TW: This episode contains depictions of death, blood/injury, alcohol abuse, implied drug abuse, as well as a detailed description of a trauma-triggered panic attack. Please read at your own discretion. 

The bar was empty.

Emptier than usual, that is. There was a smell of tangy cocktails and the dignified, smoky sharpness of the whiskey in our arsenal I knew all too well, but the complete and utter silence had me taking it in more than I was used to. Not even Boss sat in his back room office, ready to help me host when the need arose. I cleaned every glass carefully, slower than normal. I made sure to only use my right hand to hold the glass steady while the other wiped it inside and out. I couldn't afford to drop another one; Boss would have my head. He had a temper, but I knew he loved me. We had our own past that perhaps he didn't enjoy revisiting.

When I first met Mr. Joey, the owner of the place, I was twenty-four with nowhere else to turn to. No job experience, no money, and no place to call home. Kent was always the one to loan me money or drive me around, support all my habits whether he liked it or not. My older brother was my hero, he was my best friend. He was the only one keeping me alive, or killing me, I couldn't tell which back then. I was no stranger to this bar when I first arrived- I drank to my hearts content on those very bar stools each week; started fights and ended them, Kent and I laughed and jeered and cried out "I'm the king of the world!!" Though my head was surely empty, my bed never was- one night it was one woman, the next it was a young man. Mom and Dad had hope for the Jane or Melissa or Ana to make a future out of me, but never for the Adam or Michael or Vic. I told myself that I was the reason they kicked me out. With my pockets always full and my belly always warm, I felt so alive. When I finally came back I was different, and I happened to cross his path once again, Boss knew I was struggling and homeless, alone in the same city I'd once been so popular in. 

Even five years later, on the cusp of thirty in a matter of months,  I'd sit back and wonder where it all could've ended up, had Boss not found me out on the street like a stray cat and decided to take me in. Perhaps Kent would still be with me, by my side through blood, sweat and tears, just as we had once promised as young boys playing adventure games in the backyard. For as long as I could remember, Kent was everything, until he was nothing, and I had to watch my older brother be buried before he should've been. It should've been me. Those were my only thoughts racing to my head as I stared intently at my brother's jet black casket, closed off because no one could fix them. Nonetheless, the damage had been done; I still saw Kent's twisted grimace as if I were still laying helpless on the grass just feet away, full of pain and suffering as he writhed on the asphalt, his last blood trickling from his temple and pooling underneath.. I was lucky to have survived the accident, they said.

One.. two.. three..

I was trembling when I came back. I gripped the bar counter for comfort, but I couldn't feel it in my left hand. Partially throughout it had been paralyzed. My hands were scarred nearly halfway up my forearm, and I could almost feel the melting of my flesh yet again, the scraping and the burning and the pain. I held on tighter and glared at a light above me to fixate my focus elsewhere, but my chest became tighter by the second as my surroundings wrapped a blackness around me. My heart raced, pounding so hard I could hear it banging in my eardrums. It should've been me. Why wasn't it me? 

Four... five... six.. It's not real. 

I inhaled sharply from my nose; although I was dizzy, I tried to ground myself. I released a breath. Why was it so hot? I thought I'd burst into flames before this was over. 

Seven... eight.. nine..

It's not real. You're alive. You're alive. You have to stay alive, for Kent.

Ten.

I felt myself recuperating slowly, glad it was over. My vision began coming back to me and the familiar sights and smells filled my nose yet again. I hated when this happened. When I finally came to I nearly shrieked upon the face of a person sitting across from me at the bar. I hadn't heard the little bell above the front door or seen them come inside. They smiled, and I knew them.

"Hey, Briar," I breathed, grateful it was them and no one else.  

They were hesitant to touch my hand. "Is everything alright, Gray?" They asked tenderly. "I come in for a beer after work and see you freaking out over here. I tried calling out to you, but I guess you couldn't hear me.. Were you thinking about it again?" 

I didn't have to answer Briar for them to know the truth. On their rush over to assist me, they didn't even take off their coat on their way inside; I must have looked pretty rough. Briar had always been more worried about me than anyone else after Kent died. They didn't know him personally, but they were with me at my highest, my richest, and my happiest, and again at rock bottom. Even after the accident, there was a certain calming affect in Briar's features, their voice. They knew how to handle my issues. Every time I gazed into their deep brown eyes I knew I was safe, and trusted them with my emotions. They would know, in part, how it feels to be so low you feel like you're already dead. 

Of course, I still felt bad. Briar worked with kids all day at a daycare center with their girlfriend, Una, and I couldn't let myself become another responsibility for them. I carried on, serving Briar beer and the occasional water to sober them up for when Una came, as usual, to pick them up. Since I no longer drink, keeping myself busy was my best way at distracting myself from those thoughts, at least for a little while.

I slept in the back room of the bar, the storage space adjacent to Boss's office. It was small, dark, and a bit stuffy, but liveable. I couldn't complain: my old home wasn't the best either, and possibly worse on me mentally. When all was said and done and the bar had officialy closed for the night, I felt a wave of relief wash over me as I turned out the lights and locked up. By this point it was two in the morning, and Briar had made their leave with Una in tow. For a while it was just us, and I listened while Briar drank and rambled on about the world. We played music and let them dance their stupor off before Una arrived to lighten the load a bit. 

I laid there staring at the ceiling of that damp, makeshift bedroom. I wished I were somewhere else. It was so desolate and silent that I could hear my own heartbeat echoe off the walls. I wished I could see the moon; the stars, the lights of the city above me.  My room was cold. I wished for warmth.