Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window, blurring the city lights into smeared streaks of color. Daniel sat curled in the armchair, the novel clutched in his trembling hands. The descriptions, the unflattering details of his habit of chewing the inside of his cheek, of his anxieties, of the way he'd hide his sadness behind forced joviality—they were all there, laid bare by his partner, Marco.

He felt a hot flush creep up his neck. It was mortifying, this unsolicited, unvarnished portrait. Marco had always been the observant one, the writer. Daniel, the one who just *felt* things, who bottled them up.

He closed his eyes, remembering the tender way Marco would touch his arm. Now, it felt like a calculated move. A manipulation. Each memory seemed tainted, colored by the knowledge of what Marco was thinking, what he was truly seeing.