Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Elias's hands, the lukewarm coffee doing little to combat the chill seeping into the old diner. Across the table, Finn babbled about their disastrous attempt to build a treehouse, a project undertaken a decade ago. Finn’s eyes shone with remembered glee; Elias felt a dull ache behind his own.

“Remember when the whole thing collapsed on us?” Finn asked, chuckling. He mimed a dramatic fall. Elias merely nodded, staring at the swirling patterns in the coffee.

He remembered the day differently. He remembered the splinter that lodged in his palm, the frustration bubbling in his throat as Finn, ever optimistic, suggested they start again. Elias had quietly helped pack up the scattered wood, the silence between them heavier than the fallen planks. The treehouse, in his mind, had been a symbol of things always ending, of effort wasted. He pushed the mug away, the gesture almost imperceptible.