Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, and he resisted the urge to swipe it away. The room seemed to tilt, the pastel decorations blurring at the edges. *Him?* Give a speech? About his father, the stoic, reserved man who'd always been more comfortable with numbers than words? It felt like an elaborate prank. The realization hit him, a jolt that went through his whole body. He gripped the podium, knuckles white, the wood surprisingly cold against his trembling fingers.

He saw the smile on his father's face, a rare and precious sight, and a lump formed in his throat. He opened his mouth, but only a strangled sound emerged. He tried again.