Gemotions

Mark ran a hand through his hair, the gesture almost aggressive. The weight of it settled in his gut, a growing sense of discomfort. The profile, filled with anonymous comments and a string of cryptic posts, felt like a deliberate act of concealment. He imagined the way his son, Liam, had been acting lately. Detached. Secretive. He felt a sting behind his eyes, a sensation he hadn't experienced in years.

He checked the time, then went to the garage and tried to start his old motorcycle. He had to be at work soon. The engine sputtered, then died. It didn't usually do that. He kicked it again, with no success, then slammed his fist on the tank.