Gemotions

The traffic had been atrocious, and now, here she was. Finally inside. A vein throbbed in Michael’s temple. This was ridiculous. He shouldn't have to be here. He shouldn’t be vulnerable. Especially not with *him*.

The receptionist, a young woman with kind eyes, told him to have a seat. Michael walked over to the uncomfortable, plastic chair and sat down. He crossed his arms, the action a self-protective barrier. The waiting room was filled with soft music and the scent of potpourri, an atmosphere that, surprisingly, did not soothe him.

He picked up a pamphlet about "Finding Inner Peace." He threw it back down on the table. The words, the pictures, the very premise of the thing made him... restless. The door to a room opened and out walked the man who'd been a schoolboy rival, looking entirely too put together.