acatwhowrites: (C.A.P♡relaxed)
A Cat Who Writes ([personal profile] acatwhowrites) wrote2014-02-10 07:13 pm

Let's Start a Riot

title: Let's Start a Riot
players: Wu Yifan/Kris, Zhang Yixing/Lay
word count: ~800
rating: PG
summary: Yixing finds peace in Yifan during chaos.
a/n: Written for a prompt on the [personal profile] exopromptmeme based off of a famous image of Scott Jones and Alex Thomas and from the 2011 Vancouver riot. It was just a quick write while watching the Olympics.

There’s a break in their schedule the evening before their first Canada concert. Yifan takes Yixing aside to show him Chinatown. He’s amazed by the town within a city and delights in familiar sights, smells, tastes, and sounds.

The duo round a corner, Yifan’s arm easily over Yixing’s shoulders both to keep him directed and just to keep him close. He slows his steps when he hears raised voices. Angry voices. Yixing looks up at him, smile crooked and curious.

People run around them, back and forth along the street and skipping into alleys and open markets. Lots of people; more than usually found in the market, and most skipping in and out of the stalls. One stall, filled with fruits, is tipped to the distress of the elderly owners. Fruit rolls across the street, kicked by the growing mob.

There are masked men and women with bats and canisters in their hands. They scream. Others flee. Everything is loud.

Total chaos.

Someone wearing a mask over half of their face winds back their arm just to Yifan’s left and throws something that trails smoke in an arc, tracing its trajectory before landing with a skittering clang to roll under a car and explode. Dust and debris rise into the grey sky, raining down on rioters and bystanders and police.

Yifan and Yixing watch in stunned horror. It’s all fast and plays out like a movie, only a movie would never feel this hot or sound this loud and chaotic. There would be key focusing and emotional, intimate moments with characters, maybe a confession from the protagonist to a lover or a promise made to a friend.

The storefront to their left is destroyed, glass splintered and falling with a bench hanging from the center.

They turn to run as another wave of terrified bystanders rushes at them. The panicked people jostle the duo and tear them from one another. Yixing’s hsoulder is grabbed. He falls to the ground, head cracking against the concrete and hands scrambling across the glassy pavement.

Things slow down. It’s still hot, but it’s not as loud. There’s a strange high-pitched ringing. A new sort of alarm? Are more police coming?
What if they can’t contain the riot? What if they can’t soothe the panic? Where’s Yifan? Everything is grey and moving like an unfocused camera. Yixing can’t feel his arms. It’s so hot, and it’s wet, and the ringing is starting to hurt, and Yixing can’t see the sky; he’s suffocating. His lungs are coated in ash, or maybe they’re crushed. Where is Yifan?


Yifan. . .



"Yixing!" A familiar face, even blurry, swims into view. Blood mars his lip, but it’s Yifan, and he’s shaking Yixing. His mouth moves, but that blasted ringing is drowning everything but Yixing’s own heartbeat, which is slow, with entire seconds between beats. His heart is stopping. He’s going to die on the street of an unfamiliar country. His family won’t know. He can’t die. He doesn’t want to die.

He sobs.

The world speeds up again.

Hands grab his head and force him to stare at one point, which is another face. A familiar face. Comfort. Home. Love. Friendship. Stability. Loyalty.

Panic. Fear. Worry. Anxiety. Terror. Looks away. Looks back. Looks around. Tears.


It’s me. It’s Yifan.” He’s petting Yixing’s hair. Why is his hand red? “I’ve got you. You’re safe. Just breathe. I need you to breathe.”

He can hear again. The ringing hasn’t stopped, still a dull flatline of a dead pulse chasing itself around Yixing’s head, but he can hear Yifan, and that’s good enough for now.

Yixing inhales. It gets stuck in his throat. He coughs and gasps for air. Yifan presses a hand to his belly. “Again. Deep breath.”

Sucks in ashy air. Expels raspy coughs. Breathes deep.

“Good. You’re doing so good.” Yifan has large hands. One cradles Yixing’s face as the other pets his hair again. “You’ll be okay.”

Heavy footfalls pass back and forth around them. Shouts and crashes are heard, but they’re far away, now, no longer right on top of them. Yifan and Yixing lie in the middle of the street among the carnage of broken glass, splintered wood, and debris.

Yifan’s head tilts up, and he nods. His mouth moves, speaking thick English. Yixing sees a police officer jog upside-down.

“You’re alright,” Yifan repeats, attention on his flattened friend. “We’re good.”

Yixing clings to Yifan’s hand without feeling the blood gluing their fingers together and covers his face with his arm. Tears come out of nowhere, washing clear the grime in trails down his cheeks.

The kiss is unexpected but welcome. Yixing’s arms snake around Yifan’s neck. Everything is muffled and far away, but they’re good.

They're okay.