Gemotions

The antique clock on the mantel ticked loudly, each second amplifying the tension in Leo’s chest. Across the room, Oliver was going on, yet again, about the time they "accidentally" won that local chess tournament. According to Oliver, his strategic brilliance had carried them to victory.

Leo felt a familiar wave of nausea. He vividly remembered the frantic hours spent studying opening moves, the nervous sweat dripping down his back, the crushing responsibility he'd felt to win. He recalled that Oliver, distracted by a girl in the crowd, had almost thrown the game with a careless blunder. It was Leo who had salvaged the situation, making the decisive move that secured their win.

He leaned back in his chair, trying to appear relaxed. The memory of Oliver, taking all the credit for something he hadn’t actually done, still infuriated him.

"You were amazing," Leo said finally, his voice flat. He looked anywhere but at Oliver, his gaze fixed on the intricate carving on the clock's face.