Gemotions

The accusation hung in the stale air of the professor’s office. Elias stared out the window, at the late afternoon sun glinting off the campus fountain. He crossed his arms, the action a deliberate shift, a barricade against the rising tide of…well, he wouldn’t label it. He focused instead on the chipped paint on the windowsill, the grit clinging to the glass.

“I understand the similarity,” the professor was saying. Elias snorted, a sharp, involuntary sound. It was more than a similarity; the professor clearly thought he’d lifted the whole thing.

He bit the inside of his cheek. The blood tasted like iron. He should be nervous, he knew, but all he felt was this…this tightening in his chest. He wouldn’t apologize. Not for something he didn't do.