Gemotions

The notification buzzed, a tiny digital mosquito. He swatted at his phone, knocking it sideways onto the cluttered desk. It was *him*. Mark Henderson, from the fifth grade. The guy who'd always trip him in the hallway, the one who’d called him "nerd-face" every chance he got. Now, a friend request. He shoved his hands through his already messy hair, tugging at the roots.

He let out a short, sharp exhale. The air in his tiny apartment felt thick, almost suffocating. He picked up his coffee mug, cold now, and slammed it back down on the coaster with more force than necessary. The ceramic shuddered. The request was still there, glowing a malevolent blue. He considered ignoring it, deleting it, blocking the damn account. He paced the small room, his steps quick and choppy.

He snatched the phone back up, swiping the screen. He clicked "view profile." The profile picture was a grinning, middle-aged man with a receding hairline. He had a wife, two kids, a dog. A perfect, irritating life. He leaned back in his chair, the cheap plastic creaking under his weight. What did he *want*?