Gemotions

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls of the dimly lit pub. Ben listened to Michael's story about the night they first met their wives. Michael was embellishing, the details getting more fantastical with each passing sentence. Ben felt the muscles in his jaw tighten.

"That's not how it happened," Ben interrupted, his voice low. Michael stopped mid-sentence, his smile fading.

Ben remembered the awkward silence, the fumbling conversation, the way he'd tripped over his own feet. Michael’s recollection was about as accurate as a fairy tale. He felt a deep, instinctive resistance to letting this fabrication stand.

He took a slow sip of his beer, the cold liquid doing little to soothe the rising heat in his chest. “I remember a lot of uncomfortable silences, actually.”

Michael’s cheeks flushed, and he looked around, as if searching for an escape route. Ben wasn't going to let him.