The Winner Takes It All
Title: The Winner Takes It All
Author: Anonymous until 1/30/14
For: baekhannies
Pairing: Baekhyun/Chanyeol
Word Count: 7,192
Summary: When you spend your life living in someone else’s shadow, it’s hard to tell when the light is shining on you.
Warnings: language
Rating: PG-13
One
“Byun Baekhyun?”
Baekhyun sits up straight in his seat, eyes bright and alert as he focuses on his science teacher. “Yes?”
“You’ll be partnering with Park Chanyeol.”
Baekhyun’s stomach runs cold, eyes falling closed with resignation. Somewhere to his left, Park Chanyeol nods in understanding, and Baekhyun tries not to let his shoulders droop as he glances up at his teacher’s expectant face.
“Yes, sir.”
÷
Park Chanyeol has been a factor in Byun Baekhyun’s life since their parents, by some tragic coincidence, ended up living next door to each other and each couple happened to pop out a second kid around the same time. The only time Byun Baekhyun had managed to one-up Park Chanyeol was by being born six months before the boy who would grow up to ruin his life. Six glorious months of peace, six months unfettered by the unbearable pressure of having to live up to the expectations that Park Chanyeol set wherever he went.
It’s too bad Baekhyun can’t remember those six months.
Maybe, in another world, Baekhyun and Chanyeol could have been friends. But this is the world they’re stuck in, and in this world, Baekhyun’s father sighs at his second-place class rank and Baekhyun’s mother smoothes his hair down and sends him off to his room to study some more. In this world, Park Chanyeol has top marks in school, is the junior class president, first trumpet in concert band, and has all manner of plaques, trophies, and medals to his name.
In this world, Park Chanyeol is number one, and Byun Baekhyun is number two.
In this world, Baekhyun feels like he doesn’t even exist.
It’s not that Baekhyun had never tried to stand out. It’s that everything Baekhyun had tried, Chanyeol had done it, and done it better: track and field, physics society, robotics team. Baekhyun had even attempted to cultivate an interest in chess, thinking that maybe it was outside of Chanyeol’s skill set, chess requiring a calm, calculated focus that Baekhyun was sure Chanyeol couldn’t possibly possess, only to discover he’d won a county-wide junior chess competition in sixth grade.
Sixth grade.
Yet Baekhyun still refused to acknowledge the futility of trying to best Park Chanyeol. He had to have one failing, one weak point that Baekhyun could swoop in to wave in his face (forgetting, momentarily, that Chanyeol had never once bragged about his success to Baekhyun, which only made him seem even more infuriatingly superior).
The problem, of course, was that he had no idea what that weak point could possibly be.
÷
“I don’t know why you’re so upset about this,” Lu Han says at lunch later that day, swirling a couple french fries into a mixture of ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise. “If you’re working with Chanyeol, there’s no way you won’t win first place.”
Baekhyun sighs through his nose, mouth drawn into a line, and pokes forlornly at his lunch. “But is that because of me, or because of Chanyeol?”
“Can’t it be both?” Yixing suggests, wiping hot sauce off his fingers with a napkin. “You’re both really smart. I’m sure you’ll come up with something brilliant for the science fair and bring back the first-place trophy and bestow honor and glory onto our school.” He wiggles his fingers around with a little smile.
“Chanyeol’s cool, it’s not like he’s gonna take all the credit or something crappy like that,” Lu Han adds, cramming more french fries into his mouth. “You’re in good hands.”
“But I don’t need to be in good hands,” Baekhyun protests, stabbing at a bowl of mandarin orange sections. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m really good at science.”
He glances across the cafeteria, where Chanyeol is sitting with his best friend, Kris, and a few other guys. Chanyeol turns his head suddenly, catching Baekhyun looking at him, but Baekhyun just barely manages to see Chanyeol’s eyebrows quirk upwards before he turns his head back to Lu Han so quickly he thinks he’s given himself whiplash.
“Yeah, you’re the best in the school after Chanyeol, everyone knows that,” Lu Han says, waving a careless hand while the other one squirts more ketchup onto his plate.
“Lu Han,” Yixing says with a reproachful stare, gesturing at Baekhyun, who appears to be chewing the inside of his cheek clean off, and Lu Han has the decency to look a little sheepish as he reaches for a napkin to wipe the grease and salt from his hands.
“Sorry,” he says. “I was just trying to make a point. You’re both really smart and capable of winning. Does it really matter who’s ~the best at everything forever~?” Lu Han waves his hands in a way that makes Baekhyun think he’s being mocked, but he doesn’t have time to voice this complaint before Lu Han continues. “You’re thinking about this too hard. Just go do the thing--”
“Science fair,” Yixing supplies helpfully.
“--and win the prize and stop worrying so much.”
Stop worrying so much. It almost makes Baekhyun laugh. If everyone only knew how annoying and unhelpful it was to hear those four words when his parents were telling him the exact opposite practically every waking minute of his life at home--
“Hey,” Yixing says softly, tapping Baekhyun’s hand with the back of a plastic spoon, and Baekhyun snaps back to reality with a jolt. “It’s going to be fine. Seriously. Who knows, maybe you and Chanyeol might end this project as friends.”
“Or lovers,” Lu Han says in an obnoxiously greasy tone of voice, wiggling his eyebrows with a lewd smirk.
Baekhyun’s stomach squeezes anxiously as Yixing swats Lu Han’s arm, and he picks up his lunch tray. “My free period is next, I’m gonna go to the library,” he says stiffly, suddenly nauseated by the smell of the cafeteria. He smiles wanly at Yixing in an attempt to feel normal. “I’ll see you in history.”
Lu Han salutes, and Yixing waves him off with a concerned expression, and Baekhyun drops off his tray at the conveyor belt before he heads to the library, his lunch turning into a cold lump in his gut.
÷
“Hey.” A deep voice stirs Baekhyun from where he’s dozing off over his chemistry textbook at a table in the back of the library. Baekhyun clears his throat and rubs his eyes, opening them to see Park Chanyeol dropping into a chair across from him.
Great.
“Did you have a nice nap?” Chanyeol smiles at him, folding his arms and propping his elbows against the tabletop.
“I wasn’t napping,” Baekhyun mumbles, embarrassed. He flips a few pages in his textbook, looking for concepts he and Chanyeol could work with in their science project.
Chanyeol reaches across the table and pats his arm in a gesture of comfort. “Hey, no judgment. I’m jealous. I can’t sleep unless I’m in bed and it’s dead quiet. I have blackout shades and everything.” He laughs at himself. “Unsurprisingly, I don’t get a whole lot of sleep.”
“Doesn’t it make you crazy?” Baekhyun doesn’t look up from his book.
“Well, my little home remedy of coffee, Ritalin, and NoDoz helps with the exhaustion,” Chanyeol says matter-of-factly.
Baekhyun blinks and looks up at Chanyeol, his mouth hanging open slightly. “Wh--”
“Joking,” Chanyeol interrupts him quietly, grinning. “I don’t even like coffee.” When Baekhyun lifts an eyebrow, he continues. “And too much caffeine gives me heart palpitations. One time I drank two Rockstars the night before my Econ term paper was due and I thought I was having a heart attack.”
Baekhyun gives a little shudder. “I’ve done that.” Except it was three Starbucks double shots in one go. His mouth curls into a little smirk. “What about the Ritalin?”
Chanyeol gives him a dry smile. “I’m very focused, you ought to know that.” Baekhyun makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, which makes Chanyeol laugh quietly. “Besides, my parents would bury me alive if they found me popping pills.”
“Mine would probably get them for me if they thought it would make me do better in school.” The words slip out of Baekhyun’s mouth before he can stop them, and his face flushes with embarrassment and anger.
“That’s ridiculous,” Chanyeol says matter-of-factly. He reaches across the table to tap his fingers against Baekhyun’s arm. “You’re a great student, Baekhyun.”
“Not as great as you are, evidently,” Baekhyun snaps in reply, jerking his arm away from Chanyeol’s hand to flip irritably through his textbook again. “I don’t really want to talk about this, I was trying to look for ideas to use for our science fair project and you’re distracting me.”
“Well, we should probably work on this together, don’t you think?” Chanyeol says. Baekhyun can feel his gaze boring through his skull, but he doesn’t look up from his book to confirm his suspicions. “I’m kinda busy today, but let’s get together tomorrow after school. I’ve been thinking about some potential ideas and I’d really like to get your input on them.”
“I don’t really care what we do it on. I just want to win,” Baekhyun says, glancing up at Chanyeol through his fringe.
Chanyeol smiles, standing up and stretching after the bell rings to signal the end of the class period. “I’m, like, 98 percent sure that between the two of us, we can make that happen.”
Baekhyun lets his textbook fall shut and ignores the anxiety bubbling in his stomach. “Let’s hope so.”
÷
When they meet the next day, Chanyeol’s running late, rushing into the library with a three-ring binder in his arms and his massive backpack swinging from one shoulder.
“Sorry,” he says breathlessly, catching sight of Baekhyun’s dismayed expression. “I was making copies for you.”
He slumps into a chair and ditches his backpack, dropping the binder onto the table.
“Copies of what?” Baekhyun asks, straightening the two neatly stapled and hole-punched packets of paper before him.
“Some of the stuff I was researching online last night. I thought we could work it into our project,” Chanyeol says, flipping open the binder and popping open the rings to remove a couple of packets, similar to the ones Baekhyun has prepared, except a little thicker. He passes one to Baekhyun, who licks his finger and starts paging through it.
