Gemotions

The cheap beer tasted metallic and unpleasant in Ethan’s mouth. Across the sticky bar table, Jake was grinning, retelling their ill-fated attempt to start a band in college. Jake painted himself as the musical genius, the visionary, and Ethan as the enthusiastic, if somewhat tone-deaf, supporter.

Ethan felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He remembered the hours spent hunched in a damp basement, the arguments over song structure, the constant criticism of his drumming. He recalled the humiliation of their first and only gig, a disaster fueled by bad equipment and even worse songwriting, a night that ended with Jake storming off in a huff.

He took another swig of the beer, the liquid doing little to soothe the simmering resentment. The truth was, Jake had never been able to handle criticism, and Ethan had been the one left to clean up the mess, both literally and figuratively.

“Yeah, you were the star,” Ethan said, his tone devoid of any amusement. He pushed his empty glass away, the clatter echoing in the crowded bar.