Gemotions

Her Instagram feed had been a frustrating blur of filtered sunsets and avocado toast, until *this*. He scrolled, his thumb hovering, his heart rate quickening. There, on a stranger's shoulder blade, was his "Crimson Cascade," a waterfall of stylized blood-red poppies. It was rendered with a precision that made him flush.

He knew he shouldn't. He knew it was strange, creepy even. But he found himself clicking on the profile. The woman, judging by the photos, was a free spirit, perpetually barefoot and smiling. He imagined the way her back arched when she laughed, the way the sunlight would glint on the newly healed ink.

He sent a DM. Simple, stupid: "That's my work." He felt a jittery tension, like a strung bow. He waited. He watched the little "seen" notification appear. Then, an hour later, a reply. A single smiley face.