Writing The Tides

Fanaa (n.)

(five minutes until midnight)

"Watch your step Kogane."

Every voice crashed together like a broken down symphony, Keith couldn't even tell them apart, it had been his seventh drink when they all started to sound like mud.

"I-hic-Im FINE" he grunted, moving up towards the steep cliff, running out of ground to walk on.

Once he reached the top, he stared down at the blue sea below him. It seemed miles away, collapsing into itself, swallowing the ground hole.

It would swallow him too.

If he makes it anyways.

(several hours earlier)

We don't always mean the words we say.

A slip of the tongue, a little white lie, just enough words to maybe change the entire course of a conversation....

"For sure."

...Or more.

///

Keith didn't actually tell anyone that he and Lance weren't friends anymore. That would require explaining, and people taking sides, and a whole bunch of other shit he'd rather not get into. And honestly, he didn't think he'd have to, he was almost positive that Lance's loud mouth would do it for him.

But, it has been weeks. And Lance hadn't said anything. Not a single word.

In fact, he had almost deserted social media entirely. Which was honestly incredibly concerning, considering he was the type of guy to post every other hour. For heaven's sake, he made his fish an Instagram.

Not that Keith cared. Keith definitely wasn't lying in a heap of blankets, clenching his phone while scrolling months deep into Lance's feed, or refreshing his Twitter every passing minute. No, that's what a friend would do.

And they weren't friends.

He just had to keep telling himself that.

...And eventually tell everyone else that.

///

Keith doesn't know why Lance's clique keeps inviting him to places, he also doesn't know how half of them got his number in the first place. More importantly, he doesn't know why, for the first time in two weeks, he actually replied.

The message keeps repeating in his head: "Hey, a few of us wanted to go up to my uncle's beach house tonight. You in?"

And he said yes.

It was impulsive. Completely impulsive. And every time he stares at his phone he regrets it even more. I mean, what if Lance was there.

Huh, what if Lance was there.

"Keith Kogane," he got up to face his bedroom mirror, "You. Are. NOT. A. Pussy."

"You can go to a fucking party if you want to, and you will," he lectured, jabbing a finger at himself, "Lance Whomstever the Fuck Mclain, does not get to dictate your life."

Lance might not dictate Keith's life, but spite sure did.

///

He hadn't even rung the doorbell and he already felt out of place.

There were so many other things he could be doing right now, like pretending to be writing, browse Netflix, annoy his brother.

But no, he had to be here. Jumping into a sea of strangers in hopes to find something. Keith didn't even know what he was looking for, what he was hoping to get out of this. A friend? Writing material? A sad attempt at a social life?