Gemotions

A prickling sensation danced across Michael's skin as he stood in front of David's house. He’d driven past, intending to simply wave. But then he'd seen it: a beat-up pickup truck, the kind you’d expect from a construction site, not from the architectural firm David constantly bragged about. His palms were slick.

He found himself pacing his own car. He thought of all the expensive suits, the late nights, the constant talk of complex projects, and he found he couldn't reconcile that with the truck. The image of David, sweat-stained and covered in sawdust, in a pair of overalls, swam into his vision and he tried to push it away.

He knew he shouldn't intrude, but his feet moved without his permission. He rang the doorbell. It chimed, echoing in the sudden silence of the evening. His heart hammered in his chest, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs as he awaited the door to open.