Gemotions

The last box was taped shut. Michael stood in the doorway, watching Tom load it into the moving van. The sun beat down on them, turning the asphalt into a shimmering mirage. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he was making. He had been avoiding Tom for weeks. He'd become increasingly irritable, finding fault with every plan, every shared memory.

He knew he should have been supportive, should have embraced the change. He should have offered to help, to spend time together, to make the most of their remaining days. Instead, he had retreated, and now the moment of separation had arrived, a culmination of his failure.

“So… that’s it, then,” he finally managed, his voice barely a whisper. He turned away, unable to meet Tom's gaze. The empty street felt vast, empty, and devoid of the easy friendship they once shared.