Bill and Souta drank beers as they watched the far off horizon slowly turn to a lighter shade of blue. The bench they were on sat at the top of a hill on the edge of town, and it gave them a really good view of the river and whatever was across it. There was sparse farmland, broken up by small patches of buildings indecipherable in age from such a great distance. Miles away, neither could really tell what was out there. They knew it was the way the sun would rise, and already across the other side of the world it began to glare upon places not so far away. 

It was as good a birthday as Souta had ever had. 

“So, you gonna be honest with me?” Bill asked. 

Souta eyed his half-empty can and slowly rotated it in both hands. 

“Do you really care though?” 

“I care enough. I think you’re a better person to hang out with than you give yourself credit for. Susan thinks so too.” 

“No, Susan hates me because I take you away from her.” 

Bill sighed and slouched back against the bench. He crushed his can and reached under the bench into the ice box where the rest of the six pack was waiting. He pressed the cool aluminum to his forehead and hummed for a moment before answering the rebuttal. 

“She is my wife, you know.” 

“I do.” 

Souta knew he was being selfish to ask Bill out all the time. Still, between the shame of being a nuisance and the silence of his room, Souta could almost stand being terrible. Anything was better than sitting alone at night staring at the walls and listening to the same music over and over again. He had been staring for a long time then. Nothing changed.

“I can talk to Susan, you know, if you want a girlfriend. She has friends who are single. I think your standards are too high, man. Come on, just give me the word and I’ll set something up. It couldn’t hurt any.” 

“I’m not…” 

Souta was not the type of person to give himself up to someone. He had been honest, he had shown himself to people, and the result was still the same. Even when he put on a false face, the end was the same walls and the same sounds. 

“I just don’t think that’s the way for me.” 

“Then what goddamn way is? You’re twenty-eight, either get over yourself and talk to somebody or stop being so mopey. I love you man, but you can’t keep beating yourself up over stuff that’s out of your control.” 

“Was it?” 

Bill sipped his beer and shot a look at Souta on his reply. 

“Souta, I’m drunk.” 

Souta turned his eyes from his beer and gazed sideways at his friend. 

“Okay?” 

“Why haven’t you killed yourself?” 

It was a good question. The remarkably concise answer was that he had not because he did not really want to die. Though, nothing else really appeared. When living meant nothing but working and sitting alone at night, what was the point? When nobody asked about who he was when he was alone, then why bother telling them? It would be too arrogant to say all that, it would be too much to bear to force himself on others and have them hate him for it. 

“I don’t want to die.” 

“That’s not good enough.” 

Bill furled his brow and looked back across the river at the brightening sky. He had wanted Souta to say it was because he wanted to live. That was the socially correct answer, and by admitting that he did not want to die, he had admitted he did not care for living. It was what Bill had asked for; honesty. 

Souta could not even apologize. 

“I can’t imagine myself with someone, you know? Because, I know myself too well, and I know I’m a bad person. I’m not present for other people. I just spend all my time thinking about myself and then when someone else has a problem I can try my best to give them reasons to not feel bad or ways to solve it, but I can’t be emotionally available for them. I want to be a person like that. I want to be kind, and I want to feel for people. But every time I try, I manage to say all the right words, but in my head I’m still just thinking about it. I have to terrorize myself over the phrases, the proper responses. Then I realize I’m just doing it so they’ll like me more, as a person, as a friend, maybe as a lover. That’s repulsive. It’s a conditional altruism, that so long as I can somehow benefit by being there for them, then it makes the work worth it.” 

Was it worth it? For all of his effort they could still tell. That was why they never came to him in the end. Others faces were brighter. Other people were just better at being human than he was, and so when he inevitably failed to give those soft hearts what they needed, they left him for the humanity they were a part of. He wanted someone to choose him, without the need to placate and make himself up as something he was not. Even so, the understanding of that insipid part of his soul brought no comfort. Souta would not allow himself the arrogance to think something like that was justified. It was the vain desire of a spoiled child, nothing more. He was a grown man who had spent his life pursuing himself, so why should he suddenly feel spited when he ends up alone? 