It’s a collection of articles about energy problems in South Korea. Baekhyun scans a few of them, reading about recent wide-scale blackouts and threats of an energy crisis, particularly in the summertime, when the blistering heat and a lack of air conditioning could prove dangerous. He has an inkling of what Chanyeol is intending with this series of articles, but he can’t help himself. “What’s the point of this?” he says, letting the packet flip closed.
Chanyeol either doesn’t notice or flat-out ignores the slightly snide tone of his question, and lights up with interest. “I was thinking we could develop some kind of system for monitoring home energy usage. You can see the kilowatts you used every month on your electric bill, but you can’t tell what’s causing it, right?” He flips to a page in the back of his packet. “So I was thinking we could construct some kind of energy meter that would plug into your outlets and measure the wattage being used by certain things, so you could see what you should be unplugging when you aren’t using it.” He points to the page, grinning. “Energy vampires, that’s what they’re called. We could be the energy vampire killers!”
Baekhyun stares at him. “Isn’t it a bit… dull?”
Chanyeol shakes his head. “No, not at all. The committee won’t think so. And it has practical usage, which is more than anyone can say for whoever decides to experiment on whether plants grow better in artificial or natural light.” He snorts.
Baekhyun looks down at his own packet of research, some articles on art conservation and the history of pigment usage, and using x-ray technology to verify the authenticity of a painting. Chanyeol reaches across the table to take the second copy, skimming a few of the papers within.
“This is really cool,” he says, glancing up at Baekhyun. “You’re good at art, I can see why you picked this topic.”
Baekhyun allows himself to feel slightly mollified. “It’s a pretty fascinating subject. I like chemistry.”
Chanyeol nods, still skimming an article on the compositions of various blue pigments and their dates of usage. “I’m not sure how to turn it into an experiment, though. Maybe synthesizing organic and inorganic pigments and comparing their color intensity and how long they last?”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Baekhyun says. His stomach twists. “But after hearing your idea…”
Chanyeol perks up. “You like it?”
“It galls me to admit,” Baekhyun sighs, “but I think we could win the science fair with that project. Maybe I’ll save the pigment one for an art project, when we move into paints next semester, I don’t know...”
“That would be cool!” Chanyeol grins. “Like a chemistry and art fusion project, I bet you’d win a prize at the art fair for sure.”
Baekhyun holds back a smile. “That would be nice.” He slides his packet of research into his binder and looks at Chanyeol’s more closely. “I know a little bit about building circuits, but how would we create a meter to measure the electrical current coming through the outlet without skewing the results by attracting electricity to the meter itself?”
Chanyeol’s eyebrows furrow, and he worries his lower lip between his teeth. “Looks like we have some more research to do.”
÷
One month, six phone calls to the power company, two prototypes, three minor electrocutions (two for Chanyeol, one for Baekhyun), and a hospital visit later (Chanyeol’s mom was Concerned for Their Health), Chanyeol and Baekhyun have a pretty decent working model of an energy meter. Their lab report is due in one week, and between the two of them, they’ve amassed a respectable amount of data, measuring electrical output at their respective houses, various rooms in the school, one or two PC bangs, and even at friends’ houses on weekends under the pretense of playing video games or studying.
Baekhyun is sprawled out on the floor of Chanyeol’s living room with a tri-fold posterboard and a mess of markers, colored pencils, paper, glue, and scissors, designing their display for the science fair while Chanyeol sits nearby at his family’s desktop computer transcribing his and Baekhyun’s notes and data collection into an acceptable format for their lab report.
“This doesn’t look too cartoonish to you, does it?” Baekhyun asks, sitting up and surveying his work. He’s papered over the white posterboard with black construction paper and tentatively laid out cut-out letters for the title of their project: Detecting Energy Waste: Constructing a Wattage Meter. There’s a couple yellow lightning bolts bookending the white-lettered heading, with the subheading in smaller yellow letters. Their names, in green, are arranged beneath the titles: Park Chanyeol and Byun Baekhyun, in alphabetical order.
Chanyeol spins around in his desk chair and squints at the posterboard. “Nah,” he says after studying it for a few moments. “Probably could use a little more decoration. Maybe some cut-outs around each section, once we get the paper printed off. Plugs or something, different electrical symbols, illustrations of a basic circuit? Just to dress it up a little.”
Baekhyun chews on his lower lip, staring down at his work so far. “I don’t want it to look unprofessional, that’s all.”
“It won’t,” Chanyeol assures him, scooting his chair a little closer to Baekhyun. He smiles. “You have a good eye for aesthetics, I’m 110 percent sure that you won’t let it look tacky. But it’s important to make it visually stimulating so people can guess what it’s about without slogging through the paper.”
“‘Slogging through’?” Baekhyun looks up at Chanyeol with alarm. “You can’t be too dry when you write it, it’ll ruin the whole--”
“Relax,” Chanyeol laughs, leaning forward to ruffle Baekhyun’s hair. “I am doing my very best to highlight the fantastic, groundbreaking work that we’re doing while still maintaining a professional tone. I promise. We’re gonna kick ass.”
Baekhyun bats at Chanyeol’s hand and smoothes his hair back into place. “Good, because I’m going to kick your ass if anything goes wrong. I promise.”
Chanyeol just grins. “Noted.”
÷
Friday afternoon - the day of the science fair - the gymnasium is bustling with activity: participants meticulously organizing their tables and explaining the details of their projects to passing teachers and students, judges strolling along asking questions and taking notes on clipboards, and science faculty members scuttling to and fro, ensuring their students are prepared to present their projects to the judges.
Chanyeol’s cool and composed, chatty and not at all imposing in spite of his height. Baekhyun isn’t sure how he does it, beckoning people over to take a look at their work while Baekhyun gestures awkwardly at the diagrams on the board behind Chanyeol. Baekhyun’s palms are clammy when he plugs their energy meter prototype into a nearby outlet, demonstrating the difference in how much electricity is conducted through the outlet when his cell phone is plugged in, and the amount of energy still flowing through its charger even when the cell phone has been removed.
“This way,” he recites to a small group of judges after removing the meter, “it’s easy to see which appliances and electronics are contributing to high electricity bills, aside from the usual culprits.”
“So make sure you’re shutting off your aircon when you leave the house,” Chanyeol laughs, and the judges titter along politely, thanking them for their hard work before they move on to the next team’s display.
Chanyeol rounds on him, a grin lighting up his face. “I think that went really well!”
“I feel sick,” Baekhyun confesses, sinking into a chair next to their table.
Chanyeol crouches down and presses the back of his hand to Baekhyun’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm or anything. It’s probably just nerves.” He stands back up, ruffling Baekhyun’s hair. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon. I’ll go get you a cider for your stomach.”
Baekhyun bats at his hand, scowling, but there’s no malice in it. “Thanks.”
He watches Chanyeol traipse away and glances around the gym, taking in the other displays. His stomach twists unpleasantly at the sight; some of them look like they could be better than his and Chanyeol’s. Baekhyun sighs and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees colored sparks bloom behind his eyelids.
If he really thinks about it, he’s not entirely sure why he wants to win the top prize so badly. There’s just something about the idea of losing that seems so utterly horrible that winning seems like the only option. Baekhyun doesn’t understand why Chanyeol doesn’t seem as convinced about this as he does. He’s so relaxed and laid-back about everything; it drives Baekhyun insane.
“Here,” Chanyeol says, pressing a cold can of Chilsung cider against Baekhyun’s forehead, startling him. “Got a headache now? You’re just falling apart, aren’t you?”
“Huh?” Baekhyun says intelligently, taking the proffered soda and cracking open the top. “No, I was just thinking. I’m fine. I’m-- I’ll be fine.”
“I was listening to some of the teachers near the refreshment table,” Chanyeol says, sitting down next to Baekhyun and popping the tab on his own soda. “They said the judges are going to give out the awards soon.”
Baekhyun takes a sip of his drink, then opens his mouth to respond just as someone starts tapping on the microphone positioned in the middle of the stage on the other side of the gym.
“Faculty, participants, guests,” an older gentleman, one of the judges, says, his s’s whistling into the microphone, “the judges have concluded their deliberations and are pleased to deliver the results for this year’s city-wide science fair.”
Chanyeol gives Baekhyun’s arm a squeeze, and for once, Baekhyun doesn’t edge away.
“We will announce the winners for each category--that is, microbiology, organic chemistry, electrical engineering, et cetera--before announcing the runner-up and the grand prize winners, who will receive monetary awards in addition to their medals,” the man continues, before stepping away from the microphone to allow a female colleague room to read off the first category’s winner.
“I think they’ll probably go in order according to division,” Chanyeol whispers to Baekhyun, reaching in his pocket for the science fair program he’d stashed away. “See? Biology - Anatomy, Biology - Environmental, Biology - Horticulture, Biology - Micro, Biology - Zoology... then all the chemistry categories… and then Engineering - Civil, Engineering - Electrical, Engineering - Mechanical...” He glances at Baekhyun. “I think we might have to wait a little while before they hit the engineering projects.”
Baekhyun’s stomach is roiling by the time the judges - who couldn’t possibly read any slower - announce the Engineering category, which their science teacher had recommended they file under. The winners for civil engineering produced a 3D computer model of different trusses used in bridge building, then actually went about building scale models of bridges using each type of truss, and then used weights to test the maximum load each truss design could handle before incurring structural damage. Their models were beautiful, and the judges applauded the project’s practical applications.
“I’m going to throw up,” Baekhyun says solemnly, watching the winning team, a pair of girls, walk down the steps together with identical grins on their faces.
“No, you’re not,” Chanyeol says, though he looks a little pale when Baekhyun glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Shit, we’re next.”
