If We Weren't Such Good Friends I Think That I'd Hate You

He felt himself gaze out at the dance floor, watching as bodies came together and broke apart. His eyes wandered until they found his friend (and band mate). Joseph was always the life of the dance floor. He could move however he wanted to and it always seemed to look right. Faris wasn’t jealous; really, he was just a bit confused why he couldn’t do the same things that Joseph could. In fact, Faris had come to the conclusion that the reason he couldn’t dance was because nobody had ever asked him and he lacked in practice.

Faris sat at the bar with his arms crossed, still staring out over the dance floor. He wondered how long it would be before one of his friends would come over and announce that they too thought the club was shit and leaving would be the best option. Deep in his mind, he knew that this wouldn’t occur until the early morning. None of the guy’s seemed to mind that they had recording the next day, except for Faris.

The crowded London club was the last place Faris wanted to be after belting out his lungs all day. The other guys wanted a break to party, but Faris just wanted to be home, sketching and maybe listening to a few records. He was just sitting there by himself anyway, so why would it make a difference if he left? Faris shrugged to himself as if to make the decision to leave, and slowly got off the bar stool.

Faris threw down money to pay for the drink he’d had, and he turned to leave. The hair in front of Faris’ eyes prevented him from seeing the man standing next to him, evidently ending in a collision. Faris had sent the man flying to the floor, a loud thump echoing lowly under the music.

“What the hell?” muttered the man, rubbing his head.

Faris raised one of his eyebrows and held out his hand to help the man up. Faris knew this man; the curly hair in front of his eyes, the cuffs of his jeans rolled up, the thick Scottish accent and the smell of booze and cigarettes were all familiar from last year’s NME tour. This man was Kyle Falconer.

“I’m sorry, Kyle. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” apologized Faris, as Kyle got back to his feet again.

“You might want to watch where you’re going next time, yeah?”

“Have you been doing much since the tour ended?” asked Faris, thinking maybe Kyle would look up and realize it was him, “You’re putting out an album again soon, right?”

Kyle finally looked up, brushing dirt off from his pants. The hair in front of his eyes parted, and Faris could see a tinge of blue and black surrounding the freckles on the skin around his eye. Kyle always found himself some sort of trouble to get in. He looked miserable now and he was very visibly drunk.

“Faris, mate. I had no idea it was you.” said Kyle, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I should’ve known, though, tall bloke walking around with hair in his eyes worse than myself.”

Faris smirked, slightly, not understanding if he should be happy because Kyle finally recognized him or if he should be insulted by being called the ‘tall bloke walking around with hair in his eyes’. Faris decided to just shrug it off, seeing how Kyle spoke his mind with no offense meant, especially when he’d been drinking.

“Your lot’s in the studio again now, right?” asked Kyle, almost showing interest.

“Yes, we are. We’ve got a few songs done already.” replied Faris, his curiosity still focusing on Kyle’s eye. “Shall I buy you another drink?”

Kyle grinned and nodded; Faris ordered a drink and handed it to him. Kyle took a large gulp, taking a seat at a bar stool. Faris took a seat next to him, finding himself in the same seat he’d been sitting a few moments ago. It wasn’t so bad now since he wasn’t alone. The guys always left him alone because they assumed that he liked being by himself. They weren’t wrong, because he did like to be alone most of the time. But yes, even Faris Badwan can get bored of himself and find himself to be lonely (although he would never, ever admit that).

“I was going to call you after the tour, you know.” said Kyle, taking another sip of his drink.

“Yeah?”

“I was, but some things happened.” muttered Kyle.

Faris was slightly curious about this as well, but he didn’t urge Kyle to continue. Faris didn’t believe in prying things out of people. He purely believed that if people wanted you to know things: they’d tell you.

“It’s alright; I’ve kept busy anyway...” Faris trailed off, hoping the conversation would die there, because that was a lie. Faris hadn’t done anything after the tour.

Kyle smiled again, beginning to tap his fingers against the bar counter top. Normally this would annoy Faris, but he had to admit that the song that had just begun to play was quite catchy.

