Gemotions

The aroma of freshly printed ink used to be a source of joy for Mark. He loved the feel of paper and the smell of the printing press. Now, he felt suffocated. His son, Ethan, had transformed the home office, his sanctuary, into a chaotic print shop, filled with his amateur photography, self-published zines, and the constant whir of the printer. Ethan, a mirror image of him, had taken over his passion, and his world.

"Ethan, could you *please* tidy up? I can't even find my favorite ink." He was trying to sound reasonable, but his voice cracked, the words laced with an emotion he did not wish to voice. He ran a hand through his hair, the touch sending a jolt to his scalp.

Ethan just shrugged, his attention already focused on a newly printed image. It was a caricature of Mark, and it was so childish. He felt a burning in his chest.