Gemotions

He’d always hated being told what to do. Even as a child, the slightest suggestion felt like a direct challenge. Now, sitting across from a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to his, Ethan's, own Liam, he felt the same familiar heat rising in his neck. This man, Mark, was recounting a hilarious anecdote about Liam's clumsy attempts at cooking. Ethan's fingers twitched. He’d seen those same “attempts,” though apparently with a different audience.

The room seemed to shrink, closing in on him. He felt the blood draining from his face and the world around him became muted. Mark's laughter became an irritating hum in his ears.

Ethan forced himself to take a slow, deliberate sip of his water, the cold liquid doing nothing to soothe the burning sensation in his throat. He set the glass down with a thud. “Really?” he said, his voice flat. “Because *my* Liam is a culinary genius. He’s always cooking for me.” He gave a short, humourless laugh. The lie hung heavy in the air.

He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. He would not give this man the satisfaction of seeing him upset. Not even slightly. He would outlast this awkward meeting, no matter what.