Gemotions

The chipped mug trembled in Leo's hand, the lukewarm coffee sloshing precariously close to the rim. He stared at the photograph, its edges softened with age, of him and Mark, beaming at the top of the Ferris wheel. They were supposed to be reliving that moment tonight, the one they’d sworn to always remember. Now, Mark was telling him a completely different story.

His jaw clenched. He’d never been good at confrontation, always preferring to retreat, but the sheer absurdity of Mark's version – the wrong candy floss flavour, the missing pet dove, the nonexistent rain – was making his blood boil. He’d felt a coldness creeping into his chest, a feeling he knew well. He slammed the mug down on the table, the ceramic ringing sharply in the quiet kitchen.

"You're making this up," he croaked, the words barely audible. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture more frantic than calming. The Ferris wheel, the candy floss, the shared laughter – it was all crystal clear in his mind. And now, this.