Gemotions

The world was muted, the colours bled out. He sat at the kitchen table, staring at a plate of untouched food. The apartment was tidy, eerily so. His partner, Ben, had been trying to help, but his efforts felt like a spotlight on his own failings. The very idea of moving felt like an enormous effort.

Ben was speaking in a language he knew, his father's tongue. The effort was endearing, the pronunciation shaky, but the intention was clear. He wanted to understand, to connect.

He felt a sharp, unexpected sting behind his eyes, a tightness in his throat. It was as if a dormant part of him, a part he thought was dead, had been rudely awakened. His heart clenched.