Gemotions

Sweat beaded on Marcus's forehead as he listened to David's recollection of their winning basketball game. He remembered the deafening roar of the crowd, the frantic scramble for the ball in the final seconds. David was painting a picture of calculated composure, of a team executing flawless plays.

"And then," David was saying, his voice calm, "I took the shot. Pure focus."

Marcus's hands clenched into fists beneath the table. His own memories were of a frenzied blur, of adrenaline flooding his veins, of a desperate, gut-wrenching lunge. He saw the ball arc through the air, he recalled the screaming that filled his ears.

He took a sharp breath, the air in the coffee shop suddenly feeling too thin. He needed to move, to do something.

"Yeah," he finally said, his voice husky, "You were... composed." He felt an overwhelming urge to jump up and run.