Chapter Text
The numbers on Keith’s clock are changing at an agonizing rate. He’s waiting for his friend to show up, twisting and fidgeting on his bed. It’s rare for him to be ready before the last minute, but he’s starting to think the wait is worse than the usual hurry. He had the time to shower and to get dressed, to vacuum and to steal a muffin from the kitchen once… or twice before getting lost in thoughts. His right foot is thumping on his mattress, making his phone bounce and fall on the floor. The music through Keith’s earphones stops and the silence brings him back to reality.
20h29. His friend won’t be long.
Keith tumbles down the stairs on his way to the door, cursing his pain out. He still catches himself at the stairs turn though, gripping the rail and flying over the last few steps; perfect landing.
“Finally, Pidge. I was dying in there”
They don’t bother to answer, knowing they are precisely on time as always. Punctuality was way more their thing than Keiths, fortunately for him. Pidges unwavering reliability was almost robot-like but Keith found himself grateful for it every time they reminded him of a homework he’d forgotten about or when, like tonight, they showed up exactly at the right moment.
Keith puts on his boots and throws a coat over his shoulder before stepping out, putting his hat on once they start walking, carefully slicking his hair under it. If Pidge is dragging him to a party he doesn’t want to attend, at least the walk is enjoyable. The cold air is biting his cheeks and nose, however the streets are calm for a saturday evening and the snow blanket subdues the city noises, leaving only the soft crunch under their feet. Winter really was the best season. He hears Pidge double check the number on the side of the door, when the urge to flee makes his toes wiggle in his boots. With good timing he could double back and make a run for it without his friend noticing…
“Dude, don’t make me take you by the hand, i'll do it.”
Pidges threat couldn’t be more serious, but their face is beaming with a smile. They surely are a confusing little being but keeping people on their toes is where half the fun is, they always said. Keith does really freaking love them because he drops his plan and follows Pidges lead, making sure to groan in discontent loud enough for them to hear over the faint music.
*
On the other side of the door, they get swarmed by people chanting and clapping for Pidge. Keith could swear they were waiting for them because it only takes a second before they both have a beer in their hands. His friend really feels like a star right now, after all they basically are. He knows they won some kind of tournament or hacked some kind of platform but he couldn’t understand a word when they tried to tell him and at this point it would be embarrassing to ask for simpler terms so he sticks with feinted understanding. It's good to see his friend so happy though, giving high fives and hugs left and right.
Keith, however, feels claustrophobic in this crowd and signals Pidge to move forward. Together, they find the living room and spot the couch at the same time, giving each other that knowing look. Although they are walking literal inches apart and he stands a foot taller than them, nobody pays attention to Keith. He doesn’t complain about it. He can’t recognize anyone anyways and he surely won't stop to introduce himself.
It is only once settled in the way-too-stiff couch that Keith takes in his surroundings. The hardwood floor shade is a bit too pale to match the furniture and it has a small leveling problem, tilting to his right. Worse, the house has a disgusting smell. Keith guesses it’s booze, cheap deodorant and, ironically, sweat. The music is way too loud now that he’s sitting next to the speaker. The dimmer is on low, which Keith appreciates. That's pretty much the only thing making him feel good right now. What was the point of coming here, already? Oh, yeah. Keith turns his attention back to his friend, who simingly found an audience to recount their stories.
"So, you see, the trick was to... and then... exactly! When..."
Keith keeps trying to scooch closer to his friend in an effort to hear them better, in vain. He's closer than he should need to be and Pidge is talking loudly enough for the other people to stay captivated by their tales, so why can't he get over the noise problem? It's completly distracting. Pidge, though, looks like they're doing pretty good without him, Keith tells himself. They talk with passion in their eyes and big, excited gestures, magnetizing the people walking by until there is a full on crowd aroud them again. It's a beautiful sight, even if he fells like he's looking at a picture he isn't in. He'll gladly listen to Pidge talking about nerd stuff, but he couldn't bring any pertinent commentary on it if he wanted to, so they tend to rely on anyonse else around to maintain the conversation. Keith isn't offended by it, it's completly logical. When he gets up and leave, Keith doesn't bother his friend with a warning. Maybe he can find a quieter place somewhere.
Well, the house is way bigger from the inside than it looked on the outside, that for sure. Regardless, Keith can’t find a single empty corner. It’s kind of crazy when he thinks about it, but the entire thing is occupied by tipsy teenagers. The living room, the dining room, the kitchen, the bathroom... No, wait. He never checked the bathroom. Surely it'll be calmer in there, if he can find it.
By now, he double checked every inch of this floor. Peace was still nowhere to be found. Wherever Keith looks, primary colored freckles of light dance in in the same pattern. It’s hypnotizing, the way it lights the faces of those in their path. And pretty. He could stare at them until everybody left and he was finally alone… Except Keith’s vision is starting to spin and the familiar tightness of nausea is creeping in his guts. To change his focus, he tries to spot a figure he could know in the crowd. Maybe his savior has finally arrived. Well, he’s not that lucky. It becomes clear that there are way too many people crammed together to distinguish anyone. That plan falls apart with a piece of Keith's hope.
Bathroom. He can do it. Keith shakes his head to make the dizziness disappear, which works partially. Navigating in the crowd is as much of a struggle as it sounds: couples are kissing in every corner, friends are playing beer pong and those who can’t play are forming a tight circle to watch. They are drinking and dancing and blocking all the hallways. Keith has to keep moving though, the people constantly bumping into him driving him mad if he stops for too long. His quest for calm still carries on as he takes tiny sips of the beer he's still holding and tries to smile to keep up with the party mood. But he was never in the mood. So he stops.
