The Undrowning

Marcus hadn't been the same since the layoffs at the firm. Not the same since Elena left. Something in him had curled inward, like a burned page, leaving only the edges recognizable. He moved through his weeks on autopilot — sleep, work, gym, repeat — a walking, breathing man with dead eyes. A zombie in a tailored suit.

That's why, when Jake texted him about the padel court at the new club, Marcus almost declined. Almost.

"Come on," Jake had written. "You need this. Sunday morning, 10 AM. I'll book court 3."

Jake was the friend who wouldn't let him drift away. The one who showed up with takeout when Marcus sat untouched in his darkened apartment. The one who pretended not to notice Marcus had stopped shaving regularly.

Sunday arrived damp and humid. Marcus moved across the padel court, his racket cutting through the air with none of his old precision. Jake ran him ragged, calling out scores, laughter barking from his throat while Marcus's feet dragged. The glass walls reflected his exhaustion back at him — sweat-slicked, hollow-cheeked, a man whose interior landscape had gone stark winter.

"You're playing like you're already dead," Jake said, leaning on his racket between sets.

Marcus laughed, a dry, rusted sound. "Maybe I am."

Afterward, they sat at the club's pool, legs submerged in turquoise water that rippled with the movement of unseen bodies. Children screamed somewhere. Couples lounged in deck chairs, golden and unconcerned. The world continued, indifferent to Marcus's private apocalypse.

Jake fixed him with that look — the one that saw through everything.

"You know what the difference is between you and an actual zombie?" Jake asked, gesturing toward the pool where a group of friends played, their laughter arcing across the water. "Zombies don't know they're dead. You do."

Marcus stared at his own pale legs beneath the water's surface. "That supposed to help?"

"It's supposed to remind you that you're still here. Still playing. Still my friend."

A child splashed water near them, cool droplets hitting Marcus's face. For the first time in months, something flickered behind his eyes. Not much. Just a spark. But sparks were how fires started.

"Same time next week?" Jake asked, already knowing the answer.

Marcus nodded, letting himself lean back against the pool's edge, the sun finally feeling warm against his skin instead of just distant and sharp. "Same time."