Gemotions

He nearly dropped the envelope, the thin paper suddenly a threat. Daniel stared at the embossed crest, his breath catching in his throat. Twenty years. Two decades. It seemed impossible. He crumpled the paper, then smoothed it out, a nervous habit he hadn't realized he still possessed.

His apartment felt smaller, the walls closing in. He wandered from room to room, unable to focus. The dust motes dancing in the sunlight mocked his present state. The invitation sat on the counter, a constant reminder of everything he felt he hadn't become.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. The old insecurities, buried deep, surfaced with a vengeance. He needed a stiff drink, maybe two. He needed to avoid this at all costs.