As he walks, or more realistically pushes his way forward, his pointer finger finds its way underneath his other arm’s bracelet. It’s a red friendship bracelet that he made for him and Pidge, theirs all green. He doesn’t think he’s ever taken it off, always cheating and hiding it under long sleeves when he wasn’t allowed to have it. As his finger twists, the rope wraps around it and tightens. It sinks into the skin of his wrist, into his finger. It doesn’t hurt. He’s not even realizing he’s doing it. The feeling in his hand is fading away and he drops his beer. The sound of it hitting the ground isn’t alerting amongst the party hubbub and over the loudest music ever, so he walks right over it. Undisturbed, he keeps going. Keeps twisting his finger harder.
Keeps going.
And twisting.
And twisting.
And twisting.
He’s not sure how long he’s been going around in circles. He forgot about the bathroom long ago. Right now, he only needs Pidge. For fucks sake, he needs his friend so bad and he thinks it’s the first time they don’t show up when he needs them. He should have found her by now, but they’re not on the couch anymore and it’s getting harder and harder to see as his hair starts sticking to his forehead, bangs getting in his eyes.
He keeps going. Turns when he faces a wall. Trips once over a bunch of discarded boots. The people around Keith keep changing so he knows he’s walking. Then again he could be wrong. There is no way the floor is that huge.
Through his blurry vision and cloudy mind, one thing is clear. He despises the arms wet from sweat or whatever substance he doesn’t want to know about that keep brushing his own arms. He should’ve chosen a sweater to cover up, what was he thinking about, wearing just a tee to a party of all places? He had never been to a lot of those, but enough so he knew people are always too hot and sweaty and gross.
It's overwhelming. His head hurts like a bitch. His ears are ringing from the music and he still feels nauseous from the lights that just won’t STOP MOVING. He truly feels like a headless chicken looking for Pidge when they’re visibly not here anymore so he stops to breathe and text them.
Poor Keith doesn’t even have a chance to reach in his pocket before a boy slams into him from behind, starting the crumbling of Keith’s last bits of sanity. The impact itself is not so violent and he’s able to step forward to regain his balance, but he swears in that exact moment, he is ripped away from his body. He can see his conscience shattering on the floor at the feet he can't register as his own. How can one's body feel like a thousand pound and inexistant simultaneously? It feels like a bad dream, the kind where you wake up in cold sweat. Except he was never asleep and there is no waking up from this living hell. He manages to turn around without falling to his knees and catches a few words spoken by the boy.
“... eez, are you alright? I didn’t mean to dude, i swear! You look terri...”
He’s taller than him. He thinks. Maybe he didn't get up afterall. Or maybe he just feels so freaking small under the stare of the bluest eyes he has ever seen. The dimmed lights are off now so it’s darker inside but he can see their color so well it's unreal. Keith sees the boy look down to his hand, then sees his eyebrows shoot up. He isn’t aware of how tight his bracelet is until he looks at it.
Red.
Blue. An ugly one this time.
His wrist is bleeding from the rope burn and the poor circulation in his hand made it dark and swollen. What the fuck is he doing. He wishes his body to free his martyred hand and finger. Puts all his might into it. He keeps staring at his hand, waiting for it to move, all in vain. Why isn’t this body listening to him anymore?!
One would have to be blind not to see how bad Keith looks and the boy doesn’t miss it. A hand grips his shoulder and forces him to look up. It’s firm and gentle, warm. Keith's cheeks burn hotter when he thought it was impossible. Unexpectedly for both of them, the contact triggers something in Keith. He flinches hard, escaping the well meaning touch. That’s the moment his hand decides to untangle from the bracelet and the same way he couldn’t get it to move, he can’t stop it from flying across to his shoulder and slapping the boy’s hand away. They both stand face to face, confused and hurt, Keith’s hand still mid air. None of them is able to say a word. If Keith can trust the boy’s wide eyed expression, he thinks he’s completely nuts. He’s not sure he can disagree. He tries to take a deep breath, failing to take in more than a choked gasp.
“I…”
What could Keith even say at this point? Plus, it feels awful to talk. He must have been clenching his jaw hard, because opening his mouth sends waves of pain right into his skull.
“I’m so fucking sorry”
That should do it. He doesn’t answer the boy’s question and simply walks away, as fast as he can going against the current of people. He has no idea where he is going. He doesn’t care anymore. He keeps his mind on the steps he takes and on the tightness in his throat and chest.
He needs to scream. To get free from the chaos in his mind, the numbness of his body, the pain still on his shoulder that won’t go away no matter how hard he rubbes it. He still can’t fucking see anything although he put his hair back, sweat and tears blurring his already spinning vision.
By chance, or by miracle, he makes it outside.
The wind is cold. So are his bare feet. He stays still now, standing on the deck facing the street, his back to the party. Horrible, horrible party. Keith’s face is warm despite the winter temperature, his cheeks soaked in tears. He puts his fists to his temples in an attempt to steady himself. Something finally feels good. His swollen hand stings when he uses it, yet he keeps clenching his fist tighter and clamping his head harder. Somehow, it does help him think clearer and he can sit down to try to sort all of this out. His side is leaning on the metal guard of the deck, spikes of the intricate design poking his skin through his shirt. His back hits the brick wall of the house in a slow rhythm as he rocks back and forth. He feels his knees on the side of his head, close to his hands. Keith closes his eyes and let the stream of tears run down his face onto his lap. Maybe he’s screaming. He can’t tell. He tries to gather himself, to get a grip. How did it come to this?
Keith has no idea what to think of anything anymore. The only things on his mind are the cold and the pain, but amongst them sneaks bright, beautiful blue eyes.