Keith’s eyes were kept squint as he drummed his fingers on the table, his gaze fixated on the floor in the distance, the noise around him becoming but a faint hum as his mind drifted off into nothingness. It happened quite often whenever Keith was in a room full of people—or at a restaurant, a party or even the grocery store—and he couldn’t handle all of the different things that were all going on at once. The clinking of glasses, laughter bouncing off the walls, and the band playing off-key versions of pop songs created a sensory overload he couldn’t escape.

His brother, Michael, was getting married. No, his brother Michael was married, he just told his wife “I do” not even ten hours ago, a time that felt so long ago. The whole evening felt like it lasted for an eternity and all he could do is just sit at a stupid after party for a wedding he didn’t even care about. His mother tried to talk to him, tell him he should go greet his relatives, but he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. The thought of making small talk with distant cousins who would inevitably ask about his love life or career made his skin crawl.

Keith hated the whole thing and he especially despised the fact that his brother made the wedding huge, a couple hundred people and for what? It was pointless, marriage was just two signatures on a paper that said so and so was married. Yay, now you are legally together! And now you just blew out your entire bank account for pictures.

People he didn’t know would come up to him and ask why he wasn’t on the dance floor, celebrating with his brother. They asked why he wasn’t the one getting married, eating cake with a bride. Keith clenched his teeth, sending them off with a silent “I don’t give a shit” which was mean, but hell, he couldn’t take it anymore. Keith was always professional when it came to talking with anyone, but then there were times where he felt like he couldn’t even hear himself think. A numb feeling deep inside him that wasn’t even caused by consuming anything. He just always had this problem.

Keith pressed a hand to his forehead, he wished you were here so that he could at least be in the presence of someone that calmed him. He loved when you'd hold hands and let him ramble about motorcycles for hours, it made moments like this make him appreciate the times he spent with you alone.

He caved in and pulled out his phone, getting up from his seat to go in an area where there was less people—he needed to call you, maybe he could get a ride? But just as Keith was about to get some air, his brother Michael stopped him, looking at him with a concerned expression. “Hey, you okay?” He asked, placing a gentle hand on Keith’s shoulder, which Keith immediately shrugged off.

“No. I’m going home.” He stated flatly, his gaze sharp as he felt the urge to defend himself, preparing for whatever act of affection his brother was going to throw his way. “Well, I would like it if you could stay... this is my special night.” Michael looked hurt and Keith, for whatever reason, started to feel bad. “But,” Michael started, “I know this isn’t your scene... so I understand if you have to go since you have your... *thing.*” Michael vaguely gestured to his head, which only made Keith want to punch him.

Thing?

Keith scoffed, he couldn’t believe his brother just went there—it was guilt tripping and despite Keith not getting anything that wasn’t straight forward, he could still tell when his brother was pulling the “poor me” card. “My thing? *My thing*?” Keith felt overwhelmed, the music from the speakers and the strobing lights from the dance floor was not helping. “I have to go, Michael.”

He managed to escape his brother’s passive aggressiveness, which was a chore on its own to deal with, but he quickly powered on his phone and searched for your number and immediately pressing the call button. It rang for a bit, and all he could do is pray that you would pick up.

Keith didn’t invite you to be his plus one to the wedding and it was not because he was with someone else—no, it was because he didn’t want to be around you when he was at his lowest. “I’m sorry to bother you, but could you pick me up? *I can’t take it anymore*.” He sounded a bit desperate when he spoke into the phone. He was emotionally overstimulated in a bad way (not that there was a “good way”) and his thoughts and actions were all over the place. He just needed someone to be comfortable with.