Chapter Text
Friday night, or, early Saturday morning; Shit, Schlatt has no fucking clue. He stumbles out of the bar nearly shitfaced but still somehow able to keep his balance. He doesn’t know how long he’s been in there or how much money he spent, but one thing he did know was that his wallet felt thinner than it was the moment he walked in. Curious, he takes his wallet to find only three dollars. Fuck. He had just gotten off of work, and it was payday, and since he had nothing else to do, he decided to treat himself to a few drinks over at The Fizz, a name Schlatt thought was fucking ridculous (and still does). He didn’t like telling people where he spends his nights because the name sounded stupid, but there’s no other bar that serves drinks like they do. It’s cheaper, it’s gross, it stinks, and sometimes, if he’s lucky, he gets a show of drunk people speaking gibberish and throwing punches at each other.
Schlatt leans against the brick wall a few feet away from the bar and takes his phone out, fixating his eyes, or at least trying to, so he can read the black letters on the screen. He lives not too far from the place, but he figured he’d still need directions. He wasn’t super drunk to the point where he’s vomiting up everything he ate during that week, but if a cop randomly showed up and asked him to shut his eyes and touch the tip of his nose, he’d wake up behind bars in a cold cell, not like it’d be his first time anyway.
He looks over to his left and watches groups of people trip over their own two feet and head out of the bar, laughing as they attempt to walk as if they were sober. The dead giveaway being the lifting of each foot individually and taking abnormally wide steps.
He laughs and dials a number into his phone and raises it up to his ear, waiting. Then, Ted answers. “Yello?” Ted speaks. “What do ya want?”
“Ted? Please, come pick me up,” he pleads, slurring his words. “I’m at…” he sighs in defeat, preparing himself for humiliation, “I’m over at The Fizz–”
Ted breaks into a fit of laughter over the phone, and he’s loud enough for anyone around Schlatt to hear. Irritated, Schlatt pulls his phone away from his ear because of how booming of a voice Ted has. “Okay, asshole! Can you pick me up or not?” His expression turns into an angered look as Ted replies over the phone. “I thought you were staying at the apartment! Charlie’s out, too, for the weekend.”
“I dunno what to tell you, man,” Ted mutters, “I left the keys under the mat, so you should be fine. You can take care of yourself.”
“Under the mat–great, fucking spectacular.” Schlatt hiccups and laughs. “You said you’d be there tonight but you’re not, and now—THE KEYS UNDER THE FUCKING MAT?!?!
“You’re too loud,” Ted hushes over the phone, “Are you—“
“DRUNK? No, I’m not–you know what, Ted? Fuck you! Fuck you, Ted. Fuck. You.” He can see some people staring at him judgingly, and the fact he looked as if he was a psycho screaming into the palm of his hand didn’ help him at all.
There’s a silence, a long pause. Ted stays quiet, then, from the phone comes a quick, “Hmph.” He sounds like a kid trying to ignore someone. “I’m not talking to you anymore,” and despite this, Ted stays on the line instead of hanging up.
Schlatt sighs and holds the phone close, composing himself. “Ted, I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I didn’t mean to shout at you.”
“Are you though?” Ted says sarcastically, Schlatt picking up on the bit. “What gives you the right to talk to me that way, huh? This is how you treat me–”
“Why do you talk like we’re married?” Schlatt laughs. “But, really, I’m sorry.”
It’s quiet, but only for a moment. “Hmph…fine. Sorry I couldn’t pick you up. Are you gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine, I’ll be okay. Goodnight.”
“Night.” He hangs up the phone and starts walking down the sidewalk with directions to his apartment on his phone screen. Swaying side to side with each step, Schlatt hums a small tune.
Suddenly, he hears a commotion behind him, guys and girls yelling and shouting, the sound of bottles breaking and clashing against the curb, but Schlatt ignores it and continues. It’s none of his business—
“FUCKING ASSHOLE!! GET BACK HERE!!”
Raising a brow, Schlatt turns around, believing they were talking to him, but is immediately knocked to the ground, his head hitting against the pavement and cutting his forehead. He groans in pain and looks around the floor, then he sees a man beside him wearing a beanie trying to stand. Before Schlatt could conjure up any thoughts, he looks up and sees a group of dudes running up to him. Typical douchebags.
“Get up!” They shout at the man beside Schlatt, but he stays on the ground. He’s drunk out of his mind; he’s stumbling and attempting to stand with unstable legs. The guys persist and yell, “GET!! UP!! GET THE FUCK UP!!”
“Hey, man,” Schlatt whispers to the man, but he gets no response, only a drunk chuckle. Great. The taller man looks up at the guys from where he sits on the ground. “Come on, leave this guy alone. He’s drunk.”
“Stay the fuck out of this!” One of the men spits, his group laughing and insulting Schlatt. “He called us douchebags. He disrespected us.”
“Oh, waa waa, you big, fuckin’ babies,” Schlatt responds and starts to help the man up from the floor. “Come on—“
“You wanna go, bro?”
Fucking ridiculous. The man speaking raises his fists and takes a fighting stance. The boys cheer him on and also take their fighting stance, ready to jump Schlatt.
“Dude, just—“
“Stand up, you fucking rat!”
Schlatt sighs and sets the drunk man up against the wall, then he stands slowly, and almost menacingly as he towers over them, but he’s not intimidating enough to scare the man with his fists up. He sprints up to Schlatt until he swiftly and quietly pulls out a gun from his waistband and points it between his eyes, scaring the man and his group shitless as they murmur to each other.
The man relaxes his fists and puts his hands up in surrender, Schlatt laughing lowly, sadistically. “Calm down,” the man whimpers. “We were just kidding, just don’t shoot.”
Schlatt shrugs, shaking his gun a bit, having enjoyment from the way the man flinches. “Oh, you were just kidding,” he says joyfully. “Get outta here, you fuckin’ idiots.”
The man furrows his brows until Schlatt cocks his gun, watching the man practically shake and back up angrily. “Let’s go,” he says to his friends before walking away. The continue to look over their shoulder Schlatt with his gun still in hand and pointed towards them until they’re out of sight.
“Wasn’t even fucking loaded,” Schlatt scoffs before putting it back in his waistband and turning around. The man’s back is against the wall with his head bowed. He’s snoring. “Can’t fucking believe this.”
Schlatt squats down and examines the man, feeling around for a wallet until he eventually finds one. He flips it open and takes out a college ID card.
“Alexis? You go by, Alex?” He takes a quick glance at the man, eyeing him up and down. “Yeah, you look like a fuckin’ Alex. You a lightweight, Alex?” No response. “Figures.”
He tries to put the wallet back in Alex’s pocket, then Alex opens his eyes and mumbles something to Schlatt.
“What?” Schlatt leans in, and Alex leans forward and kisses Schlatt sloppily until the taller man pushes Alex back, unphased. “Whoa, guy, back up.”
Alex laughs and blacks out, Schlatt groaning as he throws one of his arms over his shoulder and walks down the sidewalk, walking the path back home. He has no clue where this guy lives, only that his name is Alex, so Schlatt decides to take him back to his place. He doesn’t want the same thing that happened to him happen to this dude and he ends up losing his job or getting kicked out of his school or whatever. Plus, Charlie nor Ted were at the apartment, and they wouldn’t mind.