“Engineering - Electrical,” the female judge reads in a booming voice, and Baekhyun feels the inside of his mouth turn to sand. His heart is racing, and his stomach keeps flip-flopping as though it would on a particularly fast elevator ride. “Table J-24, Detecting Energy Loss, participants Park Chanyeol and Byun Baekhyun.”
Baekhyun jerks his head out of his hands when he hears their names, and Chanyeol looks at him, wild-eyed. “Oh my god.”
“Holy shit,” Chanyeol whispers loudly, dragging Baekhyun up and out of his seat and raising his hand to show the judges they’d heard.
Baekhyun can’t really feel anything as he follows Chanyeol up to the stage to shake the judges’ hands and bow before accepting his medal and certificate.
“Their prototype of an energy meter could lead to hundreds of millions of won saved annually in prevention of energy waste, blackouts, and our country’s pending energy crisis, just from simple home usage and citizen awareness,” the male judge says, smiling at the two of them before a staff member ushers them back down the steps and to their seats.
“Holy shit,” Chanyeol says again, lifting the medal to his face to get a closer look at it. “We won.”
“Not yet,” Baekhyun chatters, now even more anxious. They still have to get through more than half the categories before the runner-up and all-around winner will be selected from the pool of category finalists.
“Shut up, we got this,” Chanyeol says, punching him playfully in the arm. Baekhyun wiggles his chair away from him, and Chanyeol laughs under his breath. “Please, you heard what he said! Hundreds of millions of won! Saving the country from an energy crisis! We’re amazing, we can do this.”
And for a moment, Baekhyun believes maybe they can. Maybe he was wrong about Chanyeol; maybe everything might be okay.
It’s still an excruciating wait for the final winners to be announced, though, and by the time the staffers wheel out the cart with the trophies and framed award certificates and prize checks, Baekhyun’s nerves are frayed down to nothing.
Chanyeol’s hand sneaks down to clutch his, and Baekhyun can’t help but squeeze back as the female judge returns to the microphone.
“And now for our winner and runner-up,” she says, looking at the card in her hands. “Our winner for this year’s Seoul Metropolian Science Fair is Table E-17, Taking Shortcuts, on direct reprogramming of cells, which means that our runner up is Table J-24, Detecting Energy Waste. Please come collect your prizes, and many congratulations for your hard work and clear dedication to your projects.”
Baekhyun’s heart flies into his throat and immediately plummets into his gut. Chanyeol’s jaw drops. They stand, though, and walk to the stage to proceed with the pleasantries once more; bowing, shaking hands, and accepting more certificates and a small trophy for them to share (which will most likely end up in their teacher’s classroom), as well as an envelope with 100,000 won for them to split.
They shake hands with and congratulate the grand prize winners, who split 500,000 won and receive a slightly larger trophy, and all of them stay on stage until the audience is thanked for their time and the lights come up. The staffer escorts them down once more, and Baekhyun puts some distance between him and Chanyeol, not even bothering to return to their table to clean up. Instead, he veers right and slams down the handle on a side door, ditching his framed certificate in the grass before leaning against the brick exterior of the building, his chest heaving.
“Baekhyun,” he hears, and it’s the last person he wants to see right now, but Chanyeol charges out the door behind him and looks down at Baekhyun’s award on the ground before glancing back up at him.
“Go away,” Baekhyun says, his voice wavering.
“Baekhyun--”
“Jesus Christ, Chanyeol, can’t you just go?” Baekhyun nearly screams. “How hard is it for you to take a hint? Are you a complete idiot? Aren’t you supposed to be the one on this team with people skills? Why are you so goddamn awful at reading me?”
“What do you--”
Baekhyun cuts him off again, pushing away from the wall and slamming his hands into Chanyeol’s chest. “Stop talking! You’re always talking to me, what part of ‘go away and leave me alone’ don’t you understand? God, I have to see you everywhere I go, everywhere! At school, after school, you’re in everything I do and I just fucking hate it! You’re like a mosquito, you’re everywhere and I can’t get rid of you!”
Chanyeol doesn’t fight back when Baekhyun shoves him again, only stares back, his eyes empty. “I thought we were friends. I thought--”
“Well, guess what, boy genius Park Chanyeol? You thought wrong,” Baekhyun snarls. The words are pouring out of his mouth before he can stop them, and everything sounds right when he’s so full of anger and loathing and disappointment. “When have I ever given you the impression that we were friends? When? Because we live next door to each other? Because we’re in all the same classes and clubs and you’re friends with some of my friends? Are you fucking out of your mind? I can’t stand you!”
Chanyeol just looks at him, glassy-eyed.
“Are you even going to say anything?” Baekhyun steps back, breathless and red-faced and hysterical. “Fuck it. Fuck this. I’m leaving. Keep the fucking money, it’s loser’s money.”
He spits in the grass where he’d thrown down his award and stalks off, leaving Chanyeol alone.
÷
Baekhyun spends the weekend locked in his room at home, only coming down for meals because his mother would think he was dying otherwise. His parents were pleased when he gave them his medal before barricading himself in his bedroom, although his father--of course--just had to comment.
“I guess not even Park Chanyeol can get you out of second place,” he’d laughed. Baekhyun’s mother had cuffed him playfully on the arm and Baekhyun excused himself, feeling sick with disappointment and guilt all over again.
The feeling doesn’t subside by Monday, and Baekhyun walks into school that day with a lump in his throat. He manages to avoid seeing Chanyeol for most of the morning, until Physics fourth period, but they sit on opposite sides of the classroom, and Baekhyun refuses to let his gaze wander from his notes and the teacher.
It’s not until lunchtime that he really grasps the severity of his blow-up at Chanyeol. Usually he’s joined at his regular table by Yixing and Lu Han, sometimes Jongdae, and on occasion Lu Han brings along Jongin and Sehun, the first-years who follow him around everywhere. But today the only person who shows up is Yixing, who sets his tray down, folds his arms, and gazes at Baekhyun with a mixture of pity and exasperation in his eyes. “Oh, Baekhyun. What did you say to him?”
Baekhyun blinks, momentarily frozen with horror. “What are people saying?”
“That you went nuclear on Park Chanyeol after the science fair and threw a picture frame at him and told him if he ever came near you again you’d bash his face in with a baseball bat.”
“What.”
“I think Kris might have embellished,” Yixing sighs, glancing over at the table where Chanyeol and Kris Wu normally sit. Baekhyun dares to flick his eyes in the same direction, only to see Kris glaring daggers at him and Chanyeol keeping a tight grip on his arm.
“If he comes over here, you have to promise you won’t resuscitate me after he crushes my skull,” Baekhyun says, swallowing hard and looking back at Yixing.
“I think you’ll be beyond help at that point,” Yixing says dryly, a slight smile on his face, “but I promise I will let you die peacefully.” He mixes his noodles around with a pair of chopsticks. “Baekhyun, what happened?”
“I don’t know,” Baekhyun says miserably, staring at his own japchae. “One minute, we’d won our category, and everything was good, and then we got beat by a couple of geniuses from the Hyundai School who synthesized a bunch of stem cells or something, and I just-- I lost it.” The sight of the food makes nausea well up in the back of his throat, and he glances up at Yixing. “I didn’t threaten him, though, or hurt him. Physically, anyway.”
“But you guys were still the runners-up,” Yixing says. “I don’t understand what’s so bad about that.”
“Neither do I,” a familiar voice interrupts, and Baekhyun turns around to see Lu Han and his little proteges, who are looking at him like someone looks at gum stuck to the bottom of their shoes. Baekhyun suddenly wants to cry; Oh Sehun looks so mean when he’s not smiling, and Kim Jongin is so cute towards Baekhyun most days that seeing his face so disgusted is almost worse than the rumors being spread around.
“Lu Han,” Yixing says, lifting his eyebrows. “Are you going to sit?”
“Yes,” Lu Han says, although he shoos his entourage away before sliding onto the stool next to Baekhyun. “What the hell, Baekhyun.”
“Shhh.” Yixing frowns at Lu Han before glancing back at Baekhyun. “You were saying…?”
“I went home on Friday night, and you know what my father said to me?” Baekhyun says quietly, stirring his soup around. “He said, ‘Huh, I guess even Park Chanyeol can’t pull you out of second place.’ Like losing was my fault. It’s always my fault that I can’t be better than Park Chanyeol. I bet my parents cry themselves to sleep every night that they got stuck with me and not the perfect kid who lives next door.”
“I’m sure they know you’re doing your best,” Yixing says sympathetically, reaching across the table to squeeze Baekhyun’s forearm.
“My best will never be good enough.” Baekhyun stares at his upside-down reflection in the spoon. “And I took it out on Chanyeol. But I was so frustrated! He’s always there, we’re in all the same things and he lives in the next apartment and I just can’t get away from him. He’s not bad, it’s just-- my parents, and--”
Lu Han claps him on the shoulder. “You are such a fucked-up little mess, Byun Baekhyun.” Yixing purses his lips irritably and Lu Han adds, “But you’re our fucked-up little mess.”
Baekhyun starts to cry.
“Lu Han,” Yixing hisses, pushing his tray around the table to sit on Baekhyun’s left side.
“Don’t be mad at him, he’s right,” Baekhyun chokes out, his face burning and his chest heaving. “I’ve been horrible to Chanyeol, and it’s not like I have a good reason for it.”
“It’s okay,” Yixing says, rubbing his back. His nose scrunches up as he reconsiders. “I mean, it’s not. But it will be, someday. The only reason people are upset is because Kris is upset and everyone’s scared of Kris, and Kris is upset because you broke his best friend’s heart and he’s not very good with crying people, especially Chanyeol, especially when they were just going to play video games--”
“And I’m the one who needs to stop talking,” Lu Han deadpans, shaking his head.
