Gemotions

The chipped mug felt like a weight in Liam's hand, a physical manifestation of the bile churning in his stomach. He glared across the table at Mark, who was all sunshine and affability, recounting the camping trip. "Oh, it was a blast, wasn't it, Liam? Remember the campfire songs? Classic!" Liam wanted to hurl the mug. He remembered freezing, the relentless drizzle, and Mark’s constant complaining about the damp firewood. He recalled suggesting they go home, and Mark laughing and calling him a "wimp." He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck protesting. "Yeah, songs were… great," he finally managed, his voice tight.