Gemotions

The notification shimmered on the screen, a digital serpent. Mark scrolled past it three times before he could bring himself to tap the profile. It was Daniel, the kid who used to steal his lunch money and call him "twig." His palms felt slick against his jeans.

He clicked the profile, heart hammering. Daniel looked older, sure, but that same predatory smirk still tugged at the corners of his mouth in the blurry profile picture. He didn't want to accept. He didn't want to deny. He just wanted the notification to disappear. He tossed his phone onto the table, then paced the small apartment, rubbing his arms.

His tea sat cooling on the counter, forgotten. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture rapid and agitated. He’d barely touched his dinner either. He looked outside the window, at the streetlight across the street. A sudden, inexplicable urge to go outside and run.