Gemotions

The office was ridiculously tidy. Every pen was lined up perfectly on the desk. Every file meticulously organized. Michael found himself wanting to disrupt the order, to mess it up, just to… just to *see*.

“So, Michael, what’s going on?” Mark asked, his voice calm, but something about it rubbed Michael the wrong way.

"Nothing," he answered flatly, refusing to elaborate. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded, a wall of silence surrounding him. He would not give Mark the satisfaction of knowing his vulnerabilities. No way, no how.