Gemotions

He glared at the embossed invitation. "Formal cocktail attire," it read. Ugh. James tossed it onto his bed, the glossy paper landing amongst his band t-shirts and ripped denim. He’d told Liam, his supposed best friend, that he’d be there. But the thought of polite small talk and champagne flutes felt suffocating. Tonight, he was going to the underground rave.

He yanked on a black hoodie, the familiar weight of it settling around him like a comforting shield. He imagined the judging looks he'd get. But the dance floor was where he felt alive, where he didn't have to pretend.

He imagined the perfect little party, perfectly lit, perfect guest list, all centered around Liam, who thought he was so perfect. No. He’d do what he wanted. He texted his friends, “See you later.”