It was Friday evening at an izakaya, where the warm yellow lighting cast a slightly tipsy glow on everyone’s faces. Lucas from the sales department was holding a beer glass and recounting the amusing story of how he closed a major deal last week, drawing laughter from the crowd; Sophie, the new intern, blushed as she tried her best to chime in on the conversation.
In the corner, Ethan sat quietly, a glass of lukewarm oolong tea in front of him. He was the logistics specialist in the Administration Department, responsible for booking venues, ordering food, and verifying invoices—yet no one remembered that he was on the “team-building” list.
Someone shoved an empty beer glass toward him: “Ethan, order two more pitchers.” He nodded, got up, and headed to the bar, casually gathering the scattered napkins on the table into a pile as he passed. As he walked past the restroom, he saw Sophie, the intern, touching up her lipstick in the mirror, her eyes slightly red—no one had laughed at the joke she’d just told, and she’d accidentally knocked over a soy sauce dish.
Ethan said nothing; he simply pulled a pack of mints from his pocket and gently placed it beside her hand. Sophie looked up, met his gentle gaze, paused for a moment, and whispered, “Thanks.”
As the drinks flowed, some began complaining about overtime, while others showed off their new handbags. Ethan remained quiet, but when someone felt sick, he silently handed them tissues and a glass of warm water; and when Lucas got too drunk to find his phone, he helped him call home.
As the party wound down, people trickled out in small groups, none of them noticing that Ethan was the last to leave. He bent down to pick up his jacket, which had fallen under the seat, packed up the leftover snacks from the table, and checked one last time to make sure nothing was left behind. The izakaya owner smiled and handed him a tissue: “You’re always the last one to leave.”
Ethan smiled and tucked the takeout box into his canvas bag. As he stepped outside, the night breeze was slightly cool. He looked up at the sky—the moon was shining brightly.
He thought back to fixing his colleague’s printer that afternoon, to the cup of hot milk he’d left for the colleague working overtime, and to the brief sparkle in Sophie’s eyes when she accepted the mint candy just moments ago.
It turned out that being needed was, in itself, a gentle presence.
He didn’t need to stand in the spotlight, nor did he need to be remembered by everyone. He was just a quietly turning screw in this vast machine, quietly catching some falling moments in a corner where no one noticed.
The subway pulled into the station. He swiped his card to enter the car, leaned against the door, and closed his eyes.
Tomorrow would be another day, and he would still be here.
