Gemotions

Rain lashed against the gallery window, mirroring the disquiet in Elias’s chest. He tapped a finger against his cheek, the action a restless rhythm against the otherwise quiet space. The opening had been a week prior, and the anticipation of seeing his work hanging, finally, had dissolved into a dull ache. Even the faint scent of linseed oil, usually a comfort, now felt cloying. He’d painted the figures on canvas for months, poured his soul into the capturing of light on the skin. He needed something, anything, to reignite the fire.

He'd scrolled aimlessly through Instagram. The curated feeds of his contemporaries, their carefully constructed lives, fueled a subtle frustration. Then, a tattoo artist’s account. A familiar line, a sweep of color, the curve of a cheekbone – one of his own portraits, inked onto someone’s arm.

A jolt ran through him. Not anger, not exactly. More like… a sudden, sharp interest. He messaged the artist immediately, a desperate plea for more information.