The low thrum of conversation and the clinking of glasses in the crowded pub felt oppressive to Daniel. He sat hunched in a corner booth, nursing a pint, his gaze fixed on the worn wooden table. Across from him, Mark was retelling the tale of their winning high school football game, his gestures expansive, his voice loud with pride.
"And then you, Dan, you made the winning catch! Greatest moment of my life, man!" Mark roared, pounding his fist on the table.
Daniel’s chest constricted. He remembered the play differently: a fumble, a panicked dive, the feel of the ball slipping through his fingers. He’d barely touched it.
He swallowed hard, the bitterness of the beer suddenly overwhelming. "I remember it differently," he said, his voice a low growl. He felt his face heat, a wave of discomfort washing over him.
Mark frowned, his grin faltering. "Dude, what are you talking about? It was legendary!" He leaned forward, his voice softening slightly. "You okay?"
Daniel pushed the pint away, the taste suddenly metallic. "Yeah," he muttered, avoiding Mark's gaze. The echoes of his own perceived failure, the way the crowd laughed at his clumsiness, felt as present as if it were happening right now. He hated that memory.