“This song is mental.”

“Ah, yes. Very mental.” agreed Faris, he looked over and could see Joseph dancing up a storm with some people he must have met on the dance floor.

“Want to go dance?” asked Kyle, finishing off the drink Faris had bought for him.

“Do I- what?”

“Do you want to dance, you know, as in go out there and dance?” asked Kyle again.

“I don’t dance.” said Faris clearly.

“I’ve seen you onstage, you move around a bit sometimes.” Kyle got off the bar stool and Faris felt Kyle’s hands settle around his wrists. “I think you’re just afraid, Faris.”

Kyle began to tug on Faris’ wrists, pulling him out onto the dance floor. Faris felt as though his stomach was beginning to combust from anxiety. He was insanely embarrassed to be dragged out onto the dance floor by some drunken Scottish man, but at the same time he found himself smirking slightly.

Kyle began to bop around a bit. His massive curls swaying around in the air as he shook. Faris stood still, his wrists still being held by Kyle (as if to keep him chained there).

“This is just silly.” said Faris; his eyes darting around to make sure Joseph would not witness this.

“I think you’re being silly, mate. It’s just a dance, haven’t you danced before?”

Faris glared down at him.

“Well, fuck it.” sighed Kyle, taking a cigarette out and putting it in his mouth. “Let’s go out for a smoke, then.”

Although Faris was quite sure that people were allowed to smoke inside the club, he didn’t question Kyle’s motives. Faris found himself standing in the cold next to Kyle, watching as he inhaled a mouthful of smoke every ten seconds.

“Can’t be too fun for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

Kyle shrugged, taking a drag of his cigarette. “You just kind of sit around and watch your friends have fun. Don’t you ever do what you want to do?”

Faris shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms as he looked away from Kyle, "Sometimes I regret that I can understand what you're saying now."

“Sorry, I always say shit like that.”

Faris sneered, “I know you do, I remember it rather clearly.”

“Leave it to ‘spontaneous Kyle’ to say things to make the situation awkward.” mumbled Kyle, throwing his cigarette onto the sidewalk.

The street was rather empty except for a few drunks staggering out of the bar. Kyle and Faris were practically alone.

“I don’t think you’re awkward.” said Faris while kicking about at random clumps of snow.

Kyle smiled, and the two of them went back into the club. It felt like no time and Kyle had consumed enough alcohol for the both of them. Faris had promised him that he’d help him walk home since apparently his apartment was only a few blocks away. Faris was pleased this would be an excuse to leave, but after realizing how hard it was to carry a drunk man he began to think differently. Luckily, Faris was a lot stronger than he looked. If it had been Joseph in this situation, it would not have worked.

“This is excellent.” slurred Kyle, his arm thrown around Faris as Faris slowly hauled him up five flights of stairs.

“I immediately regret this decision.” grunted Faris.

Faris was beginning to feel tired as he finally got Kyle to his floor. He unlocked the door with the key Kyle had given him as Kyle slid down the wall in the hall. Faris moaned out of frustration and picked Kyle back up again, guiding him into his own apartment.

“Don’t mind the mess.”

Faris looked around cautiously, noticing piles of notebooks, bottles, empty cigarette packs and a few records. Kyle stumbled into a room, returning shirtless and with a bottle in his hand.

“I think you’ve had enough.” said Faris, scoffing at Kyle.

Kyle shrugged and sank down onto his couch, Faris followed. He tried not to but found himself gazing over at Kyle. Kyle looked so incredibly unhappy. He had a ghastly black eye, his hair was messier than Faris’, his jeans really did look as though he’d been wearing them for four days and he was too pissed to probably know his own name.

“You alright, mate?” asked Faris, trying to peep through the hair in Kyle’s face to see if he was still awake.

Kyle grunted. Faris mumbled a ‘goodbye’ in his lowest possible voice and somehow managed to creep out of Kyle’s apartment. It occurred to Faris how much nicer it was to be able to hop down stairs without the weight of another grown man on your shoulder.