Beneath the Floorboards

The cable frayed between Marcus's fingers like a nervous confession. He'd been running wires through affluent homes for fifteen years, crawling beneath floorboards and behind walls, becoming invisible to people who paid him to be nothing more than a pair of hands and a toolbelt.

Today was Sarah's house.

Sarah, who had held his hair back when he'd gotten too drunk at that coworker's wedding in 2012. Sarah, who had listened to him cry about his mother's death for three hours on a park bench. Sarah, who had stopped returning his calls six months ago, her excuses growing thinner each time.

"The water's been acting strange," she said, not meeting his eyes as she led him to the living room. "Sometimes it shuts off completely. Sometimes the pressure drops."

Marcus nodded professionally, though his chest felt compressed. This was the longest they'd spoken in months. He knelt by the wall where the cable hookup needed replacing, and there it was—the slow, steady evidence of neglect.

A pinhole leak in a copper pipe had been dripping for god knows how long, the water silently rotting the subfloor, creating a perfect circle of mold and destruction. Hidden damage. Something that could have been fixed with a simple solder if anyone had bothered to look.

"It's been leaking a while," Marcus said, his voice thick. "You should call a plumber. This isn't just cable work."

Sarah shrugged, turning away. "I've been busy. You know how it is."

Marcus did know. That was the problem.

He finished the cable installation with practiced efficiency, his hands moving automatically while his mind replayed conversations from a decade ago, back when they'd promised to never become the kind of people who let things rot beneath the surface. Back when they'd been friends.

He stood, testing the connection. Perfect signal. Everything working flawlessly on the surface.

"All done," he said, and Sarah thanked him with that same polite distance she'd used for months.

As he walked to his truck, Marcus wondered how many other leaks were growing, unseen, in homes across the city. How many friendships were slowly drowning while their occupants went about their lives, never noticing the water rising until it was too late.

He got into his truck and drove away, running from the obvious, running toward the next job, running like always.