Gemotions

A cold sweat slicked down Liam’s back as the Dean laid out the evidence. His research, his *own* work, being ripped off by that… that *kid* from across the hall. The injustice clawed at him, a burning in his gut that left him unable to meet anyone’s gaze.

He stared out the window, at the vibrant autumn leaves turning crimson and gold. He wished he could crush them, grind them into powder, just to feel some semblance of control. The Dean’s voice droned on, a meaningless hum in the face of this violation.

Liam felt a familiar tremor in his hands. He clasped them together, forcing them to be still. The thought of confronting Mark, of seeing his innocent facade, was almost unbearable. He wanted to break something, to shatter the calm around him.