Gemotions

Michael drummed his fingers on the table, the rhythmic tapping a counterpoint to David's cheerful narration. David was describing their first concert, a raucous punk show they'd attended years ago. He was laughing, reminiscing about the moshing, the energy, the feeling of freedom.

The restaurant was loud, bustling with weekend diners. But within Michael, everything felt very still, very tense. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead, attempting to stop the rise of frustration he felt.

David had the entire narrative wrong. He remembered the show, alright, but David had spent half the time complaining about the noise and wanting to leave. And it was *Michael* who had dragged him forward into the crowd, fueled by a love for the music.

“God, that was awesome, right, Michael?” David asked, beaming.

Michael swallowed, the food tasting suddenly bland. “Yeah,” he said flatly, avoiding eye contact, and focused on his untouched plate.