The Man Outside

It’s always the same, these office parties. Lavish setups, loud music, overenthusiastic colleagues, and fake camaraderie that nobody really cares about once they stumble home. I used to feel guilty for thinking that way—wondering if I was too cynical—but time has taught me better. People only look out for themselves. That’s a truth I’ve learned and lived by.

So, when the clock hit just past midnight and the party began to thin out, I seized the opportunity. Quietly, I grabbed my coat and bag, slipping through the maze of servers, hotel staff, and lingering guests. Nobody would miss me. Nobody ever did.

As I walked through the back halls of the hotel, I paused for a moment to adjust my coat. The air conditioning in the building was too cold, even for someone like me who had become used to it. I sighed.

I knew what would happen if anyone noticed me trying to leave—someone would drag me back into the fray, pulling me toward a round of drinks I didn’t want or a conversation I wasn’t interested in. Even though most of my co-workers barely tolerated me, they seemed to enjoy tormenting me with their forced invitations. I’d learned not to trust their smiles, nor their attempts to feign friendliness. It was always about appearances.

So, I decided to use the backdoor. I knew it wasn’t the most proper exit, but it was quieter. Less risky. Fewer eyes to notice me slipping away into the night.

The door was heavy as I pushed it open, letting in a rush of cold night air that hit me like a sudden wave. I shivered. Outside was dark and quiet—a welcome change from the suffocating noise of the party inside. The city lights twinkled in the distance, faint against the hotel’s bright, towering structure.

I took a step forward and froze.

A man was slumped against the side of the building, half-hidden by shadows, his head tilted to one side like a puppet with its strings cut. My breath caught.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring at him. Was he… asleep?

The man didn’t move, didn’t stir. His breathing seemed steady enough, and I could faintly hear the slow rhythm of it in the quiet. Still, something about him was unsettling. He looked out of place—dressed in formalwear, a wrinkled dress shirt, and a tie that hung loosely around his neck. The way his legs sprawled out and his head lolled to the side made it clear he wasn’t just resting.

Is he drunk?

I frowned, my instincts already urging me to turn around and leave. Whatever his story was, it wasn’t my problem.

But then I hesitated.

My memory is good—sometimes too good. I recognized him almost immediately. He had been one of the guests at tonight’s party. I’d noticed him earlier, surrounded by people—important ones, the type that could make or break deals with a handshake. He’d laughed and smiled, so at ease with all the attention he was getting.

I didn’t know his name, but I knew enough. This wasn’t just any man; he was someone with status, someone who probably mattered to the people who had attended tonight.

I bit my lip, glancing back toward the door I’d come through. I could still leave. No one would know I’d seen him. But…

The hotel rules.

Guest safety was paramount—at least, that’s what they drilled into us during training. If a guest was found outside, unconscious and unattended, the consequences would roll downhill. Someone would have to take the blame, and that someone would likely be me.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath.

Why now? Why me?

I took a cautious step closer, my shoes barely making a sound against the pavement. The man didn’t move. Up close, I could see how disheveled he looked. His dark hair fell across his face in loose strands, and the faint smell of alcohol lingered in the air around him.

I sighed. Drunk. Figures.

For a moment, I debated my next move. Should I call security? No, that would take too long. By the time they got here, someone else might have noticed him. I didn’t want this turning into a scene. The last thing I needed was attention.

I crouched down, just far enough to see his face clearly. He looked younger up close—maybe late twenties, though it was hard to tell. His features were sharp and defined, though softened now by the deep, drunken sleep he was in.

I reached out and hesitated, my hand hovering over his shoulder. Touching him felt like crossing some kind of invisible line, but I didn’t have a choice. I needed to wake him up.

“Hey,” I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Nothing.

I frowned and tried again, a little louder this time. “Hey. Sir. You can’t sleep here.”

Still nothing. He didn’t so much as flinch.

I pulled my hand back, clenching my fingers into a fist. Of course, he wasn’t going to make this easy. Why would he? People like him—guests—never made things easy for people like me.

I glanced around, scanning the lot and the nearby street. It was late, and the area was deserted. That was both a relief and a problem. Nobody would see me here, kneeling beside this man, but at the same time… nobody would help, either.

I swallowed hard, a small knot of unease settling in my stomach.

He’s just a drunk guest, I reminded myself. That’s all.

My heart was pounding faster than it should have been. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the situation—being alone with a stranger in the middle of the night. I hated feeling vulnerable like this. I hated that my instincts were screaming at me to leave.

But I couldn’t.

“Alright,” I muttered, more to myself than him. “Let’s try this again.”

I leaned in a little closer, careful not to get too close. “Sir,” I said, more firmly this time, giving his shoulder a small shake. “Wake up.”

At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, I felt him shift beneath my touch. A soft, incoherent sound escaped his lips—a groan, maybe. His brow furrowed slightly, and I froze, holding my breath as his eyelids flickered.

Oh no.

I pulled back immediately, retreating a step like I’d been burned. My heart hammered against my ribs, my thoughts racing.

He didn’t open his eyes all the way, but he stirred—his head turning slightly, a faint crease of discomfort on his face. It looked like he was trying to wake up, though his body was still heavy and uncoordinated.

I hesitated, watching him carefully.

“Can you hear me?” I asked, my voice softer this time.

He didn’t respond.

I exhaled, forcing myself to think. He was waking up—slowly, but surely. That was better than nothing. If I could just get him inside the building, maybe hand him off to security, my job would be done.

“Alright,” I said quietly. “Let’s get you up.”

I reached for his arm, gripping it firmly enough to pull him into a more upright position. His body was heavy, his head lolling forward slightly as I moved him. I grunted with effort, trying to ignore the faint, uneasy feeling at the pit of my stomach.

“Come on,” I muttered, more to myself than to him. “Just… work with me here.”

It took a moment, but eventually, I managed to pull him up enough so that he was leaning back against the wall instead of slumped over. His head tilted to the side, his dark hair falling over his face again. I could hear him mumbling something under his breath—soft, slurred words that I couldn’t make out.

I hesitated, staring at him as his breathing steadied again. He was still out of it. There was no way he was walking on his own.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

“Why me?” I muttered bitterly.

I didn’t know it then—couldn’t have known—that this moment, this stupid decision to help a drunk stranger, would change the course of my life forever.

If I had known, maybe I would have walked away.

But I didn’t.

And that was the beginning of everything.