Baekhyun looks up, swiping at his cheeks. “What do you mean I broke Kris’ best friend’s heart?”
“Oh Jesus,” Lu Han says, while Yixing slaps a hand to his own forehead. “Dude, Chanyeol’s crazy about you. You’ll forgive me if I don’t understand the appeal.”
Yixing closes his eyes in yet another world-weary sigh, still patting Baekhyun’s back. “He’s had a crush on you since middle school, apparently. Lu Han’s known for a while, but wasn’t supposed to tell you,” he adds, raising his voice on the last few words.
“Hey, he deserves to know,” Lu Han says defensively, peering around Baekhyun’s hunched shoulders to make a face at Yixing. “And I’m not the one who let the cat out of the bag, Zhang Yixing.” He turns back to Baekhyun. “You know, you guys probably could have been perfect together if you weren’t such a stubborn little basket case. You have really similar interests and you’re both smart, and you’d definitely look cute together…”
“He’s not wrong,” Yixing admits, leaning his head on Baekhyun’s shoulder. “If you didn’t always view him as the enemy, you might have been really close.”
“You’re saying that like there’s no chance of repairing the damage I’ve done,” Baekhyun says with a hint of panic in his voice. The idea of being ostracized by everyone who matters in the third year… Baekhyun’s not sure he’ll survive high school like that.
“I think there could be,” Yixing says, sitting up and digging into his rapidly cooling lunch, “but you’re going to have to do something you hate.”
“What?”
“You’re going to have to admit you were wrong.”
Baekhyun presses his palms against his forehead. “Balls.”
÷
Baekhyun sneaks out of his hagwon half an hour early that night, speeding home on his bike so he can catch Chanyeol before he goes into the building. There wasn’t time after school to talk, and he feels a little more sure that he won’t cry in front of Chanyeol, now that he’s had a few hours to think about what to say and how to keep Chanyeol from walking away and writing him off as a complete asshole.
Baekhyun stashes his bike inside the entrance, chaining it to the bannister on the stairwell before popping back outside to linger near the columns that separate the car ports from one another. It’s a full twenty minutes before he sees Chanyeol turn the corner into the alley, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders.
Baekhyun takes a deep breath and steps into the dim light cast by the streetlamp fixed to the building as Chanyeol approaches, which prompts Chanyeol to emit an undignified barely-stifled yelp. When he realizes it’s Baekhyun, it looks like he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or petrified.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” Baekhyun says, curling his fingers anxiously in the fabric of his school blazer.
“It’s okay,” Chanyeol says, looking down as he scuffs his shoes against the pavement. He looks up at Baekhyun briefly, before moving in the direction of the doors. “I’m gonna go--”
“Wait,” Baekhyun blurts out, and Chanyeol stops, turning around slowly. “Can-- will you take a walk with me, Chanyeol?”
Chanyeol looks like he’s considering it, but there’s a twinge of pain in his expression before he shakes his head. “I have homework, and my mom’s expecting me…”
“Please,” Baekhyun begs, and although it blasts his pride to smithereens, he drops to his knees and bows forward, hands on the ground at Chanyeol’s feet, groveling. “I owe you an apology and an explanation, and you don’t have to accept it, but I want to talk.”
Chanyeol’s quiet for a moment, and Baekhyun’s afraid he’s turned around and started punching in the code to open the glass doors blocking the entrance, but then he feels a hand on his shoulder and Chanyeol’s mumbling, “Get up, stop, don’t do that.”
Baekhyun lifts his head and sits back on his heels, and Chanyeol offers him a hand up. “Let’s go walk around the middle school,” Chanyeol says, gesturing vaguely behind them; there’s a middle school behind their apartment block.
“Thank you,” Baekhyun says with all the sincerity he can muster, and they start walking back down the alley, turning right at the corner. They’re quiet until they reach the intersection, when Baekhyun glances up at Chanyeol and lets the words fall out of his mouth. “Chanyeol, I’m so sorry for saying all that horrible stuff to you on Friday.”
Chanyeol doesn’t say anything as they cross the street to the school and follow the gates around the sidewalk, so Baekhyun continues. “I keep asking myself what was so important about that fucking science fair, and there’s nothing. There’s nothing important enough to justify talk to a person like that.”
“You were frustrated,” Chanyeol says finally, and Baekhyun shakes his head vigorously.
“That’s no excuse,” he spits, angry with himself all over again. “Just because I was disappointed and angry at myself doesn’t mean I had to take it out on you. All the times I took out my bad moods on you, I was just mad at myself because you’re so much better than me at everything--”
“Why do you keep saying that?” Chanyeol says sharply, and it’s the closest Baekhyun’s ever heard him get to anger. “You are an incredible student and you have so much value, I don’t understand why you keep underestimating yourself.”
“It’s kind of hard not to when your parents are measuring you against the kid next door in everything you do,” Baekhyun rambles, waving his hands around agitatedly. “Literally, sometimes; I mean, you’re even taller than me.”
“Seriously?” Chanyeol stops him in the middle of the sidewalk, his eyebrows disappearing into his bangs. “Your parents seriously begrudge you our height difference?”
“They did it more when we went out for sports years ago, when I was the runt of the litter, but yeah, it’s been known to happen,” Baekhyun grumbles.
“Wow.” Chanyeol shakes his head and starts walking again, leading them around the corner. “For what it’s worth, my mother thinks you’re adorable.”
Baekhyun flushes. “That’s nice of her.” He clears his throat. “But-- like I was saying, the fact that my parents wish I were more like you isn’t your fault, and I had no right to treat you badly just because I was projecting.” Those were Yixing’s words, technically, but Baekhyun thought it couldn’t hurt to be honest.
“So you don’t hate me?” Chanyeol says, and Baekhyun’s chest twinges.
“No,” he says adamantly, shaking his head, and this time he stops Chanyeol. “When I said I couldn’t stand you, I think what I meant was that I couldn’t stand all the pressure I’m reminded of whenever I see you. And I took the second-place finish at the science fair too seriously, because my dad is always making jokes about my second-place rank in everything, and I think-- I think I just yelled everything I wanted to say to my parents at you instead.” He sighs, swallowing down the lump in his throat, covering his face with shaky hands as his eyes start to sting.
“Baekhyun…” Chanyeol murmurs, and suddenly Baekhyun feels Chanyeol’s long arms around his shoulders and his chin resting gently atop Baekhyun’s head. “I forgive you. Don’t cry.”
But the way Chanyeol says I forgive you sounds a lot like someone else would say I love you, and that’s what makes Baekhyun break into little shuddering sobs against Chanyeol’s blazer.
“Shhh,” Chanyeol says, lifting a hand to pet Baekhyun’s hair tentatively. “It’s okay.”
Even though it’s not; even though he broke Chanyeol’s heart without knowing it; even though Chanyeol probably thinks this moment means more to him than it does to Baekhyun. It’s okay.
Baekhyun sucks in a breath, trying to stop his chest from heaving so hard so he can just talk. “Chanyeol,” he hiccups, stepping back enough that he can look up. “Can I-- Do you want to--”
“Spit it out,” Chanyeol laughs.
Baekhyun sighs shakily. “Can I take you out sometime?”
Chanyeol’s expression clouds over, and he drops his hands from Baekhyun’s shoulders. “Who told you?”
Busted.
“Yixing and Lu Han,” Baekhyun confesses. “I just-- I didn’t know, Chanyeol, I didn’t know you felt that way about me.”
“Please don’t do this,” Chanyeol says, pained, as he passes a hand over his eyes. “It’s okay, Baekhyun, I get that you feel guilty, but playing with my feelings just isn’t--”
“I’m not playing,” Baekhyun says, reaching forward to grab his arm. “I mean, do I want to make it up to you? Yes. But that’s not the only reason I suggested it.”
“Yeah?” Chanyeol dares to shake Baekhyun’s hand down his arm until their fingers are tangled together, and something in Baekhyun’s chest jumps. “What’s the other reason?”
“It was something Yixing and Lu Han said,” Baekhyun says, looking down at their joined hands. “They said if I didn’t always see you as a rival, we’d be pretty good friends.” He scratches the back of his head. “Maybe more. And I just thought… if I could be happy that way, shouldn’t I try?”
“Well, I guess when you put it that way…” Chanyeol smiles, giving Baekhyun’s hand one last squeeze before gently letting it go. “You wanna go to the convenience store? I’ll let you buy me ice cream.”
“Yeah,” Baekhyun says, smiling for what feels like the first time in days. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
A/N:
This fic was based on the following prompt: He would be happy if his enemy wasn't on every contest he participated, in every school he transfered to and in the neighbor's house which is his. romance, comedy, high school!au. baekhannies, I hope you enjoyed this. :)
The bit about alphabetical order might have confused people, where Baekhyun and Chanyeol’s names are concerned. In hangeul, 박 comes before 변.
Chanyeol’s jab at science fair projects involving plants is a nod to my own 8th grade science fair project, which was literally the worst, but in my defense, I was forced to compete in the science fair! (I also gave Baekhyun and Chanyeol my table number, J-24. ㅋㅋ) I just half-assed the whole thing. Probably a bad indicator for my work ethic in the future, lmfao. Baekhyun and Chanyeol’s project is number 19 here, Baekhyun’s idea for a project came from this Prezi, and the other science fair project ideas were from here, because I sure as hell wasn’t about to think up any on my own.
Title comes from the ABBA song; I thought it was fitting!
