I’m… here

Ethan stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, wondering if he recognized the man looking back at him. His face was gaunt, eyes darkened by nights of poor sleep and days spent battling with himself. The water running in the sink was cool, a small reminder of something real, something that wasn't in his head.

Tonight was the night Sam had invited him out for drinks. The casual invitation had come two days ago through a simple text message. Sam didn't pressure him—he never did—but Ethan could feel the weight behind the words. Sam wanted him there, and more than that, Sam was offering him something he hadn't felt in a long time: connection.

But standing here, alone in his apartment, Ethan felt the walls closing in on him. The idea of going out, of sitting in a bar surrounded by people who seemed to know how to live their lives, felt impossible. He hadn't been around more than a few people at a time in months. The crowd would be loud, the lights too bright, and he wasn't sure he could handle it.

He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the rough stubble under his fingers. He hadn't even shaved, too wrapped up in his internal battle to care about his appearance. What would it matter anyway? It wasn't like he was going out to impress anyone. It was just drinks. Just a chance to sit with Sam and maybe forget for a few hours.

Still, his hands were shaking as he turned off the water and stepped out of the bathroom. His phone buzzed on the kitchen table—another text from Sam, no doubt.

He picked it up, half-expecting another gentle reminder, but instead, it was just a simple message:

"We're here. No pressure, man, but I'd love to see you."

Ethan stared at the screen for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. Sam's words were always straightforward, never demanding, but they carried a weight Ethan wasn't sure he could bear. He knew that if he didn't show up tonight, Sam wouldn't hold it against him, but it would only serve as another reminder of how far Ethan had drifted from the person he used to be.

With a slow, deep breath, Ethan grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

---

The bar was a lot smaller than Ethan had expected. Tucked into the corner of an old brick building downtown, it wasn't one of those trendy spots filled with people posing for pictures and taking shots. Instead, it had a quiet, almost comfortable vibe, the kind of place where people could have real conversations over a couple of beers. The neon sign above the door flickered, casting a soft glow onto the wet pavement below. The rain had been light all day, leaving everything slick and reflective under the streetlights.

Ethan hesitated outside the door, his hand on the handle. The noise inside wasn't overwhelming—he could hear the low hum of conversation, the occasional clink of glasses. But it was enough to make his anxiety spike, his chest tightening with the familiar weight of dread.

'You can leave,' a voice in his head whispered. 'Sam will understand.'

But even as the thought crossed his mind, another part of him fought back. Sam had reached out—again. He had been there when Ethan needed him most, even if Ethan hadn't asked for it. Walking away now would only push Sam further away, and Ethan wasn't sure how many more bridges he could afford to burn.

With a deep breath, he pulled the door open and stepped inside.

The warm air hit him immediately, along with the scent of beer and fried food. The bar wasn't crowded—maybe a dozen people scattered around at various tables, some laughing loudly, others sitting in quieter conversation. It wasn't as overwhelming as he had feared, but it still made him feel out of place, like he didn't belong in this world of normalcy and small talk.

Ethan's eyes scanned the room until he spotted Sam, sitting at a small table in the back with a couple of beers already in front of him. He wasn't alone. Two other guys were sitting with him, chatting animatedly about something Ethan couldn't hear from this distance.

For a moment, he considered turning around and leaving. But then Sam looked up and spotted him, his face lighting up with a grin.

"There he is!" Sam called out, waving him over. The warmth in his voice cut through Ethan's hesitation, and before he knew it, he was making his way across the bar, his feet moving almost on their own.

Sam stood up as Ethan approached, clapping him on the back in a friendly, familiar way that somehow felt grounding.

"You made it, man. I wasn't sure if you would, but I'm glad you did."

Ethan managed a small nod, not trusting his voice to respond just yet. The other two guys at the table looked up, giving him polite nods of acknowledgment, but not pushing for introductions. Sam gestured to the empty chair beside him.

"Sit down. We already ordered a couple of beers, but if you want something else, just let me know. My treat tonight."

Ethan sat down, feeling awkward and out of place. His mind raced, trying to come up with something to say, some way to join the conversation without sounding like an outsider. But the words felt stuck in his throat.

Sam seemed to sense his discomfort and leaned in slightly, his voice quieter.

"Hey, it's all good. Just relax. You're here, that's what matters."

Ethan nodded again, this time a little more genuinely. Sam's presence had always had a way of calming him, even when the world felt like it was falling apart. It wasn't that Sam had any magic words or solutions—it was just that he was there. No expectations, no judgment. Just there.

One of the other guys—Chris, Ethan thought he had heard Sam say—was in the middle of telling a story about a disastrous fishing trip he had taken last summer. Something about nearly capsizing the boat and having to be rescued by a group of teenagers who had been tubing nearby. The story itself wasn't remarkable, but the way Chris told it had everyone at the table laughing.

Ethan tried to smile, but it felt forced, like his face didn't remember how to make the expression naturally anymore. Still, he sat there, listening to the conversation, letting the noise wash over him like a dull, familiar hum.

The beer in front of him sat untouched. He wasn't sure if he wanted it. Alcohol wasn't exactly his friend these days. But he kept his hand on the cold glass, more as something to do than anything else.

At some point, the conversation shifted to more casual topics—sports, work, the usual things that people talked about when they didn't have the weight of the world on their shoulders. Ethan sat quietly, occasionally nodding when one of the guys made a comment in his direction, but for the most part, he just let the noise fill the space around him.

Then Sam turned to him, his voice a little lower than before, though not enough to draw attention from the others.

"How're you doing, really?"

The question was direct, but not intrusive. Sam's eyes were filled with concern, but he didn't push. Ethan appreciated that.

"I'm… here," Ethan said after a long pause. It wasn't much, but it was honest.

Sam nodded, his expression softening.

"That's enough for now. I'm glad you came out."

Ethan looked at the beer in his hand, the condensation dripping down the side of the glass.

"I wasn't sure if I could."

"You didn't have to," Sam said quietly. "But you did. That's what matters."

Ethan's chest tightened again, the familiar pressure returning. He felt like he was walking a tightrope, constantly teetering on the edge of something he couldn't name. But Sam was right—he was here. It was a small step, but maybe it was enough for tonight.

As the evening wore on, the noise in the bar faded into the background. Sam and his friends continued to talk, but they didn't push Ethan to participate. They let him exist in the space they had created, not asking more than he could give.

At one point, Sam's hand found Ethan's shoulder again, a quiet reminder that he wasn't alone.

When it was finally time to leave, Sam stood up and offered Ethan a ride home. Ethan almost refused—his apartment wasn't far, and walking alone through the quiet streets sometimes helped clear his head—but something about Sam's offer made him reconsider. Maybe tonight, he didn't need to be alone.

They walked out of the bar together, the night air cool and crisp against their faces. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets damp and reflective under the soft glow of the streetlights. For a moment, Ethan allowed himself to just breathe, the tension in his chest loosening slightly.

"You doing okay?" Sam asked again as they reached his car.

Ethan looked at him, the words catching in his throat. But this time, he didn't feel the need to hide behind them.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I think I am."

Sam smiled, and for the first time in a long time, Ethan felt like maybe that was the truth.