at you like you’re some washed up washed out loser who had a lot of potential. Everyone always has potential and they lose the-inertia or whatever. Have you?”
Baekhyun doesn’t know what to say or what to do with his hands. They end up at his side. He hates his arms. It doesn’t matter though.
“It doesn’t matter though,” Chanyeol decides abruptly, shoving a vibrant blue jello shot under Baekhyun’s nose, “because I know who you are. But hey, it’s alright. Sit on this couch. I promise it’s been disinfected. Probably. Well. It’s Kyungsoo. You know how he is.”
Baekhyun sits, loosely gripping the little plastic cup. Chanyeol towers over him this way.
“Aren’t you going to sit, Chanyeol?”
“I’ll ask the questions here, bud. I got you the worst one. Do you know how late me, Kyungsoo, and Jongdae were up until last night? We poured our souls into those shots. And a lot of money. Mostly a shit-ton of vodka. It was a scene straight out of Breaking Bad-not that I’ve seen it or anything but Kyungsoo follows it religiously-it was like we were in a fucking meth lab or something-what are you doing?”
“Lmthwgh?”
“Try to put some vowels in there.”
“Sorry-hang on-is my tongue blue yet?”
“Getting there. What the hell was that?”
“I was trying to say meth lab.”
“Right. You should have seen the kitchen.” Chanyeol sways on his feet. Baekhyun starts to eye the vacant space next to him. “There was definitely a rainbow in there. You know Jongdae’s white button-up from freshman year? Green. Kyungsoo’s phone case? Blood orange. Everything’s all fucked up-now what are you doing?”
“I can’t get the jello out.”
“Just pretend you’re sucking a dick; we all know how good you are at that.”
Baekhyun puts on a brave face.
They look at each other then. Chanyeol’s hardened mouth, Baekhyun’s slack hands. Chanyeol’s empty cup, Baekhyun’s ruined shirt. Someone brushes by Baekhyun’s shoulder. He suddenly feels very sober.
“Everything is tiny in here.”
“I know you’re short but no, it’s not. Everything is people-sized.”
“That’s not what I… I meant that everything is all cramped and Kyungsoo’s house is tiny. Those chairs over there? It doesn’t go with the feng shui, you know? And that table is ruining the vibe. Don’t ask how. It just is. And these cushions? On this sofa? I’ll drop the bomb: it’s tacky as hell. Kyungsoo should have known better.”
“You’re awfully picky for a stranger. You don’t know anything about Kyungsoo.”
“If you sat down with me,” Baekhyun says, carefully folding his words into something that didn’t sound so desperate, “you’d understand.”
Chanyeol purses his lips.
“Fine,” he replies shortly and drops gracelessly next to Baekhyun with a muted thud. “Now what?”
Now what? Baekhyun would like to know. He traces the rim of the cup of the jello shot, fingers blue and sticky.
“I know you still hate me.”
“Nah. Remember? I told you.”
“You passive aggressively told me that you still hate me.”
“Well, I couldn’t just straight up tell you how much of an asshole I think you are to your face, could I?”
“You could’ve.”
Chanyeol shrugs.
“It’s not my house. I’m not in charge.”
“I said I was sorry,” Baekhyun blurts out suddenly. “I tried to call you. Jesus. I must’ve called you about ten times. Twenty times. Thirty. Fuck. I don’t know. I lost count. I left you messages, I tried to reach you but you weren’t there, and now I’ve been carrying this-this sorry torch for you. Look, I can leave. I can hitchhike back to BFE where I belong if you really want me to, but I’m so sorry I can’t even think this year; every thought that runs through my mind is a variation on a theme of an apology for you. I didn’t come all the way here to pay four fucking dollars and a paperclip for a fucking jello shot. I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t. You have to believe me. I’m sorry.”
The music plays on, settling into the cracks of their silence.
“Is that it?”
“I-what do you mean?”
“Your stupid pity party? Is it over? Is that it?” Chanyeol furrows his eyebrows. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with your apology? Maybe I do hate you. Doesn’t mean I’m angry anymore. Look, Baekhyun, if I got paid to not care about the shit you’ve done, I could just drop out of school right now.”
“Is that it?” Baekhyun parrots unpleasantly.
“Shit, what do you even want me to say?”
“I don’t know!” he shouts.
“Then what are you here for, to apologize to my face? Is that really necessary? I got it the first time. I got it the moment I found out you cheated. You did a fucking horrible thing. You played me. That’s what you do, Baekhyun. You read people, and you say all these nice things, and then you throw them away, like-fuck, I don’t know. Like a math problem. I’m not a math problem. I thought I was…” Chanyeol rewinds. “I’m sick of you. I’m sick of your apologies.”
A beat of silence.
“I shouldn’t have come,” says Baekhyun. “I remember why I hated myself when I was with you.”
Chanyeol chokes out a laugh.
“Are you even listening to yourself? I never did anything. You did this to yourself. God, it doesn’t even matter. Everything was always on your terms. It was always rules with you.”
Someone trips over Baekhyun’s foot (“Jesus, Sehun, watch where you’re going,” Chanyeol interjects). The music is so loud that it scrambles his thoughts. His heartbeat is so loud in his ears that it thumps in time with the beat. Everything is so loud that it’s quiet.
“What are you even doing?” Chanyeol breathes, eyebrows drawn together, the first semblance kindness of the night.
“I don’t know,” Baekhyun says plainly. Again: “I shouldn’t have come here.”
“It’s a start.”
“Sometimes I just want to stop.”
“You can’t. Fucking life, man. How’s the jello shot?”
“How’s the-Jesus, Chanyeol. We just had a moment. Did Kyungsoo pour rubbing alcohol into this?”
“I believe it was Bacardi.”
“Bacardi tastes like garbage. This tastes like nuclear waste.”
“Right. Bacardi. You don’t want to know how much he put in, but it’s Bacardi. Oh-don’t cry, Baekhyun. You’ll get the couch wet.”
“I’m not-?”
Baekhyun gingerly touches his face. It’s dry. So is Chanyeol’s smile.
“You played me,” Baekhyun accuses.
His smile drops a little. “There you go.”
Chanyeol goes back to tracing the rim of his plastic cup with a finger. The song changes. Baekhyun imagines someone shouting his name. Pretends that it is the year before, and that this was a party that people wanted him to be at.
“I wish I knew,” Baekhyun relents. “What I was doing, I mean. I wish I wasn’t so…”
“Mean? Patronizing? Self-centered? All of the above, maybe?” The words should have stung but there was something in Chanyeol’s tone.
In a small voice, Baekhyun says again, “I don’t know.” In an even smaller voice: “Do you think we could ever be friends again?”
A beat.
“Your tongue is blue, Baekhyun,” is all that Chanyeol says, and somehow Baekhyun understands.