One
Author: Anonymous until 1/30/14
For: baekhannies
Pairing: Baekhyun/Chanyeol
Word Count: 7,192
Summary: When you spend your life living in someone else’s shadow, it’s hard to tell when the light is shining on you.
Warnings: language
Rating: PG-13
One
“Byun Baekhyun?”
Baekhyun sits up straight in his seat, eyes bright and alert as he focuses on his science teacher. “Yes?”
“You’ll be partnering with Park Chanyeol.”
Baekhyun’s stomach runs cold, eyes falling closed with resignation. Somewhere to his left, Park Chanyeol nods in understanding, and Baekhyun tries not to let his shoulders droop as he glances up at his teacher’s expectant face.
“Yes, sir.”
÷
Park Chanyeol has been a factor in Byun Baekhyun’s life since their parents, by some tragic coincidence, ended up living next door to each other and each couple happened to pop out a second kid around the same time. The only time Byun Baekhyun had managed to one-up Park Chanyeol was by being born six months before the boy who would grow up to ruin his life. Six glorious months of peace, six months unfettered by the unbearable pressure of having to live up to the expectations that Park Chanyeol set wherever he went.
It’s too bad Baekhyun can’t remember those six months.
Maybe, in another world, Baekhyun and Chanyeol could have been friends. But this is the world they’re stuck in, and in this world, Baekhyun’s father sighs at his second-place class rank and Baekhyun’s mother smoothes his hair down and sends him off to his room to study some more. In this world, Park Chanyeol has top marks in school, is the junior class president, first trumpet in concert band, and has all manner of plaques, trophies, and medals to his name.
In this world, Park Chanyeol is number one, and Byun Baekhyun is number two.
In this world, Baekhyun feels like he doesn’t even exist.
It’s not that Baekhyun had never tried to stand out. It’s that everything Baekhyun had tried, Chanyeol had done it, and done it better: track and field, physics society, robotics team. Baekhyun had even attempted to cultivate an interest in chess, thinking that maybe it was outside of Chanyeol’s skill set, chess requiring a calm, calculated focus that Baekhyun was sure Chanyeol couldn’t possibly possess, only to discover he’d won a county-wide junior chess competition in sixth grade.
Sixth grade.
Yet Baekhyun still refused to acknowledge the futility of trying to best Park Chanyeol. He had to have one failing, one weak point that Baekhyun could swoop in to wave in his face (forgetting, momentarily, that Chanyeol had never once bragged about his success to Baekhyun, which only made him seem even more infuriatingly superior).
The problem, of course, was that he had no idea what that weak point could possibly be.
÷
“I don’t know why you’re so upset about this,” Lu Han says at lunch later that day, swirling a couple french fries into a mixture of ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise. “If you’re working with Chanyeol, there’s no way you won’t win first place.”
Baekhyun sighs through his nose, mouth drawn into a line, and pokes forlornly at his lunch. “But is that because of me, or because of Chanyeol?”
“Can’t it be both?” Yixing suggests, wiping hot sauce off his fingers with a napkin. “You’re both really smart. I’m sure you’ll come up with something brilliant for the science fair and bring back the first-place trophy and bestow honor and glory onto our school.” He wiggles his fingers around with a little smile.
“Chanyeol’s cool, it’s not like he’s gonna take all the credit or something crappy like that,” Lu Han adds, cramming more french fries into his mouth. “You’re in good hands.”
“But I don’t need to be in good hands,” Baekhyun protests, stabbing at a bowl of mandarin orange sections. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m really good at science.”
He glances across the cafeteria, where Chanyeol is sitting with his best friend, Kris, and a few other guys. Chanyeol turns his head suddenly, catching Baekhyun looking at him, but Baekhyun just barely manages to see Chanyeol’s eyebrows quirk upwards before he turns his head back to Lu Han so quickly he thinks he’s given himself whiplash.
“Yeah, you’re the best in the school after Chanyeol, everyone knows that,” Lu Han says, waving a careless hand while the other one squirts more ketchup onto his plate.
“Lu Han,” Yixing says with a reproachful stare, gesturing at Baekhyun, who appears to be chewing the inside of his cheek clean off, and Lu Han has the decency to look a little sheepish as he reaches for a napkin to wipe the grease and salt from his hands.
“Sorry,” he says. “I was just trying to make a point. You’re both really smart and capable of winning. Does it really matter who’s ~the best at everything forever~?” Lu Han waves his hands in a way that makes Baekhyun think he’s being mocked, but he doesn’t have time to voice this complaint before Lu Han continues. “You’re thinking about this too hard. Just go do the thing--”
“Science fair,” Yixing supplies helpfully.
“--and win the prize and stop worrying so much.”
Stop worrying so much. It almost makes Baekhyun laugh. If everyone only knew how annoying and unhelpful it was to hear those four words when his parents were telling him the exact opposite practically every waking minute of his life at home--
“Hey,” Yixing says softly, tapping Baekhyun’s hand with the back of a plastic spoon, and Baekhyun snaps back to reality with a jolt. “It’s going to be fine. Seriously. Who knows, maybe you and Chanyeol might end this project as friends.”
“Or lovers,” Lu Han says in an obnoxiously greasy tone of voice, wiggling his eyebrows with a lewd smirk.
Baekhyun’s stomach squeezes anxiously as Yixing swats Lu Han’s arm, and he picks up his lunch tray. “My free period is next, I’m gonna go to the library,” he says stiffly, suddenly nauseated by the smell of the cafeteria. He smiles wanly at Yixing in an attempt to feel normal. “I’ll see you in history.”
Lu Han salutes, and Yixing waves him off with a concerned expression, and Baekhyun drops off his tray at the conveyor belt before he heads to the library, his lunch turning into a cold lump in his gut.
÷
“Hey.” A deep voice stirs Baekhyun from where he’s dozing off over his chemistry textbook at a table in the back of the library. Baekhyun clears his throat and rubs his eyes, opening them to see Park Chanyeol dropping into a chair across from him.
Great.
“Did you have a nice nap?” Chanyeol smiles at him, folding his arms and propping his elbows against the tabletop.
“I wasn’t napping,” Baekhyun mumbles, embarrassed. He flips a few pages in his textbook, looking for concepts he and Chanyeol could work with in their science project.
Chanyeol reaches across the table and pats his arm in a gesture of comfort. “Hey, no judgment. I’m jealous. I can’t sleep unless I’m in bed and it’s dead quiet. I have blackout shades and everything.” He laughs at himself. “Unsurprisingly, I don’t get a whole lot of sleep.”
“Doesn’t it make you crazy?” Baekhyun doesn’t look up from his book.
“Well, my little home remedy of coffee, Ritalin, and NoDoz helps with the exhaustion,” Chanyeol says matter-of-factly.
Baekhyun blinks and looks up at Chanyeol, his mouth hanging open slightly. “Wh--”
“Joking,” Chanyeol interrupts him quietly, grinning. “I don’t even like coffee.” When Baekhyun lifts an eyebrow, he continues. “And too much caffeine gives me heart palpitations. One time I drank two Rockstars the night before my Econ term paper was due and I thought I was having a heart attack.”
Baekhyun gives a little shudder. “I’ve done that.” Except it was three Starbucks double shots in one go. His mouth curls into a little smirk. “What about the Ritalin?”
Chanyeol gives him a dry smile. “I’m very focused, you ought to know that.” Baekhyun makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, which makes Chanyeol laugh quietly. “Besides, my parents would bury me alive if they found me popping pills.”
“Mine would probably get them for me if they thought it would make me do better in school.” The words slip out of Baekhyun’s mouth before he can stop them, and his face flushes with embarrassment and anger.
“That’s ridiculous,” Chanyeol says matter-of-factly. He reaches across the table to tap his fingers against Baekhyun’s arm. “You’re a great student, Baekhyun.”
“Not as great as you are, evidently,” Baekhyun snaps in reply, jerking his arm away from Chanyeol’s hand to flip irritably through his textbook again. “I don’t really want to talk about this, I was trying to look for ideas to use for our science fair project and you’re distracting me.”
“Well, we should probably work on this together, don’t you think?” Chanyeol says. Baekhyun can feel his gaze boring through his skull, but he doesn’t look up from his book to confirm his suspicions. “I’m kinda busy today, but let’s get together tomorrow after school. I’ve been thinking about some potential ideas and I’d really like to get your input on them.”
“I don’t really care what we do it on. I just want to win,” Baekhyun says, glancing up at Chanyeol through his fringe.
Chanyeol smiles, standing up and stretching after the bell rings to signal the end of the class period. “I’m, like, 98 percent sure that between the two of us, we can make that happen.”
Baekhyun lets his textbook fall shut and ignores the anxiety bubbling in his stomach. “Let’s hope so.”
÷
When they meet the next day, Chanyeol’s running late, rushing into the library with a three-ring binder in his arms and his massive backpack swinging from one shoulder.
“Sorry,” he says breathlessly, catching sight of Baekhyun’s dismayed expression. “I was making copies for you.”
He slumps into a chair and ditches his backpack, dropping the binder onto the table.
“Copies of what?” Baekhyun asks, straightening the two neatly stapled and hole-punched packets of paper before him.
“Some of the stuff I was researching online last night. I thought we could work it into our project,” Chanyeol says, flipping open the binder and popping open the rings to remove a couple of packets, similar to the ones Baekhyun has prepared, except a little thicker. He passes one to Baekhyun, who licks his finger and starts paging through it.