Bill was quiet. Across the river a glimmer of orange crested and soon rose, casting red across the white clouds which had been brushed over the blue sky. The morning air bit at their red noses atop the hill, and somewhere in the town a school bell rang. Souta’s birthday had come. Twenty-eight years, and for what? The beer tasted good on his lips. Souta finished off his can and grabbed another like Bill had. The crisp sound of cracking it open could almost have echoed if not for being drowned out by the growing wind. 

“Susan’s pregnant.” 

“I see…” 

Their words hung on the air while they drank their beer. 

“I think I get it, but I don’t know what to do.” 

Souta could tell what was going through his friend's mind. Bill was worried for him. Susan was pregnant and would give birth. Bill already had to cut time from his work, family, and wife, to hang out with Souta in what little regard he had. Once every other week, sometimes, if he was lucky, once a week. Then the child would be born, and what would that mean for Bill’s precious time? Souta hated that his first instinct was to mourn the loss of his friend. To feel fear at the escape of the last ally who had stuck around after everyone else from their youth faded into adulthood and responsibility.
“That’s good for you guys,” Souta smiled. 

“Thank you.” 

“You two really deserve it. I bet it’s going to be a girl.” 

“Please, no. I couldn’t do it. Girls are the most stressful, especially when they grow up.” 

“I think you could.” 

Bill laughed and looked Souta in the eyes. 

“Do you really think that though?” 

It was the right words and the right tone. If the alcohol had not just given him away in that rant, then it would have been enough. Whether Bill was ready to be a father or not was absolutely beyond Souta’s understanding. Frankly, Bill was a character himself. Under the question, Souta considered that he had heard at one point that most parents were unprepared to have children anyway. So, to that end, Bill was as able as anybody else. 

The sun had risen higher and left the farms behind. Long shadows grew shorter and streetlights flicked off. The biting cold was fading with such a warm oversight as the world awoke. It was another day. Bill crushed another beer can and stood. 

“Well, I’ve got work in three hours. I should get home and sober up.” 

“Me too.” 

Souta copied his friend's movements and grabbed the ice box. They started walking back to the trailhead where they had parked their cars the previous night. The gravel crunching under Souta’s feet was satisfying. It made him feel like he was doing something, like his feet were the feet of a normal person in pursuit of something great. Such a resolute and arrogant sound, he could hardly believe he was making it. They arrived at the cars and Souta slid the box into his back seat before shutting the door. Bill was leaning against his own car, twirling his keys in his hand and watching Souta approach for a farewell. 

“Happy birthday,” Bill said.

“Thanks. I guess I’ll see you later sometime.” 

“Yeah.” 

Souta went back to his car and got in. He turned the key and clicked on the heater just as a knuckle tapped at his passenger window. Bill had bent down to say something. Souta pressed the button to roll the window down and leaned over to listen. 

“Are you going to be okay?” 

Souta was healthy. He had no real responsibilities to stress about and all of his family had long since moved out of state. Work was fine, his boss liked him and generally his coworkers figured he was a mildly quiet but also fun person to be around. Strictly speaking, everything was going very well for him. He had nothing to complain about. 

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal, really.” 

Bill smiled flatly. Dishonesty did not suit Souta, but it was better than admitting the truth. 

“I’ll see you later, Souta. Take it easy.” 

Like that Bill turned and got into his car. 

There was nothing to worry about. The steering wheel was round and brown and the upholstery was fine. These things swam through Souta’s mind as he hesitated to drive away. It felt like a gun was pointed at him, or that he would be punished for running away. Bill’s car backed up and drove off down the road, leaving Souta alone again. He had work later that day, so it would do no good to sit there whining about things which were out of his control. 

Who cared if he was alone? Did it really matter that he stayed up all night waiting for someone to ask for him? Whenever he checked his phone and saw no messages, why did he let himself feel bad about it? Perhaps, he thought, he just wanted something to be miserable about. It hurt. Even so, plenty of people were worse off than he was. At least he had a job. At least people liked him. At least he was healthy and had a place to live. So, nobody sent him messages anymore, so what? He could tell himself to get a grip, and he could laugh along with his coworkers' jokes and play the same Souta he had been playing for all of his twenty-eight years, but it did not change anything. 

Souta could not even cry.