Gemotions

The tap on the window. She knew. She braced herself. It was the old woman from across the street, always complaining.

She pulled on a thin t-shirt and opened the window. The old woman's face was a mask of judgment.

“The music,” she said, her voice sharp, a weapon. But her gaze was lingering on his bare chest. He felt the flush rise, the tightening in his core.

"I’m sorry," he said, the words a lie on his tongue. He wanted this to continue. The pressure in his chest was becoming unbearable.