It’s a collection of articles about energy problems in South Korea. Baekhyun scans a few of them, reading about recent wide-scale blackouts and threats of an energy crisis, particularly in the summertime, when the blistering heat and a lack of air conditioning could prove dangerous. He has an inkling of what Chanyeol is intending with this series of articles, but he can’t help himself. “What’s the point of this?” he says, letting the packet flip closed.
Chanyeol either doesn’t notice or flat-out ignores the slightly snide tone of his question, and lights up with interest. “I was thinking we could develop some kind of system for monitoring home energy usage. You can see the kilowatts you used every month on your electric bill, but you can’t tell what’s causing it, right?” He flips to a page in the back of his packet. “So I was thinking we could construct some kind of energy meter that would plug into your outlets and measure the wattage being used by certain things, so you could see what you should be unplugging when you aren’t using it.” He points to the page, grinning. “Energy vampires, that’s what they’re called. We could be the energy vampire killers!”
Baekhyun stares at him. “Isn’t it a bit… dull?”
Chanyeol shakes his head. “No, not at all. The committee won’t think so. And it has practical usage, which is more than anyone can say for whoever decides to experiment on whether plants grow better in artificial or natural light.” He snorts.
Baekhyun looks down at his own packet of research, some articles on art conservation and the history of pigment usage, and using x-ray technology to verify the authenticity of a painting. Chanyeol reaches across the table to take the second copy, skimming a few of the papers within.
“This is really cool,” he says, glancing up at Baekhyun. “You’re good at art, I can see why you picked this topic.”
Baekhyun allows himself to feel slightly mollified. “It’s a pretty fascinating subject. I like chemistry.”
Chanyeol nods, still skimming an article on the compositions of various blue pigments and their dates of usage. “I’m not sure how to turn it into an experiment, though. Maybe synthesizing organic and inorganic pigments and comparing their color intensity and how long they last?”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Baekhyun says. His stomach twists. “But after hearing your idea…”
Chanyeol perks up. “You like it?”
“It galls me to admit,” Baekhyun sighs, “but I think we could win the science fair with that project. Maybe I’ll save the pigment one for an art project, when we move into paints next semester, I don’t know...”
“That would be cool!” Chanyeol grins. “Like a chemistry and art fusion project, I bet you’d win a prize at the art fair for sure.”
Baekhyun holds back a smile. “That would be nice.” He slides his packet of research into his binder and looks at Chanyeol’s more closely. “I know a little bit about building circuits, but how would we create a meter to measure the electrical current coming through the outlet without skewing the results by attracting electricity to the meter itself?”
Chanyeol’s eyebrows furrow, and he worries his lower lip between his teeth. “Looks like we have some more research to do.”
÷
One month, six phone calls to the power company, two prototypes, three minor electrocutions (two for Chanyeol, one for Baekhyun), and a hospital visit later (Chanyeol’s mom was Concerned for Their Health), Chanyeol and Baekhyun have a pretty decent working model of an energy meter. Their lab report is due in one week, and between the two of them, they’ve amassed a respectable amount of data, measuring electrical output at their respective houses, various rooms in the school, one or two PC bangs, and even at friends’ houses on weekends under the pretense of playing video games or studying.
Baekhyun is sprawled out on the floor of Chanyeol’s living room with a tri-fold posterboard and a mess of markers, colored pencils, paper, glue, and scissors, designing their display for the science fair while Chanyeol sits nearby at his family’s desktop computer transcribing his and Baekhyun’s notes and data collection into an acceptable format for their lab report.
“This doesn’t look too cartoonish to you, does it?” Baekhyun asks, sitting up and surveying his work. He’s papered over the white posterboard with black construction paper and tentatively laid out cut-out letters for the title of their project: Detecting Energy Waste: Constructing a Wattage Meter. There’s a couple yellow lightning bolts bookending the white-lettered heading, with the subheading in smaller yellow letters. Their names, in green, are arranged beneath the titles: Park Chanyeol and Byun Baekhyun, in alphabetical order.
Chanyeol spins around in his desk chair and squints at the posterboard. “Nah,” he says after studying it for a few moments. “Probably could use a little more decoration. Maybe some cut-outs around each section, once we get the paper printed off. Plugs or something, different electrical symbols, illustrations of a basic circuit? Just to dress it up a little.”
Baekhyun chews on his lower lip, staring down at his work so far. “I don’t want it to look unprofessional, that’s all.”
“It won’t,” Chanyeol assures him, scooting his chair a little closer to Baekhyun. He smiles. “You have a good eye for aesthetics, I’m 110 percent sure that you won’t let it look tacky. But it’s important to make it visually stimulating so people can guess what it’s about without slogging through the paper.”
“‘Slogging through’?” Baekhyun looks up at Chanyeol with alarm. “You can’t be too dry when you write it, it’ll ruin the whole--”
“Relax,” Chanyeol laughs, leaning forward to ruffle Baekhyun’s hair. “I am doing my very best to highlight the fantastic, groundbreaking work that we’re doing while still maintaining a professional tone. I promise. We’re gonna kick ass.”
Baekhyun bats at Chanyeol’s hand and smoothes his hair back into place. “Good, because I’m going to kick your ass if anything goes wrong. I promise.”
Chanyeol just grins. “Noted.”
÷
Friday afternoon - the day of the science fair - the gymnasium is bustling with activity: participants meticulously organizing their tables and explaining the details of their projects to passing teachers and students, judges strolling along asking questions and taking notes on clipboards, and science faculty members scuttling to and fro, ensuring their students are prepared to present their projects to the judges.
Chanyeol’s cool and composed, chatty and not at all imposing in spite of his height. Baekhyun isn’t sure how he does it, beckoning people over to take a look at their work while Baekhyun gestures awkwardly at the diagrams on the board behind Chanyeol. Baekhyun’s palms are clammy when he plugs their energy meter prototype into a nearby outlet, demonstrating the difference in how much electricity is conducted through the outlet when his cell phone is plugged in, and the amount of energy still flowing through its charger even when the cell phone has been removed.
“This way,” he recites to a small group of judges after removing the meter, “it’s easy to see which appliances and electronics are contributing to high electricity bills, aside from the usual culprits.”
“So make sure you’re shutting off your aircon when you leave the house,” Chanyeol laughs, and the judges titter along politely, thanking them for their hard work before they move on to the next team’s display.
Chanyeol rounds on him, a grin lighting up his face. “I think that went really well!”
“I feel sick,” Baekhyun confesses, sinking into a chair next to their table.
Chanyeol crouches down and presses the back of his hand to Baekhyun’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm or anything. It’s probably just nerves.” He stands back up, ruffling Baekhyun’s hair. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon. I’ll go get you a cider for your stomach.”
Baekhyun bats at his hand, scowling, but there’s no malice in it. “Thanks.”
He watches Chanyeol traipse away and glances around the gym, taking in the other displays. His stomach twists unpleasantly at the sight; some of them look like they could be better than his and Chanyeol’s. Baekhyun sighs and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees colored sparks bloom behind his eyelids.
If he really thinks about it, he’s not entirely sure why he wants to win the top prize so badly. There’s just something about the idea of losing that seems so utterly horrible that winning seems like the only option. Baekhyun doesn’t understand why Chanyeol doesn’t seem as convinced about this as he does. He’s so relaxed and laid-back about everything; it drives Baekhyun insane.
“Here,” Chanyeol says, pressing a cold can of Chilsung cider against Baekhyun’s forehead, startling him. “Got a headache now? You’re just falling apart, aren’t you?”
“Huh?” Baekhyun says intelligently, taking the proffered soda and cracking open the top. “No, I was just thinking. I’m fine. I’m-- I’ll be fine.”
“I was listening to some of the teachers near the refreshment table,” Chanyeol says, sitting down next to Baekhyun and popping the tab on his own soda. “They said the judges are going to give out the awards soon.”
Baekhyun takes a sip of his drink, then opens his mouth to respond just as someone starts tapping on the microphone positioned in the middle of the stage on the other side of the gym.
“Faculty, participants, guests,” an older gentleman, one of the judges, says, his s’s whistling into the microphone, “the judges have concluded their deliberations and are pleased to deliver the results for this year’s city-wide science fair.”
Chanyeol gives Baekhyun’s arm a squeeze, and for once, Baekhyun doesn’t edge away.
“We will announce the winners for each category--that is, microbiology, organic chemistry, electrical engineering, et cetera--before announcing the runner-up and the grand prize winners, who will receive monetary awards in addition to their medals,” the man continues, before stepping away from the microphone to allow a female colleague room to read off the first category’s winner.
“I think they’ll probably go in order according to division,” Chanyeol whispers to Baekhyun, reaching in his pocket for the science fair program he’d stashed away. “See? Biology - Anatomy, Biology - Environmental, Biology - Horticulture, Biology - Micro, Biology - Zoology... then all the chemistry categories… and then Engineering - Civil, Engineering - Electrical, Engineering - Mechanical...” He glances at Baekhyun. “I think we might have to wait a little while before they hit the engineering projects.”
Baekhyun’s stomach is roiling by the time the judges - who couldn’t possibly read any slower - announce the Engineering category, which their science teacher had recommended they file under. The winners for civil engineering produced a 3D computer model of different trusses used in bridge building, then actually went about building scale models of bridges using each type of truss, and then used weights to test the maximum load each truss design could handle before incurring structural damage. Their models were beautiful, and the judges applauded the project’s practical applications.
“I’m going to throw up,” Baekhyun says solemnly, watching the winning team, a pair of girls, walk down the steps together with identical grins on their faces.
“No, you’re not,” Chanyeol says, though he looks a little pale when Baekhyun glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Shit, we’re next.”
