Gemotions

He stared at the flowers, their unnatural perfection a taunt. The delivery had come in the late afternoon, interrupting his concentration. He hadn't ordered anything. He couldn't imagine *who* would send them.

He kept his distance, the blooms radiating an almost palpable aura of unearned sentimentality. The smell, a manufactured sweetness, made his stomach flip. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple.

He sat back in his chair, trying to breathe evenly. His fingers drummed a frustrated rhythm against the desk. He leaned forward to reach for the nearest bottle of hand sanitizer.