Gemotions

The air in the library felt heavy and stagnant, a suffocating embrace that amplified his sense of unease. He ran his hand over the worn cover of the book, the familiar texture failing to provide any comfort. The words swam before his eyes, refusing to be absorbed. He wanted to scream.

He glanced up as a man approached, his face pale and drawn. The man tripped over a chair leg and nearly fell. He looked up, his eyes meeting the narrator's.

"Sorry," the man mumbled, brushing himself off. "Sometimes… my legs just give out."

The narrator knew exactly how that felt.

"Stellis, right?" the man then asked, a question, but not.