Gemotions

"Boston...seriously?" John asked, his voice strained. He leaned against the doorway of his apartment, arms crossed, staring at the moving boxes piled high in David's living room. The air was thick with the scent of packing tape and unspoken feelings.

David busied himself with taping a box shut, avoiding eye contact. He coughed, a nervous habit that John had become acutely aware of. He felt it too, but they couldn't allow the sadness to flow. "Yeah, a great opportunity. Big promotion."

John ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. He wanted to ask about the dinners, the movies, the late-night talks. He wanted to argue, to plead, to somehow stop the inevitable. He hated how it felt.

He forced a tight smile. "Well, good for you, man." The words felt hollow, a flimsy shield against the tidal wave of emotion threatening to consume him. He wanted to sit down and cry.