Gemotions

"Well, now," Cousin Barry drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. "Looks like little Leo got the good end of the stick, eh?" Leo, his brother, had received the family estate – a castle, practically – nestled amongst rolling hills. He’d barely said a word, just basked in the admiring glances of the assembled relatives.

He, Thomas, was left with a cluttered antique shop in a dying seaside town. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture clumsy and awkward. His palms were slick with sweat. He tried to meet Barry's gaze, but quickly looked away, staring down at the threadbare carpet.

He mumbled something about the shop's potential, about the unique charm it possessed. His voice sounded thin, reedy, barely audible above the rising tide of his shame. He excused himself, abruptly, and stumbled out of the room, acutely aware of the whispers that followed.