Gemotions

The takeout container slammed onto the kitchen counter, splattering a smear of General Tso’s chicken across the pristine granite. “What the HELL is this?” Mark bellowed, his voice thick with a simmering heat. He hadn't known what his partner, David, was up to, and now here it was, laid bare in the most mundane of places: a sticky note stuck to the fridge. In messy, unfamiliar characters, it read, "Where is the bathroom?" His jaw clenched.

David emerged from the living room, a half-eaten apple clutched in his hand. “Hey, honey, you’re back early! You okay?” He winced, sensing the tension radiating off Mark.

“Okay? No, I’m not okay,” Mark spat, gesturing wildly at the note. He had never discussed the language with David. Why would he? It was part of *him*, not something to be shared willy nilly. “What is this garbage? What the hell have you been doing?” His chest constricted, making it difficult to breathe. The air felt thin and cold.