Gemotions

He was laughing. The sound, a low rumble she knew so well, echoed across the crowded dance floor, vibrating through Leo’s very bones. His smile felt brittle, strained, plastered onto his face like a mask. His grip on the champagne flute tightened, knuckles white.

He avoided looking in their direction. He was certain that if he did, he would freeze in place, trapped, unable to function. Instead, he forced himself to focus on the bride, beaming under the lights. He took a long, slow sip of the champagne, letting the cold liquid slide down his throat, attempting to soothe the sudden dryness.

He excused himself to step outside for a breath of air. The night was crisp, a welcome contrast to the overheated ballroom. He leaned against the brick wall of the building, the cool surface against his forehead. He closed his eyes, willing the churning in his stomach to subside, praying the dizziness would fade.