“Engineering - Electrical,” the female judge reads in a booming voice, and Baekhyun feels the inside of his mouth turn to sand. His heart is racing, and his stomach keeps flip-flopping as though it would on a particularly fast elevator ride. “Table J-24, Detecting Energy Loss, participants Park Chanyeol and Byun Baekhyun.”
Baekhyun jerks his head out of his hands when he hears their names, and Chanyeol looks at him, wild-eyed. “Oh my god.”
“Holy shit,” Chanyeol whispers loudly, dragging Baekhyun up and out of his seat and raising his hand to show the judges they’d heard.
Baekhyun can’t really feel anything as he follows Chanyeol up to the stage to shake the judges’ hands and bow before accepting his medal and certificate.
“Their prototype of an energy meter could lead to hundreds of millions of won saved annually in prevention of energy waste, blackouts, and our country’s pending energy crisis, just from simple home usage and citizen awareness,” the male judge says, smiling at the two of them before a staff member ushers them back down the steps and to their seats.
“Holy shit,” Chanyeol says again, lifting the medal to his face to get a closer look at it. “We won.”
“Not yet,” Baekhyun chatters, now even more anxious. They still have to get through more than half the categories before the runner-up and all-around winner will be selected from the pool of category finalists.
“Shut up, we got this,” Chanyeol says, punching him playfully in the arm. Baekhyun wiggles his chair away from him, and Chanyeol laughs under his breath. “Please, you heard what he said! Hundreds of millions of won! Saving the country from an energy crisis! We’re amazing, we can do this.”
And for a moment, Baekhyun believes maybe they can. Maybe he was wrong about Chanyeol; maybe everything might be okay.
It’s still an excruciating wait for the final winners to be announced, though, and by the time the staffers wheel out the cart with the trophies and framed award certificates and prize checks, Baekhyun’s nerves are frayed down to nothing.
Chanyeol’s hand sneaks down to clutch his, and Baekhyun can’t help but squeeze back as the female judge returns to the microphone.
“And now for our winner and runner-up,” she says, looking at the card in her hands. “Our winner for this year’s Seoul Metropolian Science Fair is Table E-17, Taking Shortcuts, on direct reprogramming of cells, which means that our runner up is Table J-24, Detecting Energy Waste. Please come collect your prizes, and many congratulations for your hard work and clear dedication to your projects.”
Baekhyun’s heart flies into his throat and immediately plummets into his gut. Chanyeol’s jaw drops. They stand, though, and walk to the stage to proceed with the pleasantries once more; bowing, shaking hands, and accepting more certificates and a small trophy for them to share (which will most likely end up in their teacher’s classroom), as well as an envelope with 100,000 won for them to split.
They shake hands with and congratulate the grand prize winners, who split 500,000 won and receive a slightly larger trophy, and all of them stay on stage until the audience is thanked for their time and the lights come up. The staffer escorts them down once more, and Baekhyun puts some distance between him and Chanyeol, not even bothering to return to their table to clean up. Instead, he veers right and slams down the handle on a side door, ditching his framed certificate in the grass before leaning against the brick exterior of the building, his chest heaving.
“Baekhyun,” he hears, and it’s the last person he wants to see right now, but Chanyeol charges out the door behind him and looks down at Baekhyun’s award on the ground before glancing back up at him.
“Go away,” Baekhyun says, his voice wavering.
“Baekhyun--”
“Jesus Christ, Chanyeol, can’t you just go?” Baekhyun nearly screams. “How hard is it for you to take a hint? Are you a complete idiot? Aren’t you supposed to be the one on this team with people skills? Why are you so goddamn awful at reading me?”
“What do you--”
Baekhyun cuts him off again, pushing away from the wall and slamming his hands into Chanyeol’s chest. “Stop talking! You’re always talking to me, what part of ‘go away and leave me alone’ don’t you understand? God, I have to see you everywhere I go, everywhere! At school, after school, you’re in everything I do and I just fucking hate it! You’re like a mosquito, you’re everywhere and I can’t get rid of you!”
Chanyeol doesn’t fight back when Baekhyun shoves him again, only stares back, his eyes empty. “I thought we were friends. I thought--”
“Well, guess what, boy genius Park Chanyeol? You thought wrong,” Baekhyun snarls. The words are pouring out of his mouth before he can stop them, and everything sounds right when he’s so full of anger and loathing and disappointment. “When have I ever given you the impression that we were friends? When? Because we live next door to each other? Because we’re in all the same classes and clubs and you’re friends with some of my friends? Are you fucking out of your mind? I can’t stand you!”
Chanyeol just looks at him, glassy-eyed.
“Are you even going to say anything?” Baekhyun steps back, breathless and red-faced and hysterical. “Fuck it. Fuck this. I’m leaving. Keep the fucking money, it’s loser’s money.”
He spits in the grass where he’d thrown down his award and stalks off, leaving Chanyeol alone.
÷
Baekhyun spends the weekend locked in his room at home, only coming down for meals because his mother would think he was dying otherwise. His parents were pleased when he gave them his medal before barricading himself in his bedroom, although his father--of course--just had to comment.
“I guess not even Park Chanyeol can get you out of second place,” he’d laughed. Baekhyun’s mother had cuffed him playfully on the arm and Baekhyun excused himself, feeling sick with disappointment and guilt all over again.
The feeling doesn’t subside by Monday, and Baekhyun walks into school that day with a lump in his throat. He manages to avoid seeing Chanyeol for most of the morning, until Physics fourth period, but they sit on opposite sides of the classroom, and Baekhyun refuses to let his gaze wander from his notes and the teacher.
It’s not until lunchtime that he really grasps the severity of his blow-up at Chanyeol. Usually he’s joined at his regular table by Yixing and Lu Han, sometimes Jongdae, and on occasion Lu Han brings along Jongin and Sehun, the first-years who follow him around everywhere. But today the only person who shows up is Yixing, who sets his tray down, folds his arms, and gazes at Baekhyun with a mixture of pity and exasperation in his eyes. “Oh, Baekhyun. What did you say to him?”
Baekhyun blinks, momentarily frozen with horror. “What are people saying?”
“That you went nuclear on Park Chanyeol after the science fair and threw a picture frame at him and told him if he ever came near you again you’d bash his face in with a baseball bat.”
“What.”
“I think Kris might have embellished,” Yixing sighs, glancing over at the table where Chanyeol and Kris Wu normally sit. Baekhyun dares to flick his eyes in the same direction, only to see Kris glaring daggers at him and Chanyeol keeping a tight grip on his arm.
“If he comes over here, you have to promise you won’t resuscitate me after he crushes my skull,” Baekhyun says, swallowing hard and looking back at Yixing.
“I think you’ll be beyond help at that point,” Yixing says dryly, a slight smile on his face, “but I promise I will let you die peacefully.” He mixes his noodles around with a pair of chopsticks. “Baekhyun, what happened?”
“I don’t know,” Baekhyun says miserably, staring at his own japchae. “One minute, we’d won our category, and everything was good, and then we got beat by a couple of geniuses from the Hyundai School who synthesized a bunch of stem cells or something, and I just-- I lost it.” The sight of the food makes nausea well up in the back of his throat, and he glances up at Yixing. “I didn’t threaten him, though, or hurt him. Physically, anyway.”
“But you guys were still the runners-up,” Yixing says. “I don’t understand what’s so bad about that.”
“Neither do I,” a familiar voice interrupts, and Baekhyun turns around to see Lu Han and his little proteges, who are looking at him like someone looks at gum stuck to the bottom of their shoes. Baekhyun suddenly wants to cry; Oh Sehun looks so mean when he’s not smiling, and Kim Jongin is so cute towards Baekhyun most days that seeing his face so disgusted is almost worse than the rumors being spread around.
“Lu Han,” Yixing says, lifting his eyebrows. “Are you going to sit?”
“Yes,” Lu Han says, although he shoos his entourage away before sliding onto the stool next to Baekhyun. “What the hell, Baekhyun.”
“Shhh.” Yixing frowns at Lu Han before glancing back at Baekhyun. “You were saying…?”
“I went home on Friday night, and you know what my father said to me?” Baekhyun says quietly, stirring his soup around. “He said, ‘Huh, I guess even Park Chanyeol can’t pull you out of second place.’ Like losing was my fault. It’s always my fault that I can’t be better than Park Chanyeol. I bet my parents cry themselves to sleep every night that they got stuck with me and not the perfect kid who lives next door.”
“I’m sure they know you’re doing your best,” Yixing says sympathetically, reaching across the table to squeeze Baekhyun’s forearm.
“My best will never be good enough.” Baekhyun stares at his upside-down reflection in the spoon. “And I took it out on Chanyeol. But I was so frustrated! He’s always there, we’re in all the same things and he lives in the next apartment and I just can’t get away from him. He’s not bad, it’s just-- my parents, and--”
Lu Han claps him on the shoulder. “You are such a fucked-up little mess, Byun Baekhyun.” Yixing purses his lips irritably and Lu Han adds, “But you’re our fucked-up little mess.”
Baekhyun starts to cry.
“Lu Han,” Yixing hisses, pushing his tray around the table to sit on Baekhyun’s left side.
“Don’t be mad at him, he’s right,” Baekhyun chokes out, his face burning and his chest heaving. “I’ve been horrible to Chanyeol, and it’s not like I have a good reason for it.”
“It’s okay,” Yixing says, rubbing his back. His nose scrunches up as he reconsiders. “I mean, it’s not. But it will be, someday. The only reason people are upset is because Kris is upset and everyone’s scared of Kris, and Kris is upset because you broke his best friend’s heart and he’s not very good with crying people, especially Chanyeol, especially when they were just going to play video games--”
“And I’m the one who needs to stop talking,” Lu Han deadpans, shaking his head.
