Gemotions

He was vaguely aware of the coach talking, something about “new strategies” and “the team’s needs,” but the words seemed to bounce off him, meaningless. John felt a cold, empty sensation bloom in his chest, a void that threatened to consume him. He sat frozen, unable to respond, a statue amidst a flurry of motion.

His fingers fumbled with the clasp of his backpack, a nervous tic. He couldn't bring himself to look at anyone, instead focusing on the worn leather of his glove, the familiar stitching suddenly a source of comfort. The air was thick, suffocating.

He felt a pressure building behind his eyes, a tightness that threatened to crack his composure. His throat constricted, and he had to fight back the tears that threatened to spill over.