Gemotions

The ramen nearly slipped from Marco's trembling hands. He set the steaming bowl down with a thud that rattled the cheap IKEA table. His breath hitched in his chest as he stared at the sticky note stuck to the fridge. It was covered in messy, looping characters. He recognized them – they were the same ones his grandmother used to write him letters in. Mandarin. *His* Mandarin. A frantic energy crackled through him. He ripped the note from the fridge, his knuckles white. He hadn't told anyone he missed his grandmother's letters, not even Liam. "Liam!" he called, his voice tight, barely above a whisper.