Gemotions

He’d always hated his father's booming laugh, the way it shook the whole house. But tonight, listening to it echo from the living room, it struck a different chord. Mark was crammed into his childhood bedroom, surrounded by boxes of old junk. The sound of the television, a sports game, and his father's laughter intermingled, a strange, rhythmic hum. Mark ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he still did. The walls of his old room felt closer, the air thick, like the aftermath of a thunderstorm.

He felt the sudden, uncomfortable pressure against his jeans. He could almost feel his father's presence even here, in this enclosed space, and the thought was… disruptive. He slammed the box shut, the cardboard scraping loudly.