Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the small office, mirroring the turmoil in Michael’s chest. He'd come seeking help, a last resort after months of feeling adrift. He hadn't expected to find *him*. Mark, the kid who used to shove him into lockers, the one who delighted in tormenting him.

Mark looked older, softer around the edges. His eyes, once full of mischief, held a quiet intensity now. He gestured towards a comfortable armchair.

Michael sank into the seat, the leather warm beneath him. A wave of understanding washed over him. He felt… sorry for Mark. For whatever had led him here, to this quiet room, to this profession. He took a deep breath, and started to speak, his voice catching in his throat.