Gemotions

A restless night had left Finn with a headache that throbbed in time with the persistent drip of the leaky faucet. He’d barely managed to choke down a piece of stale bread before heading into the city. His latest commission had fallen through, and the rent was due. This morning wasn't his best.

He hadn’t bothered to shave, and the stubble scratched at his jaw. He was late to his usual spot on the park bench, already feeling the impatience bubble inside him. He sat, hunching his shoulders against the chill wind, trying to sketch. Then, a figure approached, stopping right in front of him. A stranger’s face, familiar. The intricate design of the "Whispering Woods" he'd toiled over for months, now permanently etched on the man's forearm. Finn felt the breath catch in his throat.

"Is this yours?" The man asked, beaming. Finn didn't say a word. He just stood up, turned around, and walked away.