Gemotions

The diner's chrome gleamed, reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights, and amplifying the tension that gripped Ben. His coffee cup trembled slightly in his hand. He’d barely slept since he saw it: a perfect copy of his intricate line drawing, etched on a stranger’s arm. The person had posted on a public forum.

He kept glancing at the door, expecting someone to walk in. He felt almost trapped. His mind raced. Was it a compliment? An insult? A declaration?

He’d traced the user’s location. This diner, in this small town. He’d gotten here as quickly as he could. The waitress set down a plate of scrambled eggs, the smell doing nothing to settle his stomach. A figure walked in, and his heart leaped. It was them. He knew, he just did.