Gemotions

The flickering streetlight outside cast long, dancing shadows across the blinds. He kept checking his phone, again, the screen’s light a cold blue against his face. It had been three hours since the "work emergency" that had conveniently coincided with their usual Friday night drinks. Something was off. He could feel it in the tight knot in his stomach.

He replayed the voicemail. Mark’s rushed tone, the background noise he couldn’t quite place. A muffled conversation? A machine whirring? He pictured Mark’s meticulously crafted LinkedIn profile, the impressive title, the prestigious company. It felt… brittle now, like spun sugar about to dissolve.

His apartment felt smaller, the walls closing in. He began pacing, the wooden floorboards groaning under his weight. Was it possible? He'd known Mark for years, shared everything. The thought clawed at him, a creeping unease that wouldn't let go. He grabbed his coat and keys, the urge to see, to know, to *understand* overriding all other considerations. He had to know if he could trust his friend.