Gemotions

“I messed up,” he muttered, the words barely audible. He was sitting at the bar, nursing a whiskey, the amber liquid reflecting the hazy state of his mind. The bartender, a gruff but kind man, merely nodded, offering a silent understanding. He’d seen the calls, heard the whispered conversations, and chose to ignore them, blinded by his own insecurities and self-absorption. The weight of his inaction pressed down on him, a heavy burden he didn't know how to carry. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture conveying a weariness beyond his years.