Gemotions

David was hunched over the kitchen table, the diagnostic report spread out before him. The words blurred, each sentence a hammer blow. Chrono-Instability. What the hell did that even *mean*? He felt the world around him slipping. His usual routines felt suddenly alien, his sense of the future dissolving.

He'd pushed everyone away, not wanting them to see the cracks forming. He'd become a prisoner of his own anxiety. Now this.

A knock. He flinched, expecting to see a doctor or a therapist or someone else offering empty platitudes. Instead, a young man stood there, holding a takeout container. The man looked around hesitantly, "Sorry, wrong apartment," he said, before looking directly at David. "Wait, you're the guy with… with that thing, right?"