After his meeting ended and he’d checked his phone, Michael had only needed about five minutes to turn into a version of himself at his worst. He gets home and he’s still vibrating with panic, body feeling molten and revolting and foreign; his eyes are wide and glistening, seconds away from becoming wild; his face is red and sweaty; half of his hair has been yanked into a snarled mess. Every noise seems like a shriek.
He’d left the office with almost zero explanation. It’s an emergency, he’d managed to say. No one had tried to stop him.
Michael steps past the doorway. The room gets noticeably darker. “Who?” he demands, expression beginning to twist into something both fearful and aggressive.