Baekhyun looks up, swiping at his cheeks. “What do you mean I broke Kris’ best friend’s heart?”
“Oh Jesus,” Lu Han says, while Yixing slaps a hand to his own forehead. “Dude, Chanyeol’s crazy about you. You’ll forgive me if I don’t understand the appeal.”
Yixing closes his eyes in yet another world-weary sigh, still patting Baekhyun’s back. “He’s had a crush on you since middle school, apparently. Lu Han’s known for a while, but wasn’t supposed to tell you,” he adds, raising his voice on the last few words.
“Hey, he deserves to know,” Lu Han says defensively, peering around Baekhyun’s hunched shoulders to make a face at Yixing. “And I’m not the one who let the cat out of the bag, Zhang Yixing.” He turns back to Baekhyun. “You know, you guys probably could have been perfect together if you weren’t such a stubborn little basket case. You have really similar interests and you’re both smart, and you’d definitely look cute together…”
“He’s not wrong,” Yixing admits, leaning his head on Baekhyun’s shoulder. “If you didn’t always view him as the enemy, you might have been really close.”
“You’re saying that like there’s no chance of repairing the damage I’ve done,” Baekhyun says with a hint of panic in his voice. The idea of being ostracized by everyone who matters in the third year… Baekhyun’s not sure he’ll survive high school like that.
“I think there could be,” Yixing says, sitting up and digging into his rapidly cooling lunch, “but you’re going to have to do something you hate.”
“What?”
“You’re going to have to admit you were wrong.”
Baekhyun presses his palms against his forehead. “Balls.”
÷
Baekhyun sneaks out of his hagwon half an hour early that night, speeding home on his bike so he can catch Chanyeol before he goes into the building. There wasn’t time after school to talk, and he feels a little more sure that he won’t cry in front of Chanyeol, now that he’s had a few hours to think about what to say and how to keep Chanyeol from walking away and writing him off as a complete asshole.
Baekhyun stashes his bike inside the entrance, chaining it to the bannister on the stairwell before popping back outside to linger near the columns that separate the car ports from one another. It’s a full twenty minutes before he sees Chanyeol turn the corner into the alley, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders.
Baekhyun takes a deep breath and steps into the dim light cast by the streetlamp fixed to the building as Chanyeol approaches, which prompts Chanyeol to emit an undignified barely-stifled yelp. When he realizes it’s Baekhyun, it looks like he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or petrified.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” Baekhyun says, curling his fingers anxiously in the fabric of his school blazer.
“It’s okay,” Chanyeol says, looking down as he scuffs his shoes against the pavement. He looks up at Baekhyun briefly, before moving in the direction of the doors. “I’m gonna go--”
“Wait,” Baekhyun blurts out, and Chanyeol stops, turning around slowly. “Can-- will you take a walk with me, Chanyeol?”
Chanyeol looks like he’s considering it, but there’s a twinge of pain in his expression before he shakes his head. “I have homework, and my mom’s expecting me…”
“Please,” Baekhyun begs, and although it blasts his pride to smithereens, he drops to his knees and bows forward, hands on the ground at Chanyeol’s feet, groveling. “I owe you an apology and an explanation, and you don’t have to accept it, but I want to talk.”
Chanyeol’s quiet for a moment, and Baekhyun’s afraid he’s turned around and started punching in the code to open the glass doors blocking the entrance, but then he feels a hand on his shoulder and Chanyeol’s mumbling, “Get up, stop, don’t do that.”
Baekhyun lifts his head and sits back on his heels, and Chanyeol offers him a hand up. “Let’s go walk around the middle school,” Chanyeol says, gesturing vaguely behind them; there’s a middle school behind their apartment block.
“Thank you,” Baekhyun says with all the sincerity he can muster, and they start walking back down the alley, turning right at the corner. They’re quiet until they reach the intersection, when Baekhyun glances up at Chanyeol and lets the words fall out of his mouth. “Chanyeol, I’m so sorry for saying all that horrible stuff to you on Friday.”
Chanyeol doesn’t say anything as they cross the street to the school and follow the gates around the sidewalk, so Baekhyun continues. “I keep asking myself what was so important about that fucking science fair, and there’s nothing. There’s nothing important enough to justify talk to a person like that.”
“You were frustrated,” Chanyeol says finally, and Baekhyun shakes his head vigorously.
“That’s no excuse,” he spits, angry with himself all over again. “Just because I was disappointed and angry at myself doesn’t mean I had to take it out on you. All the times I took out my bad moods on you, I was just mad at myself because you’re so much better than me at everything--”
“Why do you keep saying that?” Chanyeol says sharply, and it’s the closest Baekhyun’s ever heard him get to anger. “You are an incredible student and you have so much value, I don’t understand why you keep underestimating yourself.”
“It’s kind of hard not to when your parents are measuring you against the kid next door in everything you do,” Baekhyun rambles, waving his hands around agitatedly. “Literally, sometimes; I mean, you’re even taller than me.”
“Seriously?” Chanyeol stops him in the middle of the sidewalk, his eyebrows disappearing into his bangs. “Your parents seriously begrudge you our height difference?”
“They did it more when we went out for sports years ago, when I was the runt of the litter, but yeah, it’s been known to happen,” Baekhyun grumbles.
“Wow.” Chanyeol shakes his head and starts walking again, leading them around the corner. “For what it’s worth, my mother thinks you’re adorable.”
Baekhyun flushes. “That’s nice of her.” He clears his throat. “But-- like I was saying, the fact that my parents wish I were more like you isn’t your fault, and I had no right to treat you badly just because I was projecting.” Those were Yixing’s words, technically, but Baekhyun thought it couldn’t hurt to be honest.
“So you don’t hate me?” Chanyeol says, and Baekhyun’s chest twinges.
“No,” he says adamantly, shaking his head, and this time he stops Chanyeol. “When I said I couldn’t stand you, I think what I meant was that I couldn’t stand all the pressure I’m reminded of whenever I see you. And I took the second-place finish at the science fair too seriously, because my dad is always making jokes about my second-place rank in everything, and I think-- I think I just yelled everything I wanted to say to my parents at you instead.” He sighs, swallowing down the lump in his throat, covering his face with shaky hands as his eyes start to sting.
“Baekhyun…” Chanyeol murmurs, and suddenly Baekhyun feels Chanyeol’s long arms around his shoulders and his chin resting gently atop Baekhyun’s head. “I forgive you. Don’t cry.”
But the way Chanyeol says I forgive you sounds a lot like someone else would say I love you, and that’s what makes Baekhyun break into little shuddering sobs against Chanyeol’s blazer.
“Shhh,” Chanyeol says, lifting a hand to pet Baekhyun’s hair tentatively. “It’s okay.”
Even though it’s not; even though he broke Chanyeol’s heart without knowing it; even though Chanyeol probably thinks this moment means more to him than it does to Baekhyun. It’s okay.
Baekhyun sucks in a breath, trying to stop his chest from heaving so hard so he can just talk. “Chanyeol,” he hiccups, stepping back enough that he can look up. “Can I-- Do you want to--”
“Spit it out,” Chanyeol laughs.
Baekhyun sighs shakily. “Can I take you out sometime?”
Chanyeol’s expression clouds over, and he drops his hands from Baekhyun’s shoulders. “Who told you?”
Busted.
“Yixing and Lu Han,” Baekhyun confesses. “I just-- I didn’t know, Chanyeol, I didn’t know you felt that way about me.”
“Please don’t do this,” Chanyeol says, pained, as he passes a hand over his eyes. “It’s okay, Baekhyun, I get that you feel guilty, but playing with my feelings just isn’t--”
“I’m not playing,” Baekhyun says, reaching forward to grab his arm. “I mean, do I want to make it up to you? Yes. But that’s not the only reason I suggested it.”
“Yeah?” Chanyeol dares to shake Baekhyun’s hand down his arm until their fingers are tangled together, and something in Baekhyun’s chest jumps. “What’s the other reason?”
“It was something Yixing and Lu Han said,” Baekhyun says, looking down at their joined hands. “They said if I didn’t always see you as a rival, we’d be pretty good friends.” He scratches the back of his head. “Maybe more. And I just thought… if I could be happy that way, shouldn’t I try?”
“Well, I guess when you put it that way…” Chanyeol smiles, giving Baekhyun’s hand one last squeeze before gently letting it go. “You wanna go to the convenience store? I’ll let you buy me ice cream.”
“Yeah,” Baekhyun says, smiling for what feels like the first time in days. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
A/N:
This fic was based on the following prompt: He would be happy if his enemy wasn't on every contest he participated, in every school he transfered to and in the neighbor's house which is his. romance, comedy, high school!au. baekhannies, I hope you enjoyed this. :)
The bit about alphabetical order might have confused people, where Baekhyun and Chanyeol’s names are concerned. In hangeul, 박 comes before 변.
Chanyeol’s jab at science fair projects involving plants is a nod to my own 8th grade science fair project, which was literally the worst, but in my defense, I was forced to compete in the science fair! (I also gave Baekhyun and Chanyeol my table number, J-24. ㅋㅋ) I just half-assed the whole thing. Probably a bad indicator for my work ethic in the future, lmfao. Baekhyun and Chanyeol’s project is number 19 here, Baekhyun’s idea for a project came from this Prezi, and the other science fair project ideas were from here, because I sure as hell wasn’t about to think up any on my own.
Title comes from the ABBA song; I thought it was fitting!
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