Gemotions

The chipped ceramic mug warmed Leo's hands. He sat at the kitchen table, the same table where he'd spilled juice boxes as a child. Sunlight streamed through the lace curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He hadn't realized how *clean* everything was. The scent of lemon polish, something he hadn’t encountered in his cramped apartment for years, tickled his nose. His mother bustled around the stove, humming. It felt…sacred, watching her.

The familiar click of the coffee maker, the rhythmic clink of silverware. He hadn't heard these sounds in so long, not in this context. A smile stretched across his face, wide and slightly shaky. "Smells good, Mom," he mumbled, his voice a little thick. He felt a weird, fluttery feeling in his chest.