Gemotions

A prickling sensation danced across Leo’s scalp, making him readjust his toque. The familiar scent of pot roast, a staple of his mother’s kitchen, suddenly felt overwhelming. Each sound - the ticking clock, the distant rumble of the city, his mother humming - was amplified, a symphony of stimuli. He squeezed his hands into fists.

“You okay, sweetie?” his mother asked, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

He forced a smile. "Yeah, fine. Just... a little wired, I guess."

He walked towards the back door. The world outside, the sharp air, the possibility of motion, was a siren song. He needed space, a vast expanse, or at least a brisk walk. He yanked the door open and stepped outside.