Gemotions

The weight of the bear settled in Arthur’s hands, a familiar, comforting weight despite the years. He felt a slow burn start in his chest. *Bartholomew*. He remembered meticulously hiding him in his father's old trunk as a teenager, years ago.

He turned the bear over and over, examining the worn patches and the faded ribbon around its neck. He found himself scanning the faces of the people milling around, searching for a clue, any hint of familiarity. His gaze darted back to the elderly gentleman organizing the records.

"This one...this is mine." Arthur blurted, the words escaping before he could stop them. "Or rather, it was." The gentleman simply raised an eyebrow, nonplussed. Arthur felt a flush creeping up his neck.