Gemotions

He stared at the grimy windows of the pawn shop, his jaw clenched. He had a million things he'd rather be doing, a million places he'd rather be. He hated being here. But his brother, with that damn soft heart, had begged him. He'd been guilt-tripped.

He entered, the bell above the door jingling like a mocking laugh. He approached the counter, the shop owner eyeing him with an assessing gaze. "What can I do for ya?" The man's tone was all business. He wasn't getting any information from him.

"Rings," Mark said curtly, his voice flat. He kept his hands in his pockets as he perused the cases. He wasn't asking for help. He was not, under any circumstances, going to be friendly.