Gemotions

"But… why?" Mark's voice cracked, a thin, reedy sound that betrayed the hollowness in his chest. He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair, the gel suddenly feeling sticky and irritating. The restaurant, usually a vibrant hub of noise, now felt eerily silent, the white tablecloths and polished silverware reflecting his own desolate expression. He'd envisioned laughter, the clinking of glasses, the warm embrace of friends. Now, just empty chairs and a waitress who seemed to be deliberately avoiding his gaze. A knot tightened in his stomach; his appetite vanished.